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Title: The early court of Queen Victoria
Author: Clare Jerrold
Release date: November 22, 2024 [eBook #74776]
Language: English
Original publication: United States: G. P. Putnam's Sons
Credits: Tim Lindell, Karin Spence and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE EARLY COURT OF QUEEN VICTORIA ***
THE EARLY
COURT OF QUEEN VICTORIA
[Illustration:
_Photo._ _Emery Walker._
_Queen Victoria._
_From the painting by W. C. Ross, A.R.A._]
THE EARLY COURT
OF
QUEEN VICTORIA
BY
CLARE JERROLD
AUTHOR OF
“_The Fair Ladies of Hampton Court_,” _Etc._
NEW YORK
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
1912
PREFACE
No apology need be made for this book, though perhaps a reason for
publishing it may be given. In these pages I have endeavoured to show
Queen Victoria in her natural setting during her youth, hoping thereby
to present her as a really human person. For twenty-five years at least
the tendency among those who write has been so to overwhelm the late
Queen with adulation that the ordinary reader turns from the subject
in disgust. We are not fit for perfection; we believe that perfection
is only an ideal--one which would probably become insufferable were it
to degenerate into actuality--and when biographers, whose line, it is
true, has been more or less laid down for them, depict Queen Victoria
without fault and possessing almost preternatural wisdom and virtue,
then there must be danger of unpopularity for the great Queen.
As a child my loyalty was upset by the “I will be good” story, and in
my childish heart I despised the childish utterer of that sentence.
The fault of this lay not in the fact that the little Princess made
an impulsive resolution, but in the further fact that that story has
been used as an example for other children by all adults who know it.
When, at the second Jubilee, I wrote an anecdotal life of the Queen, I
was amused at the literature through which I had to wade for my facts.
Taken in the mass, it became a pæan of praise with every trace of real
human lovableness erased. Of course, the person really to blame for
this in the last resort was the Queen herself. For her one great fault
was an exaggerated, indeed a morbid, belief in the infallibility, not
of herself as a person, but of the Crown. Nothing angered her more than
dissent from, or criticism of, the Crown. It was a curious position,
for she practically was the Crown, and therefore the criticism of any
public acts of hers, was doubly displeasing to her, as she considered
that it was the highest dignity of the State, and not a mere person,
which was belittled. Under such pressure--even though it was unspoken
its influence was felt--writers wrote naturally that which would
please, certainly that which would give no offence; and they were
not so much untrue to fact as vigilant that all adverse matter and
circumstance should remain unchronicled.
But those who talk of the late Queen do so in an increasing spirit of
criticism, and this prompted me to endeavour to show the young Monarch
as she really was, surrounded by the somewhat cruel limitations of
her time--a girl frank, loving, truthful, and admirable in many ways,
yet one in whom the seeds of an undue pride had been planted and most
earnestly fostered by those responsible--in spite of which fact,
however, a person much more lovable than any counsel of perfection
could possibly have produced.
My materials have been gathered largely from contemporary journals and
newspapers, and among the books to which I am indebted I must mention
Lady Bloomfield’s “Reminiscences” for some delightful pictures of
Queen Victoria’s life at the beginning of her reign. Mr. Sidney Lee’s
admirable “Life” has also been of use; while the correspondence of
Her Majesty was more helpful in amplifying or supporting information
already gained than in really supplying fresh facts. The trenchant
remarks of Charles Greville and the terse, lively, and often amusing
criticisms of Thomas Creevy also could not be ignored by any writer
about public people in the ’thirties who wished to get a personal
impression.
HAMPTON-ON-THAMES,
_November, 1911_.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
PAGE
PRINCESS VICTORIA’S RELATIVES 1
CHAPTER II
PRINCESS VICTORIA’S MOTHER AND UNCLE 30
CHAPTER III
PRINCESS VICTORIA’S TUITION IN POLITICS 59
CHAPTER IV
PRINCESS VICTORIA’S SUITORS 82
CHAPTER V
QUEEN VICTORIA’S ACCESSION 107
CHAPTER VI
QUEEN VICTORIA’S ADVISERS 132
CHAPTER VII
QUEEN VICTORIA’S CIRCLE 159
CHAPTER VIII
QUEEN VICTORIA’S PRIME MINISTER 183
CHAPTER IX
QUEEN VICTORIA’S LADIES AND LOVERS 208
CHAPTER X
QUEEN VICTORIA’S DISLOYAL SUBJECTS 238
CHAPTER XI
QUEEN VICTORIA’S TRAGIC MISTAKE 255
CHAPTER XII
QUEEN VICTORIA’S LOVE 287
CHAPTER XIII
QUEEN VICTORIA’S EARLY MARRIED LIFE 312
CHAPTER XIV
QUEEN VICTORIA’S TORY MINISTRY 341
CHAPTER XV
QUEEN VICTORIA’S HOME 364
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Queen Victoria. (From a painting by W. C. Ross,
A.R.A.) _Frontispiece_
Queen Adelaide. (From a painting by Sir William
Beechey in National Portrait Gallery) _To face page_ 36
William IV „ 60
* H.R.H. The Duchess of Kent „ 94
* Lord Melbourne „ 118
King Leopold of the Belgians. (From the drawing by
Sir Thomas Lawrence, P.R.A.) „ 138
Hon. Mrs. Norton „ 150
* Lord Brougham „ 165
* Harriet, Duchess of Sutherland „ 176
* Sir Robert Peel „ 210
* Lady Tavistock „ 218
* Lady Flora Hastings „ 258
* Lady Portman „ 274
14. H.R.H. Prince Albert. (From a painting by
Winterhalter in the National Portrait Gallery) „ 314
Queen Victoria. (From the drawing by Drummond,
1842) „ 338
* The Duke of Wellington „ 352
* Baron Stockmar „ 364
N.B.--_The illustrations marked with an asterisk_ (*)
_are from the collection of Mr. A. M. Broadley_.
THE EARLY COURT
OF QUEEN VICTORIA
CHAPTER I
PRINCESS VICTORIA’S RELATIVES
“We are going presently to write our names for the Duchess
of Kent, who has produced a daughter.”--_The Hon. Mrs.
Calvert._ 1819.
The Duchess of Kent was not a very popular woman with the Guelph
family. George IV. hated her, and made her less welcome than he had
made her husband, his brother, to whom he intimated early in 1819 that
he would no longer be received at Court; William IV. did not like her
when he was the Duke of Clarence, but his wife was so sorry for her
sister-in-law’s misfortunes that she showed her much kindness and
affection until, holding the position of Queen herself, she was obliged
to resent the hauteur with which she was treated. The Fitzclarences,
who surrounded William IV., had little reason to admire her, and the
Tory Ministers found themselves treated by her with only spasmodic
politeness. The people in general cared nothing one way or another
until the Duchess displayed marked Whig tendencies, and then the Tory
Press made a custom of criticising all that she did, and displaying a
wonderfully intimate knowledge of her affairs, private and public.
For nearly a quarter of a century the life of the Duchess in England
was one of stress; indeed, one might repeat of her the oft-repeated
words, she “was ever a fighter,” for she seemed always at variance
with the reigning monarch. She owed the very rare appearance of
herself and her daughter in the Court of George IV. to the kind heart
of Lady Conyngham, the King’s mistress, who thereby earned Victoria’s
affectionate regard, in spite of her position. Of this lady, by the
way, who was coarse, fair, dull, and by no means fascinating, and who
succeeded Lady Hertford in the King’s household, some wit said that in
taking her George had exchanged St. James for St. Giles.
By the time of William IV. the Duchess had become not simply a passive
resister but an active agitator, and many scenes of anger took place
between her and the King. Both George and William often renewed the
threat of taking her child from her that the young Princess might be
placed in the hands of someone more complacent to the Royal will.
George would really have done this, but that the Duke of Wellington,
who was his adviser, always temporised and put off the execution of the
threat. When the Duchess became mother to the Queen of England, though
things changed they were no better; but the details of the relationship
between these two prominent people needs more than a paragraph in
explanation.
Yet we have much for which to thank the Duchess of Kent, in that she
brought up her daughter in business habits, in purity of thought, and
in all those virtues which make a good woman. Domestically she was a
kind tyrant, necessarily an injudicious one, for tyranny is always
injudicious. In following the life of the young Princess one wonders
how much the mother, imposing a very restrictive rule upon the child,
knew of that child’s character. Obedient, dutiful, submissive, troubled
openly only by occasional fits of rebellion and self-will, did Victoria
in her early days ever foreshadow the revulsion against the maternal
authority which seized upon her later? One would imagine not, or the
Duchess would have become wiser in her treatment. As the girl grew
towards womanhood, did she ever betray the growth of resistance, did
she show that beneath all the quiet of the exterior lay an autocratic
character which was only biding its opportunity?--and did her mother
have any suspicion of what might happen between the years 1837 and
1841, which were to be the most anguished of her life, when she would
be forced to realise that her too scrupulous care had brought her, not
power and honour, but a determined and sustained indifference?
When this girl of eighteen was proclaimed Queen of England no one
knew whether to be glad or sorry. She was said to be shy, young for
her age, and entirely subservient to her mother; indeed, as a person
she was practically non-existent. It was the Duchess who counted, and
absurd reports had been circulated in the papers as to the Camerilla
at Kensington Palace, which aimed at securing Ministerial power on
the death of King William. As Victoria went to her Proclamation at
St. James’s Palace there was much curiosity shown, and but little
cheering done on the way. In the courtyard of the Palace stood a great,
observant crowd, silent until given the signal to cheer, and then its
voice was led by the roar of Daniel O’Connell, the Liberator, for he
considered that the chances, with a Radical faction at Kensington, were
now in his favour.
As for the Ministers, they knew no more of the fair Alexandrina
Victoria than anyone else, and a contemporary tells us that none of her
acquaintances--friends she had scarcely any--none of her attendants
at Kensington, had any idea of what lay beneath the quiet, placid
exterior, or could prophesy as to what she was capable of doing. Even
the Duchess of Northumberland, who had directed her studies for some
years, was no better informed; for never during those years had she
seen the child alone; there had always been a third person present,
either the Duchess or the Baroness Lehzen. Thus while some people
regretted the death of a King who, in spite of his peculiarities, was a
good man and a great improvement on those who had gone before him, the
universal emotion concerning his successor was neither joy nor sorrow,
but that of a vivid curiosity.
Victoria was like an enchanted princess, around whom had been drawn a
magic circle which rendered her invisible to all eyes. But she could
see beyond its range, could watch the forces which made up the world
she was about to enter, and learn more of her subjects than they had
learned of her. From time to time, while imprisoned in her circle,
disturbances from outside had affected her; she had felt some things
keenly and despairingly, but with an imperturbable face she had let
them pass by; she had been in hot rebellion often, but no one but
herself, and perhaps her half-sister, Féodore of Leiningen, knew of it;
she had longed for friends and companionship, and had engrossed herself
in her studies, those futile studies thought the right thing for the
girls of that day. Of these hidden things she did not speak, and she
did not cry over them, for in her mother’s house there had been no spot
in which she could shed tears unseen.
From the day of her birth to her accession she had scarcely ever been
alone for ten minutes at a time! And doting biographers purr over this
and say, “What an excellent mother!” Here is a quotation in slipshod
style from one such: “The exemplary mother had not allowed her daughter
to be scarcely ten minutes together either by night or day out of her
sight, except in her infant years during her daily airing and on the
very rare occasions of her Royal Highness dining away from home.”
The biographers and gossipers about Victoria agree in speaking of the
unremitting surveillance which was exercised over the young Princess.
She was imprisoned in a close atmosphere of love and tuition, and was
never free to write a letter, to see a friend, or to think her own
thoughts without the presence of her mother or the Baroness. It is
very probable that for a long time she was unconscious that there was
anything unusual in this, but it must have grown terribly burdensome
to her, so much so that her first request as a Queen to her mother
concerned this very point. She received the oaths of allegiance the day
after King William died, and when this trying and tumultuous ceremony
was over she sought her mother, allowing her overwrought nerves to find
relief in tears, or, in the language of the day, “she flung herself
upon her mother’s bosom to weep.” Being soothed into calmness, she
said:
“I can scarcely believe that I am Queen of England, but I suppose it is
really true.”
On being reassured, she continued:
“In time I shall become accustomed to my change of station; meanwhile,
since it is really so, and you see in your little daughter the
Sovereign of this great country, will you grant her the first request
she has had occasion in her regal capacity to put to you? I wish, my
dear mamma, _to be left alone for two hours_.”
The early writer who gives this incident sees no youthful tragedy in
it, but goes off into pæans of praise for the careful and diligent
mother. But it is scarcely to be marvelled at that the Queen in later
days wrote of “her sad and unhappy childhood.” Nor can we wonder that
from the day of her first regal request to her mother she availed
herself of the luxury of one or two quiet hours in each twenty-four to
herself in her own room, with a locked door between herself and all the
world. For years she clung to this privilege, which every ordinary girl
would regard as a right.
A letter written by Princess Féodore in 1843 to Queen Victoria shows
how unremitting was the surveillance upon and how deep was the
loneliness of the girl up to the time of her accession. Victoria had
written from Claremont, and her half-sister answered:--“Claremont is
a dear quiet place; to me also the recollection of the few pleasant
days spent during my youth. I always left Claremont with tears for
Kensington Palace. When I look back upon those years, which ought to
have been the happiest in my life, from fourteen to twenty, I cannot
help pitying myself. Not to have enjoyed the pleasures of youth is
nothing, but to have been deprived of all intercourse, and not one
cheerful thought in that dismal existence of ours, was very hard. My
only happy time was going out driving with you and Lehzen; then I could
speak and look as I liked. I escaped some years of imprisonment, which
you, my poor darling sister, had to endure, after I was married. But
God Almighty has changed both our destinies most mercifully, and has
made us _so_ happy in our homes--which is the only real happiness
in this life; and those years of trial were, I am sure, very useful to
us both, though certainly not pleasant. Thank God, they are over!”
What would any mother of to-day feel if one of her children, when
grown up, could write to another in this way of their childhood? It
was a tragedy both for mother and children, only the mother perhaps
never realised it, and she did not feel the results of it until the
children had escaped her thraldom. “Poor little Victory!” as Carlyle
called her, looking back upon this, it is possible to forgive her for
her subsequent hardness to her mother, for she could not help it;
the hardness had been forced upon her by example and practice in her
childish days.
But to understand the life of our late Queen in its youth it is
necessary to know its surroundings and background, and for this purpose
an account of the Royal family which then existed seems desirable.
* * * * *
King William IV. had, when comparatively young, married a pretty and
delightful actress, who was known as Mrs. Jordan. He was a man of
clean domestic life, and he persisted in regarding this lady as his
lawful wife, and the children she bore to him--nine in all--as his
lawful children. When Princess Charlotte died, however, he sacrificed
himself--and his wife--upon the altar of expediency, and married Amelia
Adelaide Louise Therese Caroline Wilhelmina of Saxe-Meiningen. She was
twenty-six, plain, thin, sedate, reserved, and had been brought up in
all the useless branches of “polite and useful learning,” thought the
correct thing for a lady of her position. She had no leaning towards
gaiety, frivolity, or dress, and hated immorality and irreligion. She
was, in fact, an “excellent selection,” but she was also one of those
people who are invariably described in negatives. Another woman might
have had just the same appearance and thoroughly good character, and
by adding to it a pleasant manner have been a favourite with everyone.
But Adelaide’s manner was bad, and she was generally disliked. William,
however, found a good wife in her--though there are some sly allusions
to his being hen-pecked--and little Victoria could always depend on
kindly affection from Queen Adelaide.
The Duchess of Clarence gave birth to two daughters, both of whom died
in infancy, and she seems to have shown no jealousy of the little
girl who would take the place which should have belonged to her own
child had it lived. She was also always kind to her husband’s exacting
and loud-mannered children, the Fitzclarences, receiving them all
as constant visitors at Windsor or St. James’s, and making pets of
their children. Thus at one time she had Lady Augusta Kennedy and
four children staying at Windsor, while Lady Sophia Sydney and three
children lived there; there was also a boy of Lady Falkland’s with
her. These eight grandchildren of the King’s would play with the King
and Queen in the corridor after lunch, and as a visitor to Adelaide
once remarked, “It is so pretty to hear them lisp ‘dear Queeny,’ ‘dear
King.’”
Yet the conduct of the Fitzclarences to Adelaide was abominable, and
Lord Errol--the husband of the third daughter, Lady Elizabeth--who had
been appointed Lord Marischal of Scotland, was heard one day speaking
in such an unpardonable way of the Queen in a public coffee-house
that he was interrupted by cries of “Shame!” from a gentleman
present. Colonel Fox, who married Lady Mary, received the appointment
of Surveyor General of the Ordnance, and was made Aide-de-Camp to
the King. Of the four sons, Lord Munster held several military
appointments, received an annual allowance from the Privy Purse,
and was given a property by his father-in-law, Lord Egremont. Lord
Frederick was a Colonel, and Equerry and Aide-de-Camp to his father.
Lord Adolphus was a Captain in the Navy, Groom of the Robes, and
Deputy-Ranger of Bushey Park; while Lord Augustus was Chaplain to the
King, and held a valuable living at Mapledurham. This family was by no
means popular, and was being constantly criticised by the newspapers.
Said _Figaro in London_, in 1832:--“The brutal conduct of the
Fitzclarences towards their poor weak old father has gained for them
the name _unnatural_, instead of natural, children.”
It seems to have been agreed generally that the Fitzclarences felt that
the time of their harvest must be short, and that therefore it behoved
them to make as much hay as possible. They badgered William for honours
and promotions, and the King did what he could; he was once heard
complaining to one of his admirals of this persecution, adding, “I had
at last to make him a Guelphic Knight” (a Hanoverian honour). “And
serve him right, your Majesty,” replied the seaman, imagining that some
disgrace was implied.
Once when George Fitzclarence demanded to be made a peer and to have
a pension, and the King said he could not do it, all the sons struck
work, or their pretence of work, thus in high life foreshadowing
the doings of the workers of a later time. George actually resigned
his office of Deputy-Adjutant-General, and wrote the King a furious
letter. This was awkward, because so long as these gentlemen drew their
money through sinecures the public was willing to accept them fairly
good-temperedly, but as avowed pensioners the outcry against them
would have been overwhelming. The matter seems to have been smoothed
over by the young man being made Earl of Munster.
The Duke of Sussex had also an unrecognised family of two, Augustus and
Ellen D’Este, who gave the King much trouble, and in revenge for their
disappointment about places and honours published the Duke’s letters to
their mother, which caused considerable scandal.
Of Princess Victoria’s uncles those who survived at her accession were
the Duke of Cumberland, the Duke of Cambridge, and the Duke of Sussex.
The Duke of Cambridge was Viceroy of Hanover during William’s reign,
and had one son, something of a weakling in his youth.
It is necessary to refer at some length to the Duke of Cumberland, as
he remained a thorn in the side of the Sovereign of England as long as
he lived. He was a man of a violent temper and of a coarse, overbearing
disposition, his great desire being to work his way to the Throne of
England. He had hung about George IV., guarding his own interests,
keeping away from his Royal brother any person whom he thought might
weaken his own influence, and strengthening, as far as he could, the
idea, which arose from what were considered the eccentricities of
Clarence, that the latter was afflicted by periods of insanity.
Yet from contemporary sources there is evidence that King George had no
love for Cumberland. Lord Ellenborough, in his “Political Diary,” notes
in 1829, “The King, our master, is the weakest man in England. He
hates the Duke of Cumberland. He wishes his death. He is relieved when
he is away; but he is afraid of him, and crouches to him.” Again, when
the Catholic Emancipation Bill was being fought, Cumberland insisted
upon coming back to England for it. Attempts were made to stop him,
but he either missed or passed the messengers. Of this Ellenborough
writes, “The King is afraid of him, and God knows what mischief he
may do. However, there is no possibility of forming an anti-Catholic
Government, and that the King must feel.” Poor George! Thenceforth he
had his Government at one ear and Cumberland at the other, drawing from
the diarist the remark: “In fact, the excitement he is in may lead to
insanity, and nothing but the removal of the Duke of Cumberland will
restore him to peace.” In his last illness George IV. refused to see
his brother.
When William ascended the Throne there was little for Prince Ernest,
Duke of Cumberland, to do but to make the best of it. But beyond
that, however, he made various attempts to be disagreeable. Thus Lord
Ellenborough mentions that the Duke of Wellington intended to go down
to Windsor on the morrow, as the Duke of Cumberland meditated making
a raid on the late King’s papers. Cumberland was probably remembering
the example of his eldest brother, who, many years earlier, when George
III. was ill, took it upon himself to examine his father’s private
papers, and thus brought about a right royal row.
During George IV.’s reign, Cumberland had kept his horses in the
Queen’s disused stables, which, when Adelaide was translated to the
kingly palace, were needed for her use. So King William requested his
brother to remove his horses to make room for the Queen’s; to which the
Duke answered politely that “he would be damned if they should go.”
However, on being told that unless he moved them the King’s grooms
had orders to turn them out the next day, he sulkily succumbed. He
had, in fact, hoped to retain in the new reign all the privileges he
had secured during the former, and could not take his disappointment
manfully; thus he had arrogated to himself the sole dignity of
Gold Stick, an honour that had always been divided among the three
Colonels of the Guards; and when William restored things to their
former position it entailed opposition on the part of Cumberland, who
countermanded the King’s orders about the Guards at his Coronation,
which, of course, was followed by further humiliation for the Duke.
But Cumberland’s chief exploit was his leadership of the Orange Lodges,
which aimed at protecting Protestantism from all Popery. As the Duke’s
ambition grew, he began to see in this organisation the help it might
be to him, and he taught various lessons to the emissaries who were
sent over the country to form new Lodges. One of the cries towards
the end of George’s reign was that the members should “rally round
the Throne,” and then it was asserted that the Duke of Clarence was
insane, and that the Duke of Wellington was aiming at the Crown. This
was spoken of at first vaguely as “a wild design in embryo,” and “a
wild ambition” by Lieutenant-Colonel Fairburn, Cumberland’s accredited
agent. This gentleman was afraid of naming names, and classed the Iron
Duke among the “grovelling worms who dare to vie with the omnipotence
of Heaven.” In another letter he said:
“One moreover of whom it might ill become me to speak but in terms of
reverence, has nevertheless been weak enough to ape the coarseness of a
Cromwell, thus recalling the recollection to what would have been far
better left in oblivion, his seizure of the diadem with his placing
it upon his brow, was a precocious sort of self inauguration.” This
alluded to the widespread opposition to the raising of Wellington to
the Peerage.
Several newspapers became infected by the Orangemen, members of whose
organisation were to be found in the Army, the Church, and among the
rank and file of the Members of Parliament. A daily journal in 1830
declared first that George the Fourth was not as ill as he was said to
be, and was amusing himself by writing the bulletins about his health,
secondly that the next in succession (the Duke of Clarence) would be
incapable of reigning “for reasons which occasioned his removal from
the office of Lord High Admiral,” and that a military chief of most
unbounded ambition would disapprove of a maritime Government, thirdly
that the second heir-presumptive, was “not alone a female but a minor,”
and that therefore a bold effort should be made to frustrate any
attempt “at a vicarious form of government.”
However, in spite of Cumberland’s ambition, and of the public
recognition of that ambition, William the Fourth came to the throne,
but his brother did not for at least twelve or thirteen years more
give up all hope of reigning in England. He still fostered the Orange
Lodges, and when it was seen that William would be obliged to assent
to the Reform Bill, the Orange speakers sounded their audiences as to
whether, if William were deposed, they would support Cumberland in an
attempt to become his successor.
This scheme not coming off, the Duke went on building up his power
until Joseph Hume brought the whole thing before Parliament in 1836,
when the startling disclosures then made caused the suppression of the
Orange Lodges. It was asserted that the Duke of Cumberland, as Grand
Master of the whole association, was a dangerous man. The Lodges all
regarded him as their political leader; he was called the Supreme Head
of the Grand Orange Lodge of Great Britain and Ireland; it was laid
down that his pleasure was law, and that the Orangemen were bound to
obey his summons and do his will for whatever purpose he desired. There
were 15,000 Lodges in Ireland, with a membership of 200,000 arm-bearing
men; and 1,500 Lodges in England, besides some in the Colonies. Thus
the Duke had the unquestioning obedience of 300,000 men--40,000 in
London alone. Meetings were called in Ireland of ten, twenty, and even
thirty thousand men. From all this Joseph Hume not unwisely inferred
that it was time to consider whether the Duke of Cumberland was King or
subject.
The whole matter made a tremendous public impression, and there were
rumours that the Princess Victoria was in danger of her life from these
secret enemies. At a public dinner in Nottingham the chairman, a Mr.
Wakefield, said that the hope of the English people “was founded on
the way in which the illustrious Princess was educated, which gave
them every reason to believe that her attachment to this country was
such that her reign--provided she lived--would be a blessing at large.
The toast he would propose was--The Princess Victoria, and may the
machinations against her suffer the same fate as the Orange conspiracy.”
One of the newspapers of the day endeavoured to comfort her for any
fears she might have had by the following lines:--
“Oh, fear not, fair lily, our country’s just pride,
The hypocrite’s schemes or the traitor’s foul band;
The firm knights of Britain will range by thy side
And proclaim thee hereafter the Queen of our land.
By virtues illustrious, the gem of our isle--
Around thee will range in the time of alarm,
Those friends whose attachment no fiend shall beguile,
For the isle that has reared thee shall shield thee from harm.”
Other papers were much more emphatic, not so much in expressing a
desire to save the Princess from harm as in an attempt to accuse
Cumberland of evil intentions. _The Satirist_, for instance,
published a cartoon showing Cumberland smothering someone in bed, with
Queen Adelaide looking on from the doorway. On the bed hangings is
embroidered a crown above a large “V,” and beneath the picture are the
following lines:
“Can such man live to crush the nation’s choice,
Which after years of blood would now rejoice?
Will a fond people yield their mighty throne
To that base heartless prince, whom all disown?
Blest day, when their loud voices shall decree
This land from such a monster shall be free.”
Elsewhere the Duke is represented in the company of the Bishop of
Salisbury, Sir Charles Wetherell, and Billy Holmes,[1] among whom the
following scrap of conversation passes:
“_Cum._ A brother’s brat between me and the Crown!
_Bish._ Yet there are means!
_Holmes._ Poison, for instance.
_Weth._ Or a razor.
_Cum._ (_with a fiendish laugh_). Ay, a razor, if
nothing better serve.”
With such open condemnation as this from any paper, even though
it were one which from its very name existed to draw attention to
irregularities and unpopular people, there was nothing for the Duke to
do but to dissociate himself from all suspicious connections. Whether
he was a most horribly libelled man or whether he had been intriguing
as affirmed, it is a matter of history that in March, 1836, he in the
name of the Orange Lodges signified his submission to the Royal will
that those Lodges should be dissolved.
Like all the Guelphs, the Duke was curiously outspoken. For instance,
he would take into his confidence someone near his person and tell how
he longed to be King, adding that he was much more fit to be King than
his brother, who might be a good sailor, but who was kingly neither in
looks nor manners.
The writer of a delightful book of gossip, published some years ago,
entitled “Tales of my Father,” gives a very definite form to this
absorbing ambition. The Duke and William IV. were dining alone together
at Windsor, the Queen being ill, and the suite dining in an adjoining
room. The sound of loud voices reached those without, for both brothers
had drunk too much; then the Duke ordered the doors to be opened and
proposed “The King’s Health. God save the King!” at which the suite
dutifully entered and drank. Then the Duke asked permission to propose
another toast.
“Name it, your Grace,” answered the King.
“The King’s heir, and God bless _him_!” proudly responded the Duke.
These audacious words were followed by a dead silence, the two brothers
staring at each other, after which William rose, held his glass high,
and cried, “The King’s heir! God bless _her_!” Then throwing the
glass over his shoulder, he turned to his brother and exclaimed, “My
crown came with a lass, and my crown will go to a lass.”
The Duke did not drink the toast, but left the room abruptly, scarcely
bowing to his brother as he passed.
The verses and allusions quoted speak plainly to the extraordinary
dislike which was felt for the Duke; he was suspected of horrible
crimes, and though publicly pronounced innocent, was still suspected.
The allusion in the verses to blood and a razor referred to an alleged
attempt made upon the Duke’s life in 1810 by one of his valets. In
the summer of that year Cumberland was found in his apartments in St.
James’ Palace wounded in six different places, and the valet was found
in his bed with his throat cut. The decision upon this was that for
some unknown reason the servant had attacked his master and had then
gone back to his room and cut his throat in bed. The evidence was just
shaky enough to leave doubt, for there were peculiar features, blood
being found all about the man’s room, even in the wash basin, but the
judge’s decision was, of course, a foregone conclusion. Popular opinion
decided, however, that the Duke had met with his injuries while his man
fought for his life, but naturally any hardy editor who allowed such an
idea to be published received punishment.
In 1829 Cumberland’s reputation suffered a worse shock in the
revelations made by a certain Captain Garth, who found a box of letters
hidden in the house of his putative father, General Garth. These
letters threw an amazing light on his own birth, showing that he was
the son of the Duke of Cumberland and of Princess Sophia. Captain Garth
appointed a Mr. Westmacott, while the Duke or George IV. appointed
Sir Herbert Taylor, the King’s private secretary, to arrange matters,
and in spite of the fact that the Duke and the Royal Family denied
everything, an agreement was come to by which Garth was to receive
£2,400 a year as annuity, and a sum of £8,000 down to pay his debts, on
condition that he should forget the box and its contents. The matter
was almost forgotten when Garth filed a bill in Chancery to prevent
Westmacott from disposing of the box, because he had only received
£3,000 on account and had been refused the rest. So the sordid affair
was once again dragged through the columns of every paper. Sir Herbert
Taylor explained that the failure to keep the arrangement was caused by
the fact that Garth had told the secrets in the box to other people,
and had kept copies of the letters. All the dailies and weeklies had
their varying articles upon this, and then--publicly--the matter died
out. Garth was probably squared. Whether his tale was true or false it
had this justification, that General Garth was believed--according to
the “Annual Register”--to have had a son by a lady of very illustrious
birth, and it was further said that George III. had induced the General
to accept the paternity of the boy. Earl Grey notes, however, in a
letter to Princess Lieven, that “the renewed attack on the subject of
Garth looks like a renewed apprehension of the effects of Cumberland’s
influence on the King.”
Quite apart from this charge, Cumberland was unscrupulous in his
amours, and one is constantly coming across references to this vice;
thus Lord Ellenborough notes, in 1830: “The suicide of ---- on account
of his wife’s seduction by the Duke of Cumberland, will drive the Duke
of Cumberland out of the field.”
Cumberland had one legitimate son, Prince George, who is described
as a beautiful boy, tall, slim, upright, with fair hair and fresh
complexion, his eyes always partly shut, for, poor lad, he was blind.
He knew little of his cousin Victoria, though he often wished to
know her better, but the Duchess was from the first afraid of any
matrimonial entanglement with her husband’s family, and would not let
the young people meet oftener than she could help.
The Duke of Sussex was very different from his brother, being a
kindly, amiable man, and the most popular of the Princes. He was a
lover of books and of philosophy; but Creevy said of him that “he
never says anything that makes you think him foolish, yet there is a
nothingness in him which is to the last degree fatiguing.” He married
Lady Augusta Murray, daughter of the fourth Earl of Dunmore, in 1793,
the marriage being dissolved in the following year as contrary to the
Royal Marriage Act--a fact which did not trouble the Duke much until
his inclination led him to break with Lady Augusta. Their son Augustus
was born in 1794, and their daughter in 1801. Long before Augusta’s
death in 1830 the Duke of Sussex had taken as a second partner in life
Lady Cecilia, daughter of the Earl of Arran, and widow of an attorney
knight of the unromantic name of Buggin. It seems a pity that Lady
Augusta, who was of Royal blood, should have had to give place to one
owning such a name! However, Lady Cecilia took her mother’s name of
Underwood, and was known by it until, in 1840, the Duke went through
the long-delayed form of marriage with her, and Queen Victoria created
her Duchess of Inverness.
The Princess Victoria had a real affection for her uncles, King William
and the Duke of Sussex, but Cumberland she always abhorred, probably
not for his immorality--they were all immoral--but on account of the
hatred he felt for her and her mother, and for the brutality of his
nature, which made him subject to paroxysms of passion, during which
everyone, even his wife, feared him.
It is curious to realise that Queen Victoria, who laid such stress
upon the purity of her Court, and who did much to revolutionise society
in this regard, was surrounded by people who openly defied the laws,
written and unwritten. In later life she would not allow near her
Throne a woman against whom there had been a breath of scandal, but in
the early days of her reign she was surrounded by men who were smirched
and dishonoured by loose living. To her, indeed, there was one law for
men and another for women, and in spite of the terrible lesson she
received in 1839--to be dealt with in a later chapter--she held to that
attitude throughout her life.
One other person who, besides her mother, dominated the Princess’s
daily existence was her uncle, Prince Leopold, her mother’s brother.
As the husband of Princess Charlotte he drew an income of £50,000 from
this country, and had been given Claremont as a dwelling. These he
retained after the death of his wife in 1816, living partly in London
and partly at Claremont. He led a quieter, more sedate life than did
the Guelphs, was precise in his ways, prided himself highly on his fine
manners, and was cordially detested by the English Princes and Peers.
The fact that he did not drink angered both George IV. and William IV.,
while his affectation of superiority annoyed his associates, and his
reputation for meanness brought him sneers from everyone.
George IV. showed him almost from the first what a gulf in manners
there was between them, and did not trouble about the fact that he
himself was the one that lacked them. At a Levée which he held in 1821
he deliberately turned his back upon his son-in-law. The Prince did
his best to carry off the matter in a dignified way; he is said not to
have altered a muscle of his face, but to have approached the Duke of
York, saying to him in a loud tone, “The King has thought proper to
take _his_ line, and I shall take _mine_.” He then left the
assembly.
Some hints of Leopold’s character may be given in his own words--words
which betray at once his pedantry and his absolute lack of humour. In a
letter to the young Queen, in which he tried to explain the character
of Princess Charlotte, he said: “The most difficult task I had was to
change her manners; she had something too brusque and too rash in her
movements, which made the Regent quite unhappy, and which sometimes was
occasioned by a struggle between shyness and the necessity of exerting
herself. I had, I may say so without seeming to boast, the manners of
the best society of Europe, having early moved in it, and been what is
called in French _de la fleur des pois_. A good judge I therefore
was, but Charlotte found it rather hard to be so scrutinised, and
grumbled occasionally how I could so often find fault with her.”
Leopold could not understand a joke; chaffing or quizzing always raised
his displeasure; and indeed he seems somewhat to have merited, by his
manner alone, some of the severe criticisms lavished upon him. How much
of the feeling against him was prompted by insular prejudice, how much
was jealousy, and how much personal dislike, it is difficult to say,
but there was probably something of all three to account for it.
As far as the Royal Dukes’ feelings went, there was some justification
for jealousy. Leopold, a foreign Prince, was being allowed from the
Civil List an annual £50,000, having been for only about a year the
husband of the Heir-Apparent. The Royal Dukes of England were receiving
only £18,000 and £24,000 each, and they were the sons and brothers of
Kings of England. However, the sharp-tongued Creevy, who could not have
been personally affected, spoke of him always as Humbug Leopold, and
one of the Fitzclarences said in 1824 that the Duchess of Clarence was
the best and most charming woman in the world, that Prince Leopold was
a damned humbug, and that he (Fitzclarence) disliked the Duchess of
Kent.
But whatever the popular opinion concerning him, Leopold, when his
sister became a widow, was a shield between her and the world. The Duke
of Kent was taken ill in Sidmouth, and two days before he died Prince
Leopold went thither to do what he could for his sister. One cannot
help wondering how it was that the Duke struggled on so long with the
burden of worries that he had to bear. After his marriage he lived
in Germany until the prospect of an heir brought him and his wife to
England. His income was then little or nothing, for he had been obliged
to make an assignment of his property to his creditors, to work off
debts contracted partly when, as a young man, he had been allowed by
his tutor, Baron Wangenheim, the princely income of thirty shillings a
week as pocket-money, the remainder of £6,000 a year being used by the
Baron, who was astute enough to intercept the Prince’s letters home.
The Duchess of Kent had a jointure of £6,000 a year, and upon this they
lived. From his youth to his death the Duke was worried by the lack of
money and by creditors, through no extravagance of his own, as well as
by the enmity of his brother, the Regent.
When the Duke of Kent died, Leopold was the only friend the Duchess had
in England, and he went through the affairs of his late brother-in-law,
finding to his consternation that there was not enough money left even
to carry the family back to London, or to pay for the necessary winding
up of affairs at Sidmouth. George IV. would give no help of any sort;
he hated the Duchess, as he did most of his brothers’ wives, and his
one idea was to cause her to take her child back to Germany and relieve
him and the country entirely of any obligation towards them. However,
the Duchess and her brother came to the conclusion that they should
resist this desire with all their strength, and to make things easier
Leopold added to his sister’s six thousand a year an annual amount of
£3,000. For decency’s sake the King had to give them a roof over their
heads, and he assigned to the Duchess some rooms in Kensington Palace.
I have come across fatuous biographies of Queen Victoria in which
Leopold has been extolled for his liberality to his sister, as a noble
brother, &c., but when the position is regarded in a detached way the
absurdity and injustice of the whole arrangement is patent. The alien
Leopold was drawing, as has already been said, £50,000 a year from
the English Exchequer, having no obligations upon him of any sort, no
Royal position to keep up, while his sister, the wife of the King’s
brother, and mother of the probable Queen of England, had less than an
eighth of that amount, was allowed nothing more from the Government,
and was expected to be very grateful to Leopold in that he handed over
to her a little of the money that he received. Six years later a sum
of six thousand was annually allowed the Duchess by the Government for
the education of her daughter, and in 1831, when the Princess Victoria
was needing yet more in the way of instruction, training, and social
necessities, another £10,000 brought her income up to £22,000 a year,
more than her poor husband had ever owned.
Until 1831 Leopold lived at Claremont, cultivated its gardens to the
utmost, and provoked much criticism for the business-like way in which
he sent the produce up to London. Claremont became also a country-house
residence for the Duchess of Kent and her little daughter, Victoria
looking back upon the comparative freedom she enjoyed there as helping
to make those visits the happiest events of her early life. Then
came the demand for a King for Greece, and Leopold had the chance of
securing the position, George, however, remarking that if he did go to
Greece he should leave his income behind him. There is no doubt that
an affluent, objectless life in England had its charms, and that a man
might pay too dearly for wearing the crown of a small unsettled kingdom
surrounded by enemies. So Leopold vacillated, always leaning with each
swing a little nearer the crown, yet wishing to retain the money. The
newspapers of the day were full of the money part of the transaction.
First, would the country buy of him the land he had purchased here,
valued at fifty thousand or thereabouts? would England guarantee him a
loan of £1,500,000? would England give him for seven years an annual
£70,000 instead of £50,000? From month to month negotiations dragged
on, until at last it was announced that Leopold had got the promise
of all he desired, and by that time George IV. was very ill. So the
Prince, with new ideas in his mind, waited for nearly two months more
before even then making his decision, raising many a laugh and many
a scoffing hint in society as to his real reason. “Ingoldsby” Barham
crystallised some of the sayings in his verses upon “The Mad Dog,” as
follows:--
“The Dog hath bitten--Oh, woe is me--
A Market Gardener of high degree;
Imperial Peas
No longer please,
An Imperial Crown he burneth to seize!
Early Cucumbers, Windsor Beans,
Cabbages, Cauliflowers, Broccoli, Greens,
Girkins to pickle, Apples to munch,
Radishes fine, five farthings a bunch,
Carrots red and Turnips white,
Parsnips yellow no more delight,
He spurneth Lettuces, Onions, Leeks,
He would be Sovereign King of the Greeks.
No more in a row
A goodly show.
His Highness’s carts to market go!
Yet still I heard Sam Rogers hint,
He hath no distaste for _celery_ or _mint_.
A different whim
Now seizeth him,
And Greece for his part may sink or swim.
For they cry that he
Would Regent be,
And Rule fair England from sea to sea.
Oh, never was mortal man so mad,--
Alack! alack, for the Gardener lad.”
When it was certain that George IV. could not recover, Leopold declined
the honour of being King of Greece, upon which Barham wrote the
following verse:--
“A King for Greece!--a King for Greece!
Wanted a Sovereign Prince for Greece!
For the recreant Knight
Hath broken his plight,
Some say from policy, some from fright,
Some say in hope to rule for his niece,
He hath refused to be King over Greece.”
Thomas Creevy wrote concerning this decision in one of his letters, “I
suppose Mrs. Kent thinks her daughter’s reign is coming on apace, and
that her brother may be of use to her as _versus_ Cumberland.”
In 1831 Leopold became King of the Belgians, and then, attention
having been so thoroughly drawn to his pension, a determined demand
was made that it should cease when he left England. Matters were not
settled quite so simply. Leopold retained Claremont, stipulated that
his debts of £83,000 should be paid for him, and that he should return
four-fifths of the annuity. When the Duke of Kent had died crushed
with debt, not so much more than this sober gentleman owed, that debt
was left to hang round the necks of his widow and child. The Duke of
Kent was popular, Leopold was not; yet the former was neglected and
the latter was honoured. Really there seems little advantage in being
popular!
When Leopold announced with some solemnity that he was called to
reign over four million noble Belgians, Coleridge, referring to that
country’s discontented state, remarked that it would have been more
appropriate if he had said that he was called to rein in four million
restive asses.
CHAPTER II
PRINCESS VICTORIA’S MOTHER AND UNCLE
“A country gentleman going to the theatre when William IV.
was there would not believe the King was King because he was
not wearing his crown; being almost persuaded, he looked more
closely and then was quite sure that William was not the
King, for the Lion and the Unicorn did not hang down on each
side of him, and he had always been taught--and implicitly
believed--that the King of England had never had any other arms
than these.”--_Contemporary Gossip._
From what has been said of the treatment given to the Duchess of Kent
it can hardly be wondered at that she turned from the whole Royal
family, though she could not always resist the kindness of the Duchess
of Clarence, who came to weep with her and to admire the fat, good
baby. The Duke of Sussex, too, did his best to show by his visits and
advice that she might rely upon his friendship, but on the whole the
resentment felt by the widowed mother was so keen that she would do
nothing to conciliate the people among whom she thought it wise to
live. Thus until the death of William IV. in 1837 there were constant
royal disputes, which increased in bitterness as Victoria neared her
majority.
The Duke of Wellington sometimes took an active part in trying to
make things run smoothly for the Duchess, even against her will.
For instance, he knew not only the Duke of Cumberland’s sentiments
about her, but he knew also that Cumberland was an ugly hater. He had
married in 1815 and his wife was not received by his mother, Queen
Charlotte, so the Duchess of Kent, following her lead, took no notice
of the Duchess of Cumberland when she came to take up her residence
in England. Upon this, the Duke of Wellington told Leopold to advise
his sister to write regretting that she was unable to welcome her on
her arrival, and so was prevented from calling. When the lady of Kent
got the message she wanted to know why she should do this thing, and
Wellington replied that he should not tell her why, that he knew what
was going on better than she did, and advised her for her own sake
to do as he suggested. The Duchess returned that she would give him
credit for counselling her well, and did as he suggested. For this act
of politeness she reaped her reward in remaining untroubled for a long
time by any active show of enmity from the Duke of Cumberland.
As a matter of fact, the Duchess of Kent had her share of the Teutonic
quality of self-complacence; she was a strong woman who knew her own
mind and who had very definite aims in life, and she did not think it
worth while to placate anyone. Either anger against the Royal Family
made her continually show haughtiness to them, or she was obsessed
by a sense of the very important position she held as mother of a
possible Sovereign of England. A weaker person, possessing a greater
charm and tact, and imbued with less determination to secure her own
rights, would have sailed serenely and almost unconsciously through
troubles which the Duchess always met more than half-way, if she did
not actually cause them. Perhaps had she insisted less definitely upon
recognition for herself, that recognition would have been more freely
accorded.
It was even more difficult for her to meet William IV. cordially than
George IV. for the reason that they not only met more often, but that,
while William readily recognised the child as his probable successor,
George had for years refused to see her. It was not until Victoria was
seven that she and her mother received an invitation to go to Windsor,
and there is recorded an incident of that visit which, though amusing,
is somewhat provocative of cynicism. George told this infant to choose
a tune for the band to play, and she gave the diplomatic answer that
she wanted them to play “God save the King.” One wonders whether she
had run to an astute mother for advice, whether it was her favourite
tune in actual fact, or whether the unwonted delights of her visit,
and the kindness of George, the hitherto unknown uncle, made her
spontaneously think of the air which would best please him. Whatever
the motive had been, it was a clever reply.
When William IV. became King in 1830 he desired that the Princess
Victoria should attend the Court functions, and we are given a
ludicrous picture of this child of eleven, dressed in a long Court
train and a veil reaching to the ground, following Queen Adelaide at a
chapter of the Order of the Garter held at St. James’ Palace. She was
also present at the prorogation of Parliament, and attended her first
Drawing Room in February, 1831, in honour of the Queen’s birthday.
Royalties of the time were inconsistent with regard to their birthdays.
Thus on this occasion Adelaide’s natal day was honoured in February,
while in 1836 it was kept in August. In that latter year, too,
according to the papers, the King’s birthday was celebrated both in May
and August! But the Duchess did not willingly allow her child to go
to Court. She may have feared the influence of the coarse manners and
uncontrolled tempers shown by the Princes, but this could not have been
an excuse for slighting Queen Adelaide. However, there is no record
from her own pen of the reason which induced her to keep Princess
Victoria at home.
As soon as King George was dead, the Duchess made the first false move
in her relations with William. She was too anxious for recognition,
too eager to secure what she thought was due to her, and she did not
give the new King the chance of showing his appreciation of her change
of circumstances. She wrote to the Duke of Wellington, then Prime
Minister, asking that a suitable income should be bestowed upon her and
her daughter, over which allowance she should have full control, and
that the Princess should be put on the footing of Heir-Apparent. It is
hard to imagine a more injudicious course for her to have taken. There
had just been elevated to the Throne a man who had been comparatively
poor all his life, and who was looking forward to the luxury of
exercising a great power; one who had a quick temper, to which he gave
uncontrolled expression. His wife had borne two children, both of whom
had died, and there was still the possibility that she might give birth
to more. Yet here, before he had had time to realise his position,
was a woman whom he disliked dictating to him what her place should
be near the Throne, and demanding that her daughter at once should be
recognised as next in succession.
To the demands of the Duchess the Duke of Wellington replied that
nothing could even be proposed for her until the Civil List was
settled, but that nothing should be considered without her knowledge.
This reply is said to have much offended the Duchess, and for a long
time she ignored the gallant old man when she met him.
This incident probably left its stamp upon the future intercourse of
the King and the Duchess; it certainly affected William’s attitude at
the Coronation in 1831; for he insisted upon being immediately followed
in the procession, not by the little Victoria, but by his brothers.
Everyone expected to see the child taking part in the festivities
of that day, but when the morning arrived, and the most wonderful
and gorgeous carriages rolled up to the Abbey, none of them held the
Princess. All the world wondered where were mother and child, and then
_The Times_ published an article upon the matter, accusing the
Duchess of staying away through pique, and commenting strongly upon
the “systematic opposition” which Her Royal Highness showed “to all
the wishes and all the feelings of the present King.” Some newspapers
had got into the facetious habit of alluding to _The Times_ as
Grandmamma, but on this occasion the _Morning Post_ insulted
its great relative by accusing it of “grossness and scurrility,” and
affirming that a place had been allotted to the Princess which was
derogatory to her rank; which after all was scarcely a refutation
of the charge against the Duchess. When questions on this matter
of absence were asked in Parliament, it was vaguely asserted that
sufficient reasons had existed with which the King was perfectly
satisfied. _The Globe_--among others--announced that the Princess
had been kept away through illness, and this was the impression which
it seemed most politic to accept. It appeared that Lord de Ros, whose
sister was Maid-of-Honour to the Queen, had written the offending
article in _The Times_, and it is quite likely, not only that he
believed what he wrote, but that it was true, in spite of the reports
that the Duchess “was in the greatest distress and vexation over the
matter.” For though the indisposition of the Princess was said to have
“rendered her removal from the Isle of Wight to town to take part in
so exciting a pageant much too hazardous to be attempted,” the little
lady was the centre of a crowd two or three days later when she laid
the foundation stone of a new church at East Cowes. It is also quite
certain that the Princess anticipated going, for in later life she
often, when speaking of that time to her children, mentioned how
bitterly she cried at her mother’s decision, and her disappointment
when she was kept at home. “Nothing could console me, not even my
dolls,” she said.
Both King and country showed confidence in the Duchess when the Regency
Bill was under discussion--an important Bill, for if the King died, a
minor would become the Sovereign. It was decided that if Queen Adelaide
bore another child she should hold the post of Regent, but otherwise,
during the minority of the Princess Victoria, the Duchess of Kent
should be Regent. When this Bill was framed, the Duke of Wellington,
mindful of his promise, asked the King’s leave to wait upon the Duchess
with it. The King agreed, and the Duke wrote to Her Royal Highness
saying that he had a communication to make to her on the part of His
Majesty, and therefore proposed to wait upon her at Kensington Palace.
The Duchess was, however, at Claremont, and from there she sent the
following reply:--
“MY LORD DUKE,
I have just received your letter of this date. As it is not
convenient for me to receive Your Grace at Kensington, I prefer
having in writing, addressed to me here, the communication you
state the King has commanded you to make to me.
“VICTORIA.”
[Illustration:
_Photo_ _Emery Walker._
QUEEN ADELAIDE.
From the Painting by Sir William Beechey, in the National
Portrait Gallery.]
It would seem as though the Duchess not only distrusted the King’s
word, but had not yet forgiven the Duke for not being able to accede
to her earlier request. Had she sent her general adviser, Sir John
Conroy, to negotiate with the Duke, or had she invited the latter to
Claremont, she would have kept within the limits of politeness; as it
was, the only thing left for the Duke to do was to send the Bill to her
to study, as he could not in writing give all the explanations he had
intended. In the meanwhile Lord Lyndhurst had brought up the measure in
the House of Lords, and the Duchess of Kent had sent Conroy up to hear
him.
Sir John Conroy was very much in the confidence of the Duchess.
He had been equerry to the Duke of Kent for ten years, and had
been greatly trusted by His Royal Highness, so much so that he was
appointed co-executor of the Duke’s will, with General Wetherall as
colleague. After his master’s death Conroy became _major-domo_ to
the Duchess, and was consulted by her in all things. There are some
indications that he fostered the desire for greater importance, and
it is possible that some of the troubles that made so indelible an
impression upon the mind of the Princess were due to his influence.
It was a great pity, for the Duchess could quite safely have left her
dignity in the hands of the King’s Ministers. Such men as Wellington
or Lyndhurst, or even those of the Opposition, Melbourne and Brougham,
would have seen that so important a person as the mother of the heiress
to the Throne received her due. She could not be sure of the King,
for, when he disliked a person, were it man or woman, his manners were
atrocious. But as one cynical subject once asked in reference to him,
“What can you expect of a man with a head like a pineapple?” Greville
made the further complimentary remark concerning something that the
King had said, “If he were not such an ass that nobody does anything
but laugh at what he says, this would be very important.”
However, William was by no means always an ass. He alternately aroused
laughter and admiration, and sometimes, among individuals, fierce
anger. When in good health he was lively and appreciated a joke, and,
unlike his predecessor, he was conscientious in seeing to business
matters and keeping his engagements. Even Greville, who, in spite of
his sweeping judgments, was an honest critic, not often allowing mere
prejudice to warp his opinion, said of William on another occasion,
“The fact is he turns out to be an incomparable King, and deserves
all the encomiums lavished upon him.” William horrified people at
first by prying into every concern; he actually, to the stupefaction
of some, reviewed the Guards, both horse and foot, and spent some
energy in “blowing up” the people at the Court, actions which were
regarded as symptoms of a disordered mind. Later, when suffering from
illness, he did not hesitate to “blow up” his Prime Minister, or the
Commander-in-Chief, or the guest at his table--and all in public!
During the first year of his reign people thought and spoke of nothing
but the King, how he slept in a cot, how he dismissed his brother’s
cooks, how he insisted upon sitting backwards when in a carriage,
refusing to allow anyone to occupy the seat facing him. One day he went
to inspect the Tower of London, and a contemporary writer gives this
picture of the Royal party:--
“The King is a little, old, red-nosed, weather-beaten, jolly-looking
person, with an ungraceful air and carriage; and as to the Duke of
Sussex, what with his stiff collar and cocked hat bobbing over his
face, nothing could be seen of him but his nose. He seemed quite
overcome with heat, and went along puffing and panting with the great,
fat Duchess of Cumberland leaning on his arm. The Queen is even worse
than I thought--a little insignificant person as ever I saw. She was
dressed, as perhaps you will see by the papers, ‘exceeding plain,’ in
bombazine with a little shabby muslin collar, dyed Leghorn hat, and
leather shoes.”
Creevy went to the opera on a Royal night, and his impressions, related
in his own peculiarly flippant way, were as follows:--“Billy 4th at the
Opera was everything one could wish: a more _Wapping_ air I defy a
King to have--his hair five times as full of _poudre_ as mine, and
his seaman’s gold lace cock-and-pinch hat was charming. He slept most
of the Opera--never spoke to anyone, or took the slightest interest in
the concern.... I was sorry not to see more of Victoria: she was in a
box with the Duchess of Kent, opposite, and, of course, rather under
us. When she looked over the box I saw her, and she looked a very nice
little girl indeed.”
He adds a little later that when the question of proroguing Parliament
by commission arose, and Lord Grey said to William that it was, of
course, quite out of the question to ask him to prorogue in person, the
King replied: “My Lord, I’ll go, if I go in a hackney coach,” which
showed at least the true kingly spirit, even if it was perturbing to
his Minister. William meant it, too, and Lord Durham had to borrow the
Chancellor’s carriage and dash off to the Master of the Horse, whom he
found at breakfast. On the demand being made that he should at once
have the King’s equipage sent round, the latter asked:
“What, is there a revolution?”
“No,” was the answer, “but there will be if you stop to finish that
meal first.”
In 1834 Oliver Wendell Holmes was in England, and he also went to the
Opera one night when the King was present. His impressions are to the
full as uncomplimentary and as outspoken as those of the jovial Creevy.
“I went last night to the Royal Opera, where they were to be in state.
I had to give more than two dollars for a pit ticket,[2] and had
hardly room to stand up, almost crowded to death. The Duchess of Kent
and the Princess Victoria--a girl of fifteen--came in first on the
side opposite the King’s box. The audience applauded somewhat, not
ferociously.... The Princess is a nice, fresh-looking girl, blonde,
and rather pretty. The King looks like a retired butcher. The Queen is
much such a person as the wife of the late William Frost, of Cambridge,
an exemplary milkman, now probably immortal on a slab of slatestone as
a father, a husband, and a brother. The King blew his nose twice, and
wiped the royal perspiration repeatedly from a face which is probably
the largest uncivilised spot in England.” The critic adds, in excuse
for his plain speaking, “I have a disposition to tartness and levity
which tells to the disadvantage of the Royal living and advantage of
the plebeian defunct, but it is accidental and must be forgiven.”
But to return to the reasons for the animosity between the King and
the Duchess of Kent. There was another person besides Conroy about
the Duchess’s household who was generally regarded as injudicious,
and whose name was speedily written in the King’s bad books. This was
John George Lambton, created Earl of Durham in 1833, a man of whom
Lord Brougham said that he had many good and some great qualities, but
all were much obscured, and even perverted, by his temper, which was
greatly affected by the painful liver disease from which he suffered.
Creevy speaks of him, soon after the death of his first wife, as an
excellent host, as full of good qualities, and possessing remarkable
talents, adding that “his three little babies are his great resource.”
Durham once said that he thought £40,000 a year a moderate income--one
which a man might just jog on with; and the phrase was never forgotten,
he being called “Old Jog” or “King Jog” by some of his friends ever
after.
Before his elevation to the peerage Durham had been very friendly with
the Duke of Kent, for they thought alike in politics, both being Whigs.
Thus from the start Durham was associated with the Kent household; and
as he was arrogant and tactless, with tremendous ideas about money,
he must have been one of the worst advisers that the Duchess could
have secured. He seems to have been particularly active in small
matters before the commencement of William’s reign, becoming Leopold’s
right-hand man when he thought of accepting the position of King of
Greece, drawing up all his papers for him, and being “his bottle-holder
ever since.” Greville styles him the Duchess of Kent’s “magnus Apollo.”
When Leopold left England, Durham became more useful still to the
Duchess, and is heard of constantly in connection with the affairs at
Kensington. In 1831 the Duchess hired Norris Castle, in the Isle of
Wight, for the autumn, and Lord Durham is mentioned as being there as
a guest; one malicious commentary upon the matter being that “Lord
Durham was acting the part of Prime Minister to the Duchess of Kent and
_Queen_ Victoria, who were all together making their arrangements
for a new reign”; and it was a general opinion that when the Princess
ascended the throne Durham would be first favourite with her and her
mother. On his return from an Extraordinary Embassy to St. Petersburg
the King gave him an audience, which, says Greville, “must have been
very agreeable to him (the King), as he hates him and the Duchess of
Kent.”
There are many little stories told of this man’s pettishness; his
second wife was the daughter of Lord Grey, and it is said that he
harassed the life out of his father-in-law during the Reform agitation.
Once when Lord Grey was speaking he rudely interrupted him. Grey
paused, and said, “My dear Lambton, only hear what I am going to say,”
whereupon the other jumped up, replying, “Oh, if I am not to be
allowed to speak, I may as well go away”; so, ordering his carriage, he
departed.
In a bad mood he once said evil things about Lady Jersey, accusing
her of defaming his wife to the Queen, and declaring that Lady Durham
should demand an audience of Her Majesty to contradict these scandals.
For once he had met his peer in bad temper, for Lady Jersey, at the
Drawing Room which was the cause of little Victoria’s first appearance
at William’s Court, saw him standing at the opposite side of the room.
She went close to him, and said loudly:
“Lord Durham, I hear that you have said things about me which are not
true, and I desire that you will call upon me to-morrow with a witness
to hear my denial.”
She was in a fury, and put Lord Durham into the same state. He, turning
white, muttered that he would never go into her house again, but she
had flounced back to her seat, and did not hear him.
Durham naturally made an enemy of a man like Brougham, who was too
extreme himself to like the same quality in another, and when Durham
resigned office a popular couplet ran:
“Bore Durham fell--(ye Whigs his loss deplore)--
Pierced by the tusks of Brougham--greater Bore.”
There seems to be no record of the Duchess of Kent asking advice,
consulting the King, or even telling him her plans; she marked out her
own path and took it composedly, leaving the consequences to follow.
She probably reasoned that the Princess was her child, and she was the
recognised guardian, therefore she could act independently. That she
brought her up well is evident, though in these days so often called
degenerate, and yet so full of happiness for children, most mothers
would be sorry for a babe of six years old who had to carry home on
Sunday morning the text of the sermon with the heads of the discourse.
I have read somewhere that the child would fix her eyes upon the
clergyman’s face as soon as he began his sermon, and never move them
while he continued to speak, seeming to give a preternatural attention
to all that he said; the reason being explained by the fact that her
mother desired to test her appreciation of his address by putting that
strain upon her memory and understanding. Well, many mothers did the
same thing in those days, but, fortunately for the children, we have a
better sense of what is fitting to-day.
When the extra allowance of £10,000 was made to the Duchess in 1831,
the Duchess of Northumberland was appointed governess to Victoria, and
went to Kensington each day to superintend the studies. The _Court
Journal_, in commenting upon this, spoke of the Princess as the
Duchess’s “great charge,” upon which _Figaro in London_ made
the remark that it was scarcely according to fact to call the child
a great charge to her governess, though it might with propriety be
admitted that “her little Royal Highness was a _great charge_ to
the country,” a weak pun based upon insufficient cause, as the family
income was, all things considered, by no means large.
Those who had so far helped in the Princess’s education deserve a
word. The person who earliest exercised her authority was Louise
Lehzen, the daughter of a Lutheran clergyman in Hanover, who had been
governess to Princess Féodore, the Duchess’s elder daughter by the
Prince of Leiningen. In 1824, by the command of George IV., this lady
transferred her attentions to Princess Victoria, and from that time
until 1842 was her constant companion. The fact that she came from a
small German State was sufficient to make her unpopular in England, but
she won the child’s confidence, and helped in teaching her the usual
accomplishments of the day. That she was a governess in reality may
be doubted; she talked much but knew little, and had no respect for
progressive ideas in education, though she was shrewd in judgment. The
Princess both loved and feared her, saying after her death in 1870:
“She knew me from six months old, and from my fifth to my eighteenth
years devoted all her care and energies to me with most wonderful
abnegation of self, never even taking one day’s holiday. I adored,
though I was greatly in awe of her. She really seemed to have no
thought but for me.”
Among the close friends of Baroness Lehzen--she was created, by the
suggestion of Princess Sophia, a Hanoverian Baroness in 1826, when Dr.
Davys was appointed as tutor to the Princess--was the Baroness Späth,
who had for a long time been Lady-in-Waiting to the Duchess, and might
have continued to hold the post had not Sir John Conroy quarrelled
with her and secured her dismissal. For this maybe he, in later years,
failed to reach the honours to which he aspired, for Lehzen never
forgave him, and remained his enemy to the end. Who can say that her
dislike of the Duchess’s counsellor did not influence the Princess’s
feelings towards him? Baroness Späth perhaps annoyed the Duchess as
well as Conroy by her exuberant love for the Princess. It is mentioned
in a letter from Princess Féodore to the Queen: “There certainly never
was such devotedness as hers to all our family, although it sometimes
showed itself rather foolishly--with you it was always a sort of
idolatry, when she used to go upon her knees before you when you were a
child. She and poor old Louis did all they could to spoil you.”
Louis had been an attendant and dresser to Princess Charlotte, and she
remained until her death, in 1838, in the service of Victoria, who felt
much affection for her.
