QUEEN VICTORIA’S EARLY MARRIED LIFE
“Her Court was pure; her life serene;
God gave her peace; her land reposed;
A thousand claims to reverence closed
In her as Mother, Wife, and Queen.”
--_Tennyson._
Prince Albert was firmly convinced that Queen Victoria was injudicious
in her partisanship of the Whigs, and he desired to begin his career in
England on an independent basis as far as the political parties were
concerned; therefore he desired to choose for himself his secretary
and other officials likely to be near him. His engagement was a short
one, but it was full of troubles, as, indeed, most engagements are, for
that is, I think, the least satisfactory part of the whole marriage
arrangement. Thus he seems to have been really and thoroughly annoyed
when he found that George Anson, who was Melbourne’s secretary, and who
was described as “a tried, discreet, and sensible man, high-bred in
feeling as in bearing, capable without prompting of giving good advice
when asked, and incapable of the folly of making a suggestion when it
was not wanted,” had been selected by Victoria to fill the post of
private secretary to himself. There was considerable correspondence
between the Royal lovers on this subject, part of which is given in
the _Letters of Queen Victoria_. The Prince’s letters are not
included, but the Queen’s tell the story. Here is a paragraph from
one:--
“It is, as you rightly suppose, my greatest, my most anxious wish to do
everything most agreeable to you, but I must differ with you respecting
Mr. Anson.... What I said about Anson giving you advice, means that if
you like to ask him, he can and will be of the greatest use to you,
as he is a very well-informed person. He will leave Lord Melbourne as
soon as he is appointed about you. With regard to your last objection
that it would make you a party man if you took the secretary of the
Prime Minister as your Treasurer, I do not agree in it; for, though I
am very anxious you should not appear to belong to a party, still it is
necessary that your Household should not form a too strong contrast to
mine, else they will say, ‘Oh, we know the Prince says he belongs to no
party, but we are sure he is a Tory!’ Therefore it is also necessary
that it should appear you went with me in having some of your people
who are staunch Whigs; but Anson is not in Parliament, and never was,
and therefore he is not a violent politician. Do not think, because I
urge this, Lord M. prefers it; on the contrary, he never urged it, and
I only do it as I know it is for your good.... I am distressed to tell
you what I fear you do not like, but it is necessary, my dearest, most
excellent Albert. Once more I tell you that you can perfectly rely on
me in these matters.”
In a later letter, the Queen pointed out that it was absolutely
essential that Albert should have an Englishman at the head of his
affairs.
However, the two months rolled away, and the marriage morning dawned
with the 10th of February, Albert arriving in London on the 8th. He,
poor thing, had hoped for a real honeymoon, and was gently chided
for desiring so much: “You forget, my dearest love, that I am the
Sovereign, and that business can stop and wait for nothing. Parliament
is sitting, and something occurs almost every day, for which I may be
required, and it is quite impossible for me to be absent from London,
therefore two or three days is already a long time to be absent.”
The morning of Monday, February 10th, was stormy: “What weather! I
believe, however, the rain will cease,” scribbled Victoria to her
bridegroom before they met that day; and, in spite of the torrents of
rain and gusts of wind, a countless multitude thronged the streets
and the Park to see the bride go from Buckingham Palace to the chapel
in St. James’s Palace and back, and then, after the breakfast, to
Paddington on the way to Windsor, where the Royal pair were to spend
four days.
[Illustration:
_Photo_ _Emery Walker._
H.R.H. PRINCE ALBERT.
From the Painting by Winterhalter in the National Portrait
Gallery.]
Said the Sage of Chelsea concerning this event: “Yesterday the idle
portion of the Town was in a sort of flurry owing to the marriage of
little Queen Victory. I had to go out to breakfast with an ancient
Notable of this place, one named Rogers, the Poet and Banker; my way
lay past little Victory’s Palace, and a perceptible crowd was gathering
there even then, which went on increasing till I returned (about one
o’clock); streams of idle gomerils flowing from all quarters, to
see one knows not what--perhaps Victory’s gilt coach and other gilt
coaches drive out, for that would be all! It was a wet day, too, of
bitter heavy showers and abundant mud.... Poor little thing, I wish her
marriage all prosperity too.... As for him (Prince Albert) they say he
is a sensible lad; which circumstance may be of much service to him; he
burst into tears on leaving his little native Coburg, a small, quiet
town, like Annan, for example; poor fellow, he thought, I suppose, how
he was bidding adieu to _quiet_ there, and would probably never
know _it_ more, whatever else he might know.”
Carlyle and Rogers seem to have discussed the Queen and all that had
happened, for the former adds in amused fashion: “He (Rogers) defended
the poor little Queen, and her fooleries and piques and pettings in
this little wedding of hers.”
