Victoria Victorious: The Story of Queen Victoria (14 page)

I think Aunt Adelaide had been very put out, but being herself she did not want to spoil my birthday any more than it had been already.

The next day she wrote to my mother and said that she was sorry there would be no ball, but she would call at Kensington Palace on the morning of my birthday to convey her good wishes and those of the King.

Then Mama did an outrageous thing that made me more ashamed than I had been over the birthday.

She sent a note to the Queen saying that as she was in mourning— and the Princess with her—she was unable to receive visitors.

I was shocked. I could not help talking to Lehzen.

“How dare Mama tell the Queen she is not receiving! Receiving! She talks like a queen herself. Oh, Lehzen, I am
so
ashamed.”

Lehzen shook her head but did not leap to the defense of my mother. I supposed she was remembering that Mama had allowed Sir John to attempt to dismiss her.

But the birthday was not quite so mournful as I had feared it might be, for on it I received a letter from Feodore; and its contents delighted me. She was coming to see us.

Feodore was now a happy mother of four children. There were Charles and Eliza, little Hermann and now another baby named Victor. Although we had corresponded regularly, it was six years since I had seen my dear sister and the prospect of actually talking to her again was so exciting that it made my birthday a happy one.

I would notice the change in her, Feodore warned. Well, I expected she would notice a change in me! I tried to remember what I had been like at nine. I could picture my beautiful Feodore as she had been on her wedding day…perfectly. She was always pretty—prettier than I ever would be, I supposed.

Even Mama was delighted at the prospect of seeing Feodore. She bustled about giving orders and preparing for their arrival. She kept talking about the dear little babies and for once seemed to have forgotten her obsession with Uncle William's long-delayed death and her own importance in the country.

It was a lovely June day when they arrived. Such excitement there was! Lehzen, chewing away at her caraway seeds, was in a state of bemused delight. And there was Feodore, getting out of the carriage with her husband, Ernest, and the children.

I dashed forward but Mama laid a hand on my shoulder and she herself went forward to kiss Feodore.

Then it was my turn.

“Darling, darling Vicky!”

“Dearest, dearest Feodore!”

“Oh, how you have grown!”

So had she. She was no longer the sylph-like girl who had left England; she was quite plump, but beautiful as ever, and all my love for her came flooding back and I was so happy to see her.

Oh, the joy of that reunion! I put an arm through Feodore's; and Mama had her arm around her. Mama looked really happy. She did love
Feodore even though she was not destined for a crown. She loved the babies too. Even Mama seemed different while Feodore was there. I quite liked the Count Hohenlohe-Langenburg and I adored the children. They called me Aunt Victoria. It felt very strange to be an aunt but I loved it.

“We will have such talks,” I said; and Feodore squeezed my hand.

When they had all rested awhile, it was decided that Feodore and I should go for a drive with Lehzen in the Park and that was the greatest delight to me.

Lehzen was laughing all the time and we chatted away about those days when we were all together, and the things we used to do. Feodore told us about the babies and I believed she had forgotten all about Augustus and how he used to talk to her while I watered the flowers—which was a very good thing, because what everybody had wanted for her had turned out to be right.

A program had been arranged for Feodore's stay and we were to visit Windsor. I guessed Mama would have liked to have refused but the invitation was extended to Feodore and Ernest and they accepted graciously, so there was little Mama could do.

On that first day we were to go to the opera. Feodore said she was so tired and Mama, looking at her tenderly, said, “Well, my darling, you must go to bed. It has been a long day for you and I do not want you to be exhausted.”

I cried impulsively, “Feodore, go to bed and I will sit with you and we will talk until you go to sleep.”

“No,” said Mama firmly. “You must go to the opera. It will be expected.”

So I went although I should have loved to stay with Feodore. But I have to admit I did enjoy the opera. Giulia Grisi was singing and I thought her voice quite divine; and it was Rossini's
L'Assiedo di Corrinto
. Moreover the opera was followed by
Les Sylphides
in which Taglioni danced. So I was in a state of bliss.

To have seen Feodore, Grisi, and Taglioni in one day made it one of the most thrilling of my life so far.