Baroness Lehzen was only responsible for the child’s training for three
years, for when the Princess was about eight years old, as has been
said, a grant of six thousand a year--in addition to the six thousand
then forming the Duchess’s income--was allowed “for the purpose of
making an adequate provision for the honourable support and education
of Her Highness Princess Alexandrina Victoria of Kent.” It was really
felt that the child needed to be under English tuition, and a country
clergyman, the Rev. George Davys, became her tutor. No sooner had the
Duchess chosen him than King William asserted that it was a bad choice,
and that no one under the rank of a prelate should have been offered
the work, whereupon the Duchess intimated that it would be quite easy
to give Mr. Davys a bishopric; and this was eventually done, though
at first the Crown living of St. Hallows-on-the-Wall in the City was
the preferment bestowed. Mr. Davys gathered various masters to teach
the Princess different subjects, but from many sources it is seen that
Baroness Lehzen still did much of the elementary teaching, though her
labours in this respect stopped when the Duchess of Northumberland took
charge. Mr. Davys’s daughter, a girl a little older than the Princess,
shared the tuition, and, as far as can be told, represented most of
what the Princess knew of child companionship. When Victoria became
Queen this early friend was made permanent Woman of the Bedchamber.
The strained relations between the King and his sister-in-law took
active form over what were known as the Duchess’s progresses. On
looking at the matter from this long distance of time, it is impossible
not to agree with the Duchess that it was well that the child should
see England, should know the different districts of the country, should
visit the manufacturing towns, the seats of learning, and the beautiful
hills in the north and west. The grievance lay, first and foremost,
in the fact that the King would have liked to introduce his successor
to his people through Court functions and constant companionship, but
was debarred almost entirely from seeing her; and, secondly, that the
Duchess planned all her journeys quite independently of the King, and
demanded Royal honours wherever she went. Thus for some years from
1832 an annual series of visits was projected, taking place generally
in the autumn. The first of which we have any definite account was
made in 1832, and shows an extraordinary activity. The Duchess and her
suite went to Chatsworth, Hardwicke Hall, Chesterfield, Matlock; to the
Earl of Shrewsbury’s at Alton Towers, and to the Earl of Liverpool’s
at Shrewsbury, where they knew they would have a warm welcome, as
Lady Catherine Jenkinson, Lord Liverpool’s daughter, was one of the
Ladies in Waiting upon the Duchess. This was followed by visits to
Oakley Park, Howell Grange, and Oxford, where the degree of Doctor was
conferred upon Conroy. Powis Castle, the early home of the Duchess of
Northumberland, was also visited, and a house rented at Beaumaris, on
the Isle of Anglesey, for a month, whence they had to flee, because
of an epidemic of cholera, to Plâs Newydd, the home of the Marquis of
Anglesey, on the Menai Straits, which the Marquis gladly put at their
disposal.
In Wales, Victoria, a child of thirteen, presented prizes at the
Eisteddfod, laid the foundation of a boys’ school, and, on her way back
through Chester, opened a new bridge over the Dee.
Year after year tours of this sort were carried out, the arrangements
being in the hands of Sir John Conroy--“a ridiculous fellow,” says
Greville--who seemed to have given every opening that he could for
loyal speeches, which, in the peculiar circumstances, could not avoid
touching upon dangerous topics.
On the whole, the laudatory biographies of Queen Victoria have shown
great injustice to William IV. The writers of those biographies,
painfully anxious to please living people, have not allowed themselves
to exercise either sound criticism or sound judgment. They have made
the King a vulgar, brutal monster, always ready to insult “defenceless
women,” and have extolled the Duchess of Kent as a miracle of propriety
and wisdom. As a matter of fact, both of them, in different ways, were
wanting in self-control; both were people of passionate temperament,
the King hotly so, the Duchess in a more reserved but equally
intractable way. At that time William still had a faint hope that his
wife might bear children--a fact that is shown in the negotiations
concerning the Regency, and in various little significant events. For
that reason he insisted upon Princess Victoria being regarded as Heir
Presumptive, which was keenly resented by the Duchess, who thought
that the right title should be Heir Apparent. Thus when all the papers
detailed the events of the Duchess’s tours through the country, and
gave in full many loyal speeches and their acknowledgments, or if they
did not give them in full were particular to pick out the most striking
passages, it is scarcely to be wondered at that the soul of the King
was shaken with rage, for these speeches were sometimes a little too
anticipatory to be pleasant to him. “The Princess who will rule over
us,” was a common phrase, to which the Duchess responded freely with
“your future Queen,” softening the expression, however, with the pious
wish, “I trust at a very distant date.”
These progresses, lasting sometimes for a couple of months or even
longer, gave the young Princess much information, and showed her
something of England; she probably liked the novelty at first, and
all through enjoyed some incidents and the kindness offered her. She
is said to have displayed wonderfully precocious powers of shrewdness
(a cheap bit of praise!), and to have written long letters to her
governess, describing, “with an accuracy, minuteness, and spirit
quite extraordinary,” her impressions of the manners, customs, and
peculiarities of the people in the various towns she visited. But
there were times when she was bored to death. The absurd triumphal
meanderings through this town and that, bowing here, bowing there,
surrounded by crowds sometimes so dense that the carriage could not
move, cheered, gazed at, addressed by mayors and popular speakers--all
this became dull and tedious to her. A young thing who should have
been playing at ball and learning French verbs had to sit for hours
playing, instead, at being grown up, and when she entered a house as
a guest had to retain a dignified manner, had to lead off the dance
with a middle-aged host instead of romping with his young people, and
for dreary weeks had to assume a mock royalty. There must have been
also moments of acute pain; for a girl of that age, at least in the
present day, will turn scarlet with anger if she and her qualities are
discussed before her face, without perhaps quite comprehending why
she feels that such a course is a dire and undignified offence, by
inference depriving her of her sensibility and relegating her to the
position of the unthinking creatures who cannot understand what is
said.
Yet little Victoria had to listen daily to the speeches made by her
mother, in which her education, her tendencies, and the desires
concerning her were fully described to the “great unwashed.” Such
instances as the following were of common occurrence. When, in
1833, mother and child attended the ceremony of opening the pier at
Southampton, the Mayor offered a loyal address, to which the Duchess
replied, among other things, that it was a great advantage to the
Princess to be thus early taught the importance of being attached to
works of utility, adding that it was her anxious desire to impress
upon her daughter the value of everything recommended by its practical
utility to all classes of the community.
On another occasion she said to the public crowd,“I cannot better
allude to your good feeling towards the Princess than by joining
fervently in the wish that she may set an example in her conduct of
that piety towards God and charity towards men which is the only sure
foundation either of individual happiness or national prosperity.”
Again she would say that “it was the object of her life to render her
daughter deserving of the affectionate solicitude she so universally
inspired, and to make her worthy of the attachment and respect of
a free and loyal people.” These sentiments were quite natural and
laudable, the only thing wrong about them being that they were
expressed publicly and with considerable ceremony before the child of
whom they were spoken. For these responses were generally written, and
when the moment came for their delivery, John Conroy, standing by the
Duchess’s side, would hand up her answer, “just as the Prime Minister
hands the King the copy of his speech when opening Parliament.” This
habit was specially noticed when, in 1835, the royal pair went through
the north-east of England, to York, Wentworth House, Doncaster (where
they witnessed the races), Belvoir Castle, Burghley, Lynn, Holkham, and
Euston Hall. At Burghley the loyal address spoke of the Princess as
one “destined to mount the throne of these realms,” and most splendid
preparations were made by Burghley’s master, the Marquis of Exeter,
for the lodgment of his guests. The dinner was a great function and
all went well until a clumsy or nervous servant slipped and turned the
contents of an ice-pail into the Duchess’s lap, “which made a great
bustle.” The Princess opened the ball with Lord Exeter, and then, like
a good child, went off to bed.
At Holkham a crowd of people were waiting in the brilliantly
illuminated Egyptian Hall while the Princess was dragged for miles in
her carriage by navvies, making her two hours late. At last a carriage
arrived at the Hall containing three ladies, and Mr. Coke, with a
lighted candle in each hand, made a profound bow. When he resumed the
perpendicular the visitors had vanished, and the host was told that he
had been making his obeisance to the dressers! Soon after this, their
Royal Highnesses appeared, and the Princess won all by her pleasant
courtesy.
It is more than probable that among those who were personally affected
by these journeys they were popular, but on the whole they were
harshly criticised, not only by those who surrounded the King, but
by the diarists of that time, and among those who guided the tone of
the newspapers; and these we must suppose gave voice to the general
sentiment. It was an age which preferred the retirement of women, and
many people were shocked at the publicity of it all. The Duchess went,
they affirmed, “to fish up loyalty in the provinces, and to prepare her
daughter for the business of sovereignty, which, however, in this free
and high-spirited country is merely to be hooted at, cheered, gazed at,
dragged in triumph and addressed by the populace.” On one occasion they
dined at Plymouth, the blinds up to show the illuminated room to the
dense crowd which filled the area of the hotel, “a vulgar process which
appears to have excited fresh enthusiasm among the herd of minions who
accompanied with adulatory yelps the course of the visitors.”
Apart from the spiteful tone of all this, the charge was true; but the
Duchess was right. She was following a certain system of education;
she was bringing up a Queen, teaching her the social duties of her
station and training her in those habits of self-control and _savoir
faire_ which made Victoria astonish England at her accession by her
coolness and dignity. Without her mother’s training the Princess would
have been far more like the Georges in outward manners than she was;
with it she became perhaps too conscious of what was due from others
to herself, too ready to be offended if all did not bow to the wishes
of “the Crown”; but the gain was the country’s, and the country has
largely to thank the Duchess of Kent for a revolution in the character
and moral position of the English Sovereign.
It was during the second visit to Norris Castle, in the Isle of
Wight, in 1833, that another quarrel took place between the King and
his sister-in-law. At Osborne Lodge--the site of the later Osborne
Cottage built by Victoria--Sir John Conroy had his residence, where
he entertained the two Princesses. They also went to East Cowes, to
Whippingham, and crossed over at different times to Portsmouth, to
Weymouth, and to Plymouth. They inspected the dockyards, made a cruise
to Eddystone Lighthouse, went to Torquay, Exeter and Swanage; the
Princess presented new colours to the Royal Irish Fusiliers stationed
at Devonport, during which ceremony the Duchess told the troops that
“her daughter’s study of English history had inspired her with martial
ardour.” Day after day they were crossing and recrossing the Sound,
and every time they appeared salutes were fired. It is true that
William could not hear the guns at Windsor or at St. James’s, but the
knowledge of the daily, and more than daily, recurrence annoyed him.
To be saluted on arrival and on departure was one thing, but to have
a “continual popping” going on was quite another. So William called
a Council, and dignified statesmen had to go to Court to discuss the
matter. Greville’s account runs as follows:--
“The King has been (not unnaturally) disgusted at the Duchess of Kent’s
progresses with her daughter through the kingdom, and amongst the rest
with her sailings at the Isle of Wight, and the continual popping in
the shape of salutes to Her Royal Highness. He did not choose that the
latter practice should go on, and he signified his pleasure to Sir
James Graham and Lord Hill, for salutes are matters of general order,
both to Army and Navy.”
It was thought better to make no order on the subject, but that the two
gentlemen, with Lord Grey, should open a negotiation with the Duchess,
and ask her of her own accord to waive the salutes, and should send
word when returning to the Isle of Wight that, as she was sailing
about for her amusement, she preferred that she should not be saluted
whenever she appeared. However, the Duchess was too childishly fond of
the importance of the noise to be a party to its discontinuance, and
took council of Conroy, who is reported to have replied, “that, as Her
Royal Highness’s _confidential adviser_, he could not recommend
her to give way on this point.” The King would not give way either, so
by an Order in Council the regulations were altered under the King’s
directions, and the Royal Standard was for the future only to be
saluted when the King or Queen was on board.
It was a stupid wrangle on a silly subject, but even in so small a
matter as this, in the modern desire to justify everything that the
mother of Victoria did, writers of royal “Lives” always affirm that the
King was bad-tempered enough to object to the salute being offered to
the Duchess on her arrival at the commencement of her holiday.
That the Duchess should resent such happenings as this was natural, but
it was rather sad that she included her old friend Queen Adelaide in
her resentful feelings.
In contemporary writings I find many comments upon the change of manner
which she gradually showed towards Adelaide after the former had become
Queen. Before that the two ladies had been good friends, but there
seems to have arisen such a jealousy on the part of the Duchess that
she began to treat the Queen with studied rudeness, and to make absurd
demands as to her own treatment. Thus, if she were under the obligation
of calling upon the Queen, she would name her own hour, and, if that
did not suit Adelaide, would make that an excuse for considering the
call paid. In earlier and more friendly times, if one of these ladies
went to see the other, she would feel at liberty to go from room to
room until she found her. By 1833, however, though the Duchess still
followed this custom at the Palace, she would not allow it to the Queen
at Kensington, but gave orders that she must await her in this or that
room.
In that same year the Duchess had two nephews on a visit at the time
when Donna Maria da Gloria of Portugal was staying with the King. The
Queen gave a ball for the young people, and between the dances was
quite glad to see that little Victoria seemed to care for her as much
as ever and constantly came to sit by her side. During the evening
Adelaide, wishing to know something of the two young German princelets,
asked the Duchess to have them brought to her that she might have a
talk with them. But for some hidden reason the Duchess refused, and
added to the snub by taking her whole party away long before the ball
was over, saying that the Princes had been to a review and were tired.
Lady Bedingfield, who tells this story, adds: “Note that they are six
feet high and stout for their age!” It is difficult to think that
anything but ill-humour was responsible for this, that or the idea that
she must show her importance by leaving early, for the Duchess would
sometimes keep her daughter at the Opera until a very late hour.
However, gentle-minded Adelaide passed this by and invited the
young men down to Windsor, upon which the Duchess wrote one of her
characteristic notes, saying that she could not come with them and
could not spare them, and as they had paid their respects to the King
at the Drawing Room, she did not think the visit to Windsor necessary.
There was some discussion between the royal pair as to how this letter
should be answered, and the King preferred that a bare acknowledgment
should be made. Adelaide had the curiosity to look in the paper to
see what these boys were so busy about on the day she had hoped to
have them with her, and found that they had spent it at the Zoological
Gardens!
CHAPTER III
PRINCESS VICTORIA’S TUITION IN POLITICS
“Confound their politics.”--_National Anthem._
Queen Adelaide, being in a high place, had many detractors, though she
was certainly a kind and gentle woman. Her two faults in the eyes of
the English people were that she was drawn from a poor German family,
and that she exercised, or was said, perhaps erroneously, to exercise a
strong political influence in great matters over the King. It was the
time of the fight over the Reform Bill, when the whole country was in a
ferment, and everyone, down to the children, took sides, whether they
understood the question or not. When it became known that the Queen
was opposed to the passage of the Bill, the papers published skits and
cartoons against her, accusing her of plotting against the people and
even against the Crown, so that the populace did not hesitate to show
its animus. Thus on one occasion when an election was exciting the
passions of all, the King arranged to pay a State visit to the City,
and the Lord Mayor, somewhat foolishly, illuminated the streets the day
before. The glare and light seem to have been the one thing too much
for the inflamed minds of the mob, which showed its joy by breaking
windows and creating a general uproar. The Queen had, unfortunately,
gone that evening to a concert without guards, and as she was returning
she was recognised, her carriage being surrounded by a roaring crowd,
some of whom tried to thrust their heads into the windows. The footmen
used their canes freely to beat them off, and the coachman managed to
reach the Palace safely; but the poor lady was much alarmed and thought
herself in danger of her life. The King, worried at her late return,
paced from room to room waiting her, and when at last she arrived he
caught hold of Lord Howe, her Chamberlain, who preceded her, asking in
agitated voice:
“How is the Queen?”
Howe, being an eager anti-reformer, replied that she was much
frightened and proceeded to make the very worst of the occurrence, with
the result that the King, in a fury, determined to cancel his proposed
visit to the City, much to the chagrin of his Ministers.
[Illustration: WILLIAM IV.]
As for William himself, he blew hot and cold over the Bill, as everyone
knows, and it became a duel between Lord Grey and Queen Adelaide, so
it was said, as to which should gain the greatest power over the King,
and William began to get the reputation of being a hen-pecked husband.
At one point Grey desired to go to the country that he might prove that
the Lords were the impediment in the way of the Bill, and the King
consented to a dissolution, actually taking leave of his Minister. The
next day, however, actuated by some hidden motive, he absolutely and
flatly refused to countenance the change, thus forcing Lord Grey to
persevere in what seemed a hopeless attempt to get the Bill passed
through the House of Lords. The Whig press was furious, and published
such outspoken opinions as the following:--
“Hail, thou conundrum of our age,
Britannia’s great first fiddle,
By turns a fool, by turns a sage,
A puzzling royal riddle.
By turns you make us weep or smile,
Your country’s curse or glory,
The Billy Black of Britain’s Isle,
By turns a Whig or Tory.”
While the Bill was pressing its turbulent passage through the Commons,
and during the subsequent troubles, the idea took stronger hold upon
the people that the Queen was the motive of the King’s continued
vacillations. They went further still, and said that she was influenced
by Lord Howe, who was believed to entertain a romantic attachment for
her. Indeed, letters of hers are in existence more or less proving
that there was truth in the idea of the influence. Her desire was to
dismiss the Whigs and form a Tory Government, and in one letter to Lord
Howe she notes that “the King’s eyes are open, and he sees the great
difficulties in which he is placed, that he really sees everything in
the right light,” adding that he thought the Tories not strong enough
to form an administration.
Lord Howe voted against the measure, and Lord Grey, seeing how the
Government was being defeated by members of the Royal household,
forced the King to dismiss him. This the Queen regarded as an outrage.
She refused to allow another chamberlain to be appointed, and Howe
attended the Queen as assiduously as ever, the two working unceasingly
against the Government. This led to something like popular hatred of
Adelaide, and to the universal spread of the horrid reports which
were being circulated about her and her late Chamberlain, proofs of
which animosity were forthcoming every time she appeared in public.
The _Court Journal_ deplored the fact that when she drove out
the Queen experienced almost daily insult from the populace, being
hissed as she passed. Raikes tells us that he saw the King and Queen
at the Duke of Wellington’s _fête_ at Apsley House, that His
Majesty looked tired, and Queen Adelaide was out of spirits. “She had
attended a review in Hyde Park in the morning, when the sovereign mob
thought proper to greet her with much incivility and rudeness.” The
King himself by no means escaped the hostility of the people, for he
no sooner showed himself on the stand at Ascot than a stone hit him
full in the forehead. Fortunately it did him no serious injury, and the
ruffian who threw it was found to be half-witted.
Socially the affair with Lord Howe assumed serious proportions. The
Queen was so angry at his dismissal that, to placate her, it was
suggested that he should be reinstated, a condition being made that,
though he should not be asked to vote against his conscience, he should
undertake not to vote against the Bill. This condition he indignantly
refused, and the Queen was not conciliated.
Greville, who much disliked Queen Adelaide, notes of the Court held at
Brighton at Christmas, 1832:--“The Court is very active, vulgar, and
hospitable. King, Queen, Princes, Princesses, bastards, and attendants
constantly trotting about in every direction.... Lord Howe is devoted
to the Queen, and is never away from her. She receives his attentions,
but demonstrates nothing in return; he is like a boy in love with this
frightful spotted Majesty, while his delightful wife is laid up with
a sprained ankle and dislocated joint on the sofa.” Indeed, everyone
looked upon him as an ardent lover, and noted that he was dining every
day at the Pavilion, riding with the Queen, and never quitting her
side, keeping his eyes always fixed on her face. Adelaide herself was
very careful; she was surrounded by the Fitzclarences, who would have
been delighted to prove her in the wrong, and even they could not find
fault with her attitude to her quasi-Chamberlain.
Lady Howe, when again able to go to Court, was vexed to death about
it, and induced Greville to warn her husband of the scandalous stories
afloat. Greville did this, but it only annoyed Lord Howe, who, however,
by his manner convinced that worldly man that there was nothing in
the matter but folly and the vanity of being confidential adviser to
the Queen. As a result of this conversation, Howe suggested to Her
Majesty that she should appoint a new Chamberlain, and that he should
wait upon the King to inform him of the fact. This, however, the
Queen absolutely forbade, and Howe stayed on, with the result that a
year or two later Queen Adelaide’s name was in every mouth in a very
discreditable way.
Greville was horribly prejudiced against the Queen, and very much
taken with Lady Howe, but the latter seems to have been a curiously
irresponsible person. Once, when she and her husband were driving with
the Queen, she, being tired, coolly put her feet up on to her husband’s
knee, and then rested them on the window-ledge, saying innocently to
his distressed lordship, “What do you mean by shaking your head?”
On another occasion the Howes were assisting Adelaide to ticket things
for a bazaar, and Lady Howe fell in love with some shoes; so, fitting
one on, she put her foot on the table to show how well it set. Can
anyone imagine a woman behaving like that before Queen Victoria? The
autocratic manners of the Duchess of Kent are but a tale to us now, but
her training of her daughter in modesty and decorous ways was a reality
of which we still feel the benefit.
Queen Adelaide was the most confiding and rash of women; her theory of
life was so simple that when one of her ladies tried to suggest caution
to her in relation to Lord Howe, saying that the newspapers had been
very ill-natured about her friendship for him, she replied that she
knew that, but truth would always find its way. It did in her case, but
she had personally to run the gauntlet of scandal. Lady Bedingfield
remarked of her, “The Queen is so good and virtuous that she has no
idea people could fancy that she likes him (Howe) too much.”
In 1834 the Queen went on an extended tour to her home in
Saxe-Meiningen, taking with her presents of no less than eleven
carriages and many other things, much to the anger of the people,
who were then in a starving condition. On her return in September
she was ill, being quite knocked up with the festivities in Germany,
and a report was started--being first whispered at the Lord Mayor’s
banquet--that the Queen was with child. This was confirmed by her
ladies, and in February the medical men, though still uncertain, leaned
to the decision that such was the case. _The Court Journal_
went so far as to announce that her Majesty was said to have derived
peculiar benefit from drinking at a spring in Germany known as Child’s
Well; so the papers all debated the facts, and the Royal hangers-on
were in a state of great commotion.
Lord Howe’s name was on everyone’s lips, and the less dignified papers
did not hesitate openly to hint what society people were whispering.
Alvanley, the wit of the time, suggested that the psalm, “Lord,
_how_ wonderful are Thy works,” should be generally sung, and
cartoons and ribald verses appeared everywhere. One of the latter ran:
“How(e) wondrous are thy works, my lord,
How(e) glorious are thy ways!
How(e) shall we sing thy song, my lord?
How(e) celebrate thy praise?”
Another such rhyme tells us how
“Poor little Vicky, in a fright
Disjointed feels her royal nose.”
and goes on to explain that
“Her Grace, the Duchess-Mother pouts,
And General Conroy’s in the dumps,
He dreams no more of Ins-and-Outs,
His suit is now no longer trumps.
The little Princes in a flutter,
Throw all their whips and tops away,
And quarrel with their bread and butter,
And mope and sulk the live-long day.
The whiskered Ernest rubs his eyes,
Poor Georgie Cumberland loudly groans,
While little Cambridge yells and cries,
That such new cousins he disowns.”
However many people may have believed it to be true that Adelaide
expected another child, there were not many about the Court who could
have credited the scandalous part of the story. As Greville said,
“Of course, there will be plenty of scandal. It so happens, however,
that Howe had not been with the Court for a considerable time.” In
May, newspapers that had given many inches to spreading the belief,
announced in two lines that the report that an heir was expected to the
Throne was untrue, and so vanished the last of William’s hopes that he
might be succeeded in the direct line.
I think it was Lady Cardigan who said that Lord Howe had named his
three daughters after three of his former loves, Lady _Georgina_
Fane, Queen _Adelaide_, and _Emily_ Bagot.
When William IV. first came to the throne he was imbued with a
determination to rule justly and irrespective of party, but he was
in the midst of Tory influence while the Government was Whig. His
Ministers became exhausted by the long effort they had to make to keep
him consistent on the question of Reform, and the passing of the Bill
may be said to have begun his outwardly expressed leaning towards
Toryism. This increased as time went on, and in 1834 one of the most
remarkable political events took place.
The leadership of the House of Commons was vacant owing to the death
of Earl Spencer, by which his son, Lord Althorp, took his seat in the
higher chamber. The Whigs were in a majority of a third of the House,
but were obliged to fight the Lords for the passage of their Bills.
Lord Melbourne went to consult the King as to the new leader, and
William, with vague grumblings and irritable manner, seemed to agree
with Melbourne’s plans; however, in the morning before he left Windsor
a letter was handed to the Minister from the King dismissing the
Government. This letter was anything but dignified, as it indulged in
personal reflections upon Lord John Russell and Mr. Spring-Rice.
“But conceive our poor friend’s desperation
When, in answer to this application,
Turning coolly about,
Said the Sovereign, ‘You’re out!
And I’ll form a new Administration.’”
Melbourne spent the day in inducing his Monarch to alter his letter
so that it should cause no more heart-burnings than could be avoided,
and he talked the matter over with Palmerston that night. Lord Brougham
came in late, and, under a promise not to divulge until the next day
what had happened, he also heard the story. Brougham kept his promise
in a way, for he waited until after midnight and then communicated the
whole matter to the _Times_. So the next morning the keepers of
this grave secret found a flourishing announcement in the leading Tory
paper. “The King has taken the opportunity of Lord Spencer’s death to
turn out the Ministry, and there is every reason to believe that the
Duke of Wellington has been sent for. The Queen has done it all.”
This caused a series of convulsions in every stratum of society. The
King accused Melbourne of having published a matter which should have
been kept secret until correctly announced at the correct moment; the
Government blamed Melbourne all round. Everyone believed that the
whole thing had been preconcerted, but of them all the consequences
fell heaviest upon Queen Adelaide. The sentence, “The Queen has done
it all,” was placarded all over London, and the people believed that
now there was no doubt but that they had a real grievance against the
Queen, and they hated her bitterly. Yet it is fairly certain that the
Queen was as astonished as everyone else; no one but the King knew
what the King had planned, and it is probable that he did not know
until he suddenly made up his mind after seeing Melbourne that evening.
He appointed the Duke of Wellington First Lord of the Treasury and
Secretary of State, and he had to send someone off in a hurry to Italy
to find Sir Robert Peel; but the new Government only lived until April
of the following year, when it was defeated, and Melbourne came back to
office.
William took this as well as he could, but he grew to hate the Whigs.
There were times when he would neither see nor speak to one of them,
when he treated his Ministers with open insult. Over and over again
in the last two years of his reign one reads of the way in which he
refused to acknowledge them. At the Queen’s birthday dinner-party in
1836 not one of the Ministry nor a Whig of any sort was invited; and
at his own birthday party no one at all connected with the Government,
except the members in his household, was asked to be present. He was
evidently resolved that, if he had to see them in London, the gates
of Windsor should be closed to them. On the other hand, he chose his
guests deliberately from the Tories, the men he liked best being Lord
Winchilsea and Lord Wharncliffe, both holding violent views, and the
Duke of Dorset, who was an extreme Tory. It was said that for the
Tories stood the King, the House of Lords, the Church, the Bar and all
the law, a large minority in the House of Commons, the agricultural
interest, and the monied interest generally; while for the Whigs stood
a small majority in the Commons, the manufacturing towns, and a portion
of the rabble. Of course, those who triumphantly asserted this blinked
the fact that the majority of the whole country stood for the Whigs, as
the Tories could not, with all their interest, form a Government which
would be acceptable.
Greville notes in 1836: “To-day we had a Council, when His Most
Gracious Majesty behaved most ungraciously to his confidential
servants, whom he certainly does not delight to honour.”
Sometimes the King made a very special effort to hurt his Ministers.
Lord Aylmer had been recalled from Canada by the Whig Government for
some irregularities, and he was introduced at the reception of the Bath
in 1837. As he approached the throne William called up Palmerston,
Secretary for Foreign Affairs, and Lord Minto, First Lord of the
Admiralty, making them stand one on either side of Aylmer, that they
might hear every word that was said. He then announced that he wished
to take that, the most public opportunity, of telling him that he
approved most entirely of his conduct in Canada, that he had acted like
a true and loyal subject towards a set of traitors and conspirators,
and behaved as it became a British officer to do in such circumstances.
In fact, he mortified his Ministers as much as he could, and gratified
Aylmer to the same extent.
It is not to be supposed that the Ministers liked to be treated with
such rudeness, nor to be ignored, but they took it quietly, made no
public grumble, went on with their work, and left such insults to be
forgotten; only the King’s attitude made this difference, they began
to look upon themselves as Ministers to the House of Commons rather
than to the Crown, which tended to lessen the kingly power. A little
later, when Victoria sat on the throne, and, being a Whig, paid honour
to her Ministers, but showed dislike to the Opposition and indifference
to the nobles of Tory tendencies, the outcry was loud and deep. Her
inexperience, her sex, her age, were blamed as the reasons; open
disloyalty was shown her, and sometimes marked rudeness. Yet she was
but following the ways of her predecessor in somewhat milder fashion.
She was one of a family which never hid its preferences, and she had
learned the lesson--bad as it was--at the Royal board of a man whom she
loved.
Victoria had been bred a Whig. Her father and mother were Whigs, and
all her mother’s counsellors and friends held the same views; Lord
Durham went further even, being regarded as the leader of the Radicals.
Lord Ashley once gave it as his opinion that from her earliest years
the Princess had been taught to regard the Tories as her personal
enemies. “I am told that the language at Kensington was calculated to
inspire her with fear and hatred of them.”
Through the years of King William’s reign, when he, poor man, was in
a constant state of ebullition with his Ministers, his people, or
members of his family, the Princess Victoria changed from a child to
a woman. She listened quietly, as children did listen in those days,
to the politics talked in her mother’s circle, and became imbued with
very strong views; she visited, and played at Royalty like a well-made
automaton; she studied music, French, English, singing, and dancing
under various tutors, and thought a great deal about the time when she
would be England’s Sovereign.
Leopold, who, it is said, was soon deadly sick of his Belgian crown
and wishful to abdicate, thinking it better to be an English Prince
with fifty thousand a year and uncle to the Queen, than to be monarch
of a troublesome little kingdom which all its neighbours regarded
with an evil or a covetous eye, still kept Claremont in good order,
having given the mastership of the house over to Sir John Conroy. And
there Victoria was taken when she seemed to flag. She loved the place,
for were not the happiest moments of her girlish life spent there?
It was there that she met her grandmother, the Dowager Duchess of
Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, who, on seeing her, made the first suggestion that
she might do worse than marry into the Saxe-Coburg family, and she had
definitely in her mind her grandson Albert. The gardens at Claremont
were well cultivated, and all that the Duchess of Kent did not use was
sent to Leopold, a thing which caused many a joke at his expense.
The Duchess of Kent and her daughter stayed quietly sometimes at
Margate, sometimes at Tunbridge Wells, but their real home was at
Kensington. There the Princess’s life was a quiet one; she saw little,
too little, of the Court, and still went to bed at nine o’clock.
Occasionally the Duchess gave dinner-parties at which Victoria appeared
before and after the meal. Thus, in 1833, Her Royal Highness did her
best to mollify the King’s resentment against her by giving a large
party in his honour; and Croker writes of dining with the Duchess “with
a large Conservative party--four Dukes and three Duchesses, and the
rest of thirty people in proportion. I was the only untitled and almost
the only undecorated guest. The little Princess ceases to be little.
She grows tall, is very good-looking, but not, I think, strong; yet she
may live to be plain Mrs. Guelph.” A suggestion which, as we have seen,
appeared nearing fulfilment some time later.
Two of Victoria’s first cousins came over that year, Princes Alexander
and Ernest of Wurtemburg, and even at that date the matchmakers
wondered whether there was not some ulterior motive for their coming.
As on an earlier occasion, King William gave a juvenile ball at St.
James’s Palace. But in spite of the gossip the young men came and went,
leaving no tit-bit of news for the talkers to discuss. This marriage
of the Princess had occupied some minds almost from the day of her
birth; and when she was but nine years old it was said that she must
marry either the son of the Duke of Cumberland or the son of the Duke
of Cambridge, a proceeding which would have been entirely gratifying to
the father of whichever boy was chosen.
One of the Princess’s favourite amusements was studying music, and
she must have found it much more entertaining than the pretensions of
boy lovers; indeed, she liked it so much that in 1834 Mrs. Brookfield
said that her teachers had been obliged to keep her music under the
smotherings of less delightful studies, or it would have run away with
her; adding that “the Duchess of Northumberland has no sinecure of her
governorship, but really fags with her pupil.”[3]
Princess Victoria loved the Italian opera, went often to the theatre,
and for her soul’s health she was given every possible opportunity of
listening to sacred oratorios, with the result that Handel was anathema
to her in later life. Indeed, music occupied so much time and interest
that the papers announced the appointment of Mr. George Herbert
Rodwell--Director of Music at Covent Garden--as composer to the Duchess
of Kent and Princess Victoria. This led to many satirical comments, in
which it was suggested that they went through their daily life to an
accompaniment of suitable music. A humorous journal gave the following
scene as taking place in Victoria’s boudoir:
“A tooth-brush, O.P., upper entrance, looking-glass in flat,
toilet-table, P.S., tooth-powder in centre, rouge in the background,
pincushions in the distance, combs, hair-brushes, &c., in confusion.
A chord--enter the Princess through door in flat. Slow music, during
which the Princess opens the top of a chest of drawers, and takes out a
frill, which she puts on, and exit through door opposite. Slow music,
and enter the Duchess--she advances towards the toilet-table with a
start. Hurried music by Rodwell, composer to Her Royal Highness; she
sits down. A chord--opens window. Air and chorus of housemaids without.
She sits down. Crash--advances towards the rouge-pot. Slow music--she
takes it away. Crash--by Rodwell, and exit to hurried music.”
The writer adds to this that the curious in these matters will be
enabled to see through the moral of the delightful sketch, which
shows the anxiety of the Duchess to prevent the amiable little
Princess from applying rouge to her infantile cheeks, “a practice we
cannot sufficiently reprobate. The music is admirably adapted to the
situations by Rodwell, whose appointment as composer to the royal duo
we shall in future be able to appreciate.”
The two Princesses were, in fact, constantly going to concerts, and
William Henry Brookfield poked fun at them in a letter written to his
friend Venables--he who had broken Thackeray’s nose in a fight in
their schoolboy days. A three days’ musical festival was arranged at
Westminster, and he thus describes one afternoon:--“We went to town
for the fiddling, which it was the pill[4] of the day to cry down. I
was much gratified by the show and altogether. I sate by the Duke of
Wellington, who was good enough to go out and fetch me a pot of porter.
When ‘See the Conquering Hero Comes’ was sung in ‘Judas Maccabeus,’
all eyes were turned upon me. I rose and bowed--but did not think the
place was suited for any more marked acknowledgment. The King sang the
Coronation Anthem exceedingly well, and Princess Victoria whistled ‘The
Dead March in Saul’ with rather more than her usual effect. But the
_chef d’œuvre_ was confessed by all to be Macaulay in ‘The praise
of God and of the second Day.’ I rose a wiser and, I think, a sadder
man.”
It was probably at this festival that young Lord Elphinstone first
frightened the Royal mother by writing the following acrostic upon the
Princess’s name:--
“Propitious Heaven! who, midst this beauteous blaze,
Rapt in the grandeur of the Minstrel scene,
Is that young Innocent, on whom all gaze?
Nor conscious they the while of choral strain;
Could I command a Guido’s magic power,
Enthusiast grown, I’d catch thy vivid glow--
Serene, unsullied child of sun and shower!
Still on the parent stem allowed to blow.
Vain, worse than vain, the Bard who’d boldly try,
In his most brilliant page or loftiest lay,
Choice how he may be, to depict the eye,
The lovely eye, of that sweet smiling fay!
Oh,’tis the Maid, who wakes to plaudits loud,
Rich in the treasure of an angel face,
In every gift that makes a nation proud--
A mother’s joy--an honoured Monarch’s grace.”
Elphinstone did not dream that with these lines he was putting the
first nail in the coffin of his hopes of a career at Court or in
England.
In 1835 the Princess came more to the front, and probably this was
caused by the fact that she suffered early in the year from a serious
attack of typhoid, striking many people with consternation, and making
King William, who was feeling his age, yet more keenly desirous of
securing her company. So in June she went to Ascot in the same
carriage with the King and Queen. It is amusing to note that, in
spite of the simplicity of dress for which she is supposed to have
been so conspicuous, and for which everyone has so much praised the
Duchess of Kent, the Princess wore on this occasion a large pink
bonnet, a rose-coloured satin dress _broché_, and a pélerine cape
trimmed with black. The description, at least, is a little painful.
But N. P. Willis, the American literary man, speaks of her that day
as being quite unnecessarily pretty and interesting, and deplores
the probability that the heir to the English Crown would be sold
in marriage for political purposes without regard to her personal
character and wishes.
One writer described the Duchess of Kent on the same occasion in the
sentimental and fulsome way so much beloved by women writers about
Royalty. “Her brow seemed as if it would well become an imperial
diadem; such lofty and commanding intellect was there, united with
feminine softness and matronly grace. She looked fit to be the mother
of the Queen. The expression of maternal pride and delight with which
on this occasion she surveyed her child at every fresh burst of the
people’s affection is not to be forgotten by those who witnessed it.”
In August, Victoria was confirmed by the Archbishop of Canterbury and
the Bishop of London at the Chapel Royal, St. James’s. There is much
that is solemn at a confirmation, there should be much that is joyous
and brave as well; the girl should feel her responsibility, she also
ought to be glad at becoming really a member of God’s Church, and in
outward show, at least, a Child of God. But at this confirmation the
Archbishop made so solemn, so pathetic, so “parental” an exhortation
that the whole company wept. The Duchess of Kent sobbed audibly,
the Queen and her ladies also wept aloud, tears ran down the King’s
rubicund face, and the poor little Princess was not only drowned in
tears, but frightened to death. The whole tone of the affair seems
to have suited the spirit of the age, for one lady who was present
described it afterwards as a “beautifully touching scene.”
Through this part of the year there seems to have been something like
peace between William and his sister-in-law, though at his birthday
party there was thrown across the dinner-table a shadow of the storm
which later was to descend upon “the duo” from Kensington. William
never neglected the opportunity of making a speech; if he had anything
to say he said it, whether the moment was propitious or otherwise; if
he had nothing to say, he still got on to his feet and talked, probably
without any relevance to what was going on, and his matter was often
personal. After one dinner he talked disconnectedly about the Turf and
his wife, saying that the Queen was an excellent woman as everyone
knew. At this birthday party, in 1835, William said, among other
things:--
“I cannot expect to live very long, but I hope that my successor may be
of full age when she mounts the throne. I have a great respect for the
person upon whom, in the event of my death, the Regency would devolve,
but I have great distrust of the persons by whom she is surrounded.
I know that everything which falls from my lips is reported again,
and I say this thus candidly and publicly because it is my desire and
intention that these my sentiments should be made known.”
It could hardly be pleasant for the Duchess to be thus criticised
before a great party of her friends, but a year later criticism was
not the right word by which to describe the King’s tirade against the
Duchess. All those around His Majesty knew that he could not live
very long; not that his health was really bad, but his temper was
vacillating, he was at times so uncontrolled, so childish, and so
changeable that men of the world listened to his harangues unmoved. He
would deliberately insult one of his “confidential advisers,” and the
injured one would command his face as well as he could, bow, and let it
pass. It was not possible to make a serious matter of such an incident,
for to do that would have meant introducing new Ministers every week
at least. Those about him felt that the business of the country could
only be carried on by ignoring his humours, and that they were more or
less marking time until William’s successor sat on the throne. In fact,
the future alone was considered by all. The King prayed to live until
Victoria’s majority; the Duchess dreamed of a Regency, a throne, and a
husband for her daughter; and the Princess--who knows what she thought?
She contented herself with inspecting the young men who came to be
inspected while she waited.
One of the few children who made an impression upon the life of the
young Princess was Donna Maria, the young Queen of Portugal, who was
just a month older than herself. She came to England in 1829, and
was entertained by George IV., who, among other festivities, gave a
children’s ball, being urged thereto by one of the Court ladies, who
pushed the idea by saying to him with a naïve stupidity,“Oh, do; it
would be so nice to see the two little Queens dancing together.”
In 1833 Donna Maria went to France, where she was received with great
want of hospitality by Louis Philippe. William did not want her in
England, but the French King’s action spurred him to extend a warm
hospitality to her here, and thus she renewed a childish friendship
with Princess Victoria, in so far as the Duchess of Kent would allow it.
In 1835 this girl of sixteen married the Duke of Leuchtenberg, who,
poor fellow, only went to Lisbon to be poisoned by its foulness and
to die of throat disease in a month. By the autumn of the same year,
seeing that there was no chance of a successor to the throne appearing,
the callous counsellors determined that their young Queen must marry
again, and were in such a hurry that the two weddings took place within
twelve months. The second bridegroom chosen was Prince Ferdinand, the
elder son of Prince Ferdinand of Saxe-Coburg. _En route_ for his
difficult position in Portugal, this young man, who was exceedingly
handsome, came on a visit to England with his father and his younger
brother Augustus; and the mention of his name leads to the subject of
the Princess Victoria’s suitors.
CHAPTER IV
PRINCESS VICTORIA’S SUITORS
“What warmth is there in your affection towards any of these
princely suitors that are already come?”--_Merchant of
Venice._
All the world knows that Princess Victoria made a love match, and that
Nathaniel P. Willis’s prognostication that she would be married solely
for reasons of State was never fulfilled, but it is probable that
few people know that she, like other girls, made little flights into
the region of romance, and that a small crowd of young men presented
themselves at the English Court, as it were, on approbation. The
influx began in the spring of 1836, and, of course, produced fresh
unpleasantness between the King and the Duchess. The latter had already
decided upon the person whom she would wish for a son-in-law, and it
is almost needless to say that in that case King William was likely to
prefer any other young man in Christendom.
The only fount of information on such a subject as this is the
contemporary Press, with here and there some allusion in letters of the
time. When comparing the Press of to-day with the Press of seventy or
eighty years ago, it is wonderful to note the difference of interest
which was shown in such matters. To-day we not only pretend to believe
that Royalty is perfect, but we publicly express that belief whenever
opportunity offers. We are always very polite. In the time of King
William and in the early years of Queen Victoria’s reign it seems to
have been the custom to regard Royalty as very imperfect indeed; to
find evil motives for even the most obviously good actions; to lay bare
every secret, and to leave the poor monarch of the realm not a shred of
moral clothing with which to cover his thoughts or designs. A little
while ago a report was published without comment that the matrimonial
fate of our present Prince of Wales was already settled. No one
troubled about it or took the matter up, there was not the slightest
idea of making political capital out of it; and when he really does
marry we shall all be decorously delighted. It is quite unlikely that
the newspapers will give columns of criticism to his bride, will rake
up or make up evil stories about her, point out what a disastrous
effect she will have upon England, or indeed do anything but wish the
young people well, and pass on to the next subject. Of course, the
Princess Victoria presented a special case; she was believed to be shy
and adaptable in character, and there was some ground for imagining
that it would be the Duchess of Kent who would really rule when the
time came--she and the chosen husband; therefore there was an especial
wave of agitation whenever the idea of an alliance was started.
The same thing applied to the Royal Family as a whole. One set of
papers would make banal announcements as to the doings of the King,
Queen, or Dukes; whereupon another set would fasten upon these
seemingly simple incidents, show that they held hidden significance
which was contrary to the nation’s welfare, and would then well
belabour the unlucky Royal subject. Now the banal announcement may
appear, and a few subservient papers amplify them and fall down and
worship, but most will let them pass without comment. There is one
story which has been appearing weekly somewhere or other for the past
year to the effect that Queen Mary spends her evenings among her ladies
knitting coarse garments for the poor. This pleases the sentimental
ideas of the lovers of tit-bit publications, so it is a constant
recurrer; but most sensible people shrug their shoulders at it; they
know that a Queen has more important things to do, and that it would
be a greater act of charity on her part to pay some poor folks to make
the clothes. But no one tries to prove any connection between this and
a possible German war, or make it a peg upon which to hang tales of
poverty, as they would have done a century ago.
In reality, the people of England know nothing about the Court; in the
old days they knew too much. The causes of this change are probably
three: the greater security of social and foreign affairs to-day, the
lessening power of the Crown, and the reticent attitude which the
Prince Consort insisted upon concerning Royal doings and surroundings,
a habit which loosened a little under King Edward, but which seems
to be strengthening under his successor. However, “the good have no
story” may be said, generally speaking, to be true of families, and it
is probable that if sensational events came to pass in the Palace, all
the papers would once again regard them as legitimate matter for praise
or stricture. In the old days they did not wait for sensational events;
they took a commonplace happening and dressed it in lurid language,
which sold the papers in spite of the tax upon them, and pleased their
readers.
In reproducing some of these highly coloured comments it must not be
believed that my loyalty is peccable. I merely recognise that words
that inflamed people eighty years ago are amusing now, and for those
who can take from them the little spark of truth they are also to some
extent serviceable as illuminators of the past.
Prince Ferdinand of Saxe-Coburg had already settled the career of
his eldest son, and he saw no reason why--like a good matchmaking
parent--he should not try to find a kingdom for his second son
Augustus, who was much the less attractive of the two. As soon as
they arrived everyone was on the watch, the pity was that none of the
gossip-mongers could be present when intentions were talked over.
Because they were not there, no one can now tell whether intentions
were mentioned at all, or whether things were left to develop in
an ordinary way. In any case, Prince Ferdinand must have been
disappointed, for Augustus was a silent lad, and did little to make
himself agreeable, while the handsome Ferdinand the younger is said
to have been captivated by his fresh young cousin--they were all
cousins--at first sight.
The visitors went first to Kensington, and then to Windsor, where they
were royally entertained, and returned to pass two weeks at Kensington
Palace. The Prince and Augustus went home, hoping nothing, and still
Ferdinand remained, in spite of his bride awaiting him in Lisbon. A
lady diarist of the day says that he lingered from day to day, “nay,
week after week,” allured by “the fascinations of Kensington’s Royal
bowers.” However, this was something of an exaggeration, as Ferdinand
had to be in Lisbon by a certain date for his marriage in April. At
last he had to go, and he travelled with the Duchess and Princess
to Claremont. There he took an “affectionate leave,” and went his
solitary--but for a few attendants--way to the sea.
He met his young and dark bride kindly, and within a week or two took
the same disease of the throat which had killed his predecessor less
than a year earlier. Being a young man of great determination, he
absolutely refused the kind ministrations of the Portuguese doctors,
and was cured by his own German attendant. Whether he was happier
alive than he would have been dead it is not easy to say, for his new
subjects prepared a nice little quarrel for him before he arrived, and
he was soon in the midst of mutinies and revolutions.
The first young man who probably caused a real flutter in the
Kensington home was not of Royal blood at all. This was young Lord
Elphinstone, to whom it was said the Princess had lost her heart,
and who was therefore thought sufficiently formidable to make the
Duchess take a very extreme step. He was Lord of the Bedchamber to King
William, was handsome, well-mannered, unassuming, always ready to help
in small matters, and eminently fitted to catch a girl’s fancy. He was
also, as one paper put it satirically, a most convenient person to
engage to do the amiable at balls and parties, and beyond all doubt was
a most useful and agreeable master of the ceremonies of fashion. It was
said that he had not only lost his heart to the pretty Princess, but
had taken hers in return. He would sit and watch her surreptitiously in
church, and on one occasion so far forgot his religious duties as to
make a sketch of her while there, which sketch he was later imprudent
enough to present to her. Maternal care took alarm; Sir John Conroy was
consulted, and a whole set of hidden wires were pulled to put a stop to
love’s young dream. The result was to be read in every morning paper
one day at the beginning of 1836:--
“Lord Elphinstone has been appointed Governor of Madras. The Court
of Directors (of the East India Company) ratified the nomination on
Wednesday.” So ran the announcement. The _Satirist_, much annoyed,
commented, “The appointment of Lord Elphinstone is certainly not one
to be applauded.... To send him out as the Governor of Madras is, to
say the very least of it, unwise”; and it went on to point out that
many a man better fitted for the post had been overlooked that he might
have it. “A Lord of the Bedchamber spoiled in a Governor of Madras!
Lord Elphinstone _may_ have qualified for the appointment, but
the public surely has a right to demand tried ability and weight of
character,” was another comment. And so, though gossip awoke several
times later to nod and hint, the young lord left his goddess and his
native land, not to return for seven long years.
The _Age_, ultra-Tory and virulently anti-Catholic in its
sentiments, outspoken to the verge of libel, and unscrupulous in its
assertion of wild facts, had something to say weekly at this time
about the Princess’s lovers. It started the campaign by asserting
the obvious truth that the Princess Victoria was now becoming the
object of the highest and purest interest to England, and must not be
lightly bestowed, adding, “The gentleman who with a few _sons_
lives at the Tuileries would perhaps like to nibble here--but until
the established Protestant religion is overthrown he has no chance. A
German paper mentions that a rumour is current that Prince Augustus
of Saxe-Coburg is likely to win the Princess Victoria. Whether or not
the desire be father to the thought we know not, nor do we care; to
omit all other objections to a union such as the one hinted at, it is
sufficient to state that the Prince alluded to is a Catholic.”
With the end of April arrived further papas with two sons each, and
then began the duel between King William and his sister-in-law. The
latter had, as has been said, quietly made choice of her daughter’s
bridegroom, being guided in the selection by her brother Leopold,
and we are told that her nephew Albert had been taught from his early
childhood that he would one day marry his cousin Victoria. However,
he did not see his destined mate until May, 1836, when he was nearly
seventeen, and when he and his elder brother Ernest, escorted by his
father, the Duke of Saxe-Coburg, paid a visit of a month’s duration to
Kensington. King William hated the idea, and he did his little best to
spoil the scheme, which was too unformed to allow of any open action.
He had behind him the Tories generally and all the Tory Press, while
the anti-Catholics wasted much good energy in traducing Leopold, the
Prince whom long before everyone had received with open arms. Leopold
had married the daughter of the King of France, and was suspected of
having become a Catholic, thus adding to the dislike which was felt
for him in England. One paper said of him at this time, “The name of
Leopold is the most unpopular in the kingdom, and is accompanied with
certain sordid associations of which our national ledger gives ample
and disgraceful evidence.”
So, to counterbalance the schemes of the Duchess, King William invited
to England the young Duke of Brunswick, also the Prince of Orange and
his two sons, William and Alexander, who were reported to be fine young
men, though stiff and formal in their manner. These were as heartily
welcomed by the King’s supporters as the others were traduced. “There
is something in the very name of William of Orange which is encouraging
in these times of Popish assumption and pseudo-Protestant treachery.
Whether our fancies as to a certain union be verified or not, time
will prove. Should it take place, we think the people of England will
not object, whatever the malignants of Ireland may say against one of
the same family as the Hero of the Boyne.”
Those who looked on enjoyed the situation, and there is little doubt
but that the Prince of Orange, on behalf of his son, would have won in
the contest if it had depended on the sympathies of the English people.
In his youth the Prince had been an aspirant for the hand of Princess
Charlotte, his rival being the successful Leopold, who had not only
taken his hoped-for bride, but later half of his Principality. When
Leopold was mentioned in his presence, Orange would say, “_Voilà un
homme qui a pris ma femme et mon royaume._” Gossip went that he
intended to place his sons at an English university, that he might make
them as English as possible; and there were those who affirmed that the
House of Orange had great claims upon the country’s gratitude, but that
we had satisfied in full any claim that the House of Saxe-Coburg might
put forward. Advice was offered freely to the Duchess of Kent; she
“is a shrewd and sensible woman, and will not, we hope, misunderstand
our loyalty when we say, ‘We must have no more Coburgs.’ One fair
rose of England has been gathered by a Coburg, and there shall be no
further sacrifice of a future Queen to them.” The Coburgs were dubbed
a mercenary, good-for-nothing set by one section, while another put
all the German princes into the same category. “All the multitudinous
progeny of the small peoples of the Saxe-Gotha, Saxe-Coburg, and
their cousin Saxes are racing against each other for the hand of the
Princess Victoria, to say nothing of a brace of Brunswicks and a Prince
of Orange and his two sons, who probably thinks he should be given
first chance, as he was done out of the Princess Charlotte. The Duke of
Cumberland’s son is quite _hors-de-combat_, and the simple child,
George of Cambridge, is not encouraged by the Government on account of
his mental incapacity. The Saxe tribe are the most hungry, the most
persevering, and the most lucky.”
Indeed, the English might have been excused some annoyance at the
favour shown to the great Teutonic nation, for, in addition to the nine
or ten gentlemen mentioned, there were also here in England during the
same spring the Prince of Leiningen, Victoria’s half-brother, Prince
Ernest of Hesse-Philippthal, and Prince Edward of Carolath. These last
three and Prince Ferdinand with his sons were all invited to a great
ball which the Duchess of Kent gave at the end of March, just as at
the end of May she gave a brilliant ball at which her own guests and
those of the King were naturally present. King William entertained
the Coburgs as graciously as he did the lad from Brunswick and the
Oranges, and, indeed, did his utmost to ensure that Victoria should
meet them all together as often as possible. But it was inevitable that
at Kensington Palace there should be many opportunities for the young
Saxe-Coburgs to talk with their cousin. An aide-de-camp of the Duke of
Cumberland’s, and Lord de Lisle, son-in-law of King William, watched
Victoria and Albert pacing the Palace garden one day.
“Do you think they are lovers?” one man asked the other; and he shook
his head dubiously, answering in non-committal way, “They seem to be
good friends, anyhow.”
Whether there were too many from which to choose, or whether it was
true that Victoria was, for the best of all reasons, proof against
their attractions, this tribe of young men came and went, making no
impression. She danced with them all, for she dearly loved dancing,
talked German to them all, for it is doubtful whether one of them could
speak English, and said good-bye to them all with an equable smile, and
probably with a sigh of relief that now she would be free to go her own
way to some extent.
The papers showed as much interest in their going as in their coming.
All had an idea that, though nothing had been announced, something had
been fixed up. Those who had no animus against the German “invasion”
were contented with such ventures as, “I hear to-day that the young
Prince of Saxe-Coburg is the destined husband of our Princess
Victoria,” or, “It is rumoured that the two rival suitors (Coburg and
Orange) for the highest and fairest hand in the kingdom, returned
home without making any impression on the heart of the interesting
lady in question.” One grumbler observed that the Princess had been
prevented from going to Ascot, as she was kept at home to entertain
“these round-faced youths.” But those who feared the youths lashed
right and left, speaking of the impolitic liberality of certain high
personages, and the dogged good nature of John Bull which gained for
him the appellation of fool from all the world for allowing his means
to be squandered over German fortune-hunters. The worst tirade was
naturally given by the _Age_, which used Leopold as a whipping
boy, and in rhythmic sentences announced:--“This King Leopold has
become the Sovereign of a Popish country, the husband of a Popish
Princess, and the son-in-law of a Popish Monarch. King Leopold was the
accepted of Protestant England’s welcome--the chosen of Protestant
England’s hope--and the son-in-law of Protestant England’s Sovereign.
What a contrast! Nay, further--King Leopold, if not a convert to
Popery, at least conforms to its rites; and mark this, the nephew whose
matrimonial agent he had the arrogance to be _is a member of the
Roman Catholic Church_; although, following his uncle’s example, the
youth would also no doubt _change his religion_--for a Crown!”
As for the young people themselves, they were probably quite as
unconscious of the agonised flutter which their meeting had raised in
journalistic dove-cots as they were unmoved by love for each other.
_He_ thought _she_ was very amiable and astonishingly self-possessed;
_she_ commended his welfare to her uncle’s protection, for the whole
project had been explained to her, and her reason as well as her
family affection had found good in it. So in her letter to Leopold she
acknowledged this by saying, “I hope and trust that all will go on
prosperously and well on this subject, now of so much importance to
me.”
And so for a space the matter ended. But it is really worthy of note
that among all the young visitors from Germany and elsewhere, there
were no girls; no smart young cousins came to rival Victoria’s charms,
and she had the field entirely to herself. This, at least, gives some
justification for the belief that matchmaking was in the air.
After this, for some reason the Duchess of Kent withdrew Victoria
entirely from Court. William and Adelaide sent her invitations in vain,
and the irascible Monarch grew more and more angry over the matter.
It may be, of course, that the Duchess was annoyed at the King’s very
transparent attempt to frustrate her plans for her daughter, and showed
her resentment in this somewhat trivial way, or she may have aimed more
strenuously at removing the girl from influence which she had always
deemed bad. It was quite useless for the King to fume, as all the Kents
had to do was to go to Claremont and get out of his reach; and the only
revenge he could take was that of denouncing the Duchess at any and
every opportunity, and advertising his increasing dislike of her to all
who would listen.
[Illustration: H.R.H. THE DUCHESS OF KENT.]
In August, 1837, this simmering hatred came to the boil, and readily
flowed over into the public ears. William invited the Duchess and
her child to stay at Windsor from early in the month until after the
21st, hoping that they would be present to celebrate Queen Adelaide’s
birthday on the 13th and his own on the 21st, for which latter two
dinners were arranged, as the 21st was a Sunday; thus there was to be
a family dinner on that day, and a more public one on the 22nd. The
Duchess seems to have had an unfortunate knack of writing crude--not
to say rude--letters. To this invitation she responded that as she
wished to keep her own birthday on the 15th at Claremont, she could not
be at Windsor until the 20th; and she entirely ignored all mention of
the festivities for the Queen. There seems to have been little reason
for this direct snub to Adelaide, and it was probably caused more by
a want of imagination than through a definite desire to annoy, but
it naturally resulted in irritating the King anew. He, however, made
no reply to this letter, but that did not mean that the Duchess was
not in his thoughts. Perhaps someone had given him a hint, or perhaps
William suspected that the Duchess was taking liberties; but on the
afternoon of the 20th, when he had prorogued Parliament, and when he
probably knew that the Duchess would already have started for Windsor,
he went down to Kensington Palace. There he found what he perhaps had
expected to find, that his sister-in-law had appropriated to her own
use seventeen extra rooms, of which a year before he had refused her
the accommodation. He went straight from Kensington to Windsor, where
the Duchess and her daughter had already arrived. Without waiting to
change, he marched straight to the drawing-room, kissed the Princess,
holding both her hands and telling her in fatherly way how pleased he
was to see her. He then made a low bow to the Duchess, and, like the
old dunderhead that he was, immediately began the battle.
They were by no means alone, the whole houseparty being assembled, all
of whom were astounded to hear their Monarch say in loud, harsh accents
that he had just come from Kensington, where he had found that a most
unwarrantable liberty had been taken. Someone had possessed themselves
of apartments not only without his consent, but against his expressed
commands, and he ended up with, “he neither understood nor would endure
conduct so disrespectful to himself.”
What happened further we are not told, but there can be no doubt that
all through this very trying evening the Duchess of Kent behaved with
perfect dignity; she might be wanting in politeness privately, but
publicly nothing upset her control. Adolphus Fitzclarence was present,
and sat within two or three of the Duchess at the dinner, thus he
heard plainly all that was said. A little later he fully retailed the
scandal to Greville. He says that on the Sunday morning the King had
by no means got over his excitement, which lasted more or less through
the day. At dinner, though this was supposed to be a family function,
at least a hundred people were present, either belonging to the Court
or gathered from the neighbourhood. On one side of the King sat the
Duchess of Kent, directly opposite him was Princess Victoria next the
Queen. Everything went well until the time of speeches arrived, and the
first health to be proposed was naturally that of His Majesty. At that
this incomparably tactless King got upon his feet and straightway began
to express all the anger he felt. The part particularly interesting to
the Duchess ran:--
“I trust in God that my life may be spared for nine months longer,
after which period, in the event of my death, no Regency would take
place. I should then have the satisfaction of leaving the Royal
authority to the personal exercise of that young lady (pointing to
the Princess), the heiress presumptive to the Crown, and not in the
hands of a person now near me, who is surrounded by evil advisers and
who is herself incompetent to act with propriety in the station in
which she would be placed. I have no hesitation in saying that I have
been insulted--grossly insulted--by that person, but I am determined
to endure no longer a course of behaviour so disrespectful to me.
Amongst other things, I have particularly to complain of the manner in
which that young lady has been kept away from my Court; she has been
repeatedly kept from my Drawing Rooms, at which she ought always to
have been present, but I am fully resolved that this shall not happen
again. I would have her know that I am King, and I am determined to
make my authority respected, and for the future I shall insist and
command that the Princess do upon all occasions appear at my Court, as
it is her duty to do.”
It is said that His Majesty finished his tirade by speaking of the
Princess in a fatherly and affectionate way, saying that though he had
seen so little of her, he took no less interest in her, and the more he
saw of her in public and in private the greater pleasure it would be to
him.
Before he had got to this, however, the Princess was crying, the Queen
looked terribly distressed, and the whole company sat aghast, their
eyes on the table. When a dead silence fell after this awful philippic,
all must have wondered what was to happen next, but the Duchess, who
had more sense than her assailant, uttered no word, and the Queen gave
the signal for retiring. Then we are told that the Duchess had her say,
and that there was an awful scene between the pair; she ordered her
carriage, but all concerned did their best to change her determination
of going from the Castle at once, and some sort of a reconciliation
ensued.
The King might relent, might change his mind or forget things, but he
does not seem ever to have repented his foolish deeds. Thus the next
day he asked Adolphus what everyone said of his speech, and that young
man made a diplomatic answer, saying that though everyone thought the
Duchess merited his rebuke, it ought not to have been given at his
own table before a hundred people; he ought to have sent for her to
his closet, and said all he felt and thought there. To which William
answered that he did not care where or before whom he said what he
thought, and that, “by God, he had been insulted by her in a measure
that was past all endurance, and he would stand it no longer.”
What a terrible exhibition of inhospitality and bad taste! Yet we have
to realise that the King had been much provoked, and, being the man of
severe limitations that he was, he took the only course which occurred
to him. There can be no doubt that a real affection existed between
William and his niece, that he knew that but a small span of life
remained to him, and that he was constantly refused the society and
the sight of his successor. Though the autocratic Duchess had married
into the Guelph family, she never seemed to understand the exceedingly
primitive characters of the people who composed that family, or, if she
did understand them, she gave them little credit for their virtues, but
recognised to the full all their sins of omission and commission.