It is said that of all the Tories the Queen only sent a personal
invitation to one to be present at the ceremony, and that was her old
friend, Lord Liverpool. The Royal pair returned to Buckingham Palace on
the 14th, and the Queen held a Levée on the 19th, when Albert stood by
her side to receive the guests.
The marriage of the Queen made it necessary to rearrange the apartments
in Buckingham Palace, and those which had been devoted to the Duchess
of Kent were done up in splendid style for the Prince.
The King of Hanover had retained some apartments in St. James’s
Palace for his own use, but had never returned to them since he left
England; and it was considered, not without reason, that he might be
willing to give up the rooms to the Duchess of Kent. However, Ernest
had not yet lost hope; he could not prevent the marriage, it was
true, but the Queen might die, there might be no children, something
might still happen to give him his heart’s desire and set him on the
Throne of England. Therefore, he felt it advisable to retain the rooms
for his possible use in an emergency, and he wrote a curious letter
about proceedings in England, implying that such terrible things were
happening here that it would probably be necessary for him to return
and save the situation.
So the Queen rented Ingestre House, Belgrave Square, at a cost of two
thousand a year for a short time. When somewhat later Princess Augusta
died the Duchess was transferred to Clarence House, St. James’s Palace,
and was given Frogmore at Windsor as a residence. Thus ended for her
any influence in great matters which she may have hoped to exercise
upon her daughter, and thus also ended the deplorable friction which
had made her so very unhappy. It was very possible that some of the
Queen’s disregard for her mother--a disregard which was never shown
in social matters or in outward filial conduct--existed really only
in the mind of the Duchess, for it is usual for the person who feels
slighted to exaggerate the offence. From this time forward, however, we
hear of no further friction; indeed, Prince Albert seems to have acted
as mediator, and to have championed the cause of his mother-in-law.
Sir John Conroy lived in Berkshire, and one day in May, 1840, there
appeared in a Berkshire paper an allusion to Royal affairs. If Conroy
caused this to be inserted it only goes to prove the truth of the
report: “Prince Albert, having unravelled the mysterious web with
which certain intriguantes had contrived to embarrass and annoy the
Duchess of Kent, has expressed his detestation of their acts, and at
the same time has avowed his determination to restore that amiable and
ill-used lady to her proper station, influence, and suitable residence.”
It is interesting to note that Victoria was quite well aware of the
matrimonial project so long nursed by her uncle, the Duke of Cambridge,
for in November, 1839, when writing to Melbourne to give an account
of a visit which the Cambridges paid her, she said, in a somewhat
mixed style: “They were all very kind and civil, George grown but not
embellished, and much less reserved with the Queen, and evidently happy
to be _clear_ of me.”
At the end of December, in writing to Albert she said: “I saw to-day
the Duke of Cambridge, who has shown me your letter, with which he is
quite delighted--and, indeed, it is a very nice one. The Duke told Lord
Melbourne he had always greatly desired our marriage, and never thought
of George; but that _I_ do not believe.”
At that time three of the sons of George III. were alive, and three
daughters. The Queen had an affection for all but the King of Hanover,
and did her best to make her uncle Sussex’s life easy, though he was
just at this period in a fractious mood, being jealous of the rights of
“the family.” He had made two illegal marriages, the second being, as
has been said, with Cecilia Underwood--Lady Buggin--a daughter of the
Earl of Arran, and widow of an attorney-knight, though disliking the
plebeian name which marriage had bestowed upon her, she had taken that
of her mother as soon as she was widowed. She attracted the Duke of
Sussex and lived with him as his wife for years, then in 1840 he came
to the determination of going through the ceremony of marriage. Whether
it was an access of virtue or prudence which caused this long-delayed
decision it is difficult to say, but he put it forward as a plea for
an increase in his allowance. This naturally caused criticism of an
adverse kind, it being generally thought and said that these two had
lived long enough together to know the amount of their joint expenses,
and that marriage should not increase them. One paper advocated
compliance with the Duke’s demand on the ground that Cecilia would “not
add a flock of locusts to increase the epidemic of the German pest.”
Victoria made Cecilia Duchess of Inverness, that she might be near her
husband’s rank, and sometimes invited her to her own table, but she was
never placed on the footing of a relative. It was in April, 1843, that
the Duke died of erysipelas, and desired in his will that he should
be buried at Kensal Green. This, after some hesitation, was done with
military honours. Sussex seems to have won more affection and goodwill
than any of his brothers.
The Duke of Cambridge, who took little part in public life after his
return from Hanover, lived until 1850. In W. H. Brookfield’s Diary is
to be found the following description of him in 1841: “The Duke of
Cambridge was there to hear the Bishop (preach), and sate in the pew
before me. Such a noise as he made in responses, Psalm reading, and
singing, a sort of old Walpole with eyes. I had not caught what Psalm
the clerk had given out, and turning to look on my neighbour’s book
for the page--fidgety, restless, Royal Highness turns round and bawls
loud enough to drown the organ, ‘It begins at the third verse--the
third verse!’ All eyes turned on Royalty speaking to inferior clergy. I
turned red as a radish. Royalty went on singing like a bull!”