I awoke next morning with the glorious feeling of anticipation and the first thing I said to myself was: Feodore is here.

What joy there was during those days! I contrived—rarely—to be alone with Feodore for then we would talk easily and naturally. But, of course, either Mama or Lehzen was usually there. I loved the children. They were so affectionate and so amusing.

We went to Windsor, where Feodore was received most kindly by the King and Aunt Adelaide, although I must admit the King rather pointedly ignored Mama, and my happiness was tinged with apprehension while we were there because I was terrified that a storm would blow up between them and I pictured Mama marshalling us all out at short notice.

But Feodore's visit did seem to soften even her and I believed she did want Feodore to enjoy it. Feodore was of a gentle, peace-loving nature; she accepted life more readily than I did. Perhaps Mama was right and I had been affected by the knowledge that I might step one day into a very exalted position. It may be that that gives one a determination not to be subdued.

The best way to be alone with Feodore was to go riding, and this we did frequently. There were others with us of course but with little maneuvering we could sometimes escape from them. One day we did this and as we walked our horses through a narrow lane I said to her, “I believe we have escaped.”

Feodore looked at me quickly and said, “Do you sometimes feel you would like to escape?”

“I should like to be alone sometimes.”

Feodore smiled. “I understand. Do you sometimes feel like a prisoner?”

“Yes, I think I do. You see there is always someone there. I even have to sleep in Mama's bedroom. One of the things I want most is a room of my own where I can go sometimes… and be alone.”

“I understand.”

“When you were there…did you feel like that?”

“Mama was determined to take care of us but sometimes she seemed like a jailer. But you will soon be eighteen, Victoria, and then…”

“Then I shall be free.”

“You will be the Queen. Does that frighten you a little?”

“It makes me very serious.”

“You will be good, I know.”

“I shall try. And I shall be free.”

“I think,” she said, “that you will know how to have your way. It is not long now. You will marry, as I did.”

“That meant freedom for you.”

“One is never really free. There are always obligations.”

“Yes, but free to be alone sometimes.”

She said suddenly, “What did you think of the cousins?”

“They were charming.”

“We have several cousins. I wonder what you will think of the SaxeCoburgs. I find them the most charming of all.”

“Uncle Leopold has written to me about Ernest and Albert. He thinks I shall enjoy meeting them very much. I believe they will visit us one day.”

“I feel sure they will.”

“What are they like, Feodore?”

“Very handsome. Uncle Leopold watches over them with great care.”

“As he does over me.”

“He has a great family feeling.”

“Tell me about the cousins. What do they look like?”

“They are tall and good-looking. My favorite of the two is Ernest.”

“Oh, why? Uncle Leopold writes most glowingly of Albert.”

“They are both admirable. Ernest is so honest and good-humored.”

“Is not Albert honest and good-humored?”

“Oh yes, but Albert is more clever, sharper. What I mean is Ernest is more… innocent.”

“I do long to meet them.”

“They must miss their mother.”

“Why?”

Feodore looked at me sharply. “I suppose you haven't heard the scandal?”

“You mean about the cousins?”

“Well, not exactly about them. It is their parents.”

“Do tell me.”

Feodore hesitated and I wailed, “Oh, Feodore, don't be like the rest of them. Don't have secrets from me. They are always implying that I am too young for this and that. Don't be like that, dear Sissy.”

Feodore said, “Well, I suppose you will know one day. Their mother was Luise of Saxe-Gotha, and when she married Duke Ernest of SaxeCoburg it should have been a happy match. But something went wrong. After the birth of her eldest son, Ernest, there was trouble between her and the Duke. He was not as faithful as he might have been; she was lonely and there were people at Court to flatter and amuse her. There was scandal about her, and soon after Albert was born at Rosenau. It is a
beautiful yellow stone castle surrounded by trees—oak, beech, elm, and ash…. You can look out from the windows to the Thuringian Forest. There Albert was born on a lovely August day.”

“I know. It was three months after I was born.”