A slight instance of the small way in which she annoyed them is given
in the “Tales of My Father,” already referred to. The Duchess of
Cumberland sent an aide-de-camp to the Duchess of Kent with a message
about the illness of young George. When the young man had told Her
Royal Highness all that she wished to know, she invited him to dine and
stay the night. His answer was that he could not do so, as he had no
leave, and the Duke was most particular on that point.
“I will manage all that!” the Duchess haughtily replied. “I should like
to present you to the Princess Victoria.” So a message was sent to the
Duke of Cumberland that the captain had been commanded to remain at
Kensington, with the result that the next morning a letter arrived for
the guest from the Duke, informing him that his business was to look
after Prince George, not to be nursery governess to Princess Victoria;
that he had slept out of St. James’s without leave; and that if he did
not come back at once he would be put under arrest. In this there was
no deference shown to the will of the Duchess, nothing but annoyance
expressed at the excess of hospitality to his messenger.
After that terrible birthday party the Duchess stayed for yet another
dinner at the Castle, and it seems that she was somewhat long in
entering the drawing-room the second evening. The Queen would not go
in without her, which caused William loudly to demand the whereabouts
of his wife. When he was told that she was waiting for the Duchess, he
said just as loudly:
“That woman is a nuisance!” No one can wonder that the Duchess hated
him; it is only possible to feel what a pity it was that things had
been allowed to come to such a pass.
From that time history gives no account of meetings between St. James’s
and Kensington.
It was during her last year at Kensington Palace that Victoria was
troubled by the first of the mad suitors who for three years were
recurrent factors in her life. This was a Mr. Hunnings, a man of about
forty, who was the owner of considerable property near Tunbridge Wells,
where he first saw Victoria. He may have been sane enough in other
ways, but he was certainly mad in his regard for the heiress to the
Throne. He spoke of her as his “little Princess,” and lamented the
fact that her cruel guardians kept her from him. He haunted Kensington
Gardens, and the Duchess and her daughter scarcely left the Palace but
they found this man stationed near the door, bowing most gracefully
with his hand on his heart. He would follow the two at a distance until
they turned some corner out of his sight, and then at a smart run
would either overtake them or by a short cut get ahead, so that they
would find him again and again facing them and making most respectful
salutes. He regularly attended the services in the Chapel Royal
attached to Kensington Palace, sitting where he could obtain a full
view of the Royal pew, and would generally put half a sovereign in the
plate.
Of course, this matter soon became public property, and was too
good a subject for joke to be ignored. Wags would do their best to
encourage the hopeful lover by writing him letters, and he once showed
a policeman such a missive purporting to be signed by the Princess,
expressing a deep love for him, and asking him to write to her,
placing his answer under a certain tree, as she would have no chance
of speaking to him. The police had, of course, to be on the alert in
case he did anything more than usually extravagant, and he complained
bitterly of their surveillance, saying that he felt it to be most
degrading.
He was for ever trying some new way of keeping the Princess Victoria
under his observation, and at last hit upon the idea of having a
barouche exactly like that of the Duchess of Kent, his servant being
dressed in Royal undress livery, a dark pepper-and-salt coat and
glazed hat with broad purple velvet band, and in this he would follow
his “little Princess” when she drove out. On Victoria’s eighteenth
birthday he licensed a cab to which he gave her name, decorated it with
ribbons, and persuaded the proprietor to allow it to be illuminated
with lamps at night. His own house was illuminated from top to bottom,
and during the day he invited everyone who passed to stop and drink
the health of the Princess. By evening a dense crowd had gathered
before his door, most of those who composed it being ready to drink
again and again to their future Queen, and already in such a state
of intoxication that the police interfered and put a stop to his
liberality. The whole affair would have been nipped in the bud had it
occurred at the present time, but eighty years years ago the police
were few and given but scanty powers.
On the accession of Victoria to the Throne this annoying lover was
somehow pushed into the background, and we hear no more of him,
excepting that at a fancy bazaar at Lincoln he eagerly purchased
some things worked by Her Majesty and was eventually locked up for
assaulting the Mayor.
As Princess Victoria neared her majority all the newspapers showed
unrest; they devoted daily leaders and paragraphs to their hopes and
fears; there were hints of plots and schemings, of arrangements made
at Kensington, of members chosen to form the new Royal Household as
soon as William was dead. The names of everyone around the Duchess
were paraded in print, to their praise or detriment. The _Newcastle
Chronicle_ got frightened over a scheme which, it said, had been
fixed up between Sir John Conroy and Lord Durham, who was then
Ambassador Extraordinary at St. Petersburg.
When the Princess came of age, they said, she would, of course, be
given an establishment of her own. Lord Durham would return from Russia
before that, so as to be ready to put himself at the head of Victoria’s
household, his ambition being, however, to make that position but
a step to the Premiership. Meanwhile, he would be keeping the post
warm for Sir John Conroy, who coveted the headship of the household
for himself. This--the paper pointed out--would only need a little
management. Lord Durham was a personal friend of Leopold’s, so he would
arrange the Coburg marriage, and both men would gain their promotion
through the gratitude of the Duchess and her brother.
Poor Victoria! she evidently did not count in this matter at all; she
was but a peg on which two ambitious men were supposed to hang their
schemes for advancement. Yet this note was sounded in all the diatribes
upon her suggested marriage. What the King wished, what the Duchess
and her brother wished, what this or that party wished, all these were
discussed to the full, but what the Princess herself wished was thought
scarcely worthy of any attention.
So in the spring of 1837 the Princess’s future husband was as fertile
a subject of interest as it had been in the spring of the year
before. In Brussels her marriage with Prince Albert was talked of as
an assured thing, for he and his brother were residing there, “in a
hired house of no very distinguished class, and obtaining their dinners
from the Restaurateur Dubois for themselves and tutors and servants
at twenty-five francs a day,” said one bad-tempered article, adding,
“We mention this to show the extent of their income and the princely
generosity of their uncle, the King of the Belgians, in not giving them
an attic in his palace.”
There had always been whispers about the Kensington clique or the
Kensington camarilla, and from this time forward those who a year or
two before would have been prominent members of the Orange League never
lost an opportunity of gibing at and traducing the foreigners who
surrounded the Princess on the score of intrigue and cupidity. What
was the motive of all the outcry it is difficult to say, but when now
and then it seemed necessary to give it some form, it nearly always
resolved itself into a hatred or terror of Popery. Those who shouted
so much seemed to be unaware that, while they expressed loyalty to the
Duchess, it was her own brother whom they so violently traduced, and
that she was as foreign as he, while Victoria had the same blood and
the same traditions. However, discrimination cannot be expected of
political fanatics, for whatever happens can be made to fit any theory
by those interested.
The politicians of others countries looked on and wondered, and
sometimes dug some fact out of history with which to urge the grumblers
onward. Thus the _Gazette de France_ gravely published an article
in 1836 to prove that King William was a mere impostor, and that the
Princess Victoria had no right of succession, the only legitimate
Queen of England being Mademoiselle de Berry. This is how the writer
of the article proved it; and if there had been no law concerning the
Protestant succession, and also, I think, if James II. had left no son,
he would have been right. But they are rather big “ifs”:--
(i) Henrietta, daughter of Charles I.
(ii) Anne-Marie of Orléans, daughter of Henrietta.
(iii) Victor Amédée III., King of Sardinia and Duke of Savoy, son of
Anne-Marie.
(iv) Marie-Thérèse of Savoy, daughter of Victor Amédée.
(v) Louis-Antoine, Duc d’Angoulême, Comte d’Artois, son of
Marie-Thérèse.
(vi) In default of direct issue the right of succession would go to
Mademoiselle de Berry, daughter of the Duc de Berry, and niece of the
Duc d’Angoulême.
The article concluded with:--“Monseigneur the Duc d’Angoulême, for the
Catholics of Ireland, Scotland, and England, ought incontestably to be
considered King of Great Britain, and Mademoiselle heiress presumptive
to the Crown, in the place and instead of William IV. and the Princess
Victoria, who reigns only by virtue of a Protestant law of usurpation
and revolution.”
However, the energetic anti-Catholic gentlemen in England were
perfectly well aware that England--and, incidentally, themselves--were
quite safe from the rule of any Catholic monarch, and though they used
a thing like this as a peg upon which to hang their diatribes, they did
it with tongue in cheek--and a very bad-tempered cheek, too.
CHAPTER V
QUEEN VICTORIA’S ACCESSION
“Oh, maiden, heir of Kings,
A King has left his place,
The Majesty of death has swept
All other from his face.
And thou upon thy mother’s breast
No longer lean adown--
But take the glory for the rest,
And rule the land that loves thee best!
The Maiden wept;
She wept to wear a crown!”
_Elizabeth Barrett [Browning]._
On May 24th, 1837, Princess Victoria attained her majority, being
eighteen years of age; and the King knew that his prayer had been
answered. He arranged a magnificent State ball in honour of the event;
but his day for balls was over, for just as the nine months he had
asked for expired, he was taken ill, and though he rallied several
times he did not again show himself in public. Queen Adelaide did not
fill the part of hostess either, for she was too anxious about her
husband to leave him. She was a good wife and, notwithstanding all the
evil said of her, a good woman. I have not in all my researches come
across--apart from her political bias--a single instance of any act
or word on her part which could be brought forward to her discredit.
But to be no lover of pomp, show, or dress was a sufficiently serious
omission to condemn any Queen in the eyes of her Court.
This wonderful birthday meant a busy time for the Princess. She was
awakened in the morning by music outside her window, composed and
arranged by Mr. Rodwell, concerning which a sneering comment was made
that Rodwell had made “an ass of himself on the Princess’s birthday by
braying under her window.” There were many costly gifts to receive--the
King sent her a beautiful piano--and many deputations from public
bodies to take her attention. With these the Duchess was in her
element, for she was almost as fond of making speeches as was the King;
but the Princess still, and for the last time, played the part of the
child in public, standing by and listening to the wise and indiscreet
sayings of her mother. Well, it was the Duchess’s last chance, too,
though she did not know it, for her sun was setting just when she
thought it was rising to the mid heavens.
When a deputation from the City of London came to make a pretty speech,
Her Royal Highness was true to her custom of not forgetting an injury.
Though eighteen years had passed, and George IV. had long been in his
grave, she still nourished the slights that had been put upon her on
her arrival in England. The Duchess of Clarence had not been welcomed
with open arms, the Duchess of Cumberland had for years been ignored by
the Royal Family, but these two ladies treated the matter in dignified
silence. However, the Duchess of Kent had done everything she could
to keep alive bad feeling, and on this day, which should have been
given over to kindliness, she reminded the gentlemen from the City that
when the Duke of Kent died she and the Princess “stood alone, almost
friendless and unknown in this country. I could not even speak the
language of it.” Then she went on to point out that, in spite of all,
she had done her best to bring up her daughter to be the true Sovereign
of the nation; that she had put her into intercourse with all classes
of people, and had taught her that the protection of popular liberties
and the preservation of the constitutional prerogatives of the Crown
were the proper aims of a Monarch.
It was not a long speech, but it was scarcely calculated to be soothing
reading for the irascible and ailing King.
The village of Kensington--it was a village in those days, the Duchess
appreciating for her child the good air of the country lanes--was _en
fête_ for the birthday; a great flag of white silk, inscribed in
gold with the name of Victoria, was hoisted over the Palace, and Union
Jacks were run up on the church and on the Green, to say nothing of
every house showing its regard by the exhibition of flags. A general
holiday was declared, and at the State ball given that night it is safe
to believe that Victoria grieved at the absence of the King and Queen,
even though there was always fear of discomfort when they and her
mother met. There had been further strained relations in April of this
year, when Lady de Lisle, one of the King’s--his favourite--daughters,
died at Kensington Palace, of which she was the custodian. During her
illness the Duchess carried her resentment so far as to pay her no
attention, and the _Court Journal_ announced that a party, of
distinguished guests who had been invited to dinner, was not put off,
though Lady de Lisle lay dead in the Palace. A bitter comment upon this
was made that, when the Duchess’s confectioner, being insane through
drink, had committed suicide a little while earlier, all festivities
had been stopped out of sympathy for the man’s wife.
At the May Drawing Room, probably in retaliation for this, all the men
attached to the Duchess’s household were excluded by Royal mandate
from being present, giving rise to the remark that “the necessity for
this suspension of privilege must have been very great, as from what
everybody knows of the kind disposition of the King, he would not have
exercised his prerogative in a way that cannot otherwise be understood
than as an act of censure.”
The poor old King was still in fear about his country; he did not
believe, as many did, that Victoria was too delicate to live long,
but he did think her too young to reign, for he knew that her general
attitude was one of gentle obedience to her mother, and he thought
that when he was dead the Duchess of Kent would be virtually Queen of
England. It is said that about five days before he died he praised God
for the good sleep he had had, and the Queen said:
“And shall I pray to the Almighty that you may have a good day?”
“Oh, do!” answered the King. “I wish I could live for ten years for
the sake of the country. I feel it my duty to keep well as long as
possible.”
Just after the birthday King William wrote to the Duchess of Kent,
offering to form an independent household for the Princess; but this
she sharply declined, and we are told the reply was couched “in very
unsatisfactory terms.”
But William could not bear that this girl should not benefit in some
way personally from her majority, so he wrote her a letter, offering
her the sum of ten thousand a year from his own purse which was to
be regarded as her very own, independent of her mother’s income.
This letter was given to the Lord Chamberlain, then Lord Conyngham,
with instructions that he was to give it to no one but the Princess.
Conyngham went to Kensington and was received by Sir John Conroy, who
met his request to see the Princess by asking on what authority did
he make such a demand--which certainly seems to justify the King’s
doubt as to there being fair play at Kensington, and also proves that
Victoria was not allowed to receive visitors.
“On the authority of His Majesty the King,” replied Lord Conyngham.
Upon this Conroy disappeared, and after an interval the Chamberlain was
ushered into the presence of the Duchess and the Princess. Bowing low,
Conyngham said he had been charged by His Majesty with a letter for the
Princess Victoria, and at this the masterful mother at once held out
her hand to receive the precious missive.
“Pardon me, madam,” said the courtier, “I have been expressly commanded
by the King to deliver this into the Princess’s own hand.”
It must have been a humiliating moment for the proud woman, and it was
but the first of many such. The Princess took the letter, and Conyngham
bowed himself out of the room. To the intense anger of the Duchess, her
daughter wrote affectionately to her uncle, accepting the kind offer
made to her. William then named a responsible person who was to receive
this money for her, and the usual dispute began, for the Duchess
thought she should be the disburser of the sum, of which she proposed
taking six thousand pounds and giving Victoria four thousand.
This is true, though it reads with all the dramatic interest of
fiction, and the effect is heightened by our ignorance of the girl
who was the unhappy and unwilling cause of these quarrels. For seven
years she had suffered from these violent and futile disputes between
two persons whom she loved, and who, though loving her well, yet loved
their own conception of what was good for her so much that they were
ready to make her miserable. Who uttered the last word in this quarrel
no one knows, for it was never settled, and Victoria had no need of the
ten thousand a year.
Everyone knew now that the King was dying. The Court dreaded death,
for there was no forecasting events. What would happen to the country
with a bit of a girl at its head--a girl who had been rarely seen among
them, who never came to Court, and who seemed timid and retiring?
One cannot wonder that the forgotten dislike of Leopold rose to
fever heat, that the wildest stories were told of the Camarilla at
Kensington, and that it was reported that the new Royal Household was
all planned and the members of it named--all entirely without taking
the Princess into consideration. She did not count with the public
or with the Press; she was the merest cipher. She would be Queen, of
course--that was admitted--but the people with whom England would have
to deal would be the Duchess and Leopold, Conroy and Lord Durham, the
Coburgs, and the tribe of Germans who had already inflamed resentment
in some quarters. Lord Durham was on his way home, and his return was
regarded with keen curiosity, for it was felt that he would probably
play a great political part, and would influence materially the
Councils of the Queen.
A few years later, however, it was a well-known fact, though since
forgotten, that the whole of the appointments to be filled in the
Royal Household upon the death of William IV. and the formation of Her
Majesty’s domestic establishment had been arranged in accordance with
the political notions, not of the Duchess of Kent, but of Victoria’s
uncle, the Duke of Sussex, in conjunction with Lord Melbourne, in both
of whom she reposed great confidence.
England--that part of it which was interested--watched breathlessly
while William fought his last fight, and the social and political
forces gathered themselves together for some great and unknown change.
In this state of tension there was one man, loyal and upright, who
seemed always ready to give good advice and who would neither lose nor
gain by the change; this was the Duke of Wellington. To him on Waterloo
Day the King sent a message, bidding him hold the usual banquet in
commemoration of the great fight; just as it pleased him that Victoria
should go in state to Ascot on June 12th, for which he sent seven
carriages for her _cortège_, her own being drawn by six grey
horses.
Cumberland, still troubled with a lingering hope that his ambition
might be satisfied, went to the Duke, asking what he should do.
“Do?” said the Duke. “The best thing you can do is to go away as fast
as you can. Go instantly, and take care that you are not pelted.”
This is given on good authority, and, if true, could not have been
very pleasant for the Duke to hear, as he probably had hoped for very
different advice. He had always held that the Salic law, as applied
to the Hanoverian dynasty, should also apply to Great Britain, and as
Victoria had no right to rule in Hanover, she had therefore no right
to rule in England. It was about this period that he asked of his
aide-de-camp, already mentioned:
“Would you and your troop follow me through the streets of London if I
were proclaimed King?”
“Yes, and to the Tower the next day,” was the indignant reply.
“You have cut your own throat, my boy, by that remark. As King of
England I could make you a great man. What will the Princess Victoria
do for you and yours?”
It was to the Duke of Wellington that Lord Melbourne went a month
later for advice as to how best to initiate the Queen into her various
duties. Indeed, though Wellington had not taken the popular side in
the long struggle over Reform, he was by no means a keen party man; in
each question he followed the line that he believed would be best for
the nation, and, in spite of plots and innuendoes, he was, with one,
perhaps with two, exceptions, loyal to the Crown, no matter who wore it.
When it was almost certain that William would not recover,
“Grandmamma,” or, to use its better name, _The Times_, proceeded
to mould “the child” Victoria into shape. It began with a fairly mild
article, not, of course, insinuating anything, but just devoutly
praying that her education had been conducted under a noble and lofty
regard to her fitness for the duties of Queen of England, that she
had been prepared to think for herself, to employ her _own_
discernment, to take nothing upon trust; and asserting that she ought
not to be made the subject of jealous or vexatious restraint or be kept
in a state of pupilage, &c.
Two days later it went a step further in a leader, expressing the fear
that the Princess had received a narrow, or a jealous, or otherwise
ill-framed education, and roundly impressing upon the Duchess that
she had no political status, no political duties whatever beyond that
of obedience to laws. They said that she had no more power over the
Sovereign (who happened to be her offspring) than any other Duchess
of the Royal Family. They considered that she could not be a sound
adviser to an inexperienced Queen because of her foreign connections,
while her _entourage_ at home would form no desirable Cabinet for
a Queen of England. Then the article concluded with the avowal that it
had been written on purpose to meet the eye of Victoria, that she might
learn how vital it was that her earliest advisers should be men in whom
the better part of England could repose entire confidence.
Strongly Whig over the Catholic Emancipation Bill, _The Times_ had
gone as strongly Tory on the Reform Bill, and was furious at the idea
that the Whig Ministry, of which the King could not rid himself, was
still likely to keep in power. They were entirely without information
as to the character of King William’s successor, and thought, as did
most of the world, that England would be ruled by the Duchess of Kent
and her circle. What influence these articles may have had upon the
Princess there is no written evidence to show, but it is certain that
from the moment that this docile little daughter attained the Throne
she followed out exactly in this matter the policy thus urged upon her
by a paper the general policy of which she did not in the least approve.
When King William died, _The Times_ entirely lost its head. It had
struck these sledge-hammer blows at the Duchess of Kent, but it did
not believe in the Princess Victoria. The day after the new Queen had
read her Declaration, _The Times_, as _The Examiner_ said,
insulted her understanding by declaring that she did not comprehend the
import of the words she delivered, and they took particular exception
to her statement that she congratulated herself on succeeding a
monarch whose “desire to promote the amelioration of the laws and
institutions of the country has rendered his name an object of general
attachment and veneration.” From their standpoint this was, of course,
pure Radicalism, for, as good Tories, they held concerning the laws as
Leibnitz did of the world, that the laws we had were “the best of all
possible” laws, and needed no amelioration. Neither _The Times_
nor any other paper grumbled when, in 1901, King Edward declared at
his first Council that he was determined, “as long as there is breath
in my body, to work for the good and amelioration of my people.” Yet
Victoria’s was the better sentence. Of course, it is possible to
ameliorate people, but it is easier to perform the operation on laws or
even on lives.
From Victoria the editorial turned to Lord Melbourne and became really
funny, asking, “Has this Whig-Radical Ethiopian changed his skin?
this leopard of Popery his spots?” and it finished up with the fine
patriotic intimation that it was the strength of devotion to the
Constitution which prompted “us to ring the alarm bell throughout the
British Empire until we shall have helped to achieve its salvation,
have seen it perish, or have ourselves ceased to exist.”
On the evening of June 19th, 1837, King William saw all his children,
and at two o’clock on the morning of the 20th he died. We all know the
story of how the Archbishop of Canterbury and Lord Conyngham, the Lord
Chamberlain, rode to Kensington to convey the news to Victoria that
she was now Queen. Miss Wynn, who published her diaries under the
pseudonym of “A Lady of Quality,” gives a rather amusing account of the
occurrence. The two gentlemen arrived at Kensington Palace at about
five in the morning; they knocked, rang, and thumped for a considerable
time before they could rouse the porter at the gates; then, having
been kept waiting in a courtyard, they were turned into one of the
lower rooms and forgotten by everyone. They rang, and desired the
attendant who appeared to tell the Princess’s maid that they requested
an audience. Nothing followed, and they rang again. The maid, who now
answered the bell, said that the Princess was in such a sweet sleep
that she could not disturb her. “We are come to the Queen on business
of State, and her sleep must give way to that,” was the answer.
In a few minutes Victoria appeared in a loose white nightgown and
shawl, her hair falling about her shoulders, her feet in slippers,
tears in her eyes, but perfectly cool and collected.
[Illustration: LORD MELBOURNE.]
The following morning a Council was called for eleven o’clock, but the
summonses were sent out so late that many were not received until the
hour appointed. Lord Melbourne, as Prime Minister, had to teach the
Queen her part, which he had first to learn himself, and he found her
quiet, dignified, and eager to bear herself well. The Lords assembled
in one room of Kensington Palace, and were solemnly informed by the
Lord President of the events, which they all knew perfectly, that
the King was dead, and that they were gathered together to swear
allegiance to the new Sovereign. This little form observed, the
Lord President, the two Royal Dukes--Cumberland was quite sure now
that he had not a chance left at present--the two Archbishops, the
Chancellor, and the Prime Minister went into the next room, where with
great formality the news of William’s death was conveyed to the girl
who stood there alone, not in her nightgown this time, but in a sober
garment of black. The doors between the rooms were then thrown open,
and the Queen entered that in which stood a great crowd of nobles and
office-holders. Greville says, “The Queen entered, accompanied by her
two uncles, who advanced to meet her,” which certainly might have been
more lucid had it been differently worded.
The Duke of Sussex spoke later of the Queen’s nervousness, saying
that she continually took his hand as though to reassure herself; he
added that Lord Melbourne never took his eyes off her, and seemed more
nervous than she, fearing that she might make a slip. Half a century
later, when the Queen was asked if she did not feel nervous at her
first Council, she replied, “No, I have no recollection of feeling
in the slightest degree nervous.” Nervous or not, she behaved with
grace and dignity, as everyone should have expected; but all present
seemed to think that something like a scene would take place, or that
they were going to swear their loyal oaths to a person wanting in
understanding, if we may judge by the chorus of praise which arose
later. “It was extraordinary and far beyond what was looked for”; she
actually “read her speech in a clear, distinct, and audible voice”;
Peel said how amazed he was at her manner and behaviour, at her
apparent deep sense of her position, her modesty, and her firmness.
Did these wise men really think that a girl brought up in such an
atmosphere of self-control and restriction as Victoria had been
would have shamed herself by crying, or stuttering, or fainting, or
giggling? Their extenuation lies in the fact that scarcely any among
them knew anything at all of the Princess, and that very fact excited
such intense curiosity to see how she would behave, that the crowd of
Privy Councillors assembled was so great that, according to one who was
present, the scene of swearing allegiance was more like that at the
bidding in an auction-room than anything else.
Cumberland, who now became King of Hanover, was the first to take the
oath, and Sussex, who was very infirm, and some distance from Her
Majesty, was met half-way across the room, the Queen kissing them both.
Greville noted with satisfaction that her courtesy did not break down
when the heads of either party greeted her, that she was as pleasant
to Wellington and Peel as to Melbourne and the Ministers. Really, his
social knowledge should have saved him any doubts on that point, and
rendered it unnecessary for him to “particularly watch” her when the
Tory lords approached.
Creevy was much more pleasing when he wrote, “I cannot resist telling
you that our dear little Queen in every respect is _perfection_.”
Here is exaggeration, it is true, but no insistence upon doubt as to
her being ordinarily well-mannered.
Even such a grave event as a first Privy Council meeting may provide
food for laughter, and there is one little incident in connection with
this Council which was not only amusing, but should have given those
present some clear idea of their young Sovereign’s character. Sir
Bernard Bosanquet, who was present, tells us that, “With the utmost
dignity, before her assembled Privy Councillors, with her clear young
voice, the Queen began reading:
“‘This Act intituléd’--which is the legal way of spelling entitled.
“‘Entitled, your Majesty, entitled,’ hastily corrected Lord Melbourne
in a loud aside.
“The young Queen slowly drew herself up and said, quietly and firmly,
‘I have said it.’
“Then, after a pause, once more the beautiful childish voice rang out:
“‘This Act intituléd----’”
A curious mistake, or change of mind, took place over the Queen’s name.
The Peers took the oath of fidelity to Alexandrina Victoria, and all
the forms were duly made out in those names. Later in the day the Queen
announced that she would be known as Victoria only, which caused a
great stir officially, as new parchments with the amended style had to
be procured in every case.
Her accession seems to have made a great difference to the little
Queen. While only Princess everyone agreed in describing her as quiet,
timid, shy; she was always hidden under the wing of her mother, who
thought for her, acted for her, and spoke for her. As soon as she
stood alone she became openly what she had probably always been in
private, gay and high-spirited; she rode almost every day and drove in
the Park; she courted publicity, saying, “Let my people see me,” and
everywhere she met smiling faces and affectionate regards. There were,
of course, those who foretold the usual sad tale, among them being
Frances Anne Kemble, who wrote:
“Poor young creature! at eighteen to bear such a burden of
responsibility! I should think the mere state and grandeur, and
slow-paced solemnity of her degree enough to strike a girl of that
age into a melancholy, without all the other graver considerations
and causes for care and anxiety which belong to it. I dare say,
whatever she may think now, before many years are over, she would be
glad to have a small pension of £30,000 a year, and leave to ‘go and
play,’ like common folk of fortune. But, to be sure, if _noblesse
oblige_, Royalty must do so still more, or, at any rate, on a wider
scale; and so I take up my burden again--poor young Queen of England.”
If anyone ever was, by nature, position, and training, born to a life
of hard work, that person was Queen Victoria, and so long as she had
the spirit and the ability to meet her life bravely, I cannot see that
there was any need to pity her. It was inevitable that she should make
mistakes and repent of them, for by such comes growth. If she had great
responsibilities, she was surrounded by those who upheld her arms and
practically took all those responsibilities upon their shoulders.
Carlyle only mentioned Queen Victoria two or three times in his
letters, always with a fatherly, personal note, which yet held more
than a hint of pity, indicating that he saw some immediate cause for
disquiet. A few months after her accession he wrote: “Yesterday, going
through one of the Parks, I saw the poor little Queen. She was in an
open carriage, preceded by three or four swift red-coated troopers;
all off for Windsor just as I happened to pass. Another carriage or
carriages followed with maids of honour, &c.; the whole drove very
fast. It seemed to me the poor little Queen was a bit modest, nice,
sonsy little lassie; blue eyes, light hair, white skin; of extremely
small stature: she looked timid, anxious, almost frightened; for the
people looked at her in perfect silence; one old liveryman alone
touched his hat to her: I was heartily sorry for the poor bairn--though
perhaps she might have said, as Parson Swan did, ‘Greet not for me,
brethren; for verily, yea verily, I greet not for mysel’.’”
At that first Privy Council, the day after the death of King William,
a somewhat curious document was prepared or passed in the form of a
proclamation from Queen Victoria: “For the Encouragement of Piety and
Virtue, and for the Prevention and Punishing of Vice, Profaneness, and
Immorality.” George III. had issued such a proclamation, and whether it
had been the custom for all our Sovereigns to do so I do not know, but
this one seems curious enough to be noted. Part of it ran as follows:
“To the intent therefore that religion, piety, and good manners may
(according to Our most Hearty desire) flourish and increase under our
administration and government, We have thought fit by the advice of
our Privy Council to issue this Our Royal Proclamation, and do hereby
declare Our Royal Purpose and Resolution to discountenance and punish
all manner of Vice, Profaneness, and Immorality in all persons of
whatsoever degree or Quality within this Our Realm, and particularly
in such as are employed near Our Royal Person; and that, for the
encouragement of Religion and morality, We will upon all occasions
distinguish persons of piety and virtue by marks of Our Royal Favour.
And We do expect and require that all persons of honour, or in place
of authority, will give good example by their own virtue and piety,
and to their utmost contribute to the discountenancing persons of
dissolute and debauched lives, that they, being reduced by that means
to shame and contempt for their loose and evil actions and behaviour,
may be thereby also enforced the sooner to reform their ill habits and
practices, and that the visible displeasure of good men towards them
may (so far as it is possible) supply what the laws (probably) cannot
altogether prevent.”
This lengthy document went on to deal with the observance of the Lord’s
Day, with gambling, card-playing, and drinking.
One wonders whether the Queen or her advisers believed that such a
proclamation could lead to any raising of the standard of morals. The
Queen, in her youthfulness, might think so, but the men around her
must have been very doubtful of it even while doing the will of their
Sovereign, or conforming to a custom, by letting such a document be
issued. Yet it is a notable thing that this proclamation embodies in a
paragraph the form which improvement in social manners took during the
Queen’s reign.
The Proclaiming of the Sovereign was the next ceremony in the new
life which was opening up for this young person, and she drove to St.
James’s Palace with the Duchess of Kent and another lady, while in the
carriage which preceded her were the Earl of Jersey, Lord Conyngham,
the Lord Chamberlain, and Lord Albemarle, the Master of the Horse; in
the third carriage were Sir John Conroy and Lady Flora Hastings. Lady
Flora had attended the Duchess for some years, and should have been
thoroughly well known to the Queen, but yet two years later she had the
misfortune to be grievously misjudged and tragically ill-used by her
Sovereign.
There were moments at the commencement of her reign when Queen Victoria
felt horribly nervous, but she had more than enough self-control to
prevent herself from being overcome by emotion. When she came out of
the door at Kensington Palace arrayed in black, she looked a veritable
child. Her eyes were full of tears, her hands clasped and unclasped,
and she trembled at the ordeal before her; yet she turned and looked
at the body of Guards drawn up on either side of her door, and bowed
in acknowledgment of their salute. Lord Melbourne was by her side,
watching her with a fatherly look, and so began that cordial friendship
between the Queen and the peer which lasted for years, and ended only
in death on one side and something like forgetfulness on the other.
On the route to St. James’s, Greville says, there was very little
shouting and very few hats were raised, but other recorders tell of the
repeated cheers of the multitude. In the courtyard, as has been said,
there was no cheering until a given signal, when Daniel O’Connell led
the way, and the noise was then so hearty that the Queen burst into
tears.
After this, events crowded thick and fast, and one of the first was
the Royal removal to the New, or Buckingham, Palace, a place which
Creevy stigmatised as “the Devil’s Own,” saying that there were
raspberry-coloured pillars without end, enough to turn you sick to
look at, and that the costly ornaments in the State rooms exceeded
all belief in their bad taste and every kind of infirmity. It seems
to-day strange to regard the London residence of the Monarch as being
at Pimlico, and yet that is its true locality. On this removal _The
Times_ condescended to ask a conundrum: “Why is Buckingham Palace
the cheapest that was ever built?” and proceeded to supply the answer,
“Because it was built for one sovereign and furnished for another.”
When the simply arranged bedroom at Kensington, which had for nearly
eighteen years been shared by mother and child, was finally deserted,
Victoria gave orders that the room should remain as it was, and nothing
be removed or added.
There was the necessary Levée to be held, and so great was the
curiosity that such a crowd attended as had never before been seen
at such a function. Over two thousand people were present to kiss
the Queen’s hand; diamond buckles were broken and lost, orders and
decorations torn from their wearers, and epaulettes rubbed from the
shoulders of officers. The Drawing Room the next day, in spite of
torrents of rain, was more fully attended than it had been for many
years. At the Levée Her Majesty was “black as a raven from head to
foot, her hair was plainly dressed without ornament, but she wore the
Ribbon of the Garter, with the Star on her left breast and the buckle
on her left arm.”
When she found that the Garter had to be worn, the Queen sent for
the Duke of Norfolk, and asked anxiously, “But, my Lord Duke, where
_shall_ I wear the Garter?” The Duke could only think of a
portrait of Queen Anne, in which the Garter was placed on the left arm,
and Victoria decided to follow that precedent.
At the Levée there is room for suspicion that the Queen did forget
her good manners, though the lapse was not caused by girlish fright
or nervousness. Among those whom she received was Lord Lyndhurst, and
although she had shown “her usual pretty manner” to all who preceded
him, as soon as he approached she drew herself up as though she had
seen a snake, at which Lyndhurst turned as red as fire, and afterwards
looked as fierce as a fiend.
Having just held a brief for the Queen’s good manners, I feel that
this incident is somewhat awkward, especially as I cannot really
tell why she was rude to Lyndhurst. She may have been affected by
his lordship’s wonderful system of “ratting,” for he had a habit of
making a speech against a Bill, say the Catholic Emancipation Bill,
for example, or the Municipal Reform Bill, which became famous, and
then when he found it good policy to change his views, would make
another notable speech in its favour. Early in his career he held
republican opinions, and thought little of the Whigs because their
notions of reform were so mild; but when he showed himself extremely
clever in defending a noted case, Lord Castlereagh--“carotid-cutting
Castlereagh”--is reported to have said, “I can discover in him
something of the _rat_, and I will set my trap for him, baited
with Cheshire cheese”--meaning that he would offer him the office of
Chief Justice of Cheshire.
The trap was set, and Lyndhurst, then plain John Copley, quietly--and
perhaps gratefully--walked into it, and on the first vacancy became
Solicitor-General to the King. It was said about him that he had danced
round the Tree of Liberty to the tune of “Ça ira,” and yet became
one of the most virulent opponents of all movements towards freedom.
However, as Mackintosh said to Lord John Russell, it was with the Whig
_prospects_, not their _views_, that he quarrelled, and it
may have been just this which made the young Queen scorn him, and feel,
as she once owned to Lord Melbourne, a personal dislike of him.
There is a little incident on record which shows just how complaisant
he could be in any matter affecting his interest. A story got about,
and was published in the newspapers, that the Duke of Cumberland had
called upon Lady Lyndhurst, of whom Creevy said “she has such beautiful
eyes and such a way of using them that quite shocked Lady Louisa and
me,” and so grossly misbehaved himself that he was turned out of the
house. He went a second time, when he contented himself with uttering
coarse abuse of Lyndhurst. When this affair was made public, Cumberland
sent a copy of a journal in which the paragraph appeared to the Lord
Chancellor, as Lyndhurst then was, and asked that he should have Lady
Lyndhurst’s permission to contradict “the gross falsehood.”
The thing was true, however, and the Chancellor felt in a fix; he could
not fight a Royal Duke, and yet he wished to warn him not to repeat the
offence. So he temporised; said he had not before seen the paragraph,
which was no doubt one of a series of calumnies to which Lady Lyndhurst
had for some time been exposed. This, however, did not satisfy Duke
Ernest, who was anxious that his shady character should be cleared
of this stain; so he wrote again, demanding a definite sanction to
contradict the report. Upon this Lyndhurst, it is said, though seeing
the result one hardly believes it, went to the national adviser, the
Duke of Wellington, who counselled him to reply that he did not wish
to annoy Lady Lyndhurst by speaking of this matter to her. To this he
added that, as to excluding the Duke from their home, the grateful
attachment they both felt for their Sovereign made that impossible.
So the matter ended. Lyndhurst had cleverly evaded giving the Duke
a straightforward answer--which was more like himself than like the
Duke of Wellington--and had practically assured him that he would be
received as a guest again in the house which he had abused. Lyndhurst
would have seemed more admirable if he had been more of a man and less
of a diplomatist; and it is quite likely that other incidents of this
kind had occurred to make the young Queen, in her youthful zeal for
probity, show her dislike for him publicly. Besides, had she not just
inculcated virtue by proclamation, and declared the way in which she
would reward evil-doers?
To do Lyndhurst justice, however, he seemed to bear her no malice, and
when the storm, raised by _The Times_, gathered strength from her
friendship for Melbourne and broke in fury upon her before she had been
Queen many weeks, Lyndhurst sincerely lamented it. The Tories could not
control their disappointment and anger when it was announced that Lord
Melbourne was to continue Prime Minister, and they vilified the Queen
at every opportunity. To quote from Lord Campbell, a contemporary:
“The practice was to contrast her invidiously with Adelaide, the Queen
Dowager, and at public dinners to receive the Queen’s health with
solemn silence, while the succeeding toast of the Queen Dowager was the
signal for long continued cheers. Some writers went so far as to praise
the Salic law, by which females are excluded from the throne, pointing
out the happiness we should have enjoyed under the rule of the Duke
of Cumberland, but consoling the nation by the assurance that his line
would soon succeed, as the new Queen, from physical defects, could
never bear children.”
Well, after all, there _was_ some reason for pitying the young,
sonsie lassie who was then Queen of England!
CHAPTER VI
QUEEN VICTORIA’S ADVISERS
“Conservatism stands on man’s confessed limitations; reform
on his indisputable infinitude; conservatism on circumstance;
liberalism on power.”--_Emerson._
Among the deputations that came to wish the new Queen well was one from
the Society of Friends, led by Joseph Sturge. Asked afterwards if he
kissed the Queen’s hand, he answered; “Oh, yes, and found that act of
homage no hardship, I assure thee. It was a fair, soft, delicate little
hand.” He added that Her Majesty was “a nice, pleasant, modest little
woman, graceful though a little shy, and, on the whole, comely.”
Among the investitures that took place was that of the Duke of
Leiningen, Queen Victoria’s half-brother, who was invested with the
Order of the Garter; Prince Esterhazy, that lover of jewels, was
invested with the Military Order of the Bath, and the Queen held a
Chapter for the purpose, wearing the mantle of the Order, the ribbon
and the badge. All the Knights Grand Cross appeared on this splendid
occasion.
Queen Victoria had probably no wish to change her Parliament, but
custom decreed that it should be prorogued, and she decided to
prorogue it in person, much to the alarm of the Duchess her mother, who
begged her not to do so, fearing the effect that the excitement might
have on her health. But the child was already three weeks away from her
leading-strings; she was beginning to feel the glories of independence,
and she would no longer submit blindly to the will of another. The word
excitement displeased her, and she is said to have answered: “That is
a word I do not like to hear; all these successive ceremonies interest
and please me, but have no such effect on my mind as that which I
understand by excitement.”
So the Queen went in State to the House of Lords, where the old Throne
devoted to the use of old Sovereigns was banished, and replaced by a
new one bedizened with the Royal Arms in gold, and the words “Victoria
Regina” also in gold. With girlish delight in her new state, Her
Majesty donned “a white satin kirtle embroidered in gold, a robe of
crimson velvet trimmed with ermine stripes and gold lace, confined
at the waist and shoulders with gold cord, and having an ermine cape
attached (this was in July!) a stomacher of diamonds, a tiara and
bracelets of diamonds, the Garter round her arm, and the Ribbon of the
Garter over her shoulder completed the outward attire.” One evening
paper commented upon the Queen and her dress as follows: “Her emotion
was plainly discernible in the rapid heaving of her bosom and the
brilliancy of her diamond stomacher, which sparkled out occasionally
from the dark recess in which the throne was placed, like the sun on
the swell of the smooth ocean as the billows rise and fall.” The
earliest Victorian journalists knew something of the gentle art of high
falutin’!
The Queen acquitted herself well in this trying position, and we are
told that the Duchess of Kent wept tears of joy on seeing the way in
which “her august daughter” acquitted herself. Other tears seem also
to have been shed, for Lord Grey declared that he actually cried from
pleasure at the Queen’s voice and speech; and he added that, after
seeing and hearing three Sovereigns of England, the latest surpassed
them all, easily, in every respect.
One of the sentimentalists of the day wrote concerning the Duchess and
her daughter, “the first separation that had ever taken place between
Her Majesty and her Royal mother was decreed by the immutable (?) laws
of Royal etiquette on this occasion, and doubtless it was felt as no
slight trial by both.” Yet they were both in the same room!
Another contemporary tells us that the impertinent old Lady Jersey took
powerful opera-glasses with her to the House of Lords, and through them
fixed her eyes relentlessly on the Queen, which, according to the laws
of etiquette in those days, was a direct personal affront if applied to
people of high rank.
While King William was ill, there had been many private conferences
among members of the Government as to the right course to pursue when
the Princess came to the throne. Sir Robert Peel had given it as his
opinion that the young Queen should retain Lord Melbourne as her chief
adviser and rely frankly on his guidance, and the Duke of Wellington
(also a Tory) was strongly in favour of the same course. Victoria was
probably but obeying her uncle Sussex’s promptings when on the morning
after the King’s death she sent for Melbourne and put herself in his
hands.
One of the first things to be considered was the formation of the
Royal Household, and in this matter the Queen had something to say.
She uttered a wish on the 20th of June that Lady Lansdowne should be
her principal lady, either as Mistress of the Robes or as First Lady
in Waiting. Lady Lansdowne accepted the post of First Lady in Waiting,
and two days later Victoria invited the Duchess of Sutherland to become
Mistress of the Robes, and asked Lady Tavistock to be one of her Ladies.
Inquiry had been made into the Household of Queen Anne, and it was
found that she had had eleven Ladies of the Bedchamber, but Victoria
thought that this was too cumbrous an attendance, and eventually
decided upon one Mistress of the Robes, seven Ladies in Waiting, and
eight Women of the Bedchamber. Lady Portman, Lady Lyttelton, and
the Countess of Durham were among the Ladies, while Miss Davys, her
preceptor’s daughter, was appointed Resident Woman of the Bedchamber,
including in her duties those of private secretary in so far as private
correspondence was concerned. The Queen and Miss Davys had been friends
for years, and once when Victoria’s opinion was asked on some subject
discussed by that lady, she replied: “If you really wish me to speak my
mind I must say I perfectly agree with Miss Davys. How, indeed, should
I do otherwise, for have we not both been educated by her father?”
Thus some of her ladies were chosen from among those whom she liked,
while others were recommended to her by Melbourne or her uncle, but
the result was that they were all, or nearly all, related to the
Whigs. Croker touched upon this subject in the _Quarterly Review_
for July, 1837, pointing out that it was impolitic that the Queen
should be surrounded with many members of the same families, “however
respectable,” and also that it was neither constitutional in principle
nor convenient in practice that her private life should be exposed
to the fluctuations of political change, or that political changes
should be either produced or prevented by private favour or personal
attachments; meaning thereby that her ladies should be chosen from both
parties, so that when the Government was changed her Household should
be to a certain extent stable. However, the mistake was made, and in
1839 it had to be paid for.
As to her Lords in Waiting, Queen Victoria retained five gentlemen who
had been Lords of the Bedchamber to King William, and added to them
three from the supporters of Lord Melbourne.
Others besides Croker discussed the formation of the Household, only
they did not content themselves with philosophical disquisitions
or allude chiefly to the future. One paper said that “the indecent
usurpation of nominating Her Majesty’s Household--of surrounding
her person by a female brigade of political spies--had in _one
instance_ produced a dignified and determined resistance.” Alluding
probably to the fact that the Countess of Rosebery had declined to
serve. They declared that Her Majesty’s wishes had been “most sternly
thwarted, even where they ought in kindness and courtesy to have been
deemed supreme--so far is the distribution of offices from affording
any index of the Queen’s opinions”; and averred that Victoria wished
to make the Duchess of Northumberland, a Tory, who had resigned her
position a few months earlier, her Mistress of the Robes, only the
Duchess of Kent and “the Irish bombardier, Sir John Conroy,” thought
otherwise, so the honour fell to the Marchioness of Lansdowne. The more
volatile Tory papers begged her piteously to dismiss the Whigs, and the
_Age_ went on its knees to her in the following and many other
effusions:--
“If your Majesty would reign in the hearts of your subjects, nor hold
a barren sceptre in your hand, you will enquire for the confidential
advisers of your family (and you will not find _them_ among your
present Ministers), solicit their advice, and learn from them the
real nature of your Royal office, the _true_ state of your loyal
subjects, the present position of your dominions in all their political
relations--internal, foreign, and commercial.”
An early matter for discussion was whether Her Majesty should be
allowed a private secretary, after the example of the two last
Sovereigns. George III. had done all his own work until 1805, when he
became blind, and, much to the disgust of politicians, paid Colonel
Herbert Taylor out of funds at the disposal of the Crown to be his
private secretary. When the Prince Regent made Colonel McMahon his
secretary, and asked that his salary should be paid out of the public
funds, Parliament opposed the suggestion to such an extent that the
salary had to be paid from the Privy Purse. The appointment itself
was attacked in Parliament, the contention being that it was highly
unconstitutional, for the secrets of State would thus pass through a
third party--other than the King and the Ministers--and that a private
secretary would constitute a Court of Revision above the Cabinet.
Fortunately, the Ministers defended the appointment. Prior to this the
poor Monarch had had personally to sign thousands of documents every
year, and in the absence of the secretary had to seal and address the
communications; thus the services of an assistant were absolutely
essential if the Sovereign were not to become a sort of automatic
machine for doing mechanical work.
[Illustration: KING LEOPOLD OF THE BELGIANS.
From the Drawing by Sir Thomas Lawrence, P.R.A.]
William IV. made Sir Herbert Taylor his secretary; but when Victoria
came to the throne, the duties of this servant were so misunderstood
that she was allowed no secretary; all alike being afraid lest the
servant should become the master and adviser. The Queen wished to
appoint Baron Stockmar, but fortunately for everyone Melbourne would
not consent to this, for as Stockmar was practically the agent of King
Leopold, the nation would have been indignant at his being put into so
important a position. Leopold had had the prudence not to hurry over
to England as soon as his niece became Queen, which was wise of him,
for had he come he would have been accused of desiring to rule the
country through her, and, besides, discord must have arisen between him
and his sister the Duchess. What he did was to send the Baron over, who
for some years had been occupied in training Prince Albert for the high
position his uncle intended him to hold. The Baron’s unacknowledged
post about the Queen was that of theoretic political tutor rather than
actual adviser, for he had been brought up in the midst of German
theories, and never seemed to understand the difference between the
English and German system of governing. That he gave Queen Victoria
much excellent advice, and that a profound and trusting regard existed
between them, cannot be doubted, but he was another foreigner added to
those already about the Throne, and his name was instantly connected
with those who were still known as the Kensington Camarilla. There
were naturally many who distrusted the Baron. Abercromby, the Speaker,
said that he felt it his duty to call attention in Parliament to the
unconstitutional position of the foreigner Stockmar; a course which,
however, he never followed. Melbourne himself, much as he was said to
approve of the German, occasionally felt a certain uneasiness about
him, which was expressed as follows:--
“King Leopold and Stockmar are very good and intelligent people, but I
dislike very much to hear it said that I am influenced by them. We know
it is not true, but still I dislike to hear it said.”
A general report _was_ spread abroad that the Baron was acting
in the important position of secretary to the Queen, and Melbourne
in a letter to a colleague wrote: “There is, of course, no truth in
Stockmar’s appointment. It should be quietly contradicted.” While this
matter was being discussed, Victoria sent for Sir Herbert Taylor to
get his advice, and he asked, “Is your Majesty afraid of the work?”
which drew from her the reply, “I mean to work.” “Then don’t have a
secretary,” he retorted, which was silly, seeing that without one the
Queen would have to spend all her time doing secretarial work.
In the end Melbourne arranged to act as secretary to her Majesty on
matters of state, which entailed seeing her every day, and the Baroness
Lehzen undertook at first personal and domestic affairs, and there were
more than hints that she really did fill the post of adviser so dreaded
by those in Parliament.
The name of the Baroness Lehzen raised the fury of the more intemperate
of political writers, for they had always suspected her of acting,
not against the interest of England so much as against the interest
of party. This may or may not have been the case, but there can be no
doubt whatever concerning her intense love for her one-time pupil, and
it was probably this as well as her enmity to Conroy that helped to
make a breach between her and the Duchess; for two people loving the
same person are very likely to get different ideas concerning that
person’s good, and to quarrel over each other’s methods. Baroness
Lehzen, as has been said, was a real German, stolid, conventional,
sensible, and, like many of her countrywomen, showing little
imagination. She may have had as much influence as the Duchess or King
Leopold in debarring the girl from all imaginative literature and from
all fiction. When Victoria became Queen she had never read a novel,
and there seems to be no evidence that she had ever touched literature
or anything beyond lessons or history books. This, of course, may have
been caused by a certain system of education, or it may have been
that those in authority had no taste for _belles lettres_ or
intellectual exercise. It was the day in which it was thought dangerous
for a woman to use her brains, and when a certain limited knowledge
of facts was regarded as education. I notice that when the Duchess
asked the Bishops of London and Lincoln to “examine” the Princess in
1830, they mention only the subjects of Christian Religion, Scripture,
History, Geography, Arithmetic, and the Latin Grammar, and expressed
themselves entirely satisfied. Of course, this was a fairly good
education for the period, but it was all a matter of memory, and, apart
from history, left little place for the exercise of the mind.
By the time Victoria had been Queen for a year she had read three
novels, and had struggled through two books of memoirs, but it was
possible that what she had lost in her youthful training could never
be regained. However, her daily habits were impeccable. She had been
brought up in simplicity both in dress and food, regularity in meals,
work, play, and sleep, and punctuality, being punctual herself and
demanding it of others. She was also taught never to half-learn or
half-do anything, but always to finish that which she began. One story
of her punctuality is told by several writers, but the irrepressible
Creevy gives it in an amusing form, so I quote it here.
“A word or two about Vic. She is as much idolised as ever, except by
the Duchess of Sutherland, who received a very proper snub from her two
days ago. She was half an hour late for dinner, so little Vic. told her
that she hoped it might not happen another time; for, tho’ she did not
mind in the least waiting herself, it was very unpleasant to keep her
company waiting.”
Lady Georgiana Grey had the Baroness by her side at dinner one day,
and heard from her high laudations of Her Majesty, such as that she
was absolutely perfect, that she worked from morning to night, and
that she would be surrounded with dispatch boxes while her maid was
doing her hair. There was an earlier occasion on which Lehzen let her
heart overflow about the perfections of her charge, saying, among other
things, that, though she would never be a beautiful or grand-looking
woman, she would certainly be one of the greatest Monarchs of
Europe--“great, not in beauty nor in stature, but great in intellect
and as a wife and in motherly love to her children, and greater still
as mother of England.” To this she added, “I know all about her, and I
feel she will live to be idolised, and leave a name behind her such as
none of her predecessors have left.”
If these words were so uttered, and not amplified by uncertain memory,
it seems that there was at least one person who thought that she knew
the character of the Princess. Stockmar is said to have come to
the same judgment when he first saw her in 1836. “England will grow
great and famous under her rule!” was his remark. It is added that
these words being repeated to the King, drew from him the answer, “If
Stockmar said that, I cease regretting that I have no children to whom
to hand down the crown.”
It was a pity that between the two women who had done most towards
forming the mind of the young Queen there should have arisen an abiding
coolness. Sir John Conroy was the one person in whom the Duchess
reposed her confidence, and whose advice she sought before taking any
action; but Lehzen hated Conroy, and had probably inspired her pupil
with the same sentiment. It was more than likely that Conroy, as well
as the Duchess, was perfectly aware of her feelings, for the Baroness
considered that they did not use her well. Then, too, judging from
after events, it is very possible that Lehzen had already acquired an
undue influence over Victoria, and had raised the bitter jealousy of
the Duchess. However, the whole little circle kept up appearances, and
the people forming it were outwardly on cordial terms. Victoria was
devoted to her Lehzen, and when at home apparently always required her
company; for the Ministers who had occasion to see Her Majesty would
often, on entering a room by one door, see the Baroness disappearing by
another, and as soon as the audience was over she would return to the
Queen.
The one thing about Victoria’s new home which must astonish all who
think about it is, that from the time she became Queen, her mother
went into the background. This proud woman, who had fought Kings
and Princes that she might give her child the best that she knew;
she who by the asperity of her temper and haughty pride had become a
personage distinct from all other members of the Royal family, now
that that beloved child was in the highest position in the land, sank
into nothingness. She was never consulted, she did not always know
what was happening, no word of State affairs reached her ears; the old
companionship was gone, for alas! in the old days she had drawn the
rein too tightly, so that when once the young creature was free she
feared the restraining hand too much to trust it again.
One of Victoria’s first acts must have given her mother much pain,
though it is likely that she had had warning of what would occur. Sir
John Conroy, who had been right-hand man both to the Duke and to the
Duchess, had fallen into the faults so common to long service. He was
too sure of his ground, too ready to assume responsibility, and he
had never troubled to look upon the Princess as a force with which he
should reckon. Thus he was entirely disliked by her, and she determined
that in her new household she would be freed from a man who, whatever
his merits, was personally obnoxious to herself.
So long as Her Majesty remained at Kensington, that is, until July
13th, Conroy was a member of the Household, and he perhaps did not
believe that the young Queen would at once and so effectually grasp her
power. He had not yet learned to discriminate between the past and the
present, and followed his usual course as master of the servants. Thus
one day a groom who had been in constant attendance upon Victoria could
not be found, and on inquiries being made it was explained that Conroy
had dismissed him. That is said to have brought matters to a head. The
Queen sent for Sir John--so runs one account--and asked him to name the
reward he expected for his services to her parents. His reply was that
he desired the Red Ribband, an Irish Peerage, and a pension of £3,000
a year. The Queen answered that the first two lay with her Ministers,
and she could not promise for them, but the pension he should have. In
another account we learn that she made him a baronet in addition to
bestowing the pension, but that all connection with the Palace ceased,
and that he was never distinguished by the slightest mark of personal
favour; “so that nothing can be more striking than the contrast between
the magnitude of the pecuniary bounty and the complete personal
disregard of which he is the object.”
“Conroy goes not to Court, the reason’s plain,
King John has played his part and ceased to reign”
sung a flippant paragraphist.
Under these circumstances the Duchess lost the daily companionship of
the friend upon whom, judiciously or otherwise, she was accustomed
to lean, a matter which rankled long and bitterly in the poor lady’s
mind. However, the Queen was still her well-beloved child, and it was
a long time before she could forget to exercise her motherly desire
to guide events; thus she watched with alarm the brilliant life now
led by the girl, who for eighteen years had been carefully guarded
from late hours, luxurious food, and social excitement of every sort.
Now the emancipated girl filled long days with business engagements,
with public pageants, with theatres and balls, and other amusements.
She was enjoying to the full the consciousness of being the centre of
things, she was beginning to appreciate her power, and was punctilious
in carrying out any settled plan. When her mother urged her to remain
quietly at home she laughed at her fears, and showed no disposition
to go back to the nursery _régime_ of Kensington. So the Duchess
made an ally of the doctor--probably Sir James Clark, who played so
unfortunate a part two years later. He remonstrated with Her Majesty
upon the life of excitement that she was experiencing, saying that it
must be injurious to her.
“Say too much amusement rather than excitement,” replied the Queen.
“I know not what the future will bring, but I have met with so much
affection, so much respect, and every act of sovereignty has been made
so light, that I have not yet felt the weight of the Crown.”
Then the doctor changed his complaint, and remarked upon the enormous
dinner parties she gave, saying that their size must make them very
fatiguing. But Victoria was ready with her answer.
“These dinner parties amuse me. If I had a small party I should have
to exert myself to entertain my guests, but with a large one they are
called upon to amuse me, and then I become personally acquainted with
those who surround the throne.”
There was one disquieting person who was partially removed from
Victoria’s life upon her accession, and that was the Duke of
Cumberland, who became King of Hanover on the death of his brother.
William had in 1833 granted a liberal constitution with representative
government to his Hanoverian dominions, where his brother, the Duke
of Cambridge, was Viceroy. On William’s death Cambridge returned to
England, and Cumberland left England to harass his new subjects. One
of his first acts was to reverse all that his brother had done, to
abolish the constitution, make himself arbitrary King, and prosecute
the Liberal Professors of Göttingen. This was not done in spite, but
from a sincere conviction that reform of any sort was wrong. He was
a Tory of the Tories, but, I believe, quite honest in his politics.
He really thought that England was going to destruction--a myth which
is cherished by some up to the present day--the first step downwards
being the repeal of the Corporation and Test Act in 1828, the next the
Catholic Emancipation Act, while the climax of our ruin was the Reform
Bill. It was in his private and social life that King Ernest was so
odious. His wife, who admired him as a man of intellect, was terrified
by his fits of ungovernable temper; his sister in Hanover said that the
loss of her brother Cambridge nearly killed her, “the whole thing is so
changed one’s mind is quite overset;” while his lax ideas of morality
really made him detestable. The papers abounded in announcements that
he was unpopular. At the coronation of William IV. _The Times_
drew a gentle contrast between the way in which the Duke and the
Ministers were received: “The Duke of Cumberland experienced in the
course of yesterday proofs, we dare say not unexpected by His Royal
Highness, of the extraordinary estimation in which most Englishmen hold
him. The Duke of Wellington whom, if he had never been a politician,
his countrymen would gladly, gratefully, and for ever have recognised
as an illustrious military chief, was treated respectfully by the
spectators in the Abbey; but Lord Grey and Lord Brougham received every
testimony of the warmest and most eager approbation.” In turning to the
article in the Dictionary of National Biography, I find a very partial
account given of the Duke of Cumberland, the impression made being that
he was a brave, clever man, much maligned by the Whigs and Radicals.
This, however, was not exactly the case, the Duke’s delinquencies being
recorded by every shade of opinion, and though it is most likely that
those opposed to him in politics shouted the loudest, the undoubted
fact remains that all joined in the cry.
In the election of July, 1837, the Whigs were returned to power,
having lost in the counties but gained elsewhere; this confirmed Lord
Melbourne in his place as Prime Minister, and put him into the position
of guardian to Her Majesty. Melbourne must in some ways have been a
wonderful man for that position. He was then in his fifty-eighth year,
a man of the world, somewhat sceptical, “but honourable, well-meaning,
honest, clever, highly educated, and a moderate Liberal.” He was a
peace lover, and perhaps sometimes was inclined to say, like the
over-indulgent parent, “anything for peace!”--one of his favourite
utterances being, “Damn it! why can’t everyone be quiet?” He was
constitutionally incapable of sustaining a quarrel, for he had no
jealousy or rancour in his disposition, a dispute bored him, and he
felt no interest in getting the better of an argument; he could easily
forgive, and do so without humiliating the aggressor. With these good
qualities went indolence and a certain amount of carelessness. But that
he was neither a place-hunter nor a flatterer is amply proved by the
fact that at first everyone approved of his position with the Queen. No
one could suggest any other course to pursue, and it was not until a
little later that the Tories saw how entirely they had given the Crown
into the hands of the Whigs.
Melbourne’s sufferings in life came from the fact that he was in
advance of his age in one respect. To-day no one could have had any
excuse for trying to blackmail him or to damage his reputation. Eighty
years ago matters were different, and no man could make a friend of a
charming lady, go to see her as often as he pleased, and expect to be
free from danger. As Melbourne did this sort of thing, he naturally had
to account for it.
In 1828 Lord Brandon, who was a Doctor of Divinity, found letters which
seemed to prove that there was a too warm friendship between his wife
and Mr. William Lamb, which was Melbourne’s name before he came into
his title. The parson-peer thereupon wrote to his wife telling her what
he had found, and what conclusion he drew from it. Then he added that
if she would use her influence with Mr. Lamb to procure him a Bishropic
he would overlook the offence and give her back the letters. To this
the lady replied that she would neither degrade herself nor Mr. Lamb by
such a course, and that the letter just received from him she should
show to the latter gentleman. The result was a suit for divorce brought
by Lord Brandon, which he lost through insufficient evidence; the
production of his letter would, however, have been sufficient to make a
jury decide against him.
A few years later Melbourne met again the Hon. Mrs. Norton, whom he
had known in her childhood. She was both beautiful and clever, and
being a grand-daughter of Richard Brinsley Sheridan, had inherited
a shade of his genius. Unfortunately when she was but nineteen, she
had married a man named George Norton, a younger brother of Fletcher
Norton, third Lord Grantley, who was also an unsuccessful barrister of
twenty-seven, coarse in disposition, greedy and brutal, though, like
most young people, he managed to hide his faults from the girl he wooed
until after the marriage. Mrs. Norton was a poet, clever rather than
spontaneous, and she published a little volume called “The Sorrows of
Rosalie: A Tale, with Other Poems.” This was Byronic in style, and the
praise poured upon it effectually opened a literary career for its
author. From that time her labours practically kept her household
going, with the exception that, having begged Lord Melbourne to do
something for her husband, George Norton was given a Metropolitan
police magistracy in 1831. Norton was anything but satisfactory at his
work, and thus a coolness arose between him and Melbourne; but the
latter still visited at his house, feeling a kindly friendship for Mrs.
Norton, whose lively Irish mind and conversation charmed him.
[Illustration: THE HON. MRS. NORTON.]
Norton was scarcely the man to make home a pleasant place, and at last
matters between husband and wife came to an open rupture. Upon this,
it was said that a little plot was hatched. Everyone knew that before
long a young Queen would be upon the throne, and everyone also knew
the integrity and strict sentiments of the Duchess of Kent. From these
the conclusion was drawn by “some of the less reputable members of the
Opposition,” that if Melbourne were publicly discredited he would never
be Prime Minister under the new rule. “The Court is mighty prudish,
and between them our off-hand Premier will find himself in a ticklish
position.” Thus, remembering the former case against Lord Melbourne,
and remembering that mud is likely to stick closest the more frequently
it is flung, George Norton was incited to institute a divorce case
against his wife, with Melbourne as co-respondent.
