By DONALD MACLEOD, D.D.
(Born 1819-1901)
[Illustration: Queen Victoria.]
Well do I remember the effect produced on the audience of students,
of which I was then one, when Lord Macaulay delivered his Rectorial
address in the University of Glasgow, and when, after giving such
pictures as he alone could paint, of the character of the four
centuries that had closed since the university had been
founded--each epoch presenting a scene of bloodshed and
misgovernment--he sketched the possible future of the college, and
anticipated the time when coming generations would tell how certain
contemplated changes had been accomplished during the reign of "the
Good Queen Victoria." The phrase was accentuated by an oratorical
swing; and when it was given, the tremendous burst of enthusiasm
showed that they who listened felt the great historian had chosen
the right epithet, and that he intended it in the sense that, as
some monarchs are called "Great" and some "Little," so for all time
Victoria would be named "the Good Queen." This was said more than
forty years ago, before Tennyson had fixed the "Household name,"
"Albert the Good," for
"That star
Which shone so close beside Thee, that ye made
One light together."
The epoch in our history which is embraced between the years 1837
and 1887, is unparalleled. At no time in the history of the nation,
or of the world, has there been such rapid and beneficent progress.
We, who are citizens of "the old country," scarcely realize the
extent of our dominion. The Roman Empire was one-fourth its size;
all the Russias contain an eighth less; it is sixteen times as large
as France, and three times as large as the United States. The United
Kingdom, with its colonies and dependencies, includes about
one-fifth of the entire globe. The rapidity with which population
has grown in some parts of our dominion may be measured by
Australasia, which in 1837 had 134,059, and in 1885, 3,278,934, or
twenty-three times as many more. When we turn from these figures to
consider other fields of progress, we are still more amazed. It goes
without saying that these last fifty years have seen the growth of
railways and steamships from their infancy to their present
world-embracing influence. The mileage of railways open in the
United Kingdom in 1837 was about 294 miles, but a great proportion
was worked by horses. In 1885 the mileage was 19,169, the gross
receipts, £69,555,774; they carried about 1,275,000,000 passengers,
and employed 367,793 men. Not a steamer had crossed the Atlantic by
steam alone when the queen came to the throne, and her accession was
in the year previous to that during which Wheatstone in this
country, and Morse in America, introduced electric telegraphy. We,
who enjoy express trains, six-penny telegrams, half-penny
post-cards, and the parcel post, can scarcely realize that we are so
near the time when mail-coaches and sailing-packets were almost the
only means of conveyance, and when postage was a serious burden. The
greatness of the changes in social life may be realized when we
remember that, so recently as 1844, duelling was banished from the
code of honor; that crime has diminished seventy-one per cent. since
1837; and that while fifty years ago Government did nothing for
education, there are now 30,000 public schools under the Privy
Council. These facts are suggestive of the extent of the advance. Or
if, without touching on the marvellous victories of science, we try
to form an estimate of religious progress, and take the tables for
Protestant missions as giving a fair indication of the zeal and
self-sacrifice of the churches, we find that while British
contributions in 1837 amounted to £316,610, in 1885 they reached
£1,222,261.
It may be said with truth that the progress thus indicated must have
gone on, no matter who sat on the throne; but it would be unjust not
to recognize the close influence which the Crown has directly and
indirectly exercised on its advance. There has been no movement
tending to the development of the arts and the industries of the
country which has not enlisted the active sympathy of the royal
family. From the first the Prince Consort recognized the important
part which the sovereign could fulfil in reference to the peaceful
victories of science and art. Beginning with agriculture--the
improvement of stock and the better housing of agricultural
laborers, we trace the effect of his constant toil in the series of
industrial triumphs, of which the great exhibition of 1851 was the
magnificent precursor; and, in recent years, the same kind of
objects have always enlisted the best energies of the queen and her
children.
[Illustration: Victoria greeted as Queen.]
The contrast is great and touching between the scene in Westminster
Abbey, when, amid the pomp of a gorgeous ceremonial and the
acclamation of her subjects, the fair girl-queen received the crown
of Britain, and that other scene, when, after fifty years of a
government that has been unblemished, she once more kneels in the
same spot--a widow surrounded by her children and her children's
children, bearing the burden of many sad as well as blessed
memories, and encompassed with the thanksgivings of the three
hundred millions of her subjects. We can imagine how oppressive, for
one so loving, must then be the vision of the past, as she recalls,
one after another, the once familiar and dear faces which greeted
her coronation, those relatives, great ministers of state, and
warriors of whom so few survive; and when all her happy married
years and the years of parting and desolation appear in vivid
retrospect. But if ever monarch had cause to bless God for His
tender mercies, it must be she who can combine with the memory of
her own life's hopes and trials the consciousness that, in the great
work given her as a sovereign, she has been enabled to fulfil the
beautiful desire of her innocent childhood, when, on her first being
informed of her royal destiny, she indulged in no vain dream of
power, but uttered the simple longing "to be good." That goodness
has been her real greatness.
