Nineteenth Century Bad Boys Part III: The King of Bad Boys

The nineteenth century had some pretty memorable bad boys. Appropriately enough, the king of them all was, in fact, a king--Albert Edward (called Bertie by his family), who reigned in the United Kingdom from 1901 to 1911 as Edward VII. I mean, when a recent biography of his earlier years is titled Edward the Caresser (subtitled “The Playboy Prince Who Became Edward VII”, by Stanley Weintraub, The Free Press, 2001) you KNOW he must have been one very Bad Boy indeed.

It seems at first glance ironic that the uber-bad boy of the century should have been the eldest son of Queen Victoria, who remains such a symbol of prudishness to this day. But don’t forget what we discussed in some of the earlier posts here--that in her first two years as queen, Victoria was a total party princess like many of her Hanoverian forebears, dancing at balls till sunrise every chance she could. It wasn't until she married Prince Albert of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, who hated staying up much later than 9:30 pm, that she changed her ways.

Bad Boy Bertie was born November 9, 1841, eleven months after his sister Vicky and not even two years after his parents married. Of course the country went wild at the thought of having a male heir (there were still sinister rumors circulating that the Duke of Cumberland, Victoria’s uncle, was plotting against her to seize the throne if she had no heirs). As befitted the heir to the most powerful nation in the world, little Bertie’s upbringing and education were planned down to microscopic levels by his parents, who were determined to make a paragon of the future king.

Unfortunately, Bertie had other ideas. He was probably dyslexic and had other learning disabilities which made sitting down and learning for hours each day totally hellish…and which earned him punishments and stern lectures from mom and dad. He was also rather homely--weak-chinned, short, and with over-prominent eyes--taking after his mother rather than his handsome father (much to Victoria’s dismay). Had he been born the son of a country squire, none of this would have much mattered…but his parents’ extreme expectations of him meant that poor Bertie was never good enough.

So Bertie was crammed with everything from mathematics to military and legal history, showing proficiency (and then not much) only in foreign languages and dancing and deportment. As his father wrote of him, "Bertie has a remarkable social talent.... But usually his intellect is of no more use than a pistol packed in the bottom of a trunk if one were attacked in the robber-infested Apennines." Nevertheless, he was sent on trips around Europe and then to be lectured at at Oxford University. A tour of America was shoehorned in, where he was mobbed in an eerily modern media frenzy, as well as a stint in the Grenadier Guards training camp where over the course of 10 weeks he was to learn the duties of every position and end up by theoreticlly having the competence to command a battalion and manoeuvre a brigade in the field.

Pretty crazy expectations, huh? And of course Bertie failed miserably...but during his weeks in the army he discovered the delights of female companionship in the form of a prostitute named Nellie Clifden. Nellie was to be the first of a long (very long!) line of the Prince's "special friends", which would include the famous actress Sarah Berhardt and dozens of other actresses and opera singers as well as members of the nobility and the wives of his friends.

Unfortunately for Bertie, the discovery of his liaison with Nellie sent his father into a depression and, already plagued by poor health and overwork, Prince Albert died at age 42. Victoria blamed Bertie for Albert's death and decided that the best thing to do was marry him off and remove temptation (she thought)...so Bertie was duly married at age 21 to the beautiful but vacant Alexandra of Denmark. They became the center of the "Marlborough House set", a hard-partying group of aristocrats named after Bertie's London home.

I could go on at length about the scandals Bertie went on to be embroiled in, including being named as co-respondent in a few divorce trials and more...but honestly, it really does take a book to describe them all. Despite his weaknesses, though, Bertie remained a fundamentally decent person who was notably free of social prejudice (his friendship with several prominent Jewish families and with non-aristocrats helped break down several social barriers in late 19th and early 20th British society). It's interesting to speculate how he might have turned out if his early education and upbringing had been different.

We Have a Winnah!

Thanks to all those who guessed where I was standing so proudly in London. The correct answer was the gentlemen's club, Boodles, on St. James's. I actually thought it was White's at the time, but then I saw White's.

And the winner of the autographed copy of La Petite Four is Gillian Layne! Gillian, e-mail me at reginascott@owt.com and let me know where I should send the book.

Have fun with Marissa for the rest of the month. I'll pop in when I can and be back at the helm in August. And speaking of helm, here's one of the reasons I wasn't blogging last week. The tall ships were in my hometown of Tacoma. Watching them come sailing into harbor was a swoon-worthy sight indeed! This is the Lady Washington, which was featured in all three Pirates of the Carribean movies, setting out into Commencement Bay with the Merrie Ellen and a replica of the Nina in the foreground. Enjoy!

Even More Such Language!

I had so much fun finding these that I'm doing more!

Caper Merchant: A dancing teacher (also hop merchant). (“Did you hear that Araminta Smithers ran away with her dancing teacher? Papa says that’s what happens when you let a caper merchant into the house.”)

Detrimental: A non-socially eligible young man--someone who would give your parents a stroke if he asked for your hand in marriage. (“Were you at the McGillicuddy’s ball last night? My dear, it was simply crawling with detrimentals…I barely found anyone at all worthwhile to dance with!”)