Lord Melbourne had this thunder-cloud hanging over him for months,
and in spite of his brave words to Mrs. Norton, it at last made him
absolutely ill.
“Since first I heard that I was to be proceeded against, I have had
neither sleep nor appetite, I have suffered more intensely than I ever
did in my life, and I attribute the whole of my illness (at least
the severity of it) to the uneasiness of my mind. Now what is this
uneasiness for? Not for my own character, because, as you justly say,
the imputation upon me is as nothing. It is not for the political
consequences to myself, although I deeply feel the consequences which
my indiscretion may bring upon those who are attached to me and follow
my fortunes. The real and principal object of my anxiety is you,
and the situation in which you have been so unjustly placed.” Again
he writes: “I hope you will not take it ill if I implore you to try
at least to be calm under these trials. You know what is alleged is
utterly false, and what is false can rarely be made to appear true.”
The case was talked of for months before it came to trial, and all
the newspapers had their comments to make, facetiously writing of
“Mrs. Norton and her Lamb.” On the whole, however, they preached
the innocence of the Premier; even the _Age_, ultra-Tory and
scandalous as it was, honestly said that it believed him to be wrongly
accused; though, later, that paper was anything but kind to him. It
was the 22nd of June, 1836, when Justice Tindal sat in the Court of
Common Pleas to decide upon the moral conduct of Viscount Melbourne and
the Hon. Mrs. Norton, and also to decide whether it would be just to
award Mr. Norton damages to the value of £10,000. Sir William Follett
led for the plaintiff, and unwisely admitted that he had not advised
his going to trial, adding, however, that he certainly expected to
secure a verdict. However, he managed to ask of his client a most
unfortunate question, whether it was true that Mr. Norton had ever
walked with his wife to Lord Melbourne’s house and left her there.
Upon Norton admitting that he had done so, Follett replied that that
was the end of the case. The only witnesses were servants, mostly of
damaged character, discarded from the Norton household, some of them
several years earlier. These had been nursed for some time quietly at
Lord Grantley’s country seat, yet in spite of their kindly treatment
none of them could swear to any occurrences which had taken place
within the preceding three years. At the close of the plaintiff’s case
the jury refused an adjournment, so the judge analysed the evidence,
and a verdict of acquittal was returned, drawing loud cheers from the
onlookers, which were echoed by those waiting outside the Court. The
news was carried immediately to the House of Commons, where it was
received with acclamation; and King William cordially congratulated
his Minister the next day on having “baffled the machinations which he
did not doubt had their origin in sinister aims fomented by the meaner
animosities of party.” Other congratulations poured in from every
quarter, and the paragraphist made his harvest out of the case, one
comment running:--
“This Crim. con. case, complex and ramified since it commenced,
Prove that meek Melbourne’s still a Lamb,
The fair one sinn’d against.”
Lord Wynford, uncle to George Norton, noted as one of the violent
Tories, and the Duke of Cumberland were openly spoken of as the
foster-fathers of this charge, but when it failed both men assured
Melbourne on their honour that they knew nothing about it. Lord Wynford
said that he had not heard of the case until four days after it was
commenced, and had not seen “that unfortunate young man” (Norton) for
two or three years. The impression, however, remained that the case
had its origin in political scheming, and Greville (a Tory himself)
certainly believed this, for on the 27th of June he wrote:--
“Great exultation at the verdict on the part of his (Melbourne’s)
political adherents, great disappointment on that of the mob of low
Tories, and a creditable satisfaction among the better sort; it was a
triumphal acquittal. The wonder is how with such a case Norton’s family
ventured into Court, but (although it is stoutly denied) there can be
no doubt that old Wynford was at the bottom of it and persuaded Lord
Grantley to urge it on for some political purposes. There is pretty
conclusive evidence of this. Fletcher Norton, who is staying in town,
was examined on the trial, and Denison, who is Norton’s neighbour, and
who talked to Fletcher Norton’s host, was told that Fletcher Norton had
shown him the case on which they were going to proceed, and that he had
told him he thought it was a very weak one, to which he had replied so
did he, but he expected it would produce a very important political
effect.”
In 1837 Lord Melbourne became political adviser to the Queen. As her
Prime Minister he had to see her every day, as her Secretary he had
to spend an hour or two with her daily in going through her State
correspondence. Thus before many months were passed, the Opposition
began to make stringent remarks upon Melbourne at Windsor, but the
Duke of Wellington, satisfied with his actions and his treatment
of the Queen, said, “I wish he were always there!” This continued
companionship raised a warm feeling of friendship in the minds of
both; Melbourne became devoted to his Queen, and received from her an
almost filial confidence. George Villiers, who was once on a visit to
Windsor, was greatly impressed with the relationship between the two,
remarking:--
“Lord Melbourne’s attitude to the Queen is so parental and anxious,
but always so deferential and respectful; hers, indicative of such
entire confidence, such pleasure in his society. She is continually
talking to him; let who will be there, he always sits next her at
dinner, and evidently by arrangement, because he always takes in the
lady in waiting, which necessarily places him next her, the etiquette
being that the lady in waiting sits next but one to the Queen. It is
not unnatural, and to him it is peculiarly interesting. I have no
doubt he is passionately fond of her as he might be of his daughter
if he had one, and the more because he is a man with a capacity for
loving without having anything in the world to love. It has become his
province to educate, instruct, and form the most interesting mind in
the world. No occupation was ever more engrossing or involved greater
responsibility. I have no doubt that Melbourne is both equal to and
worthy of the task, and that it is fortunate she has fallen into his
hands, and that he discharges this great duty wisely, honourably,
and conscientiously. There are, however, or rather may be hereafter,
inconveniences in the establishment of such an intimacy, and in a
connection of so close and affectionate a nature between the young
Queen and her Minister; for whenever the Government, which hangs by
a thread, shall be broken up, the parting will be painful, and their
subsequent relations will not be without embarrassment to themselves,
nor fail to be the cause of jealousy in others. It is a great proof
of the discretion and purity of his conduct and behaviour, that he is
admired, respected, and liked by all the Court.”
There were, however, to the Viscount some small inconveniences caused
by his constant attendance at Court. He possessed very courtier-like
instincts, it is true, but in general his attitudes were anything
but those of a courtier, for he loved to lounge and sprawl, while
his language was distinctly unparliamentary, being interlarded with
Damns. Someone writes that when Brougham’s own irresponsibility made it
impossible to trust him again with the Great Seal, Melbourne made the
emphatic remark:
“G--d d--n you, I tell you I can’t give you the Great Seal, and there’s
an end of it!” When Brougham was a second time disappointed of place,
he is reported to have said to his former chief, who was very anxious
not to hurt his feelings more than could be helped:
“Why don’t you say again what you said before, and damn me for wanting
the Seal?”
On one occasion Melbourne went with Lady Grant Duff, Mrs. Norton, and
Henry Reeve to see “Every Man in his Humour,” and before the curtain
rose he remarked that it would be a dull play with no kudos in it.
Between the acts he exclaimed in a stentorian voice, heard across the
pit:
“I knew this play would be dull, but that it would be so damnably dull
as this I did not suppose!”
These things Melbourne had to alter; he had to soften his laugh, keep
a guard upon his tongue, and sit uprightly in his chair; all of which
he accomplished, though it is recorded that when in 1846 Peel made a
_volte face_ on the repeal of the Corn Laws, Melbourne, though
seated at the Queen’s table, burst out with:
“It’s a damned dishonest act, Ma’am, a damned dishonest act.” One
account of this relates that the Queen only laughed, while the others
around the table did not know how or where to look, as the Court was in
favour of Repeal and Peel was its trusted Minister; but another story
goes that Melbourne was so excited that Her Majesty had to say firmly:
“Never mind, Lord Melbourne; we will discuss this at another time.”
This change of opinion on the part of Peel, by the way, caused many
hard words to be showered upon him, the Duke of Wellington saying, with
a side allusion to the Irish famine:
“Rotten potatoes have done it; they put Peel in his damned fright”;
while Lord Alvanley declared that Peel ought not to die a natural death.
It is probable that Melbourne’s upright regard for his own principles
attracted Victoria more sincerely than some of his other good
qualities, for her rank never inclined him to assent to her wishes if
he thought them injudicious.
CHAPTER VII
QUEEN VICTORIA’S CIRCLE
“Under the present reign the perfect decorum of the Court
is thought to have put a check on the gross vices of the
aristocracy; yet gaming, racing, drinking, and mistresses bring
them down, and the democrat can still gather scandals, if he
will.”--_Emerson._
That the Queen had a determined will was evidenced by a rather amusing
incident early in her reign. A great military review in Hyde Park had
been suggested for July 18th, but failed to take place, and the Press
did its best to discover the hidden reason for its abandonment. It
is really wonderful how successful newspaper men were in ferreting
out secrets, for this time, though they may have added details, with
a little bit invented and a little bit inferred, the main fact was
correct.
Her Majesty was determined that she would appear at the review on
horseback, accompanied by the Duke of Wellington and Lord Hill, which
was certainly the most effective way of seeing ranks of soldiers pass
before her. A leading London paper reported that Lord Melbourne was
horrified at the idea, for he thought that propriety demanded that
a great lady should drive in a carriage. This point was discussed
with “firmness” on both sides, the Queen refusing to alter her method
of going, and the Prime Minister thinking that method too great an
innovation to be countenanced. At last, as Melbourne backed from her
presence, the Queen finished the interview with, “Very well, my lord,
very well; remember, no horse, no review!”
So far the papers. But from contemporary correspondence I find that
the matter was considered of sufficient importance for the Duke of
Wellington to ask Lord Liverpool if there were not some idea of the
Queen riding to the review, and on being told that there was talk of
it, he expressed his opinion that it would be very dangerous, as it
was difficult to get good steady horses, and, besides, the Queen would
not be able to have a “female” attendant with her, which would seem
indelicate, and that, in fact, she had better go in a carriage.
But Queen Victoria would not be dictated to in this matter; she decided
that there should be no review _this year_. “I was determined
to have it only if I _could_ ride, and as I have not ridden for
two years, it was better not.” So she showed diplomacy as well as
determination--two very good qualities in a Sovereign.
As to the Duke’s doubt about the horses, at that very time Victoria
was pressing the Dowager Queen Adelaide to take away two or three of
her own riding horses from among the number which, by the death of the
King, had been transferred to herself.
However, Queen Victoria held a review in the Home Park at Windsor
in August, when King Leopold was with her, and both regiments of the
Guards, horse and foot, passed before her, she being mounted on a grey
charger, and wearing a blue riding-habit and cloth cap with a deep gold
band round it. When the troops were at “attention” the Queen rode along
the line and between the ranks.
While the elections were in progress in July, both parties made unfair
use of Her Majesty’s name. “Vote for ---- (Whig candidate) and the
Queen!” was the general appeal from the Whig side. In fact, both sides
claimed her; and though we consider the tactics employed to-day at
elections are sometimes degrading and unnecessary, they are not quite
so bad as they were in the “good old times” of the early part of last
century. The poor disappointed Tories were spurred to desperation by
the conviction forced upon them that their turn was not yet, and did
their best to score off their opponents. They would not believe in the
generally received idea that the young Queen favoured the Whigs, an
idea which was absolutely true, however, and they wrote such warnings
as the following:--
“The infamous use made of the Queen’s name is traitorous, base, and
cowardly. Her Majesty, if she has any political bias, which we very
much doubt, and earnestly for her own sake hope she may never have, is
too young and inexperienced in matters of State policy to have given
utterance to it. The continuance in office of the Melbourne Ministry
is no proof of her affection for them. They are not of her selection;
and, it may be, are only retained under warning till more eligible
successors are found.”
In this strain ran many protests, which a little later, when the
Government had done some work, took a new form. There were whispers,
and then assertions made, that the Queen had converted all her
Ministers to Conservatism, and in January, 1838, the _Morning
Post_ had a leader upon the subject:--
“Her Majesty ... has effected an almost instantaneous conversion of
Lord Melbourne, Lord John Russell, and all the other members of the
Administration into Conservatives, the most ostentatious, not the
most sincere, of whom England can boast. Yes, the same statesmen who
vexed and harassed the declining years of their late aged Monarch by
their alliance with the men of the movement, ... finding themselves
at the commencement of a Conservative reign which the most juvenile
of their number cannot expect to survive, and having discovered,
moreover, that the hints breathed at them from Kensington during the
latter part of their Royal Mistress’s minority were of no true or holy
inspiration, but such spurious and illicit intimations as seldom fail
to deceive alike the givers and the receivers, have thought fit to
make for themselves a movement, and a very decided one, in a direction
diametrically opposed to that in which for several years past they have
been labouring to advance. The obsequious Ministers of a Conservative
Sovereign, they are as decidedly Conservative as their existing
alliances and their actual position will allow. Hence their hoary
chief is in constant personal attendance upon our youthful Conservative
SOVEREIGN, not to impart political instruction, but to imbibe it.”
A week or so later the same paper followed this up with another leader,
in which it said:--
“The Whigs--the Melbourne or bastard Whigs we mean--have, with a
most accommodating and meretricious facility, prostituted their
hereditary and their personal pretexts--for principles we cannot call
them--to captivate the ‘sweet voices’ of the swinish constituency (?
electorate), which, for purposes more swinish than the constituency
created, they have forced into existence.”
We scarcely aim at outdoing this sort of thing to-day; no paper would
dare to label the electorate “swinish,” for the extension of the
franchise would at least have had the effect of making all England feel
itself insulted through every constituency.
That there had been no conversion of the Government it is unnecessary
to say, but there may have been something to warrant the hope--or
otherwise--that such a change had taken place, for Melbourne was
distinctly a moderate Whig, disapproving of really Radical measures,
just as Wellington disapproved of following blindly the desires of his
party when he regarded their methods as impolitic. There was, however,
a generally expressed hope that the Whigs would not long be retained in
power, and articles upon this point filled the Tory papers, while songs
were sung in the streets on the same theme. In Huddersfield upon a
window-pane is said to have been written:--
“The Queen is with us, Whigs insulting say,
For when she found us in she let us stay;
It may be so, but give me leave to doubt
How long she’ll keep you when she finds you out.”
Fatherly and experienced as was Melbourne, and ready as was the Queen
to be taught, she did not give herself unreservedly into his hands,
and there was no truth in the cheap witticism which I have come across
somewhere: “‘The Lion of England,’ said the Queen, with one of her
bland smiles, ‘has been taught to lie down with the Lamb!’”
If there was anything of particular importance to decide, Victoria was
not one to go calmly where she was led; she had left all that ductility
behind on the day that she attained her eighteenth year. Her answer
would be: “I would rather think about it first; I will let you know my
decision to-morrow.” Thus would she reply to everyone, with the result
that many said that she could not decide a question until she had asked
advice of Melbourne. But he recorded that such was her habit with him,
and that when he talked to her upon any subject which required an
expressed opinion of her own, she would reply that she would think it
over and let him know her sentiments the next day. Of course, the next
suggestion was that Lehzen was her counsellor, and that she always ran
to her for advice; failing that lady, that it was Stockmar. The curious
thing was that only one person seems to have suggested that the Duchess
of Kent was the power behind the Throne, and this was Lord Brougham,
of whom Greville, being at Holland House once, wrote that he “came in
after dinner, looking like an old clothes man, and as dirty as the
ground.” But there is no doubt at all that the Queen really and wisely
decided to think matters out for herself, and not to adjudge any matter
rashly. Leopold constantly gave her this advice: “Whenever a question
is of some importance, it should not be decided on the day on which it
is submitted to you.... It is really not doing oneself justice _de
décider des questions sur le pouce_.”
[Illustration: LORD BROUGHAM.]
Greville complained that Victoria betrayed caution and prudence, the
former to a degree unnatural in one so young, and unpleasing in that
it suppressed the youthful impulses regarded generally as so graceful
and so attractive. This caution was shown in her dislike of expressing
an opinion upon people; Melbourne was never able to extract any idea
as to whom she liked or disliked, which seemed much to surprise him;
but once, probably anxious to know who, supposing for some unforeseen
reason he failed her, would be most acceptable as her adviser, he
pressed the point. Her Majesty, still cautious, asked if it were a
matter of State policy that she should answer. Melbourne replied
that in no other circumstances would he have presumed to put such a
question. “Then,” she said, “there is one person for whom I should feel
a decided preference, and that is the Duke of Wellington.”
It was but natural that the Premier--a word much in use at that
period--should feel some embarrassment at the amount of work he had
to bring this girl, who might well have hoped for a life of ease and
enjoyment, and sometimes he apologised for his exactions. She would
not, however, recognise the need for such apology, saying that the
attention required from her was only a change of occupation; she had
not so far led a life of leisure, “for you know well that I have not
long left off my lessons.”
At this time the Queen was said to be much more like the Brunswicks
than the Guelphs, being, in fact, very like the unfortunate wife of
George I., who was imprisoned for years in the Royal palace at Celle,
in Hanover. Sophia’s hair was much fairer, but the features were the
same.
The little Queen, despite her busy life and the extra work she gave
herself in her attempt to remember and judge, had time to think of
other people. She worked with the zeal of the new-comer, kept a
journal, in which she entered anything remarkable that she noticed,
with her criticisms thereon; and after every important debate would
collect all the newspaper reports and make a _précis_ of the best
of them. She thought for the comfort of the Dowager Queen, and was
somewhat troubled about the Fitzclarences; the pension list was gone
through by her, and some little acts of kindness done. Thus old Sir
John Lade, who had been one of the wildest of the Regent’s companions
in the palmy days of the Pavilion, was still alive, having run through
all his possessions. “Our Prinny” had given him a pension of five
hundred a year out of the Privy Purse; William IV. gave him three
hundred a year when he came to the throne, but it was supposed that
with the young Queen his pension must end. The poor old _roué_,
then over eighty, implored Lord Sefton’s interest with Melbourne to
secure him some portion, however small, of the amount; but Melbourne
could hold him out no hope that he would receive it. When Queen
Victoria was asked her pleasure in the matter, she said, “But is not
Sir John over eighty years old?” “That is so, your Majesty.” “Then
I will neither inquire into the pension nor reduce it; it shall be
continued from my Privy Purse,” she answered.
The tribe of Fitzclarences were in a state of rebellious anxiety
concerning their own affairs; they all were holding sinecures and
drawing salaries, besides being in receipt of pensions out of the
public pension list and nearly £10,000 a year given them by King
William. It was in Victoria’s power to withdraw all this, and the
accounts of the austerity of the Kensington circle thoroughly
frightened them. Between the Duchess of Kent and all the Fitzclarences,
whether taken singly or as a family, there was no love, no liking,
scarcely tolerance; and so little was known of Victoria by them that
they could only suppose that she shared her mother’s views.
Lord Munster, the eldest, received the first shock, which communicated
itself to the other members. He held the post of Lieutenant of the
Round Tower, and on his surrendering the keys to the Queen they were
not given back to him, though Victoria was most pleasant and polite.
But Munster behaved with discretion, for he probably expected this;
and after some days it was discovered that he had been given the post
for life. So the keys were returned him, with ample apology from Lord
Melbourne. When the pensions and other things were considered, the
Prime Minister advised Her Majesty to grant all the Fitzclarences the
same amounts they had enjoyed during their father’s life, for, he said,
“It would be kind, it would be generous, and it would be conclusive. No
further demand could be made.”
As for the Dowager Queen, Victoria showed her every attention and
affection, begging her to take from Windsor anything that she wished
for. On the first occasion that Queen Adelaide visited her at the
Castle she desired that she would choose which bedroom she would like
to occupy; whereupon the old Queen naturally asked to have that in
which she had slept when King William was alive. It had already been
dedicated to the young Queen’s use, but she willingly gave it up,
forbidding anyone to let Queen Adelaide know that she was turning out
for her. Thus everyone began to feel a certain confidence in at least
the good disposition of the Queen, and those who stood to lose or gain
began to breathe more freely.
It was a queer swinging of the pendulum, for the Duchess of Kent, who
ought to have attained the height of her ambition and happiness, was
at this time one of the most disappointed and miserable of women,
while those who feared to lose all found themselves assured in their
positions for the rest of their lives. Madame de Lieven, so noted
for her love of political intrigue, was granted an audience by the
Queen at the end of July, 1837, and found that cautious young lady
disinclined to talk of anything but commonplaces, being probably afraid
of committing herself. Victoria had, in fact, been warned by Leopold to
beware of the wily Frenchwoman. Madame de Lieven’s interview with the
Duchess of Kent was, however, of a much more intimate character, and
before she left she was doing her best to condole with that august lady
for being the mother of a Queen--for having, in fact, accomplished her
desire, and having nothing left for which to live.
The poor Duchess complained that, though her daughter showed her every
attention and kindness, she had rendered herself absolutely independent
of that mother who had so long (and so unwisely) guided every moment of
her days and nights, so that the Duchess felt abjectly insignificant.
She also still felt bitterly mortified at the way in which Conroy had
been dismissed. Her words to Madame de Lieven were, “There is no longer
any future for me; there is no longer anything.”
She felt that this child, who for eighteen years had been almost the
only thing she lived for, was now lost to her. Poor woman! if only she
had understood human nature a little better she would have had a less
royal time over her child in the past and a greater influence in the
present. Madame de Lieven urged the idea of reflected glory upon her;
told her that she ought to be the happiest of human beings in seeing
the elevation of her child, in watching her success, in appreciating
the praise and admiration which were lavished upon her; but the Duchess
only “shook her head with a melancholy smile,” saying that that would
not fill her life; that the accomplishment of her wishes only made her
unhappy and forlorn. In actual fact the Duchess was an ambitious woman,
and the intriguing at Kensington had not been a supposition, but a
fact. A month after Queen Victoria’s accession Leopold, writing to her
of a person who loved intrigue, added, “Your life amongst intriguers
and tormented by intrigues has given you an experience on this
important subject, which you will do well not to lose sight of, as it
will unfortunately often reproduce itself--though the aims and methods
may not be the same.” The Duchess had thought to see herself filling
the great post of Regent over a great kingdom, wielding the power, if
not the sceptre, of a monarch; and when this dream passed she fully
expected to point the guiding finger for her daughter, to be present
at State discussions, to be consulted in all difficulties; indeed, to
continue to be the ruling influence in Victoria’s life, and through her
in England. She could not realise that her own independent attitude had
taught her child the same quality, for the Queen wrote in her journal
on June 20th that she saw Lord Melbourne at nine o’clock, “and, _of
course, quite alone_, as I shall _always_ do all my Ministers.”
It was well for Victoria that she put her foot down so firmly, even
though so cruelly, at the outset, for otherwise it would have been
inevitable that she would have been the unhappy one.
The Duchess’s position certainly did not justify Brougham’s spiteful
assertion in the House some little time later; indeed, it gives the
lie to it. That statesman in this speech started the dislike which for
a long time the Queen felt for him. He was then still sitting on the
Ministerial side, and listened to the proposition that the Duchess of
Kent should receive a grant of 30,000 a year, with a not unusual desire
to make trouble. In an outrageous speech he denounced as extravagant
such a grant, and spoke of the Duchess as the “Queen-Mother.” There
were many who felt this to be a veiled attack on the Duchess’s probable
influence over the Queen, and who resented it; but Melbourne punished
Brougham more astutely by appearing to believe that he had simply
made an error. “Mother of the Queen,” he ejaculated. Brougham loved a
quarrel, and turned upon Melbourne at once. “I admit my noble friend is
right. On a point of this sort I humble myself before my noble friend.
I have no courtier-like cultivation. I am rude of speech. The tongue of
my noble friend is so well hung and so well attuned to courtly airs,
that I cannot compete with him for the prize which he is now so eagerly
struggling to win. Not being given to glozing and flattery, I may say
that the Duchess of Kent (whether to be called the Queen-Mother or the
Mother of the Queen) is nearly connected with the Throne; and a plain
man like myself, having no motive but to do my duty, may be permitted
to surmise that any additional provision for her might possibly come
from the Civil List, which you have so lavishly voted.”
Melbourne replied by pointing out the difference between a Queen
Dowager and a Princess who had never sat on the Throne, and
complimented Brougham on his skill in “egregious flattery.”
In spite of his dirt and his carelessness about dress--“He wears a
black stock or collar, and it is so wide that you see a dirty coloured
handkerchief under, tied tight round his neck. You never saw such
an object, or anything half so dirty”--Brougham was one of the most
remarkably intellectual men of his day. We have heard accounts of how
over-prolific writers dictate three stories at once to three different
typewriters all in the same room; and really Brougham seems to have had
some such capacity. If he did not do about six things at once, he did
them in such rapid succession that it makes one’s brain whirl to think
of it. He worked ceaselessly from 9 a.m. to 1 a.m., and seemed quite
fresh at the end of that time; a day’s work might include going through
the details of a Chancery suit, writing a philosophical or mathematical
treatise, correcting articles for the “Library of Useful Knowledge,”
and preparing a great speech for the House of Lords. Yet he was so
intemperate in his speech, so ready with invective, so inconstant in
his views, that he became a terror to the House, and, indeed, seemed
constantly on the border-line of insanity. One writer said he was like
a wasp, for ever buzzing and stinging the Government, animated to
sting by spite and malice. Creevy spoke of him as the Archfiend, Old
Wicked-Shifts, and Beelzebub; and when he had a new carriage with, on
the panel, a coronet surmounting a large B, Sydney Smith remarked,
“There goes a carriage with a bee outside and a wasp inside.”
In 1838, when he knew that he would no longer have the Great Seal
as Lord Chancellor, someone in Paris asked him who were the Queen’s
Ministers. “Really,” he replied, “I do not know; I cannot recall the
names of more than three or four.” Yet there was a very tender spot in
his heart, which made him remark upon being introduced to a beautiful
young girl, “I don’t know what to say to these young things; I feel
like the old Devil talking to an angel.” Brougham, too, adored his
daughter, who only lived nineteen years, dying at Cannes after a life
of illness. He built the Villa Eleanor for her at Cannes, and after her
death her bedroom, always called Eleanor’s room, was kept unaltered
during Brougham’s life. He had Eleanor’s body brought to England and
buried in the graveyard of Lincoln’s Inn Fields, probably the only
woman ever buried there. He became very unpopular with the Court
after Victoria’s marriage by speaking of her as Albertina, and never
losing an opportunity of saying something disrespectful. One night he
behaved so badly at a Court function that he was totally ignored for
a long time after. Then one day Her Majesty asked the Chancellor why
it was that Lord Brougham never appeared, and this was looked upon
as the olive-branch, which Brougham gladly recognised, sending both
to the Queen and to Prince Albert one of his books, which Victoria
acknowledged by sending him an autograph letter of thanks, thought by
everyone a great honour.
His very soul craved for appreciation and applause, and in October,
1839, he took a queer way of finding out what the world would say if
he were no more. He, Leader (the member for Westminster), and Robert
Shafto went in a hackney carriage from Brougham Hall to see some
ruins in the district. An accident of some sort happened, and this
suggested to Brougham the practical joke of reporting his own death. A
letter supposed to have been written by Shafto was received by Alfred
Montgomery, a great favourite with Brougham, detailing the expedition,
saying that the splinter bar broke, all were thrown out, Brougham was
kicked on the head, and the carriage turned over on him, killing him on
the spot. Montgomery rushed to Gore House, before Lady Blessington had
sat down to breakfast, with the news, and by the afternoon a thousand
rumours were afloat. Brougham was mourned by all. Sheil hurried from
the Athenæum Club on Monday evening to pen a magniloquent obituary,
which appeared in the next day’s _Morning Chronicle_. “Windsor
Castle shook with glee, and Lord Holland began to think he should
venture to speak again in the Lords. For the first time for five years
all the world talked for a whole day about Brougham’s virtues, and
there was wondrous forgiveness of injuries in the whole metropolis.” On
Monday a letter by him, written on Sunday, was received at the Colonial
Office, and soon the hoax became known. At first Brougham denied being
the author of the grim jest, scared, perhaps, by the anger of those
who had wept over his death. He actually challenged his old friend
Sir Arthur Paget for accusing him of the deed; and on November 23rd
we have the amusing scene of the Duke of Cambridge, after the Queen
had withdrawn from a Council, running round the room after Brougham,
shouting at the top of his voice:
“By God, Brougham, you did it! By God, you wrote the letter yourself!”
It was in relation to this and to Brougham’s desire for political
promotion that Henry Reeve said: “Brougham is less manageable than
usual; for though he has had a resurrection, he may and must despair of
an ascension.”
On an earlier occasion Brougham scored neatly off another of the
Royal Dukes. The Duke of Gloucester was conversing with him on the
burning topic of the Reform Bill, and grew so warm in the argument
that at length he observed hastily that the Chancellor was _very
near a fool_. Brougham readily replied that he could not think
of contradicting the Duke, as he fully saw the force of His Royal
Highness’s _position_.
Lord John Russell, the Home Secretary, was of a very different type.
Theodore Hook first gave him the nickname of “the Widow’s Mite,” as he
was very small, and had married the widow of Lord Ribblesdale, herself
also of small size. Creevy talks of meeting them somewhere: “In came
the little things, as merry-looking as they well could be, but really
much more calculated, from their size, to show off on a chimney-piece
than to mix and be trod upon in company.” But those who looked at John
Russell from a different aspect found him equal to every occasion,
strong in principle, clear in his ideas, bold and straightforward in
his disposition, and afraid of no one.
Not the least noteworthy of the men who influenced politics in the
early part of the Queen’s reign was Sir Robert Peel, who declared at
the beginning of her first Parliament that if the Government tried to
carry through any further measures of reform he would resist them to
the utmost. Like Melbourne, he was not a whole-hearted party man, and
when in power disappointed everyone by trying to steer a middle course.
He was shy, reserved, cautious, and unable to be really decisive; also
by his lack of cordial manners he was unfortunate enough to accentuate
in the Queen’s mind every prejudice she held against the Tories, for,
unlike Melbourne, he had no idea of how to please a woman.
Among the Queen’s women were one or two worthy of mention, chief of
whom was the First Lady of the Bedchamber, the Duchess of Sutherland.
In spite of the want of punctuality, she was a most attractive
woman, giving an impression of something very plenteous and sunny
in her appearance. She was tall, large, and carried herself with a
good-natured stateliness; her hair was blond, her features large and
well-chiselled, her smile beaming, and benevolence in every look and
word. In 1853 Henry Reeve said of her: “In our time there has been
nobody who continues to surround herself with a sort of fictitious
dignity like the Duchess of Sutherland. She is not clever, and in
anyone else her affectations might be laughed at. But she is neither
worldly nor ambitious; is very good-natured, and has a thoroughly
kindly heart; all of which, added to her beauty and high character,
gives her an influence in society far beyond what wealth and rank could
claim for her.”
[Illustration: HARRIET, DUCHESS OF SUTHERLAND.]
It is a pity that the Marchioness of Tavistock, later Duchess of
Bedford, whom Her Majesty had known many years, had not rather more
than she had of Lady Sutherland’s kindliness; she might then have
saved the Queen from one of the most painful episodes in her life. One
writer called her a gaby, modifying it, however, by saying that she
was all truth and daylight; and Lady Cardigan speaks of the charming
recollection she could conjure up of her, saying that it was at her
house that she heard Tom Moore sing and play his Irish melodies. Lady
Tavistock was driving one Sunday in the carriage which followed the
Queen, when the latter, being cold, got out to walk, and, of course,
all the ladies had to do the same. It had been raining, and presumably
Victoria was properly shod for the occasion; Lady Tavistock was not,
however, and soon her shoes and stockings were wet through and covered
with mud. When at last they got back to the Castle the shivering Lady
Tavistock found that her maid was out, the cupboards were all locked
up, and there was nothing to do but to go to bed until she could get
dry stockings!
The Queen was of quick temper and wilful. Her half-sister once
wrote: “I was much amused at your tracing the quickness of our
tempers in the female line up to Grandmamma (the Dowager Duchess of
Saxe-Coburg-Saalfeld), but I must own that you are quite right.”
Thus she never forgot that she was the Queen, and went her own way
irrespective of other people. Palmerston said in conversation that any
Minister who had to deal with her (the Queen) would soon find out that
she was no ordinary person; and on a lady giving the credit to the
Duchess of Kent, he added that Her Majesty had an understanding of her
own which could have been made by no one. “A resolute little tit,” one
diarist of the time dubbed her.
Once the first freshness of being Queen was dulled, Victoria set
herself to enjoy life as much as possible. Theatres, the opera,
balls, and parties were the order of the evening. She rode every day,
generally accompanied by the Duchess of Kent, and often with Melbourne
on one side of her and Lord Palmerston on the other. Her usual riding
habit was of dark green cloth, and she wore a black beaver hat without
veil or trimming. Once when riding, and having sixteen people in her
train, she passed over Battersea Bridge, the toll-taker counted the
party and demanded the toll from the groom who brought up the rear. The
man had no money, but, taken by surprise, and perhaps unaware that the
Monarch had a “free pass” over the roads of the kingdom, he parted with
a silk handkerchief as a pledge of future payment.
Queen Victoria gave a grand concert at Buckingham Palace in honour of
her mother’s birthday on the 17th of August, the Court going out of
mourning for the day--a concert made memorable by the fact that all the
men--even the aged Duke of Sussex--were required to stand, as well as
the Ladies of the Household, while the ladies who were guests occupied
chairs. This somewhat inhospitable arrangement seems to have made
a great impression, for I have come across mention of it in various
places.
The Queen opened the Victoria Gate of Hyde Park, entertained her
uncle, King Leopold, and his wife at Windsor in September, sat for
her portrait--being, it is said, a most patient sitter--and appointed
Sir David Wilkie as Painter in Ordinary. When Hayter was painting her
he had done much to the face, but had not started upon the arms, and
she asked him how he would place her hands. “Just take them and pose
them as you think,” she said. With some diffidence the painter did as
she wished. She turned to the lady near her, saying, “How strange! I
have often thought how I would place the hands if I were painting the
portrait of a Queen, and it was exactly in this position.”
A queer little speech, which shows how thoroughly the Princess had
soaked her mind in the anticipation of being Queen.
_The Times_, which Lord Grey once called the most infamous of all
papers, published a curious description of a portrait of Queen Victoria
which was painted in 1838 by Parris. The writer went into rhapsodies
over it, and concluded by remarking that “the bosom had been most
delicately handled, and had been brought out by the artist in admirable
rotundity, who had imparted full relief to it.” Lord Palmerston used
to say that when Her Majesty was once asked how she would like to be
painted, she replied, “In my Dalmatic robe. Lord Melbourne thinks that
I look best in that.”
When she went to the Royal Academy for the second time that year (after
her accession), C. R. Leslie says that she appeared towards her mother
the same affectionate little girl as hitherto, calling her “Mamma.”
On her return to town from Windsor in the autumn there were many
functions to attend, the first and most wonderful being the banquet
given in her honour on November 9th at Guildhall. Books have been
written on this ceremony, and amusing incidents are not wanting to
make it interesting. The streets were avenues of green boughs and
flags as the Queen drove through them, followed by a train of two
hundred carriages. On this occasion Her Majesty sat alone in her State
carriage, her mother occupying one which preceded her.
The new Lord Mayor (Alderman Cowan) and the Aldermen met the Queen
outside Temple Bar, near Child’s Bank. All the civic magnates were
riding, and for this purpose had hired horses from the Artillery
Barracks at Woolwich, each horse being brought up by its usual rider,
who was to act as attendant squire to the Alderman who temporarily
became its master.
It was not an easy thing for gentlemen unaccustomed to the saddle to
mount on horseback; however, with much care and pains bestowed by the
troopers, the Aldermen were at last seated and formed into procession.
One of the daily journals added to its account of the proceedings:
“We believe only one fell off, and that accident happened through a
laudable desire to perform an act of obeisance to a fair lady at a
window. The worthy Alderman fell flat upon the ground, and his horse
walked over him. Since the days of John Gilpin no feat of a citizen of
London on horseback has excited so much masculine laughter and feminine
sympathy. A general cry was raised, the procession stopped, and several
military officers and brother corporators rushed to the assistance of
the fallen cavalier, who had sustained but little injury, and he was
hoisted into the saddle amidst general cheers and laughter.”
It is needless to tell of the display at Guildhall--of the £400,000
worth of plate, gold dishes, coffee-cups of gold with handles of
lapis lazuli, a candelabra formed of a thousand ounces of gold, and
a thousand other extravagances. It reads like an Eastern story. The
banquet itself lasted three hours, while the whole function took from
two in the afternoon until past nine at night. The Queen was gorgeous
in pink satin, gold and silver, pearls and diamonds; and the Queen of
the City was equally gorgeous, though perhaps not so youthful, in green
velvet, white satin, gold fringe, Brussels lace, opals, and diamonds.
On the return journey the Queen went as she had come, a stately little
figure alone in an enormous carriage.
At this period she delighted in her State amusements, and it is
pleasant to think that for once fate allowed a young thing to go
through all these experiences just at the right age, just when a
romantic, colour-loving girl could really appreciate pomp and ceremony,
could bow and smile, and listen with pleasure to cheers and applause,
without seeing the things that lay behind.
The Queen’s next excitement was the opening of Parliament, which she
did with all the grace that had attached to her from the first,
making people like Fanny Kemble go into ecstasies over her face, “not
handsome, but very pretty,” her clear soft eyes, her dignity, her
beautifully moulded hands and arms, her exquisite voice, &c. Well,
young queens are not very plentiful, so it is good to make much of
them when they are found; only to-day we should feel ashamed to be
so delighted with ordinary composure and good-breeding; we should be
much more likely to condemn unsparingly the lack of them. But then the
standard of womanly excellence of those days and of these have little
relationship to each other.
There were theatres to visit, with their Royal boxes fitted up and
decorated for the young Sovereign, and at that time the King’s Theatre
became Her Majesty’s by her command. This eventful year drew to its
close with the Christmas festivities spent at Windsor.
CHAPTER VIII
QUEEN VICTORIA’S PRIME MINISTER
“Good Monarchs we’ve had whom we think on with pride,
Who wisely e’er filled their high station,
But now we’ve a woman, Heaven bless her! beside
She’s a child of our noble nation.
Victoria the First is of virtue the gem,
May sorrow ne’er seek to oppress her,
Then, fill up your goblets once more to the brim,
Long life to the Queen, God bless her!”
_Anon._
“Nobody is more abused by bad people than Melbourne--and nobody
is more forgiving.”--_Queen Victoria._
From the beginning of the reign Melbourne had been in constant
attendance on his Queen, exacting from her an assiduity in State
matters which she was very ready to give, and taking no notice of the
gossipers’ innuendoes which filled the social atmosphere. Nothing
startling had happened, but Court matters had taken a turn which meant
a slow drifting into trouble of various kinds.
There is no doubt at all that Victoria went heart and soul with the
Whigs. She was not a Radical, but she was also not a Tory. Though in
later years she was accused of neglecting Ireland, at that time she was
keen to deal justly with that part of her kingdom. She was interested
in foreign affairs, and she did her successful utmost to understand
the affairs of England. The fears of the Anti-Catholics had not been
verified, though those people seemed to take little comfort in the
fact; Victoria was not influenced by her foreign surrounders; she had
not put Sir John Conroy into a high place of honour; nor had Lord
Durham, the leader of the Radicals, become Master of the Household--in
place of that he was invested with the dignity of a Knight Grand Cross
of the Most Honourable Order of the Garter, and appointed Governor of
Canada, while Lady Durham became one of the Queen’s ladies.
But Queen Victoria introduced certain new customs into her social life
which caused considerable offence. For instance, she gave precedence to
the Diplomatic Corps, and so raised much anger among the aristocracy,
who opposed the innovation and revenged themselves for it whenever and
wherever they got the opportunity, which frequently gave rise to very
disagreeable incidents. This is quite understandable, for if the Queen
always had Melbourne on her left and Bülow or some other foreigner on
her right, the English Dukes and other men of rank had no chance of
being distinguished by her favours. On the other hand, the Queen saw
the Englishmen often, and it must have been more amusing for her to
talk with the strangers.
The Opposition felt gradually obliged to divest itself of the plans
it had made for the new reign, and the Lords, who had assumed that
King William was, without his will, in the hands of a faction from
whose bondage he could not release himself, and had strongly hoped
that Victoria would range herself on their side, had also to realise
that they would receive no special support from the Crown. Indeed, a
gulf of dislike was being formed with the Government and the Queen
on one side, and the Opposition and the House of Lords on the other.
As early as the autumn of 1837, in their spleen the latter started
foolish stories about the Queen and Melbourne. The more thoughtless
would not believe in the real position of affairs, and had, forsooth!
to whisper that at last Melbourne was showing his ambition, and that
it was no mere tutorial care that he was giving to Her Majesty. The
Countess Grey wrote in the October following Victoria’s accession,
“I hope you are amused at the report of Lord Melbourne being likely
to marry the Queen. For my part I have no objection. I am inclined
to be very loyal and fond of her; she seems to be so considerate
and good-natured.” Princess Lieven, too, made in a letter the very
complacent remark about Melbourne’s association with the Queen, “I for
myself cannot help imagining that she must be going to marry him. It
is all, however, according to rule, and I find it both proper and in
his own interest that Lord Melbourne should keep himself absolutely
master of the situation.” It was so absurd an idea that even if the
Queen had heard of it she could not have let it trouble her. A day or
so before Princess Lieven’s letter had been written, Victoria had been
talking in most intimate fashion to Lady Cowper (Melbourne’s sister),
saying to her: “He eats too much, and I often tell him so. Indeed, I do
so myself, and my doctor has ordered me not to eat luncheon any more.”
“And does your Majesty quite obey him?” asked Lady Cowper. “Why yes, I
think I do, for I only eat a little broth.”
Creevy comments upon this in a letter, “Now, I think a little Queen
taking care of a Prime Minister’s stomach, he being nearly sixty, is
everything one could wish! If only the Tory press could get hold of
this fact what fun they would make of it.” It would indeed have been
a much better subject than that Melbourne was anxious to marry his
Sovereign. I must quote a little further from this sprightly diarist,
for he was on the spot, and gives us an account of the Queen which is
frank, and therefore not animated by the servile desire to praise in
spite of everything. He went to dine with Her Majesty when she made her
visit to the Pavilion at Brighton, and having been told that he was
to sit on the Duchess of Kent’s right hand, he said of it later, “Oh,
what a fright I was in about my right ear,” which, however, being deaf,
should not have troubled him, as he would naturally present his left
ear to the Duchess. His account continued:
“Here comes the Queen, the Duchess of Kent the least little bit in the
world behind her, all her ladies in a row still more behind; Lord
Conyngham and Cavendish on each flank of the Queen.... She was told
by Lord Conyngham that I had not been presented, upon which a scene
took place that to me was truly distressing. The poor little thing
could not get her glove off. I never was so annoyed in my life; yet
what could I do? But she blushed and laughed and pulled till the thing
was done, and I kissed her hand.... Then to dinner.... The Duchess
of Kent was agreeable and chatty, and she said, ‘Shall we drink some
wine?’ My eyes, however, all the while were fixed on Vic. To mitigate
the harshness of any criticism I may pronounce upon her manners, let
me express my conviction that she and her mother are one. I never saw
a more pretty or natural devotion than she shows to her mother in
everything, and I reckon this as by far the most amiable, as well as
_valuable_, disposition to start with in the fearful struggle
she has in life before her. Now for her appearance, but all in the
strictest confidence. A more homely little thing you never beheld,
_when she is at her ease_, and she is evidently dying to be always
more so. She laughs in real earnest, opening her mouth as wide as it
can go, showing not very pretty gums.... She eats quite as heartily as
she laughs, I think I may say she gobbles.... She blushes and laughs
every instant in so natural a way as to disarm anybody. Her voice is
perfect, so is the expression of her face, when she means to say or do
a pretty thing.”
One would like to know the sentiments of the passages which have
been left out of this account by the editor of the book; things
a little more plainly spoken than those left in, which are plain
enough perhaps. That the Queen loved a hearty laugh is well known,
and from some current print I have copied this vulgar criticism upon
her: “The extraordinary funny laugh of the little lady is amusing
enough. Her smile is proverbially beautiful; but there is no very
great necessity for such a peculiar display of the ivories, albeit
they are unquestionably excellent.” Her Majesty is said to have eaten
ungracefully all her life. I remember years ago hearing a pert daughter
reprove her father for picking a bone. He turned calm eyes upon her
as he replied, “It is well known that the Queen always picks bones
at table; I like doing it and may surely follow the fashion set by
Her Majesty.” A lady diarist of the day notes that during one of her
tours in the Midlands the Princess was given asparagus, and insisted
upon eating it in her own way, “which was not a very pretty one,” and
it was some time before she would give heed to the Duchess’s repeated
remonstrances.
A little later the genial letter writer who gave so frank a description
of the greatest lady in the land, added to an epistle, “Alas! tho’ last
not least, in truth little Vic. and her mother are _not_ one,
tho’ Melbourne knows of no other cause of this disunion than Conroy,
whom the Duchess of Kent sees still almost daily, and for a long time
together.”
There was one matter which troubled the Queen from the day she began
to reign, and that was the need of money, for the Civil List could not
be arranged until Parliament met in November. Messrs. Coutts, however,
came to the rescue, with a desire that she would draw upon them for
all that she needed. Yet at that time neither she nor anyone else knew
what would be the amount of her income. It was felt generally by the
Ministers that it would be better to show confidence in their Sovereign
than to be niggardly in the allowance made, as the provision of a
good income would take away all excuse in future for the contracting
of Royal debt. So the Chancellor of the Exchequer, the Rt. Hon.
Spring-Rice, who when he first came to Court was said to see everything
_en couleur de rose_, had to bear the burden of this. Melbourne
begged him to “come prepared to act boldly and liberally, and by no
means to fiddle upon small points and about petty salaries.”
Spring-Rice loyally did as he was advised, and made himself still more
unpopular than he had hitherto been. The Economists, the Radicals, and
the Opposition--a coalition which was much more successful three or
four years later when asked to grant an income to Prince Albert--railed
alike at the extravagance; for trade and agriculture were in a state of
depression, and an expensive scheme of Poor Law was being considered
with the hope that it might do something to relieve the worst poverty.
The newspapers taunted and upbraided Spring-Rice to their mischievous
content, and made little verses upon him.
“Your name, Spring-Rice, is not the thing,
To call you so is flummery,
For how can that belong to Spring
Whose treatment should be summery?”
was one comment. A second which I have come across is more spiteful:
“Mr. Spring-Rice is a smart, little, flat-catching thimble-rigger,
full of small tricks and deceptions. Yet whenever he attempts to
practise on a large scale he invariably throws crabs.” I wonder whether
Spring-Rice’s optimism survived all the attacks made upon him during
his political career.
In spite of the grumbling the Civil List was quickly pushed through,
and the Royal maiden found herself the possessor of--in addition to
the Duchies of Lancaster and Cornwall--a total annuity of £385,000 a
year, being £10,000 more than the net income granted to William IV.
This large sum was divided in the following way. Privy Purse, £60,000;
Household salaries, £131,260; Household expenses, £172,500; Royal
Bounty, £13,200; and unappropriated, £8,040. With this the Queen was
very content, and returned thanks to Parliament in person for what it
had done. Then she did a wonderful thing, for by the autumn of the
following year she had transferred to her father’s creditors out of
her privy purse nearly £50,000. This was a noble thing to do, indeed,
seemingly almost impossible, when one remembers the family from which
she had sprung--one King after another, to say nothing of the Princes,
dying deeply in debt, and considering it but a normal condition--and
also remembering the fascination which the spending of money on
personal matters must have had for a girl hitherto almost deprived of
money.
This income, however, gave new soreness to those who were smarting
already, and the better sort, being debarred from criticising their
Queen too openly, turned upon Lord Melbourne, who never troubled
to read strictures upon himself, and who took such criticism, when
he did hear it, with a smile. From the day of Victoria’s accession
until the day that he went out of office, Melbourne was the favourite
object of vilification. The Court was said to be, under his influence,
such a hot-bed of Whiggism “that a Conservative cat was not so much
as permitted to mew in the precincts of the Palace,” and it began
to be hinted that the Queen might remember that she was Queen over
England and not over a party. The first form of attack was directed
against Melbourne’s constant association with her; he was accused
of pleasure-seeking, of idleness, and of irresponsibility. Queen
Victoria, who was most conscientious about business matters, seems to
have shortened her stay at Brighton on his account, for the _Court
Journal_ announced: “Her Majesty arrived at Buckingham Palace from
Brighton, the distance from the latter place being too far for Lord
Melbourne,” which meant, of course, for her to see him each day. Upon
this another journal asked:
“Why will the Queen at Brighton make
So very, very short a stay?
Solely, of course, for Sponge’s sake,
Who cannot _dine_ there every day.”
“Lord Sponge Melbourne” was a favourite form of address for him in the
satiric papers.
However, the real fury did not burst around the Throne until some time
after the Queen’s coronation, and it became a veritable hurricane after
the troubles of 1839. Meanwhile Melbourne did his best, not only to
guide Her Majesty and to educate her in statecraft, but to arrange
the affairs of the realm as far as he could in the face of virulent
opposition. There was really no justification for the comment made by
_The Times_ early in 1838 that Melbourne “was a mere dangler after
the frivolous courtesies of the ball room and boudoir.”
In a conversation with her Prime Minister the Queen once told him
that the first thing which had convinced her that he was worthy of
her confidence was his conduct in the disputes at Kensington the year
before concerning her suggested allowance. Then, though he knew that
the King was near his end, and that he was offending the Duchess, who
might soon be the most important person in the kingdom, he consistently
took the King’s part, in face of that King’s disfavour. This the
then silent but observant young Princess regarded as a proof of his
honesty and determination to do what was right, and it is evident that
she herself sided with the King on that occasion. Indeed, from the
affection with which she always afterwards spoke of her uncle, it can
hardly be doubted that she was with him in many of the quarrels which
occurred. Greville says that when King William made that fierce attack
on her mother at the Windsor banquet, and expressed his earnest hope
that he might live to see the majority of his niece, “Victoria must
have inwardly rejoiced at the expression of sentiments so accordant
with her own.” But this is going too far, for though it may have been
true concerning her concurrence with the King’s hope, it is most likely
that in such a scene the girl’s feelings were those of terror, regret,
and a passionate sympathy with her insulted mother. Afterwards that
particular sentiment may have appealed to her, but scarcely at the time.
Many accounts are given by contemporary writers as to how the Queen’s
evenings were spent in the first years of her reign, and they all tally
with regard to the general details. Her semi-state entry into the
drawing-room just before the announcement of dinner seems always to
have commenced the evening. She would then shake hands with the women
and bow to the men, speaking a few words to everyone. At the table
Melbourne, when present, always sat on her left hand, and a foreign
ambassador or, failing any such, the highest in rank present among the
English, on the other. The men only stayed a quarter of an hour in
the dining-room after the Queen rose, and were then expected in the
drawing-room, where she always stood until they appeared. Then the
Duchess of Kent would be settled at a whist table, and the Queen would
marshal the other guests about a round table--Melbourne, the careless
and easy, sitting bolt upright and keeping a guard upon his tongue,
still at her left hand. There they all remained talking small talk
until the band had finished its music, and the evening was at an end
at about half-past eleven. How a man of the world like Melbourne could
put up with that night after night it is difficult to say, for he might
have been in any one of half a dozen other places where there was real
conversation going on, and where he could have been at his ease.
Among Melbourne’s curious failings was a habit of talking to himself,
a habit which grew with his years. He was once seen coming out of
Brooks’s, saying emphatically, though unaccompanied by anyone, “I’ll
be damned if I do it for you, my Lord.” One day Lord Hardwicke was
writing in the library of the House of Lords, when Melbourne entered
straight from a debate on the Non-Intrusion question in Scotland. The
Prime Minister threw himself into a chair saying, “God bless me! What’s
to be done now? I had only just settled that confounded Irish Church
question, when earth yawns, and here comes up a devilish worse one
about the Scotch Church.”
This peculiarity he seems to have successfully dropped when in the
presence of Queen Victoria, even though he spent about six hours out of
the twenty-four in her society. But there can be no doubt that he had a
feeling of paternal affection for his young Sovereign, which led him to
give up much for her sake. Some malicious writer tried to make a joke
with a sting in it upon the Prime Minister and his constant attendance
upon Victoria, heading it “Royal Quip.” It ran as follows:--“Some
days ago the dinner-seeking Premier, on a drawing-room lounge, was
endeavouring to render himself as amiable as possible to his Royal
Mistress. Among other questions she was asked whether or not she had
read Lady Blessington’s last charming work, ‘The Idler in Italy.’ Her
reply was in the negative; ‘I know not,’ archly continued our youthful
Sovereign, ‘what may have been the exploits of the Idler in Italy, but
I am convinced that the Idler at Home is a great bore.’ Mel. instantly
took leave of Her Majesty. We note, however, that matters have since
been satisfactorily arranged, seeing that the Premier had his feet
under the Royal mahogany on Wednesday last.”
* * * * *
As for the Coronation, we have heard so much during late years of these
celebrations that there is no need to enter into any great detail
about it, but it may be mentioned that the event formed a good excuse
for contention between the two political parties, and others found
it a good peg on which to hang their scorn or their platitudes. The
cry of the Banquet was raised, the Government having decided that as
that picturesque but mediæval custom had been dropped at the preceding
Coronation it should not be revived. This was, of course, sufficient
to make the Tories call for one, and to raise a cry of false economy
and meanness. The Duke of Buckingham wrote, “The Ministers turned a
deaf ear to all representations either of right or of policy, and the
British Empire was condemned to stand in the eyes of foreigners as too
poor to crown her monarch with the state which, when much poorer, the
nation had willingly afforded.”
Yet now, seventy-three years later, we have just been reading of the
amusement caused in foreign circles about the way in which we cling
to old customs in our coronations. And earlier, when William IV. was
crowned _The Times_ published a curious leader in which it more
than justified the curtailment of the various functions. The writer
of the article spoke of the quackeries played off in the course of
the ceremony, “revoltingly compounded of the worst dregs of Popery
and feudalism,” and continued, “What a fuss with palls, and ingots,
and spurs, and swords, and oil for anointing (greasing) their Sacred
Majesties, and whipping off and on of mantles and the rest of it.” The
writer closed with an expression of the hope that when a leisure hour
should arrive the entire character of the solemnity should be re-cast.
It may well be wondered how far the views of _The Times_ of to-day
agree with those it held in that yester-year!
The walking procession of all the Estates of the Realm was also
dispensed with, and for the last time the Queen’s Barge-master with
forty-eight watermen preceded twelve of the Royal carriages.
Marshal Soult, who came as special Ambassador from the King of France,
was so much cheered both in and out of the Abbey that he was overcome,
and seizing the arm of his aide-de-camp, said, “Ah! vraiment, c’est un
brave peuple!” Later he declared publicly that it was the greatest
day of his life, for it proved that the English believed that he had
fought as an honourable man. He brought over with him a State carriage,
which had been used by the Prince of Condé, and had it decorated in
the most costly fashion. It was a curious thing that both in Queen
Victoria’s and King William’s Coronations there was a great competition
in equipages. The Russian Ambassador (Count von Strogonoff) bought for
sixteen hundred pounds a carriage for which the Duke of Devonshire
had given three thousand when he went on his Extraordinary Embassy to
St. Petersburg. Another diplomatist gave two hundred and fifty pounds
merely for the hire of a vehicle for the day.
There was also among the Ambassadors--who had the liberty of dressing
as they would--what might almost have seemed a competition in dress.
Thus the Greek Ambassador was adjudged as the most picturesque, and
Prince Esterhazy, son of the Minister Plenipotentiary from the Emperor
of Austria, was the most gorgeous--one lady said of him that he looked
as though he had been caught in a shower of diamonds and had come in
dripping; she almost expected to see them settling in little pools on
the floor. Prince Paul von Schwartzenberg, the Austrian Ambassador
Extraordinary, wore violet velvet heavily embroidered in seed pearls,
the jewels with which he was covered being worth half a million
florins, while his boots alone cost sixteen thousand florins.
We have all heard that the old Duke of Sussex embraced the Queen on
this public occasion, that old Lord Rolle stumbled and fell down two
steps, giving Her Majesty the opportunity of doing one of her pretty
acts; and that a large bird hovered over the Palace and was regarded as
an omen of good luck. We have all heard, too, of the Coronation ring,
which, though made for the little finger by mistake, the Archbishop
insisted should be placed on the fourth finger--a painful event for the
poor little Queen. As there had been no rehearsal, “little Victory”
never knew what to do next, and said once to John Thynne, “Pray tell me
what to do, for they don’t know.” Someone who “did not know” made her
leave her chair and enter St. Edward’s Chapel before the Archbishop had
finished the prayers, much to that ecclesiastic’s chagrin. Then when
the Orb was put into her hand she asked, “What am I to do with it?”
and on learning that she was to carry it in her left hand, replied,
sighingly, “But it is very heavy!”
All these incidents have been told over and over again, but there are
some things not so well known, and one is that in consequence of the
ceremony extending from noon to five o’clock people would have fainted
from hunger, if caterers had not been allowed to sell their wares in
the Abbey. At a convenient moment the Queen was conducted into St.
Edward’s Chapel, where she found the altar spread with food and bottles
of wine. It disturbs one’s sense of the fitness of things that an
altar, even to a long dead saint, should be used as a dining table, yet
perhaps it is no worse than the irreverent selling of the outsides of
churches for the erection of tiers of seats whenever a Royal Procession
is coming along.
The author of “The Ingoldsby Legends” described the Coronation very
amusingly under the name of Barney Macguire, one verse of which runs:--
“Then the crame and custard, and the beef and mustard,
All on the tombstones like a poulterer’s shop;
With lobsters and white-bait, and other swate-meats,
And wine and nagus, and Imparial Pop!
There was cakes and apples in all the chapels,
With fine polonies and rich mellow pears,--
Och! the Count von Strogonoff, sure he got prog enough,
The sly ould Divil undernathe the stairs.”
In another set of verses on the subject the same author said he was in
the Abbey looking through the wrong end of a pair of binoculars, and--
“At first I saw a little Queen was sitting all alone,
And little Duke and Duchesses knelt round her little throne,
And a little Lord Archbishop came, and a little prayer he said,
And then he popped a little crown upon her little head.”
It is curious to note that the Queen, when writing in her journal of
the Coronation, just mentioned her mother as being there, but of Lehzen
she wrote: “There was another most dear being present at this ceremony,
in the box immediately above the Royal box and who witnessed all: it
was my dearly beloved angelic Lehzen, whose eyes I caught when on the
Throne, and we exchanged smiles.”
Lord Glenelg was Victoria’s Colonial Secretary for a period, and one
imagines that he must have inspired Dickens with the idea of the Fat
Boy, for we often hear of him as asleep at the wrong time. Like other
people, he had to get up very early for the Coronation, and it was
therefore not surprising that he fell asleep in his place in the Abbey.
He awoke for the crowning, and duly put on his coronet, then promptly
fell asleep again, and his head nodding, the heavy thing fell off with
a clatter. Roused by the noise, he sat up, put his hand to his cranium,
and cried aloud, “Oh! I have lost my nightcap!” The “nightcap” had
rolled out of sight, and was not recovered until after the homage, but
the story does not tell how he managed to offer his fealty without it.
This failing of Glenelg’s was constantly being referred to in the
papers in jest or earnest. Here is a sample: “Is it true, Mel., that
railroads rest upon sleepers?” asked Victoria. “Yes, your Majesty,”
replied Mel. “Then pray take care that Lord Glenelg travels only by
the mail coach, as if he goes by the railway he may be mistaken for a
sleeper,” was the Queen’s entreaty. Another joke, even then somewhat
time-worn, ran:--
“‘What, twelve!’ Lord Glenelg, waking cries;
‘How quick the time has passed!’
‘No wonder,’ little John replies,
‘You sleep so very fast.’”
Lyndhurst distinguished himself before the ceremony commenced by
standing on some steps beyond the choir, and with eyeglass up
scrutinising the Peers “and particularly the Peeresses” as they came
from the entrance.
One of the silliest customs of the Coronation was the flinging of
medals about behind the throne, that is to say, between the altar steps
and the choir. On this occasion Lord Surrey, the Lord Treasurer of the
Household, flung them right and left, and there was a pretty scramble;
maids of honour, peers, generals, goldsticks, robed aldermen wrestled
and fought, some getting more than their share, and some less. The
judges, however, felt themselves enclosed in the dignity of the law,
they did not scramble or move, but pathetically wooed the fates by
standing stiffly erect and holding out their hands. Such a “good boy”
attitude ought to have been rewarded, but alas, not one of them caught
a falling piece of silver.
Lord Dalhousie was struck with the absence of popular enthusiasm and of
reverence inside the Abbey, and Carlyle’s commentary upon the event is
scarcely cheerful. He had been invited to the Montagues’ window to see
the procession, and he went there, though he gave away his invitation
ticket to the Abbey.
“Crowds and mummery are not agreeable to me. The Procession was all
gilding, velvet and grandeur; the poor little Queen seemed to have been
greeting; one could not but wish the poor little lassie well; she is
small, sonsy, and modest--and has the ugliest task, I should say, of
all girls in these Isles.” He added to this, “She is at an age when a
girl can hardly be trusted to choose a bonnet for herself; yet a task
is laid on her from which an archangel might shrink.”
C. R. Leslie, the artist, told of her that as soon as she returned to
Buckingham Palace after this long day she hurried to put off all the
splendid signs of royalty that she might give her spaniel Dash its
bath. A similar incident is related of her return from opening her
first Parliament. An old Court official watched her as she re-entered
the Palace, being much impressed with her dignity as she crossed the
rooms of St. James’s. He wondered if this would last when she was
alone, and curiously followed her as she went through a door leading to
the staircase which led to her own apartments. There at the foot of the
staircase he saw her roll her train round her arm, pick up her dress
all round, and run up two steps at a time, calling to her dogs.
This mixture of dignity and girlishness is very endearing, as those who
have watched youthful womanhood well know.
The year of the Coronation was a year of small things as far as
the Court was concerned, a year of steady tramping along the road
of disaffection among the better-class politicians, and a year of
endeavour to do the right thing on the part of the Queen, relieved by
an occasional autocracy of manner which led her to do the wrong thing.