The life of her majesty is marked by three great stages--her youth,
her married life, and her widowhood. Each is bound to each by the
tie of a consistent growth, passing through those experiences which
are typical of God's education of His children, whether high or low,
rich or poor.
Her childhood, with its wise education, is very much the key to her
after-life. Possessed naturally of a quick intellectual capacity,
and an unusually accurate memory, a taste for music and the arts,
and a deeply affectionate heart, she was admirably brought up by her
mother, the Duchess of Kent, on whom the training of the future
queen devolved from her infancy. If the education was as high as it
was possible to afford a young and intelligent spirit, the moral
influences were equally beneficial. The young princess, instead of
being isolated within the formalities of a court, was allowed to
become acquainted with the wants and sufferings of the poor, and to
indulge her sympathies by giving them personal help. The contrast
was a great one between the court of George IV., or even that of
William, and the truly English home where the Duchess of Kent
nurtured this sweet life in all that was simple, loving, and pure.
There could scarcely have been a better school for an affectionate
nature. All that we learn of her majesty at that time gives a
consistent picture of great vivacity, thorough directness in her
search after truth, warmth of heart, and considerateness for others,
with a genuine love for all that is morally good. These were the
characteristics which impressed those who saw her on the trying
occasion when she was suddenly ushered into the foremost place in
the greatest empire in the world. It was these characteristics which
touched the hearts of the good archbishop and of the Chancellor of
England when they announced her great destiny to the girl suddenly
summoned from slumber. That first request, "My Lord Archbishop, pray
for me!" revealed the depth of her character. It was the same when
she had next day to pass through the ordeal of meeting the great
councillors of state for the first time. Lord Melbourne, the Duke of
Wellington, Peel, and the keen-eyed Secretary Greville, all felt the
beautiful combination of dignity with unaffected simplicity, and of
quick intelligence with royal courtesy. But they did not see the
episode which followed the fatigue and excitement of the long
formalities of the council, when the young queen rushed first of all
to her mother's arms, there to indulge her feelings in a burst of
tears, and then, with girlish naïveté, claiming the exercise of her
royal prerogative to procure for herself two hours of absolute
solitude.
The earlier years of her reign were happily blessed with the wise
and beneficent influence of Lord Melbourne. His relationship to the
youthful sovereign was more that of a father and able political
instructor than of a formal first minister of the crown. He was too
experienced not heartily to appreciate the beautiful character of
his young mistress, and the interest he took in her political
education, and in everything likely to further her prosperity and
happiness, was evidently kindled by warm affection. She was equally
favored in having as adviser so sagacious a relative as her uncle
Leopold, the late King of the Belgians. The Duke of Wellington
regarded her almost as a daughter; and there was also, ever at hand,
another, whose trained intellect and loyal heart exercised no little
influence on her career--Baron Stockmar--to whose lofty ideal of the
functions of royalty, calmly balanced treatment of all questions of
state policy, and high-toned moral sympathies, both the queen and
the prince consort have amply expressed their indebtedness.
Without touching further on the earlier period of her reign, which
was not without many incidents of interest, we turn to the married
years of the queen as to a bright and sunny memory.
The position of an unmarried or widowed queen necessarily entails a
peculiar loneliness. She is surrounded by the rigorous demands of
state necessity. If she has to form a judgment upon documents
submitted to her, there is no one so close to her and so independent
of all other influences as to be truly an _alter ego_. Faithful
servants of the crown may do their best to be of use, but no one of
them can be so near as to receive such unguarded confidences as can
be given to the husband who shares every joy and sorrow. The queen's
married life was ideally perfect. She married the man she loved, and
each year deepened her early affection into an admiration, a
reverence, and a pride which elevated her love into consecration.
There was no home in England made more beautiful by all that was
tender, cultured, and noble than that in which "the blameless
prince" fulfilled his heroic career of duty, and shed the bright
light of his joyous, affectionate, and keenly intellectual life.