Kickshaws: French food, usually of a dainty or fussy nature…from the French “quelque chose” (“Oh, Lady Hart’s dinner last night was divine! She told us she had just hired a French cook and I was so embarrassed when Papa loudly grumbled something about kickshaws kicking up his indigestion that I simply wanted to melt into the table.”)

Squash: A party one attends because one must, not because one wants to. (“Dearest Petunia, I’d love to come to your party but I must attend my Aunt Agatha’s squash…can you believe she’s hired someone to sing the songs in ancient Greek that Uncle Mortimer composed on the death of his pet parrot?”)

On Saint Geoffrey’s Day: A facetious way of saying “never”, as there was no St. Geoffrey and therefore no day observed in his honor. (“I’ll give a waltz to that ghastly Sir Hugh on Saint Geoffrey’s Day and not a minute before!”)

Mrs. Princum Prancum: A fussy, fastidious woman. (“Lady Obadiah is such a Mrs. Princum Prancum--why, she insisted upon precisely one and three-eighths teaspoons of sugar in her tea this afternoon when she called on Mama!”)

Where in London is Regina Scott?

Oh, I only wish I really was in London. I'm actually off visiting family with limited e-mail capabilities, so Marissa is posting this for me. But we have a new contest for you. Yes, you can win an autographed copy of La Petite Four, just in time for its original release date of July 3 (before it was moved up, you know).

All you have to do is guess where I am in this picture. Specifically, what was that building behind me in the nineteenth century, that it got my wonderful critique partner Kristin and me so excited we shot the place three times with her camera and twice with mine? I'm looking for the name of the place, not the actual address. If a number of you guess correctly, your names will go in the Regency hat box on my desk and the winner's name will be drawn at random.

And if you discover the name of the building somewhere online, please don't tell others where you learned the information. Let them have the fun of winkling it out. (Yes, winkle. I watched the Emma Thompson version of Sense and Sensibility again last weekend. What a lovely word, winkle, meaning to coerce information out of another person, usually by gentle means. Though I don't think I'd like someone to try to winkle out all my secrets, mind you!)

Winkle away, my dears. I'll check back the week of the 7th and see who won.

More Such Language!

Summer’s here! After this week, Nineteenteen will be appearing on a slightly reduced schedule for the months of July and August: Regina will take most of July off, and I’ll be taking most of August off--so posts will appear once a week rather than twice. We’ll be back to our regular twice weekly posting schedule on September 1…and in the meanwhile, have a lovely summer!

Speaking of September…last fall Regina did a wonderfully entertaining post on nineteenth century slang, and I thought you might like to learn more from time to time. Have fun with these!

Mushroom: No, not something you sauté to put on top of a burger…a mushroom was a person or family suddenly raised to wealth and prominence from humble origins--just as a mushroom can spring up overnight. (“That Lady Smallbeer may be a mushroom--no one knew her at all last season before her husband was knighted--but she has the loveliest smile.”)

Cut: To publicly snub someone--a term that seems to have originated at Cambridge University. I’ll quote here from the 1811 Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue because the definition is so wonderful:
“(Cambridge.) To renounce acquaintance with any one is to cut him. There are several species of the CUT. Such as the cut direct, the cut indirect, the cut sublime, the cut infernal, &c. The cut direct, is to start across the street, at the approach of the obnoxious person in order to avoid him. The cut indirect, is to look another way, and pass without appearing to observe him. The cut sublime, is to admire the top of King’s College Chapel, or the beauty of the passing clouds, till he is out of sight. The cut infernal, is to examine the arrangement of your shoe-strings, for the same purpose.”

Sing Small: To be humbled or abashed. (“That mean Miss Hornby! Did you see how she cut Lady Smallbeer? I expect she’ll sing small when it comes out that her Papa used to be in trade himself.”)

Roaratorios and Uproars: Slang for oratorios and operas. (“Darling Primrose, thank you so much for inviting me to hear Dame Rigatoni sing…Papa simply can’t be convinced to take us to Covent Garden and refuses to be dragged to listen to roaratorios and uproars.”)

Cap Acquaintance: People who know each other only slightly, enough to acknowledge each other in passing with a tip or touch to their hats. (“Did you see that handsome Mr. Roberts riding in Hyde Park this morning? I must convince Papa to call on him so that he can be more than just a cap acquaintance.”)

Dearly Beloved

“Oh they say when you marry in June
You’re a bride, all your life.
And the bridegroom who marries in June
Gets a sweetheart for a wife.”
Johnny Mercer and Gene de Paul, Seven Brides for Seven Brothers

The song isn’t exactly nineteenth century, though the setting was 1850 Oregon, but the sentiment still rings true. June is the time for weddings!

A young lady in nineteenth century England could be married as early as twelve and a young man as young as fifteen, with parental permission. Thankfully, usually only royalty married that young and then only to cement friendships between countries or ensure royal bloodlines would be kept intact. The age of consent, when you could marry without parental permission, was twenty-one for women and twenty-five for men.

