Victoria Victorious: The Story of Queen Victoria (37 page)

“But Albert is good in all ways. You know about his brother Ernest?”

Lord Melbourne nodded. “The entire Court is aware of the Prince's predicament.”

“How different from my dear Albert! Do you know, Lord M, he is not in the least interested in other women—his only wish is to dance with me.”

“He has one other wish, I think; and that is for the ball to be over at the earliest possible moment.”

I laughed. “He gets very tired at balls. He thinks they are a waste of time and keep people up, making them not as fresh as they should be in the morning.”

“He certainly puts us all to shame.”

“That is what I feel. And when I compare him with other men…”

“They suffer in comparison. I would say
that
is a very happy state of affairs. Do not worry about his lack of interest in women. It often happens that when men are not interested in the opposite sex in their youth, they make up for it in middle age.”

I stared at him and then I saw that he was teasing again.

“Actually,” I said, “I would not like Albert to be anything but what he is. Albert is an angel.”

“Even angels like to have some occupation.”

“What do you mean?”

Lord Melbourne looked at me quizzically. I know now, even more than I did then, what a good friend he was to me. He was so worldly-wise that he understood the position between me and Albert better than I did myself. He knew that Albert was restive, that he had been thrust into a
position which would have been trying to all but the most spineless of men—the Queen's consort, the Queen's lapdog. It was a position that gave him no power at all to be himself.

Lord Melbourne's mood had changed. He was serious.

He said, “The Prince is a very able man. Perhaps he would be pleased if you talked to him more.”

“I talk to him all the time.”

“I mean about affairs… the country's business. I think you might find that he could give you valuable help. At the moment he has too little to do. That can be very irksome to an energetic man.”

“I thought of that, so I have asked him to help me when I sign documents. He always blots them for me.”

Lord Melbourne smiled. “I think his abilities could be put to better use.”

“I still feel angry that he should have met and talked with that odious Peel.”

“It is not a bad thing that he should become acquainted with politicians.”

“That man!” I felt my anger rising again.

“Your Majesty will forgive me. You have taken a hearty dislike to Sir Robert Peel. I feel sure that if you knew him you would change your mind. The manner in which he points his toes does not prevent him from being a very able statesman.”

“Lord Melbourne, I do not wish to speak of Sir Robert Peel.”

He bowed his head. Then he said, “Think about it. I am sure you will find the Prince very happy to talk over affairs with you.”

Dear Lord Melbourne! How farsighted he was!

“Now, Ma'am, there is a little favor I would ask of you. I should be happy if you would receive an old friend of mine.”

“My dear Lord M, any friend of yours is welcome at Court. Who is this friend?”

“It is Mrs. Caroline Norton.”

I was quite excited. This was the lady who had appeared in a scandal involving Lord Melbourne.

“She was much maligned,” said Lord M.

“My dear friend, I shall be delighted to receive her.”

Lord Melbourne kissed my hand.

I W
AS INDEED
interested to meet Mrs. Norton. I found her very attractive with magnificent dark eyes which seemed to glow with an inner radiance; her features were set in a classical mold and her skin was smooth and dark. She talked rather much but she was very interesting and I was sure very clever for she was a poet of some renown. I was delighted to talk to her because of her past and I wondered how much Lord Melbourne had cared for her.

Afterward Lord Melbourne told me that Mrs. Norton had found me gracious and very attractive, delightful, warm-hearted, and essentially good.

“And I agree wholeheartedly with Mrs. Norton's diagnosis,” said Lord Melbourne. “Your Majesty's gracious kindness is an example to us all.”

“That makes me feel very happy because I am constantly comparing myself with Albert and I often feel very uneasy confronted by such saintliness.”

“Oh there is goodness and goodness,” said Lord Melbourne, “and sometimes the least obvious is the best.”

My reception of Caroline Norton resulted in another little storm with Albert.

“Was it necessary,” he asked, “to receive that woman?”

“You mean Mrs. Caroline Norton? Yes, indeed it was necessary—as well as pleasant—because she is a very old acquaintance of one of my very dearest friends.”

“I should have thought he would have been eager to put all that behind him.”

“Lord Melbourne would never put an old friend behind him. I believe him to be a very faithful man.”

“He cannot wish that unfortunate episode to be remembered.”

“I don't think it concerns him in the least. He has never attempted to hide his past.”

“I believe the lady's husband brought a case against Lord Melbourne for seducing his wife.”

“That is true. The husband was supported by the Tories who—vile creatures—saw an opportunity of creating a scandal against the Whigs. The case was decided in favor of Lord Melbourne and Mrs. Norton; and the husband was proved to be a very poor creature indeed.”

“Even so, people who have been involved in unsavory cases do the country no good.”

“But if they are innocent?”

“They cannot be completely innocent. Otherwise they would not have been involved.”

“I do not agree with that. I think innocent people can be caught up in these matters. Do you know that Mrs. Norton is the granddaughter of Sheridan, the playwright. She is a gifted poet, an artist, and a musician. I thought they were the kind of people you wanted to introduce into the Court.”

“Not if their morals make them unworthy.”

“Oh, Albert, you ask too much.”

“I only ask that they live respectably.”

“How can you expect everyone to be like you?”

“I expect a certain morality.”

“
I
believe in forgiveness.”

“Forgiveness, yes. But such incidents cannot be forgotten. If they are, we shall have people thinking that they can indulge in them and be forgiven and forgetfulness will follow as a matter of course. But it seems that my opinions are of no moment.”

“That is unfair!”