Relations between herself and her mother became more and more strained,
so much so that it was a matter of public comment. Conroy still
hung about the Duchess and was still maligned in the papers, _The
Times_ toward the end of the year being found guilty of libelling
him by saying that he bought property in Wales which he had paid for,
though not with his own money. On the other hand, the tradesmen who
served the Duchess of Kent presented Sir John Conroy with plate to the
value of £400, to show their appreciation of the kindness and urbanity
with which he had invariably treated them.
The _Age_ now changed its tone; instead of vilifying the Duchess
and all her friends, it chose to regard her as a martyr, _against_
whom plots were formed by the foreign Camarilla, which included
Leopold, Lehzen, Stockmar, Sir James Clark (Physician), Sir Henry
Seton, and any foreigners who might be at Court or passing through. It
asserted now that the ruin of Conroy was part of a plot for alienating
mother and daughter, and placing the latter more firmly under foreign
influence; but there are people who would scarcely consider £3,000 a
year pension as ruin.
The Baroness Lehzen, of whom Lady Normanby said that she was a kind and
motherly person to the young Maids of Honour, retained her position
with the Queen, and the more firmly she seemed to be established the
more furiously did one section of the public and the Press hate her.
One or two examples will show the way in which the more outspoken
papers wrote of her; and all had the idea at the back of their anger
that she was pushing forward with all her influence the pretensions of
Albert of Saxe-Coburg, who, surrounded by Catholic belongings, would
do some frightful, undescribed, and impossible deeds when settled in
power. It was all wild, stupid, and hysterical, yet somewhat amusing to
look back to now.
It should be remembered that Fräulein Lehzen was the daughter of a
Lutheran clergyman, and that she came to England with the Duchess
of Kent as a governess or nursery governess to Princess Féodore. A
Lutheran clergyman was not likely to be a man of any particular rank,
but he was at least a man of thought; he may have been very poor,
as a large proportion of clergymen have been all through the ages,
and his daughters may have, most likely did, help in the work of the
house and gardens. This, however, is but surmise in an endeavour to
explain the absurd reproaches levelled at the Baroness. Thus writes the
_Age_, which was bitterly hated by the Whigs, because it published
every little fault and prank of the men of their party; a paper which
they naturally, under the circumstances, said to be simply a lying,
scandalous rag, but which, as a matter of fact, was often very astute,
and told the truth with just that touch of exaggeration which gave it
the necessary allurement.
“On public grounds we are determined to let the country know the
detestable schemes by which a foreign Camarilla rules in the Palace
[now Buckingham, not Kensington, Palace], to which the noble and
virtuous of the land are not invited--nor would they go if they
were. [The last sentence is somewhat reminiscent of the fox and the
grapes.] We do not object to the Baroness because she was originally
a milk girl, but because of her manner and behaviour, especially to
the Duchess of Kent. She has rendered herself most hateful to the
people of England, because her connection with Leopold, through his
creature Stockmar, is calculated to inflict the deepest injury upon
the Sovereign and the country generally; because she is a bad-hearted
woman; and because she is trying to bring about a union at once
mercenary and distasteful.”
As time went on, the Tory section of the Press grew more emphatic in
its utterances, and the extreme Tory clique expressed itself in plainer
and more violent and libellous language. With them the Baroness was
anathema. They affirmed that having in her youth been a milkmaid, she
was now only fit for the housemaid’s table; her sister had been Queen
Caroline’s maid, and she had come as such to the Duchess of Kent for
a few pounds a year. “Yet now she insults the good Duchess, who is
beloved by everyone.” “She has broken up the mother’s influence, and
deliberately taught the child to look coldly on one who has nobly done
her duty to the country by educating that child suitably, and, having
gained the needed ascendency, had come to an understanding with Leopold
and his friends as to the use to be made of her power.” The Duchess
of Kent, who they said was insulted by her _ci-devant_ servant,
should have their protection, they vowed, but did not explain how it
would be given.
A story went around that once at Windsor the Baroness mislaid her keys,
and that in consequence the Queen could not open any of her dispatch
boxes, and thus everyone averred that the secrets of the Empire were
entrusted to “this German spy.” “We demand to know what office this
woman bears about the Sovereign? She may rest assured that this
question will not only be asked, but a reply peremptorily demanded when
Parliament meets.” Her position was denounced as unconstitutional and
dangerous to the personal comfort of Her Majesty, it was said--though
the real meaning was “to the dying hope that the Tories would ever
regain their influence.” When some hireling about the Court made
known the fact that Lehzen had changed her bedroom, taking the next
room to that occupied by Victoria, there being no door but a curtain
between the two rooms, a terrible fear arose, and all the exaggerations
about complete ascendency over the mind of the Queen were started
afresh. “The Constitution does not permit the Sovereign to have an
irresponsible adviser, and if anyone under the guise and specious
title of friend obtains possession of State matters and controls State
proceedings, is a foreigner and in communication with a foreign Court,
that same Constitution will vindicate its outraged fences and expel the
intruder even from the Royal footstool.” To heighten the indignation,
it was said that Louis Philippe was fostering a plot in favour of the
Catholics, and through Leopold was making the Baroness his tool, so
that the “exasperated Protestants of the Empire” were losing their hope
of favour, but “were determined to wrest a satisfactory certainty from
the Crown as their ancestors had done before them.”
Melbourne was naturally blamed, though his influence was by no means
strong enough to allow him to interfere in the Queen’s private
friendships, and he more or less knew that the suggestion that Lehzen
was consulted in State matters was unfounded.
In all this lies the inner cause of that difficulty which arose in 1839
and convulsed politicians, the “Bedchamber Squabble,” as it has been
called. It burst forth without warning, no one probably being more
surprised than the two chief actors, the Queen and Sir Robert Peel.
Though it will be necessary to go back again to events of 1838, it is
better perhaps to detail here the intricacies of this knotty question,
which had such an important, if temporary, effect on politics.
CHAPTER IX
QUEEN VICTORIA’S LADIES AND LOVERS
“The war with China--the price of sugar--the Corn Laws--the
fourteen new Bishops about to be hatched--timber--cotton--a
property tax, and the penny post--all these matters and persons
are of secondary importance to this greater question--whether
the female who hands the Queen her gown shall think Lord
Melbourne ‘a very pretty fellow in his day’; or whether she
shall believe my friend Sir Robert to be as great a conjurer as
Roger Bacon or the Wizard of the North.... It is whether Lady
Mary thinks black, or Lady Clementina thinks white; whether
her father who begot her voted with the Marquis of Londonderry
or Earl Grey--that is the grand question to be solved before
my friend Sir Robert can condescend to be the Saviour of his
country.”--_Punch._
It was in the very nature of things that the Melbourne Ministry should
be weak. Its majority was not great, and as the House of Lords was
almost solidly against it, Bills could not be passed. In the Lords
was Brougham, angry at being denied the Great Seal, at heart a lover
of the aristocrat, yet making a bid for the favour of the Radicals.
He once brought up a mischievous subject for discussion in the Peers,
drawing upon himself the refusal of the Duke of Wellington to be merely
factious, and a declaration from Melbourne against the motion. At this,
Brougham said furiously of the former, “Westminster Abbey is yawning
for him,” but he had to drop his motion. Commenting upon this, Greville
says that “Brougham cares for nothing but the pleasure of worrying and
embarrassing the Ministers (his former colleagues), whom he detests
with an intense hatred; and the Tories, who are bitter and spiteful,
and hate them merely as Ministers and as occupants of the place they
covet, and not as men, are provoked to death at being baulked in the
occasion that seemed to present itself of putting them in a difficulty.”
There is on record another occasion on which Brougham began to attack
the Duke of Wellington in the House of Lords, and Wellington, lifting
his finger, said, loud enough to be heard across the House, “Now take
care what you say next!” As if panic-struck, Brougham broke off and
began to talk of another matter. The Duke of Wellington, in fact, with
his larger view and his international sense, generally refused to do
stupid things from party feelings; and as leader of the House of Lords,
he knew the weakness of the Tories at that juncture, and saw little
hope of their forming a Government.
However, given opposition such as Brougham’s, and a majority depending
upon doubtful Radicals, it was not surprising that there was little
real work accomplished in the Commons, and that the Government was
always in danger of being overturned. It was on May 6th, 1839, that
Lord John Russell brought in a Bill for the suspension for five years
of the Constitution of Jamaica, because its Assembly had refused to
accept the Prisons Act in connection with the slave trade passed by
Parliament. The majority was only five in a House of 583, therefore the
Government decided to resign. In July, 1837, _Fraser’s Magazine_
had a sonnet in facetious vein upon the Princess’s birthday, which
might have been written for this event, it is so appropriate, though
the particular allusion I cannot explain:--
“Great was the omen on the auspicious night
When kept was fair Victoria’s natal day--
London in gas, and oil and tallow gay,
Look’d a vast isle of artificial light;
Anchors and crowns and roses beaming bright;
Stars, garters and triangles shone around;
Lions or unicorns all chained and crowned,
And other blazonings--yellow, green, red, white--
Dazzled the air. But, more delighted, we
Welcomed one blazing letter, everywhere
Playing a double duty. Hail, great V!
V! Ministerial sad majority--
Mark of the unhappy five! With grim despair
Did Melbourne and his men that symbol see!”
This Government crisis came like a blow upon the Queen, who saw all the
routine of her life being altered; she was to lose the genial, fatherly
Melbourne, and take in his place perhaps the Duke of Wellington, but,
failing him, whom? Sir Robert Peel, whom she scarcely knew and did not
like, who possessed none of Melbourne’s brilliant social qualities,
while his accustomed attitude was said to be that of a dancing master
giving a lesson. “The Queen might have liked him better if he could
have kept his legs still,” said Greville.
[Illustration: SIR ROBERT PEEL.]
So poor little Victory cried all the rest of the day, never stopping
even when interviewing Lord John Russell. She dined alone in her own
room, and did not appear that evening. By the next morning, however,
she was cool again, and sent for the Duke of Wellington, whose loyalty
she trusted as she did that of Melbourne. The Duke also had a fatherly
feeling for Her Majesty, and was very sympathetic with her, even when
she said openly that she had always liked her late Ministers, and was
very sorry that she must lose them. Wellington, who was too strong
to be anything but frank, enjoyed the frankness with which the Queen
praised his political opponents, but he said that he was now too old
and too deaf to become her Prime Minister, and in addition he thought
it would be wiser if she appointed a man whose real position was in
the lower House. Sir Robert Peel was the only possible person, and
Victoria asked the Duke to send him to her. In gentle, paternal tone,
he suggested that the matter would be more in order if she would send
personally for Peel, upon which the Queen said she would do so, but
asked the Duke to see him and tell him to expect her letter.
As soon as Sir Robert received the important missive he clothed himself
in full dress, according to etiquette, and went to the Palace. He was
a sensitive, shy man, and he knew that his principles, if not himself
personally, were disliked, so he went to the interview in a nervous,
diffident frame of mind, which allowed him no leisure to add an extra
courtliness to his awkward manners. At first he felt reassured, as
the Queen received him very graciously, but after her greeting he had
a shock when Victoria openly said that she was parting with her late
Ministers with infinite regret, for she had entirely approved of their
actions. It was so much what the late King would have said! That little
difficulty being over, they began to talk business, Peel suggesting
various names for office. The audience ended by his being required to
bring a full list with him the next day.
When Sir Robert brought the list the following morning Victoria
approved of it, only stipulating that the Duke of Wellington should
have a seat in the Cabinet. Then came the unexpected tempest, beginning
quietly, as tempests often do, but ending in a general convulsion.
Having settled the men satisfactorily, Sir Robert Peel nervously--he
must have been nervous, for Lord Grey reports that he was harsh and
peremptory--put forth a list of changes to be made in the Household.
Her Majesty expected this--had, indeed, talked of it to the Duke, but
she had been thinking solely of the equerries and other men about her,
and for a few minutes the discussion turned upon them. Soon after this
(to quote from Her Majesty’s journal) Sir Robert Peel said:
“‘Now, about the Ladies?’
“Upon which I said I could _not_ give up any of my Ladies,
and never had imagined such a thing. He asked if I meant to retain
_all_.
“‘_All_,’ I said.
“‘The Mistress of the Robes and the Ladies of the Bedchamber?’
“I replied, ‘All!’--for he said they were the wives of the opponents of
the Government, mentioning Lady Normanby in particular as one of the
late Ministers’ wives. I said that would not interfere; that I never
talked politics with them, and that they were related, many of them
to Tories, and I enumerated those of my Bedchamber Women and Maids of
Honour; upon which he said he did not mean _all_ the Bedchamber
Women and _all_ the Maids of Honour; he meant the Mistress of the
Robes and the Ladies of the Bedchamber; to which I replied _they_
were of more consequence than the others, and that I could _not_
consent, and that it had never been done before. He said I was a Queen
Regnant, and that made the difference! ‘Not here,’ I said--and I
maintained my right. Sir Robert then urged it upon public grounds only,
but I said here that I could not consent.”
In Victoria’s letter to Melbourne she said: “Sir Robert Peel has
behaved very ill, and has insisted on my giving up my Ladies, to
which I replied that I never would consent; and I never saw a man so
frightened ... he was quite perturbed--but this is _infamous_. I
said, besides many other things, that if he or the Duke of Wellington
had been at the head of the Government when I came to the Throne,
perhaps there might have been a few more Tory ladies, but that if you
had come into office you would never have _dreamt_ of changing
them. I was calm but very decided, and I think you would have been
pleased to see my composure and great firmness; the Queen of England
will not submit to such trickery.”
Peel felt it to be a deadlock; the Queen’s autocratic tendency had
already made itself sufficiently felt for him to know that argument
was of no use for him. He said that he must consult his colleagues, and
so backed out.
Victoria sent at once for Lord John Russell, and asked if she could
rightfully refuse this demand. There was no precedent for Sir Robert
Peel’s decision, though from his party’s point of view there was every
necessity for it. Queen Anne had kept her beloved Sarah Churchill all
through the changes of administration until she wearied of her. When
the Government changed under William IV., Lord Grey (the Whig) not only
left Queen Adelaide’s Household of Ladies untouched, but did not change
an equerry or groom; though later, when Lord Howe voted against him on
a vital question, he insisted upon his removal. When that was done Peel
and his party asserted that an unheard-of outrage had been offered the
Queen, and Adelaide did not speak to Lord Grey for more than a year,
and then had to be keenly persuaded before she would enter a room where
he was closeted with King William.
Lord John Russell told Queen Victoria that she had right on her side,
and she said that, in that case, she expected the support of himself
and his colleagues as she had supported them in the past. She sent for
the Duke, who told her that she was wrong, and that she ought, being
Queen Regnant, to regard her ladies in the same light as her lords.
“No,” replied Her Majesty; “I have lords besides, and these I give up
to you.”
Peel came also, but both he and the Duke found their young Monarch
immovable, and ready with answers to all that they advanced. She
foresaw, as any astute woman would have done, that in allowing this
innovation she would be opening the door for a host of petty troubles
in the future; she blinked the fact that she was King as well as Queen,
and that a King was required to change all his officers. So the two
politicians left her presence defeated, and Peel called his friends
together that afternoon.
In the meanwhile, Russell begged Melbourne to do nothing of himself,
but to call the Cabinet together; and at nine that night the Ministers
were gathered from all places--dinners, the theatres, opera, and clubs.
Before them Melbourne laid a letter from the Queen, in which she is
reported to have said, though probably the correct text of this letter
has been given above:
“Do not fear that I was not calm and composed. They wanted to deprive
me of my Ladies, and I suppose they would deprive me next of my
dressers and housemaids! They wished to treat me like a girl, but I
will show them I am Queen of England.”
Lord John, the most diplomatic member of the Cabinet, wanted the Queen
to be advised to get from Peel his precise demands, for, as is usual in
a quarrel, the actual details had never been elucidated. This, however,
was overruled, and a letter was concocted for the Queen to send to
Peel. It was short and to the point:--
“The Queen, having considered the proposal made to her yesterday by Sir
Robert Peel to remove the Ladies of her Bedchamber, cannot consent to
adopt a course which she conceives to be contrary to usage, and which
is repugnant to her feelings.”
While these events were happening, the report of them spread far and
wide, and was hotly commented on in all the papers. The Queen may have
let drop a remark that Peel wished to drive from her all the friends of
her childhood, for this was the note the Whig papers sounded. Anger,
condolence, appreciation were all expressed, while on the other side
anger was mixed with disloyalty and with an assumption that the Queen
must give way to a righteous and politic course.
“We can state,” said one of the Tory journals, “that there is not
the slightest hesitation or feeling of annoyance on the part of our
Conservative leaders. For the sake of Royalty they may regret the
untoward interference of female meddlers in State matters of most
awful importance (this was surely a hit at the Queen as well as at
her ladies!); but for themselves they know that the Sovereign cannot
do without appealing to their loyalty to save her from ‘her friends,’
and they will not fail in their duty. In a few days Sir Robert Peel’s
triumph will be complete.”
A few of the most extreme papers begged the “female nobility of England
to abstain from going to Court,” to refuse “to sanction by their
presence a patronage of persons whom they themselves would not tolerate
in private life.”
The “persons” who were not to be “patronised” by the “female nobility”
included the Duchess of Sutherland and the Countess of Burlington,
both sisters of Lord Morpeth, a Cabinet Minister and Secretary for
Ireland; the Marchioness of Normanby, wife of the Secretary of State;
the Marchioness of Tavistock, Lord John Russell’s sister-in-law; the
Marchioness of Breadalbane, whose husband had received his title
from the Whigs; Lady Portman, wife of another Whig-made peer; Lady
Lyttelton, sister of Earl Spencer; and the Countess of Charlemont, wife
of an Irish Earl.
It was whispered, though probably only scandalously, that Melbourne had
in his pocket the resignations of the Marchioness of Tavistock and Lady
Portman, but kept them from the Queen. There may have been some truth
in this, however, as those ladies were most unpopular with all classes,
and probably thought their wisest course would be to resign before
worse happened.
Sir Robert Peel replied to the Queen’s communication in a long letter,
in which he resigned the charge she had imposed upon him; and as all
England was discussing the Bedchamber question, Victoria, who really
felt that she had justice on her side, allowed him to read her letter
and his own in Parliament that the true facts of the matter might be
known. For the public believed that Peel had planned to separate the
Queen from all the friends of her childhood, and to force her to accept
as servants a completely new set, all especially imbued with Tory
principles, and Peel felt that he should publicly justify his action.
But as the Queen would not move an inch from the position she had
taken up, the old Whig Ministry was reinstated.
As for the opinion expressed by contemporaries on this matter, I should
say that the balance was against the Queen, not so much because of the
justice of the matter as because she was a young woman, and therefore
incapable presumably of understanding affairs. People said that she
was an inexperienced girl who wanted her own way though the heavens
fell; she upset her Government that her private comfort might not be
assailed; the whole thing was planned so that she could again have
the Whigs in power! Scarcely any of them, except perhaps Lord Grey,
cast their vote for her. But these writers were all men, and mostly
Tories--that is to say, they were the people who suffered. They talked
about the principle involved, but they only cared about the idea in
practice. Then they did not look beyond the Queen’s words, nor remember
the violent and exaggerated statements which they themselves had made
about Baroness Lehzen.
[Illustration: LADY TAVISTOCK.]
Victoria naturally felt that if she conceded the principle she would
be giving over into the hands of the enemy the friend whom she most
valued. She knew that some of the Tories had clamoured for Lehzen’s
dismissal, had threatened to ask questions about her in Parliament.
Then, too, she had a real liking for Lady Normanby, of whom one of the
Maids of Honour said later, “She is so clever and well-informed, and
yet there is that about her which prevents one feeling ashamed of
one’s ignorance”; for Lady Tavistock; and probably for other of her
ladies. Think of the position of a girl of twenty, who is suddenly
called upon, not to dismiss her attendants, but to send away all
those who were, by the nature of their duties, admitted to the most
intimate relations with her, the Ladies of the Bedchamber. It is quite
comprehensible that she should resist.
Peel said afterwards that he did not mean all, and it was a pity that
the Queen was too hasty to listen to his propositions to the end;
though it is certain, if we may judge by the expression he used,
“that his Government could not be carried on if ladies attached to
Whig leaders remained about the Queen,” that he did at the outset
mean all the Bedchamber ladies; indeed, he said as much as that to
Croker when he wrote that there were only nine of them, while there
were twenty-five women of the Household altogether. He further said
what--in view of all the attacks on Lehzen--lets some light into his
feelings: “The paid spy of a foreign enemy might be introduced into the
Household--might have access to every Cabinet secret.”
Had Peel been in a strong position he probably would have been less
obstinate on the point, for though he was perhaps right in a strictly
constitutional sense, he could have yielded without any real sacrifice
of principle; but he feared even the attempt to form a Government,
for it would be a Government with a minority, an odious position for
any Minister. There was, in fact, some analogy between the position
of Peel then and that of Melbourne when he accepted office under the
Queen. In 1837 the Whig Ministry was struggling for its life, and it
would have been expecting something impossible to have expected that
Melbourne should have put Tory ladies about Her Majesty. When Peel’s
turn came he was equally anxious not to have Whig ladies.
So Peel made an able speech on the matter in the House, Brougham made a
violent one, Wellington a thoughtful and moderate one, Russell a feeble
one, and Melbourne’s, they say, was the best of all. In the course of
his speech Peel referred to the Lehzen matter, saying that he had not
meant to turn out the Baroness, which annoyed that lady very much, she
remarking with much asperity that he had no right to say such a thing;
he should have said that he _could_ not turn her out, for she was
in no public post or service, and Peel had nothing to do with her. It
is said that the Duke of Sussex advised his niece not to accede to
Peel’s request about the Ladies of the Bedchamber, but Victoria herself
affirmed that she took no advice on the matter.
Some wag called the resuscitated Cabinet the _Jupon_ Cabinet, and
Justin McCarthy said of its leaders that Peel could not govern with
Lady Normanby, and Melbourne could not govern without her. “What is
it keeps the present Ministers in office? Two women in the Bedchamber
and two rats in Parliament,” was another little pleasantry. Macaulay
added as his comment: “The month of May, 1839, saw the leaders of the
great party, which had marched into office across the steps of the
Throne, standing feebly at bay behind the petticoats of their wives
and sisters. Whether the part they played was forced upon them by
circumstances, or whether it was not, their example was disastrous in
its effects upon English public life.”
While the excitement was at its height the papers were full of
gibes and personalities, and one published the following lines upon
Melbourne, whose constant attendance at Windsor, as has been pointed
out, led to a running comment upon his method and place of dining:--
“Farewell, farewell! to each rich-brimming chalice,
At Windsor beside me so constantly seen--
Farewell to the dear, daily feeds at the Palace--
The romps with the Baroness, chats with the Queen.
Farewell! ’tis with tears that, while falling will blister,
I weep for the mesh in which we are all caught;
Alas! for poor Lehzen with none to assist her,
They’ll never be able to work out the plot.”
A little earlier some satirical paper announced of the Prime Minister
that, when compelled to remain in the House of Lords till late in the
evening, “the pet lamb had a nice tit-bit sent express from the Royal
table, with a particular request to cut the matter as short as possible
and hurry ‘to where the glasses sparkle on the board!’” adding, “We
believe Melbourne generally manages to comply, and, if practicable,
arrives in ‘pudding time.’”
Another paragraph offered the information that: “Lord Melbourne gave a
Parliamentary dinner yesterday in South Street. The Fire Brigade were
all activity and we counted six engines in the immediate vicinity.
The alarm was given by his lordship’s neighbours, who were extremely
horrified by the sight of the chimney. Melbourne giving a dinner!
Wonders will never cease!”
For a long time the Queen’s popularity had been decreasing, and open
disloyalty was shown with the beginning of the Lady Flora Hastings
scandal. Victoria herself did not help matters, for after the political
crisis she became even more exclusive in her invitations. She had
arranged a ball and a great concert for the middle of May, just after
the political tempest, and from all accounts they seem to have been
very dull amusements, or so said the Tories, none of whom were invited
who could possibly be left out. The Queen herself, however, was in good
spirits, possibly more than pleased at having retained her Ministers.
The Bedchamber Crisis drew from the King of Hanover a little moan
over the ruin of England: “Alas! how fallen is she since the last ten
years!... May Providence be merciful to her, and save her, is my most
earnest prayer!”
During the spring of 1839, while Victoria was harassed by the two most
disturbing troubles of her young womanhood, she was also being urged
from various quarters to settle her domestic affairs by marriage, and
indeed from the beginning of 1836 curiosity had made tongues busy on
the matter of her choice. Perhaps it is true that with the spring a
young man’s fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love, for it seemed
always then that the young men from Germany or Denmark or Russia
came a-courting, or, to put it more diplomatically, came on a visit
to England. Then, too, if there were any amorous lunatics about they
generally seemed to turn up at Buckingham Palace or Windsor Castle.
Actual suggestions concerning marriage were made before Victoria
became Queen, for in the spring of 1837 Lord William Russell, then our
representative in Berlin, wrote as follows to the Duchess of Kent.
“Madam,--Would it be agreeable to your Royal Highness that Prince
Adelbert of Prussia, the son of Prince William, should place himself
on the list of those who pretend to the hand of H.R.H. the Princess
Victoria?
“Your consent, Madam, would give great satisfaction to the Court of
Berlin.”
The Duchess acknowledged the receipt, and then indulged in a little
eulogy of herself, for she continued: “The undoubted confidence placed
in me by the country, being the only parent since the Restoration who
has had the uncontrolled power in bringing up the heir of the Throne,
imposes on me duties of no ordinary character. Therefore, I could not,
compatibly with those I owe my child, the King, and the country, give
your Lordship the answer you desire; the application should go to the
King. But if I know my duty to the King, I know also my maternal ones,
and I will candidly tell your Lordship that I am of opinion that the
Princess should not marry till she is much older. I will also add that,
in the choice of the person to share her great destiny, I have but one
wish--that her happiness and the interest of the country be realised in
it.”
I wonder how the Duchess liked the hint of a rebuke in Russell’s
answer:--
“On informing Prince Wittgenstein (Minister of the Royal House in
Berlin) that your maternal feelings led you to think the Princess
Victoria too young to marry, he said that the King of Prussia would,
on learning your opinion, object to Prince Adelbert’s projected visit
to England. I beg to observe to Your Royal Highness that it was only
proposed to admit Prince Adelbert to the list of suitors for the hand
of Princess Victoria, to which he was to win his claim by his character
and personal attractions.”
Von Bülow suggested that a young Prince of
Holstein-Sonderburg-Beck-Glücksburg might find favour with Queen
Victoria, but surely the territorial miscellany added to his name would
have been sufficient to frighten any girl. There was a rumour that the
Duc de Nemours intended to enter the lists, and there was much talk
when Duke Ferdinand of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha projected another visit to
England with his son Augustus. In the spring of 1839 the Tsarevitch of
Russia arrived with the Grand Duke, and many of the newspapers began
their little gossipings as to the good and evil of such an alliance.
This report was later said to be without foundation, one paper adding
to its repudiation the hope that when the Queen should be tempted to
forego following the example of Queen Elizabeth, perhaps the Orange
flower would be placed near her heart as well as on her head. “God
grant it may be so!” This being an allusion to the visit at the same
time of Prince William, the younger son of the King of the Netherlands.
It was judged that Prince George of Cambridge stood a good chance,
for did not his Queen-cousin open the first State Ball in May, 1838,
by dancing a quadrille with him? It is true that she also danced
with young Prince Esterhazy--who married the daughter of the Earl
of Jersey--with the Earl of Douro, the Earl of Uxbridge, and other
noblemen, but then George was first honoured and was of her own age.
While writing of this Ball, I must mention the Austrian Prince’s
wonderful clothing at the third State Ball, which was given on June
18th, the second having been on Her Majesty’s birthday. He wore a
pelisse of dark crimson velvet, his sword-belt thickly studded with
diamonds, the hilt of the sword and scabbard simply encrusted with
them; round his hussar cap were several rows of pearls, edging a string
of diamonds, and all fastened with a diamond tassel. His Order of the
Golden Fleece (suspended round his neck) and the stars and jewels of
his other orders of knighthood were all set in diamonds and other
precious stones. He must surely have looked like Prince Charming in a
pantomime, and if any old men were there, he probably reminded them of
the Regent who once went to a ball in pink satin, wearing a hat adorned
with five thousand beads.
Of the first State Ball Greville says, with his usual touch of
acidity: “Last night I was at the ball at the Palace--a poor affair
in comparison with the Tuileries. Gallery ill-lit; rest of the rooms
tolerable; Queen’s manner and bearing perfect. Before supper and after
dancing she sat on a sofa somewhat elevated in the drawing-room,
looking at the waltzing; she did not waltz herself. Her mother sat
on one side of her, and the Princess Augusta on the other; then the
Duchesses of Gloucester and Cambridge and the Princess of Cambridge;
her household with their wands, standing all round; her manners
exceedingly graceful, and blended with dignity and cordiality, a
simplicity and good humour when she talks to people which are mighty
captivating. When supper was announced she moved from her seat, all
her officers going before her--she first, alone, and the Royal Family
following; her exceeding youth contrasted with their maturer ages, but
she did it well.” Lady Bedinfield commented upon the Queen at this
ball: “The young Queen danced a good deal; if she were taller and less
stout, she would be very pretty.”
However, to return to the suitors. What the Ministers, the Court,
or even the Queen did not know on this matter the papers did, for
they caught and crystallised in type every rumour, adding sufficient
information to make them read like truth. In January, 1838, people
said that the Queen was recalling Lord Elphinstone from the post which
really spelt banishment for him. They added that she had sent him an
autograph letter which greatly disconcerted the Cabinet, and that he
would arrive before the Coronation, at which a new office would be
created for his benefit. One commentator upon this remarked: “Our
Ministers will find a young girl as difficult to manage as an old man;
the vivacity of youth proves as perplexing as the obstinacy of age. The
question of our hereditary government will shortly be agitated as well
as that of our hereditary legislation; since it is quite certain that
the King of Hanover, knowing his chance of succession, even should he
survive the Queen, to be extremely doubtful, will stir up his party in
this country to protest against Her Majesty’s free choice. The sooner
the time comes the better.” This report was repudiated by _The Times_
and _The Morning Chronicle_. However, _The Satirist_ asserted that the
matter was debated in the Cabinet and that a certain personage was with
difficulty prevented from sending a letter she had written. _The Times_
then declared that the Queen had never spoken to Lord Elphinstone. To
which _The Satirist_ answered with copies of two letters purporting to
be written by Her Majesty, in the first of which she asked Elphinstone
to return before her Coronation, promising to make him a Duke, which
would ensure his attendance upon her. In the second absurd and vulgar
production, quite obviously fictitious, she was made to say:
“I am so enraged I can scarcely hold the pen in my hand. That old
pest, daddy Melbourne, having found out through Ma, who was told by
the baroness that you and I were carrying on a correspondence--that
horrible old pest, who certainly is the plague of my existence, has
just been here to _advise_ me--not to break off the match, for
that I told him at once would be useless--but to relinquish the idea of
having you home before I arrive at the age of twenty-one. The giving of
this advice he said was a ‘duty’ which ‘State reasons’ compelled him to
perform. I wish he were at Jerusalem. He would let me have nothing my
own way if he could help it. Here I must remain now for nearly three
years before I am permitted even to see you. Is it not dreadful? But
I won’t, I’m determined I won’t wait so long as he says. I’ll get rid
of him the very first opportunity, and if the Prime Minister will not
consent to your immediate return, I’m determined that I’ll have no
Prime Minister at all. For the present, however, I suppose I must yield
to ‘State reasons,’ which are, in my mind, no reasons at all. But they
sha’n’t keep you there much longer, be well assured of that.”
Whatever the young Queen’s desires may or may not have been, Lord
Elphinstone did not see his native land again until about 1843, when
Victoria was the happy mother of several children, and he was not
invited to Court until 1846, being made a Lord-in-Waiting the following
year.
Though, as has been said, the young Prince of Orange came over again
he does not seem to have done himself much credit, eliciting the
judgment from one diarist that he had made a great fool of himself here
supping, dancing, and indulging in little (rather innocent) orgies at
the houses of Lady Dudley Stuart and Mrs. Fox, who, the story went,
escorted him--when, to his infinite disgust, he had to go home--as far
as Gravesend, “where they (the ladies) were found the next day in their
white satin shoes and evening dresses.”
Behind all other rumours, however, lurked the idea that Albert of
Saxe-Coburg would be Victoria’s bridegroom, an idea which more or
less oppressed the girl-Queen. Whether there was any real truth in
the report about Lord Elphinstone, or whether she wished to wield her
power independently for a time, it is impossible to say, but early
in 1838, and again in July, 1839, she wrote to her uncle Leopold
that she had no intention of marrying for several years to come;
and after her accession she entirely ceased corresponding with her
cousin. The Coburgs were not regarded by those about the Queen as
likely to prove attractive to her, being criticised as “simple” and
too “Deutsch.” Palmerston said of them: “After being used to agreeable
and well-informed Englishmen, I fear the Queen will not easily find a
foreign prince to her liking,” and the national prejudice showed itself
in such contemptuous phrases about anything they did as, “How unlike an
Englishman!”
But the Queen’s attitude did not seem seriously to trouble Leopold,
who went on training his nephew, writing of him to Stockmar on one
occasion: “If I am not much mistaken in Albert, he possesses all
the qualities required to fit him completely for the position he
will occupy in England. His understanding is sound, his apprehension
clear and rapid, and his feelings correct. He has great powers of
observation, and possesses much prudence, without anything about him
that can be called cold or morose.”
In later years Victoria was sad over her decision not to marry, saying
that she could not think without indignation of her wish to keep the
Prince waiting, at the risk of ruining his prospects, perhaps for
three or four years until she felt inclined to marry, and she put
her vacillation down to the fact that the sudden change from the
seclusion of Kensington Palace to the independent position of being
Queen Regnant diverted her mind entirely from marriage. She went so
far as to “bitterly repent” this very natural result of her early life
and her peculiar position; yet she might have known that, given the
circumstances and her temperament, it was the only result to expect.
But Victoria at this time did not entirely break off the engagement,
and as a sign of this she instructed Stockmar to journey with the
Prince when he travelled through Italy in search of that thing so
zealously desired in the early part of the nineteenth century, “the
completion of his education.”
It is said that Leopold did not mention the marriage unreservedly to
his nephew until the Prince visited Brussels in February of 1838.
In March of that year Leopold wrote to Stockmar as follows: “I have
had a long conversation with Albert, and have put the whole case
honestly and kindly before him. He looks at the question from its most
elevated and honourable point of view; he considers that troubles are
inseparable from all human positions, and that, therefore, if one must
be subjected to plagues and annoyances, it is better to be so for some
great or worthy object than for trifles and miseries. I have told him
that his great youth would make it necessary to postpone the marriage
for a few years. I found him very sensible on all these points. But
one thing he observed with truth: ‘I am ready,’ he said, ‘to submit to
this delay, if I have only some certain assurance to go upon. But if
after waiting, perhaps, for three years I should find that the Queen
no longer desired the marriage, it would place me in a very ridiculous
position, and would to a certain extent ruin all the prospects of my
future life.”
The Whigs seemed to take this matter quite philosophically, but the
Tories had not a good word to say either of Leopold or of Albert.
Thus _The Times_ in December, 1838, said: “There is no foreigner
who sets his foot in England less welcome to the people generally, or
looked at with more distrust or alienation than Leopold, the Brummagem
King of Belgium, who is nothing better than a provisional prefect of
France, on whose ruler his marriage has made him doubly dependent.”
In Paris it was regarded as a most extraordinary thing that the Queen
had not married long before, and having decided that she was _not_
going to marry her Prime Minister, the gossipers in the salons
suggested that Queen Victoria was not to be allowed to marry at all, as
Lord Melbourne feared he might so lose his influence. “Therefore, his
anxiety is to keep Her Majesty single.” They added that if, however,
the country insisted on their Sovereign’s marrying, Prince Albert
of Saxe-Coburg was being trained for the honour, under the especial
guidance “of that moral gentleman, Stockmar.”
A month later, that is to say in January, 1839, the following jubilant
paragraph appeared in _The Sun_:--
“The country will learn with delight that the most interesting part
in the Speech from the Throne, to both Houses of Parliament and the
country at large, will be the announcement of Her Majesty’s intended
marriage. The happy object of Queen Victoria’s choice is Prince Albert,
son of the reigning Duke of Saxe-Coburg, and cousin of Her Majesty.
Prince Albert is handsome and about twenty-two years of age.”
_The Times_ asked next day if someone had not been hoaxing the
editor of _The Sun_. “We suspect so, though we do not profess to
have any knowledge on the subject.”
_The Morning Chronicle_--Melbourne’s paper--replied: “We are
authorised to give the most positive contradiction to the above
announcement.”
The comment of _The Age_ upon the matter was of the “I told you
so” type, and then it proceeded to libels and defamation. “Prince
Albert is known to be a youth of most untoward disposition.... As far
as we can learn, Prince Albert is suspicious, crafty, and, like his
uncle, Leopold, never looks anyone full in the face.
“Yet this is he who is to be ‘the happy object of Queen Victoria’s
choice.’ _Choice_, indeed! The Baroness Lehzen has acted well upon
the instructions given her by Leopold just before good King William’s
death; and the virtues, beauty, worth, and amiabilities of this young
Prince have been dinned hourly in the Royal Ear.
“We think Prince Albert of Saxe-Coburg intellectually and morally
most unfit to be trusted with the happiness of our young Queen; and
because he belongs to a family which is either Protestant or Papist
as it suits their interest; thus Albert’s father is a Protestant, his
uncle Ferdinand is a Papist, and his son is Papist Connubial King of
Portugal; Leopold is anything, Protestant to an English princess,
Papist to a French princess. And we object to Prince Albert because he
is being thrust upon the Queen, who is in such a state of vassalage,
induced by the cunning influence of the Baroness Lehzen, as to be
publicly talked of in the salons of Paris as the mere puppet of her
uncle Leopold.”
This tirade and mass of exaggeration was followed by the publication of
a spurious letter supposed to have been addressed to the editor by the
young Prince Albert:--
“Sare,--I sall addresser you in Anglaish, cos vy? Cos in honnare of
de countray in vich I vas vant to be second rang personne. Ver well.
Terefore if the Q---- vas like me to mari her, Cot tam, Sare, vat am
tat to you--eh? Am you her modare? Ver well, ten; vat rite you to
objet to ’tis alliance--eh? Noting: von tam noting. Terefore, Sare, I
vos appy to troubel you to hold fast your tam tongue. La Baronne tell
to me tat her M----’s modare hab not objection: terefore, vy should
nobody else hab now? Vy sall you play him debbil vid dis littel projet
ob my uncale and Stockmar, and odare some ver tere amis? It vos ter
most tamnable! I say dat, Sare! Terefore, you will be pleas to co to de
debbel! I am, Sare, “ALBERT FRANÇOISE AUGUSTE CHARLES EMANUEL.”
As a matter of fact, the announcement was premature, and the Queen had
two serious troubles to endure before she sought refuge in matrimony,
one being the Bedchamber trouble already dealt with, and the other the
Lady Flora Hastings scandal.
What had really started the belief that the marriage was settled was
the fact that two of Leopold’s confidential _hommes d’affaires_,
Monsieur Van Praet and Baron de Diestrau, came over to England in
January, and were said to have had interviews with Melbourne, to have
seen much of Lehzen, to have been agreeable to Sir James Clark and Sir
Henry Seton, and to have gone back to Brussels “to report progress
concerning the chance of planting another young Coburg in England.”
Prince George of Denmark also came to London in 1839, bringing with him
an enormous household, including a Master of the Horse, a Master of the
Robes, six Lords of the Bedchamber, and eight grooms of the Bedchamber,
all among the first people of his country. He, too, was supposed to be
looking for a wife, but he did not find one in England.
From that time on, the Queen, who was said “to be caricatured here,
charivaried there,” had to see her name daily in the papers coupled
with that of some young man or other, Albert’s name recurring often.
Lord Alfred Paget, the second son of the Marquis of Anglesey, then in
his twenty-third year, figured fairly frequently as a love-sick swain,
who wore Her Majesty’s portrait over his heart--and under his shirt
front--and, the better to assert his love, hung her miniature round the
neck of his dog. _The Satirist_ of January, 1838, asserted that
“Her Majesty must be married soon, or there will be the devil to pay,”
and went on to say, “She must be an extraordinary little creature to
turn people’s brains in this fashion. A swain has forced his way into
Buckingham Palace declaring himself to be ‘a shepherd sent from Heaven
to look after the Royal lamb.’ There are plenty of wolves in sheep’s
clothing already looking after her, and Her Majesty’s present shepherd
will have plenty to do to keep them out of the fold.”
One paragraph ran as follows, commencing with a quotation from another
paper: “‘Her Majesty having received from Germany a delicious cake,
sent it as a present to the Princess Augusta.’ This is doubtless one of
those delicate attentions which ‘my nephew Albert’ has been instructed
to despatch from Coburg through the medium of the dearly loved Baroness
Lehzen. It would have been cut up for Twelfth Night at the Palace, but
_as Lord Melbourne could not secure the character of the King_, he
refused to take a slice, so the cake was sent off to the good-natured
Princess.”’ The italics are mine.
As soon as Victoria’s accession had seemed near, the thoughts of madmen
seemed to turn to her, and from time to time one such would go to some
Royal residence that he might be crowned King, or receive his rights,
or secure a wife. One day in May, 1837, a man named Captain John Wood,
of the 10th Regiment of Foot, was found sitting on the terrace at
Kensington Palace, where the Duchess often breakfasted. A policeman
requested him to go away, but he said he had a right to be there, as he
was the real and rightful King of England, and the person at Windsor
was only the Duke of Clarence. He told the magistrate, before whom he
was taken, that his proper name was John Guelph, and that he was a son
of George IV. and Queen Caroline, being born at Blackheath, adding that
the Royal family knew all about it. He seemed perfectly sane, and being
admonished, went away.
For some time after her accession a Scotch suitor would make special
journeys to Windsor to see Queen Victoria, sometimes standing all the
morning at the door of St. George’s Chapel that he might watch her
leave after service. Then he would walk on the terrace in the afternoon
that he might have the pleasure of bowing to his liege Lady.
One, who was undoubtedly a lunatic, climbed some iron gates in the
Park, and walked across to the Castle, demanding admittance as King of
England. “Very well, your Majesty,” said the porter, “be pleased to
wait till I get my hat.” He then took him to the Castle and handed him
over to the police. He was named Stockledge, and was in a large way of
business in Manchester. On being questioned as to his motive, he said
he was like all other men who wanted wives--he was looking after one.
A third was less peaceable, for he got into the gardens of Buckingham
Palace declaring he would kill the Queen, and was sent to prison. Two
days after his release he went to Windsor and tried to enter the Castle
by breaking some panes of glass. What became of him I do not know.
Another man who tried to get into the Palace early in 1838 was rather
mixed in his ideas, for he insisted on seeing the Queen, the Duchess of
Kent, or O’Connell, “who is as good as any!”
CHAPTER X
QUEEN VICTORIA’S DISLOYAL SUBJECTS.
“We have lordlings in dozens, the Tories exclaim,
To fill every place from the throng,
Although the curs’d Whigs, be it told to our shame,
Kept us poor Lords in waiting too long.”
_Contemporary Verse._
All through this period we get pleasant glimpses of the young Queen
passing some at least of her time in a girlish way. She was a girl,
surrounded by a bevy of girls, and was very fond of dancing, for
which exercise she did not always wait for the presence of a band
in the ballroom. Count von Bülow was once staying at Windsor, being
given rooms which were directly under the Queen’s apartments, and one
afternoon he could hear Victoria singing and playing the piano. On
telling her at dinner what pleasure he had enjoyed, she looked very
concerned, for, as she later confessed to Lord Melbourne, she had
been dancing about her sitting-room with her Ladies in Waiting, and
had “been quite extravagantly merry.” She would have small impromptu
dances at Buckingham Palace, which were kept up sometimes till dawn.
Georgiana Liddell, Lady Normanby’s sister, went to one of these, and
when the dance was over the youthful Queen went out on to the roof of
the portico to see the sun rise behind St. Paul’s. The Cathedral was
distinctly visible, also Westminster Abbey, which, with the trees in
the Green Park, stood out against a golden sky.
Most of the Liddell sisters played and sang well, and the Queen was
anxious to hear the voice of the youngest of them all (and there were
many, no fewer than seventeen brothers and sisters). Georgiana, in fear
and trembling, sang one of Grisi’s favourite airs, omitting a shake at
the end through pure nervousness. The Queen noticed this, and turning
to Lady Normanby asked, “Does not your sister shake, Lady Normanby?”
“Oh, yes, Ma’am,” was the reply; “she is shaking all over.”
Sometimes, perhaps, Her Majesty was thoughtless in satisfying her
desire for pleasure; at least, Thalberg, a celebrated musician, thought
so on one occasion. He was frequently commanded to play before the
Queen, and one evening she gave him five subjects to perform. The next
day someone congratulated him on his triumph. “Triumph!” he exclaimed;
“a fine triumph to be nearly killed.”
The Queen often arranged concerts, and I have come across an
announcement of a concert which she _might_ have organised, full
of satirico-political allusions. The parenthetical additions have been
inserted by way of elucidatory notes:--
“The Vicar of Bray.” By Lord Palmerston. (An allusion to his love of
office.)
“Pray, Goody, please to Moderate.” By Lord Holland. (Lady Holland was
noted as an untiring talker.)
“The Beautiful Boy.” By Lord Morpeth.
“I that once was a Plough-Boy.” By Baron Stockmar. (In allusion to his
supposed low origin.)
“An old Man would be Wooing.” By Lord Melbourne.
“Buy a Broom!” By Baroness Lehzen. (Another allusion to low origin.)
“We are all nodding.” By Lord Glenelg.
“Oh, what a row!” By Lord Durham. (He was noted for his hot temper, and
he was then scarcely out of the Canadian turmoil.)
“The Laird o’ Cockpen.” By Sir J. Campbell. (A Scotsman who was then
English Attorney-General.)
“I’m a very knowing Prig.” By Sir James Clark.
“The King of the Cannibal Islands.” By King Leopold.
I do not know the reason for Lord Morpeth singing of a beautiful boy,
but Sir James Clark seems to have justified by some of his actions the
song chosen for him.
Though Victoria had been Queen for nearly two years, she still--to
judge from various accounts--preferred simplicity in dress, and one
story is admiringly told of her which, to an unbiassed mind, is open
to the suggestion that she did not show politeness or good taste. The
Duchess of Sutherland gave a great ball at Stafford House in honour of
the Queen, and, that she might further show the respect she felt for
her Royal mistress, she wore a most magnificent dress and glittered
with diamonds. Her Majesty went “in a simple muslin embroidered in
colours,” and, on shaking hands with her hostess, said:
“I come from my house to your palace.” This sounds too affected or too
rude to be true, but it is given by Lady Dorothy Nevill in “Under Five
Reigns.”
Victoria’s simplicity seems occasionally to have degenerated into
carelessness, for I have come across different remarks upon the way in
which she wore her shoes down at heel--remarks always accompanied with
a suggestion that there was something wrong with her feet, though that
was tempered with the addition that she walked gracefully.
When Lord Durham set England a-talking by his autocratic actions in
Canada, and was, through the demands of the Opposition, recalled, the
Duchess of Kent must have felt grief at this second failure in the
little circle of her close friends. If all that has been said was
true, she relied very largely upon the advice of Lord Durham before he
became Ambassador to St. Petersburg, for she was then in the habit of
trusting implicitly in her brother. I have seen a report of a speech
made by a Mr. Wilks, the Liberal Member for Boston in 1836, part of
which ran: “Never was there a more excellent and amiable being than the
Duchess of Kent. She consulted Lord Durham (he was the great man of the
neighbourhood), by Leopold’s desire, upon everything that belonged to
the political opinions of the Duchess and the Princess. He was asked
to prepare replies and to acknowledge communications, and everything
breathed a spirit of attachment on their part to the constitutional
rights of the people.” As Lord Durham was looked upon as the leader
of the Radical party, it is hardly to be wondered at that the Tories
disliked him and thought him a dangerous influence.
Lady Durham had been made one of the Ladies of the Bedchamber at the
accession of Victoria, drawing from the Princess Lieven the opinion
that the Queen could not have a better or a nobler woman; but when her
husband came back from Canada the Countess resigned her post, much to
the Queen’s sorrow, for she, too, was fond of the Durhams. Early in
her reign she had given Lady Durham apartments at Windsor in which
she could reside permanently, and when she was in waiting invited her
always to bring her little girl, “the most charming child,” to remain
with her. Durham died in 1840, while still a young man.
Victoria was very fond of children, and would always, if possible,
have some staying at the Palace, spending a part of each day playing
with them. She once instructed Lord Melbourne to invite Lord and Lady
John Russell to stay three days with her, saying that she “would be
delighted to see Lady Russell’s little girl, and would be very happy if
she would bring the baby also.” Poor little Lady John! not many months
later another baby brought death to her!
Occasionally the newspapers spoke of the Queen in lighter vein, and
this paragraph appeared in 1838:--“Could anything have been less
expected than to see her present Majesty, a lovely young female,
encouraging the practice of snuffing by allowing herself to be
named patron of certain snuff-shops? ‘By Special Appointment Snuff
Manufacturer to Her Majesty Queen Victoria’! What next?”
This second story appeared in a contemporary book of reminiscences.
An Irish check-taker at the Zoological Gardens told a friend that the
Queen had come once to the gardens _incog_.
“Why,” said his friend, “it is odd that we never heard of it.”
“Not at all, not at all,” replied Pat, “for she didn’t come like a
Queen, but _clane_ and dacent like any other body.”
During the year of 1839 the spite against Melbourne became stronger
and led to absurdly wild statements; indeed, the whole agitation was
the result of an acute and semi-public hysteria. His popularity with
the Queen had led the Tory papers more or less to withdraw their
support of the Crown, thus giving rise to annoying episodes, not only
in political, but in social life. It was asserted that Victoria was
surrounded with people of bad character, and though all the world, even
the journals which delighted in scandal, had acclaimed the acquittal
of Melbourne in the Norton case, the mud of the past was diligently
scraped up and flung over him, with the evident desire that some of it
would stick on the Queen. _The Morning Herald_ remarked, “It is
one of the unfortunate signs of the times that we see so many persons
of known immoral character selected for office.” To this another
paper added a list of a dozen people who were supposed to be unfit,
about many of whom no evidence of being worse than their brothers
remains. Of course, the person who heads the list is “Lord Melbourne,
dinner eater and private secretary.” He is followed by the Marquis of
Headford, who, many years earlier, had been convicted of adultery with
his wife’s sister. The Marquis of Anglesey was a third, and I suppose
it would be difficult for anyone to hold a brief for the particular
line of Anglesey lords which was extinguished so dramatically a few
years ago. Lord Palmerston had his place in the list, as it was
whispered that Lady Cowper, Melbourne’s sister, had long been his
mistress. Some time after her widowhood she married Palmerston--in
December, 1839--of which event Princess Lieven says: “She wrote to me
on the subject, and such a simple, natural, good letter, so full of
yearning for that happiness and comfort and support which every woman
needs, that I am quite convinced she is right in what she does.” Lady
Cardigan, in her recent book of reminiscences, adds to this: “She was a
perfect hostess, a charming woman, and an ideal helpmeet. At one of her
parties her son (by Lord Cowper) was presented to a foreign ambassador,
who, not understanding, looked at him and at Lord Palmerston, saying,
‘On voit bien, m’s’u, que c’est votre fils, il vous ressemble tant.’”
Upon the publication of this list of evil doers, other journals took up
the cry, and indignant paragraphs, similar to the following, appeared
on all sides.
“Is there a father in the Empire who would endure such a person as Lord
Melbourne to be perpetually by the side of a young girl? Lord Melbourne
may smile, because he had cast aside manly generosity, but we tell him
that if loyalty is becoming dull, and sneers are taking the place of
blessings; if, where the land would honour, it begins to censure, and
where it would pay homage it passes an unwelcome jest; and if, as the
result of all this, hearts grow cold, and regard only as a Ministerial
puppet one who even yet is the object of love, he will have to thank
his own selfishness for the blight he will have thus brought upon the
Crown.”
_The Glasgow Constitutional_ published an effusion upon the
indifferent Prime Minister, and in considering these articles we must
remember that if Melbourne had been a Tory he would have received
praise and approbation from these very papers, while the quiescent Whig
journals would probably have been ladling out abuse. “Even his private
conduct is in some respects national property, and by acceptance of
high office, even his personal character becomes no longer altogether
his own, but is intimately associated both with the nation and its
head. It is therefore a fair subject both of observation and comment,
and the time has now arrived when these are imperiously called for. His
present demeanour has led to most invidious remarks. It has become too
notorious to escape the most unobservant eye, and whispers of suspicion
have been poured into the dullest ear.”
Disloyalty and disrespect began to be shown openly for the Queen.
Greville, the cynic and pessimist, constantly informs us that her
people no longer cared for her. In 1838 Her Majesty was at Ascot, and
was only tolerably received by a great concourse of people; there was
some shouting, but not a great deal, and few hats taken off. “This mark
of respect has quite gone out of use, and neither her station nor her
sex secures it; we are not the nearer a revolution for this, but it is
ugly. All the world went to the Royal stand, and Her Majesty was very
gracious and civil, speaking to everybody.”
In March of the next year Greville shows how this antipathetic feeling
had increased. “The great characteristic of the present time is
indifference, nobody appears to care for anything; nobody cares for the
Queen, her popularity has sunk to zero, and loyalty is a dead letter;
nobody cares for the Government or for any man or set of men....
Melbourne seems to hold office for no other purpose but that of dining
at Buckingham House, and he is content to rub on from day to day,
letting all things take their chance. Palmerston, the most enigmatical
of Ministers, who is detested by the Corps Diplomatique, abhorred in
his own office, unpopular in the House of Commons, liked by nobody,
abused by everybody, still reigns in his little kingdom of the Foreign
Office, and is impervious to any sense of shame for the obloquy which
has been cast upon him, and apparently not troubling himself about the
affairs of the Government generally.”
Harriet Martineau adds her testimony to this state of affairs when she
notes that “some rabid Tory gentlemen have lately grown insolent, and
taken insufferable liberties with the Royal name.” This disloyalty
was indeed recognised and justified to their own satisfaction by the
Tories themselves; in alluding to Lord Melbourne one of their organs
asserted:--
“If he sees the virtuous of the land avoiding the Palace Halls and
Court receptions as they would a pestilence--if he sees even common
respect withheld from one whom, but for his despicable policy, we
should reverence and love--if he discovers that cold loyalty towards
the wearer of the Crown in these days puts the Crown itself in
jeopardy--he will then, perhaps, see the full extent of the scorn
and loathing with which he is regarded by everyone not lost to the
proprieties, decencies, and modesty of social life.”
_The Age_, probably the most virulent of all Melbourne’s paper
enemies, published an open letter to him, saying that he was exposing
the highest personage in the land to be the jest of the vicious and a
source of pity to the well-disposed. “Do you think it likely that any
other young lady who had a father or a brother to protect her would
allow a person of notorious gallantry to be constantly whispering
soft nonsense in her ear? Why, then, should the highest lady in the
realm, who, in fact, belongs to the country at large, be subjected
to what would not be allowed in any private family?... If you affect
not to know it I tell you plainly that ever since the Coronation,
the enthusiasm of the people for their young Queen has been sensibly
decreasing, owing solely to the bad advice of her Ministers.... However
unpalatable it may be, I again tell you that your constant attendance
on the Queen is unconstitutional, indecent, and disgraceful; whatever
motive you have, it is impossible to justify it. I defy you to name an
instance of any Prime Minister acting as you have done; and considering
the age and sex of the Sovereign, I denounce it as unmanly and
unprincipled. Lolling on your couch at the Palace, you may pretend to
despise these unvarnished truths; but that you are conscious of your
unwarrantable conduct was plainly evinced by the passion you flew into
when Lord Brougham so admirably twitted you with it.”
That Melbourne allowed Robert Owen, the reformer, to be presented
to the Queen was, some months after the event, used in passionate
eagerness against him. The Duke of Kent had known Owen, and at the time
of his death had been arranging to visit his co-operative settlement at
New Lanark, near Glasgow; for the Duke agreed with Owen’s principles,
so much so that he took the chair at a meeting which was called to
appoint a committee to investigate and report on Owen’s plans to
provide for the poor and to ameliorate the conditions of the working
class. Owen’s ideas had enlarged during the ten years which had
intervened, and he was in 1839 keen upon education, the disuse of arms,
the alteration of ecclesiastical law, &c. Wishing to present a petition
to Her Majesty, he approached Melbourne, who told him that the right
method of procedure was to attend a levée. This the reformer did, in
regulation white silk stockings, buckle shoes, bag-wig, and sword. He
presented his petition, no one noticed his presence or gave a thought
to it until, some time later, some speaker holding Socialistic views
won notoriety. This caused the Bishop of Exeter to present to the House
of Lords in January, 1840, a petition of his own, demanding that legal
proceedings should be taken against any person who spread Socialistic
views, and attacking Melbourne for having allowed such a man as Owen to
approach the Queen. There was a certain bitterness about this, which
was later intensified by Victoria’s attitude upon education.
The Government had, by a majority of two only, voted a sum of money
for the support of National Education, and the Lords, under the plea
of defending the National Religion, prayed the Queen that she should
give directions that no steps should be taken with respect to the
establishment of any plan of general education without giving them an
opportunity of considering such a measure.
From time immemorial, education, that is to say knowledge, has been
regarded as the sworn enemy of religion; the Catholics were afraid of
the influence of the Bible; the Protestants were, and are, equally
afraid of the influence of thought; both believe that religion can be
killed by knowledge. One of the greatest of olden philosophers affirmed
practically that the ignorant person could not be good, that goodness,
which should be synonymous with religion, could not exist without
knowledge. This really seems to be the more sensible view; the ignorant
child eats poisoned berries, the child who knows avoids them; the
ignorant man debases his body and his mind without realising what he is
doing; the man who knows enough to forecast events has at least that
safeguard against destruction. It is not too much to say that those who
believe that ignorance is the best preserver of religion do no honour
to real religion, which is an attitude of mind and not an outward
conformity to this or that view or creed.
However, this is a digression. The act of the Lords was an encroachment
upon the function of the Commons to deal with money Bills, and thus
was, as the historian says, “an attempt to overstep the limits which
the Constitution laid down.” The Queen, in her answer, expressed regret
that the Lords should have taken such a step, adding that it was with a
deep sense of duty that she thought it right to appoint a Committee of
her Privy Council to superintend the distribution of the grant voted by
the House of Commons.
Two sermons preached about this time before Her Majesty, which made
something of a stir, were a sign of the independent way in which she
was regarded by dignitaries of the Church. In one, her chaplain, Mr.
Percival, dealt with recent history, for he made his discourse take
the form of an attack upon Peel, or someone believed to be Peel,
who, he said, had sacrificed his conscience to political objects in
consenting to Catholic Emancipation. The other was more personal to
Queen Victoria, for Hook--nephew of Theodore Hook, and afterwards Dean
of Chester--announced that the Church would endure, “let what might
happen to the Throne.” On Victoria’s return to Buckingham Palace Lord
Normanby politely inquired whether Her Majesty had not found it very
hot in church.
“Yes,” she replied, “and the sermon was very hot too.”
The disaffection among the Tories was the result entirely of their
exclusion from office, and it spread all over the country. At a dinner
at Shrewsbury the company refused to drink the health of the new Lord
Lieutenant (the Duke of Sutherland) because Lady Sutherland was at the
head of the Queen’s ladies. Greville said that the leaders of the party
were too wise and too decorous to approve of such conduct, and that
it was caused by the animus of the tail and the body. James Bradshaw,
the Tory M.P. for Canterbury, made a speech at that town remarkable
for being a personal attack of the most violent and indecent kind on
the Queen, “a tissue of folly and impertinence,” which was received
with shouts of applause at a Conservative dinner, and reported with
many compliments and some gentle reprehension by the Tory Press.
Others followed, and indeed the party which thought itself injured
did its very best to prejudice Her Majesty against itself. Upon this,
Edward Horsman, the Whig Member for Cockermouth, made a speech in his
constituency, in which, alluding to Bradshaw’s _Victorippicks_,
he said that Bradshaw had the tongue of a traitor and the heart of a
coward. Six weeks later Bradshaw, who had probably been made in various
ways to feel his position keenly, sent a challenge to Horsman. George
Anson, Melbourne’s private secretary, and brother of Lord Lichfield,
acted as Horsman’s second, and Colonel Gurwood, the editor of
Wellington’s Despatches and his confidential friend, seconded Bradshaw.
There was much indignation over this, not only among the Whigs, but
among the respectable Tories, for Gurwood had just been appointed to
the Governorship of the Tower, being thus given both a pension and a
place. His excuse for going out with Bradshaw was that he had never
read the offending speech, upon which Greville remarks: “As Gurwood
is a man of honour and veracity, this must be true; but it is passing
strange that he alone should not have read what everybody else has been
talking about for the last two months, and that he should go out with a
man as his second on account of words spoken, and not inquire what they
were.” When George Anson offered to show him the speech he declined to
read it.
The two men met, shots were exchanged, and no harm done, and then
Gurwood asked if Horsman would retract. “Not until Bradshaw does, or
apologises,” was Anson’s answer.
Bradshaw seemed miserable and upset, and saying that he could not live
without honour, expressed himself ready to say anything that the two
seconds agreed upon. So George Anson drew him up an apology. Horsman
took back his words, and the matter ended.
At Ascot, in 1839, as the Queen’s cortège drove up the racecourse
it was greeted with silence, only broken by occasional hisses. Poor
little Queen! to have come to this in two years! This reception led to
silly reports with--if they were true--sillier action behind them.