There were few homes in which a greater amount of trying and anxious
work was more systematically accomplished, or in which there was a
more exquisite blending of hard thinking with the enjoyment of the
fine arts and the fulness of loving family happiness. We have
picture after picture given us in the life of the Prince Consort
which puts us in touch with these brilliant years, when the queen
and he were never parted but for one or two brief intervals. Early
hours of close labor were followed by a genial and hearty
relaxation, and at every turn the wife and sovereign felt the
blessedness of that presence which ministered to her in sickness
with the gentleness of a woman, and which she leaned upon in hours
of difficulty with complete trust in the strength and trueness of
his wise intellect. There was no decrease on either side in those
feelings and utterances of feeling which are so beautiful when they
carry into after years the warmth of the first attachment, only
hallowed and deepened by experience.
[Illustration: Windsor Castle.]
There were many fresh features in the kind of life which was
introduced by the queen and the consort into the habits of the
court. Among these none were more marked than the breaking up of
that monotony which the restrictions that hitherto prevailed as to
the residence of the royal family in one or two state palaces
entailed. We can well understand how the Empress Eugénie should have
found the Tuileries, in spite of its grandeur, no better than "_une
belle prison_," and her delight at the comparative freedom she
enjoyed at Windsor. The queen and Prince Consort inaugurated a new
era in the customs of the court by taking advantage of the
facilities afforded by modern methods of conveyance. Scarcely any
part of the country celebrated for scenery, or any town famous for
its industries, remained unvisited by them.
The beneficial effects of these journeys were great. Loyalty is to a
large extent a personal matter, and is necessarily deepened when the
representative of the state not only possesses moral dignity of
character but comes frequently into contact with the people. It is
also of use to the crown that its wearer should know, from actual
observation, the conditions of life in the country. It is in the
light of this mutual action of acquaintance between prince and
people that we estimate the value of that knowledge which the Prince
of Wales, his brothers, and his sons have gained of so many parts of
the empire. The Prince Consort felt keenly the use of these
influences. "How important and beneficent," he once said, "is the
part given to the royal family of England to act in the development
of those distant and rising countries, who recognize in the British
crown and their allegiance to it, their supreme bond of union with
the mother country and to each other!"
During each year of their married life the queen and Prince Consort
went on some interesting tour. In England, Oxford and Cambridge,
Birmingham, Leeds, Liverpool, Manchester, received royal visits,
while such historical houses as Chatsworth, Hatfield, Stowe, and
Strathfieldsay were honored by their presence. Ireland was thrice
visited. Wales more than once. The first visit to Scotland was made
in 1842, another in 1844, and from 1847 only one year passed without
a long residence in the north--first at Ardverachie, on Loch Laggan,
and then at what was to be their Highland home on Deeside. Repeated
visits were also made to the Continent, sometimes in state and
sometimes in as much privacy as could be commanded.
It is when we come to this bright time, so full of fresh interest
and of a delightful freedom, that we have the advantage of the
queen's own "Leaves from the Journal of our Life in the Highlands."
Her visit to Edinburgh in 1842, and the drive by Birnam and
Aberfeldy to Taymouth, and the splendor of the reception, when, amid
the cheers of a thousand Highlanders and the wild notes of the
bagpipes, she was welcomed by Lord Breadalbane, evidently stirred
every feeling of romance. "It seemed," she wrote, "as if a great
chieftain of olden feudal times was receiving his sovereign." It
appeared like a new world, when, throwing off for a time the
restrictions of state, she found herself at Blair two years
afterward, climbing the great hills of Atholl, and from the top of
Tulloch looking forth on the panorama of mountain and glen. "It was
quite romantic; here we were with only this Highlander behind us
holding the ponies, not a house, not a creature near us but the
pretty Highland sheep, with their horns and black faces. It was the
most delightful, most romantic, ride and walk I ever had." These
early visits to Scotland inspired her with her love for the
Highlands and the Highlanders. She found there quite a world of
poetry. The majestic scenery, the fresh, bracing air, the
picturesqueness of the kilted gillies, the piping and the dancing,
and the long days among the heather, recalled scenes which Sir
Walter Scott has glorified for all time, and which are especially
identified with the fortunes of the unhappy Stuarts, of whom she is
now the nearest representative.
