Victoria’s Children, Part 8: Leopold

Queen Victoria’s eighth child and fourth son came into the world at Buckingham Palace on April 7, 1853. After seven children, the Queen knew what to expect in childbirth, and she wasn't looking forward to it. So when her personal physician, Sir James Clark, made a radical suggestion, she was all for it—and so the Queen of England became an early adopter of chloroform to help ease the pain of childbirth. She was so delighted with the results that she publicly endorsed the drug’s use, much to the ire of the medical establishment of the time, which felt that pain in childbirth was divinely ordained. Her Majesty thought otherwise.

So it was with relative ease that Prince Leopold George Duncan Albert arrived in the royal family…perhaps the last time anything associated with his life would be easy. He was not an attractive child; and coming after handsome and sunny-natured Arthur, the Queen’s favorite, made his unattractiveness seem even worse. Fortunately, the two brothers loved each other dearly, and would be close all their lives.

But how long would that life be, in Leopold’s case? For not long after his second birthday, disturbing hints that his health was not good began to occur. Though it would be a few years before Leopold’s diagnosis would be confirmed, that year marked the appearance of symptoms of his hemophilia. Unfortunately, Leopold did not like to be coddled: despite his fragility he was an active, adventurous boy, which of course led to accidents. Something as small as a bruised knee could lay him up for weeks of agony and bed-rest, which would make anyone fractious and difficult to deal with. Moreover, he was intelligent (probably the cleverest of the royal sons) and liked to argue—which did not endear him to his mother.

Victoria was determined to keep her son more or less wrapped in cotton wool—a condition which Leopold gamely fought all his life, trying as hard as he could not to be an invalid despite his condition (which included, in addition to the hemophilia, occasional epileptic seizures). With his brothers’ help he fought to be allowed to attend Oxford, and though he wasn’t allowed to complete a full course of studies there, enjoyed a fair sample of university life and made many friends—including a certain Miss Alice Liddell, better known to the world as the heroine of Alice in Wonderland. He became a favorite uncle to his sister Alice’s children, and even visited his favorite sister Louise to tour North America while her husband served as Viceroy of Canada.

Leopold and his mother continued to rub each other the wrong way, but it didn’t keep Victoria from employing him as a private secretary, her interface with her ministers. Though the work eventually came to interest Leopold and he became especially good friends with Benjamin Disraeli, he wanted more from life than to be constantly at his mother’s beck and call, and again with the help of his brothers and sisters, convinced Victoria that he should be allowed to marry and live his own life apart from her. After a good deal of consideration (and, alas, some refusals from eligible princesses) he became engaged to Princess Helen of Waldeck-Pyrmont. They were married in 1882, just after Leopold’s 29th birthday, and though they were barely acquainted, quickly became devoted to each other. They had a daughter, Alice, in 1883, who incidentally was the longest lived of Victoria's’grandchildren, dying in 1981.

In March 1884, Leopold was visiting the south of France as he often did to escape England’s cold, damp winters. A slip on the tiled floor of the villa where he was staying led to a painfully bruised knee and more bed-rest…but this time, Leopold did not recover. He died in the night, whether due to an unknown deep hemorrhage, too much morphine, or an attack of epilepsy. His dear Helen gave birth to their second child, a son, four months later, who inherited his father’s title of Duke of Albany.

Thank You Very Much, Mr. Robot

We tend to think of robots as the stuff of science fiction, or, today, technology fact. You’ll even find a few stomping around the television channels this month, in honor of Halloween. But nineteenth century young ladies and gentlemen were no strangers to robots. They called them automata. Some of our Nineteenteen family (such as a young lady who’s written two books about a clockwork prince—cough, cough) have done extensive research on automata, so please chime in!

In some cases, automata were created as children’s toys, something to amuse the little ones. Watchmakers and music box makers hoping to make a little extra income put them together. Powered by wind-up clockwork, clowns did simple flips over ladders, birds sang from gilded cages. The masters of these trinkets lived in Germany and France, and the French Revolution took its toll on their customers. So, they turned to making ever more elaborate devices for grownup boys and girls, the royalty and nouveau riche of Europe.

Some of the automata developed in the eighteenth and nineteenth century are amazing! Gentlemen in gilded robes play flutes; copper ducks move about, swim in water, quack, and pretend to eat. The mechanical creatures wrote poetry, drew pictures, and waltzed together. One marvel, a present to Marie Antoinette, was a court lady who played the struck dulcimer, and her tiny head and eyes moved as she worked.