The papers all got hold of some version of the same affair, and the
substance of the article that appeared in _The Morning Post_ was
that Lady Lichfield had told the Queen that two of the most prominent
among those who had thus annoyed Her Majesty were the Duchess of
Montrose and Lady Sarah Ingestre; and, further, that those two ladies
were informed--whether officially or not is not said--that the Queen
knew of their action. The Duchess and Lady Sarah immediately saw
Lady Lichfield, who denied that she had said anything about them,
and on pressure gave an explicit denial in writing. When a Ball at
Buckingham Palace followed the Ascot festivities, the two suspected of
hissing discovered that they were out of favour; so the Duchess went
to the Palace and requested an audience of Her Majesty. After being
kept waiting for two hours, the Earl of Uxbridge told her she could
not be admitted to an audience, as only Peeresses in their own right
could demand such a privilege. Upon this, her Grace insisted that
the Earl should take down in writing what she had to say and lay her
communication immediately before the Queen. So the matter rested, until
the Duke of Montrose thought it needful to open a correspondence with
Melbourne on the subject. Then on July 5th _The Times_ published a
denial of part of the report, one which by no means exonerated the two
accused ladies. “We are authorised to give the most positive denial to
a report which has been inserted in most of the public papers, that the
Countess of Lichfield informed the Queen that the Duchess of Montrose
and Lady Sarah Ingestre hissed Her Majesty on the racecourse at Ascot,
and there could have been no foundation for so unjust an accusation.”
Thus Lady Lichfield was practically cleared, but the other two suspects
were “where they were”; and the Queen? She remained under the unspoken
imputation of being pettish and injudicious. But in those days she had
not learnt the wisdom which came to her later, and when her dignity
was wounded she was often too angry to use any tact, and would let the
wound fester until it caused much ill-will.
CHAPTER XI
QUEEN VICTORIA’S TRAGIC MISTAKE
“It is really horrible that any family should be reduced to
thank God for _the blessing_ of depriving them of one of
its dearest members.”--_Lady Sophia Hastings._
“I think everyone should _own_ their fault in a kind way
to anyone, be he or she the lowest--if one has been rude to
or injured them by word or deed, especially those below you.
People will readily forget an insult or an injury when others
_own_ their fault, and express sorrow or regret at what
they have done.”--_Queen Victoria._
It was in 1839 that the most sad and regrettable event in the personal
story of Queen Victoria’s reign took place, the affair known as the
Lady Flora Hastings Scandal. Lady Flora, who was the eldest daughter of
the Marquis of Hastings and of Lady Hastings--Countess of Loudoun in
her own right--had been Lady in Waiting to the Duchess of Kent since
1834. Her name occurs as attending the Duchess at all Royal functions,
and there was a feeling of real affection between her mistress and
herself. In 1839 she was thirty-three years of age, a woman who had
proved her uprightness and sincerity, yet, because of dissension at
Court, because of the curious friction between the Queen and her
mother, she was subjected to the bitterest calumnies.
Ever since her accession the gulf between the Queen and the Duchess
had been widening, and there can be little doubt that Lehzen on the
one hand and Conroy on the other were the people who, willingly or
otherwise, were the cause of this. Victoria seems to have put the
Baroness so high in her regard as to give her the place which the
Duchess, with every justice and right, should have held. This was shown
publicly as well as privately, for I have seen a paragraph in one paper
of the day, that is to say of January, 1839, commenting upon the fact
that the Queen had been three times to the theatre, accompanied on each
occasion by the Baroness Lehzen, but not at all by the Duchess. The
two Royal ladies lived, it is true, in the same house, and the Queen’s
mother attended the Royal dinner table, and sat in the drawing-room
afterwards with her daughter’s guests; but beyond that they were
drifting towards a real and painful separation. The stories of Lehzen’s
rudeness to the Duchess were not without foundation, and her spite
against the Conroy family had in no way abated; thus, as Lady Flora was
friendly with the Conroys and was regarded as one of the “set” around
the Duchess she also was not much in favour.
In all quarrels there is some exaggeration, and some imagination as
well as some truth; there is also generally great difficulty in justly
deciding who is to blame; therefore it was only natural at the time
that there should have been many who believed the calumnies against
Lady Flora in spite of all the evidence in her favour. But to-day it is
quite certain that she is fully exculpated, that she alone comes out of
the trouble with honour.
Lady Flora returned from Scotland early in the year to her duties
about the Duchess, feeling very unwell; so much so that she consulted
Sir James Clark, physician both to the Duchess and to Her Majesty.
The medical treatment and the exercise prescribed did her good, the
swelling in her body subsided, and she thought she would soon be quite
well. But this enlargement of her figure had given rise to a certain
suspicion in the mind of the physician, which he was not man enough to
mention delicately or professionally to his patient. He thought about
it first, and then went to Lady Portman, one of the Queen’s ladies in
waiting, and told her what he believed. Hearing such a thing from the
doctor who had been in attendance upon Lady Flora made the suggestion a
fact to Lady Portman.
The story goes that she confided in Lady Tavistock, who thought it her
duty to repeat the information to Lord Melbourne, and eventually some
or all of them laid the matter before the Queen. What share Baroness
Lehzen bore in this little plot--for the way in which it was guarded
from the persons really interested gave it the semblance of a plot--it
is not easy to say, but later she was accused of being the centre of
offence. It is probable that advice was all she tendered, but if that
is so it was very bad advice, and it led the young Queen, who should
have been above all meannesses, to do that which should and did cost
her passionate regret and many tears. In the first instance, she was
impulsively harsh and suspicious; when it was proved that there was
no cause for either harshness or suspicion, she was just as repentant
and eager to make amends. But when in the bitterly disturbed state of
society the scandal grew out of hand and some signal mark was needed
from her to clear Lady Flora’s honour, all her kindliness froze. She
would neither take the blame nor allot it, but treated the whole affair
with a stony silence. This was a terrible mistake! If only she could
have put into practice the bravery of her own words, quoted at the head
of this chapter, how much better it would have been!
Once the idea of Lady Flora’s indiscretion was in Her Majesty’s mind,
her only, absolutely her only, honourable course would have been either
to see Lady Flora herself, or, if that seemed too difficult, to consult
her mother, the Duchess of Kent. But the Queen was so blinded by her
advisers or by her prejudices that she took the whole matter into
her own hands, and sent Sir James Clark to interview Lady Flora. The
following is part of a letter written about Lady Flora on March 7th by
the Marchioness of Hastings to her son-in-law, Captain Charles Henry.
[Illustration: LADY FLORA HASTINGS.]
“Sir James Clark, shocking to tell, accused her of being privately
married, and you can imagine her indignation and horror. She flatly
denied it, and then this ambassador said that nothing but a medical
examination by himself and another would ‘clear her character and
satisfy the ladies of the Court.’ From her he went to the Duchess (of
Kent), who resented the insult instantly. He was followed by Lady
Portman, who was deputed by the Queen to desire she would not appear
before her till ‘her character was cleared’ by this most revolting
proposal. The dear, dear Duchess could not make up her mind to this;
Flora desired it. Two persons have been named as those suspected of
her shame, Sir John Conroy, who has been like a father in his care of
her, and Lord Headfort, evidently as a cloak to the attempt which was
to separate Flora and the Duchess’s old and attached servant from her.
Flora persisted, and the Speaker (?) and Sir John Conroy both said she
was right, and the Duchess at last gave a reluctant consent. Flora
named Sir Charles Clarke in addition, and the strongest medical opinion
he and Sir James Clark could sign was given, to the confoundation of
those wicked persons who could so act. Flora wrote to Hastings (her
brother), who went up alone, and has behaved with a judgment and spirit
which is a cheer to me in so much misery. He went to Lord Melbourne,
and insisted on his thorough disavowal of having anything to do with
it; and asked an audience of the Queen. Lord Melbourne at first
refused, but Hastings insisted, and Hastings very respectfully but very
decidedly pointed out to Her Majesty the fallacy of such advisers, ‘be
they who they may,’ who could recommend such a course to her. Sorry
am I to say Lady Tavistock does not stand clear of wickedness and
vile gossip at least, but Lady Portman took the messages, after _a
man_ was sent to make the base attack on my poor child. The Duchess
kept by her, and refused till ample reparation was made to go either
to dinner or in the evening. To-morrow I will send you part of her
dear letter about my darling Flo. I dare add no more. The Queen sent
for Flora, the tears were in her eyes (I am glad they were so), and
expressed her sorrow. She (Flora) took it rightly, but added, ‘I must
respectfully observe, Madam, I am the first, and I trust I shall be the
last, Hastings ever so treated by their Sovereign. I was treated as if
guilty without a trial.’ She took it very well, and has been markedly
kind to her since. Sir James Clark has been dismissed by the Duchess.”
This letter from the Duchess of Kent was sent to the Countess of
Loudoun:--
“Buckingham Palace, _5th March, 1839_.”
“MY DEAR LADY HASTINGS,
“Our beloved Lady Flora will tell you all the dreadful things
that have occurred here; I will only say that no mother could
have defended a daughter more than I have done her. She is of
all her sex that being that most deserves it, and she stands
on the highest ground. This attack, my dear Lady Hastings, was
levelled at me through your innocent child. But God spared us!
“Believe me, the hour will come when the Queen will see and
feel what she has been betrayed into. When your first feeling
of indignation subsides, for mine knew no bounds, you will in
your nobleness of soul view with scorn all these proceedings. I
cannot say more. I have stood by your child and your house as if
all was my own. Believe me, with the truest affection and esteem,
“Your devoted friend,
“VICTORIA.”
Lady Flora’s first letter on this matter, written to her sister and
brother-in-law, runs as follows:--
“MY DEAR CHARLES AND SELINA,
“Though I know neither of you would ever believe (were the
Angel Gabriel to reveal it to you) anything evil of old Flo, I
must not let you hear from others the horrible conspiracy from
which it has pleased God to preserve me. It is evidently got
up by Lehzen, who has found willing tools in Ladies Tavistock
and Portman and Sir James Clark; evidently ultimately directed
against the Duchess (of Kent), though primarily against me.
The means employed were to blacken my character, and represent
me to be--I can scarce write the words!--with child! I have no
time for particulars to-day, but will write you fully to-morrow.
I have come out gloriously. I underwent as they demanded,
and the Queen urged by them did also, the most rigid medical
examination, and have the fullest certificate of my innocence,
signed by Sir James Clark and Sir Charles Clarke. My Duchess
could not have been kinder had she been my mother; she is one
of the noblest of human beings--Hastings came to town instantly
and behaved like an angel, with such judgment and affection!
All my real friends have been very true to me and very kind
to me. I would not write thus hurriedly, but I hear it has
reached the Clubs, and I fear your learning it from another
source, and being anxious about me. It made me very ill for two
or three days, I was so shocked and shattered. The poor Queen
was sadly misled in the business; she did not know what she did
and sanctioned; she is very sorry. I hear at the Clubs they
have named two or three names with mine; one is poor Sir John
Conroy’s. How infamous. No one, thank God, however, is disposed
to think ill of our father and mother’s child, nor has my
conduct been such as to encourage evil thoughts of me, and I am
told people are vehement at the insult I have received.”
Lady Flora complained of the way in which this examination was
conducted, and her maid, who was present, spoke of the roughness and
indecency shown. Later, when she was delirious, she accused the doctors
who attended her of saying she was like a married woman. During the
preliminaries Sir Charles Clarke, a specialist in midwifery, said
kindly, “Lady Flora’s answers are so satisfactory that we need proceed
no further,” to which “that brute, Sir James Clark” (to quote from Lady
Sophia) answered, “If Lady Flora is so sure of her innocence, she can
have no objection to what is proposed.”
There was little chance of keeping such an affair quiet. From club
to newspaper was but a step, and by the 10th of March Lady Adelaide
Hastings, a sister of Lady Flora, wrote: “It is known all over London,
and _The Morning Post_, though without the names, spoke so
distinctly of the whole occurrence that there is no hiding it, even
were there any advantage in so doing. In the whole truth there is
nothing that is not honourable to all but the Queen, her Ladies, and
Sir James Clark. The Duchess (of Kent), whose conduct has been most
kind and like a mother to our dear sister, and who bitterly feels the
insult, dismissed him from her household immediately. He is a wretch
to have allowed himself to be put forward as the tool of those base
women, and as a man and a physician has acted infamously. The Queen has
not yet dismissed him, but I think she must, at least if she has any
regard to public opinion, which loudly calls at least for his disgrace.
The Queen has been misled and duped, I think. I cannot believe that
she knew all that was said in her name, or that the message Lady
Portman brought us, as from her, had her real sanction. One would
think nineteen was too young for a woman so to forget what was due to
a mother, and to have so little regard for the feelings of one she
had lived in intimacy with. You will be grieved to hear that Lord
Harewood’s daughter (Lady Portman) could have acted as Lady Portman
has done, but she acted very ill. After giving the Queen’s message to
Flora (and, observe, it was not till after Sir James Clark’s insulting
charge), she went ‘by command’ to communicate it to the Duchess, on
whose saying, ‘She knew Flora and her family too well to listen to such
an imputation of that kind on her,’ Lady Portman insisted on asserting
it, as Flora says in her letter, ‘with a degree of pertinacity
amounting to violence.’ The Duchess refused to see her again. The
Duchess wrote Mamma a letter full of affection for Flora, and praise of
her conduct, and evidently bitterly feeling the Queen’s conduct. She
came and sat with Flora in her room that evening to try and comfort
her, and has indeed all along been most affectionate, but it is a sad
thing to feel that because they are so faithful to her, her friend and
servant must be exposed to indignity from her daughter. It was the 16th
of last month this took place. The Duchess and Flora stayed in her own
apartments for a week, as she said she would not associate with the
rest of the inhabitants of the Palace, till proper apologies had been
made. She was then induced to receive their ample apologies, as the
Minister (the Duke of Wellington,[5] who Flora says has behaved kindly
and like a good soldier) represented that it would injure the Queen if
she held out any longer.”
So far as this the matter was a most unhappy mistake, caused by gossip
and uncharitableness on the part of some, and by ignorance and an
unnatural prejudice on the part of the Queen. Had Victoria taken some
means, in addition to that of expressing her sorrow, of showing that
the blame was on her side, things would have smoothed down, and we
might never have heard of the affair. But she did nothing. The watching
public began to grow curious; if neither the doctor nor the two ladies
were sufficiently to blame to warrant dismissal, had there been some
truth in the charge after all? it not unnaturally asked. The two
following extracts from letters written by Lady Sophia Hastings show
the next stage of the scandal. They are hard and revengeful, and give
an impression of being the reflex of the prevailing bitter political
agitation as much as the result of the injury to the family.
“---- have given up Sir James Clark as their physician, and many
medical men have refused to meet him in consultation, as they, and Sir
Henry Halford among them, say he has cast an odium on the profession.
I hear they cried out, either in the Park or in the Theatre, to the
Queen, ‘Dismiss Lady Portman,’ and on Saturday she was hissed in the
Park. I hope this may bring her to her senses, and make her give up
the unfit people who are about her. The Royal Family have felt very
properly about this. Princess Sophia sent Mamma a message through Dr.
Doyle, who had seen her, expressive of her sympathy, and the Duchess of
Gloucester spoke in the same way, both reprobating the conduct of the
Queen. Even Lord Melbourne’s friends say, ‘It was a great oversight not
to dismiss Sir James Clark.’ The report is, _he_ says, ‘they dare
not dismiss him for fear of his telling things.’”
Again: “I am so angry with the whole pack. As long as they thought they
could keep matters quiet, and hide their own disgrace, they were all
so amiable, and the Queen so gracious to Flora. Since her family have
resented the affront, Her Majesty takes no notice, pays her not the
slightest attention for weeks, till after she was so ill she had two
medical men attending her for days, Her Majesty sends to inquire for
her. The child’s notice is worth nothing, but it shows the disgusting
meanness of the clique. Lady Tavistock keeps _rubbing against_
Flora at parties, following her, and trying to force herself on her
acquaintance. None of them appear _in the least_ sensible of
the generous forbearance which has spared their public disgrace and
conviction for the sake of their families. They go on as if _they_
were injured. Oh, how I hate them!”
This attitude of the Queen, who was evidently determined that she would
dismiss no one, and do nothing that would satisfy the public that Lady
Flora was innocent, and who resented the demand upon her that she
should do so as much as the Hastings resented the charge made against
a member of their family, led to very bad results. Before the end of
March gossip had but one theme, and that was the probable guilt of Lady
Flora Hastings. The talk was not confined to London; Paris, Brussels,
and Vienna were discussing the matter with interest; so much so that
Captain Hamilton FitzGerald, who had married Lady Charlotte Rawdon,
sister of the late Marquis of Hastings, wrote a letter to _The
Examiner_, which was copied into all the other papers. It was a
temperate, fair, and clear account of what had taken place, throwing no
imputation upon anyone; and it included the following paragraph about
Victoria: “Lady Flora is convinced that the Queen was surprised into
the order which was given, and that Her Majesty did not understand what
she was betrayed into; for, ever since the horrid event, Her Majesty
has shown her regret by the most gracious kindness to Lady Flora, and
expressed it warmly, with ‘tears in her eyes.’”
Captain FitzGerald was considerably blamed by various people for
this letter, so much so that two months later--an evidence of the
continuance of the scandal, which had by that time assumed very serious
proportions--he wrote a second and a third letter, which he sent to the
Marchioness of Hastings, as well as copies to Flora Hastings’ brother,
begging that they should be shown to everyone interested. They ran as
follows:--
“Brussels, _May 30th, 1839_.
“I have been blamed by so many people for having made (as they
say) an unnecessary exposure of the outrage inflicted on Lady
Flora Hastings at Buckingham Palace that I think it necessary
to explain why I published a narrative of the principal facts
attending it. I was living at Brussels when it occurred;
everyone there knew of it before I did. On the 13th of March I
received a letter from England giving me a minute detail of what
had happened, from which I thought there could not be a doubt of
her innocence, and that her brother had fully done his duty. I
was soon undeceived. Letters poured in upon me from all quarters
containing the same injurious reports. I found that Lord
Hastings’ proceedings were unknown, except in his own circle,
and at Buckingham Palace; that he was abused in the London Clubs
for not having acted with sufficient spirit, and that infamous
stories were circulated about his sister, under the old plea of
propagating lies with strictest injunctions to secrecy. Everyone
except her own family are acquainted with them. Whenever I tried
to trace them to their source,
I was met by the same answer: ‘I cannot give up my authority,
and I must beg of you not to quote me, but I assure you the
report is very generally believed.’ It was said that the present
was at least the second error, as when she left Buckingham
Palace last year she was certainly pregnant. Bets were laid on
the time when her situation would force her to ‘bolt’ from the
Palace! At Vienna it was believed on the 15th of March that she
had remained an hour on her knees begging mercy of the Queen,
and that Lord Hastings having, as a Peer, forced his way into
the Royal presence, had upbraided Her Majesty, who made him no
answer, but curtsied and retired when his tirade was over! I
immediately went to England; when I arrived in London I found
all these reports in circulation. Lady Flora’s family were not
in town, and the generality of indifferent people were inclined
to believe them. The known fact that no one of the Queen’s
household had been punished for the insult she had received
seemed to say that the Government did not think her assailants
deserved punishment, or, in other words, that she had not been
ill-treated by them. The inference from which was, that she
had been favoured and spared from motives of humanity. Nothing
seemed to me to prevent the complete establishment of this
opinion, but the prompt punishment which the Duchess of Kent
had inflicted on Sir James Clark by dismissing him from Her
Royal Highness’s household. I landed in the City, and remained
there many days to ascertain what judgment the respectable
and unprejudiced citizens had passed on the case. I consulted
with many persons, and by their assistance was present at
many discussions held by people who did not know me, at those
respectable houses where men of business pass their evenings,
and discuss the news and speculations. I found public opinion
was universally against Lady Flora. The general idea was that
‘she had been treated with unnecessary harshness,’ that she
‘should have been got quietly out of the way,’ that ‘such things
occurred every day in palaces, people who place their daughters
in them must take the consequences of doing so.’ It was often
said ‘her brother would not have been so quiet if he had not
known that more than he liked would have come out if the thing
had not been hushed up.’ I concluded that the opinion of the
people at large was the same as that of the people of London,
as they were both acted on by the same fallacious evidence,
anonymous statements in newspapers; and I was confirmed in my
original opinion that it was the duty of Lady Flora’s family
to extinguish all false reports by publishing a full statement
of the case, and openly challenging contradiction. I felt that
Lord Hastings could not do himself justice in publishing his
own acts, and that delicacy, brotherly love, and family pride
might prevent him from being sufficiently accurate and minute in
stating his sister’s wrongs. I therefore determined to publish
it myself.
“HAMILTON FITZGERALD.”
To the Marchioness of Hastings (Countess of Loudoun) Captain FitzGerald
wrote:--
“DEAR LADY HASTINGS,--The manner in which I find
myself avoided by ‘serviles’ for having exposed their infamy
made it necessary for me to write my reasons for publishing. I
sent Hastings a copy of it, and I now send you one. I have no
idea of publishing it, unless unforeseen circumstances do not
make it useful to do, but I beg of you either to show it, or
give a copy of it to anyone you choose. My first was a statement
of the facts, this is one of the lies of the infamous; the
actors knew that Flora’s established character would show off
their filth, so they tried to sap it. I have both Lady Portman’s
and Lady Tavistock’s statement of their conduct. By the former
it appears the doctor went _of his own accord_ to tell
his suspicions to Lady Portman, and asked her opinion. This
proves breach of trust, plotting, and malignity. Why, if he
had suspicions, did he not go to the Duchess of Kent? No! that
would have stopped his agitation. Why did Lady Portman reduce
an unanswerable examination into a doubtful consultation of
physicians on the state of Flora’s health? Because she knew it
would have answered all the lies in circulation about former
misconduct. But, bad as all this is, it is not as bad as Lady
Tavistock’s conduct. She says when she heard the reports in
February she wished to have spoken of them to Flora, but was
prevented by circumstances, and it became her duty to tell the
Prime Minister of them. What, I should like to know, prevented
her speaking to Flora? It could be nothing but a combination
having decided that neither Flora nor her Royal Mistress should
be informed of what was going on. Lord Melbourne, having been
informed of it, should either have stopped it, or informed
the Duchess of it, if he believed the report. I think Lady
Tavistock’s short note would convict her and Lord Melbourne
before any court in London.”
Of course, these letters present the case from one side; the pity is
that nothing remains in the way of evidence upon the other. The Queen
seems to have thought that the private expression of her sorrow was
sufficient. She did not realise, or she chose to ignore, that her very
position made the matter a public one, and that the whole country was
talking about and discussing the probability of Lady Flora’s guilt.
Either she herself had taken too great a part in the humiliation of
Lady Flora to allow herself to show displeasure to anyone without being
unjust, or she was obstinately determined to do and say no more to
clear her mother’s friend and servant, or she was screening one of her
own people. Lady Flora’s reputation would probably have suffered all
through a long life had she lived, because of the Queen’s silence and
disregard, but the illness which had afflicted her early in the year
returned, and she died in July.
Of this the Tories, who were, as has been said, in an excited,
disaffected state, made great capital. Their papers announced the
illness of Lady Flora, but ignored the mention of any specific disease;
she was raised to the position of a martyr that the Queen might be the
more effectually denounced. “Poor girl! the wound has not been healed,
and the calumniated lady is sinking under a blow inflicted by the yet
unpunished slanderers, who still seek the favour of the Sovereign
in the very Palace where the victim of their fiendish and indelicate
malignity is lying with breaking heart and bowed down spirit. She has
borne up nobly against the flood of demonised falsehood which has been
let loose upon her; now Nature can no longer sustain the contest, and
the body is prostrated by the agony of the mind. We dare not trust
ourselves to speak as we feel, but this we will say, that if Lady Flora
Hastings die, her death will fling a blight upon the Palace, which
Royal banquetings will never overcome, and regal smiles never make to
pass away.”
This is but a sample of many articles and paragraphs. The Baroness
Lehzen, though her name had not publicly appeared in the trouble,
was regarded generally as the most obnoxious person about the Court,
probably because she was never known to give counsel, and yet was
believed to be always whispering in the ear of the Queen.
Lord Tavistock and Lord Portman both wrote to the papers in defence of
their wives, the former denying that Lady Tavistock had taken any part
in the Flora Hastings trouble; the latter asserting that Lady Portman
did, on that painful occasion, neither more nor less than her duty
towards the Court, towards Lady Flora Hastings herself, and towards the
people of England, to whom, while in waiting upon her Sovereign, she
was constitutionally responsible. Lord Portman, however, went further
than this, if newspaper correspondents are to be believed. On the 3rd
of April he took the chair when the Guardians of the Blandford district
dined together; and on his wife’s health being drunk he in his reply
alluded to Lady Flora Hastings, saying that the conduct of Lady Portman
required no vindication, as a few months would testify.
With such hardness as this around her, one understands that the Queen
may also have grown somewhat hard; yet even if Lady Portman did not
credit the doctors’ certificate, the Queen could not have ignored it.
It is only possible to think that she did not understand what the
results of her own inaction must be; yet from the beginning there were
many who would have echoed Greville’s biting comment on the affair had
they heard it:--
“It is certain that the Court is plunged in shame and mortification at
the exposure, that the Palace is full of bickerings and heart-burning,
while the whole proceeding is looked upon by society at large as to the
last degree disgusting and disgraceful. It is really an exemplification
of the saying that kings and valets are made of the refuse clay of
creation; for though such things sometimes happen in the servants’
hall, and housekeepers charge stillroom and kitchen maids with frailty,
they are unprecedented and unheard-of in good society, and among
people in high or even in respectable stations. It is inconceivable
how Melbourne can have permitted this disgraceful and mischievous
scandal, which cannot fail to lower the character of the Court in the
eyes of the world. There may be objections to Melbourne’s extraordinary
domiciliation in the Palace, but the compensation ought to be found
in his good sense and experience preventing the possibility of such
_tricasseries_ as these.”
In June, Lady Flora suffered from what was regarded as a bilious
fever, from which she seemed to be recovering; but it returned,
and the vomiting weakened her so much that her physician--Dr.
Chambers--suggested that some relatives should come to stay with her
at the Palace. So her sister, Lady Sophia, went, and was there until
all was over; and so filled with bitterness was she at the treatment
given to Lady Flora that she would not have a bed prepared for her, but
rested when necessary on the sofa.
Lady Portman was said to be in great distress of mind during the last
illness of her victim, but it was not sufficient to prevent her from
amusing herself in the gay world, and she seems to have made some
remarks which aggravated the injury which she had done. Lady Selina
Henry, another sister, wrote while Flora was ill:--“In a letter from
Sophia to me there is a speech of Lady Portman’s repeated so gross that
she must be a beast; Flora says, ‘As for Ladies Tavistock and Portman,
I can never open my lips to them again.’ I think she knows this horror
that Lady Portman has said.”
[Illustration: LADY PORTMAN.]
Lady Tavistock seems to have felt some compunction in having
interfered, for the day before Flora died her doctor received the
following clumsy and ineffective note from Lord Tavistock:--
“Spring Gardens, _July 4th, 1839_.
“DEAR DR. CHAMBERS,--If you see a favourable
opportunity, Lady Tavistock wishes much you would say a kind
word for her to Lady F. Hastings, towards whom she has not
only never harboured an unkindly thought, but has been deeply
interested in her well-being. She has been greatly distressed
by the cruel and unfounded attacks that have so long been made
upon her in some newspapers, and it would afford her pleasure to
be able to convey a message of kindness to your patient, if you
think it could be done without disturbing her; but you will, of
course, exercise your own judgment and discretion about naming
the subject to her.--Yours truly, TAVISTOCK.”
Dr. Chambers took this letter to Lady Sophia Hastings, who returned the
following answer:--
“If I would have given the message, it is now beyond her comprehension,
but you may say--if it would be any consolation to Lady Tavistock--I
refer her to the Bishop of London.” In telling her mother of this
reply, Sophia adds, “I hear Princess Sophia was enchanted when Lady
Cornwallis told her this yesterday. She is very anxious to know if
anything of regret had been expressed.”
As to this matter of regret, though it was expressed for the death of
Flora Hastings, it was, as far as I can find out, only once connected
with any allusion to the scandal. The Queen sent for Dr. Chambers and
saw him alone, though the Baroness was in the next room. Her Majesty
seemed much subdued, and after thanking him for the report he had sent,
expressed her sorrow that suffering had been added to bodily illness.
Lady Sophia commented upon this:--
“I told him I was very glad Her Majesty should have appeared to feel,
and that she had done me the honour to enquire for me this morning.
The Duchess of Gloucester was very much displeased she had not done it
before, tho’ I believe she sent down that sad Friday morning, when I
was collecting poor Flora’s things, and I have an indistinct idea of
sending some answer, or Reichenbach (Lady Flora’s maid) did for me.”
A State ball arranged for Friday, June 28th, was postponed because of
“the melancholy state of Lady Flora Hastings,” and a Royal banquet
arranged for July 4th, the day on which Lady Flora died, was also
countermanded. The Countess of Loudoun wrote some impassioned letters
to the Queen, which eventually drew from Lord Melbourne the response
that the Queen had acknowledged the unhappy error to Lady Flora, and
it was not intended that any other step should be taken. This decision
was, most unfortunately, adhered to. It may be that Melbourne, always
praised for his generosity of mind, may have urged a different course
upon his Royal mistress, and that she, swayed by less wise counsels or
by her own pride, would not heed him. But it seems never to have been
acknowledged by the Court that the terrible publicity given to the
affair, which had been eagerly seized upon in the interest of party by
the Press, had altered the whole matter, and that action of some sort
was imperatively demanded. Lord Melbourne, who hated rows, who was
inclined to concede too much rather than too little to obtain peace,
and who was one of the justest and kindest of men, must have suffered
torment through this period.
If only Her Majesty had been royal enough and wise enough to have made
public the affair from her point of view, and, if she shrank from
ruining a man like Clark by dismissing him, have boldly said that she
could not do it, this matter would not have remained to burden her
thoughts with shame; but she wrapped herself in an inadequate covering
of dignity, trying to believe the antiquated saying that a Queen can do
no wrong. As a matter of fact, Dr. Clark entirely lost his reputation
with the public over this matter, and there is something pathetic in
the request Victoria made to Albert before their marriage:
“I have a request to make too, viz., that you will appoint poor Clark
your physician; you need not consult him unless you wish it. It is only
an honorary title, and would make him very happy.” Whether the Prince
did this I do not know. To the end of the Queen’s life this tragic
affair must have pained Her Majesty; and she certainly wished it to be
forgotten by everyone, for never anywhere is there given any mention
of it. It is ignored in most of the “lives” of Her Majesty, and every
scrap of allusion to it is withdrawn from her own letters and writings;
she herself later wrote of destroying most of the letters which
belonged to that, “the most unsatisfactory” period of her life. It must
not be forgotten that the deepest injury of all was inflicted by those
who were the first to make this matter public, that is to say, by those
who first reported it, for unworthy reasons, in the public Press. Many
mistakes as bad as this have been made and atoned for--in private, and
the sense of injury has disappeared; but when all the world knows of a
shameful thing, then the atonement should be public.
When Lord Hastings paid the doctors and nurses, his money was returned
with the information that handsome fees had been received. Lady Flora’s
maid showed him a brooch and a banknote for £50, which she offered
to put in the fire; this he advised her not to do, so she banked it.
Though it is not asserted in so many words, it is implied that the
Queen had taken this way of showing her compunction. The presents to
the maid had been conveyed to her through Viscountess Forbes. Lady
Sophia, anxious as she was all through to show the keenness of her
resentment, secured another note of the same amount, put it in an
envelope, and returned it through the same channel. Of Lady Forbes,
Sophia writes bitterly in the following letter, in which she also
emphasises the painful position of the Duchess of Kent:--
“I found Dr. Chambers knew _nothing accurately_ of Sir James
Clark’s conduct, so I told him the real state of the case; and as at
Harewood and at Lord Tavistock’s they had not told him the facts, I
did. I parted from him with more feeling of regret than I did from
anyone else. I saw the poor Duchess of Kent, who is ‘floored,’ I think.
She was very kind to me, and about all of us; but she is beat down, she
can fight no longer, and she will soon be completely under orders. I
saw Fanny Forbes (Viscountess Forbes) and cleared my mind to her of her
conduct. I cannot say that there was much good feeling in her going to
the Opera every night, tho’ the Queen told her she need not; and tho’
she came in when she came back, her flighty, flirty, lively manner,
just out of the world, jarred horribly with one’s feelings. When one
night she came in with a _jaunty_ step, we had just kept Flora
from a fainting fit, and had sent off for Mr. Merriman, as he had told
us such an attack might at any time prove fatal. When Mr. M---- came
I said, ‘Thank God it is only a fainting fit,’ and he said in such a
melancholy way, ‘_Only_ a fainting fit, Lady Sophia, and who could
tell how that might end?’ And Lady Forbes says she loved Flora like a
sister, and anxiety and watching has afflicted her health! She offered
to give back the hair Reichenbach gave her [after Lady Flora was dead],
but will not take out that given her by the Queen. I told her that hair
was probably false, as I could not trace how the Queen got it, but that
she did not care for. The Duchess of Kent did _not_ give it, for I
asked her.”
To remove entirely any lingering feeling of doubt, Lady Sophia caused a
post-mortem examination to be made, that a definite name might be given
to the illness which brought about her sister’s death, and she writes
thus of it to her mother:
“I have to hope, my beloved mother, that I shall not be so unhappy
as to incur your displeasure, or to have added to your agony, but if
it be, on me be the blame, for no one suggested it to me. I proposed
it to Hastings, and indeed it was due to the medical men who have
been so very attentive, and that was an ‘examination.’ It took place
at 6 o’clock yesterday evening, as late as it was possible. One was
proposed, but Chambers would put it off to a later hour. I left her at
once when he came, having wished her good-bye, and put round her neck
the locket with your and Papa’s hair, and I said that I trusted to him
that it remained there. He burst into tears, and promised me. John
remained the whole time out of respect while the surgeons were there,
and it was only a slight operation, no uncovering, nothing to wound the
feelings, not so bad as Sir James Clark. She was merely uncovered over
her stomach, as if it were a wound in her side. John put the locket on
her the last thing with his own hands, and he, Charles, and Hastings
are at the Palace every night and day, and Reichenbach and the nurse
sit up. _Every_ respect is shown. God bless you. I am late.”
There were five doctors present at the examination, Drs. Chambers,
Holland, and Merriman, Sir A. Cooper and Sir B. Brodie. The last
officiated, and it was found that Flora Hastings died from enlargement
of the liver, which, pressing downwards, produced enlargement of the
abdomen and inflammation.
It was curious that _The Times_, then devoted to Tory influence,
should have struck a different note from the other Tory papers, and
have asked, somewhat pertinently, though much to the anger of the
Hastings family, “Did the Ladies of the Bedchamber cause the liver
complaint of which Lady Flora Hastings died?”
The death of the maligned lady brought public indignation up to
fever-heat, and the Queen wisely remained in her Palace, for to be
hissed in the street is worse than to be forced to sit silently under
a parson who has licence to outrage all one’s cherished ideas. At the
Opera one night someone asked the box-keeper if Her Majesty would be
present, and the man replied:
“Oh, no; she dare not come!”
As for the Ministry, it was deeply depressed at the whole occurrence,
and Lady Cowper told someone that her brother, Lord Melbourne, felt
that its tragic ending was the worst blow the Government had so far
received.
Lady Flora was buried at Loudoun by her own wish, for she had said, “I
do not think I shall ever look upon Loudoun again, and I wish to be
taken there. Under other circumstances I should have said, ‘let the
tree lie where it falls,’ but as it is I wish to lie there.”
At four o’clock in the morning of Wednesday, July 12th, the coffin
was removed from Buckingham Palace. The Guards and Life Guards were
under arms all Tuesday night and Wednesday morning to show respect to
the dead woman, but there was also a tremendous body of police, who
accompanied the sad procession as far as Temple Bar, where they gave
place to the City police. This was done, Sophia Hastings was told, to
prevent the Queen’s carriage from being pulled to pieces, of which she
says, “which I never expected.” The fact that the Royal carriage was
to follow was kept so secret that the rest of the Royal family did
not know what to do. The whole matter had been so turned to party
uses that they did not like to show this public mark of respect if the
Queen did not set the example. The Duchess of Gloucester found out in
time, and she vexed the Duke of Cambridge very much by not letting him
know. Princess Sophia was the only one who followed her own wishes
irrespective of the actions of her niece, saying contemptuously of the
others that they were but timeservers to care what the Queen did.
Though the hour of the start had been given as six, there was a great
and silent crowd collected to watch the carriages pass at four o’clock,
hats being lifted all along the route. Many comments of a strong
nature were uttered; thus one respectable-looking man pointed with
his stick to Her Majesty’s carriage, saying, “What is the use of her
gilded trumpery after she has killed her?” A policeman hearing this,
went up and looked the man in the face, probably hoping to recognise
or to remember him. Another man was heard to say, “Ah, there’s the
victim, but where’s the murderer?” Sophia Hastings, who retailed these
incidents with relish, said of the drive through London: “Not one thing
pained me; the feeling was respect to her, and compassionate respect
to myself, and total absence of bustle, noise, or any confusion. Even
at the wharf you might have felt in a chapel, and I am told many were
disappointed” (probably that there was no disturbance).
The following letter was sent by the Duchess of Kent, three weeks after
the calamity, to Lady Selina Henry:--
“Buckingham Palace, _July 27th, 1839_.
“MY DEAR LADY SELINA,--My servant returned only the
day before yesterday, or I would have written to you sooner
to enquire how your excellent mother was after that most sad
ceremony. I feel quite sure it is not necessary I should tell
you how sincerely I felt for her, for you, and your sisters on
that melancholy day. Also your poor sister Sophia; I fear she
was very unwell on that day. Your and my severe loss appears to
me still a dream! Alas! a very painful dream. I shall be very
much obliged to you and your sister Adelaide to let me know how
you are all. I heard from your dear sister Sophia to-day that
your mother is still at Loudoun. I hope she will soon be able to
go near the sea. Be so good as to give her my most affectionate
regards, also to remember me most kindly to your sister, and to
give my compliments to Captain Henry, who I am sorry I did not
see before I left town. I was really not in a state to see him.
Your dear sister Sophia was not very well when she left town,
but I hope the change of air and scene will be very beneficial
to her. I hope, my dear Lady Selina, you will not quite forget
the friend of our beloved Flora, and believe me always to remain,
“Your very sincere friend, VICTORIA.”
Lady Hastings died six months after her daughter. Sir James Clark did
his best to prove himself innocent of all harshness and indiscretion,
but the attempt was not very satisfactory. He retained the Queen’s
favour until he died, in 1870. Lady Portman also held Her Majesty’s
friendship until 1865, when her death occurred. As for Victoria, she
never, as has been said, broke her silence, and something like general
hatred was felt for Baroness Lehzen, who was believed to have been her
adviser all through. As Sir Sidney Lee says in his Biography of the
Queen, however cogently Victoria’s attitude might be explained, the
affair “came near proving a national calamity through the widespread
hostility which it provoked against the Court.”
Urged by some members of his family, the Marquis of Hastings sent a
full account of all that had occurred to the _Morning Post_, his
letter occupying eleven columns, and in this Melbourne was entirely
exculpated, also Baroness Lehzen, but it did not elucidate the name
of the person with whom the first suggestion arose; many believed the
Queen’s youthfully autocratic ways were at the root of the offence,
while others did their best to distribute the blame.
Lady Flora was the author of many pretty verses, and her collected
poems were published after her death. The following, “Lady Flora
Hastings’ Bequest,” which was found among her papers, was not, however,
included in the collection:--
“Oh, let the kindred circle,
Far in our Northern land,
From heart to heart draw closer
Affection’s strength’ning band;
To fill my place long vacant,
Soon may our loved ones learn;
For to our pleasant dwelling
I never shall return.
Peace to each heart that troubled
My course of happy years;
Peace to each angry spirit
That quenched my life in tears!
Let not the thought of vengeance
Be mingled with regret;
Forgive my wrongs, dear Mother!
Seek even to forget.
Give to the friend, the stranger,
Whatever once was mine,
Nor keep the smallest token
To wake fresh tears of thine,
Save one, one loved memorial,
With thee I fain would leave;
’Tis one that will not teach thee
Yet more for me to grieve.
’Twas mine when early childhood
Turn’d to its sacred page
The gay, the thoughtless glances
Of almost infant age;
’Twas mine through days yet brighter,
The joyous years of youth,
When never had affliction
Bow’d down mine ear to truth.
’Twas mine when deep devotion
Hung breathless on each line
Of pardon, peace, and promise
Till I could call them mine;
Till o’er my soul’s awakening
The gift of Heavenly love,
The spirit of adoption
Descended from above.
Unmarked, unhelped, unheeded,
In heart I’ve walked alone;
Unknown the prayers I’ve uttered,
The hopes I held unknown.
Till in the hour of trial,
Upon the mighty train,
With strength and succour laden,
To bear the weight of pain.
Then, Oh! I fain would leave thee,
For now my hours are few,
The hidden mine of treasure,
Whence all my strength I drew,
Take, then, the gift, my mother;
And, till thy path is trod,
Thy child’s last token cherish,
It is the Book of God.”
It is interesting to know that Sir James Clark was a Navy doctor, who
by the friendship of King Leopold was placed in the household of the
Duchess of Kent in 1834, and as Navy doctors have no practice among
women, he could have known very little about the matter when he so
rashly judged Lady Flora Hastings. For the last ten years of his life
he lived at Birk Hall, Bagshot Park, which was lent him by the Queen.
By those who knew him he was regarded as an estimable, upright man.
CHAPTER XII.
QUEEN VICTORIA’S LOVE.
“The noble Duke knows he is a Protestant; all England
knows he is a Protestant; the whole world knows he is a
Protestant.”--_Melbourne._
“There is no prohibition as to marriage with a Catholic. It is
only attended with a penalty, and that penalty is _merely the
forfeiture of the Crown_.”--_Brougham._
Wherever the blame of the Flora Hastings affair lay, it must be
admitted that with it and the Bedchamber squabble the Queen had had a
nerve-breaking time. If the people had shown in a vague way before that
they were passing judgment upon her, they now did not fail to announce
that the judgment was a thing assured. Her Drawing Rooms and Levées
were almost deserted; there were whispers that she was running heavily
into debt. “It is probable that before 1841 the help of a now powerful
house will be required.”
“She’s not in debt--tho’ some have said it, or
If, why then I’m not a creditor.”
was a couplet that it was pretended was the work of Sir John Conroy.
In addition to this there were rumours that the split between the
Queen and her mother was complete, that disputes constantly took place,
and that the Duchess was feeling anew the slights put upon Sir John
Conroy: “There are insinuations that the Duchess of Kent is malignantly
enraged at the removal of Sir John Conroy, and that there are deep
dissensions between mother and daughter,” is one paragraph of many.
When we remember that the animus against Sir John was believed to be
one of the reasons for showing so much indelicate harshness to Lady
Flora Hastings, it is easy to understand that the Duchess would have
liked to bring the matter of Conroy to a head once for all.
Melbourne had been gravely troubled by Victoria’s display of temper and
self-will over the Bedchamber question, and reports were now current
everywhere of scenes of bad temper at the Palace; “even noble dames can
brook no longer the rebuffs and contumely to which they are exposed.”
“Tudor tempest bursts,” was the expression used by one journal.
At the end of August Leopold and his Queen came to England, staying at
Ramsgate, and it was asserted that the visit had the express purpose
of an attempt to reconcile the Queen and the Duchess of Kent, though
before the King of the Belgians went away it was said that both he and
Lord Melbourne were suffering from the Queen’s unevenness of temper; to
which was added the news that the Duchess intended to go abroad for a
time.
Poor little Queen! When we private people have gone through a period of
shock and trouble, so that our nerves are all a-jangle, we indulge our
little tempest-bursts, are rude to those about us and let the trouble
wear itself away, without more than half-a-dozen people knowing or
caring about it. But this imperious and wilful girl could utter no word
that was not reported outside; in spite of her youth she was expected
to be perfect, and when she proved entirely human and sometimes
wrong-headed, the whole nation talked of it as a crime.
Only a year and a bit had passed since she had said that she would
not marry for two or three years, yet now she was wondering where to
look for sympathy and support. Of course, it was not the helpful hand
of a husband that she needed, she was quite sure of that, and yet
subconsciously this solution must have presented itself to her mind; so
much so that a little earlier she had felt it necessary to impress once
more upon her uncle that she did not mean yet to take the important
step. It was in the midst of the indignation which followed Lady Flora
Hastings’s death that she wrote again to Leopold on this subject,
probably in answer to a letter from him urging the marriage. She said
that she was anxious that the family should understand that even if she
should like Albert she would make no final promise during that year
and would not marry for two or three years. She spoke of her youth,
her _great repugnance_ to change her position, and the fact that
no anxiety was shown in the country for her marriage. The following
paragraph is natural in one who had been practically disposed of in her
childhood and who for two years had had a husband urged on her with a
faint but unremitting pressure by her uncle:
“Though all the reports of Albert are most favourable, and though
I have little doubt I shall like him, still one can never answer
beforehand for _feelings_, and I may not have the _feeling_ for him
which is requisite to insure happiness. I may like him as a _friend_,
as a _cousin_, and as a _brother_, but not _more_; and should this be
the case (which is not likely), I am _very_ anxious that it should
be understood that I am _not_ guilty of any breach of promise, for
I _never gave any_. I am sure you will understand my anxiety, for I
should otherwise, were this not completely understood, be in a very
painful position. As it is, I am rather nervous about the visit (a
suggestion that the young Princes should come to England), for the
subject I allude to is not an agreeable one to me.”
Leopold was wise enough to put no further pressure upon her, but to
leave circumstances to do their work. There can be no doubt but that
the Queen was very lonely and ill at ease just then. She had lost the
confidence of the nation, and her pride stood in the way of her setting
herself right with it. By her own acts she had alienated her mother,
with whom, as a matter of fact, she showed no signs of renewing the
lost intimacy; she had clung to the people accused of wrong behaviour
in the Hastings affair, yet the sight of them constantly reminded her
of her humiliation; and through prejudice she had turned her back
upon a vast number of delightful people, whose only sin was to hold
different political views from herself; in truth, there seemed to be
no real comfort anywhere.
When the King and Queen of the Belgians went to Windsor after their
stay at Ramsgate, and Leopold saw how matters stood, he came to the
conclusion that it was time for him to act; thus on his return home he
instructed his two nephews to go and pay the promised visit to England.
Gossip about Victoria’s marriage was always ready when other
excitements failed, and it was now said that Prince Albert had
refused to accept the position of husband to his cousin, and that the
_Camarilla_ had failed in its object, and was now bending its
energies to the keeping of the Queen unmarried, its method being to
harp on the fate of Princess Charlotte, in the hope that that would
deter her from making any matrimonial arrangement. Which, of course,
was all nonsense. The Prince was preparing for his visit, and Victoria
was preparing a way for herself which should at least halve all her
troubles, even though it meant also submitting her own autocratic will.
In the summer of 1839 Stockmar gave an interesting criticism of the
character of Prince Albert, which I reproduce, for it is by no means
the judgment of one who flatters:--
“The Prince bears a striking resemblance to his mother, and,
differences apart, is in many respects both in body and mind cast in
her mould. He has the same intellectual quickness and adroitness, the
same cleverness, the same desire to appear good-natured and amiable to
others, and the same talent for fulfilling this desire, the same love
of _espiègleries_ and of treating things and men from the comical
side, the same way of not occupying himself long with the same subject.
“His constitution cannot be said to be a strong one, though I believe
by careful attention to diet he could easily strengthen it and give
it stamina. After exerting himself, he often for a short time appears
pale and exhausted. He dislikes violent exertion, and both morally
and physically tries to save himself. Full of the best intentions and
noblest designs, he often fails in carrying them into practice.
“His judgment is in many subjects beyond his years, but, up to
the present time, he has not shown the least possible interest in
_political_ matters. Even the most important events of this
kind never, even at the time of their taking place, induce him to
read a newspaper. He has, as it is, a perfect horror of all foreign
newspapers, and says that the only readable and necessary paper is the
_Augsburger Allgemeine_, and even this he does not read through.
In the matter of _les belles manières_ there is much to desire.
This deficiency must be principally laid to the account of his having
in his earliest years been deprived of the intercourse and supervision
of a mother and of any cultivated woman. He will always have more
success with men than with women. He is too little _empressé_ with
the latter, too indifferent, and too reserved.”
As a matter of fact, Prince Albert was too reserved with men as well as
with women, and to this must be attributed the fact that he was never
really popular in England.
The _Morning Post_ of August 22nd made a premature announcement of
the marriage;--“A matrimonial alliance is about to take place between
Her Britannic Majesty and His Serene Highness Prince Albert Francis,”
&c. Even in those days it seems that the newspapers were so eager to
be first with their news that they sometimes went a long way ahead of
events.
It was not until October 10th that Albert and his brother arrived at
Windsor, the Prince presumably not knowing what his fate was likely
to be, but resolved to tell the Queen that if she did not then make
up her mind he would no longer be able to await her decision. This
pronouncement must have been caused by the intelligent tutorial
instructions of Leopold, for Albert had only then just attained his
twentieth birthday, and could scarcely have feared a life of obscurity
if his cousin declined to take him as her husband.
On the 14th of the month Victoria gave a ball, and at that she openly
showed him a sign of her preference by taking some flowers from
her bouquet and offering them to him. There being no buttonhole in
which to place them, Albert took out a penknife, cut a hole in his
uniform, and fixed the flowers over his heart. The next day the Queen
sent for her cousin to come to her private room, and there--to quote
Albert’s words when writing to his grandmother, the Dowager Duchess
of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha--she declared, “in a genuine outburst of love
and affection, that I had gained her whole heart, and would make her
intensely happy if I would make the sacrifice of sharing her life with
her; for she said she looked on it as a sacrifice; the only thing
that troubled her was that she did not think she was worthy of me. The
joyous openness of manner in which she told me this quite enchanted me,
and I was quite carried away by it.”
Both the young people poured out their hopes to Stockmar, who was in
Germany at the time. “Albert has completely won my heart,” wrote the
Queen, “and all was settled between us this morning.... I feel certain
he will make me very happy. I wish I could say I felt as certain of my
making him happy, but I shall do my best.” Albert enthused: “Victoria
is so good and kind to me that I am often puzzled to believe that I
should be the object of so much affection.... More, or more seriously,
I cannot write. I am at this moment too bewildered to do so.”
But even in this matter of the heart Victoria’s sense of her exalted
position never left her. When talking to the Duchess of Gloucester
about making the declaration before Parliament, the old lady asked her
if it was not a very nervous thing to do, upon which she answered, “I
did a much more nervous thing a while ago. I had to propose to Albert.”
Then she went on to explain that of course it would not have been
possible for him to have proposed to the Queen of England; “he would
never have presumed to have taken such a liberty.”
This is almost too good to be true, but as it is given in the Peel
papers it may be regarded as reliable. To have loved a man and to have
spoken of him in this way seems incredible; only a very young and
inexperienced person could have done it, for the lover does not weigh
etiquette against an honest expression of love. However, Her Majesty
was truly young in her love and in her love-making, and had much to
learn concerning the inner sentiments of life. That she learned it all
through we believe, for we are told that her love for the man whom her
uncle chose for her deepened and widened, so that her marriage was as
happy as the most kind-hearted could have wished.
It is not to be wondered at that a girl brought up in such a guarded,
reticent atmosphere as the Queen had been should be unduly reticent all
through her days. The curious thing is that the impression she made
upon all whom she met was that of absolute frankness; yet she had for
eighteen years been accustomed to hide her thoughts and her emotions,
to suppress all tendency to confidences, and it can scarcely be
wondered at that in a matter which was very personal her secretiveness
should reassert itself. It is impossible not to feel sorry that
Melbourne should have been the person against whom she armed her mind
in this case. The Queen did not speak to him of her marriage, neither
by consulting him nor telling him of her intentions. He knew nothing
but the report given in the _Morning Post_, and the talk of the
clubs and the streets. At last he spoke to her, telling her that he
could not pretend to be ignorant of the reports going about, nor could
she; that though he would not presume to ask her what she intended
to do, it was his duty to tell her that if she had any intentions it
was necessary that the Ministers should know them. She replied that
she had nothing to tell him. A somewhat doubtful statement, for she
had already written to Leopold, asking him to keep her cousins from
arriving before the 3rd of October, as she would have a number of
Ministers at Windsor on that day, who, if they saw the Coburgs arrive,
might say the Princes had come “_to settle matters_.”
A fortnight after Melbourne spoke and a day before her proposal to the
Prince she told him that the matter was settled. These little evidences
of haughty independence raised many apprehensions in the minds of those
who served her, for they asked, “If she will deal thus with a Minister
whom she likes, what will she do when those are in power whom she does
not like?”
It is, of course, quite arguable that Victoria wished to have the
opportunity, like other girls, of making up her mind in quiet and of
having her little romance to herself. But she was not like other girls;
and she did not forget what she considered the duties of her position
when proposing to Albert, yet when those duties clashed with her
inclination she allowed sentimentality to prevent her performing them.
The reports that Melbourne feared the loss of his power if Victoria
married, and therefore was doing his best to induce her to keep
single, were not confined to the gossip of London and Paris. There
were many who wondered how Melbourne would behave if he saw before
him the probability of the loss of his influence, as an introduction
to the loss of his position. One of these was the Duke of Wellington,
his great rival in personal weight at Court. Wellington felt that the
genuineness of Melbourne’s devotion would be tested by such an event,
for the old general knew that if, from personal or party motives,
Melbourne wished to put off the Queen’s marriage, he could easily find
specious, in fact almost unanswerable, reasons for such a course. Then
if Victoria really made her choice, pretexts would be easy for causing
delays. Thus our Prime Minister was watched with curiosity or malice
from all sides. What will he do? Will he think of himself? Will he act
the good father’s part? Will he feel disappointed that he is not the
chosen man? Such were the questions prompted by those who knew much,
little, or nothing, and these questions were asked everywhere, while
the wags of the Press announced that the Devil’s Tower at Windsor had
been assigned to him as a residence.
But Melbourne had watched the Queen with something more than
affectionate criticism; he saw that she had grave faults which, if
not trained into virtues, would lead her into evil, and he knew that
outside influence would never be strong enough to counteract them.
Gravely and anxiously he talked over all the possibilities of the
matter with King Leopold. He felt that Albert, a young, untried man,
who knew nothing of public business, and had practically no knowledge
of the world, might be a great danger in himself, yet on the other
hand he thought it very possible that the union might be all the
more successful because of the youth of the two, and that Victoria’s
influence would probably complete and strengthen the character of
the young Prince. Melbourne had been assailed on every side for his
residence in the Palace, for his untiring devotion to the Queen, yet it
was his pride to be recognised as being the faithful and affectionate
friend of Her Majesty. He knew well enough that he would be giving his
own power into the hands of another, yet his sole desire was to do the
best he could for his Queen and his country. It was natural in these
circumstances that he should wish to know the Queen’s intentions in
the matter, and when he received the news on the 14th of October, the
day before Victoria’s momentous interview with Albert, his natural
sweetness of disposition showed itself; for he said: “I think your news
will be very well received everywhere; for I hear that there is an
anxiety now that it should be, and I am very glad of it. You will be
much more comfortable; for a woman cannot stand alone for any time, in
whatever position she may be.”
Of Melbourne in this instance Leopold said to the Queen, he “has shown
himself the amiable and excellent man I always took him for. Another
man in his position, instead of _your_ happiness, might have
merely looked to his own personal views and imaginary interests. Not
so our good friend; he saw what was best _for you_; and I feel it
deeply to his praise.”
The Queen wrote to all her Royal relatives to impart her great news,
and in writing to the Dowager Queen there was a curious mistake made
by her secretary in addressing the envelope. Lord Howe, at his private
residence, received a letter addressed to _Lord How_, the envelope
being whitey-brown inscribed “per railroad.” He supposed it to be one
of many letters he was in the habit of receiving from people who wanted
money or subscriptions, or permission to dedicate something to him, or
something equally unimportant, and very nearly threw it into the fire.
However, he thought better of it, and opened the curious missive--to
discover a letter from Queen Victoria announcing to Queen Adelaide her
approaching marriage; it was written by her own hand, was instinct
with kindness and affection, and “as full of love as Juliet!” Said Sir
Robert Peel, in commenting on this, “I suppose some footboy at Windsor
Castle had enclosed and directed it to Lord _How_. If it had been
disregarded, and had thus remained unanswered, what an outcry there
would have been of neglect, insult, and so forth--and not unjustly.”
When Daniel O’Connell heard the news he made an extravagant speech at
Bandon--before the engagement, as a matter of fact--in which he said:
“We must be--we are--loyal to our young and lovely Queen--God bless
her! We must be--we are--attached to the Throne, and to the lovely
being by whom it is filled. She is going to be married! I wish she may
have as many children as my grandmother had--two-and-twenty! God bless
the Queen! I am a father and a grandfather; and in the face of heaven
I pray with as much honesty and fervency for Queen Victoria as I do
for any one of my own progeny. The moment I heard of the daring and
audacious menaces of the Tories towards the Sovereign[6] I promulgated,
through the press, my feelings of detestation and my determination
on the matter! Oh! if I be not greatly mistaken, I’d get in one day
500,000 brave Irishmen to defend the life, the honour, and the person
of the beloved young lady by whom England’s Throne is now filled! Let
every man in this vast and multitudinous assembly stretched out before
me, who is loyal to the Queen and would defend her to the last, lift up
his right hand! (_The entire assembly responded to the appeal._)
There are hearts in those hands. I tell you that, if necessity
required, there would be swords in them! (_Awful cheering._)” Thus
reported the _Annual Register_ of that date.
This sounds absurd and high falutin’, but it must have warmed the heart
of the young lady. However, if some people welcomed the marriage, there
were others who foretold from it national calamity. I have shown how
keenly the ultra-Tories hated the idea of another Coburg alliance, and
as soon as the matter was assured the whole Papist scare recommenced.
Society people were filled with disdain for the Prince’s birth and
position--“a younger son of a petty and undistinguished German Duke”!
Albert was also accused of want of knowledge, want of manners, want of
morals, and, in fact, a general poverty in all that made a good man;
besides this--greatest crime of all--he was said to be a Whig! Thus the
Queen had by no means regained her popularity with the disaffected of
her people, and all the bitterness of feeling against her came out when
the necessary arrangements were being made for Albert’s reception into
English life.
It is not difficult to see that with her sense of Royal infallibility
the Queen was likely to show little tact, and indeed she made such
extravagant demands for her prospective husband that dismay was felt
even by her warmest supporters.
However, the first thing for her to do was to announce to her Privy
Council, which was summoned to Buckingham Palace for the 23rd of
November, her decision to accept Prince Albert as her husband. There
were eighty-three Councillors present, among them being the Duke of
Wellington, who had just alarmed the country by having a serious
attack--supposed to be paralytic--on the previous Monday, and the
results of which were visible in a slight twist of the right corner
of his mouth, and some constraint in using the left arm. When all the
Privy Councillors were assembled, the doors were thrown open, and the
Queen, dressed in a plain morning gown, wearing a bracelet in which
the Prince’s portrait was set, was handed in by the Lord Chamberlain.
She bowed to her Councillors, sat down and said, “Your Lordships will
be seated.” Then she unfolded a paper and read, with “a mixture of
self-possession and feminine delicacy,” her declaration, which ran:--
“It is my intention to ally myself in marriage with the Prince Albert
of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha. Deeply impressed with the solemnity of the
engagement which I am about to contract, I have not come to this
decision without mature consideration, nor without feeling a strong
assurance that, with the blessing of Almighty God, it will at once
secure my domestic felicity, and serve the interests of my country.”
She read, we are told, in a clear, sonorous, sweet-toned voice, but
her hands trembled excessively, though her eyes were bright and calm,
neither bold nor downcast, but firm and soft. Several times she looked
towards the Duke of Wellington, for he was still ill, and she had been
anxious about him; and when it was all over she wrote in her journal:
“Lord Melbourne I saw, looking at me with tears in his eyes, but he
was not near me.... I felt that my hands shook, but I did not make one
mistake. I felt more happy and thankful when it was over.” In a letter
to Prince Albert she wrote: “I wish you could have seen the crowds of
people who cheered me loudly as I left the Palace for Windsor. I am so
happy to-day! Oh, if only _you_ could be here!”
For three months Victoria’s emotions alternated between happiness
and annoyance, for she could by no means get all she desired for
her beloved Albert. The political animus against herself made the
Opposition captious, and they and the Lords behaved like naughty
children, finding fault with everything. From the very first, from the
day that it was known that Albert of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha was coming to
England as the Queen’s husband, the Prince’s character was calumniated
and his prospects treated with contempt. Our enmity to the German race,
begun when we were obliged to see our Throne filled with Germans--for
even the later Georges were more German than English--and continued
with something of the rancour of a conquered nation, as one German
alliance after another took place; which has been fed of late years
by commercial jealousy, and by a latent fear of what our cousin the
Kaiser might do; this enmity was gaining strength seventy years ago,
and found its whole expression in diatribes against the young man who,
being one of the most amiable people in existence, had been forced into
his position as surely as a Japanese tree is forced into its pygmy
development. This may sound exaggerated, but it is true nevertheless.
From his boyhood Albert was educated, moulded, pruned, into the
shape--morally and mentally--that seemed most suitable for the Consort
of the Queen. There was no escape for him, and so carefully had he
been prepared that he did not even think of escape. It has always been
held that England did very well for the poor, undistinguished Prince
who was allowed the supreme honour of marrying England’s Queen; and to
make him feel how magnanimous they had been, the English people and the
newspapers comported themselves as the street boy now bears himself
when he feels that a foreigner is pressed upon his notice. I once had
two French servants, who often together took my children out, but they
never appeared in the street without the youth of the neighbourhood
pelting them with ribald remarks and sometimes with stones. In this way
did the vulgar among the well-bred treat Albert, and some of them did
it even to the time of his death.
The first stone thrown was one picked from the Declaration which Her
Majesty made before Parliament, in which no mention had been made of
the Prince’s religion. At once the most lying and libellous articles
were written, asserting that Albert was a Catholic, and, if not, that
he belonged to a sect which made it impossible that he could ever take
the Communion in the English Church; and if he could bring himself to
do that his religious beliefs were of that light type that he could be
a Catholic to Catholics, but for the sake of his advancement he could
also be a Protestant to Protestants. To this was added that at heart
he was an infidel and a radical--evidently interchangeable terms with
these violent supporters of a man who stood for the most prejudiced and
retrograde views, Ernest, King of Hanover. There seems to have been
little doubt that he was at the bottom of the reports about Albert; he
still hoped to be King of England, or at least to know that his son
would wear its crown; and it was at the time an open secret that he was
doing his best to upset the marriage.
