Victoria Victorious: The Story of Queen Victoria (39 page)

“Oh, that is Lehzen's affair,” I said thoughtlessly.

“But it seems that Lehzen does not make it her affair.”

“A broken window in a big palace, Albert,” I said. “What a fuss about a little matter.”

“A broken window is an invitation to intruders. I do not call that a little matter. I have your safety to consider.”

“Oh, Albert, how kind you are! I'll speak to Lehzen about the window.”

Lehzen was incensed. “I never before heard of a prince strolling round looking for broken windows.”

“I don't think he looked, Lehzen. He just saw.”

She pursed her lips and thrust some caraway seeds into her mouth—a sign of being disturbed.

She told me that people did not like the idea of Albert's appointment.

“Oh, the people like or dislike according to their mood.”

“I'm afraid to open a paper these days.”

“Oh, Daisy, that's not true.”

I knew that she kept certain cartoons—those in which Albert figured. Now she flung open a drawer and took out some paper cuttings.

I took them from her. The top one was captioned “The Regent.” It was a caricature of Albert—recognizable though not a bit like him— standing before a mirror trying on a crown.

I laughed. “That is just the sort of thing they would do.”

“They don't like it, you know.”

“Daisy, he is not the Regent. He would only be … if anything happened to me.”

“I can't bear to think of it.”

I was staring at another cartoon. Albert had a pistol in his hand and was aiming it at the crown—presumably meant to be me. At least they had not put me there in person. The caption said,
“Ach, mein
dear, I shall see if I can hit you.”

“Oh,” I cried, “that is wicked.”

Lehzen looked at me, nodding.

I tore the paper in half and threw it from me.

“It is what the people are thinking,” said Lehzen.

“It is not,” I contradicted. “It is what those wicked people do to sell their papers.”

“Oh,
Kindchen
…”

“Daisy, dearest Daisy, you must not be so jealous. I have lots of loving in me, enough for you both.”

But I was apprehensive because they appeared to dislike each other so much, and I had a notion that there would be no peace while they were both under the same roof. Albert was my husband and we were bound together for life, but how could I bear to lose Lehzen?

A
LBERT
W
AS
G
ETTING
more and more involved in the affairs of the country. Often if I found something tedious I would pass it over to him. He was very disturbed about the unrest. There was a great deal of unemployment; there was trouble in Afghanistan; there were disputes with China. We were not on the best of terms with France. Louis Napoleon had made an attempt to return and had landed at Boulogne in a British steamer; but there were more serious troubles in the East.

Albert talked of this a great deal. England with Prussia, Austria, and Russia were trying to force Mehemet Ali to leave North Syria. France stood against this and at one time it looked as though France would side with Mehemet Ali against the allies.

“Fortunately,” said Albert, “this has been avoided. We did not want war with France.”

Albert became quite animated about these matters and discussed them at length with Lord Melbourne and Lord Palmerston.

They both said he had a good grasp of affairs.

In August I had to attend the Prorogation of Parliament, and I told Lord Melbourne that it was absurd that Albert could not come with me.

“He may be present,” said Lord Melbourne, “but it would not be considered right for him to ride in the royal coach.”

“What nonsense,” I said. “Albert knows a great deal about what is going on. He is a great help to me. It seems ridiculous.”

“So much in life does,” said Lord Melbourne sympathetically.

Albert was really quite hurt about it. No matter what he did, he said, he was still treated as though he were of no account.

I was at luncheon a few days later when a letter came from Lord
Melbourne. Albert watched me while I opened it, read it, and turned pink with pleasure.

“Oh dear Lord M,” I cried. “He works so hard to make me happy. Listen to this, Albert. Lord Melbourne has found out that Prince George of Denmark once accompanied Queen Anne to the Prorogation in the royal carriage—so that makes a precedent. He says that as it was done once he sees no reason why it should not be done again. He thinks, dearest Albert, that you should ride with me to the Prorogation.”

It was wonderful to see the pleasure dawn in that dear face.