It was with the Duchess of Cambridge that Lady Cardigan says she once
drove to London, and the former took from her pocket a German sausage,
and, cutting off slices with a silver knife, conveyed the pieces to her
mouth with the help of the blade! Young George of Cambridge married,
not a Queen, but an actress, Louisa Fairbrother, with whom he lived
very happily until she died in 1890--and it is said that he never
recovered the blow caused by her death.
Of the three daughters of George III., one was Princess Sophia, who
went blind after being operated on for cataract, and who, whatever
the scandal associated with her name, always kept the affectionate
respect of her niece Victoria. She was one of the sponsors to the
Queen’s eldest son, and also to the Princess Alice. She died in 1848,
six months before Lord Melbourne. Princess Augusta died in September
of 1840, and “the dear old Duchess of Gloucester,” the last of the
generation, who was looked upon by Victoria and her family as “a sort
of grandmother,” lived until 1857. She had always been very energetic,
and there is an account of her calling upon the Queen, and reporting
upon a round of gaieties indulged in within a day or two, parties at
the Duchess of Sutherland’s, the Duke of Wellington’s, and at Cambridge
House, and luncheon with the Duke of Sussex, followed with the call
upon Her Majesty.
The young Queen was naturally affectionate, and felt much grief at the
deaths of these relatives, who had surrounded her all her life, yet
a fuller, richer, if not less troubled, existence was forming about
her. Her troubles were not of the kind which devastate, but of the
recurring, irritating sort which neither rest nor sleep. Albert never
did quite please the English people, and in her endeavour to make him
acceptable she sometimes wounded him, and sometimes did injudicious
things. Her naturally quick temper induced Leopold to write her a grave
warning before the marriage, telling her not to let a single day pass
over with a misunderstanding between them, and pointing out that if
such arose she would find Albert gentle and open to reason, so that
things could be easily explained; begging her to remember that he was
not sulky but inclined to be melancholy if he thought he was not justly
treated, and adding “But as you will always be together, there can
_never_ arise, I hope, any occasion for any disagreements even on
the most trifling subjects.”
It is open to wonder whether such disagreements did at first arise.
If so, they were so slight as not to affect the abiding love between
the two. The satiric papers recorded a constant succession of them,
but who is to believe such? One report ran that the Prince annoyed his
wife by contradicting her over the tea table, “and whether by accident
or design, the Queen sprinkled the contents of her cup over his
face, which led to an estrangement for the whole evening.” On another
occasion we are told that Albert was admiring a bouquet which Miss
Pitt, a Maid of Honour, carried, and while he was holding it the Queen
entered, and, having praised the flowers, asked him whence they came.
Then “the presence of Miss Pitt was dispensed with, Victoria seized
the bouquet, and scattered its fragments over the room.” Whether such
incidents were true or not, Victoria never forgot that she was Queen,
and to the end she sometimes unduly pressed that fact upon the mind
of her husband. Melbourne said that the Queen was very proud of the
Prince’s utter indifference to the attractions of ladies, and when he
suggested that they were early days to boast, she was indignant. The
Prime Minister, watching her with his shrewd, fatherly air, saw with
amusement, however, that she was really somewhat jealous if the Prince
talked much even with any man. What would she have said if he had
followed George the Fourth’s plan of kissing all ladies who pleased him
on their presentation?
But there was one thing which gradually weighed more and more upon the
Prince’s spirits and really hurt him. He found himself shut out as had
been the Duchess of Kent. The Queen did not discuss affairs of State
with him; she carried her reticence so far as to cause him to make
serious complaints and to need the help both of Melbourne and Stockmar.
In this again is to be traced the insidious influence of Baroness
Lehzen, who was still always in the background, but whose name never
passed the Queen’s lips in her conferences with Melbourne. When that
good friend reasoned with her about the want of confidence both in
trivial and great matters that she showed in her husband, she replied
that it was caused by indolence, that when she was with the Prince she
preferred talking of other and pleasanter things. Upon which Melbourne
told her to try to alter that, for there was no objection to her
telling the Prince all things. Melbourne’s private opinion was that she
feared difference of opinion. But really the Queen was the counterpart
of the mid-Victorian husband, who thought it his duty to save his wife
from any knowledge of his business, whether it worried or pleased
him--a rather foolish position for her to take up, even though she had
been Queen for three years.
Stockmar, in a conversation with George Anson, made the memorable
remark, seeing how the Prince had fought against Anson’s appointment:
“The Prince leans more on you than on anyone else and gives you his
entire confidence; you are honest, moral, and religious, and will not
belie that trust. The Queen has not started upon a right principle.”