It was in 1848 that the court proceeded for the first time to
Balmoral, then a picturesque but small castle. The air of Deeside
had been recommended by Sir James Clark, the queen's physician, and
his anticipation of the benefits to be derived from residence there
was so completely realized that although four years passed before
the property was actually purchased, yet preparations were made for
establishing there a royal home. Plans for the future castle and for
laying out the grounds were gone into by the prince with keen
delight. "All has become my dear Albert's own creation, own work,
own building, own laying out, as at Osborne; and his great taste and
the impress of his dear hand have been stamped everywhere."
It was here that the queen and the Prince Consort enjoyed for more
than twelve years a delightful freedom, mingling with their people,
devising the wisest methods for insuring their well-being, going
with them to worship in their plain (very plain!) parish church, and
being to each and all unaffectedly sincere friends. Every spot
around soon became consecrated by some sweet association. Every
great family event had its commemoration amid the scenery around the
castle; though many a cairn, once raised in joy, is now, alas! a
monument of sorrow. The life at Balmoral was in every sense
beneficial. There never has been there the kind of relaxation that
comes from idleness. Systematic work has been always maintained at
Balmoral as at Windsor. Early hours in the fresh morning and a
regular arrangement of time during the day have given room for the
constant business of the crown; but every now and then there were
glorious "outings," whether for sport or for some far-reaching
expedition, which gave fresh zest to happy and united toil.
There is more than one characteristic of the queen which may recall
to Scotchmen the history of their own Stuarts, and among these is
her enjoyment of expeditions _incognita_. The Prince Consort, with
his simple German heart, entered fully into the "fun" of such
journeys, as, starting off on long rides across mountain-passes and
through swollen burns and streams, lunching on heights from which
they could gaze far and wide over mountain and strath, they would
reach some little roadside inn, and there, assuming a feigned name,
had the delight of feeling themselves "private people," while the
simple fare and the ridiculous _contretemps_ which frequently
occurred were enjoyed the more keenly because of their contrast to
accustomed state. And during all these years their domestic life was
unbroken by any great family sorrow. It was not till a year before
her great bereavement that the queen lost her mother, the Duchess of
Kent. Few can read the account of that sorrowful parting without
being drawn nearer to the sovereign by the tie of a common humanity,
so deep and tender is the affection that is revealed.
But till 1861 the queen was surrounded by all those who were dearest
to her, and she and the prince shared the sweet task of
superintending their children's education. Few parents more
anxiously considered the best methods for securing a sound moral and
religious training. "The greatest maxim of all," writes the queen,
"is that the children shall be brought up as simply and in as
domestic a way as possible, that (without interfering with their
lessons) they should be as much as possible with their parents, and
learn to place their greatest confidence in them in all things." As
to religious training, the queen's conviction was that it is best
when given to a child "day by day at his mother's knee." It was only
the great pressure of public duty which rendered it impossible for
her to fulfil her part so completely as she desired. "It is a hard
case for me," her majesty writes, in reference to the princess
royal, "that my occupations prevent me being with her when she says
her prayers."
The religious convictions of the queen and the Prince Consort were
deep. They both cared little for those mere accidents and
conventionalities of religion which so many magnify into essentials.
The prince, eminently devout, insisted on the realities of religion.
"We want not what is safe, but true," was his commentary on the
exaggerated outcry against "Essays and Reviews." "The Gospel, and
the unfettered right to its use," was his claim for Protestantism.
For his own spirit, like that of the queen, was truly religious. The
quiet evenings spent together before communion, and the directness
and reverence with which both served God were combined with an utter
abhorrence of all intolerance. Such qualities are generally
misunderstood by the narrow-minded, who have only their own
"shibboleths" to test all faith, and the one Church--whatever it may
be--that they regard as "true." The queen and the prince rose above
such distinctions; they shared the Catholicism of St. Paul, "Grace
be with all who love the Lord Jesus Christ in sincerity."
But these bright and happy years were doomed to a sudden ending. It
is only when we have realized all that her husband was to her that
we can measure how fearful was the blow to her loving heart when he
who was her pride and her constant companion was laid low. We may
well feel what a shattering it brought to all that hitherto had
enriched her life, and how very desolate her position became when
she was left in loneliness on the throne, a widow separated by her
queendom from many of those supports which others find near them,
but from which she was deprived by her position. "Fourteen happy and
blessed years have passed," she wrote, in 1854, "and I confidently
trust many more will pass, and find us in old age as we now are,
happily and devotedly united. Trials we must have, but what are they
if we are together?" In God's wisdom that hope was not to be
realized, and in 1861 the stroke fell, and it fell with crushing
power.