“It is a fact. What do I do? I am called on when it pleases you to want a little light amusement. I am shut out while you have those long and I gather often hilarious conferences with your Prime Minister, whose reputation is not of the highest and who is allowed to bring those connected with his shady past into the Court to be received most graciously by the Queen.”

I stood up, my temper rising.

“Albert,” I said, “I will not have anyone—not even you—speak like that of Lord Melbourne.”

In spite of my temper—and perhaps when it was at its height—I could be very cold, very regal, and because I was so short and that was such a disadvantage, I became more royal than I should have had I been a few inches taller.

Albert stood up, bowed and murmured, “Your Majesty will excuse me.”

And before I could protest he had reached the door. “Albert,” I called. “Come back. I am in the middle of a conversation.”

There was no answer; he had gone.

I was very angry. First, because of what he had said about Lord Melbourne, and second because he had walked out while I was talking to him and ignored my command for him to return.

I loved Albert. But he must remember that I was the Queen. It is very
hard to be involved in a relationship like ours and for the female in the partnership to be the one who is predominant. I realized that few men would care for such a position, for it is a trait of the masculine character that most men can only be content when they are the dominant one. Albert was essentially masculine. They could jeer at what the Press called his pretty looks, but he was every inch a man.

Still he must accept the fact that
I
was the Queen.

My anger seething, I went to his dressing room.

“Albert,” I called. “I want to speak to you.”

There was no answer. Albert was refusing to obey me. What was he proposing to do? Was he dressing to go riding or walking … without me?

I saw the key was in the lock outside the door. I went to it and with a vicious gesture turned it. There! Now he was locked in.

I sat down to wait. Soon he must plead to come out, and then I would make him talk. I would tell him that he must not walk away when I was speaking to him. He must not think he could treat me as though I were an ordinary German wife. I was the Queen of England.

I waited. Nothing happened.

The time was ticking away. Ten minutes passed. Fifteen minutes. It was too much. My fury disappeared almost as quickly as it came and it was leaving me wretched. I began to see that I had been hasty. I did not agree with Albert about Caroline Norton, but I should, all the same, respect his opinion. I was lax. I belonged to a family that had never really had a high regard for morals. The uncles were notoriously scandalous. My grandfather had been a good man, but as they said, he was mad.

Albert was very good and very sane. I must learn to control my anger. I must listen to Albert. I felt miserable. I wanted to be forgiven.

Albert was right. Of course Albert was right. I could wait no longer. I turned the key.

“Albert,” I said.

“Come in,” he replied calmly.

I went in and gasped. He was not in the least upset. He was seated at the window sketching.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

He held up the sketch. “It struck me that it was a rather delightful scene from the window,” he said.

I looked at it. So all the time I had been sitting out there—angry, waiting—he had been sketching!

He was looking at me with that tender exasperation which I knew so well.

“Do you like it?” he asked.

“It's very good.”

“I was going to give it to you when it was finished—a reminder of the day you locked me in my dressing room.”

“Oh, Albert,” I cried, almost in tears, “how good you are! How calm! How wonderful!”

“Liebchen…,”
He always lapsed into German when he was most tender, “do not be sad. It is all over.”

“I lost my temper.”

“Well? Is that so unusual?”

“I should not, Albert. I know I should not. But it overflows.”

“You have so much feeling…so much love…so much hate.”

“I have much love for you, Albert.”

“I know, little one,” he said.

“Then why do I do this?”

“Because you are…Victoria.”

“I am so sorry, Albert. Do forgive me.”

“You are my dear little wife.”

“Oh, Albert, then all is well.”

So we kissed and another little storm had blown over. But of course in the perfect married life there would have been no storms.

E
RNEST HAD RECOVERED
from his indisposition and had now left us.

Albert took a very painful farewell of his brother and was very sad at the parting.

Ernest was a self-evident libertine and yet that had not diminished Albert's love for him; the same thing applied to his father; and Albert's grief at parting from them had been so great that it had angered me.

It seemed to me that the Coburgs, my mother's relations, were every bit as immoral as my father's. I was on the point of taking this up with Albert since he had been so very censorious about Lord Melbourne, but I restrained myself—admirably I thought—for I guessed it would provoke another storm.

Albert was very melancholy in the days following his brother's departure and he spent a good deal of time with Anson and Stockmar. They
went out together and I wondered whether Albert was renewing his acquaintance with Sir Robert Peel.

I knew that he was studying politics and history—particularly that of England. He told me he found it quite fascinating and he was almost wistful about it.

Albert was being very careful in what he said. I was sure he hated those storms as much as I did. My twenty-first birthday was approaching and I was now two months pregnant. I felt slightly less discomfort in some ways but I was beginning to feel very tired. What I had always thought was being borne out. Childbearing was a very unattractive— though necessary, I admitted—part of marriage.

My spirits were always lifted by my conferences with Lord Melbourne, and when I found state matters a trifle boring he would always switch to gossip. He usually had some anecdote to bring out for my amusement… either some present scandal or one from the past. I always said I learned more of my ancestors from Lord Melbourne's stories than I did from the history books.

There were still ribald cartoons about us and sly hints in the Press.

“Don't look at them,” was Lord Melbourne's advice.

I refused to receive the Cambridges at Court as the Duchess had not stood up when Albert's toast was drunk, and one day Albert was at a function given by Queen Adelaide. I did not go. I was feeling very tired and uncomfortable and Lehzen had said it could be dangerous to exert myself. I gave in to her persuasions and as we had agreed to go, Albert reluctantly went alone.