But just as Hollywood tends to make robots appear more intelligent and capable than they truly are, so too some automaton makers decided to show off their skills. A German gentleman created The Turk in 1770 to impress the Empress Maria Therese of Austria. The automaton was the size and shape of a man, sitting behind a chess set on top of a cabinet. You could take a seat opposite him and play a game. His arm moved pieces to counter yours, and if you tried to cheat, he would either wipe your pieces off the board or move the piece you’d cheated with back to its original place.

He tended to win, even supposedly beating Benjamin Franklin and Napoleon as the various owners took him on tours all over Europe, England, and America. Unfortunately, his abilities were all the product of a chess master hiding inside the gears. A sliding seat allowed the fellow to escape notice as the cabinet doors were opened. The truth was never fully revealed until after the machine’s destruction by fire, and some today still question the revelation.

Eat your hearts out, Disney Imagineers.

Fashion Forecast: 1823

What was the well-dressed young lady wearing in 1823?

This must be one of the sprightliest Ball Gowns of the decade, from the trim on the bodice and puff sleeves (it looks rather like ribbon embroidery) to the sheer overskirt edged with appliqué over a pink petticoat, finished with a sash in back. Just delightful! (Ackermann’s Repository, January):For a more sedate evening outing, she might wear this glowing red Evening Dress, with two rows of different trims around the hem and scalloped petal decoration on the sleeves and bodice. Notice also the satin-lined cloak…and if you look very carefully, you might be able to see that her elbow-length gloves are ruffle-edged! A very handsome outfit, from February’s Ackermann’s: I don’t know what’s more interesting in this print from the June edition of Ackermann’s Repository—the Carriage Dress, in blue with caped shoulders and what looks like giant frogging all down the front (and a confection of a gauze cap) or the view of the interior of a carriage! Note her quizzing glass at the ready, to examine passers-by: Here’s another sweet Ball Dress, also from June’s Ackermann’s. The sleeves are an interesting style, with long points of lace—that and the almost medieval-looking tiara and the princess-seamed bodice seem definite signs of the growing Gothic influence that was creeping in everywhere, from houses to furniture and clothing. And what a charming pose!This Ball Dress from July’s Ackermann’s is proof positive that young ladies of fashion required lady’s maids: the decoration on the sleeves, down the front, and around the hem is made up of tiny pockets of white satin, into EACH of which a small China rose and cluster of leaves has been placed. I wonder if her maid went with her to balls, to replenish any roses that fell out during the dance sets? Notice again also the ruffled edge on her gloves….and the rather, um, novel headdress which reminds me of olives on toothpicks—a style that seemed to be big this year, as it appears in more than one Ackermann’s print from 1823: This Morning Dress from the September issue of Ackermann’s looks almost like a more restrained version of the Carriage Dress above…but what an amazingly trimmed bonnet lies on the table! Note also her hair, with a coronet of braids in back--again, the Gothic influence--married with flirty ringlets in front: I love these prints of Head Dresses that appear on occasion in Ackermann’s…particularly the curious turban-like hat at upper left and the elegant, mannish riding hat with lace veil at lower left (Ackermann’s Repository, November): I just love this last print, for several reasons. The Full Dress is very handsome, in a vibrant cherry-red with gold appliqué on the bodice, sleeves, and hem (and by the way, notice that waistlines have crept slightly downward this year). I wish I knew whether the dots on the fabric are embroidered on or woven in, though. Her accessories—the lace shawl, fanciful turban, and peacock feather fan—are striking and handsome. But the most amusing part is that the artist seems to have had a momentary lapse of attention and has given his poor model two right feet…either that, or her knees are remarkably flexible! (Ackermann's Repository, December)What do you think of 1823’s fashions?

Birds of a Feather Hate Fall

Fall is officially here! And if you were a young gentleman in nineteenth century England, you knew exactly how you intended to spend it. Ladies might have their Seasons in London, with shopping and balls and similar folderol, but any young man worth his salt knew that September marked the heart of shooting season.

Yes, shooting season. A gentleman shot birds and hare, and hunted fox. And they could hardly wait for the Season to be over so they could start! The Game Act of 1831 allowed for some shooting starting on August 12 (or 13, if the 12th was a Sunday). But by the first of October, black grouse, red grouse, ducks, pheasant, partridge, bustard, and woodcock were all in season. (Bustard was a new one for me; I had to look it up. But then I learned why the name wasn’t familiar from my previous research. The last bustard in England was apparently killed in a shoot in 1832!)

