WOLVERTON.--The country in Norfolk is real country and the scenery is
typically English. The Prince Consort could hardly have selected a
more suitable spot than Sandringham for the country seat of the Heir
Apparent; and the fact that the Prince and Princess of Wales make
Sandringham House their headquarters for the greater part of the year
has naturally given an impetus to property in the neighbourhood.
Sandringham House is not a palace. It is simply large, genial,
hospitable and attractive, like its master. The Prince of Wales is a
much discussed man, and the ordinary American who has not travelled and
who derives his knowledge of English affairs from the American daily
papers--which usually give only that side of the question which is
acceptable to the Liberals and Radicals of Great Britain--has little
idea of his personality, and does not begin to gauge the strength of
his character.
The Prince is usually supposed to be a jovial, good-natured man who
devotes his whole time to pleasure, and who has no ideal in life beyond
the pursuit of social gayeties and field sports. This is a total and
gross mistake. The Prince of Wales is one of the most hard-working men
in the Kingdom, and the humblest of his future subjects has probably
more time to himself than the Heir Apparent; and, I venture to say,
does not spend it half so usefully as this much-abused Prince.
For many years he has been King of England in everything but name, and
he is far more than the figurehead of the nation. His knowledge of
public affairs is remarkable; he is a master of diplomacy and his tact
is famous. Like his father, he possesses a fine mind, and sometimes
displays a depth of foresight astonishing even to his old friend, Mr.
Gladstone. He has a happy knack of looking at all sides of a question,
and his mature judgment upon matters of public import is often sought
by statesmen of all shades of opinion.
He has never meddled in politics, and his success in steering a
straight course among the quicksands of party passion and strife is
well shown by a dinner he gave in London only the other day to the King
of the Belgians, at which Mr. Gladstone sat next to Lord Salisbury,
and Mr. Balfour chatted pleasantly with Mr. John Morley. The Prince of
Wales alone could give such a dinner. A fair estimate of the Prince is
rarely found in American papers. Because he is Prince and will some
day become King, they think it their duty to spatter his reputation
with mud; and to show their "Republican sympathies" (I use the word
in its widest sense) by ill-digested diatribes against royalty. The
Conservative party, like the English Court, has hardly a representative
among us, and our knowledge of important events on the other side
usually comes from a "Liberal" source. It is evident that in many cases
the American papers know a bitter editorial against the Prince of Wales
may serve some political end of their own; and they never hesitate to
sacrifice him on such occasions.
It is no exaggeration to say that the most popular man in England is
the Prince of Wales. Even the Radicals cheer him, for he is always
ready to do anyone a good turn, while still careful of his dignity.
It is interesting to note the Prince's daily life at Sandringham, his
country seat, where he appears as a simple Squire.
Saturday-to-Monday parties are frequent at Sandringham in the autumn
when the shooting has begun; and often seven or eight gentlemen; a
General, an Admiral, a Diplomat or two, with their wives, a foreign
Prince or Nobleman, and possibly a Bishop, assemble on Friday evening.
These with the household officers make up the party; and gathered
under the rose-shaded candles around the flower-laden table in the
dining room they present a varied picture of gay and stern humanity.
No sooner is the substantial dinner over than McKay, the Scotch piper,
emerges from a neighbouring room and intones some wild Scotch air on
his bag-pipes. In the evening the Prince and Princess move from group
to group in the drawing room, saying a few pleasant words to each of
the guests, and then withdraw to their private apartments, while music
by some famous pianist usually closes the evening. Baccarat is never
played at Sandringham, and the smoking-room cohort breaks up early.
Breakfast is served at half-after-nine (previous to which several gongs
have sent their echoes loudly through the house) at small round tables
in the dining room, and the meal must be quickly despatched, for at
eleven the carriages start for the meeting-place, whether all the
guests are ready or not. A four-horse drag carries eight or ten guests
with their guns and game bags; and an array of dog-carts, village-carts
and various traps is at the disposal of the remaining visitors. A
breezy morning on the moors is followed by a merry al-fresco meal in a
tent, where curries from India await the Hindoo Maharajahs, and a juicy
ham sent by the King of Portugal tempts the ordinary appetite, while
savoury Irish stews show the Hibernian sympathies of the Prince. The
genial Host always rides a grey cob to and from the moors; at dusk the
traps and drags again appear; and the party, indulging in cigars and
lively chat, returns gaily to the house. After a change of garments
and a "tub," they are just in the mood to enjoy the comfort of the
sitting room, where the charming Princess presides behind the tea tray,
looking more like a sister of her three tall daughters than anything
else. No one, of course, really sits down to tea; each one takes his
cup and wanders through the rooms, stopping to listen for a moment to
the piano, or to admire the small green parrot who gives three very
emphatic and loyal cheers for the Queen. When the guests finally leave
this most hospitable and royal house they are sure to find among their
luggage at the station a well-filled hamper of game. Another morning
the Prince takes an early train to London, lays the corner stone of a
Masonic asylum; drives to a new hospital which he opens; presides over
a meeting of the British Bible Society; and then attends a meeting at
the Imperial Institute, finally returning to Sandringham by a late
train.
