VICTORIA THE GOOD.
“_Their thoughts shall be my thoughts, their aims my aim,_
_Their free-lent loyalty my right divine;_
_Mine will I make their triumphs, mine their fame,_
_Their sorrows mine._”
IT is five o’clock on a June morning in the year 1837. London is not yet
awake, nevertheless four high officers of state are knocking lustily and
ringing loudly at the outer gate of Kensington Palace. They have come
straight from the deathbed of William the Fourth, and they have news of
the highest importance for the young princess who resides within. But at
this early hour of the day the whole palace is wrapped in slumber, and
the knocking and ringing have to be repeated many times before the
drowsy porter is awakened. You see him rubbing his eyes and reluctantly
throwing open the gate. Now the little party, which includes the Primate
and the Lord High Chamberlain, enters the courtyard, and another long
wait follows. At length the distinguished visitors are admitted to a
lower room of the palace, and there they seem to be quite forgotten.
They ring the bell, and when it is answered the Lord High Chamberlain
requests that the attendant of the Princess Victoria be sent to inform
her Royal Highness that high officials of state desire an audience on
business of the utmost importance.
There is another long delay, and again the bell is rung, this time with
pardonable impatience. The attendant of the princess is summoned, and
she declares that her royal charge is in such a sweet sleep that she
cannot venture to disturb her. “We are come on business of state to the
Queen,” says the Lord High Chamberlain, “and even her sleep must give
way to that.”
A few minutes later the door opens again, and a young girl of eighteen,
fresh as a newly-opened rosebud, enters the room. She has not waited to
dress. Her hair falls loose upon her shoulders; she has hurriedly thrown
a shawl round herself, and thrust her feet into slippers. There are
tears in her eyes as she learns that her uncle the king is dead and that
she is queen!
At once she turns to the archbishop, and with simple, unaffected piety
says, “Pray for me!” All kneel together, and the venerable prelate
supplicates the Most High, who ruleth over the kingdoms of men, to give
the young sovereign an understanding heart to judge so great a people.
Thus Victoria, before she is out of her teens, takes up the arduous and
exacting duties of her high office. Read the letters which she wrote in
those early days to her relatives and statesmen, and you will marvel at
the clear judgment, the strong will, and the sound common sense of the
girl-queen. Her reign opens in times of national distress and political
unrest, and below a certain social level there is no sentiment of
loyalty to the Crown. But all this will suffer a wondrous change in the
years that are to come. Prosperity hitherto undreamed of will bless the
land, and year by year freedom will slowly broaden down from precedent
to precedent; and through all the changes and chances of national life
Victoria will play her part with a courage, steadfastness, and rectitude
that will evoke universal approbation and passionate loyalty. The time
will come when she will be the idol of her people, and the richest jewel
in her crown will be a nation’s love.
* * * * *
SIXTY YEARS AFTER.
“_And ever when mid-June’s musk roses blow_
_Our race will celebrate Victoria’s name,_
_And even England’s greatness gain a glow_
_From her pure fame!_”
You are in London on the twenty-second day of June in the year 1897, and
again it is in festal array. The whole nation is making holiday to
rejoice in the completion of sixty years of peace and prosperity under
the beneficent sway of a dearly-loved queen. Ten years ago great public
thanksgivings signalized her jubilee; now that she has occupied the
throne longer than any of her predecessors, and has reigned for more
years than any other monarch known to history, the nation’s delight and
gratitude know no bounds.
You are standing in a favoured position gazing on the front of St.
Paul’s Cathedral. Afar off you hear the dull roar of cheering. The queen
is making her progress through the capital of her vast Empire. She rides
in state to-day amidst evidences of almost filial loyalty, and her eyes
are wet with tears of love and gratitude as she perceives how dear she
is to the hearts of her people. On the steps of the cathedral are the
City Fathers, the Colonial Premiers, and a white-robed throng of
bishops, priests, and choristers, the aged Archbishop of Canterbury at
their head. The noise of cheering grows louder and louder, a troop of
Household Cavalry clatters by, and you hear the loud cry, “THE QUEEN!
THE QUEEN!” Every head is bared as the state carriage with its eight
horses appears; the huzzas that go up from thousands of throats almost
deafen you.
And now the carriage halts, and the old archbishop offers simple and
fervent thanks to Almighty God for the signal mercies vouchsafed through
such long years to Victoria and her people. Then, as a climax, the whole
concourse bursts into the strains of “God save the Queen.” Never has the
National Anthem been so heartily sung, never before has it been so
little of a demonstration and so much of a prayer. There is no
lip-service here: Victoria’s throne is in the hearts of her people; she
is theirs, and they are hers.