During the early part of the century, it was common for a gentleman and a few friends to set off in the morning with a well-trained dog running alongside and see if they could hunt up a few pheasant or partridge to bring home for dinner. The crisp fall air, the manly companionship, guns that belched smoke and made a loud BANG—ah, what more could a fellow ask! As the century wore on, however, shooting parties grew in size and length. Friends traveled for miles to reach your grouse moor (an estate in Scotland) or country estate and might spend a fortnight with you, partying inside between rounds of shooting outside. Ladies even came out at luncheon for picnics while the men boasted of their achievements. Wealthy lords hired beaters to chase the game toward a row of their fellow guests holding guns and even draped nets in the air to keep the birds from getting away. After everyone had finished pulling the trigger, repeatedly, other hired help called pickers-up rushed out to clean up the carcasses.

The numbers shot were staggering. According to some accounts, a single marksman could bag as many as 2,500 birds in a fortnight’s shooting party. One enterprising gentleman is said to have shot more than 300,000 birds over his 33-year career. Small wonder there are no more bustards in England!

The gentlemen shooters must have realized they were having an impact as well, for more and more of them began actively stocking and breeding gamebirds like pheasants and duck on their estates. Estate managers made sure to keep wooded areas healthy for the birds, and gamekeepers went out of their way to exterminate any predators, like fox and magpies, that might harm the young birds. All this effort helped the shooting party maintain a hold on English society well into the twentieth century.

But if I was a bird, I’d hate fall!

Michaelmas

If you’ve read much historical fiction set in Great Britain, you may have run across the word Michaelmas—there’s Michaelmas term at Oxford and Cambridge (and Eton, for that matter), and Michaelmas fairs, and Michaelmas geese…so just what is Michaelmas?

Michaelmas, celebrated on September 29, is the feast day of St. Michael the Archangel, Captain of the Heavenly Host, who in the New Testament was responsible for booting Lucifer out of Heaven. St. Michael is the patron saint of soldiers, for obvious reasons.

His feast day became significant for several reasons—St. Michael an important figure in the heavenly hierarchy of the old (Roman Catholic) faith that was observed in England till the Reformation. But timing is also important here: his feast day here at the end of September more or less coincides with the autumnal equinox, the end of summer and beginning of fall and the three-quarter point of the year, and so became a Quarter Day, when rents and other quarterly payments were due. In case you were wondering, the others were Christmas Day on December 25, Lady Day (also known as the Feast of the Annunciation) on March 25, and St. John’s Day on June 24.

Several other autumn-related phenomenon eventually took on the Michaelmas name. Geese were often fattened on the leftover stalks in the field after the grain had been harvested, then driven to fairs to be sold before winter set in, so a “stubble” goose was a common Michaelmas dish. It was also common for farm laborers to seek new masters at those same post-harvest autumn fairs. And the start of the autumn term in both school (Oxford and Cambridge, as mentioned above) and the court system borrowed their name from St. Michael’s feast day. Fall-blooming asters are sometimes known as Michaelmas daisies.

And then there are blackberries. According to legend, it is very unlucky to eat blackberries after Michaelmas Day, because when Lucifer was cast from heaven, he landed in a blackberry bush…and supposedly returns each year on his nemesis’s feast day to curse and spit upon them!

And just in case you thought we’d forgotten…the winner of a copy of M.J. Putney’s new release, Dark Passage, drawn from last week's commenters, is Mirka Breen! Mirka, please email me via the contact form on my website so I can get your mailing address. And thanks, everyone, for welcoming M.J. last week. We'll be having another author guest next month, so stayed tuned!

Nineteenteen Welcomes M.J. Putney!

On Tuesday we got to chat with Lady Cynthia Stanton, from M.J. Putney's Dark Mirror series...today, we get to talk to M.J. herself!

Nineteenteen: Most of your books are set in the nineteenth century. What draws you to that era?

M.J. Putney: The early 19th century, which in England is usually called the Regency because a chunk of it was during the period when George III was bonkers and his son ruled in his place as the Prince Regent, is just a really, really interesting time. It’s the hinge between the old days and our modern society. Industrialization and democracy and social reform were starting to take off, there was a “good war” as Britain and others fought Napoleon Bonaparte’s absolutism, there was the romantic revolution in arts and letters—and women’s clothing was relatively comfortable.