Lehzen was less pleased. I thought how different she was from dear Lord M who did everything he could to make Albert comfortable in our relationship and so make me—and him—happy.

Lehzen's devotion could be a little tiresome at times.

So Albert rode with me in the carriage and I was so pleased to hear the cheers.

I read my speech perfectly because I was so delighted.

What a happy day that was!

O
LD
A
UNT
A
UGUSTA
was dying. I had always been very sorry for her. Her lot had been even harder than that of the other sisters. At least Aunt Sophia had had her brief love affair from which a son had resulted, and I supposed that even a scandal was better than nothing happening at all. Aunt Augusta might have been quite clever if her father had allowed her to be. She could paint well and was quite a musician. She had actually composed in her youth, but her efforts had been scoffed at. Music was not a profession for ladies, said her father. Men like Handel did it so much better. Poor Aunt Augusta—always so gentle and loving—she had had no life outside waiting on her mother, filling snuff boxes and looking after dogs. And now she was dying.

She had always been fond of me and looked forward to my visits, so I went often.

It was no great surprise to us when she died.

Albert said I had tired myself visiting her. He was so concerned for me that he was going to take me to Claremont where we could live quietly for a while.

“No late nights,” he said. “Early to bed and in the freshness of the morning we will walk out under the trees and you will tell me how much more beautiful they seem to you now that you know a little—a
very little—about them. You were so very ignorant of such things, my dear, before I took you in hand.”

“I was ignorant of so much,” I muttered.

And he was pleased. That was the remark of a meek little wife who had forgotten for a while that she was a queen.

There were so many memories at Claremont. I could imagine I was right back in my childhood when I used to come here to see Uncle Leopold. How he had loved the place where he had lived with Charlotte! He was happily married now to dear Aunt Louise and he had his children of whom he was so proud. I wondered if he ever thought of Charlotte now and the child she had lost.

They were lazy days, walking a little, the dogs barking round us, a little music and chess in the evening, or perhaps Albert reading aloud to me.

“It is so good for you,” said Albert.

It was wonderful to be together alone…or almost. I thought a lot about Louisa Lewis, now dead. I hoped she was with Charlotte and her baby. How Louisa had adored Charlotte! She had loved me too. But Charlotte had been her very special one. I could only be a second.

I used to go to Charlotte's bedroom—that one Louisa had kept as a sacred shrine, just as it had been when Charlotte had slept—and died— there.

Dear Charlotte, bouncing her merry way through life. “Right up to the last,” Louisa had said. “You would never have dreamed…”

I could not get Charlotte out of my mind. I was becoming fanciful. It was due to my condition, I supposed. I imagined Charlotte was there, watching me, her merry eyes suddenly sad.

How similar our positions were! So much hung on her getting an heir…as it did with me. She had merely been heiress to the throne. I was the Queen. But old Uncle George had scarcely been in the best of health even then and the heir to the throne was most important. And she had died… her baby with her.

Childbearing was so hazardous.

A terrible fear came to me. I thought: It is going to be the same with me. History is going to repeat itself.

I became obsessed with the idea. I would have my baby at Claremont. I would die…as Charlotte had died.

I considered having Charlotte's bedroom, Charlotte's death chamber, redecorated… made in readiness for me.

I cannot think what came over me. I was usually so full of life, so
eager to enjoy it. I had everything to live for. Why did I have those morbid thoughts? Sheer panic, I supposed.

Where such ideas would have led me, I do not know, but for the good sense of Albert.

One day when I sat in Charlotte's room I heard a noise outside. I whispered, “Charlotte…”

The door handle turned slowly. It is an indication of the state I was in that I expected to see her there.

It was Albert who came in. “My love, you look startled. What are you doing here?”

“Oh Albert.” I ran into his outstretched arms.

“What ails you? Why are you sitting here alone?”

“I was thinking of Charlotte. She died in this room.”

He was looking at me in horror.