The Baron thought that Victoria was influenced more than she knew
by Lehzen, and that in consequence of that influence she was not so
ingenuous as she had been two years earlier.
However, a new aspect of life had opened up for Her Majesty at that
time, and it is doubtful whether she was as engrossed in State matters
as she seemed to be, whether while she was listening to disquisitions
upon foreign affairs, she was not dreaming of more personal things.
She trusted her Ministers without question, and may well be excused
if for a time she relied entirely upon their judgment, and had not the
power even to explain to her young husband the arguments to which she
listened. These things changed slowly, but for two years Albert’s only
share in his wife’s work was that after many months he was allowed to
go through official papers with her. He felt the position to be one of
humiliation, and wrote to his friend, Prince William of Löwenstein,
that in his house he was the husband and not the master. What Leopold
had said of his nature was true, and this trouble filled him with
melancholy. This difference between the Queen and the Prince, however,
got abroad, and was commented on in light and airy fashion. It was said
that Victoria sometimes drove her husband out in her pony carriage, and
this was applied somewhat spitefully in the following verse:--
“‘Thus to be driven!’ exclaim some folks,
‘Prince Albert’s a mere nincom.’
But spite of all their passing jokes
The boy enjoys his income.
Then _why_ Vic drives the Prince is plain
To any common view--
The Sovereign who holds the rei(g)n
Should have the whip hand too.”
Yet privileges were yielded and concessions were made from time to
time. Melbourne gave up his work to the Prince as private secretary; in
August, when the Queen prorogued Parliament, Albert sat in an armchair
next the throne, waiting doubtless for the protest from the Duke of
Sussex, which had been threatened, but which did not get uttered. When
the Queen had to look forward to illness, the Prince was appointed
regent, much to the disgust of the once genial and fatherly Sussex,
who considered that “the family” was being slighted by such a course,
and who, in these the last years of his life, was not so kind to his
niece as he had hitherto been. The next, but by no means the least, of
the Prince’s small triumphs was that he gently but firmly returned the
Baroness Lehzen to her native country.
Life had not been quite so smooth with the Baroness since the Queen’s
marriage, and there were occasions when she was subjected to hitherto
unknown criticisms. The Duchess of Northumberland once sent by her some
communication to Victoria, which was never transmitted, and this caused
the Duchess to make a personal explanation to the Queen, and ask why
her message had received no notice. This little matter, only one of
many, being sifted, necessitated an ample apology from the lady behind
the Throne.
Then again the Baroness was not liked by some of the people who now
surrounded the Queen, and in spite of the strict reserve which Victoria
always practised in regard to this mentor and friend of her youth,
vague indications of this appear here and there. In June of 1841 the
Queen and the Prince went on a visit to Nuneham, near Oxford, the home
of the Archbishop of York, and did not take Lehzen with them, excusing
the omission on the plea that it would be wiser if she remained with
the baby Princess. The next month the Queen went to Woburn Abbey, which
caused George Anson to note with satisfaction that this was the second
expedition on which the Baroness had not been required to accompany
them; and this remark he followed by a review of the Prince’s progress
since his marriage, in which he mentions that the schemes of those who
wished to prevent His Royal Highness from being useful to Her Majesty
for fear that he might touch upon the Queen’s prerogatives, had been
completely foiled. “They thought they had prevented Her Majesty from
yielding anything of importance to him by creating distrust through
imaginary alarm. The Queen’s good sense, however, has seen that the
Prince has no other object in all he seeks but a means to Her Majesty’s
good.”
By August of that year Prince Albert had been so harassed by the
Baroness Lehzen that when a dissolution was threatened he spoke of
the matter to Melbourne, describing how her interference kept him in
a constant state of annoyance, and begging Lord Melbourne to help him
to get rid of her, saying, “It will be far more difficult to remove
her after the change of Government than now, because, if pressed to
do it by a Tory Minister, the Queen’s prejudice would be immediately
aroused.” Melbourne’s knowledge of the Queen, and his own temperament
also, led him to deprecate any definite measures. Victoria was already
expecting the birth of a second child, and with fatherly care the Prime
Minister did his best to save her from what he knew would be a painful
event, which could not be accomplished without an exciting scene. He
advised the Prince to be on his guard, and patiently abide the result,
assuring him that people were beginning to understand that lady’s
character much better, and time must surely work its own ends. So
Albert continued loyally to bear this burden, and it was not until the
beginning of October, 1842, that the Baroness was induced to go on a
visit to her family and friends, a visit from which she never returned.
It must not be supposed that Baroness Lehzen was generally disliked
or was an unpleasant woman. The Maids of Honour always found her kind
and friendly; if a new Maid arrived, the Baroness would go to her
room to welcome her and to give her her badge of office, a picture of
the Queen surrounded with brilliants fastened to a red bow. Greville,
no great friend to the Prince, says that she was much beloved by the
women and much esteemed by all who frequented the Court, that she was
very intelligent and had been a faithful friend to the Queen from the
time of her birth, and that she was sent away simply because she was
obnoxious to the Prince. This is written with considerable partiality.