NTT: How much research do you generally have to do before you start writing a particular book?

MJP: The amount of research varies a lot depending on the story. Having written 30+ historical novels, most of them in the Regency, I have a strong base of knowledge of the period, but there are always particular topics that require extra research.

My first YA, Dark Mirror, required enormous amounts of research—not the 19th century, but the WWII part of the book. In particularly, during the grand action finale at Dunkirk, there were masses of materials that I needed to research in order to have my characters fit in with the historical event as it happened.

In contrast, the second YA, Dark Passage, which just came out, required much less research because it’s built around my characters attempting to rescue a scientist from Nazi-occupied France. There were aspects of the story that required research, but the mission itself was fictional so it didn’t need the same kind of detail that Dark Mirror did.

NTT: You've won the Rita award, the highest honor in romantic fiction, twice, been nominated eight other times, and placed on the New York Times bestseller list for your adult historical romances. What encouraged you to try your hand at young adult fiction?

MJP: It’s all about the story. I love blending fantasy and magic with history, and YA is where I could tell these kinds of stories. Unlike my romances, where the growing relationship is the heart of the story, my YAs are stories of adventure and growth and history. There is some romance, but the romance isn’t the focus. Plus, I’m working with continuing characters rather than focusing on a new couple in each book. It’s and interesting challenge. The Muse likes to try her hand at new things!

NTT: What do you like about writing for teens? How does it differ from writing for adults?

MJP: I’ve always been interested in the psychology of my characters, and since teens are growing in so many ways, they’re intriguing to write about. Also, the focus of a YA is different from a romance—growth rather than courtship—and I like the change of pace.

NTT: Tell us a little about the premise for your Dark Mirror series.

MJP: The Dark Mirror series is alternate history—the world as we know it, but with magic added. With the added twist that magic is widely known and accepted, except among the aristocracy. The nobility despises magic, largely because they can’t control it, and aristocratic kids who show magical ability are sent to a kind of reform school to be “cured” of their unacceptable talents. So my main characters are magically talented teens who are exiled to Lackland Abbey to be cured—except that they realize that maybe they don’t want to be deprived of their power.

The students who secretly study magic call themselves Merlin’s Irregulars, and they pledge to use their powers to defend England if necessary—not an idle vow when Napoleon is sitting on the other side of the English Channel preparing for an invasion.

Then my main character, Lady Victoria Mansfield—Tory to her friends, accidentally passes through a time portal and land in England in World War II. She makes friends there—and it turns out that they could use some magic, too!

NTT: Why did you pick the Battle of Dunkirk as your first time travel point?

MJP: The story of Dunkirk has always fascinated me. A third of a million British and French soldiers had been cornered with their backs to the sea by the Nazi blitzkrieg—“lightning war.” If they had surrendered, Hitler would have been the master of all Europe.

Instead, there was this stunning evacuation that was not only the military and merchant might of a seafaring nation, but with countless volunteers risking their lives and their boats to bring their soldiers home. The “little ships” have become famous as an emblem or British courage and ingenuity.

It’s an incredible story and a tribute to British tenacity. But what made me want to write a story was when I read that the only reason the evacuation succeeded was because the English Channel, usually a turbulent and dangerous waterway, was unnaturally calm for ten whole days. I read that and thought, “Weather Mages!!!!” It was a story I just had to write.

NTT: What's happening in your new release with Tory and her band of mages?

MJP: In Dark Passage, Tory and the Irregulars join their 20th century friend Nick Rainford on a mission into Nazi occupied France to save a French scientist whose work is vitally important to the war effort. Plus, there are important changes in some romantic relationships.

NTT: What's next for you?

MJP: The third book, Dark Destiny, takes a couple of the 20th century characters back to 1804 to help their 19th century friends save England from invasion. With two wars to work with, there is no shortage of plot materials!

NTT: There certainly isn't! Thank you for talking with us, M.J., and for spending the week here at Nineteenteen--it's been a pleasure!

M.J. Putney's Dark Mirror and Dark Passage are available now from St. Martin's Press. You can learn more at http://www.mjputney.com/ ... and be sure to comment here--all commenters this week through Monday will be entered in a drawing to win a copy of Dark Passage! The winner will be announced next Tuesday.