The angry and younger Tories needed little goading, and they acted
as a spur to their leaders. One feels really sorry that such a man
as the Duke of Wellington should have led the attack in the House of
Lords. The Duke knew as everyone knew that Albert was a Protestant,
yet he and Peel, chafed by the events of the past year, felt that some
stratagem must be employed to discredit the Ministry. “It proceeds from
the boiling impatience of the party, indoors and out. The Tory masses
complain that nothing is done; and so, to gratify them, an immediate
assault is resolved upon.” Peel suggested to Wellington that some
hostile movement must be made against the Government, adding, “It might
be ungracious to cause conflict in an address congratulating a Queen
Regnant on her marriage.” The Duke agreed with this, yet took the
first opportunity which came along of sinking his loyalty to the Crown
in party politics and personal feelings. After some acrid speeches
and many columns in the papers, this quarrel, which was entirely one
of bluff, was soothed by Baron Stockmar’s affirmation that the Prince
was a Protestant who could take Communion in the English Church as
though he were in his own Lutheran Church. Greville, a good Tory,
says of this: “The Duke moved an amendment, and foisted in the word
Protestant--a sop to the silly. I was grieved to see him descend to
such miserable humbug, and was in hopes that he was superior to it.” As
the Queen said in a letter to her uncle, “There was no need to affirm
such a fact, as by law it was impossible that I could marry any but a
Protestant.”
This made a certain amount of stir, but not sufficient to satisfy the
rank and file of the Tory party and the men who desired office; so
it was unfortunate that the next Bill before the House should be one
concerning the allowance to be given to the Prince. Here a new element
came in, our delightful English snobbery. Had Albert come to us as
a millionaire, his life would have been one of roses in our midst,
but his total income then was about £2,500, and he had only a small
estate in Germany. Was not this enough justification for putting him in
his place? Tories and Radicals alike thought so, and when it came to
considering the income suitable for a Prince Consort they practically
said so. The sum asked for as an allowance was £50,000 a year. This
had been given to the husband of Queen Anne, to the Queens Consort of
George III. and William IV., and to Prince Leopold when he married
the Princess Charlotte, but as soon as it was suggested in Parliament
that Queen Victoria’s husband should have the same amount an outcry was
raised. So far as can be judged from all the arguments put forward,
this was simply an indication that at that moment a feminine Sovereign
could be treated with less consideration than a King. Had it been a
Queen Consort for whom provision was needed, it is certain, to judge
by the Parliamentary speeches, that the sum asked for would have been
granted, and it is also certain that had the Queen chosen George of
Cambridge, neither the Duke of Wellington nor any other leader of the
Opposition would have opposed the proposal. Even the frivolous Prince
of Orange would have been accorded more favour. However, fortunately
for England, Victoria was not intending to make her simple-minded
cousin King, and the Prince of Orange had found no favour with her,
also fortunately for England--and for her.
An amendment was proposed by Joseph Hume, the Radical, allowing the
Prince the magnificent income of £21,000 a year, whereupon Colonel
Sibthorp, who was, as Sir Sidney Lee says, “a Tory of a very pronounced
kind, who warmly championed every insular prejudice,” moved another
amendment to make the sum stand at £30,000.
This was carried by a junction of extremes, the Tories and the
Radicals; a year earlier the former had been as insistent in their
demands that the Coronation expenses should be increased by a
tremendous amount that Royal dignity should be sustained. Now so
bitter was their feeling against the Government that they were ready to
strike the Queen over Melbourne’s head. Victoria wrote of this: “It is
a curious sight to see those who, as Tories, used to pique themselves
upon their excessive loyalty, doing everything to degrade their young
Sovereign in the eyes of the people. Of course, there are exceptions.”
Stockmar says that after the division he met Melbourne on the staircase
of the House, and that the Prime Minister said to him, “The Prince will
be very annoyed with the Tories, but it is not only the Tories who
have lessened his income; there were beside Radicals and some of our
own people who voted against him.” It was said that the less honest
Whigs did this because they thought that as the whole blame of the
proceedings would fall upon the Tories, the reduction of the Prince’s
income would widen the breach between the Queen and the Opposition.
Both the Whigs and Tories of the baser sort were ready to go to any
dishonourable length in their desire to secure or to hold power, only
those who had for long been out of office went a little further than
their opponents and cried their sentiments in a very much louder voice,
and thus we hear more about them. Melbourne at least proved himself
an honest man, and he was guilty of that stupidity which is much the
same thing as wickedness; he knew the spirit of the politicians, yet
he did not take necessary precautions, while he seemed always ready to
take unnecessary risks: “There is no doubt that all will go through
easily,” was his feeling, and so he allowed matters to slip into
public discussion and recrimination.
Leopold was enraged. “The whole mode and way in which those who have
opposed the grant treated the question was so extremely _vulgar_
and _disrespectful_, that I cannot comprehend the Tories. The
men who uphold the dignity of the Crown to treat their Sovereign in
such a manner, on such an occasion!” Prince Albert may well have
been irritated on his part, and of him his uncle said, “he does not
care about the money, but he is much shocked and exasperated by the
disrespect of the thing, as he well may.”
The third trouble was the Naturalisation Bill, which included the
question of Precedency.
All through her life Victoria was a sentimentalist, and no sooner did
she really feel herself in love with Albert than her impulse was to
kiss his feet. This young man had spent years travelling from one town
to another in Europe, seeking the education which would best enable
him to fill his position as Prince Consort; he had, in fact, rarely
been at home, to judge by Leopold’s accounts of his doings. Yet as
soon as he offered to settle down in England, Victoria began to see in
him a martyr, one who was sacrificing his family and his country to
live with her in an alien land, and she regarded it as her real duty
to compensate him for the terrible expatriation from which he would
suffer. Leopold wanted Albert to be made a peer; Victoria went a good
step further, she desired that he should be made a King-Consort. The
Ministers listened and hesitated, but Melbourne pointed out that for
the Legislature to make a King would be to infer that the Legislature
could unmake a King. Precedent, he said, was the only thing to accept
as guidance, and Prince Albert must take the same position as Prince
George of Denmark, and he ended emphatically with:
“For God’s sake, Ma’am, let’s hear no more of it!”
This was one of the times when the Queen was angry with Melbourne; how
could he compare the stupid and insignificant husband of Queen Anne
with _her_ Prince?
Failing the highest dignity, she was against Albert’s being made a
peer, writing to him on that subject: “The English are very jealous of
any foreigner interfering in the government of this country, and have
already in some of the papers (which are friendly to me and to you)
expressed a hope that you will not interfere. Now, though I know you
never would, still if you were a Peer they would all say, the Prince
meant to play a political part.”
It is doubtful whether, in spite of her ambition for him, Victoria had
any desire that the Prince should take part in any way in the important
art of governing. She intended to marry, but she was really quite
innocent of a wish to receive a partner in her legislative duties as
well as a partner in her home.
When the Naturalisation Bill was introduced, Lyndhurst watched the
case, as it were, for the King of Hanover, and he objected very much
to the Bill as framed, for it gave Albert the precedence next the
Queen for life. Thus, had he survived Victoria, he would still have
taken precedence of the Heir-Presumptive. The Royal Dukes and their
party wanted to give Albert precedence only over Archbishops and
Dukes, excepting Dukes of Royal blood and other peers of the realm
as the Queen should deem fit and proper. This had the difficulty of
giving precedence, not only to the Royal Dukes, but to Prince George
of Cambridge and Prince George of Cumberland when their fathers died.
In this dispute Lord Lyndhurst and Lord Ellenborough were bracketted
together as the impossibles. Greville saw the latter at his door one
day, and asked what he was going to do about the precedence.
“Oh, give him the same which Prince George of Denmark had: place him
next before the Archbishop of Canterbury.”
“That will by no means satisfy Her Majesty!” replied Greville, at which
Ellenborough tossed up his head, saying,
“What does that signify?”
It would have been a curious thing to see the Queen enter a room,
followed first by all the Guelphs, and at a distance by the humble and
devoted husband. This was naturally not acceptable, so the whole idea
of precedency was dropped, and the Bill became one of naturalisation
only. The Dukes of Cambridge and Sussex, “who both wanted an increase
in their incomes,” would have given way, but Ernest of Hanover
affirmed contemptuously that he would not stand below any “paper royal
highness.” Charles Greville studied up the law on this matter, and
wrote a pamphlet proving that the Queen could grant her husband by
Royal Warrant what precedence she chose without appeal to Parliament.
This unfortunately only applied to his position in her own dominions,
and as long as he lived foreign Courts would only recognise the Prince
according to his birth, thus making a tremendous difference between his
rank and that of his wife. This explains such incidents as that when
he once went to Boulogne, the Kings of Portugal and Belgium, who were
there, both took their departure before Prince Albert arrived, that he
might be the greatest man in the place. Before the Queen and Prince had
been married a month we find the old Duke of Cambridge agitated like
any society woman as to whether he _could_ accept an invitation
to meet the Prince and the Queen at the Queen Dowager’s, because what
_were_ they to do about precedence if he went? As the law--an
old Act of the time of Henry VIII.--stood, Lyndhurst and the Duke of
Wellington told him he had no choice but to give precedence to the
Prince. So the knotty point being settled, the Duke felt himself able
to accept the invitation.
CHAPTER XIII
QUEEN VICTORIA’S EARLY MARRIED LIFE
“Her Court was pure; her life serene;
God gave her peace; her land reposed;
A thousand claims to reverence closed
In her as Mother, Wife, and Queen.”
--_Tennyson._
Prince Albert was firmly convinced that Queen Victoria was injudicious
in her partisanship of the Whigs, and he desired to begin his career in
England on an independent basis as far as the political parties were
concerned; therefore he desired to choose for himself his secretary
and other officials likely to be near him. His engagement was a short
one, but it was full of troubles, as, indeed, most engagements are, for
that is, I think, the least satisfactory part of the whole marriage
arrangement. Thus he seems to have been really and thoroughly annoyed
when he found that George Anson, who was Melbourne’s secretary, and who
was described as “a tried, discreet, and sensible man, high-bred in
feeling as in bearing, capable without prompting of giving good advice
when asked, and incapable of the folly of making a suggestion when it
was not wanted,” had been selected by Victoria to fill the post of
private secretary to himself. There was considerable correspondence
between the Royal lovers on this subject, part of which is given in
the _Letters of Queen Victoria_. The Prince’s letters are not
included, but the Queen’s tell the story. Here is a paragraph from
one:--
“It is, as you rightly suppose, my greatest, my most anxious wish to do
everything most agreeable to you, but I must differ with you respecting
Mr. Anson.... What I said about Anson giving you advice, means that if
you like to ask him, he can and will be of the greatest use to you,
as he is a very well-informed person. He will leave Lord Melbourne as
soon as he is appointed about you. With regard to your last objection
that it would make you a party man if you took the secretary of the
Prime Minister as your Treasurer, I do not agree in it; for, though I
am very anxious you should not appear to belong to a party, still it is
necessary that your Household should not form a too strong contrast to
mine, else they will say, ‘Oh, we know the Prince says he belongs to no
party, but we are sure he is a Tory!’ Therefore it is also necessary
that it should appear you went with me in having some of your people
who are staunch Whigs; but Anson is not in Parliament, and never was,
and therefore he is not a violent politician. Do not think, because I
urge this, Lord M. prefers it; on the contrary, he never urged it, and
I only do it as I know it is for your good.... I am distressed to tell
you what I fear you do not like, but it is necessary, my dearest, most
excellent Albert. Once more I tell you that you can perfectly rely on
me in these matters.”
In a later letter, the Queen pointed out that it was absolutely
essential that Albert should have an Englishman at the head of his
affairs.
However, the two months rolled away, and the marriage morning dawned
with the 10th of February, Albert arriving in London on the 8th. He,
poor thing, had hoped for a real honeymoon, and was gently chided
for desiring so much: “You forget, my dearest love, that I am the
Sovereign, and that business can stop and wait for nothing. Parliament
is sitting, and something occurs almost every day, for which I may be
required, and it is quite impossible for me to be absent from London,
therefore two or three days is already a long time to be absent.”
The morning of Monday, February 10th, was stormy: “What weather! I
believe, however, the rain will cease,” scribbled Victoria to her
bridegroom before they met that day; and, in spite of the torrents of
rain and gusts of wind, a countless multitude thronged the streets
and the Park to see the bride go from Buckingham Palace to the chapel
in St. James’s Palace and back, and then, after the breakfast, to
Paddington on the way to Windsor, where the Royal pair were to spend
four days.
[Illustration:
_Photo_ _Emery Walker._
H.R.H. PRINCE ALBERT.
From the Painting by Winterhalter in the National Portrait
Gallery.]
Said the Sage of Chelsea concerning this event: “Yesterday the idle
portion of the Town was in a sort of flurry owing to the marriage of
little Queen Victory. I had to go out to breakfast with an ancient
Notable of this place, one named Rogers, the Poet and Banker; my way
lay past little Victory’s Palace, and a perceptible crowd was gathering
there even then, which went on increasing till I returned (about one
o’clock); streams of idle gomerils flowing from all quarters, to
see one knows not what--perhaps Victory’s gilt coach and other gilt
coaches drive out, for that would be all! It was a wet day, too, of
bitter heavy showers and abundant mud.... Poor little thing, I wish her
marriage all prosperity too.... As for him (Prince Albert) they say he
is a sensible lad; which circumstance may be of much service to him; he
burst into tears on leaving his little native Coburg, a small, quiet
town, like Annan, for example; poor fellow, he thought, I suppose, how
he was bidding adieu to _quiet_ there, and would probably never
know _it_ more, whatever else he might know.”
Carlyle and Rogers seem to have discussed the Queen and all that had
happened, for the former adds in amused fashion: “He (Rogers) defended
the poor little Queen, and her fooleries and piques and pettings in
this little wedding of hers.”
It is said that of all the Tories the Queen only sent a personal
invitation to one to be present at the ceremony, and that was her old
friend, Lord Liverpool. The Royal pair returned to Buckingham Palace on
the 14th, and the Queen held a Levée on the 19th, when Albert stood by
her side to receive the guests.
The marriage of the Queen made it necessary to rearrange the apartments
in Buckingham Palace, and those which had been devoted to the Duchess
of Kent were done up in splendid style for the Prince.
The King of Hanover had retained some apartments in St. James’s
Palace for his own use, but had never returned to them since he left
England; and it was considered, not without reason, that he might be
willing to give up the rooms to the Duchess of Kent. However, Ernest
had not yet lost hope; he could not prevent the marriage, it was
true, but the Queen might die, there might be no children, something
might still happen to give him his heart’s desire and set him on the
Throne of England. Therefore, he felt it advisable to retain the rooms
for his possible use in an emergency, and he wrote a curious letter
about proceedings in England, implying that such terrible things were
happening here that it would probably be necessary for him to return
and save the situation.
So the Queen rented Ingestre House, Belgrave Square, at a cost of two
thousand a year for a short time. When somewhat later Princess Augusta
died the Duchess was transferred to Clarence House, St. James’s Palace,
and was given Frogmore at Windsor as a residence. Thus ended for her
any influence in great matters which she may have hoped to exercise
upon her daughter, and thus also ended the deplorable friction which
had made her so very unhappy. It was very possible that some of the
Queen’s disregard for her mother--a disregard which was never shown
in social matters or in outward filial conduct--existed really only
in the mind of the Duchess, for it is usual for the person who feels
slighted to exaggerate the offence. From this time forward, however, we
hear of no further friction; indeed, Prince Albert seems to have acted
as mediator, and to have championed the cause of his mother-in-law.
Sir John Conroy lived in Berkshire, and one day in May, 1840, there
appeared in a Berkshire paper an allusion to Royal affairs. If Conroy
caused this to be inserted it only goes to prove the truth of the
report: “Prince Albert, having unravelled the mysterious web with
which certain intriguantes had contrived to embarrass and annoy the
Duchess of Kent, has expressed his detestation of their acts, and at
the same time has avowed his determination to restore that amiable and
ill-used lady to her proper station, influence, and suitable residence.”
It is interesting to note that Victoria was quite well aware of the
matrimonial project so long nursed by her uncle, the Duke of Cambridge,
for in November, 1839, when writing to Melbourne to give an account
of a visit which the Cambridges paid her, she said, in a somewhat
mixed style: “They were all very kind and civil, George grown but not
embellished, and much less reserved with the Queen, and evidently happy
to be _clear_ of me.”
At the end of December, in writing to Albert she said: “I saw to-day
the Duke of Cambridge, who has shown me your letter, with which he is
quite delighted--and, indeed, it is a very nice one. The Duke told Lord
Melbourne he had always greatly desired our marriage, and never thought
of George; but that _I_ do not believe.”
At that time three of the sons of George III. were alive, and three
daughters. The Queen had an affection for all but the King of Hanover,
and did her best to make her uncle Sussex’s life easy, though he was
just at this period in a fractious mood, being jealous of the rights of
“the family.” He had made two illegal marriages, the second being, as
has been said, with Cecilia Underwood--Lady Buggin--a daughter of the
Earl of Arran, and widow of an attorney-knight, though disliking the
plebeian name which marriage had bestowed upon her, she had taken that
of her mother as soon as she was widowed. She attracted the Duke of
Sussex and lived with him as his wife for years, then in 1840 he came
to the determination of going through the ceremony of marriage. Whether
it was an access of virtue or prudence which caused this long-delayed
decision it is difficult to say, but he put it forward as a plea for
an increase in his allowance. This naturally caused criticism of an
adverse kind, it being generally thought and said that these two had
lived long enough together to know the amount of their joint expenses,
and that marriage should not increase them. One paper advocated
compliance with the Duke’s demand on the ground that Cecilia would “not
add a flock of locusts to increase the epidemic of the German pest.”
Victoria made Cecilia Duchess of Inverness, that she might be near her
husband’s rank, and sometimes invited her to her own table, but she was
never placed on the footing of a relative. It was in April, 1843, that
the Duke died of erysipelas, and desired in his will that he should
be buried at Kensal Green. This, after some hesitation, was done with
military honours. Sussex seems to have won more affection and goodwill
than any of his brothers.
The Duke of Cambridge, who took little part in public life after his
return from Hanover, lived until 1850. In W. H. Brookfield’s Diary is
to be found the following description of him in 1841: “The Duke of
Cambridge was there to hear the Bishop (preach), and sate in the pew
before me. Such a noise as he made in responses, Psalm reading, and
singing, a sort of old Walpole with eyes. I had not caught what Psalm
the clerk had given out, and turning to look on my neighbour’s book
for the page--fidgety, restless, Royal Highness turns round and bawls
loud enough to drown the organ, ‘It begins at the third verse--the
third verse!’ All eyes turned on Royalty speaking to inferior clergy. I
turned red as a radish. Royalty went on singing like a bull!”
It was with the Duchess of Cambridge that Lady Cardigan says she once
drove to London, and the former took from her pocket a German sausage,
and, cutting off slices with a silver knife, conveyed the pieces to her
mouth with the help of the blade! Young George of Cambridge married,
not a Queen, but an actress, Louisa Fairbrother, with whom he lived
very happily until she died in 1890--and it is said that he never
recovered the blow caused by her death.
Of the three daughters of George III., one was Princess Sophia, who
went blind after being operated on for cataract, and who, whatever
the scandal associated with her name, always kept the affectionate
respect of her niece Victoria. She was one of the sponsors to the
Queen’s eldest son, and also to the Princess Alice. She died in 1848,
six months before Lord Melbourne. Princess Augusta died in September
of 1840, and “the dear old Duchess of Gloucester,” the last of the
generation, who was looked upon by Victoria and her family as “a sort
of grandmother,” lived until 1857. She had always been very energetic,
and there is an account of her calling upon the Queen, and reporting
upon a round of gaieties indulged in within a day or two, parties at
the Duchess of Sutherland’s, the Duke of Wellington’s, and at Cambridge
House, and luncheon with the Duke of Sussex, followed with the call
upon Her Majesty.
The young Queen was naturally affectionate, and felt much grief at the
deaths of these relatives, who had surrounded her all her life, yet
a fuller, richer, if not less troubled, existence was forming about
her. Her troubles were not of the kind which devastate, but of the
recurring, irritating sort which neither rest nor sleep. Albert never
did quite please the English people, and in her endeavour to make him
acceptable she sometimes wounded him, and sometimes did injudicious
things. Her naturally quick temper induced Leopold to write her a grave
warning before the marriage, telling her not to let a single day pass
over with a misunderstanding between them, and pointing out that if
such arose she would find Albert gentle and open to reason, so that
things could be easily explained; begging her to remember that he was
not sulky but inclined to be melancholy if he thought he was not justly
treated, and adding “But as you will always be together, there can
_never_ arise, I hope, any occasion for any disagreements even on
the most trifling subjects.”
It is open to wonder whether such disagreements did at first arise.
If so, they were so slight as not to affect the abiding love between
the two. The satiric papers recorded a constant succession of them,
but who is to believe such? One report ran that the Prince annoyed his
wife by contradicting her over the tea table, “and whether by accident
or design, the Queen sprinkled the contents of her cup over his
face, which led to an estrangement for the whole evening.” On another
occasion we are told that Albert was admiring a bouquet which Miss
Pitt, a Maid of Honour, carried, and while he was holding it the Queen
entered, and, having praised the flowers, asked him whence they came.
Then “the presence of Miss Pitt was dispensed with, Victoria seized
the bouquet, and scattered its fragments over the room.” Whether such
incidents were true or not, Victoria never forgot that she was Queen,
and to the end she sometimes unduly pressed that fact upon the mind
of her husband. Melbourne said that the Queen was very proud of the
Prince’s utter indifference to the attractions of ladies, and when he
suggested that they were early days to boast, she was indignant. The
Prime Minister, watching her with his shrewd, fatherly air, saw with
amusement, however, that she was really somewhat jealous if the Prince
talked much even with any man. What would she have said if he had
followed George the Fourth’s plan of kissing all ladies who pleased him
on their presentation?
But there was one thing which gradually weighed more and more upon the
Prince’s spirits and really hurt him. He found himself shut out as had
been the Duchess of Kent. The Queen did not discuss affairs of State
with him; she carried her reticence so far as to cause him to make
serious complaints and to need the help both of Melbourne and Stockmar.
In this again is to be traced the insidious influence of Baroness
Lehzen, who was still always in the background, but whose name never
passed the Queen’s lips in her conferences with Melbourne. When that
good friend reasoned with her about the want of confidence both in
trivial and great matters that she showed in her husband, she replied
that it was caused by indolence, that when she was with the Prince she
preferred talking of other and pleasanter things. Upon which Melbourne
told her to try to alter that, for there was no objection to her
telling the Prince all things. Melbourne’s private opinion was that she
feared difference of opinion. But really the Queen was the counterpart
of the mid-Victorian husband, who thought it his duty to save his wife
from any knowledge of his business, whether it worried or pleased
him--a rather foolish position for her to take up, even though she had
been Queen for three years.
Stockmar, in a conversation with George Anson, made the memorable
remark, seeing how the Prince had fought against Anson’s appointment:
“The Prince leans more on you than on anyone else and gives you his
entire confidence; you are honest, moral, and religious, and will not
belie that trust. The Queen has not started upon a right principle.”
The Baron thought that Victoria was influenced more than she knew
by Lehzen, and that in consequence of that influence she was not so
ingenuous as she had been two years earlier.
However, a new aspect of life had opened up for Her Majesty at that
time, and it is doubtful whether she was as engrossed in State matters
as she seemed to be, whether while she was listening to disquisitions
upon foreign affairs, she was not dreaming of more personal things.
She trusted her Ministers without question, and may well be excused
if for a time she relied entirely upon their judgment, and had not the
power even to explain to her young husband the arguments to which she
listened. These things changed slowly, but for two years Albert’s only
share in his wife’s work was that after many months he was allowed to
go through official papers with her. He felt the position to be one of
humiliation, and wrote to his friend, Prince William of Löwenstein,
that in his house he was the husband and not the master. What Leopold
had said of his nature was true, and this trouble filled him with
melancholy. This difference between the Queen and the Prince, however,
got abroad, and was commented on in light and airy fashion. It was said
that Victoria sometimes drove her husband out in her pony carriage, and
this was applied somewhat spitefully in the following verse:--
“‘Thus to be driven!’ exclaim some folks,
‘Prince Albert’s a mere nincom.’
But spite of all their passing jokes
The boy enjoys his income.
Then _why_ Vic drives the Prince is plain
To any common view--
The Sovereign who holds the rei(g)n
Should have the whip hand too.”
Yet privileges were yielded and concessions were made from time to
time. Melbourne gave up his work to the Prince as private secretary; in
August, when the Queen prorogued Parliament, Albert sat in an armchair
next the throne, waiting doubtless for the protest from the Duke of
Sussex, which had been threatened, but which did not get uttered. When
the Queen had to look forward to illness, the Prince was appointed
regent, much to the disgust of the once genial and fatherly Sussex,
who considered that “the family” was being slighted by such a course,
and who, in these the last years of his life, was not so kind to his
niece as he had hitherto been. The next, but by no means the least, of
the Prince’s small triumphs was that he gently but firmly returned the
Baroness Lehzen to her native country.
Life had not been quite so smooth with the Baroness since the Queen’s
marriage, and there were occasions when she was subjected to hitherto
unknown criticisms. The Duchess of Northumberland once sent by her some
communication to Victoria, which was never transmitted, and this caused
the Duchess to make a personal explanation to the Queen, and ask why
her message had received no notice. This little matter, only one of
many, being sifted, necessitated an ample apology from the lady behind
the Throne.
Then again the Baroness was not liked by some of the people who now
surrounded the Queen, and in spite of the strict reserve which Victoria
always practised in regard to this mentor and friend of her youth,
vague indications of this appear here and there. In June of 1841 the
Queen and the Prince went on a visit to Nuneham, near Oxford, the home
of the Archbishop of York, and did not take Lehzen with them, excusing
the omission on the plea that it would be wiser if she remained with
the baby Princess. The next month the Queen went to Woburn Abbey, which
caused George Anson to note with satisfaction that this was the second
expedition on which the Baroness had not been required to accompany
them; and this remark he followed by a review of the Prince’s progress
since his marriage, in which he mentions that the schemes of those who
wished to prevent His Royal Highness from being useful to Her Majesty
for fear that he might touch upon the Queen’s prerogatives, had been
completely foiled. “They thought they had prevented Her Majesty from
yielding anything of importance to him by creating distrust through
imaginary alarm. The Queen’s good sense, however, has seen that the
Prince has no other object in all he seeks but a means to Her Majesty’s
good.”
By August of that year Prince Albert had been so harassed by the
Baroness Lehzen that when a dissolution was threatened he spoke of
the matter to Melbourne, describing how her interference kept him in
a constant state of annoyance, and begging Lord Melbourne to help him
to get rid of her, saying, “It will be far more difficult to remove
her after the change of Government than now, because, if pressed to
do it by a Tory Minister, the Queen’s prejudice would be immediately
aroused.” Melbourne’s knowledge of the Queen, and his own temperament
also, led him to deprecate any definite measures. Victoria was already
expecting the birth of a second child, and with fatherly care the Prime
Minister did his best to save her from what he knew would be a painful
event, which could not be accomplished without an exciting scene. He
advised the Prince to be on his guard, and patiently abide the result,
assuring him that people were beginning to understand that lady’s
character much better, and time must surely work its own ends. So
Albert continued loyally to bear this burden, and it was not until the
beginning of October, 1842, that the Baroness was induced to go on a
visit to her family and friends, a visit from which she never returned.
It must not be supposed that Baroness Lehzen was generally disliked
or was an unpleasant woman. The Maids of Honour always found her kind
and friendly; if a new Maid arrived, the Baroness would go to her
room to welcome her and to give her her badge of office, a picture of
the Queen surrounded with brilliants fastened to a red bow. Greville,
no great friend to the Prince, says that she was much beloved by the
women and much esteemed by all who frequented the Court, that she was
very intelligent and had been a faithful friend to the Queen from the
time of her birth, and that she was sent away simply because she was
obnoxious to the Prince. This is written with considerable partiality.
Lehzen may have been as faithful a friend as she knew how, but her
views were limited. She fostered pride and an overweening sense of
importance in her charge, and in an eager desire to be the most
confidential person about the Queen, she set her against any who might
rival her influence. She tried her strength against the Duchess of
Kent, and won; she did what she could against Melbourne, but she was
incapable against his position and his knowledge. Then she hoped to
keep the Prince at a respectful distance from Victoria as the Queen,
however near he might be to her as his wife, and fortunately, though
after a long struggle, she failed, and was packed off to Germany.
The Queen thought she was coming back, but in her heart even she,
infatuated as she was, could not but have known that the position was
impossible for the man--her “dearest Angel”--upon whom she lavished
such warm words of love. Thus we hear no more of Lehzen, except that
she settled with a sister in a comfortable, small house at Bückeburg,
covering the inner walls of her home with prints and pictures of the
Queen whom she had served more lovingly than wisely.
Victoria’s popularity was enhanced by her marriage, but decreased again
owing to the popular fear of foreigners. She was sometimes greeted
with silence, sometimes with cries of “no foreigners!” when she went
to the theatres. It was a time of great hardship, yet the Queen gave
dances and banquets, the accounts of which were exaggerated a hundred
times as they percolated through the newspapers to the poor, many of
whom were starving. We get many allusions to these gaieties. On January
29th, 1842, there was a little dance at Windsor to amuse the young
Prince Leopold of Saxe-Coburg, with just enough ladies to make up a
quadrille. It finished with a country dance, including every sort of
strange figure. “The Queen must have been studying some old books and
concentrated the figures of several centuries into this one country
dance.”
Her Majesty was very fond of dancing, and of organising country dances
for the evening home party; and sometimes after dinner would take one
of her ladies round the waist to polka with her. The polka, originally
a Bohemian peasant dance and very different from the present-day polka,
had just been introduced, so that it was the rage among dancers.
“Oh! sure the world is all run mad,
The lean, the fat, the gay, the sad--
All swear such pleasure they never had,
Till they did learn the Polka.”
She was young, happy, and light-hearted, and her Court was particularly
free from extravagant amusements, yet these little frolics brought
grumbles and troubles in their train, and in the curiously
short-sighted ideas of economy which then obtained, her State balls
were regarded as nothing short of criminal. For Victoria was accused
of flinging away money while many of her people were starving, and her
popularity went down to zero. Some papers printed parallel columns
describing the fancy dresses at the Queen’s balls, the banquets, Royal
purchases, &c., in one, and in the other cases of death from want, of
suicides, and of failures. When this was at its worst the Royal pair
were making magnificent preparations for christening the Prince of
Wales, and Sir Robert Peel is said to have advised them to make haste
and practise economy, advice which was good when the general standard
of ignorance was considered, but all wrong from the point of trade
and work. It was the Queen’s custom when she gave a ball to tell her
Equerry in waiting in the morning with whom she desired to dance, so
that everything should run smoothly. She loved the brightness and the
youthfulness which such functions brought around her, and would on
occasions permit children to sit quietly and watch her dress. Thus Lady
Cardigan speaks of getting introduced by General Cavendish sometimes
to Buckingham Palace when Her Majesty was giving a State ball, which
meant no less a privilege than being allowed to sit in the Royal
dressing-room and look at the pretty young Queen being attired in her
ball dress. “We were too awestruck as a rule even to whisper, but I
think the Queen found more honest admiration in our childish eyes than
in all the honied flatteries of a Court.” Miss Cavendish afterwards
became a Maid of Honour.
In 1840 Victoria marked her sense of Mrs. Norton’s innocence by
allowing her to be presented at Court by her sister, Lady Seymour, who
was the Queen of Beauty at the Eglinton Tournament. Mrs. Norton was
so nervous that the Queen herself remarked upon it to King Leopold,
who said he could well believe that she was much frightened having so
many eyes upon her, some of which, perhaps, not with the most amiable
expression.
Mrs. Norton had many things to endure from her husband, the loss of her
children for one, for though the woman was innocent, the law allowed
a man at that time, no matter how bad he might be, the sole control
and power over the little ones. Later on, when things were easier for
her in this respect, scandal once again arose in a most unwarrantable
manner, accusing her of selling to _The Times_ the secret of
Peel’s intended change of attitude on the Corn Laws. As a matter of
fact, Lord Aberdeen, influenced by Colonial policy, and in view of
the departure of the mails, had imparted this bit of hidden news to
Delane the editor, with the result that it appeared the next day in the
columns of the paper. Speculation was rife as to how _The Times_
knew, and then it was whispered by jealousy, for Mrs. Norton was a very
beautiful and a very popular woman, that Delane had paid Mrs. Norton
a large price for the knowledge which she had learned from one of her
admirers. Later, of course, came the story of “Diana of the Crossways,”
which was regarded as an absolute confirmation of the scandal. George
Meredith himself has emphatically denied that his romance was based
upon anything in the life of Mrs. Norton, as the facts themselves, when
known, disposed of it, but scandal dies hard.
Fanny Kemble, too, attended a Drawing Room in 1842 in consequence of
an inquiry by the Queen as to why she did not come, and wrote of the
event: “If Her Majesty has seen me, I have not seen her; and should
be quite excusable in cutting her whenever I met her. ‘A cat may look
at a king,’ it is said, but how about looking at the Queen? In great
uncertainty of mind on this point, I did not look at my sovereign lady.
I kissed a soft white hand which I believe was hers; I saw a pair of
very handsome legs, in very fine silk stockings, which I am convinced
were not hers, but am inclined to attribute to Prince Albert; and this
is all I perceived of the whole Royal Family of England.”
Prince Albert was something of a dandy in his dress, and the remark
that “there was not a tailor in England who could make a coat” was
attributed to him. In 1843 he invented, or was godfather to, a new
hat for infantry, something like the Hessian cap introduced into the
German service. _Punch_ gave a picture of this hat, which is said
not to be exaggerated, and devoted a column to a description of it,
saying that “the Prince proposed to encase the heads of the British
soldiery in a machine which seemed a decided cross between a muff,
a coal-scuttle, and a slop-pail, making it necessary for the honour
of the English Army that _Punch_ should interfere. The result
has been that the headgear has been summarily withdrawn by an order
from the War Office, and the manufacture of the Albert hat has been
absolutely prohibited.”
The Prince was credited with designing other garments as well, on which
_Punch_ remarked that “Hannibal was a great cutter-out, for he
cut a passage through the Alps; but Prince Albert cuts out Hannibal,
inasmuch as His Royal Highness devotes his talents to the cutting out
of coats, waistcoats, and ‘things inexpressible.’”
A dramatic incident in 1841 made the Queen for the moment a popular
heroine, and that was the action of a publican’s boy named Oxford,
who shot at her as she was driving up Constitution Hill. She and
Prince Albert went on with their drive, altering their route so that
they might pass the Duchess of Kent’s house and relieve her mind of
anxiety in case she heard any rumours of what had just happened. On
returning home they were received at the Palace by a great crowd
cheering vociferously. The next day the shouts of thousands met them
in the Park, and the Houses of the Lords and the Commons tendered
their congratulations in state. The State carriage of the Speaker was
followed by one hundred and nine other members’ carriages to Buckingham
Palace, and as they rolled away eighty carriages of the Lords began to
enter, Barons first, rising in rank to Royal Dukes, all wearing their
Orders, Stars, and Garters.
There were those who said that this attempt upon the Queen’s life had
been instigated by the King of Hanover, but then--give a dog a bad name
and you may as well hang him.
Her Majesty was acclaimed at Ascot that year, which greatly pleased
her, part of the enthusiasm being probably caused by the suggestion
that November might bring an heir to the Throne. The approaching birth
of a Royal child was the subject of talk all over the country, and the
not very delicate taste of the day allowed free speculation and comment
in the daily and weekly papers. One devoted the top of a column to the
subject every week, heading it:--
THE LADIES.
Pray remember
The tenth of November.
It then proceeded to give news of various Court ladies who were
emulating, or hoping to emulate, the example of the Queen, running
something as below:--“The Hon. Mrs. Leicester Stanhope intends to
go to Brighton in the autumn, and has retained the services of the
celebrated Dr. Bradwell for early in November. The Duchess of Somerset
has accepted invitations, for she feels sure that there are no family
reasons to interfere. Lady Cork thinks she might as well stay in
London.” “Yes,” replies the grim Lord Allen, “the London fogs will
shelter you from observation,” &c.
Lord Melbourne was facetiously reported as giving a dinner-party on
Her Majesty’s birthday, and proposing a toast in the following terms:--
“Fill up to the brim, a bright Burgundy bumper,
With the drain of the goblet resound the loud cheer,
Here’s luck in November, and may a braw thumper
In the shape of a Prince glad the close of the year.”
In June the Queen seemed to have come to a rather uncomfortable, not
to say morbid, decision; for Admiral Knox tells us that she felt sure
that she should die in her confinement, and she also made up her
mind to let the event happen at Claremont, where she had everything
replaced just as it had been in Princess Charlotte’s time, even to the
furniture in the bedroom in which she died. These little plans absorbed
her thoughts, and she was constantly running down to Claremont. Of
course, her frame of mind and her curious intention were the subjects
of gossip in the streets, and gruesome caricatures were published, one
representing Victoria lying dead in bed with a dead child in her arms,
and _November_ printed beneath. We do not hear quite so much talk
about “the good old times” as we did in my childhood, but I really
think we should, in the good present times, have no social brutality to
offer which would vie with this.
Fortunately there were many considerations which would necessarily
defeat the Claremont House scheme, and the little Princess--who was
born just after the trouble in the East, making her mother laughingly
suggest that Turko-Egypto should be added to her names--first saw the
light in Buckingham Palace. After the birth, as the Duke of Wellington
was leaving the Palace he met Lord Hill, who made the usual inquiries
about Her Majesty and the “little stranger,” to which the old Duke
answered:
“Very fine child, and very red, very red; nearly as red as you,
Hill!”--an allusion to Lord Hill’s claret-coloured complexion.
The Queen made a rapid recovery, and really behaved in such a healthy,
normal way that the King of Hanover must at last have given up all hope
of the English Throne. In the light of after events it is interesting
to note that Victoria wrote to Leopold:--“I think, dearest uncle, you
cannot really wish me to be the ‘mamma of a numerous family,’ for I
think you will see with me the great inconvenience a _large_
family would be to all of us, and particularly to the country,
independent of the hardship and inconvenience to myself; men never
think, at least seldom think, what a hard task it is for us women to go
through this very often.”
The married life of the Queen was as methodical as her life had been
from 1837 to 1840, but the Prince found the round of the Court too
fatiguing and full of change, desiring to reduce Victoria’s programme
to greater simplicity. He thought the late hours very trying, and
though he was a lover of music would fall asleep before the evening
ended. Lady Normanby gave a concert at which--wrote a Court lady
to a friend--all “sang divinely, the Queen was charmed, and Cousin
Albert looked beautiful and slept as quietly as usual, sitting by Lady
Normanby.” I have also come across such comments as these: “We hear a
great deal of the beauty and pleasing qualities of Prince Albert, who
seems to be admired by all.” Stockmar recorded about this time, “The
Prince improves morally and politically. I can say with truth that I
love him like my son, and that he deserves it.”
It is not generally realised that when he came to England the Prince’s
knowledge of English was not very good, and this, added to his
generally reticent character, helped to make social life difficult for
him, especially with men. He used to be very glad when Miss Spring-Rice
was in waiting, as she spoke German fluently, so that he could talk
with her of his home. Yet he slowly gained good will among the
nobility, for he was known to be a good man, though he was never really
popular with a large number. Our aristocrats were but just emerging
from the bondage of the hard drinking, high gaming, loud swearing, and
promiscuous love-making which had debased the Courts of the Georges
and the last family of Princes, and they could not like a man who
lived cleanly, did not swear, drink, bet or gamble, knew nothing of
sport, and actually disliked horse-racing. The Prince was neither rash
nor docile; he went his own way largely, and did not trouble enough
to make friends with men, though he gradually attracted a few staunch
loyalists of sober life. Between him and others there grew a barrier of
frigid reserve, which in only rare cases was ever broken. The papers
did all they could to accentuate this difference; his inability to
ride well was made the subject of constant comment, and his musical
and literary tastes amused the scoffer. He tried, however, to please
when he could, and he determined to show that he could ride as well
as most men; but in April he had what might have been a very bad
accident. He rode to a staghound meeting at Ascot, on a horse which was
a vicious thoroughbred, and it bolted as soon as the Prince mounted.
He kept his seat and turned the animal round several times in the
hope of stopping it, but at last he was knocked off against a tree,
fortunately not sustaining much injury. Later he followed the hunt and
drove four-in-hand; but it is almost pathetic to realise how the Queen
must have scanned the papers and grieved at every sneer levelled at her
husband, while she constantly urged him to remedy anything which to
English eyes seemed a defect.
Indeed, the tendency all round was to press him into a mould, to treat
him as the Mrs. Gamps of old thought it right to treat the heads of
new-born babes: to press here and massage there, in an endeavour to
present a good round even surface; and the Queen was just as busy as
the Press in her endeavour to work on the skull of Albert’s habits
and leanings. He had really no use for society in the ordinary sense;
he had no small talk, he could not expand or be confidential. But he
had very definite tastes of his own; he would have liked to surround
himself with literary and scientific people, artists, and musicians;
for recreation he loved a game of double chess, in which he was
proficient, but even double chess every night began to pall. As for
the rest, it had to be given up, not because the critics of society
disapproved, but because his little wife had no fancy for the invasion
of their home by intellectual people. She felt that she could not
sustain conversation on abstruse subjects, and she always liked to be
in the centre of the picture; any other place she would have looked
upon as an insult. It is curious that we have had imposed upon us such
fulsome laudations of Victoria’s education, for she showed little
evidence of superiority in that respect. She could speak French, play
the piano, sing prettily, and paint a little, but none of these things
really touch the mind, and her mind had been as neglected as were the
minds of most of the women of her time. Thus the society around her
knew of nothing better than small talk and twiddling the keynotes of a
piano; and to this the Prince had to succumb, even at last giving up
his chess to join the Queen’s circle in a round game of cards!
They played vingt-et-un for money, everyone being desired to have
_new_ coins with which to play, and Victoria loved some curious
game called nainjaune. They spun counters and rings; Georgiana Liddell,
when she became a Maid of Honour, wrote of this:--
“The Prince began spinning counters, so I took to spinning rings, and
the Queen was delighted. It always entertains me to see the little
things that amuse Her Majesty and the Prince, instead of their looking
bored as people so often do in English society.”
It is wonderful that people never seemed to realise that there might be
something more for grown-up people than a choice between spinning rings
or round games and boredom. But there is something very attractive in
the picture of this healthy young pair playing their childish games,
wandering in the Home Park at Windsor, with pigeons alighting on their
shoulders, feeding the animals and rare aquatic birds imported by the
Prince, and showing kindness to all their great household; the married
lovers sometimes having _tête-à-tête_ dinners without watchful
or obsequious eyes upon them, and just beginning to take politics
seriously. For Melbourne, the beloved tutor and friend, was gone, and
the Queen was beginning to think and decide for herself, with her
husband’s help.
Once a riddle, purporting to be from the Bishop of Salisbury, who was
said to offer a reward to anyone who solved it, was sent to the Queen.
She and her husband spent four days over it, and then called in the
assistance of Charles Murray, Comptroller of the Household, who found
out for them that the Bishop knew nothing of the matter, had not sent
the riddle, and believed the whole thing to be a hoax.
Queen Victoria seems to have been thoroughly liked by her Maids of
Honour, of whom there were eight--two waiting at a time for a period
of three months--and who were generally expected to be good pianists.
Often they would be called upon to play duets with the Queen and Prince
Consort, and one of them made the remark, after playing a difficult
Beethoven piece, “It was quite a relief to find that we all played the
last bar at the same time”; adding, “I enjoy nothing so much as seeing
the Queen in this quiet way, and I often wish that those who don’t
know Her Majesty could see how kind and gracious she is when she is
perfectly at her ease, and able to throw off the restraint and form
which must and ought to be observed when she is in public.”
[Illustration: QUEEN VICTORIA.
From a Drawing by Drummond, 1842.]
Victoria would say politely to one of these girls, “If it is
_convenient_, come down any evening and try some music,” “But
I might come down at the wrong moment,” answered Miss Liddell on
one occasion. “Then I will send for you, and if you are at home you
can come,” replied the Queen. “I did laugh in my sleeve,” commented
Georgiana, in recording this, “for except when I go to St. George’s, by
no chance do I go anywhere.”
It was this young lady who said, on coming back to her duty,
“Everything else changes, but the life here never does, and is always
exactly the same from day to day, and year to year.” She also tells us
that the Maid of Honour’s chief duty seemed to be to offer the Queen
her bouquet before dinner each night. The Maids of Honour were each
given a good sitting-room, with a piano in it, which they occupied when
not on duty, and there was a special room downstairs in which they
could receive guests, for such were not allowed in their private rooms.
But despite the distressing sameness and stability at Court, these
girls saw everyone who came. It was also one of their duties to receive
any important lady, such as the Duchess of Kent, on her arrival, and
to take her to her room, and the Maid in Waiting always sat to the
left of the Queen, being generally taken in to dinner by Melbourne.
When the King of Prussia came over to the christening of the Prince of
Wales in January, 1842, he brought various Germans with him, among them
being Colonel von Brauhitch, a young-looking man and a great flirt.
He paid much attention to Georgiana Liddell, and asked when he might
be allowed to pay his respects to her. The girl laughed, and told him
no visitors were allowed into her sitting-room, not even her brother.
The Colonel could not believe this; surely, surely she had mistaken
her instructions! Oh, but he must ask the Baroness. So he went off to
Baroness Lehzen, who confirmed what Miss Liddell had said, much to
his sorrow and disgust at the “tyranny” exercised. He went on paying
her such marked attention that one day old General Neumann came up
to them, saying, “But, my dear friend, do you forget that you are a
grandfather?” Which made the flirtatious Colonel extremely indignant,
as it happened to be true.
Queen Victoria revived the old practice, so popular with George III.,
of walking on the terrace at Windsor on Sunday afternoons, and of
allowing her loyal subjects free ingress thereto. “You never saw
anything like the crowds of people. It was rather unpleasant when Her
Majesty walked among them, for, though the gentlemen tried to give
way, the people pressed up so, it was difficult to keep them back. I
suppose it is right that the Queen should show herself to her subjects
sometimes, but I am always glad when these walks are over.” So said
Miss Liddell after she became Lady Bloomfield.
CHAPTER XIV
QUEEN VICTORIA’S TORY MINISTRY
“And statesmen at her council met
Who knew the seasons when to take
Occasion by the hand, and make
The bounds of freedom wider yet
By shaping some august decree,
Which kept her throne unshaken still,
Broad-based upon her people’s will,
And compass’d by the inviolate sea.”
--_Tennyson._
In September, 1841, the Queen found herself face to face with another
political crisis, and Melbourne tendered his resignation once more. He
went to Windsor to accomplish this dread deed, and it is said that he
showed no appearance of depression, but seemed to consider the change
only as it might affect the Queen.
“For four years I have seen you every day,” he said, “but it is
so different now from what it would have been in 1839; the Prince
understands everything so well.” Indeed, he warmed the Queen’s
affectionate heart by the way he both spoke and wrote of Albert. “I
have formed the highest opinion of His Royal Highness’s judgment,
temper, and discretion, and cannot but feel a great consolation and
security in the reflection that your Majesty has the inestimable
advantage of such advice and assistance. I feel certain that your
Majesty cannot do better than have recourse to it whenever it is
needed, and rely upon it with confidence.” This made the Queen very
pleased and proud, coming as it did from a man who was, as she herself
said, no flatterer.
Thenceforth Melbourne had to endure not only loss of occupation, but
of the society of one whom he had grown to love as a daughter, and
in whose company he had for years passed several hours each day. “He
consorted constantly with the Queen on the most easy and delightful
footing, and he is continually banished from her presence.”
However, he fell naturally into those habits which were his before his
long spell of power, and ere a year had passed he had a slight stroke
of paralysis, which kept him a prisoner for months.
The resignation of the Whig Government naturally brought once more to
the front the vexed question of the Bedchamber Ladies. Extraordinary
care was taken that the Queen’s susceptibilities should not be hurt;
Melbourne, on the one hand, conferring with the Royal pair and with
Anson and Peel, and being approached by the last-named with pacific
suggestions. Peel was terribly nervous, and desirous to do nothing
that would give pain to Her Majesty, saying, “_I would waive every
pretension to office, I declare to God, sooner than that my acceptance
of it should be attended with any personal humiliation to the
Queen._”
The Mistress of the Robes, the sweet-natured Duchess of Sutherland,
sent in her resignation, she being the only person who for the future
would be required to be of the same party as the Government, and
she was replaced by the Duchess of Buccleuch. The exclusively Whig
character of the Household had been broken soon after the crisis in
1839 by the Queen’s invitation to Lady Sandwich, the wife of a Tory
peer, to fill a vacant post. The Duchess of Bedford (_i.e._, Lady
Tavistock) and Lady Normanby also resigned, and with these changes Peel
was content. Thus the principle that the ladies about the Queen should
belong to the governing party, and be changed when the party changed,
was never established, and after that time the Queen’s ladies were
chosen irrespective of political considerations, excepting the Mistress
of the Robes.
Victoria was desolate at the loss of Melbourne. Writing to King
Leopold, she said: “You don’t say that _you_ sympathise with me
in my present heavy trial, the heaviest I have ever had to endure, and
which will be a sad heart-breaking to me”--and Melbourne did his utmost
to cheer her and to insist upon her showing friendly feelings towards
the new Government. But she spent the last evening on which the old
Household remained in a sorrowful silence. “Scarcely a word was spoken
at dinner, but later on tears and regrets broke forth with little
restraint.”
In considering the ways of Queen Victoria during her early career, I
am forced to recognise the fact that when once she really accepted an
impression she could not let it fade. This is curiously exemplified in
several ways, small as well as large. Thus when at the end of August
most of the arrangements had been made for the formation of a Tory
Administration, she somewhat frightened her husband by telling him
that, seeing how the Tories had treated him nearly two years earlier
in the matter of the annuity, he ought now to keep them at a distance.
They would be sure to come and see him and to flatter him, and his part
was to resist them and refuse to see them, at least for some time. A
most extraordinary piece of advice! The curious fact about it is that
Prince Albert did not laugh at it; he was really troubled, and told his
secretary to repeat this to Melbourne, and ask him to influence Her
Majesty to different thoughts.
Victoria’s treatment of her mother and her uncle Leopold arose, I
feel convinced, from the same limitation, aided, perhaps, by a strong
dislike to appear in leading-strings to anyone. The articles in _The
Times_ could hardly have had influence enough to cause this dislike,
which was probably the outcome of her character, but those articles
may have indicated a certain policy to her which she followed too
rigidly. This led her to slight her mother and to exclude her uncle,
as he reminded her, from the ceremonies attending her accession, her
coronation, and her marriage. In his letter written in January, 1841, a
slight bitterness of spirit and a wounded heart is shown when he says:--
“I should not have bored you by my presence, but the act of christening
is, in my eyes, a sort of closing of the first cyclus of your dear
life.” He then reminds her of his actions at her father’s death, how
he went down to Sidmouth two days before that happened, and how so
great was the Duchess’s need that she could not have left Sidmouth
had he not been there to settle everything for her; and how, when
the little party arrived in London, they were treated very unkindly
by George IV. The copy of this letter, which is to be found in “The
Letters of Queen Victoria,” recently published by command of His late
Majesty, ends with: “I wished to assist at the christening of the
little Princess, an event which is of great importance....” It is
something of a relief to know that he _was_ one of the sponsors to
the Princess Royal.
When about a year later the Prince of Wales was christened, a great
debate arose as to who should be the chief godfather, and Stockmar
advised the exclusion of Leopold on the ground that both he and the
King of Hanover could not be invited, and if the Belgian King were
sponsor the Hanoverian King would be very angry; so to avoid this a
mutually friendly Sovereign was asked to stand, and the King of Prussia
accepted the invitation, Ernest of Hanover being furiously angry and
considering himself slighted. This led to an attempt at pacification
when Princess Alice was christened, and he was then invited to be
sponsor. He promised to fill the post, and arrived in London two or
three days after that fixed for the ceremony, “everyone asking why
the King did not arrive or why the christening was not put off.” He
stayed some weeks, showing that he resented the fact that Victoria
occupied the throne of his fathers, and trying to belittle Prince
Albert. During his visit Princess Augusta, daughter of the Duke of
Cambridge, was married to the Grand Duke of Mecklenburg-Strelitz. All
the Royalties were at the wedding, and there was a little amusing
byplay in the vestry when names were appended to the register. While
Victoria was signing the King of Hanover slipped to her side, intending
to take the pen from her and add his name in front of Prince Albert;
but the Queen saw his design and moved quickly round the table to where
the Prince stood, had the book passed to her there, made her signature,
and then gave the pen to the Prince, so by the time Ernest had also got
round the table the deed was done. Once while in London the King asked
the Prince to go for a walk with him, but the latter objected that they
might be troubled with crowds.
“Oh, never mind that,” replied the King; “I was still more unpopular
than you are now, and used to walk about with perfect impunity.”
Altogether he seems to have annoyed his niece very much, for she
refused to go to Ascot that year, and it was currently reported that
the reason was that she would have been obliged to have a houseparty
at Windsor, which would have necessitated the inclusion of the King of
Hanover among her guests.
While writing of christenings, I might tell the story of how the
escort for the King of Prussia went to fetch him from Ostend. The
squadron was under the command of Lord Hardwick, and it had a series
of adventures which ought to justify the theory of ill-luck. His ship
was the _Firebrand_, and it, with several other steamers and
frigates, prepared to start on the Tuesday. Just as steam got up the
_Firebrand_ upheld its name by bursting its boiler. This was
repaired during the day, and they started at night, promptly going
aground in the darkness without getting damaged; but in the fog,
which was very thick, one of the companion steamers ran into the
_Firebrand_ and broke off its figure-head. The third steamer ran
ashore and could not be moved. In defiance of the advice of the pilots,
Lord Hardwick insisted upon pushing on to the Nore. There it was found
that the two frigates would, though the reason was not given, be unable
to cross the Channel, and the second steamer broke her paddles, so the
_Firebrand_ steamed alone into Ostend Harbour at about the time
that the King arrived there. The King decided to remain with the King
of the Belgians that night, and Lord Hardwick remained on his ship.
Just as he got to bed his cook walked over the ship’s side into the
water, and one of the sailors slipped down the ladder and got hold of
him. Lord Hardwick rushed on deck in his shirt, and, shouting for a
boat, threw out a rope to the sailor and asked if he had got the cook
safe.
“Yes,” said the man, who was so deep in the water that it was up to his
neck, “yes, I’ve got his head tight between my knees.”
Fortunately at that moment a boat took them both in, the cook
apparently dead. However, hot blankets, rubbing, and the pump restored
animation, and Lord Hardwick was the longest sufferer, as he caught a
very severe cold.
The economic conditions were so bad at this time that scarcely
anything could raise the mob to enthusiasm. Why should a man with an
empty stomach throw his hat in the air and shout for joy because his
Queen passes him in the street? It is far more likely that he will
scowl and say, “She has every luxury; I have nothing,” as he would say
it of any rich person. Fanny Kemble discoursed upon the attitude of
the people during the visit of the King of Prussia, saying that the
concourse was immense, but that she was much surprised at the entire
want of excitement and enthusiasm in the vast multitude who thronged
and all but choked up the Queen’s way. All hats were lifted, but there
was not a hatful of cheers, and the whole thing produced a disagreeable
effect of coldness, indifference, and constraint. She went on to say
that one person believed that it was nineteenth-century breeding which
was too exquisite to allow of the mob shouting; and another person, who
was a very warm Whig, thought the silence was to be accounted for by
Paisley starvation and Windsor banquets. She concluded that when Horace
Wilson was crossing the Park at the time that the Queen was driving
through it, there was some, but not much, decided hissing.
When Queen Victoria found herself compelled to accept Peel as her
chief Minister, she did not attempt to break off all intercourse with
Lord Melbourne, though great pressure was put upon her from all sides,
and especially by Stockmar, to make her refrain from either seeing
him or writing to him. Both she absolutely refused to do, and for a
time letters passed constantly between them. The German Baron grew
almost hysterical over these letters, and did not hesitate to convey
to Lord Melbourne his conviction that he was acting dishonourably and
jeopardising the Queen’s honour, for nothing would convince him that
Melbourne was not basely discussing politics with Her Majesty, doing
all in his power to undermine Peel’s work, and nursing the prospect
of a return to the headship of affairs himself. Stockmar acted always
upon the supposition that men were evil, and Melbourne’s honour and
magnanimity had no weight with him. Peel, however, was more just.
Before he went to the Queen, Melbourne sent him a message, advising
him of the things that the Queen liked or disliked, and doing his
utmost to help his rival to obtain the Queen’s favour. On the receipt
of this message Peel said how kind it was of Lord Melbourne, and,
on the subject of the Queen’s friendship for her old Minister being
mentioned, added that it was ridiculous to suppose that he could feel
any jealousy, that he had full reliance on the Queen’s fairness, and
that implicit confidence was the wisest course.
It is worthy of note that at the first dinner-party given to her new
Ministers the programme of the evening was changed. The Queen was very
gracious and good-humoured with Aberdeen, Peel, the Duke, and others.
But when they went into the drawing-room Melbourne’s chair was gone,
and, instead of showing herself interested in her guests, all the
Ministers were set down to whist, so that there was no possibility of
conversation. Victoria herself sat at her round table with Lady de la
Warr and Lady Portman, and there was practically silence. That an
exchange of ideas, not on political matters, might have been pleasant
to the gentlemen, did not enter the little lady’s head.
Melbourne behaved with great courtesy to Stockmar, but he did not
promise not to write to the Queen nor to answer her letters. Of all
the people he knew, he loved her best; for four years he had been her
constant companion and adviser; he had watched her with fatherly care
through her trials, her mistakes, and her good fortune, and he took
a pride in the development of character which he detected. He was
ambitious for her, and believed that she was capable of greatness, and
he did not in the least share Stockmar’s Teutonic hope that the Queen
would be gradually absorbed in the nursery and leave affairs of State
to other minds. The letters that passed between them had little or no
reference to State affairs, and could have in no way been objected to
by Peel if he had seen them.
From this time until his death there was an element of tragedy in the
life of the ex-Premier. He was given by Stockmar--who first instructed
the Prince as to his decisions and what he should say, and then acted
as the mouthpiece for the Prince’s borrowed sentiments--the alternative
either of obliterating himself as a politician, or of banishing
himself entirely from the Queen’s friendship. A short time after the
change of Government Victoria asked him to come and stay a few days
at Windsor, and not knowing how this would be regarded, yet wishing
to accept, Melbourne wrote to Prince Albert to know if such a visit
would be feasible. Albert was afraid to accept the responsibility,
and consulted Stockmar, who wrote a memorandum charging the late Prime
Minister with committing an _essential injustice_ to Sir Robert
Peel by continuing to correspond with the Queen, and also by asking the
Prince to give an opinion upon this suggested visit.
He sent Anson, who admired and loved his old master, to deliver this
condemnation. Melbourne read the memorandum twice attentively with
compressed lips. Then Anson repeated the lesson Stockmar had taught him
in addition, saying that he had better meet the Queen first in general
society in London, that the Prince thought that Melbourne’s own sense
of right should have enabled him to decide about his visit, and that
his recent speech in the House of Lords, which identified him with the
Opposition, added another impediment to his seeing Her Majesty.
Melbourne had been sitting on a sofa, and at this he jumped up,
striding up and down the room exclaiming “in a violent frenzy,” I quote
from Baron Stockmar, “God eternally damn it!--&c., &c. Flesh and blood
cannot stand this. I only spoke upon the defensive, which Ripon’s
speech at the beginning of the session rendered quite necessary. I
cannot be expected to give up my position in the country, neither do I
think that it is to the Queen’s interest that I should.”
Melbourne continued to lead the Opposition, and when affairs were more
settled he occasionally went to see the Queen, but after he had a
slight stroke he seemed a broken man, never recovering his strength.
In December, 1843, Georgiana Liddell wrote of him: “Lord Melbourne
goes away to-day. He was not well yesterday, and had a slight touch
of gout; it always makes me sad to see him, he is so changed.” When
the Queen visited Chatsworth Melbourne was invited to make one of the
guests, which gave him great pleasure, though it was doubtful whether
the excitement was good for him, for a dreadful depression seized upon
him afterwards, for he knew that his day was over, and chafed and
fretted under the knowledge.
Another man who was beginning to show many signs of age was the Duke of
Wellington, of whom Greville said, I think erroneously, that “he was
a great man in little things, but a little man in great matters.” All
through the years from about 1834 Society seems to have been watching
for the Duke’s collapse. In June, 1838, one diarist remarked: “It is
a sad thing to see how the Duke is altered in appearance, and what a
stride old age has made upon him. He is much deafer than he was, he
is whiter, his head is bent, his shoulders are raised, and there are
muscular twitches in his face, not altogether new, but of a more marked
character.”
Prince Albert had the good sense to make a personal friend of this the
most remarkable man in the kingdom. Someone gives an account of the
two pacing the garden together in earnest conversation, and on passing
them being amused to find that the Duke was giving a long discourse
about larders, “it might have been a French cook instead of the great
hero of Waterloo.” When the changes of administration occurred in 1841,
it was the Duke who gave expression to Albert’s desire that those who
came into office should be of “spotless character.” However strongly
Wellington at one time opposed the repeal of the Corn Laws, he lived
to be proud of the deed, for his death did not take place until 1852.
[Illustration: THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON.]
