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!