Special Guest Blogger: Lady Cynthia Stanton and her Amanuensis, M.J. Putney

Welcome to the first post of our new blogging year! This week we are thrilled and honored to be hosting beloved romance author (and New York Times bestseller) Mary Jo Putney, who to our pleasure has joined the ranks of Young Adult authors with her series on time-traveling Regency heroine Lady Victoria (Tory) Mansfield and her cohorts at Lackland Abbey, written as M.J. Putney. The series began with March's Dark Mirror and continued with last week's new release, Dark Passage, both from St. Martin's/Griffin.

Speaking with us today is Lady Cynthia Stanton, the daughter of a duke and a student at Lackland Abbey. Lady Cynthia, let us assure you first that the headmistress of your school does NOT read our blog, so anything you say here is confidential. We'd all love to hear more about you. You're considered one of the more elite students at the school, is that right?

Lady Cynthia: Indeed. As the daughter of a duke, I am the highest ranking girl at Lackland Abbey.

Nineteenteen: How did you come to join the school?

LC: Students at Lackland Abbey do not discuss such things. It is perhaps a fair statement that no one is exiled to the school without some dreadful incident that exposed their despicable magical abilities to public shame.

NTT: Is that what happened to you?

LC: You bloggish creatures have no manners! Suffice it to say that an attractive stable boy and an unexpected use of my weather controlling magic were involved. I shall say no more.

NTT: Do you truly want to be "cured?”

LC: That is a most…interesting question. All students arrive at Lackland wishing for nothing more that a quick cure and a return to their families to see if they can regain any if their former lives. But to be cured of magic takes time.

During that time, one might discover that the use of magic can be very…rewarding. Exhilarating. ‘Tis said that some students gather in the chalk tunnels below the abbey to practice magic. Embracing one’s power can lead to the recognition that perhaps the aristocracy’s hatred of magic is not necessarily a good thing.”

NTT: So you’ve decided to secretly practice your magical abilities?

LC: I did not say that! If you dare print such a thing in your peculiar little newssheet, you will be hearing from my solicitors!

NTT: Our apologies, Lady Cynthia. We understand you've had some trouble with the other young lady sharing your room.

LC: I was not best pleased when the school forced Lady Victoria Mansfield on me merely because I was the only girl who didn’t have a roommate. As the highest ranking girl in the school, I was entitled to have a room to myself!

Tory had the effrontery to remove my garments from the second wardrobe so she could use it herself! She could have managed perfectly well storing her garments in her trunk. And she has no sense of the dignity of her rank. She’ll talk to anyone as if they are her equals. Such behavior is contrary to good order.

NTT: And she had the audacity to steal your beau as well, isn't that right?

LC: I simply couldn’t believe it. Clearly the Marquess of Allarde and I were destined to be together. Not only is he heir to a dukedom, but he is tall, dark, and handsome, a perfect foil for me since I am tall and blonde and stunningly beautiful.

Allarde has a great deal of natural reserve and he was keeping a discreet distance from me, but I always assumed that when we left Lackland Abbey, he’d ask for my hand. Then Tory came along. She’s a little bit of a thing, dark and with slanted eyes and no more than passably pretty, but he took one look and was besotted. Granted, everyone likes Tory. Even I like her some of the time. I swore I’d never forgive her for interfering with destiny, though that was before Jack…

No. I shall say no more.

NTT: We can't help thinking, though, that your life has been more interesting since she came along.

LC: You say that as though an interesting life is a good thing!

NTT: Isn't it? You had quite an adventure a bit ago, something to do with World War II. How did you manage to travel from 19th century England to that time?

LC: We passed through a time portal below Lackland Abbey. It’s called Merlin’s Mirror and it’s very ancient. Tory guided us through. Her magical talents tend to be odd ones, like using the mirror. Not useful like my weather magery and illusion talents.

NTT: Do you have other plans to travel through time?

LC: No! Never! It’s the most horrible experience! I would have died when we returned if Elspeth wasn’t such a good healer.

We all hated traveling through the mirror. Yet—I suppose one should never say never….

Thank you, Lady Cynthia! If you'd like to learn more about Lady Cynthia and Lady Victoria Mansfield, a true heroine, be sure to read M.J. Putney's Dark Mirror (2011, St, Martin's Griffin). And don't miss her just-released sequel, Dark Passage! Stop by on Friday when we'll be chatting with M.J. ; all commenters this week will be entered in a drawing to win a copy!