The hearty cheers which meet him in London on his way to and from the
station are, if anything, more cordial than those which greet his Royal
Mother on her drives through the town.
Very little of the Prince's time is spent in amusing himself. He is
at the nation's disposal, and the nation is a hard taskmaster. His
is a difficult position to fill, and in the fierce, white light that
beats upon a throne, his slightest actions are distorted. The present
baccarat affair is a good illustration of the way in which the Prince's
affairs are twisted to suit the scandal-loving readers of the Radical
press; but the storm of adverse criticism now raging around his head
has already begun to create a reaction in his favour, and thoughtful
people are commencing to ask themselves whether it is quite fair to
shower so much abuse upon the Heir Apparent for what is admitted to be
an error of judgment, but which amounts to nothing more.
His attitude in this baccarat affair has been strictly honourable,
although open to criticism. It may be worth while to analyze the
charges against him. A slight examination will show the flimsy
character of the foundation upon which they rest. In the first place,
people are under the impression that the fact of his connection in any
way with the affair was disgraceful. This view of the case will hardly
be accepted upon mature reflection. When the Prince ran down to Tranby
Croft for a few days' rest, and in the evening sat down to a friendly
game of baccarat, he never dreamed that one of his oldest friends would
deliberately try to cheat him. With the fact of his playing cards for
money the world has nothing to do. Each man must decide for himself
whether games of chance when played for money are wrong or right. It
may be claimed that the Prince was not a man, but a Personage; but it
is well to remember that he played cards in his private capacity and
not as Heir Apparent.
The jury has decided that Sir William Gordon-Cumming did cheat at
cards; and to any one knowing the game, his very feeble explanation
appears absurd; while the fact that five witnesses saw him push
his counters over the line to add to his stake at an improper time
practically places the matter beyond dispute. The only fault that the
Prince of Wales committed was one of kindness. He signed the paper,
prepared by Lord Coventry and General Owen Williams, promising secrecy
if Sir William would agree never to touch cards again.
That is: he, a Field Marshal of the British Army, tacitly agreed to
allow Sir. William to remain in the Army and in his regiment while
knowing that he had cheated at cards. His duty as an officer was to
report Sir William's conduct at once to the Duke of Cambridge, the
Commander-in-Chief.
This he failed to do out of regard for his friend; and for this he has
been so bitterly attacked in the press! Again, he has been criticised
for his continued presence at the trial, where he came--it was
suggested--for the purpose of muzzling eminent Counsel. Can any one
fail to see what scorn and contempt the press would have poured out
upon him had he failed to appear in person? Every one would have said
he was afraid to be present.
No one recognizes more fully than the Prince himself that an error
of judgment was committed when he condoned Sir William's offence; and
his recognition of this fact has been proved by the apology offered in
his name by Mr. Stanhope, Secretary-of-State for War, in the House of
Commons. All this talk and discussion in England is merely froth on the
surface. The resolutions and strictures passed by various Dissenting
bodies with much display of bad taste appear to be equally due to a
desire on their part to condemn gambling in high places, and at the
same time to draw public attention to themselves. The lower-middle
class and the agricultural labourers, who compose the great bulk of the
population of England, go placidly on their way, paying no attention to
this noisy affair and only longing for their beef and beer.
The upper-middle class is more deeply stirred; for does it not count
many a Mr. Pecksniff among its members, and are not Mr. Stiggins and
Mr. Chadband to be met within its chaste and highly moral circles?
There is no doubt that the Prince will be decidedly more careful in
future as to whom he admits to the honour of his acquaintance. This
baccarat affair may cause him some slight temporary loss of popularity,
but a generous fault often makes a man more popular than a miserly
virtue; and the enthusiastic cheers which greeted the Prince at Ascot
only a day or so ago are perhaps a better indication of what the people
of England think of their future King's course in this matter.
A significant fact is Mr. Gladstone's loyal adherence to his Prince,
and his stern discouragement of the intention of his unruly Radical
colleagues to attack the Prince in Parliament. Mr. Labouchere, too, the
cynical editor of the Radical _Truth_, as well as the Liberal _Daily
News_, supports the Prince; and the authors and literary men whom he
has so often helped are rallying to his aid.
The Prince of Wales, like every one, is mortal; but far more than his
great-uncle, King George IV., does he deserve his well-earned title of
"The First Gentleman in Europe."
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