Lehzen may have been as faithful a friend as she knew how, but her
views were limited. She fostered pride and an overweening sense of
importance in her charge, and in an eager desire to be the most
confidential person about the Queen, she set her against any who might
rival her influence. She tried her strength against the Duchess of
Kent, and won; she did what she could against Melbourne, but she was
incapable against his position and his knowledge. Then she hoped to
keep the Prince at a respectful distance from Victoria as the Queen,
however near he might be to her as his wife, and fortunately, though
after a long struggle, she failed, and was packed off to Germany.
The Queen thought she was coming back, but in her heart even she,
infatuated as she was, could not but have known that the position was
impossible for the man--her “dearest Angel”--upon whom she lavished
such warm words of love. Thus we hear no more of Lehzen, except that
she settled with a sister in a comfortable, small house at Bückeburg,
covering the inner walls of her home with prints and pictures of the
Queen whom she had served more lovingly than wisely.
Victoria’s popularity was enhanced by her marriage, but decreased again
owing to the popular fear of foreigners. She was sometimes greeted
with silence, sometimes with cries of “no foreigners!” when she went
to the theatres. It was a time of great hardship, yet the Queen gave
dances and banquets, the accounts of which were exaggerated a hundred
times as they percolated through the newspapers to the poor, many of
whom were starving. We get many allusions to these gaieties. On January
29th, 1842, there was a little dance at Windsor to amuse the young
Prince Leopold of Saxe-Coburg, with just enough ladies to make up a
quadrille. It finished with a country dance, including every sort of
strange figure. “The Queen must have been studying some old books and
concentrated the figures of several centuries into this one country
dance.”
Her Majesty was very fond of dancing, and of organising country dances
for the evening home party; and sometimes after dinner would take one
of her ladies round the waist to polka with her. The polka, originally
a Bohemian peasant dance and very different from the present-day polka,
had just been introduced, so that it was the rage among dancers.
“Oh! sure the world is all run mad,
The lean, the fat, the gay, the sad--
All swear such pleasure they never had,
Till they did learn the Polka.”
She was young, happy, and light-hearted, and her Court was particularly
free from extravagant amusements, yet these little frolics brought
grumbles and troubles in their train, and in the curiously
short-sighted ideas of economy which then obtained, her State balls
were regarded as nothing short of criminal. For Victoria was accused
of flinging away money while many of her people were starving, and her
popularity went down to zero. Some papers printed parallel columns
describing the fancy dresses at the Queen’s balls, the banquets, Royal
purchases, &c., in one, and in the other cases of death from want, of
suicides, and of failures. When this was at its worst the Royal pair
were making magnificent preparations for christening the Prince of
Wales, and Sir Robert Peel is said to have advised them to make haste
and practise economy, advice which was good when the general standard
of ignorance was considered, but all wrong from the point of trade
and work. It was the Queen’s custom when she gave a ball to tell her
Equerry in waiting in the morning with whom she desired to dance, so
that everything should run smoothly. She loved the brightness and the
youthfulness which such functions brought around her, and would on
occasions permit children to sit quietly and watch her dress. Thus Lady
Cardigan speaks of getting introduced by General Cavendish sometimes
to Buckingham Palace when Her Majesty was giving a State ball, which
meant no less a privilege than being allowed to sit in the Royal
dressing-room and look at the pretty young Queen being attired in her
ball dress. “We were too awestruck as a rule even to whisper, but I
think the Queen found more honest admiration in our childish eyes than
in all the honied flatteries of a Court.” Miss Cavendish afterwards
became a Maid of Honour.
In 1840 Victoria marked her sense of Mrs. Norton’s innocence by
allowing her to be presented at Court by her sister, Lady Seymour, who
was the Queen of Beauty at the Eglinton Tournament. Mrs. Norton was
so nervous that the Queen herself remarked upon it to King Leopold,
who said he could well believe that she was much frightened having so
many eyes upon her, some of which, perhaps, not with the most amiable
expression.
Mrs. Norton had many things to endure from her husband, the loss of her
children for one, for though the woman was innocent, the law allowed
a man at that time, no matter how bad he might be, the sole control
and power over the little ones. Later on, when things were easier for
her in this respect, scandal once again arose in a most unwarrantable
manner, accusing her of selling to _The Times_ the secret of
Peel’s intended change of attitude on the Corn Laws. As a matter of
fact, Lord Aberdeen, influenced by Colonial policy, and in view of
the departure of the mails, had imparted this bit of hidden news to
Delane the editor, with the result that it appeared the next day in the
columns of the paper. Speculation was rife as to how _The Times_
knew, and then it was whispered by jealousy, for Mrs. Norton was a very
beautiful and a very popular woman, that Delane had paid Mrs. Norton
a large price for the knowledge which she had learned from one of her
admirers. Later, of course, came the story of “Diana of the Crossways,”
which was regarded as an absolute confirmation of the scandal. George
Meredith himself has emphatically denied that his romance was based
upon anything in the life of Mrs. Norton, as the facts themselves, when
known, disposed of it, but scandal dies hard.
Fanny Kemble, too, attended a Drawing Room in 1842 in consequence of
an inquiry by the Queen as to why she did not come, and wrote of the
event: “If Her Majesty has seen me, I have not seen her; and should
be quite excusable in cutting her whenever I met her. ‘A cat may look
at a king,’ it is said, but how about looking at the Queen? In great
uncertainty of mind on this point, I did not look at my sovereign lady.
I kissed a soft white hand which I believe was hers; I saw a pair of
very handsome legs, in very fine silk stockings, which I am convinced
were not hers, but am inclined to attribute to Prince Albert; and this
is all I perceived of the whole Royal Family of England.”
Prince Albert was something of a dandy in his dress, and the remark
that “there was not a tailor in England who could make a coat” was
attributed to him. In 1843 he invented, or was godfather to, a new
hat for infantry, something like the Hessian cap introduced into the
German service. _Punch_ gave a picture of this hat, which is said
not to be exaggerated, and devoted a column to a description of it,
saying that “the Prince proposed to encase the heads of the British
soldiery in a machine which seemed a decided cross between a muff,
a coal-scuttle, and a slop-pail, making it necessary for the honour
of the English Army that _Punch_ should interfere. The result
has been that the headgear has been summarily withdrawn by an order
from the War Office, and the manufacture of the Albert hat has been
absolutely prohibited.”
The Prince was credited with designing other garments as well, on which
_Punch_ remarked that “Hannibal was a great cutter-out, for he
cut a passage through the Alps; but Prince Albert cuts out Hannibal,
inasmuch as His Royal Highness devotes his talents to the cutting out
of coats, waistcoats, and ‘things inexpressible.’”
A dramatic incident in 1841 made the Queen for the moment a popular
heroine, and that was the action of a publican’s boy named Oxford,
who shot at her as she was driving up Constitution Hill. She and
Prince Albert went on with their drive, altering their route so that
they might pass the Duchess of Kent’s house and relieve her mind of
anxiety in case she heard any rumours of what had just happened. On
returning home they were received at the Palace by a great crowd
cheering vociferously. The next day the shouts of thousands met them
in the Park, and the Houses of the Lords and the Commons tendered
their congratulations in state. The State carriage of the Speaker was
followed by one hundred and nine other members’ carriages to Buckingham
Palace, and as they rolled away eighty carriages of the Lords began to
enter, Barons first, rising in rank to Royal Dukes, all wearing their
Orders, Stars, and Garters.
There were those who said that this attempt upon the Queen’s life had
been instigated by the King of Hanover, but then--give a dog a bad name
and you may as well hang him.
Her Majesty was acclaimed at Ascot that year, which greatly pleased
her, part of the enthusiasm being probably caused by the suggestion
that November might bring an heir to the Throne. The approaching birth
of a Royal child was the subject of talk all over the country, and the
not very delicate taste of the day allowed free speculation and comment
in the daily and weekly papers. One devoted the top of a column to the
subject every week, heading it:--
THE LADIES.
Pray remember
The tenth of November.
It then proceeded to give news of various Court ladies who were
emulating, or hoping to emulate, the example of the Queen, running
something as below:--“The Hon. Mrs. Leicester Stanhope intends to
go to Brighton in the autumn, and has retained the services of the
celebrated Dr. Bradwell for early in November. The Duchess of Somerset
has accepted invitations, for she feels sure that there are no family
reasons to interfere. Lady Cork thinks she might as well stay in
London.” “Yes,” replies the grim Lord Allen, “the London fogs will
shelter you from observation,” &c.
Lord Melbourne was facetiously reported as giving a dinner-party on
Her Majesty’s birthday, and proposing a toast in the following terms:--
“Fill up to the brim, a bright Burgundy bumper,
With the drain of the goblet resound the loud cheer,
Here’s luck in November, and may a braw thumper
In the shape of a Prince glad the close of the year.”
In June the Queen seemed to have come to a rather uncomfortable, not
to say morbid, decision; for Admiral Knox tells us that she felt sure
that she should die in her confinement, and she also made up her
mind to let the event happen at Claremont, where she had everything
replaced just as it had been in Princess Charlotte’s time, even to the
furniture in the bedroom in which she died. These little plans absorbed
her thoughts, and she was constantly running down to Claremont. Of
course, her frame of mind and her curious intention were the subjects
of gossip in the streets, and gruesome caricatures were published, one
representing Victoria lying dead in bed with a dead child in her arms,
and _November_ printed beneath. We do not hear quite so much talk
about “the good old times” as we did in my childhood, but I really
think we should, in the good present times, have no social brutality to
offer which would vie with this.
Fortunately there were many considerations which would necessarily
defeat the Claremont House scheme, and the little Princess--who was
born just after the trouble in the East, making her mother laughingly
suggest that Turko-Egypto should be added to her names--first saw the
light in Buckingham Palace. After the birth, as the Duke of Wellington
was leaving the Palace he met Lord Hill, who made the usual inquiries
about Her Majesty and the “little stranger,” to which the old Duke
answered:
“Very fine child, and very red, very red; nearly as red as you,
Hill!”--an allusion to Lord Hill’s claret-coloured complexion.
The Queen made a rapid recovery, and really behaved in such a healthy,
normal way that the King of Hanover must at last have given up all hope
of the English Throne. In the light of after events it is interesting
to note that Victoria wrote to Leopold:--“I think, dearest uncle, you
cannot really wish me to be the ‘mamma of a numerous family,’ for I
think you will see with me the great inconvenience a _large_
family would be to all of us, and particularly to the country,
independent of the hardship and inconvenience to myself; men never
think, at least seldom think, what a hard task it is for us women to go
through this very often.”
The married life of the Queen was as methodical as her life had been
from 1837 to 1840, but the Prince found the round of the Court too
fatiguing and full of change, desiring to reduce Victoria’s programme
to greater simplicity. He thought the late hours very trying, and
though he was a lover of music would fall asleep before the evening
ended. Lady Normanby gave a concert at which--wrote a Court lady
to a friend--all “sang divinely, the Queen was charmed, and Cousin
Albert looked beautiful and slept as quietly as usual, sitting by Lady
Normanby.” I have also come across such comments as these: “We hear a
great deal of the beauty and pleasing qualities of Prince Albert, who
seems to be admired by all.” Stockmar recorded about this time, “The
Prince improves morally and politically. I can say with truth that I
love him like my son, and that he deserves it.”
It is not generally realised that when he came to England the Prince’s
knowledge of English was not very good, and this, added to his
generally reticent character, helped to make social life difficult for
him, especially with men. He used to be very glad when Miss Spring-Rice
was in waiting, as she spoke German fluently, so that he could talk
with her of his home. Yet he slowly gained good will among the
nobility, for he was known to be a good man, though he was never really
popular with a large number. Our aristocrats were but just emerging
from the bondage of the hard drinking, high gaming, loud swearing, and
promiscuous love-making which had debased the Courts of the Georges
and the last family of Princes, and they could not like a man who
lived cleanly, did not swear, drink, bet or gamble, knew nothing of
sport, and actually disliked horse-racing. The Prince was neither rash
nor docile; he went his own way largely, and did not trouble enough
to make friends with men, though he gradually attracted a few staunch
loyalists of sober life. Between him and others there grew a barrier of
frigid reserve, which in only rare cases was ever broken. The papers
did all they could to accentuate this difference; his inability to
ride well was made the subject of constant comment, and his musical
and literary tastes amused the scoffer. He tried, however, to please
when he could, and he determined to show that he could ride as well
as most men; but in April he had what might have been a very bad
accident. He rode to a staghound meeting at Ascot, on a horse which was
a vicious thoroughbred, and it bolted as soon as the Prince mounted.
He kept his seat and turned the animal round several times in the
hope of stopping it, but at last he was knocked off against a tree,
fortunately not sustaining much injury. Later he followed the hunt and
drove four-in-hand; but it is almost pathetic to realise how the Queen
must have scanned the papers and grieved at every sneer levelled at her
husband, while she constantly urged him to remedy anything which to
English eyes seemed a defect.
Indeed, the tendency all round was to press him into a mould, to treat
him as the Mrs. Gamps of old thought it right to treat the heads of
new-born babes: to press here and massage there, in an endeavour to
present a good round even surface; and the Queen was just as busy as
the Press in her endeavour to work on the skull of Albert’s habits
and leanings. He had really no use for society in the ordinary sense;
he had no small talk, he could not expand or be confidential. But he
had very definite tastes of his own; he would have liked to surround
himself with literary and scientific people, artists, and musicians;
for recreation he loved a game of double chess, in which he was
proficient, but even double chess every night began to pall. As for
the rest, it had to be given up, not because the critics of society
disapproved, but because his little wife had no fancy for the invasion
of their home by intellectual people. She felt that she could not
sustain conversation on abstruse subjects, and she always liked to be
in the centre of the picture; any other place she would have looked
upon as an insult. It is curious that we have had imposed upon us such
fulsome laudations of Victoria’s education, for she showed little
evidence of superiority in that respect. She could speak French, play
the piano, sing prettily, and paint a little, but none of these things
really touch the mind, and her mind had been as neglected as were the
minds of most of the women of her time. Thus the society around her
knew of nothing better than small talk and twiddling the keynotes of a
piano; and to this the Prince had to succumb, even at last giving up
his chess to join the Queen’s circle in a round game of cards!