Most girls married somewhere between sixteen and twenty-five. How they married differed greatly from the beginning of the century to the end. Before Marissa’s beloved Queen Vic, weddings were in the morning (before noon), and more often in the home or garden of the bride, groom, or a relative than in a church. Wedding dresses weren’t necessarily white or very fancy; they were simply stylish day dresses. And the only attendants needed to be two people in good standing in the Church of England to witness the exchange of vows.

During Queen Victoria’s reign, weddings became more elaborate affairs, with bridesmaids, groomsmen, flower girls, ring bearers, and the like parading down the aisle. The gorgeous white dresses came into fashion and never left. They too grew more bejeweled, reribboned, and bedecked with the passing years, as you can see by our progression of pictures.

And speaking of weddings, today happens to be Marissa’s wedding anniversary! Join me in wishing her and her dear one a very happy day! Blessings on you, my dears! Here’s to many, many more!

P.S. Stop by the Class of 2K8 blog where we've been interviewing YA and MG book reviewers, with an opportunity to win a book on each post (We're giving away 11 book in all!). Leave comments before June 29th to be entered.

P.S.S. If you find yourself misty eyed at the thought of June brides, check out my June release from Regency Reads, Be My Bride, a collection of three stories in which three dashing gentlemen find that it takes a small black kitten, three incorrigible boys, and a master French spy to win their lady loves.

One Hundred and Seventy One Years Ago This Week...

"Tuesday, 20th June.-- I was awoke at 6 o’clock by Mamma, who told me that the Archbishop of Canterbury and Lord Conyngham were here, and wished to see me. I got out of bed and went into my sitting-room (only in my dressing-gown), and alone, and saw them. Lord Conyngham (the Lord Chamberlain) then acquainted me that my poor Uncle, the King, was no more, and had expired at 12 minutes p. 2 this morning, and consequently that I am Queen. Lord Conyngham knelt down and kissed my hand, at the same time delivering to me the official announcement of the poor King's demise. The Archbishop then told me that the Queen was desirous that he should come and tell me the details of the last moments of my poor, good Uncle; he said that he had directed his mind to religion, and had died in a perfectly happy, quiet state of mind, and was quite prepared for his death. He added that the King's sufferings at the last were not very great but that there was a good deal of uneasiness. Lord Conyngham, whom I charged to express my feelings of condolence and sorrow to the poor Queen, returned directly to Windsor. I then went to my room and dressed.

"Since it has pleased Providence to place me in this station, I shall do my utmost to fulfil my duty towards my country; I am very young and perhaps in many, though not in all things, inexperienced, but I am sure, that very few have more real good will and more real desire to do what is fit and right than I have.

"Breakfasted, during which time good faithful Stockmar came and talked to me. Wrote a letter to dear Uncle Leopold and a few words to dear good Feodore. Received a letter from Lord Melbourne in which he said he would wait upon me at a little before 9. At 9 came Lord Melbourne, whom I saw in my room, and of COURSE quite ALONE as I shall always do all my Ministers. He kissed my hand and I then acquainted him that it had long been my intention to retain him and the rest of the present Ministry at the head of affairs, and that it could not be in better hands than his. He then again kissed my hand. He then read to me the Declaration which I was to read to the Council, which he wrote himself and which is a very fine one. I then talked with him some little longer time after which he left me. He was in full dress. I like him very much and feel confidence in him. He is a very straightforward, honest, clever and good man. I then wrote a letter to the Queen. At about 11 Lord Melbourne came again to me and spoke to me upon various subjects. At about ½ p. 11 went downstairs and held a Council in the red saloon. I went in of course quite alone, and remained seated the whole time. My two Uncles, the Dukes of Cumberland and Sussex, and Lord Melbourne conducted me. The declaration, the various forms, the swearing in of the Privy Councillors of which there were a great number present, and the reception of some of the Lords of Council, previous to the Council in an adjacent room (likewise alone) I subjoin here. I was not at all nervous and had the satisfaction of hearing that people were satisfied with what I had done and how I had done it. Receiving after this, Audiences of Lord Melbourne, Lord John Russell, Lord Albemarle (Master of the Horse), and the Archbishop of Canterbury, all in my room and alone. Saw Stockmar. Saw Clark, whom I named my Physician. Saw Mary. Wrote to Uncle Ernest. Saw Ernest Hohenlohe who brought me a kind and very feeling letter from the poor Queen. I feel very much for her, and really feel that the poor good King was always so kind personally to me, that I should be ungrateful were I not to recollect it and feel grieved at his death. The poor Queen is wonderfully composed now, I hear. Wrote my journal. Took my dinner upstairs alone. Went downstairs. Saw Stockmar. At about 20 minutes to 9 came Lord Melbourne and remained till near 10. I had a very important and a very comfortable conversation with him. Each time I see him I feel more confidence in him ; I find him very kind in his manner too. Saw Stockmar. Went down and said good-night to Mamma &c. My dear Lehzen will ALWAYS remain with me as my friend but will take no situation about me, and I think she is right."

Queen Victoria went on to rule until 1901...the longest reign of any British monarch.