As to the “spotless character” upon which the Prince insisted from the
men forming the new Tory Administration, it naturally caused terrible
mortification and anger among those able men who could not show a clean
bill morally; and in spite of the excellent principle it contained it
was likely to be a public danger, as it is by no means proved that the
most moral man is also the best statesman. However, the Prince adhered
to this all his life, thus doing much to purify English society, and
after his death the Queen became much more strict than he had been
on this point; indeed, it is doubtful whether Mrs. Norton would have
been as kindly received in 1870 as she was in 1840. Lady Cardigan
remarks that in 1857 “the Court was as narrow-minded as when poor Flora
Hastings had been the victim of its lying slander.” But there was a
difference; in 1839 the persecution of Flora Hastings had nothing to
do with principle, it was caused by impulse and prejudice; in later
years it became a principle that no woman, innocent or guilty, against
whom slander had breathed, should set foot within the Palace. It was
not so much a horror of sin itself as a conventional idea that the
Court must set a good example, and according to the lax standard of
Victorian times it was enough that the woman should suffer, the man
was only banished if he were extremely and publicly bad. Even now our
standard has risen, and we are beginning to think a light man as odious
as a light woman, and are certainly not in favour of punishing one and
letting the other off.
One curious prejudice that the Queen developed was her strong sentiment
against a second marriage, she herself being the child of a happy
second marriage, and feeling a great affection for her half-sister.
This must have arisen from the sentimental side of her love for her
husband, making her feel that so intimate a union as that of marriage
could only be possible with one person, only she translated “possible”
into “moral.” I do not think it was caused by any excess of religious
convictions, for the Queen was not a slave to religious form, though
she was devout. In 1844 she held a Drawing Room on the 25th of March,
which was not only in Lent, but on the day of the Annunciation. “The
Calverts are so shocked, and seem to think that Her Majesty will come
to a sense of the enormity she is committing as Head of the Church and
put off the Drawing Room. However, that remains to be seen!” writes a
chronicler of small events.
Victoria gradually became absorbed in her new Government and new Prime
Minister, and by 1844 had forgotten the old party almost as though it
did not exist; indeed, in spite of the desire for aloofness from party
politics expressed by Albert, she now seemed to regard the Whigs much
as she once had regarded the Tories. Thus when the Russian Emperor came
to England, and she gave parties in his honour, she invited all the
Tories to meet him, and made a sparing choice among her old friends.
So Lord John Russell, the then most noted leader among the Whigs, was
left out of everything, and was never presented to the Emperor at all.
Melbourne was, however, included, and the Emperor thanked him for
coming to the breakfast and affording him the opportunity of meeting
him.
But as the years went, Her Majesty saw less and less of the man without
whom at one time she seemed unable to exist; the letters between them
became restricted to the briefest notes at long intervals, and four
years after their official parting a contemporary noted that Melbourne
could not speak of the Queen without tears in his eyes, and another
remarked, “She never cared a farthing for any of the late Cabinet but
Melbourne, and has apparently ceased to care for him.”
This was not really according to fact; the Queen always felt an
affection for her old Prime Minister, but as she grew more experienced
she realised that his advice, though the best he could give, had not
always been perfect, and that she in her girlish enthusiasm had not
always seen things in their right proportion; thus, too late, she
grew critical, and that somewhat altered her estimation of him. She
also became more and more confident of Peel’s power to help her, and
had little time to spend in writing to the man who was no longer of
importance. “She never forgot to write him on his birthday,” one
biographer announces triumphantly, but she did more than that, though
the poor lonely Melbourne brooded sometimes until he felt himself
neglected. It was unfortunate that he allowed his mind to dwell so much
on his few years of Royal companionship and favour, that he found the
knowledge of his failing powers so painful, and that he ever dreamed of
taking the leadership of the House again. When the O’Connell trial was
nearing its close, he remarked:
“There is not much chance of the House of Commons coming to a vote
against Government; but still such a thing is possible, and I was kept
awake half the night thinking, suppose such a thing did occur, and I
was sent for to Windsor, what advice I should give the Queen.”... “It
kept me awake,” he repeated, “and I determined that I would advise her
not to let Mr. O’Connell be brought up for judgment.”
Once the Queen’s prejudice against Peel had disappeared, she felt more
comfortable under his Government and its large majorities than she
had done with the Whigs; and when Peel resigned at the end of 1845 in
consequence of the publication by Delane of his new Corn Law policy,
she felt as upset, they say, as when Melbourne resigned in 1839. She
could do nothing, however, but send for Lord John Russell, and knowing
how Melbourne would feel about being left out she wrote to him, saying
that she knew that his health would preclude his taking office, but she
hoped he would come and give her his counsel. She was at Cowes at the
time, and he replied that he could not face the little crossing, it
would be as bad for him as a voyage over the ocean. However, in spite
of Russell’s gallant attempts, the somewhat overbearing Palmerston
stood in the way of a Whig Cabinet. The Queen feared his foreign
policy, and many of his colleagues disliked him. “Lord Palmerston
is redeemed from the last extremity of political degradation by his
cook,” was the spiteful saying of one of his opponents. So Peel came to
the Queen’s assistance, and she received him back as joyfully almost
as she had received Melbourne in 1839. It was not the Queen’s ladies
this time, but the Queen’s Foreign Minister, who reinstated the old
Government.
In 1842 the Queen and the Prince went on a visit to Scotland by boat.
They were from all accounts charming on the journey, which was a slow
one, taking three days; they took great interest in the ship, dining
on deck in the midst of the sailors, making them dance, talking to the
boatswain, &c. But Victoria got tired and impatiently wanted to land;
as it was useless to do that before she arrived at Grantham Pier she
became annoyed; as Greville says, her fault was impatience, inability
to bear contradiction, and a desire always to go ahead. Thus as soon
as she got into her carriage at Edinburgh, orders were given that the
coachman should drive as fast as possible. At first they could scarcely
move, for in its enthusiasm the crowd broke all bounds, pressed the
soldiers out of the procession, and crushed close up to the carriage.
When at last it was disengaged, the coachman went at a gallop through
the city, the Queen being seen by no one. People had then, as now, been
foolish enough to give great sums for windows and seats, the crowds
which lined the streets had been waiting for hours, great labour had
been spent to decorate the place, and all that a carriage might dash
along bearing a Queen who did not see her subjects through a multitude
of people who did not believe that she would have treated them so badly.
Honestly I think the explanation of her motive given by Greville
and others is wrong, and that the dash through Edinburgh was caused
by nervousness. Paisley was looked upon as one of the centres of
disaffection, and Peel was in a state of fear about the whole
expedition, acknowledging at the end of one day that “we have just
completed the very nervous operation of taking the Queen in a low open
carriage from Dalkeith to Dalway, sixteen miles through Canongate and
High Street, and back by Leith in the evening.”
Thus when the street crowd hustled the soldiers and pressed so
unceremoniously upon the Royal _cortège_, I think the whole party
was inspired with fear for the Queen’s safety, and got out of the town
as quickly as possible. This very nearly brought about the result
dreaded, for the Edinburgh people were very angry; they talked of
abandoning the illuminations, and a public riot nearly took place. This
was prevented, however, by the immediate arrangement being made for a
great procession on another day.
In 1843 the Royal pair went to visit the French King at Eu, Victoria’s
first visit to the Continent. Everything was done to please the
visitors, but Lady Bloomfield gives an amusing account of the details.
She says that there were curious contradictions in the stateliness of
the arrangements made by the King for their comfort. The carriages sent
to fetch the Royal party from the shore were char-a-bancs, and though
the first was drawn by twelve caparisoned horses they were large and
clumsy animals. There was but one driver in front, and three footmen in
State livery behind, with many outriders in all kinds of liveries on
all sorts of horses, some of them wretched beasts. The chief amusement
each day was to go for a picnic, driving for several hours to a wood or
a ruin over unmade roads with deep ruts and huge stones, the folk in
the char-a-bancs being bumped and shaken to pieces. One night the Corps
de l’Opera came from Paris to play before the visitors, and brought
with them two pieces for selection, one ridiculing the English, and the
other too improper to be acted before the Queen.
It was on the 29th of May in 1842 that a second mad attempt was made
on Her Majesty’s life, and it needed but one instance of this sort
to prove how courageous were both the Queen and her husband. She was
returning from church on the Sunday, and the ladies in the second
carriage noticed that the Royal carriage stopped in Birdcage Walk.
On reaching the Palace they also noticed that the Prince looked very
annoyed and went away with the equerries; the Queen, who was quite calm
and collected, going as usual up the grand staircase to her apartments,
talking to her ladies, discussing the sermon and dismissing them as was
her custom. The next day Matilda Paget and Georgiana Liddell remained
all the afternoon expecting a summons to drive with the Queen, but none
came, and at about six o’clock Her Majesty departed with Prince Albert
in an open carriage. Georgiana went for a walk in the Palace gardens,
grumbling that she had been kept in for nothing, but when she got back
she was horrified to learn that the Queen had been shot at by a lad
named Francis. In the evening Victoria broke off a conversation with
Sir Robert Peel to say:
“I dare say, Georgy, you were surprised at not driving with me this
afternoon, but as we returned from church yesterday a man presented
a pistol at the carriage window, which flashed in the pan; we were
so taken by surprise that he had time to escape, so I knew what was
hanging over me, and was determined to expose no life but my own.” She
added that when the young man had fired again that afternoon the report
had been less loud than it was when Oxford fired at her, and that she
should not have noticed it had she not been expecting it the whole time
she was driving.
This youth of twenty was transported, but six weeks later a hunchback
named Bean was seen to present a pistol at Her Majesty, and was
taken into custody, but there was a difficulty in that the police
would not at first believe in the charge, and let the man go. Thus,
when convinced that the matter was serious, they collected all the
hunchbacks they could find until they had about sixty at the police
station. Admiral Knox says of this in one of his letters:
“Did you see in the papers the account of the attempt on the life
of the Queen? You know it was by a hunchback boy, and I heard that
when the police set out in pursuit of him, all the hunchbacks in the
neighbourhood were arrested. There were no less than fifty or sixty
assembled at the station house, and they were all quarrelling and
fighting, each saying to the other, ‘Now confess that you did it, and
let us off.’ I think it must have been a most absurd scene.”
Bean, however, was recognised, and as his attempt had been only of a
half-hearted sort, he was sentenced to eighteen months’ imprisonment.
These foolish actions were really induced by a desire for notoriety,
and they bring to mind the boy Jones who on several occasions was found
secreted in the palace, his inquisitiveness leading to definite results
and much needed reform.
This boy, when about fifteen, first appeared in December of 1838, in
the dress of a sweep, being found in the marble hall of Buckingham
Palace at five o’clock in the morning. He made a dart for the door, but
was captured in the Palace gardens. He had either come down a chimney
or tried to get up one, for marks of soot were found in many bedrooms.
A sword and some linen had been taken from one room, in another he
had well larded himself with bear’s-grease, in another he had broken
a valuable picture of Queen Victoria and abstracted two letters. He
told various tales, saying that he had lived in the Palace for months
and had been behind a chair when Cabinet meetings had been held, also
that he came from Hertfordshire. However, he was proved to be the son
of a tailor named Jones, who lived in York Street, Westminster, and it
was also proved that he had always stated a determination to see the
inside of the Palace. When he was tried the matter was regarded as an
escapade, and he went free.
This youth had been entirely forgotten when, eleven days after the
birth of the Princess Royal in 1841, a young man was discovered lying
under the sofa in the Queen’s dressing-room, which adjoined the chamber
in which she lay. He was short, dirty, repulsive-looking, and about
seventeen. It was Jones again, who said he had entered the Palace twice
by scaling the wall and getting in at a window, and had been there from
Tuesday night to one o’clock on Thursday morning, secreting himself
under different beds. He said he had sat on the throne and heard the
baby cry. His punishment was three months in the House of Correction.
Of him Samuel Rogers said he must be a descendant of In-i-go Jones,
and _The Satirist_ and other papers treated him to a few remarks,
among them being:--
“Now he in chains and in the prison garb is
Mourning the crime that couples _Jones with darbies_.”
Jones left prison on March 2nd, and on the 15th of that month one of
the extra sergeants of police put on in the Palace in consequence of
these incursions, saw someone peeping through a glass door in the
Marble Hall. It was Jones again, who had raided the pantries and
carried a selection of food to a Royal apartment, where he had been
feasting. He had another three months in the House of Correction
with the addition of hard labour, and when that was over he was
persuaded--persuaded sounds better than compelled, though it sometimes
means the same thing--to go to sea. _Punch_ gave an amusing
account of his exploits, which ended with the following lines:--
“One night, returnin’ home to bed,
I walked through Pim-li-co,
And twiggin’ of the Palass, sed,
‘I’m Jones, and In-i-go.’
But afore I could get out, my boys,
Polliseman 20A,
He caught me by the corderoys,
And lugged me right away.
My cuss upon Lord Melbun, and
On Johnny Russ-al-so,
That forced me from my native land
Across the vaves to go-o-oh.
But all their spiteful arts is vain
My spirits down to keep;
I hope I’ll soon git back again,
To take another peep.”
CHAPTER XV
QUEEN VICTORIA’S HOME
“I am born to this position; I must take it, and neither you nor
I can help or hinder me. Surely, then, I need not fret myself to
guard my own dignity.”--_Emerson._
This incident of an ordinary street boy getting three times into
Buckingham Palace without being seen, spending hours there each time
and wandering at will about the building, was naturally the talk
of London. It was found that there was a space between the Marble
Arch--which then formed the entrance in front of the Palace--and its
gates which a boy could easily get through, but this was no excuse for
the opportunity he seems to have had of entering the building itself.
Extra police and watchmen were put on at night, but Stockmar considered
the matter serious enough to warrant study, and he discovered a most
curious state of things in the arrangement of the Royal Household, a
discovery which led to a general and much needed domestic revolution;
and in consequence, through the executive ability of Stockmar and the
alleged economic spirit of Prince Albert, to years of dissension and
discontent among the servants, great and little; from which at last
arose a system of domestic comfort which allowed the Queen to be
mistress in her own house. In actual fact, the conditions under which
the Household had been run would have made a splendid subject for a
Gilbertian opera.
[Illustration: BARON STOCKMAR.]
The chief officers of the Household were in the same position and
doing the same tasks as they had filled and done for centuries, and
though all the details of their work had changed gradually no new
rules had been made for their guidance. These chief officers were the
Lord High Steward, the Lord Chamberlain, and the Master of the Horse.
These three were also great officers of State, were changed with every
Ministry--between 1830 and 1844 one was changed five and another six
times--they could not reside at the Palace, and often could not be in
the same place as the Court. They were chosen by the Ministers for
their political strength and opinions, without any reference to their
powers as good housekeepers, good organisers, or good masters. This
led to the curious situation that the Masters of the Queen’s Household
could rarely attend to their duties, which had to be deputed to people
who were perhaps incapable, or also not on the spot, and that in many
trivial ways Victoria had no authority in her own home. There was no
domestic to whom she could give orders, because the servants were under
absentee masters, and neither she nor the Prince could ensure having
a well-warmed room to live in. She was, in fact, so great a personage
that it was arranged that every order to the servants should pass
through other lips than hers, and as those other lips were generally
miles away from the Royal domestic scene, the orders, if they were of
a serious nature and outside the sphere of ordinary servants, were not
given at all. So the Queen sat and shivered in her drawing-room, paid
enormously for candles to light a room which would be in darkness when
needed, and could not from inside tell the state of the weather because
of the dirt on the windows.
There was also a lack of co-operation or agreement among these three
high officials, so that there was never any unity of action. This was
the more absurd, as the labour had to be delegated or re-delegated to
actual servants who dwelt on the spot, and who did not seem to have the
wit to do their work in conjunction. In no part of the Royal Household
was there any real discipline, order, or dignity about the domestic
work. The servants themselves often did not know who was responsible
for certain duties, and, servant-like, were always careful never to
do anyone’s work but their own. The great officials themselves were
said not to know which parts of the Castle or Palace were under the
charge of the Lord Steward or the Lord Chamberlain. When George III.
was King the Lord Steward had charge of the whole Palace except the
Royal apartments; in the next two reigns he was also held accountable
for the ground floor, including the hall and the dining-rooms. But when
Victoria came to the throne he gave over the grand hall and other lower
rooms to the Lord Chamberlain, which seems to have left the mastership
of the kitchen, sculleries, and pantries vague.
The authority over a room conferred responsibility over the most
trivial matters, such as the laying of the fire, the cleaning of the
windows, the brushing of the carpet. This authority had no place
outside the room, nor outside the house; thus the Lord Chamberlain or
his deputy might order the windows of the Queen’s boudoir to be cleaned
inside, yet it remained for the Master of the Horse, who had authority
over the woods and forests, to arrange when the outside should be
cleaned. This sort of thing was complicated by the fact that the
housekeepers, pages, housemaids, &c., were required to give obedience
to the Lord Chamberlain, while the footmen, livery porters, and under
butlers, being clothed and paid by the Master of the Horse, owned
allegiance to him; and the rest of the servants, cooks, porters, &c.,
obeyed the Lord Steward.
In contemporary writings one frequently comes across hints of the
discomfort of the Royal palaces, the draughts, the cold, the bad
lighting, and it is scarcely to be wondered at, seeing the curious
arrangements made by Her Majesty’s Ministers for her comfort. Victoria,
feeling the cold especially one day, sent a messenger to Sir Frederick
Watson, then Master of the Household, complaining that the dining-room
was always cold. That perplexed gentleman, who either had no initiative
or who knew that interference would be useless, replied gravely to the
messenger:
“You see, properly speaking, it is not our fault, for the Lord Steward
lays the fire and the Lord Chamberlain lights it.”
As to the lighting of the Palace, it was the duty of the Lord
Chamberlain to buy the lamps, and see that there were sufficient
both of them and of candles; but the Lord Steward was responsible for
filling, cleaning, cutting, and lighting them.
Supposing a pane of glass was broken, so involved were the conditions
for getting it repaired that it might be weeks before the necessary
authority could be obtained. If the kitchen window happened to be
smashed, the following process would have to be gone through. The chief
cook would write and sign a request for the replacing of the glass,
definitely describing where it was needed; this was countersigned
by the Clerk of the Kitchen, then it had to be signed by the Master
of the Household; from him it was taken to the Lord Chamberlain’s
office, where it awaited his presence and pleasure. Having received
his invaluable signature, it was then laid before the Clerk of the
Works under the Woods and Forest Department. By the time the workman
was ordered to put in the window it was not improbable that months had
elapsed, and one really wonders whether the Queen’s cook did not resort
to the time-honoured use of brown paper.
It is true that while these anomalies were going on there was a Master
of the Household, but then his authority, which was of an attenuated
character, was confined to the Lord Steward’s Department, and was
there quite undefined; while the servants under the Lord Chamberlain,
comprising the housemaids, housekeepers, and pages, were entirely
outside his jurisdiction.
This naturally had its bad effect upon the servants, who were left
without any real master. They went off duty when they chose, remained
absent for hours on the day when they were especially expected to be in
attendance, and committed any irregularity without anyone to reprimand
them. The footmen, who slept ten or twelve in a dormitory, might smoke
or drink there, but if anyone were the wiser, certainly there was no
one who was in a position to remonstrate.
It is almost impossible to imagine a worse regulated establishment
than that of the little lady who was the First Person in the Kingdom,
yet who had not power to ensure decent attendance from her servants. I
wonder if she was quite conscious of the inconvenience and indignity
of it all, whether she knew the straits to which her visitors were
sometimes reduced, and whether she felt a pang of shame at her enforced
position of inaction. Guests might arrive at Windsor, and find no one
to welcome them or to show them their rooms. Proper communication was
not established among the innumerable servants; for the housemaids who
obeyed the Lord Chamberlain, and who prepared the rooms, did not come
into communication with the guests; and the footmen, who were under
the Lord Steward, were not authorised to see to this matter; indeed,
it was quite possible that most of the footmen were, in light and
irresponsible fashion, seeing to their own business when the guests
appeared. It all seems to have depended upon the right housekeeper
being more or less accidentally in the right spot at the right moment,
and she was not in the department of the Master of the Household. The
usual course in such a case was to send a servant, if one could be
found, to the porter’s lodge, where a list of rooms, &c., was kept.
It was also no unusual thing for a visitor to be at a loss to find the
drawing-room at night. He or she would start from the bedroom with
more or less confidence, perhaps take a wrong turn, and wander about
helpless and alone, one account says for an hour, finding no servants
to give assistance to them, and coming across no one of whom the way
could be asked.
When “The Boy Jones”--as _Punch_ delighted to name him--made his
surreptitious visits, the public blamed those on whom depended the
regulations for protecting the Queen. But there was no responsible
person in the Palace at the time. The Lord Chamberlain was in
Staffordshire, and the porters were not in his department; the Lord
Steward was not in the Palace, and had nothing to do with the pages and
other people nearest to the Royal person; nor could the responsibility
be fixed on the Master of the Household, who was only a subordinate
officer in the Lord Steward’s department. It did not occur to any of
these good people, nor to the Government, that something more was
needed than the adding of an iron bar to the front gate or placing an
extra policeman in the front hall; and it was left to Stockmar to cause
the whole arrangements of the Palace to be reconstructed. He advised
that the three great officers of the Court, with their respective
departments, should retain their connection with the political system
of the country, but that each should in his own sphere be induced to
delegate as much of his authority as was necessary to the maintenance
of the order, security, and discipline of the Palace to _one_
official, who should always live at Court, and be responsible to the
three departmental chiefs, but at the same time be able to secure unity
of action in the use of the powers delegated to him.
As the abuses had been going on for many years, Stockmar’s suggestions
and interference gave rise to violent feeling and much bitterness,
and it was some years before the storm subsided into calm. I have
come across an account of King William’s going to Ascot in 1833, when
the Royal Household seems to have been absolutely disreputable, for
_all_ the King’s grooms got drunk _every_ day, excepting
(seemingly) one man, and he was killed going home from the races. What
an argument for the virtue of drunkenness! The person who described the
event added that no one exercised any authority over these servants,
and the household ran riot. Favourite abuses of this kind were not
easily abolished, but the Prince Consort accepted Stockmar’s advice and
carried his suggestions into effect, firmly resisting all attempts to
evade them, and appointing the Master of the Household as the delegate
of the three departmental chiefs.
One interference in the Household led to another, and soon remarkable
changes were made. Stockmar was doubtless at the back of them all,
but upon the Prince Consort fell the odium. He had been brought up
too economically not to know the value of money, and, like any other
sensible person, he abhorred waste. There was one little matter which
was particularly fastened upon him by his detractors. I remember an
old lady speaking of him to me years ago with energetic scorn, and
on my asking why, she replied: “Oh, I remember him! He was one of the
meanest of people, for he actually saved the candle-ends.” “Well, why
not, if he had the chance of doing it?” I asked. On looking up this
matter I found that the great rooms were lit by hundreds of candles,
and that some upper servant had acquired the perquisite of every day
emptying all the receptacles and replacing the pieces by fresh candles;
further, if a room had not been used, the candles were changed just
the same, and the licensed looter carried off a rich booty. Prince
Albert enforced a rule that this should no longer be done, and that the
candles should remain to be burnt within a reasonable limit. Being an
economist myself, I quite sympathise with him.
The lowering of salaries, however, created a tremendous _furore_.
Thus there were about forty housemaids at Windsor, and the same
number at Buckingham Palace, whose wages had been for many years £45
per annum. In the general revision this was reduced to £12 a year on
commencing duties, with a gradual rise to £18, beyond which a housemaid
could not go. A little book, “Sketches of Her Majesty’s Household,”
published anonymously in 1848, shows that some of the economies were
peculiarly unfair, as in the case of the sixteen gentlemen of the
Chapel Royal who chanted the services, and who were given £73 a year
each. They were required to attend on Sundays every other month and
on saints’ days, &c. From each salary four shillings in the pound was
deducted as land tax, which, added to further deduction for income
tax, reduced the salary to £56. The same course was pursued with
the organist, composers--all getting a nominal £73--and other people
connected with the Chapel who received less. Think of the violinist who
had to regard himself as “passing rich on forty pounds a year,” minus
eight pounds deducted as land tax! It is a little difficult to realise
this, for what could the land tax have to do with the chapel music?
From the same source we learn the regulations imposed upon the members
of the Queen’s Private Band, who were paid from the Privy Purse. Their
salaries were reduced from £130, with supper and wine, to £80 and £90,
with no supper, in lieu of which a small sum was given at each nightly
attendance. Sometimes a vacancy occurred in the State Band, which was
paid by the State, and then a piece of very sharp practice was indulged
in. The vacancy would be filled by a member of the Private Band, and
as a consequence of this promotion the man had to play in both bands,
for which he should have received an extra £40 for his services in the
State Band. He duly received that £40, but when his salary was paid him
as a member of the Private Band he would find that the sum of £40 had
been carefully deducted before it was handed to him--on the assumption
that he had already received it!
In this description of the anomalies in the Royal Household I have
mostly given Stockmar’s view of the case. There was, of course, another
aspect, and the English officially gave voice to it. In 1846 the Earl
de la Warr, who was then Lord Chamberlain, said that he experienced
such an “extraordinary interference in the performance of his official
duties from parties at Court,” that he determined to resign, so he
made “Free Trade in Corn” the excuse, and the day after Her Majesty’s
_accouchement_ the announcement took place. Several noblemen
refused the post, and at last it was semi-officially announced that
Sir Robert Peel, in consequence of the uncertainty as to the life of
the Government, would not at present fill up the appointment. So Lord
de la Warr was virtually bribed to hold office for a time--that is
to say, until Lord John Russell and the Whigs came in in July. One
of De la Warr’s sons, Mortimer West, was given a commission in the
Grenadier Guards; another, Charles, was made military secretary to
the Commander-in-Chief in India; and a third, Reginald, was gazetted
Chaplain-in-Ordinary to Her Majesty.
When Russell formed his Administration it was even then very difficult
to fill the Lord Chamberlain’s office, everyone shrinking from the
unofficial interference of Stockmar and the Prince. The Duke of
Bedford, the Duke of Devonshire, and the Earl of Uxbridge all declined,
but Earl Spencer was at last prevailed upon to take the responsibility.
The Inspector of the Palace was named Henry Saunders, and he gave in
his resignation in March, 1844, because of “extraordinary interference
with him in the performance of his duties by members of the Household
unconnected with the Lord Chamberlain’s department”; but Lord de la
Warr persuaded him to remain until the Prince Consort, who was visiting
his home, returned from Germany. Saunders was believed by Anson to
have given information of Palace doings to the Press, as many things
had been made public, particularly about the wholesale discharge of
servants in Saunders’s department, as well as other matters which had
formed subjects of private inquiry. He was pensioned at the end of
1845 on £500 a year. After that different Inspectors were appointed
for each Palace, to superintend the care of the furniture and to make
arrangements for the reception of the Court and of Her Majesty’s
visitors.
There was naturally a tremendous jealousy of the many German servants
introduced by the Prince, and in 1848 it was pointed out by a newspaper
that Richard the Second’s Chamberlain was impeached for introducing
aliens into the King’s Household; the writer advocated a similar
proceeding, though he added a belief that the Lord Chamberlain was not
really responsible for the numerous appointments of foreigners.
Among these foreigners was a man named Heller, who came to England
with the Prince as courier, and who was appointed by the Prince in
1842 to be Page of the Chambers, the impression being that among his
other duties he was to be the “overlooker” of the other pages. These
others, being English, bitterly resented this, and there were frequent
rows between Heller and the other men. Once a page named Kinnaird was
so enraged that, in spite of Albert’s presence, he threatened to throw
Heller over the banisters, telling the Prince that he “would not be
insulted by a foreigner.”
Another change made, and a very sensible one, was the abolition of fees
for seeing the interior of Windsor Castle. Lady Mary Fox, a daughter
of William IV. and wife of Major-General Fox, Surveyor-General of
the Ordnance, was the State Housekeeper, receiving a residence in
the Norman Tower, a salary of £320 a year, and all the fees from the
visitors, amounting from £1,200 to £1,500 a year. This post she held
until the end of 1845, when she was duly compensated for relinquishing
it.
Various matters relating to the Household becoming public made the
Prince very angry, and he complained to the Duke of Bedford of the way
in which the proceedings at Court were publicly known and discussed.
He said that on the Continent it was the Government which knew by its
secret agents what its people were doing; while in England it was the
people who knew what the Court was about--the Court knowing nothing
about other people’s affairs. He did not seem to realise that this
was the tax great people had to pay for their position, and that as
the public was curious about them the newspapers could and did secure
all the information there was to be had. All his life in England
Albert hated the “fierce light that beats upon the throne,” and his
exclusiveness tended to make the Court unpopular with the multitude.
It also led to trouble and annoyance among those who immediately
surrounded the Throne, for the Prince and Queen would arrange very
important matters in utter secrecy, news of which would leak into the
daily papers, while the Queen’s advisers were in entire ignorance.
Thus when they went to visit Louise Philippe at the Château d’Eu, the
Duke of Wellington and others constantly about the Court knew nothing
of it until two or three days beforehand. Yet this visit must have been
a long-laid plan, for lawyers had to be consulted as to the necessity
of forming a Regency during Her Majesty’s absence. Greville noted of
this, “the Queen is to embark on Monday.... On Thursday I mentioned it
to Arbuthnot, who said it could not be true. He asked the Duke the same
day, who told him he had never heard a word of any such thing.”
In this case it was not difficult to keep the matter quiet, as the
yacht _Victoria and Albert_ had just been finished and fitted up
most gorgeously--gorgeously is really just the right word--and was in
readiness for use. Concerning this yacht, by the way, there was very
sore feeling among the officers, who found that their comfort had been
sacrificed that the Royal flunkeys might travel in serenity. Thus two
officers had to sleep in a little berth measuring seven feet by five,
while the pages, who were really footmen, were given a large room with
their berths ranged round it. The officers protested respectfully,
and, willing to concede their dignity, implored to be allowed half the
berths in the pages’ room, the displaced men sleeping on one of the
attendant steamers, but their prayer was not granted, as it was thought
inconvenience might arise if all the servants were not together.
* * * * *
I could write a book double this size if I included all the stories in
which Queen Victoria figured, but I have come to the end of the space
allotted me. Yet some of these stories are very tempting, among them
being one told by Sir Robert Peel about the Lord Mayor, when the Royal
pair went to a banquet at the Guildhall in 1844. It was of this event
that Barham wrote:--
“Doctor Darling! think how grand is
Such a sight! The great Lord May’r
Heading all the City dandies
There on horseback takes the air.
Chains and maces all attend, he
Rides all glorious to be seen;
‘Lad o’ wax!’ great heaven forfend he
Don’t get spilt before the Queen.”
He did not get spilt as did one of the Aldermen seven years earlier,
but he had a curious mishap. It was muddy weather, and he put on
enormous jack-boots over his dandy shoes and stockings to keep them
clean. Waiting at Temple Bar, he tried to take off the boots when Her
Majesty was near, but they were too tight, and would not move. One of
the spurs caught an Alderman’s robe and tore it, so his friends came
to his aid, the Lord Mayor standing on one leg while they tugged. One
boot came off, and they started on the other, but it remained firm, the
crowd watching in uproarious glee. When at last the Queen was but a few
paces away, the agonised City King roared, “For God’s sake, put my boot
on again!” So, backed by half a dozen friends and tugged at by another
half dozen, he recovered the displaced boot, and had to wear both of
them until after the banquet, when a less frantic effort removed them.
When the Whigs came back to power in 1846, for Peel’s return to office
was of short duration, the Prime Minister, Lord John Russell, found
that he had to deal with a two-in-one Monarch. He was never received
alone by the Queen. She and the Prince were always together, and
both of them always said, _We_. This was far better than the
early exclusion of the Prince, though it naturally led at once to the
assertion on the part of the men that while the Queen bore the title,
the Prince discharged the function of the Sovereign. The Prince had
devoted himself to her and to her country with marvellous assiduity and
rectitude; indeed, if he had taken the work more lightly and interfered
less in the detail of matters, he might not have succumbed as he
practically did to hard work. In 1862 the Duke of Gotha said that his
brother, Prince Albert, had killed himself with hard work, and that
from the time he came to England he did not know what it was to have “a
joyous day.” Stockmar’s influence in this respect was to be deplored.
He was like a Dutch art student with whom I once worked: “You paint the
trees and get their character,” she said, “but I--I see all the little
leafs, and must paint them.”
After the Prince’s death Lord Clarendon wrote:--“There is a vague
belief that his influence was great and useful; but there is a very
dim perception of the _modus operandi_.... Peel certainly took
the Prince into council much more than Melbourne, who had his own
established position with the Queen before the Prince came to this
country; but I cannot tell you whether it was Peel who first gave him
a Cabinet key. My impression is that Lord Duncannon, during the short
time he was Home Secretary, sent the Prince a key when the Queen was
confined, and the contents of the boxes had to be read and signed by
her.”
Among those who helped to form Lord John Russell’s Government was the
historian Macaulay, who became Paymaster-General; under Melbourne he
had been Secretary at War. He could talk for hours without stopping,
and Fanny Kemble said of him, “He is like nothing in the world but
Bayle’s Dictionary, continued down to the present time, and purified
from all objectionable matter. Such a Niagara of information did surely
never pour from the lips of mortal man!” Someone else remarked that,
“Macaulay is laying waste society with his waterspouts of talk; people
in his company burst for want of an opportunity of dropping in a word;”
and Sydney Smith also once said of him to Melbourne that he was a
book in breeches. This, of course, Melbourne repeated to the Queen,
so for a long time after whenever she saw her Secretary at War she
went into fits of laughter. She once at Windsor offered him a horse to
ride, drawing from him the remark, “If I ride anything, it must be an
elephant”--thus alluding to his inability to remain on a horse if he
once mounted. After dining at the Palace in March, 1850, he wrote: “The
Queen was most gracious to me. She talked much about my book, and owned
that she had nothing to say for her poor ancestor James the Second.
‘Not your Majesty’s ancestor,’ said I; ‘your Majesty’s predecessor.’ I
hope this was not an uncourtly correction. I meant it as a compliment,
and she seemed to take it so.”
When Peel resigned office in 1846 he begged the Queen to grant him one
favour, and that was never to ask him to take service again; however,
his political ardour was too great a habit to be repressed, and he was
speedily leading the Opposition. He fell from his horse in 1850, and
died four days after the accident.
As for Brougham, when office was suggested again to him, he shook his
head, saying that now he was getting old, and he had nothing left for
which to live; but he showed great activity still in the cause of law
reform, and took great interest in the Social Science Association. He
died at Cannes in 1868, at the age of ninety.
Lord Melbourne died twenty years earlier. He had refused all honours
several times, begging the Queen not to press her intention of
bestowing the Garter upon him. It was enough that he had lived
honourably and done his duty, he said. His character was once summed up
in the following couplet:--
“For a patriot too cool, for a drudge disobedient,
And too fond of the right to pursue the expedient.”
But as in his youth he had never sought favour, so in his age no one
sought favour from him. The stirring world in which he had always
lived had something more to do than to trouble about an old and ailing
man, and he laboured under a sense of neglect, chafing daily at the
indifference which was shown him by those who for years had pressed
their friendship upon him. In real fact he was suffering from his
lonely state; neither wife nor child was there to give him company, and
his only two relatives seem to have been his sister, Lady Palmerston,
and his brother. In happier domestic circumstances his end would have
been happier and his sorrows non-existent. In November, 1848, he had
another attack of illness, and died in unconsciousness at the age of
seventy. He was a very remarkable man, more perhaps from his extreme
honesty in a difficult position than for his great attainments, though
those were sufficiently noteworthy. He was the most lovable man who
had moved in the Queen’s circle, one who would never wittingly commit
an injustice to anybody. When he was dead a letter from him was handed
to his brother, in which he left a command that a certain sum of money
should be given to Mrs. Norton, to help to some extent to show his
sorrow for the trouble which his thoughtless friendship had brought
her; and in this he solemnly declared that she and he were innocent of
all evil in that friendship.
Queen Victoria was now, in a sense, in calm waters; she was happy
domestically, she adored her husband, and in spite of her protest had a
large family of children; the terrible leakage in her income, which had
at one time threatened her with disastrous debt, had been stopped, and
she was growing rich, though she was never so rich as the malcontents
would have liked to believe, and did in many cases believe. George
Anson told Greville in 1847 that the Queen’s affairs were so well
managed that she would be able to provide for the expenses of Osborne
out of her income, and those expenses would be £200,000. He also said
that the Prince of Wales would not have less than £70,000 a year from
his Duchy of Cornwall, and £100,000 had already been saved from it.
Though the Queen retained for a long time her Whiggish sympathies, she
was now well on the road to strict Toryism, to the end of her life
showing especial favour to her Conservative leaders, and more or less
ignoring their rivals. This was caused more by the difference in their
views upon foreign affairs than by her sentiments on home politics,
and also by her keen sense of the dignity of the Crown. Though when
displeased the Tories had shown themselves capable of dragging that
dignity through the mire, yet when they were pleased they paid it all
lip-service and outward homage. The Whigs, on the other hand, though
inclined to take Royal disfavour with more equanimity, were also
inclined to question the doings of Royalty in a calmer and, therefore
from her point of view, more deadly way. When the party in power
changed from time to time, she parted from Russell in anger, from
Gladstone in coldness, from Aberdeen--whom she had detested on her
accession--with a pang, and from Disraeli in deep dejection. It is the
whirligig of time exemplified in the mind of a woman.
She had great Ministers to advise her in her work, but she was also
a great Queen, for though she was no genius and had no surpassing
intellect, she never shirked, she worked step by step through every
difficulty, she was essentially a climber, and when more talented
people might have given up she went bravely on, so that, to use the
slang phrase, she always got there. Yes, Queen Victoria was absolutely
admirable in her conscientiousness and in her determination to do
well. It angered her ever to be likened to Queen Elizabeth, who was
an historical _bête noire_ to her, yet she had something of
Elizabeth’s greatness as well as more than a touch of her arrogance,
added to a more intimately personal greatness of her own, that which
comes from recognising the importance of little things. This did not
come to its strength until after the death of Prince Albert, but it
began in the days when, as a girl of eighteen, she sat surrounded by
despatch-boxes while her maid was doing her hair.
THE END.
RICHARD CLAY AND SONS, LTD., BRUNSWICK ST., STAMFORD ST., S.E.,
AND BUNGAY, SUFFOLK
INDEX
A
Abercromby, Lord, 139
Aberdeen, Lord, 329, 349, 383
Adelaide, Queen, 1, 8 _et seq._, 13, 16, 18, 24, 30, 32, 36, 39,
56, 59 _et seq._, 68, 78, 94, 96, 107, 110, 130, 160, 166, 168
Adelbert, Prince of Prussia, 223
Albemarle, Lord, 125
Albert, Prince Consort, 72, 84, 89, 92, 104, 139, 203, 229
_et seq._, 235, 277, 289, 291, 297, 300 _et seq._, 312, 314,
316, 320 _et seq._, 330, 331, 334 _et seq._, 341, 344, 346,
352, 357, 359, 364, 371, 374, 375, 376, 379, 384
Allen, Lord, 332
Althorp, Lord (_see_ Spencer, 3rd Earl)
Alvanley, Lord, 65, 158
Anglesey, Marquis of, 48, 244
Anne, Queen, 127, 214, 305, 309
Anson, George, 251, 312, 322, 324, 342, 351, 375, 382
Arran, Earl of, 21
Ashley, Lord, 71
Augusta, Princess, 226, 235, 316, 319
Augusta, Princess, of Cambridge, 226, 346
Aylmer, Lord, 70
B
Bagot, Emily, 66
Barham, R. H., “Ingoldsby,” 27, 199
Bean, the Hunchback, 360
Bedford, Duchess of (_see_ Tavistock, Lady)
Bedford, Duke of, 374, 376
Bedingfield, Lady, 57, 64, 226
Berry, Mademoiselle de, 105
Blessington, Lady, 174, 195
Bloomfield, Lady (_see_ Liddell, Georgiana)
Bosanquet, Sir Bernard, 121
Bradshaw, James, M.P., 251
Bradwell, Dr., 332
Brandon, Lord, 149
Brauhitch, Colonel, 339
Breadalbane, Marchioness of, 217
Brodie, Sir B., 280
Brookfield, Mrs., 73
Brookfield, W. H., 75, 318
Brougham, Lord, 37, 41, 43, 68, 148, 156, 165, 170 _et seq._, 208,
220, 248, 287, 381
Browning, Elizabeth Barrett, 107
Brunswick, Duke of, 89
Buccleuch, Duchess of, 343
Buckingham, Duke of, 195
Buckingham Palace, 126, 201, 237, 238, 268, 301, 315, 328, 361, 364
Buggin, Lady Cecilia (_see_ Underwood, Lady Cecilia)
Bülow, Count von, 184, 224, 238
Burlington, Countess of, 217
C
Calvert, the Hon. Mrs., 1
Cambridge, Duchess of, 226, 319
Cambridge, Duke of, 11, 147, 175, 282, 310, 311, 317, 318
Cambridge, Prince George of, 73, 91, 225, 306, 310, 317, 319
Campbell, Lord, 130, 240
Canterbury, Archbishop of, 77, 117
Cardigan, Lady, 66, 177, 244, 319, 328, 353
Carlyle, Thomas, 7, 123, 201, 315
Carolath, Prince Edward of, 91
Caroline, Queen, 205, 236
Castlereagh, Lord, 128
Cavendish, General, 187, 328
Chambers, Dr., 274, 275, 278, 280
Charlemont, Countess of, 217
Charlotte, Princess, 8, 22, 23, 90, 91, 291, 306, 333
Charlotte, Queen, 31
Churchill, Sarah, 214
Claremont, residence of Prince Leopold, 7, 22, 26, 72, 333
Clarence, Duchess of (_see_ Adelaide, Queen)
Clarence, Duke of (_see_ William IV.)
Clarendon, Lord, 379
Clark, Sir James, 146, 203, 234, 240, 257, 258 _et seq._, 283
Clarke, Sir Charles, 259, 261, 262
Coke, Mr., 52
Conroy, Sir John, 37, 41, 45, 48, 52, 54, 55, 72, 87, 103, 111,
113, 125, 137, 140, 143, 144, 169, 184, 188, 202, 259, 262,
287, 288, 316
Conyngham, Lady, 2
Conyngham, Lord, 111, 117, 125, 187
Cooper, Sir A., 280
Cork, Lady, 332
Cornwallis, Lady, 275
Coutts, Messrs., 189
Cowan, Alderman, Lord Mayor, 180
Cowper, Lady, 186, 244, 281
Creevy, Thomas, M.P., 21, 24, 28, 39, 41, 120, 126, 142, 175, 186
Croker, John Wilson, 73, 136, 219
Cumberland, Duchess of, 31, 39, 99, 108
Cumberland, Duke of, 11 _et seq._, 21, 28, 31, 99, 114, 119, 120,
129, 131, 147, 154, 222, 227, 304, 309, 310, 315, 317, 332, 334,
345
Cumberland, Prince George of, 20, 73, 91, 99, 310
D
Dalhousie, Lord, 201
Davys, Dr., 45
Davys, Miss, 47, 135
Delane, John T., Editor of _The Times_, 330, 356
D’Este, Augustus, 11, 21
D’Este, Ellen, 11, 21
Devonshire, Duke of, 374
Diestrau, Baron de, 234
Disraeli, Benjamin, 383
Dorset, Duke of, 69
Douro, Earl of, 225
Doyle, Dr., 265
Duncannon, Lord, 380
Dunmore, Earl of, 21
Durham, Lady, 43, 135, 184, 242
Durham, Lord, 40, 41 _et seq._, 71, 103, 113, 184, 240, 241
E
Edward VII., King, 84
Edward, Prince of Wales, 83
Egremont, Lord, 10
Ellenborough, Lord, 11, 12, 20, 310
Elphinstone, Lord, 76, 86, 226 _et seq._
Emerson, Ralph Waldo, 364
Errol, Lady Elizabeth (Fitzclarence), 9
Errol, Lord, 9
Esterhazy, Prince, 197, 225
Exeter, Marquis of, 52
F
Fairbrother, Louisa, 319
Fairburn, Lieut.-Colonel, 13
Falkland, Lady (Fitzclarence), 9
Fane, Lady Georgina, 66
Féodore of Leiningen, Princess, 5, 6, 45, 46, 204
Fitzclarence, Lord Adolphus, 10, 96, 98
Fitzclarence, Lord Augustus, 10
Fitzclarence, Lord Frederick, 10
Fitzgerald, Captain Hamilton, 266, 269
Follett, Sir William, 152
Forbes, Viscountess, 278
Fox, Colonel, 9
Fox, Lady Mary (Fitzclarence), 9, 376
G
Garth, Captain, 19
Garth, General, 19
George III., King, 12, 20, 123, 137, 305, 340, 366
George IV., King, 1, 2, 11–14, 19, 22, 25, 27–8, 32, 45, 80, 108,
138, 236, 321, 345
George of Denmark, Prince, 234, 309
Gladstone, W. E., 383
Glenelg, Lord, 199, 240
Gloucester, Duchess of, 226, 265, 276, 282, 294, 319
Gloucester, Duke of, 175
Graham, Sir James, 55
Grant-Duff, Lady, 157
Grantley, Lord, 150, 154
Greville, Charles, 38, 55, 63, 70, 96, 154, 192, 209, 225, 252,
273, 305, 310, 326, 377
Grey, Countess, 185
Grey, Lady Georgiana, 142
Grey, Lord, 20, 39, 42, 55, 60, 134, 179, 214
Gurwood, Colonel, 252
H
Halford, Sir Henry, 265
Hanover, King of (_see_ Cumberland, Duke of)
Hardwicke, Lord, 194, 346
Hastings, Lady Adelaide, 262
Hastings, Lady Flora, 125, 222, 234, 257 _et seq._, 287–9, 353
Hastings, Lady Sophia, 255, 262, 264, 274–5, 278, 281–2
Hastings, Marchioness of (_see_ Loudoun, Countess of)
Hastings, Marquis of, 255, 259, 267–8, 270, 278, 280, 284
Hayter, Sir George, 179
Headfort, Marquis of, 244, 259
Heller, royal courtier, 375
Henry, Captain Charles, 261, 280, 283
Henry, Lady Selina, 261, 274, 282
Hertford, Lady, 2
Hesse-Philippthal, Prince Ernest of, 91
Hill, Lord, 55, 334
Holland, Dr., 280
Holland, Lord, 174, 240
Holmes, Oliver Wendell, 40
Holmes, William, D.C.L., 17
Holstein-Sonderburg-Beck-Glücksburg, Prince of, 224
Hook, Dean James, 250
Hook, Theodore, 175
Horsman, Edward, M.P., 251
Howe, Lady, 63–4
Howe, Lord, 60, 61 _et seq._, 214, 298
Hume, Joseph, 15, 306
Hunnings, mad suitor of the Princess, 100
I
Ingestre, Lady Sarah, 253
Inverness, Duchess of (_see_ Underwood)
J
Jenkinson, Lady Catherine, 48
Jersey, Earl of, 125, 225
Jersey, Lady, 43, 134
Jones, The “Boy,” 361, 370
Jordan, Mrs., 8
K
Kemble, Frances Anne, 122, 182, 330, 348, 380
Kennedy, Lady Augusta (Fitzclarence), 9
Kensington Palace, 25, 86, 91, 95, 100, 102, 104, 110, 118, 125–6,
236
Kent, Duchess of, 1 _et seq._, 20, 26, 28, 30 _et seq._, 72
_et seq._, 82–3, 87, 91, 94 _et seq._, 108, 111, 115–6, 125,
133–4, 137, 140–1, 143–5, 151, 164, 168, 171, 178, 186, 188,
192–3, 202 _et seq._, 223, 236–7, 241, 255, 258 _et seq._, 271,
282, 288, 315, 321, 326, 331, 339, 345
Kent, Duke of, 24–5, 29, 37, 41, 109, 248
Kinnaird, royal page, 375
Knox, Admiral, 333, 360
L
Lade, Sir John, 166
Lamb, William (_see_ Melbourne, Lord)
Lambton, John George (_see_ Durham, Earl of)
Lansdowne, Marchioness of, 135, 137
Leader, M.P. for Westminster, 174
Lee, Sir Sidney, 284, 306
Lehzen, Baroness, 4–5, 45–7, 140, 142–3, 164, 199, 203 _et seq._,
218–20, 232, 234, 240, 256–7, 261, 272, 275, 284, 321, 324
_et seq._, 340
Leibnitz, 117
Leiningen, Prince of, 91
Leopold, King of the Belgians, 22 _et seq._, 31, 42, 72, 89–90, 93,
103, 113, 138, 140, 161, 165, 170, 179, 203, 229 _et seq._,
240–1, 288–90, 296–8, 306, 308, 320, 329, 334, 343, 344–5
Leslie, C. R., 180, 201
Leuchtenberg, Duke of, 80
Lichfield, Lady, 253
Lichfield, Lord, 252
Liddell, Georgiana, 238, 337, 339, 351, 359, 360
Lieven, Princess de, 20, 168, 185, 242, 244
Lisle, Lady de (Fitzclarence), 109
Lisle, Lord de, 91
Liverpool, Earl of, 48, 160, 315
Loudoun, Countess of, 255, 258 _et seq._, 267, 269, 276, 283
Louis, Mrs., 46
Louis Philippe, King, 80, 206, 358, 377
Lyndhurst, Lady, 129
Lyndhurst, Lord, 37, 127 _et seq._, 200, 309–11
Lyttelton, Lady, 135, 217
M
Macaulay, Lord, 76, 220, 380
Maria da Glorià, Queen of Portugal, 57, 80
Martineau, Harriet, 246
Mary, Queen, 84
McCarthy, Justin, 220
McMahon, Colonel, 138
Mecklenburg-Strelitz, Grand Duke of, 346
Melbourne, Lord, 37;
dismissed by William, 67, 113, 115;
_The Times_ upon, 117;
at the Privy Council, 118;
commencement of his friendship with the Queen, 125, 130;
Queen’s chief adviser, 134, 138;
as private secretary, 140;
returned to power, 148 _et seq._;
and the Tories, 162, 163, 165;
and the Queen’s favours, 167, 170;
riding with the Queen, 178, 179, 183, 184, 188;
and the Civil List, 189;
association with the Queen, 191 _et seq._;
blamed for Queen’s affection for Lehzen, 206;
and Bedchamber crisis, 213 _et seq._;
lines upon, 221, 227;
and the Queen’s marriage, 231, 235, 238, 240, 242;
spite against, 243;
as scapegoat, 246 _et seq._, 253;
and the Lady Flora Hastings scandal, 257 _et seq._, 287;
the Queen’s reticence with, 295, 302;
and the Tories, 307;
and the Prince’s Treasurer, 313, 317, 319, 321;
and the Prince, 325;
his dinner party, 332, 338, 339;
his resignation, 341;
the Queen’s grief, 343;
the Prince desires his help, 344;
continued intercourse with the Queen, 348;
and Baron Stockmar, 350;
tenderness for the Queen, 355, 379, 380;
his death, 381
Meredith, George, 330
Merriman, Dr., 279, 280
Minto, Lord, 70
Montgomery, Alfred, 174
Montrose, Duchess of, 253
Montrose, Duke of, 253
Moore, Tom, 177
Morpeth, Lord, 217, 240
Munster, Lord (George Fitzclarence), 9, 167
Murray, Charles, Comptroller of the Household, 338
Murray, Lady Augusta, 21
N
Nemours, Duc de, 224
Nevill, Lady Dorothy, 241
Neumann, General, 340
Norfolk, Duke of, 127
Normanby, Lady, 203, 218, 220, 238, 239, 343
Normanby, Lord, 250
Northumberland, Duchess of, 4, 44, 47, 74, 137, 324
Norton, Fletcher (_see_ Lord Grantley)
Norton, George, 150 _et seq._
Norton, the Hon. Mrs., 150 _et seq._, 157, 329, 382
O
O’Connell, Daniel, 4, 126, 237, 299, 356
Orange, Prince of, 89, 91
Orange, Prince Alexander of, 89, 228
Orange, Prince William of, 89, 91, 225
Owen, Robert, 248
P
Paget, Lord Alfred, 235
Paget, Sir Arthur, 175
Paget, Matilda, 359
Palmerston, Lady (_see_ Lady Cowper)
Palmerston, Lord, 68, 70, 178, 179, 229, 239, 244, 246, 356
Parris, Edmund T., 179
Peel, Sir Robert, 69, 134, 157, 176, 207, 210 _et seq._, 299, 304,
328, 329, 342, 343, 348, 350, 355, 356, 358, 360, 374, 378,
379, 381
Percival, Rev. H. P., 250
Pitt, Miss, 321
Portman, Lady, 135, 217, 257, 259, 261, 263, 265, 270, 274, 283,
349
Portman, Lord, 272
Princess Royal, 345, 362
Prussia, King of, 339, 345, 346
Prussia, William, Prince of, 223
R
Raikes, Thomas, 62
Rawdon, Lady Charlotte, 266
Reeve, Henry, 157, 175, 176
Reichenbach, maid to Lady Flora Hastings, 276, 278, 279, 280
Ribblesdale, Lord, 175
Rodwell, George Herbert, 74, 108
Rogers, Samuel, 314, 362
Rolle, Lord, 198
Ros, Lord de, 35
Rosebery, Countess of, 137
Russell, Lady, 242
Russell, Lord John, 67, 128, 162, 175, 209, 210, 214 _et seq._,
220, 242, 354, 356, 374, 379, 380, 383
Russell, Lord William, 223
Russia, Emperor of, 354
Russia, Tsarevitch of, 224
S
St. James’s Palace, 33, 73, 126
Sandwich, Lady, 343
Saunders, Henry, Inspector of the Palace, 374
Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, Albert, Prince of (_see_ Albert)
Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, Augustus, Prince of, 81, 85, 88
Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, Dowager Duchess of, 72, 293
Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, Duke of, 89, 233
Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, Ernest, Prince of, 89
Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, Ferdinand, Prince of, 85, 91, 224, 233
Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, Ferdinand, Prince of, the younger, 80, 85, 233
Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, Leopold, Prince of, 327
Schwartzenberg, Prince Paul von, 197
Sefton, Lord, 167
Seton, Sir Henry, 203, 234
Seymour, Lady, 329
Shafto, Robert, 174
Sheil, Richard L., 174
Sheridan, R. B., 150
Shrewsbury, Earl of, 48
Sibthorp, Colonel, 306
Smith, Sydney, 380
Somerset, Duchess of, 332
Sophia, Princess, 19, 45, 265, 275, 282, 319
Sophia, Princess of Brunswick, 166
Soult, Marshall, 196
Späth, Baroness, 45, 46
Spencer, 2nd Earl, 67, 68
Spencer, 3rd Earl, 374
Spring-Rice, Miss, 335
Spring-Rice, Rt. Hon. Thomas, 67, 189
Stanhope, Hon. Mrs. Leicester, 332
Stockledge, Mr., 236
Stockmar, Baron, 138, 142, 164, 203, 229, 230, 291, 294, 305, 307,
321, 322, 335, 345, 348, 350, 364, 370, 373
Strogonoff, Count von, 197, 199
Sturge, Joseph, 132
Surrey, Lord, 201
Sussex, Duke of, 11, 20, 30, 39, 113, 119, 120, 135, 178, 197, 220,
310, 317, 320, 323
Sutherland, Duchess of, 135, 142, 176, 216, 240, 251, 320, 343
Sutherland, Duke of, 251
Sydney, Lady Sophia (Fitzclarence), 9
T
Tavistock, Lady, 135, 177, 217, 219, 257, 259, 261, 265, 270, 274,
343
Tavistock, Lord, 272, 274
Taylor, Sir Herbert, 19, 137, 138, 140
Tennyson, Alfred, Lord, 341
Thackeray, W. M., 75
Thalberg, musician, 239
Thynne, John, 198
Tindal, Justice, 152
U
Underwood, Lady Cecilia, 21, 317
Uxbridge, Earl of, 225, 253, 374
V
Van Praet, Herr, 234
Venables, George, 75
Victoria, Princess, and Lady Conyngham, 2;
her character and upbringing, 3;
surveillance over, 5;
first request as Queen to her mother, 6;
loneliness, 7;
Queen Adelaide’s affection for, 9;
secret enemies of, 15, 20, 21, 23, 25;
and Claremont, 26;
and George IV., 32;
absence from Coronation of William IV., 34;
at the opera, 39 and 40;
at Norris Castle, 42, 43;
at church, 44;
governess and tutor, 44;
Baroness Späth’s affection for, 46;
autumn progresses, 47 _et seq._;
Heir-Presumptive, 48;
educating for Queenship, 53;
at a juvenile ball, 57, 64;
bred a Whig, 71;
her attainments, 71;
her love for Claremont, 72;
appearance, 73;
her cousins, 73;
love for music, 73;
Lord Elphinstone’s acrostic, 76;
at Ascot, 77;
confirmed, 77, 79, 81, 82;
and Ferdinand of Saxe-Coburg, 86;
and Lord Elphinstone, 86;
rumours of suitors, 88;
arrival of many young German princes, 88;
and Prince Albert, 92;
withdrawn from Court, 94, 95;
a terrible birthday banquet, 96, 99;
and the mad Mr. Hunnings, 100;
eighteenth birthday, 102;
rumours about the first Victorian Cabinet, 103;
her majority and the State ball, 107;
deputations to, 108;
the King offers an independent household, 111;
offers income of £10,000, 111;
and the quarrels between the King and the Duchess of Kent, 112;
public ignorance of character, 113;
_The Times_ advises her, 115
Victoria, Queen, announcement of her accession, 117;
her first Council, 118;
Carlyle on, 123;
a royal proclamation, 123;
the proclaiming of, 125;
first Levée and Drawing Room, 126;
dislike for Lyndhurst, 127;
receives deputations and prorogues Parliament, 132;
formation of royal household, 135;
private secretary, 137;
and Baron Stockmar, 139;
her reading and education, 141;
and Baroness Lehzen, 143;
and Sir John Conroy, 144;
emancipated, 146;
and Lord Melbourne, 154;
military review abandoned, 159;
name used in elections, 161;
method with her advisers, 164;
thoughtfulness for others, 166;
and Princess de Liéven, 168;
and her mother, 169;
and Brougham, 173;
quick temper, 177;
recreations, 178;
Guildhall banquet, 180;
opening Parliament, 181;
political leaning, 183;
rumours to marry Melbourne, 185;
at dinner, 186;
her laugh, 188;
need of money, 189;
Civil List, 190;
and Melbourne, 191;
her evenings, 193;
Coronation, 197;
and Baroness Lehzen, 205;
Government crisis, 210;
unpopular, suggestions of marriage, 222;
State balls, 225;
and Lord Elphinstone, 226;
and Prince Albert, 229;
mad suitors, 235;
amusements, 238;
simplicity in dress, 240;
love of children, 242;
and Melbourne, 244;
public disloyalty, 245;
and national education, 249;
sermons before, 250;
Tory disloyal speeches, 251;
the Bradshaw-Horsman duel about, 251;
hissed at Ascot, 252;
quoted, 255;
mother and Lehzen, 256;
Lady Flora Hastings, 257 _et seq._;
and Sir James Clark, 277;
popular condemnation of, 280;
in debt, 287;
unevenness of temper, 288;
loneliness, 290;
proposes to Albert, 293;
reticence with Melbourne, 295;
Melbourne’s care for, 297, 305;
how regarded by her Parliament, 306;
wishes Albert to be King-Consort, 308;
and the precedence of Albert, 309;
and Albert’s secretary, 313;
marriage, 314, 320;
reticence with her husband, 321;
Lehzen’s influence, 322;
Melbourne’s protective care, 325;
love of dancing, 327;
accused of extravagance, 328;
receives Mrs. Norton, 329;
shot at by Oxford, 331;
expects an heir, 332;
birth of Princess Royal, 333;
sensitiveness about Prince Albert, 336;
love of round games and music, 337;
walks on terrace at Windsor, 340;
loses Melbourne, 341;
tenacity of impression, 343;
at wedding of Augusta of Cambridge, 346;
retains friendship for Melbourne, 348;
dinner party to new Ministers, 349, 351;
goes to Chatsworth, 352;
prejudice against second marriages, 354;
and Melbourne, 355;
the Peel Government, 356;
visits Scotland, 357;
visits Louis Philippe at Eu, 358;
second attempt on life, 359;
household arrangements, 365;
desire for privacy, 366;
use of royal _we_, 379;
and Macaulay, 380;
prosperity of, 382;
character, 383
Villiers, George, 155
W
Wakefield, Mr., 16
Wangenheim, Baron, 24
Warr, Lady de la, 349
Warr, Lord de la, 373
Watson, Sir Frederick, 367
Wellington, Duke of, 2, 12, 30, 33, 36, 62, 68, 75, 114, 115, 120,
129, 135, 148, 155, 157, 160, 165, 208, 209, 210 _et seq._,
220, 264, 296, 302, 304, 306, 311, 320, 333, 349, 352, 377
West, Charles, 374
West, Mortimer, 374
West, Reginald, 374
Westmacott, Mr., 19
Wetherall, General, 37
Wetherell, Sir Charles, 17
Wilkie, Sir David, 179
Wilks, Mr., M.P., 241
William IV., 1, 2, 4, 6, 8 _et seq._, 11 _et. seq._, 21, 22, 30, 32
_et seq._, 60, 62, 67 _et seq._, 73, 75, 76, 78, 80, 82, 83,
87, 88, 89, 91, 94 _et seq._, 102, 105, 107, 110, 113, 115,
116, 117, 123, 134, 138, 143, 147, 153, 166, 185, 192, 196,
214, 306, 371
William, Prince of Löwenstein, 323
Willis, N. P., 77, 82
Wilson, Horace, 348
Wharncliff, Lord, 69
Winchilsea, Lord, 69
Windsor, 69, 95, 161, 174, 236, 238, 376
Wood, Captain John, 236
Wynford, Lord, 153
Wynn, Miss, 118
Wurtemberg, Prince Alexander of, 73
Wurtemberg, Prince Ernest of, 73
Y
York, Duke of, 23
R. CLAY AND SONS, LTD., BRUNSWICK ST., S.E., AND BUNGAY, SUFFOLK.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] William Holmes, D.C.L., “the adroit and dexterous Whip of the Tory
Party.”
[2] The pit in those days was still a fashionable part of the house,
being where the stalls are now.
[3] “Mrs. Brookfield and her Circle.”
[4] A slang term, probably meaning to talk pompously or trivially.
[5] The Duke of Wellington had no official post at the time.
[6] The Bradshaw incident and others.
Transcriber’s Notes:
1. Obvious printers’, punctuation and spelling errors have been
corrected silently.
2. Where hyphenation is in doubt, it has been retained as in the
original.
3. Some hyphenated and non-hyphenated versions of the same words have
been retained as in the original.
4. Italics are shown as _xxx_.
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