They played vingt-et-un for money, everyone being desired to have
_new_ coins with which to play, and Victoria loved some curious
game called nainjaune. They spun counters and rings; Georgiana Liddell,
when she became a Maid of Honour, wrote of this:--
“The Prince began spinning counters, so I took to spinning rings, and
the Queen was delighted. It always entertains me to see the little
things that amuse Her Majesty and the Prince, instead of their looking
bored as people so often do in English society.”
It is wonderful that people never seemed to realise that there might be
something more for grown-up people than a choice between spinning rings
or round games and boredom. But there is something very attractive in
the picture of this healthy young pair playing their childish games,
wandering in the Home Park at Windsor, with pigeons alighting on their
shoulders, feeding the animals and rare aquatic birds imported by the
Prince, and showing kindness to all their great household; the married
lovers sometimes having _tête-à-tête_ dinners without watchful
or obsequious eyes upon them, and just beginning to take politics
seriously. For Melbourne, the beloved tutor and friend, was gone, and
the Queen was beginning to think and decide for herself, with her
husband’s help.
Once a riddle, purporting to be from the Bishop of Salisbury, who was
said to offer a reward to anyone who solved it, was sent to the Queen.
She and her husband spent four days over it, and then called in the
assistance of Charles Murray, Comptroller of the Household, who found
out for them that the Bishop knew nothing of the matter, had not sent
the riddle, and believed the whole thing to be a hoax.
Queen Victoria seems to have been thoroughly liked by her Maids of
Honour, of whom there were eight--two waiting at a time for a period
of three months--and who were generally expected to be good pianists.
Often they would be called upon to play duets with the Queen and Prince
Consort, and one of them made the remark, after playing a difficult
Beethoven piece, “It was quite a relief to find that we all played the
last bar at the same time”; adding, “I enjoy nothing so much as seeing
the Queen in this quiet way, and I often wish that those who don’t
know Her Majesty could see how kind and gracious she is when she is
perfectly at her ease, and able to throw off the restraint and form
which must and ought to be observed when she is in public.”
[Illustration: QUEEN VICTORIA.
From a Drawing by Drummond, 1842.]
Victoria would say politely to one of these girls, “If it is
_convenient_, come down any evening and try some music,” “But
I might come down at the wrong moment,” answered Miss Liddell on
one occasion. “Then I will send for you, and if you are at home you
can come,” replied the Queen. “I did laugh in my sleeve,” commented
Georgiana, in recording this, “for except when I go to St. George’s, by
no chance do I go anywhere.”
It was this young lady who said, on coming back to her duty,
“Everything else changes, but the life here never does, and is always
exactly the same from day to day, and year to year.” She also tells us
that the Maid of Honour’s chief duty seemed to be to offer the Queen
her bouquet before dinner each night. The Maids of Honour were each
given a good sitting-room, with a piano in it, which they occupied when
not on duty, and there was a special room downstairs in which they
could receive guests, for such were not allowed in their private rooms.
But despite the distressing sameness and stability at Court, these
girls saw everyone who came. It was also one of their duties to receive
any important lady, such as the Duchess of Kent, on her arrival, and
to take her to her room, and the Maid in Waiting always sat to the
left of the Queen, being generally taken in to dinner by Melbourne.
When the King of Prussia came over to the christening of the Prince of
Wales in January, 1842, he brought various Germans with him, among them
being Colonel von Brauhitch, a young-looking man and a great flirt.
He paid much attention to Georgiana Liddell, and asked when he might
be allowed to pay his respects to her. The girl laughed, and told him
no visitors were allowed into her sitting-room, not even her brother.
The Colonel could not believe this; surely, surely she had mistaken
her instructions! Oh, but he must ask the Baroness. So he went off to
Baroness Lehzen, who confirmed what Miss Liddell had said, much to
his sorrow and disgust at the “tyranny” exercised. He went on paying
her such marked attention that one day old General Neumann came up
to them, saying, “But, my dear friend, do you forget that you are a
grandfather?” Which made the flirtatious Colonel extremely indignant,
as it happened to be true.
Queen Victoria revived the old practice, so popular with George III.,
of walking on the terrace at Windsor on Sunday afternoons, and of
allowing her loyal subjects free ingress thereto. “You never saw
anything like the crowds of people. It was rather unpleasant when Her
Majesty walked among them, for, though the gentlemen tried to give
way, the people pressed up so, it was difficult to keep them back. I
suppose it is right that the Queen should show herself to her subjects
sometimes, but I am always glad when these walks are over.” So said
Miss Liddell after she became Lady Bloomfield.