Look at this little, old lady, whom all men, from duke to
crossing-sweeper, are to-day hailing as their pride and joy. Look at
her, and strive to realize the splendour of the great office which she
has filled so long and so worthily. She is the sovereign lady of a
dominion so wide in extent and so rich in resources that nothing like it
has ever been seen before in the history of the world. Glance at the
colonial procession which is even now wending its way through the
streets, and you will marvel at the world-wide character of her sway.
Here you see men of British race, dwellers in the most distant parts of
the earth, all come from afar to grace their queen’s pageant, and all
bearing themselves proudly in the eyes of their kinsfolk “at home.”
Here, too, you see numerous foreign subjects of the queen, men of almost
every variety of colour, creed, and language, equally proud to do her
honour, equally ready to praise her beneficent sway.
It is almost impossible for the aged monarch on this red-letter day of
her life not to reflect on the wonderful changes which have transformed
the world since that June morning sixty years ago when they waked her
out of sleep and told her that she was queen. The vast Empire, for
example, which has been so vividly brought before the minds of the
British people to-day is very largely the creation of her reign. In
extent it has nearly doubled itself since she came to the throne, and
now covers almost one-fifth of the globe. In 1837 the colonial
population was under 4,000,000. Now, excluding India, more than
18,000,000 of colonists are subject to her. India under her sway has
doubled its native population, and to-day one-fifth of all the people on
earth acknowledge her as their sovereign.
The railways which have brought tens of thousands of visitors rapidly
and cheaply to town were only in their infancy when she rode through
London to her coronation, the steamships which have carried her brave
colonials across countless leagues of sea were unknown. The electric
telegraph, which is even now flashing the news of her pageant through
thousands of miles of wire and cable to every part of the civilized
world, was then but a toy. The penny post, which to-night will convey
tens of thousands of letters to every town in the land and to most parts
of her wide Empire, did not exist. There were no omnibuses, no tramcars,
no district railways, no “twopenny tubes,” no motor cars. To-night
London will blaze with electric lights. What a contrast to the
flickering oil lamps of her childhood!
And what a vast improvement has taken place in the condition of her
people! She reflects that there is still plenty of poverty and misery in
her land, but not a tithe of that which existed when she came to the
throne. Wages are far better, food is far cheaper, housing has greatly
improved, and men are kings to what they were. The barbarous old
criminal laws have been abolished; work-people are no longer the helots
of their masters; education is universal, and as free as air and
sunlight; and every householder has a voice in the government of his
country. She casts her mind back over sixty years, and rejoices that all
things have worked together for this great good, and that the result is
a proud, self-respecting, orderly, and deeply-patriotic people.
Truly in retrospect her reign appears one long, triumphal march; yet
there have been reverses, checks, and disasters in plenty, though shame
never. War has been waged in almost every quarter of the globe, and
plentiful laurels have been won. Her thoughts revert for a moment to the
great struggle in the Crimea, which took place forty-three years ago,
and to the splendid British courage and endurance there displayed.
“Alma,” “Balaclava,” “Inkerman,” “Sevastopol”—what heroic memories
these names recall to her! And then she remembers the terrible period of
anxiety which followed, when the Sepoys rose, and India almost fell from
our grasp. “Delhi,” “Lucknow,” “Cawnpore”—what anguish and heroism
these names import! As for the rest of her wars, she rejoices to know
that they have been, for the most part, punitive expeditions against
savage neighbours and revolting tribesmen. How fervently she prays that
peace at home and abroad may ever be the lot of her people!
The great day draws to a brilliant close, and from end to end of the
Empire runs her gracious message of gratitude:—
“_From my heart I thank my beloved people. May God bless them!_”
[Illustration]
[Illustration: =Saving the Colours: An Incident of the Battle of
Inkermann.=
(_From the picture by Robert Gibb, R.S.A. By permission of Mr.
Bruce-Low._)]
In the neighbourhood of the Sandbag Battery the British Guards were
surrounded by a strong Russian force, through which they cut their way,
with the colours carried high as a rallying point. The moment selected
for representation is that when the Guards are first entering their own
lines.
[Illustration: =Queen Victoria at St. Paul’s.=
(_An Incident of the Diamond Jubilee. From a photograph._)]
[Illustration: =Jessie’s Dream.=
(_From the picture by F. Goodall, R.A., in the Mappin Art Gallery. By
permission of the Corporation of Sheffield._)]
[Illustration: =_Edward VII., King of Great Britain and Ireland and of
the British Dominions beyond the Seas, Emperor of India._=]