It is not for us to lift the curtain of sorrow that fell like a
funeral pall over the first years of her widowhood. For many a day
it seemed as if the grief was more than she could bear, and although
she was sustained through it all by God's grace, and supported by
the sympathy of the nation, yet it was naturally a long-continued
and absorbing sorrow. Other blows have fallen since then. The tender
and wise Princess Alice, and the thoughtful and cultured Duke of
Albany, have also been gathered to their rest; and the queen has had
to mourn over one after another of her most faithful servants taken
from her. But the hallowing hand of time, the soothing remembrance
of unspeakable mercies, and the call to noble duty, have done much
to restore the strength, if not the joy, of former days. Her people
rejoice, and the influence of the Crown is enormously strengthened,
when in these later years the queen has been able once more to
mingle with the nation.
When we touch on the third period of her life--which may well be
termed that of sorrow, although brightened by many happy events in
the domestic life of her children--we reach times that are familiar
to every reader. These have been years in which the cares of state
have often been exceedingly burdensome. The days of anxiety during
the Crimean War and the Indian Mutiny have more than once had their
counterpart. Afghanistan, Zululand with its Isandula, and the
Transvaal War with its Majuba Hill, Egypt, and the Soudan, brought
hours of sore anxiety to the sovereign; but they were probably not
more harassing to intellect and heart than the months of difficult
diplomacy which the threatening aspect of European politics
frequently laid upon Government.
I may say in passing that no portrait of her appears to me to be
quite satisfactory. They usually have only one expression, that of
sadness and thoughtfulness, and so far they give a true
representation; for when there is nothing to rouse her interest and
when she is silent, that look of sadness is doubtless what chiefly
impresses one. Her face then bears the traces of weary thought and
of trying sorrow; but when she is engaged in conversation, and
especially if her keen sense of humor has been touched, her
countenance becomes lit with an exceedingly engaging brightness, or
beams with heartiest laughter.
Her life at Balmoral since her great sorrow maintains, as far as may
be, the traditions of the happy past. She still makes expeditions,
_cognita_ or _incognita_, sometimes to the scenes of former
enjoyment or to new places of interest. She has in this way visited
Blair, Dunkeld, Invermark, Glenfiddich, Invertrossachs, Dunrobin,
Inverlochy, Inverary, Loch Marll, and Broxmouth.
The queen, among her people at Balmoral, gives a splendid example to
every landlord. "The first lady in the land" is the most gracious
mistress possible. Her interest is no condescending "make-believe,"
as we sometimes find it in the case of others, who seek a certain
popularity among their dependents by showing spasmodic attentions
which it is difficult to harmonize with a prevailing indifference.
With the queen it is the unaffected care of one who really loves her
people, and who is keenly touched by all that touches them. She
knows them all by name, and in the times of their sorrow they
experience from her a personal sympathy peculiarly soothing. There
is indeed no part of the volumes she has given us more surprising
than the minute knowledge she there shows of all the people who have
been in any way connected with her. The gillies, guides, and
gamekeepers, the maids who have served her, the attendants,
coachmen, and footmen, are seldom mentioned without some notice of
their lives being recorded as faithfully as is the case with peers
and peeresses. How few mistresses are there who, burdened as she is
with duty, would thus hold in kindest remembrance each faithful
servant, become acquainted with their circumstances, and provide for
them in age or in trial with generous solicitude. It is this rich
humanity of feeling that is her noblest characteristic. The public
are accustomed to see messages of sympathy sent by the queen in
cases of disaster and of accident, but they cannot know how truly
those calamities fall upon her own heart. As far as her life in the
Highlands is concerned, she is now perhaps the best specimen we have
of what the old Highland chieftain used to be, only that in her case
we find the benefits of paternal government without its harsh
severities. There is the same frank and hearty attachment to her
dependents, the same intimate knowledge of each one of them, the
same recognition of services. It is a queenly quality to recognize
what is worthy, no matter what the rank may be. It was from this she
placed so much confidence in her faithful attendant, John Brown. Her
great kindness to him was her own generous interpretation of the
long and loyal services of one who, for more than thirty years, had
been personal attendant on the Prince Consort and herself, leading
her pony during many a long day upon the hills, watching over her
safety in London as well as on Deeside, and who, on more than one
occasion, protected her from peril. "His attention, care and
faithfulness cannot be exceeded," she writes in the first volume of
the "Leaves," "and the state of my health, which of late years has
been sorely tried and weakened, renders such qualifications most
valuable."