“Yes. You are almost of an age. He was a particularly beautiful child from the moment he was born. Some babies are very ugly… and they grow prettier every day. That was not so with Albert. He was born beautiful…His father was at that time the Duke,
his
father having died. Luise loved her child—even more, they said, than she had loved her first-born, Ernest. He was like an angel, she said, with his blue eyes, well-shaped nose, and dimples. He was only about three years old when the trouble, which had been brewing for some time, burst out into an open scandal.”

“What scandal?”

“Luise, left alone by her husband, had made certain friendships; one was with a certain Leutnant von Hanstein. She had a great enemy at her husband's Court in Maximilian von Szymborski who was determined to destroy her. This he succeeded in doing by fomenting scandals and rumors and blowing them up out of all proportion to reality; and in time the Duke was so convinced that his wife was unfaithful that he decided to divorce her.”

“Divorce!” I cried. “How terrible! Oh, poor little Albert and Ernest.”

“Yes. The children loved their mother dearly but she was taken from them. There was great sorrow in the household. But the people loved Luise. They thought she had been wronged and they called for von Szymborski's blood. He had great difficulty in getting out of the country alive. But there was a divorce. Albert was seven years old at the time. Luise married von Hanstein, but when she was only thirty years old she died.”

“What a sad story! What happened to Albert and Ernest?”

“They were left to the care of their grandmothers … and Uncle Leopold. They were greatly loved but they must have missed their mother.”

“I am sure they did. She seemed so gentle and so falsely accused. I long more than ever to meet my Saxe-Coburg cousins.”

“The Duke was married again to Mary of Württemberg, but I don't think that was a very happy marriage either.”

“He should not have been led astray by that wicked von Szymborski. How strange it is. Albert had no mother and I had no father. It seems as though there is a special bond between us…”

I rode on thoughtfully. I could not keep Cousin Albert out of my mind.

It was too much to expect life to go on smoothly with Mama and the King under one roof. Every day when I rose I used to pray that nothing would go wrong, that Mama would continue in the more mellow mood, which Feodore's presence seemed to have brought about. Now, I thought, she is acting more like a mother than a would-be regent.

The King arranged that we should go to the races, and what fun it was to be in the royal box and watch the dear horses vying with each other. I jumped up in joy and urged them on until Mama laid a restraining hand on my shoulders, and I saw the King was amused and rather liked it that I seemed to forget my dignity for a moment.

Aunt Adelaide was smiling. She said, “We must do this again.”

But trouble came as I feared it would.

It was one evening before dinner. Mama seemed suddenly to remember how important she was and to fear that the relaxation of the last few days may have given the impression that she was ready to be relegated to obscurity.

We were waiting to go in to dinner. The King was getting impatient, no doubt wondering why the Queen did not give the sign for us to leave for the dining room.

Aunt Adelaide was nervously trying to continue talking so that people did not notice the time. But the King suddenly shouted, “Are we waiting for that woman?”

Everyone knew who “that woman” was, and I felt myself growing very hot.

“She is a nuisance,” went on the King. “We will go in without her.”

Then Mama appeared, looking quite splendid in bows and feathers and swinging jewelry. I was beginning to think that she was often a little overdressed.

Aunt Adelaide said smoothly as though nothing had happened, “Shall we go in to dinner now?”

She was the most tactful woman I had ever known. She hated scenes and with a husband like Uncle William she had plenty of practice in avoiding them.

We went in and I sat between the King and the Queen, and although he was pleasant enough to me, I kept intercepting the glares he sent in my mother's direction.

It was a small incident really but it did spoil the complete perfection of Feodore's visit.

Alas, it was time for Feodore to go. We parted in tears. She said she would come again and I must go to her. It was doubly hard to have to part from the dear little children. That was the worst of these visits from relatives. When they were over, one was so very sad.

Writing in my journal solaced me a little, and this time I could set down exactly what I felt.

“How sad at breakfast not to see the door open and Feodore come in smiling leading her little girl; and not to get the accustomed kiss from her. At one we lunched and I missed dear Feodore here again terribly. I miss her so much today. At three we drove with Lehzen. How dull the drive seemed without dear Feodore. We dined at seven and after that Aunt Sophia came. We passed a dull, sad evening…”