“She was well before …” I went on. “They were all surprised. It is a terrible ordeal. Albert, I am frightened.”

He comforted me and quickly led me out of the room.

He said, “You will not go there alone again. If you want to go there, I shall go with you.”

I don't know why I found such relief in those words. I felt it meant that whatever happened, we would be together.

He took me into our bright sunny bedroom.

“There is nothing to fear,” he said.

I shook my head. “Childbearing is dangerous,” I said. “People die.”

“Not you. Not the Queen.”

I laughed. “Oh Albert, I can be a little arrogant sometimes.”

He did not deny it, but stroked my cheeks.

“All will be well,” he said. “There is nothing to fear. You will be well…I shall be here beside you.”

“Oh yes, Albert.”

“And always shall be. Do you not know that I am always right?”

I smiled. “Yes, Albert,” I said.

“Then I will tell you something. Tomorrow we are leaving Claremont.”

“Yes, Albert,” I said again and felt floods of relief coming over me.

Albert was looking after me. All would be well.

T
HE
B
IRTH
W
AS
due in December, but in November, three weeks before the appointed time, my pains began. Fortunately the doctors, the
midwife, Mrs. Lilly, with the nurse, were in the Palace in readiness. Sir James Clark was one of them. Poor Sir James, he had never quite recovered from the Flora Hastings scandal. There were two others with him— Dr. Locock and Dr. Blagdon. Albert, who felt that a German doctor must be more efficient than English ones, had insisted that Dr. Stockmar hold himself in readiness in case he should be needed.

I had dreaded the ordeal—and not without reason. I suffered acutely for twelve hours and never never again did I want to go through such an ordeal. All the time I was conscious that waiting in the room next to the lying-in chamber were several members of the government, including Lord Melbourne, Lord Palmerston, and the Archbishop of Canterbury. I felt that was most undignified. At least it helped me in some way to resist my impulse to scream aloud in my agony.

Everything must come to an end and I thanked God when that did and I could lie back, quite exhausted, and listen to the crying of the child.

Albert was beside me.

“A perfect child,” he said.

“A prince?”

“No,
Liebchen
, a little girl.”

“Oh.”

“It is wonderful,” said Albert. “This little girl could be the Queen of England.”

They put the child in my arms. I am afraid I was not maternal and my first thought was: What an ugly little creature! for she resembled nothing so much as a little frog.

Albert did not think so. He kept saying she was perfect.

What a comfort he was!

Mrs. Lilly was bustling about, taking a proprietorial attitude about the child as though she had produced it; and when I was rested I received one or two people, including Lord Melbourne. He looked at me, with tears in his eyes, and said, “God bless you, Ma'am…you and the child.”

I found that very moving.

Mama came. She was so different from what she had been in the old days. She was so anxious to be part of the family. I began to think I had been rather hard on her. She adored Albert; she thought he was quite wonderful, and this endeared her to me. Of course, Albert had been responsible for bringing her back into the household so naturally she thought a great deal of him. He was, also, of her family and they understood each other, for Mama had never reconciled herself to the English
any more than they had to her. I suppose she felt that Albert was like one of her very own family. In any case, I was pleased to see amity between them; and I was not averse to forgetting the enmity of the past. Besides, my being on better terms with Mama pleased Albert.

Albert wanted the child named Victoria—after me; and as that was also Mama's name, she could believe the little girl was named after her.

I wanted to add Adelaide, after my very good friend the Queen Dowager who loved all children—particularly so because, poor lady, she had none of her own. I knew that would delight her and show her that I remembered her kindnesses to me during my childhood. So it was Victoria Adelaide and to that we added Mary Louisa.

I recovered quickly. The baby changed every day, losing that frog-like look and becoming more like a human being. We engaged a wet nurse— a very pleasant creature, a Mrs. Southey who was the sister-in-law of the well-known poet. I made a point of seeing the child twice a day to make sure that all was well with her.

I had many congratulations from all sides but one from Uncle Leopold irritated me a little: