PART III.

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QUEEN VICTORIA.

HER GIRLHOOD AND WOMANHOOD.

BY GRACE GREENWOOD

A DEDICATORY LETTER

TO CAMILLA TOULMIN (MRS. NEWTON CROSLAND), LINTON LODGE, BLACKHEATH PARK:

Permit me, my dear friend, to inscribe to you this very imperfect Life of

your beloved Queen, in remembrance of that dear old time when the world

was brighter and more beautiful than it is now (or so it seemeth to me)

and things in general were pleasanter;--when better books were written,

especially biographies, and there were fewer of them;--when the "gentle

reader" and the "indulgent critic" were extant;--when Realism had not

shouldered his way into Art;--when there were great actors and actresses

of the fine old school, like Macready and the elder Booth--Helen Faucit

and Charlotte Cushman; and real orators, like Daniel O'Connell and Daniel

Webster;--when there was more poetry and more romance in life than now;--

when it took less silk to make a gown, but when a bonnet was a bonnet;--

when there was less east-wind and fog, more moonlight to the month, and

more sunlight to the acre;--when the scent of the blossoming hawthorn was

sweeter in the morning, and the song of the nightingale more melodious in

the twilight;--when, in short, you and I, and the glorious Victorian era,

were young.

GRACE GREENWOOD.

PREFACE.

I send this book out to the world with many misgivings, feeling that it

is not what I would like it to be--not what I could have made it with

more time. I have found it especially difficult to procure facts and

incidents of the early life of the Queen--just that period which I felt

was of most interest to my younger readers. So much was I delayed that

for the actual arrangement and culling of my material, and the writing of

the volume, I have had less than three months, and during that time many

interruptions in my work--the most discouraging caused by a serious

trouble of the eyes.

I am aware that the book is written in a free and easy style, partly

natural, and partly formed by many years of journalistic work--a style

new for the grave business of biographical writing, and which may be

startling in a royal biography,--to my English readers, at least. I aimed

to make a pleasant, simple fireside story of the life and reign of Queen

Victoria--and I hope I have not altogether failed. Unluckily, I had no

friend near the throne to furnish me with reliable, unpublished personal

anecdotes of Her Majesty.

I have made use of the labor of several English authors; first, of that

of the Queen herself, in the books entitled, "Leaves from the Journal of

Our Life in the Highlands," and "The Early Years of His Royal Highness

the Prince-Consort"; next, of that of Sir Theodore Martin, K.C.B., in his

"Life of the Prince-Consort." For this last appropriation I have Sir

Theodore Martin's gracious permission. I am much indebted to Hon. Justin

McCarthy, in his "History of Our Own Times." I have also been aided by

various compilations, and by Lord Ronald Gower's "Reminiscences."

I have long felt that the wonderful story of the life of the Queen of

England--of her example as a daughter, wife and mother, and as the

honored head of English society could but have, if told simply, yet

sympathetically, a happy and ennobling influence on the hearts and minds

of my young countrywomen. I have done my work, if lightly, with entire

respect, though always as an American and a republican. I could not do

otherwise; for, though it has made me in love with a few royal people, it

has not made me in love with royalty. I cannot but think that, so far

from its being a condition of itself ennobling to human character, those

born into it have often to fight to maintain a native nobility,--as Queen

Victoria has fought, as Prince Albert fought,--for I find the "blameless

Prince" saying: "To my mind the exaltation of royalty is only possible

through the personal character of the sovereign."

It suits England, however, "excellent well," in its restricted

constitutional form; she has all the venerable, splendid accessories--and

I hope "Albert the Good" may have founded a long race of good kings; but

it would not do for us;--a race cradled in revolution, and nurtured on

irreverence and unbelief, as regards the divine right of kings and the

law of primogeniture. To us it seems, though a primitive, an unnatural

institution. We find no analogies for it, even in the wildest venture of

the New World. It is true the buffalo herd has its kingly commander, who

goes plunging along ahead, like a flesh-and-blood locomotive; the drove

of wild horses has its chieftain, tossing his long mane, like a banner,

in advance of his fellows; even the migratory multitudes of wild-fowl,

darkening the autumn heavens, have their general and engineer,--but none

of these leaders was born, or hatched into his proud position. They are

undoubtedly chosen, elected, or elect themselves by superior will or

wisdom. Entomology does, indeed, furnish some analogies. The sagacious

bees, the valiant wasps, are monarchists,--but then, they have only

queens.

G. G.

LONDON, _October 20th_, 1883.

CONTENTS.

PART I.

CHILDHOOD AND GIRLHOOD

PART II.

WOMANHOOD AND QUEENHOOD

PART III.

WIFEHOOD AND MOTHERHOOD

PART IV.

WIDOWHOOD

ILLUSTRATIONS

1. THE PRINCESS VICTORIA.

2. QUEEN VICTORIA AT THE AGE OF 18.

3. THE DUCHESS OF KENT, MOTHER OF THE QUEEN.

4. THE QUEEN AT THE AGE OF 64.

5. PRINCE ALBERT, HUSBAND OF THE QUEEN.

PART I.

CHILDHOOD AND GIRLHOOD.

CHAPTER I.

Sketch of the Princess Charlotte--Her Love for her Mother--Anecdotes--Her

Happy Girlhood--Her Marriage with Prince Leopold--Her Beautiful Life at

Claremont--Baron Stockmar, the Coburg Mentor--Death of the Princess

Charlotte.

It seems to me that the life of Queen Victoria cannot well be told

without a prefacing sketch of her cousin, the Princess Charlotte, who,

had she lived, would have been her Queen, and who was in many respects

her prototype. It is certain, I think, that Charlotte Augusta of Wales,

that lovely miracle-flower of a loveless marriage, blooming into a noble

and gracious womanhood, amid the petty strifes and disgraceful intrigues

of a corrupt Court, by her virtues and graces, by her high spirit and

frank and fearless character, prepared the way in the loyal hearts of the

British people, for the fair young kinswoman, who, twenty-one years after

her own sad death, reigned in her stead.

Through all the bright life of the Princess Charlotte--from her beautiful

childhood to her no less beautiful maturity--the English people had

regarded her proudly and lovingly as their sovereign, who was to be; they

had patience with the melancholy madness of the poor old King, her

grandfather, and with the scandalous irregularities of the Prince Regent,

her father, in looking forward to happier and better things under a good

woman's reign; and after all those fair hopes had been coffined with her,

and buried in darkness and silence, their hearts naturally turned to the

royal little girl, who might possibly fill the place left so drearily

vacant. England had always been happy and prosperous under Queens, and a

Queen, please God, they would yet have.

The Princess Charlotte was the only child of the marriage of the Prince

Regent, afterwards George IV., with the Princess Caroline of Brunswick,

Her childhood was overshadowed by the hopeless estrangement of her

parents. She seems to have especially loved her mother, and by the

courage and independence she displayed in her championship of that good-

hearted but most eccentric and imprudent woman, endeared herself to the

English people, who equally admired her pluck and her filial piety--on

the maternal side. They took a fond delight in relating stories of

rebellion against her august papa, and even against her awful grandmamma,

Queen Charlotte. They told how once, when a mere slip of a girl, being

forbidden to pay her usual visit to her poor mother, she insisted on

going, and on the Queen undertaking to detain her by force, resisted,

struggling right valiantly, and after damaging and setting comically awry

the royal mob-cap, broke away, ran out of the palace, sprang into a

hackney-coach, and promising the driver a guinea, was soon at her

mother's house and in her mother's arms. There is another--a Court

version of this hackney-coach story--which states that it was not the

Queen, but the Prince Regent that the Princess ran away from--so that

there could have been no assault on a mob-cap. But the common people of

that day preferred the version I have given, as more piquant, especially

as old Queen Charlotte was known to be the most solemnly grand of

grandmammas, and a personage of such prodigious dignity that it was

popularly supposed that only Kings and Queens, with their crowns actually

on their heads, were permitted to sit in her presence.

As a young girl, the Princess Charlotte was by no means without faults of

temper and manner. She was at times self-willed, passionate, capricious,

and imperious, though ordinarily good-humored, kindly, and sympathetic. A

Court lady of the time, speaking of her, says: "She is very clever, but

at present has the manners of a hoyden school-girl. She talked all sorts

of nonsense to me, but can put on dignity when she chooses." This writer

also relates that the royal little lady loved to shock her attendants by

running to fetch for herself articles she required--her hat, a book, or a

chair--and that one summer, when she stayed at a country-house, she would

even run to open the gate to visitors, curtsying to them like a country

lassie. The Earl of Albemarle, who was her playmate in childhood, his

grandmother being her governess, relates that one time when they had the

Prince Regent to lunch, the chop came up spoiled, and it was found that

Her Royal Highness had descended into the kitchen, and, to the dismay of

the cook, insisted on broiling it. Albemarle adds that he, boy-like,

taunted her with her culinary failure, saying: "_You_ would make a

pretty Queen, wouldn't you?" At another time, some years later, she came

in her carriage to make a morning-call at his grandmother's, and seeing a

crowd gathered before the door, attracted by the royal liveries, she ran

out a back-way, came round, and mingled with the curious throng

unrecognized, and as eager to see the Princess as any of them.

Not being allowed the society of her mother, and that of her father not

being considered wholesome for her, the Princess was early advised and

urged to take a companion and counsellor in the shape of a husband. The

Prince of Orange, afterwards King of the Netherlands, was fixed upon as a

good _parti_ by her royal relatives, and he came courting to the English

Court. But the Princess did hot altogether fancy this aspirant, so, after

her independent fashion, she declined the alliance, and "the young man

went away sorrowing."

One of the ladies of the Princess used to tell how for a few minutes

after the Prince had called to make his sad _adieux_, she hoped that

Her Royal Highness had relented because she walked thoughtfully to the

window to see the last of him as he descended the palace steps and sprang

into his carriage, looking very grand in his red uniform, with a tuft of

green feathers in his hat. But when the Princess turned away with a gay

laugh, saying, "How like a radish he looks," she knew that all was over.

It is an odd little coincidence, that a later Prince of Orange,

afterwards King of the Netherlands, had the same bad luck as a suitor to

the Princess or Queen Victoria.

Charlotte's next lover, Leopold, of Saxe-Coburg, an amiable and able

Prince, was more fortunate. He won the light but constant heart of the

Princess, inspiring her not only with tender love, but with profound

respect. Her high spirit and imperious will were soon tamed to his firm

but gentle hand; she herself became more gentle and reasonable, content

to rule the kingdom of his heart at least, by her womanly charms, rather

than by the power of her regal name and lofty position. This royal love-

marriage took place in May, 1816, and soon after the Prince and Princess,

who had little taste for Court gaieties, went to live at Claremont, the

beautiful country residence now occupied by the young Duke of Albany, a

namesake of Prince Leopold. Here the young couple lived a life of much

domestic privacy and simplicity, practicing themselves in habits of

study, methodical application to business, and wise economy. They were

always together, spending happy hours in work and recreation, passing

from law and politics to music and sketching, from the study of the

British Constitution to horticulture. The Princess especially delighted

in gardening, in watering with her own hands her favorite plants.

This happy pair had an invaluable aid and ally in the learned Baron

Stockmar, early attached to Prince Leopold as private physician, a rare,

good man on whom they both leaned much, as afterwards did Victoria and

Albert and their children. Indeed the Baron seems to have been a

permanent pillar for princes to lean upon. From youth to old age he was

to two or three royal households the chief "guide, philosopher, and

friend"--a Coburg mentor, a Guelphic oracle.

So these royal lovers of Claremont lived tranquilly on, winning the love

and respect of all about them, and growing dearer and dearer to each

other till the end came, the sudden death of the young wife and mother,--

an event which, on a sad day in November, 1817, plunged the whole realm

into mourning. The grief of the people, even those farthest removed from

the Court, was real, intense, almost personal and passionate. It was a

double tragedy, for the child too was dead. The accounts of the last

moments of the Princess are exceedingly touching. When told that her baby

boy was not living, she said: "I am grieved, for myself, for the English

people, but O, above all, I feel it for my dear husband!" Taking an

opportunity when the Prince was away from her bedside, she asked if she

too must die. The physician did not directly reply, but said, "Pray be

calm."

"I know what _that_ means," she replied, then added, "Tell it to my

husband,--tell it with caution and tenderness, and be sure to say to him,

from me, that I am still the happiest wife in England."

It seems, according to the Queen, that it was Stockmar that took this

last message to the Prince, who lacked the fortitude to remain by the

bedside of his dying wife--that it was Stockmar who held her hand till it

grew pulseless and cold, till the light faded from her sweet blue eyes as

her great life and her great love passed forever from the earth. Yet it

seems that through a mystery of transmigration, that light and life and

love were destined soon to be reincarnated in a baby cousin, born in May,

1819, called at first "the little May-flower," and through her earliest

years watched and tended as a frail and delicate blossom of hope.

CHAPTER II.

Birth of the Princess Victoria--Character of her Father--Question of the

Succession to the Throne--Death of the Duke of Kent--Baptism of Victoria

--Removal to Woolbrook Glen--Her first Escape from Sudden Death--Picture

of Domestic Life--Anecdotes.

After the loss of his wife, Prince Leopold left for a time his sad home

of Claremont, and returned to the Continent, but came back some time in

1819, to visit a beloved sister, married since his own bereavement, and

become the mother of a little English girl, and for the second time a

widow. Lovingly, though with a pang at his heart, the Prince bent over

the cradle of this eight-months-old baby, who in her unconscious

orphanage smiled into his kindly face, and though he thought sorrowfully

of the little one whose eyes had never smiled into his, had never even

opened upon life, he vowed then and there to the child of his bereaved

sister, the devoted love, the help, sympathy, and guidance which never

failed her while he lived.

This baby girl was the daughter of the Duke of Kent and of the Princess

Victoire Marie Louise of Saxe-Coburg Saalfield, widow of Prince Charles

of Leiningen. Edward, Duke of Kent, was the fourth and altogether the

best son of George III. Making all allowance for the exaggeration of

loyal biographers, I should say he was an amiable, able, and upright man,

generous and charitable to a remarkable degree, for a royal Prince of

that time--perhaps too much so, for he kept himself poor and died poor.

He was not a favorite with his royal parents, who seem to have denied him

reasonable assistance, while lavishing large sums on his spendthrift

brother, the Prince of Wales. George was like the prodigal son of

Scripture, except that he never repented--Edward like the virtuous son,

except that he never complained.

On the death of the Princess Charlotte the Duke of York had become heir-

presumptive to the throne. He had no children, and the Duke of Clarence,

third son of George III., was therefore next in succession. He married in

the same year as his brother of Kent, and to him also a little daughter

was born, who, had she lived, would have finally succeeded to the throne

instead of Victoria. But the poor little Princess stayed but a little

while to flatter or disappoint royal hopes. She looked timidly out upon

life, with all its regal possibilities, and went away untempted. Still

the Duchess of Clarence (afterwards Queen Adelaide) might yet be the

happy mother of a Prince, or Princess Royal, and there were so many

probabilities against the accession of the Duke of Kent's baby to the

throne that people smiled when, holding her in his arms, the proud father

would say, in a spirit of prophecy, "Look at her well!--she will yet be

Queen of England."

One rainy afternoon the Duke stayed out late, walking in the grounds, and

came in with wet feet. He was urged to change his boots and stockings,

but his pretty baby, laughing and crowing on her mother's knee, was too

much for him; he took her in his arms and played with her till the fatal

chill struck him. He soon took to his bed, which he never left. He had

inflammation of the lungs, and a country doctor, which last took from him

one hundred and twenty ounces of blood. Then, as he grew no better, a

great London physician was called in, but he said it was too late to save

the illustrious patient; that if he had had charge of the case at first,

he would have "bled more freely." Such was the medical system of sixty

years ago.

The Duke of Kent's death brought his unconscious baby's feet a step--just

his grave's width--nearer the throne; but it was not till many years

later--till after the death of her kindly uncle of York, and her "fine

gentleman" uncle, George IV., and the accession of her rough sailor-

uncle, the Duke of Clarence, William IV., an old man, and legally

considered childless--that the Princess Victoria was confidently regarded

as the coming sovereign, and that the momentous truth was revealed to

her. She was twelve years old before any clear intimation had been

allowed to reach her of the exceptional grandeur of her destiny. Till

then she did not know that she was especially an object of national love

and hope, or especially great or fortunate. She knew that she was a

"Royal Highness," but she knew also, the wise child!--that since the

Guelphs came over to rule the English, Royal Highnesses had been more

plentiful than popular; she knew that she was obliged to wear, most of

the time, very plain cotton gowns and straw hats, and to learn a lot of

tiresome things, and that she was kept on short allowance of pin-money

and ponies.

The wise Duchess of Kent certainly guarded her with the most jealous care

from all premature realization of the splendid part she might have to

play in the world's history, as a hope too intoxicating, or a

responsibility too heavy, for the heart and mind of a sensitive child.

I wonder if her Serene Highness kept fond motherly records of the

babyhood and childhood of the Queen? If so, what a rich mine it would be

for a poor bewildered biographer like me, required to make my foundation

bricks with only a few golden bits of straw. I have searched the

chronicles of the writers of that time; I have questioned loyal old

people, but have found or gained little that is novel, or peculiarly

interesting.

Victoria was born in the sombre but picturesque old palace of Kensington,

on May 24, 1819, and on the 24th of the following June was baptized with

great pomp out of the splendid gold font, brought from the Tower, by the

Archbishop of Canterbury, assisted by the Bishop of London. Her sponsors

were the Prince Regent and the Emperor of Russia (the last represented by

the Duke of York), the Queen Dowager of Würtemburg (represented by the

Princess Augusta) and the Duchess Dowager of Coburg (represented by the

Duchess Dowager of Gloucester), and her names were _Alexandrina

Victoria_, the first in honor of the Emperor Alexander of Russia. She

came awfully near being Alexandrina Georgiana, but the Prince Regent, at

the last moment, declared that the name of Georgiana should be second to

no other; then added, "Give her her mother's name--after that of the

Emperor." The Queen afterwards decided that her mother's name should be

second to no other. Yet as a child she was often called "little Drina."

The baby's first move from her stately birthplace was to a lovely country

residence called Woolbrook Glen, near Sidmouth. Here Victoria had the

first of those remarkable narrow escapes from sudden and violent death

which have almost seemed to prove that she bears a "charmed life." A boy

was shooting sparrows in vicinity of the house, and a charge from his

carelessly-handled gun pierced the window by which the nurse was sitting,

with the little Princess in her arms. It is stated that the shot passed

frightfully near the head of the child. But she was as happily

unconscious of the deadly peril she had been in as, a few months later,

she was of the sad loss she sustained in the death of her father, who was

laid away with the other Guelphs in the Windsor Royal Vault, never again

to throne his little "Queen" in his loyal, loving arms.

The Princess Victoria seems to have been always ready for play, dearly

loving a romp. One of the earliest mentions I find of her is in the

correspondence of Bishop Wilberforce. After stating that he had been

summoned to the presence of the Duchess of Kent, he says: "She received

me with her fine, animated child on the floor by her side busy with its

playthings, of which I soon became one."

This little domestic picture gives a glimpse of the tender intimacy, the

constant companionship of this noble mother with her child. It is stated

that, unlike most mothers in high life, the Duchess nursed this

illustrious child at her own breast, and so mingled her life with its

life that nothing thenceforth could divide them. The wee Princess passed

happily through the perils of infantile ailments. She cut her teeth as

easily as most children, with the help of her gold-mounted coral--and

very nice teeth they were, though a little too prominent according to the

early pictures. If the infant Prince Albert reminded his grandmamma of a

"weasel," his "pretty cousin" might have suggested to her a squirrel by

"a little something about the mouth."

An old newspaper writer gave a rather rapturous and pompous account of

the Princess Victoria when she was about three years old. He says:

"Passing through Kensington Gardens a few days since, I observed at some

distance a party consisting of several ladies, a young child, and two

men-servants, having in charge a donkey, gayly caparisoned with blue

ribbons, and accoutred for the use of the infant." He soon ascertained

that the party was the Duchess of Kent and her daughter, the Princess

Feodore of Leiningen, and the Princess Alexandrina Victoria. On his

approaching them the little one replied to his "respectful recognition"

with a pleasant "good-morning," and he noted that she was equally polite

to all who politely greeted her--truly one "to the manner born." This

writer adds: "Her Royal Highness is remarkably beautiful, and her gay and

animated countenance bespeaks perfect health and good temper. Her

complexion is excessively fair, her eyes large and expressive, and her

cheeks blooming. She bears a striking resemblance to her royal father."

A glimpse which Leigh Hunt gives of his little liege lady, as she

appeared to him for the first time in Kensington Gardens, is interesting,

as revealing the child's affectionate disposition. "She was coming up a

cross-path from the Bayswater Gate, with a little girl of her own age by

her side, whose hand she was holding as though she loved her." And why

not, Mr. Poet? Princesses, especially Princesses of the bread-and-butter

age, are as susceptible to joys of sympathy and companionship as any of

us--untitled poets and title-contemning Republicans.

Lord Albemarle, in his autobiography, speaks of watching, in an idle

hour, from the windows of the old palace, "the movements of a bright,

pretty little girl, seven years of age, engaged in watering the plants

immediately under the window. It was amusing to see how impartially she

divided the contents of the watering-pot between the flowers and her own

little feet. Her simple but becoming dress--a large straw hat and a white

cotton gown--contrasted favorably with the gorgeous apparel now worn by

the little damsels of the rising generation. A colored fichu round the

neck was the only ornament she wore. The young lady I am describing was

the Princess Victoria, now our Gracious Sovereign."

Queen Victoria dressed her own children in the same simple style, voted

quaint and old-fashioned by a later generation. I heard long ago a story

of a fashionable lady from some provincial town taking a morning walk in

Windsor Park, in the wild hope of a glimpse of royalty, and meeting a

lady and gentleman, accompanied only by two or three children, and all so

plainly dressed that she merely glanced at them as they passed. Some

distance further she walked in her eager quest, when she met an old

Scotch gardener, of whom she asked if there was any chance of her

encountering the Queen anywhere on the domain. "Weel, ye maun, turn back

and rin a good bit, for you've passed her _Mawjesty_, the Prince, and the

Royal bairns."

Ah, wasn't she spited as she looked back and saw the joyous family party

in the dim distance, and realized what she had lost in not indulging

herself in a good long British stare, and what a sin she had committed in

not making a loyal British obeisance.

CHAPTER III.

Victoria's early Education--Anecdote--Routine of Life at Kensington

Palace--Character and Circumstances of the Duchess of Kent--Anecdote--

Simple Mode of Life--Visits.

Queen Victoria tells little of her childhood, but speaks of it as rather

"dull." It seems, however, to have never been empty or idle. All her

moments were golden--for study, or for work, or healthful exercise and

play. She was taught, and perhaps was inclined, to waste no time, and to

be careful not to cause others to waste it. A dear English friend

contributes the following anecdote, slight, but very significant,

obtained long ago from a lady whose young daughters, then at school at

Hammersmith, had the same writing-master as the Princess Victoria: "Of

course," says my friend, "every incident connected with the little

Princess was interesting to the school-girls, and all that this master (I

think his name was Steward) had to tell went to prove her a kind-hearted

and considerate child.

"She always mentioned to him in advance the days on which she would not

require a lesson, saying: 'I thought, perhaps, you would like to know.'

Sometimes she would say, 'We are going to Windsor to see Uncle King,' or

she would name some other important engagement. By 'Uncle King' she meant

George IV. Mr. Steward, of course, availed himself of the liberty

suggested by the little Princess, then about eight years old, by whose

thoughtful kindness he was saved much time and trouble."

Lord Campbell, speaking of the Princess as a little girl, says: "She

seems in good health, and appears lively and good-humored." It may be

that the good-humor was, in great part, the result of the good health.

The Princess was brought up after the wisest, because most simple, system

of healthful living: perfect regularity in the hours of eating, sleeping,

and exercise; much life in the open air, and the least possible

excitement.

She was taught to respect her own constitution as well as that of the

British Government, and to reverence the laws of health as the laws of

God.

An account which I judge to be authoritative of the daily routine of the

family life in Kensington, runs thus: "Breakfast at 8 o'clock in summer,

the Princess Victoria having her bread and milk and fruit put on a little

table by her mother's side. After breakfast the Princess Feodore studied

with her governess, and the Princess Victoria went out for an hour's walk

or drive. From 10 to 12 her mother instructed her, after which she could

amuse herself by running through the suite of rooms which extended round

two sides of the palace, and in which were many of her toys. At 2 a plain

dinner, while her mother took her luncheon. Lessons again till 4; then

would come a visit or drive, and after that a walk or donkey ride in the

gardens. At the time of her mother's dinner the Princess had her supper,

still at the side of the Duchess; then, after playing with her nurse

(Mrs. Brock, whom she called 'dear, dear Boppy'), she would join the

party at dessert, and at 9 she would retire to her bed, which was placed

at the side of her mother's."

We see regular study, regular exercise, simple food, plenty of outdoor

air, plenty of play, plenty of sleep. It seems that when this admirable

mother laid her child away from her own breast, it was only to lay it on

that of Nature, and very close has Victoria, with all her state and

grandeur, kept to the heart of the great all-mother ever since.

The Duchess of Kent was left not only with very limited means for a lady

of her station, but also burdened by her husband's debts, which, being a

woman with a fine sense of honor, she felt herself obliged to discharge,

or at least to reduce as far and fast as possible. Had it not been for

help from her generous brother, Leopold, she could hardly have afforded

for her daughter the full and fitting education she received. So, had not

her taste and her sense of duty towards her child inclined her to a life

of quiet and retirement, the lack of fortune would have constrained her

to live simply and modestly. As it was, privacy was the rule in the life

of the accomplished Duchess, still young and beautiful, and in that of

her little shadow; very seldom did they appear at Court, or in any gay

Court circle; so, at the time of her accession to the throne, Victoria

might almost have been a fairy-princess, emerging from some enchanted

dell in Windsor forest, or a water-nymph evoked from the Serpentine in

Kensington Gardens by some modern Merlin, for all the world at large--the

world beyond her kingdom at least--knew of her young years, of her

character and disposition. Now few witnesses are left anywhere of her

fair happy childhood, or even of her girlhood, which was like a silvery

crescent, holding the dim promise of full-orbed womanhood and Queenhood.

As the Princess grew older, she found loving and helpful companionship in

her half-brother and sister, Prince Charles and the Princess Feodore of

Leiningen, the three children and their mother forming a close family

union, which years and separations and changes of fortune never

destroyed. They are all gone from her now; the Queen, as daughter and

sister, stands alone.

A kind friend and a well-known English writer, F. Aiken Kortright, for

many years a resident of Kensington, tells some pleasant little local

stories of the Princess Victoria. She says: "In her childhood the

Princess Victoria was frequently seen in a little carriage, drawn over

the gravel-walks of the then rural Kensington Gardens, accompanied by her

elder and half-sister, the Princess Feodore, and attended by a single

servant. Many elderly people still remember the extreme simplicity of the

child's attire, and the quiet and unpretentious appearance and manners of

her sister, who was one day seen to stop the tiny carriage to indulge the

fancy of an unknown little girl by allowing her to kiss her future

Queen."

That "unknown little girl" was an elder sister of Miss Kortright. My

friend also says that the Duchess of Kent and her daughters frequently on

summer afternoons took tea on the lawn, "in sight of admiring

promenaders, with a degree of publicity which now sounds fabulous."

It was then safe and agreeable for that quiet, refined family, only

because the London "Rough"--that ugly, unwholesome, fungous growth on the

fine old oak of English character--had not made his unwelcome appearance

in all the public parks of the metropolis. Our friend also states that so

simple and little-girlish was the Princess in her ways that, later on,

she was known to go with her mother or sister to a Kensington milliner's

to buy a hat, stay to have it trimmed, and then carry it (or more likely

the old one) home in her hand. I should like to see a little Miss

Vanderbilt do a thing of that kind!

The Kents and Leiningens--if I may speak so familiarly of Royal and

Serene Highnesses--when away from the quiet home in Kensington, spent

much time at lovely Claremont as guests of the dear brother and Uncle

Leopold. They seem also to have travelled a good deal in England,

visiting watering-places and in houses of the nobility, but never to have

gone over to the Continent. The Duchess probably felt that the precious

life which she held in trust for the people of England might possibly be

endangered by too long journeys, or by changes of climate; but what it

cost to the true German woman to so long exile herself from her old home

and her kindred none ever knew--at least none among her husband's

unsympathetic family--for she was, as a Princess, too proud to complain;

as a mother, cheerful in her devotion and self-abnegation.

CHAPTER IV.

Queen-making not a Light Task--Admirable Discipline of the Duchess of

Kent--Foundation of the Character and Habits of the future Queen--Curious

Extract from a Letter by her Grandmamma--A Children's Ball given by

George IV. to the little Queen of Portugal--A Funny Mishap--Death of

George IV.--Character of his Successor--Victoria's first appearance at a

Drawing-room--Her absence from the Coronation of William IV.

Queen-making is not a light task. It is no fancywork for idle hours. It

is the first difficult draft of a chapter, perhaps a whole volume, of

national history.

No woman ever undertook a more important labor than did the widowed

Duchess of Kent, or carried it out with more faithfulness, if we may

judge by results.

The lack of fortune in the family was not an unmixed evil; perhaps it was

even one of those disagreeable "blessings in disguise," which nobody

welcomes, but which the wise profit by, as it caused the Duchess to

impress upon her children, especially the child Victoria, the necessity

of economy, and the safety and dignity which one always finds in living

within one's income. Frugality, exactitude in business, faithfulness to

all engagements, great or small, punctuality, that economy of time, are

usually set down among the minor moralities of life, more humdrum than

heroic; but under how many circumstances and conditions do they reveal

themselves as cardinal virtues, as things on which depend the comfort and

dignity of life! It seems that these things were so impressed on the mind

and heart of the young Victoria by her careful, methodical German mother,

that they became a part of her conscience, entered so deeply into the

rule of her life that no after-condition of wealth, or luxury, or

sovereign independence; no natural desire for ease or pleasure; no

passion of love or grief; no possible exigencies of imperial state have

been able to overcome or set them aside. The danger is that such rigid

principles, such systematic habits, adopted in youth, may in age become,

from being the ministers of one's will, the tyrants of one's life.

It seems to be somewhat so in the case of the Queen, for I hear it said

that the sun, the moon, and the tides are scarcely more punctual and

regular in their rounds and mighty offices, in their coming and going,

than she in the daily routine of her domestic and state duties and

frequent journeyings; and that the laws of the Medes and Persians are as

naught in inexorableness and inflexibility to the rules and regulations

of Windsor and Balmoral.

But the English people, even those directly inconvenienced at times by

those unbending habits and irrevocable rules, have no right to find

fault, for these be the right royal results of the admirable but somewhat

unyouthful qualities they adored in the young Queen. They have no right

to sneer because a place of honor is given in Her Majesty's household to

that meddlesome, old-fashioned German country cousin, Economy; for did

not they all rejoice in the early years of the reign to hear of this same

dame being introduced by those clever managers, Prince Albert and Baron

Stockmar, into the royal palaces, wherein she had not been seen for many

a year?

But to return to the little Princess. The Duchess, her mother, seems to

have given her all needful change of air and scene, though always

maintaining; habits of study, and an admirable system of mental and moral

training; for the child's constitution seems to have strengthened year by

year, and in spite of one or two serious attacks of illness, the

foundation was laid of the robust health which, accompanied by rare

courage and nerve, has since so marked and blessed her life. A writer of

the time speaks of a visit paid by her and her mother to Windsor in 1829,

when the child was about seven years old, and states that George IV., her

"Uncle King," was delighted with her "charming manners."

It was about this visit that her maternal grandmamma at Coburg wrote to

her mamma: "I see by the English papers that Her Royal Highness the

Duchess of Kent went on Virginia water with His Majesty. The little

monkey must have pleased and amused him, she is such a pretty, clever

child."

To think of the great Victoria, Queen of Great Britain and Ireland, and

Empress of India, being called "a little monkey"! Grandmammas will take

such liberties. Three or four years later, according to that spicy and

irreverent chronicler, Charles Greville, the little Princess was not

pretty. But she was just entering on that ungracious period in which few

little girls are comely to look upon, or comfortable to themselves.

Greville saw her at a children's ball, given by the King in honor of his

little guest, the child-Queen of Portugal, Donna Maria II., da Gloria,

whom the King seated at his right hand, and was very attentive to.

Greville says she was fine-looking and very finely dressed, "with a

ribbon and order over her shoulder," and she must have seemed very grand

to the other children while she sat by the King, but when she came to

dance she "fell down and hurt her face, was frightened and bruised, and

went away." Then he adds: "Our little Princess is a short, plain child,

not so good-looking as the Portuguese. However, if Nature has not done so

much, Fortune is likely to do a great deal more for her."

Victoria did not know that, but like any other little girl she may,

perhaps, have comforted herself by thinking, "Well, if I'm not so

handsome and grand and smartly dressed as that Maria, I'm less awkward. I

was able to keep my head and not lose my feet."

As for her small Majesty of Portugal, she was at that time a Queen

without a crown and without a kingdom. She had come all the way from

Brazil to take her grandfather's throne, a little present from her

father, Dom Pedro I., the rightful heir, but only to find the place

filled by a wicked uncle, Don Miguel. She had a long fight with the

usurper, her father coming over to help her, and finally ousted Miguel

and got into that big, uneasy arm-chair, called a throne, where she

continued to sit, though much shaken and heaved up and about by political

convulsions, for some dozen years, when she found it best to step down

and out.

It is said she did not gain, but lost in beauty as she grew to womanhood;

so finally the English Princess had the advantage of her in the matter of

good looks even.

King George IV., though he was fond of his amusing little niece, did not

like to think of her as destined to rule in his place. He is said to have

been much offended when, as he was proposing to give that ball, his chief

favorite, a gay, Court lady, exclaimed: "Oh, do! it will be so nice to

see the _two little Queens_ dancing together." Yet he disliked the

Duchess of Kent for keeping the child as much as possible away from his

disreputable Court, and educating her after her own ideas, and often

threatened to use his power as King to deprive her of the little girl.

The country would not have stood this, yet the Duchess must have suffered

cruelly from fear of having her darling child taken from her by this

crowned ogre, and shut up in the gloomy keep of his Castle at Windsor.

But it was the Ogre-King who was taken, a little more than a year after

the children's ball--and not a day too soon for his country's good--and

his brother, the Duke of Clarence, reigned in his stead.

William IV. had some heart, some frankness and honesty, but he was a

bluff, rough sailor, and when excited, oaths of the hottest sort flew

from his lips, like sparks from an anvil. Because of his roughness and

profanity, and because, perhaps, of the fact of his surrounding himself

with a lot of natural children, the Duchess was determined to persevere

in her retirement from the Court circle, and in keeping her innocent

little daughter out of its unwholesome atmosphere, as much as possible.

She was, however, most friendly with Queen Adelaide, who, when her last

child died, had written to her: "My children are dead, but yours lives,

and she is mine too." The good woman meant this, and her fondness was

returned by Victoria, who manifested for her to the last, filial

affection and consideration.

The first Drawing-room which the Princess attended was one given in honor

of Her Majesty's birthday. She went with her mother and a suite of ladies

and gentlemen in State carriages, escorted by a party of Life Guards. The

Princess was on that occasion dressed entirely in materials of British

manufacture, her frock being of English blonde, very simple and becoming.

She stood at the left of her aunt, the Queen, and watched the splendid

ceremony with great interest, while everybody watched her with greater

interest. But if the presence of the "heir-presumptive to the throne"

created a sensation at the Queen's Drawing-room, her absence from the

King's coronation created more. Some said it was because a proper place

in the procession--one next to the King and Queen--had not been assigned

to her; others, that the Duchess had kept her away on account of her

delicate health, and nobody knew exactly the truth of the matter. Perhaps

the great state secret will be revealed some day with the identity of

"Junius" and the "Man in the Iron Mask."

CHAPTER V.

King William jealous of Public Honors to Victoria--Anecdote--The unusual

Studies of the Princess--Her Visits to the Isle of Wight--Laughable

Incident at Wentworth House--Anecdote related by her Music-teacher--

Unwholesome adulation of the Princess--Reflections upon the curious

isolation of her Social Position--Extract from one of her later Letters.

The indifference of the Duchess of Kent to the heavy pomps and heavier

gayeties of his Court so offended his unmajestic Majesty, that he finally

became decidedly inimical to the Duchess. Though he insisted on seeing

the little Princess often, he did not like the English people to see too

much of her, or to pay her and her mother too much honor. He objected to

their little journeys, calling them "royal progresses," and by a special

order put a stop to the "poppings," in the way of salutes, to the vessel

which bore them to and from the Isle of Wight--a small piece of state-

business for a King and his Council to be engaged in. The King's

unpopular brother, the Duke of Cumberland, was also supposed to be

unfriendly to the widow of a brother whom he had not loved, and to the

child whom, according to that brother, he regarded from the first as an

"intruder," and who certainly at the last, stood between His Royal

Grossness and the throne--the throne which would have gone down under

him. Yet, in spite of enmity and opposition from high quarters, and

jealousy and harsh criticism from Court ministers and minions, the

Duchess of Kent, who seems to have been a woman of immense firmness and

resolution, kept on her way, rearing her daughter as she thought best,

coming and going as she felt inclined.

Victoria's governess was for many years the accomplished Baroness Lehzen,

who had also been the chief instructress of her sister, Feodore. Until

she was twelve years old, her masters were also German, and she is said

to have spoken English with a German accent. After that time her

teachers, in nearly all branches, were English. Miss Kortright tells me a

little anecdote of the Princess when about twelve years old, related by

one of these teachers. She had been reading in her classical history the

story of Cornelia, the mother of the Gracchi--how she proudly presented

her sons to the ostentatious and much-bediamonded Roman dame, with the

words, "These are _my_ jewels." "She should have said my _Cornelians_,"

said the quick-witted little girl.

Victoria was instructed in some things not in those days thought proper

for young ladies to learn, but deemed necessary for a poor girl who was

expected to do a man's work. She was well grounded in history, instructed

in Latin--though she did not fancy it, and later, in the British

Constitution, and in law and politics. Nor were light accomplishments

neglected: in modern languages, in painting and music, she finally became

singularly proficient. Gifted with a remarkably sweet voice and a correct

ear, she could not well help being a charming singer, under her great

master, Lablache. She danced well, rode well, and excelled in archery.

As I said, the brave Duchess, as conscientious as independent, kept up

the life of retirement from Court pomps and gayeties, and of alternate

hard study and social recreation, which she thought best for her child.

She quietly persevered in the "progresses" which annoyed the irascible

and unreasonable old King, even visiting the Isle of Wight, though the

royal big guns were forbidden to "pop" at sight of the royal standard,

which waved over her, and the young hope of England. Perhaps

recollections of those pleasant visits with her mother at Norris Castle

have helped to render so dear the Queen's own beautiful sea-side home,

Osborne House. I remember a pretty little story, told by a tourist, who

happened to be stopping at the village of Brading during one of those

visits to the lovely island. One afternoon he strolled into the old

church-yard to search out the grave of Elizabeth Wallbridge, the sweet

heroine of Leigh Richmond's beautiful religious story, "The Dairyman's

Daughter." He found seated beside the mound a lady and a young girl, the

latter reading aloud, in a full, melodious voice, the touching tale of

the Christian maiden. The tourist turned away, and soon after was told by

the sexton that those pilgrims to that humble grave were the Duchess of

Kent and the Princess Victoria.

I am told by a Yorkshire lady another story of the Princess, of not quite

so serious a character. She was visiting with her mother, of course, at

Wentworth House, the seat of Earl Fitzwilliam in Yorkshire, and while at

that pleasant place delighted in running about by herself in the gardens

and shrubberies. One wet morning, soon after her arrival, she was thus

disporting herself, flitting from point to point, light-hearted and

light-footed, when the old gardener, who did not then know her, seeing

her about to descend a treacherous bit of ground from the terrace, called

out, "Be careful, Miss; it's slape!"--a Yorkshire word for slippery. The

incautious, but ever-curious Princess, turning her head, asked, "What's

slape?" and the same instant her feet flew from under her, and she came

down. The old gardener ran to lift her, saying, as he did so,

"_That's_ slape, Miss."

There is nothing remarkable, much less incredible, in these stories of

the young Victoria, nor in the one related by her music-teacher, of how

she once rebelled against so much practice, and how, on his telling her

that there was no "royal road" in art, and that only by much practice

could she become "mistress of the piano," she closed and locked the

obnoxious instrument and put the key in her pocket, saying playfully,

"Now you see there _is_ a royal way of becoming `mistress of the

piano.'" But not so simple and natural and girlish are all the things

told of the Queen's young days. Loyal English people have said to me,

"You will find few stories of Her Majesty's childhood, but those few will

all be good."

Yes, too good. The chroniclers of forty and fifty years ago--the same in

whose loyal eyes the fifteen children of George III. were all "children

of light"--could find no words in which to paint their worship for this

rising star of sovereignty. According to them, she was not only the pearl

of Princesses for piety and propriety, for goodness and graciousness, but

a marvel of unchildlike wisdom, a prodigy of cleverness and learning; in

short, a purely perfect creature, loved of the angels to a degree

perilous to the succession. The simplest little events of her daily life

were twisted into something unnaturally significant, or unhealthily

virtuous. If she was taken through a cotton-mill at Manchester, and asked

a score or two of questions about the machinery and the strange processes

of spinning and weaving, it was not childish curiosity--it was a love of

knowledge, and a patriotic desire to encourage British manufactures.

If she gave a few pennies to a blind beggar at Margate, the amiable act

was heralded as one, of almost divine beneficence, and the beggar pitied,

as never before, for his blindness. The poor man had not beheld the face

of the "little angel" who dropped the coin into his greasy hat! If, full

of "high spirits," she took long rides on a donkey at Ramsgate, and ran

races with other children on the sands, it was a proof of the sweetest

human condescension--the donkey's opinion not being taken.

Of course all this is false, unwholesome sentiment, quite

incomprehensible to nineteenth century Americans, though our great-

grandfathers understood this sort of personal loyalty very well, and

gloried in it, till George the Third drove them to the wall; and our

great-grandmothers cherished it as a sacred religious principle till

their tea was taxed. I dare say that if the truth could be got at, we

should find that little Victoria was at times trying enough to mother,

masters, and attendants; that she was occasionally passionate, perverse,

and "pestering," like all children who have any great and positive

elements in them. I dare say she was disposed, like any other "only

child," to be self-willed and selfish, and that she required a fair

amount of wholesome discipline, and that she got it. Had she been the

prim and pious little precocity which some biographers have painted her,

she would have died young, like the "Dairyman's Daughter"; we might have

had an edifying tract, and England a revolution.

One of her biographers speaks with a sort of ecstatic surprise of the

fact that the Princess was "affable--even gay," and that she "laughed and

chatted like other little girls." And yet she must early have perceived

that she was not quite like other little girls, but set up and apart.

Though reared with all the simplicity practicable for a Princess Royal,

she must have been conscious of a magic circle drawn round her, of a

barrier impalpable, but most real, which other children could not

voluntarily overpass. She must have seen that they could not call out to

her to "come and play!" that however shy she might feel, she must propose

the game, or the romp, as later she had to propose marriage. She even was

obliged to quarrel, if quarrel she did, all alone by herself. Any

resistance on the part of her playmates would have been a small variety

of high treason. She must sometimes, with her admirable good sense, have

been wearied and disgusted by so much concession, conciliation, and

consideration, and may have envied less fortunate or unfortunate mortals

who can give and take hard knocks, for whom less is demanded, and of whom

less is expected.

She may have tired of her very name, with its grand prefixes and no

affix, and longed to be Victoria Kent, or _Something_--Jones, Brown,

or Robinson.

She seems to have been a child of simple, homely tastes, for in 1842,

when Queen, she writes to her Uncle Leopold from Claremont, where she is

visiting, with her husband and little daughter: "This place brings back

recollections of the happiest days of my otherwise dull childhood--days

when I experienced such kindness from you, dearest uncle; Victoria plays

with my old bricks, and I see her running and jumping in the flower-

garden, as old (though I feel still _little_) Victoria of former days

used to do."

CHAPTER VI.

The Princess opens the Victoria Park at Bath--Becoming used to Public

Curiosity--Secret of her Destiny revealed to her--Royal Ball on her

Thirteenth Birthday--At the Ascot Races--Picture by N. P. Willis--

Anecdotes--Painful Scene at the King's last Birthday Dinner.

When she was eleven years old, the Princess opened the Victoria Park at

Bath. She began the opening business thus early, and has kept it up

pretty diligently for fifty years--parks, expositions, colleges,

exchanges, law courts, bridges, docks, art schools, and hospitals. Her

sons and daughters are also kept busy at the same sort of work. Indeed

these are almost the only openings for young men of the royal family for

active service, now that crusades and invasions of France have gone out

of fashion. It seems to me that the English people get up all sorts of

opening and unveiling occasions in order to supply employment to their

Princes and Princesses, who, I must say, never shirk such monotonous

duties, however much they may be bothered and bored by them.

Occasionally the Duchess of Kent and her daughter visited Brighton, and

stopped in that grotesque palace of George IV., called the Pavilion. I

have seen a picture of the demure little Princess, walking on the

esplanade, with her mother, governesses, and gentlemen attendants, the

whole elegant party and the great crowd of Brightonians following and

staring at them, wearing the absurd costumes of half a century ago--the

ladies, big bonnets, big mutton-leg sleeves, big collars, heelless

slippers, laced over the instep; the gentlemen, short-waisted coats,

enormous collars, preposterous neckties, and indescribably clumsy hats.

By this time the Princess had learned to bear quietly and serenely, if

not unconsciously, the gaze of hundreds of eyes, admiring or criticising.

She knew that the time was probably coming when the hundreds would

increase to thousands, and even millions--when the world would for her

seem to be made up of eyes, like a peacock's tail. Small wonder that in

her later years, especially since she has missed from her side the

splendid figure which divided and justified the mighty multitudinous

stare, this eternal observation, this insatiable curiosity has become

infinitely wearisome to her.

Several accounts have been given of the manner in which the great secret

of her destiny was revealed to the Princess Victoria, and the manner in

which it was received, but only one has the Queen's indorsement. This was

contained in a letter, written long afterwards to Her Majesty by her dear

old governess, the Baroness Lehzen, who states that when the Regency Bill

(an act naming the Duchess of Kent as Regent, in case of the King dying

before his niece obtained her majority) was before Parliament, it was

thought that the time had come to make known to the Princess her true

position. So after consulting with the Duchess, the Baroness placed a

genealogical table in a historical book, which her pupil was reading.

When the Princess came upon this paper, she said: "Why, I never saw that

before." "It was not thought necessary you should see it," the Baroness

replied. Then the young girl, examining the paper, said thoughtfully: "I

see I am nearer the throne than I supposed." After some moments she

resumed, with a sort of quaint solemnity: "Now many a child would boast,

not knowing the difficulty. There is much splendor, but there is also

much responsibility." "The Princess," says the Baroness, "having lifted

up the forefinger of her right hand while she spoke, now gave me that

little hand, saying: 'I will be good. I understand now why you urged me

so much to learn, even Latin. My aunts, Augusta and Mary, never did, but

you told me Latin was the foundation of English grammar, and all the

elegant expressions, and I learned it, as you wished it; but I understand

all better now,' and the Princess again gave me her hand, repeating, 'I

will be good.'"

God heard the promise of the child of twelve years and held her to it,

and has given her strength "as her day" to redeem it, all through the

dazzling brightness and the depressing shadows, through the glory and the

sorrow of her life, as a Queen and a woman.

The Queen says that she "cried much" over the magnificent but difficult

problem of her destiny, but the tears must have been April showers, for

in those days she was accounted a bright, care-free little damsel, and

was ever welcome as a sunbeam in the noblest houses of England--such as

Eaton Hall, the seat of the Duke of Westminster; Wentworth House,

belonging to Earl Fitzwilliam; Alton Towers, the country house of the

Earl of Shrewsbury; and Chatsworth, the palace of the Duke of Devonshire,

where such royal loyal honors were paid to her that she had a foretaste

of the "splendor," without the "responsibility," of Queenhood.

The King and Queen gave a brilliant ball in honor of "the thirteenth

birthday of their beloved niece, the Princess Victoria," and somewhat

later, the little royal lady appeared at a Drawing-room, when she is said

to have charmed everybody by her sweet, childish dignity--a sort of

quaint queenliness of manner and expression. She was likewise most

satisfactory to the most religiously inclined of her subjects who were to

be, in her mien and behavior when in the Royal Chapel of St. James, on

the interesting occasion of her confirmation. She is said to have gone

through the ceremony with "profound thoughtfulness and devout solemnity."

The next glimpse I have of her is at a very different scene--the Ascot

races. A brilliant American author, N. P. Willis, who then saw her for

the first time, wrote: "In one of the intervals, I walked under the

King's stand, and saw Her Majesty the Queen, and the young Princess

Victoria, very distinctly. They were leaning over the railing listening

to a ballad-singer, and seeming as much interested and amused as any

simple country-folk could be. The Queen is undoubtedly the plainest woman

in her dominions, but the Princess is much better-looking than any

picture of her in the shops, and for the heir to such a crown as that of

England, quite unnecessarily, pretty and interesting. She will be sold,

poor thing! bartered away by those great-dealers in royal hearts, whose

grand calculations will not be much consolation to her if she happens to

have a taste of her own."

Little did the wise American poet guess that, away in a little fairy

principality of Deutschland, there was a beautiful young fairy prince,

being reared by benevolent fairy godmother-grandmothers, especially to

disprove all such doleful prophecies, and reverse the usual fate of

pretty young Princesses in the case of the "little English mayflower."

Greville relates a little incident which shows that the Princess, when

between sixteen and seventeen, and almost in sight of the throne, was

still amenable to discipline. He describes a reception of much pomp and

ceremony, given to the Duchess and the Princess by the Mayor and other

officers of the town of Burghley, followed by a great dinner, which "went

off well," except that an awkward waiter, in a spasm of loyal excitement,

emptied the contents of a pail of ice in the lap of the Duchess, which,

though she took it coolly, "made a great bustle." I am afraid the

Princess laughed. Then followed a magnificent ball, which was opened by

the Princess, with Lord Exeter for a partner. After that one dance she

"went to bed." Doubtless her good mother thought she had had fatigue and

excitement enough for one day; but it must have been hard for such a

dance-loving girl to take her quivering feet out of the ball-room so

early, and for such a grand personage as she already was, just referred

to in the Mayor's speech, as "destined to mount the throne of these

realms," to be sent away like a child, to mount a solemn, beplumed four-

poster, and to try to sleep, with that delicious dance-music still

ringing in her ears.

Greville also relates a sad Court story connected with the young

Princess, and describes a scene which would be too painful for me to

reproduce, except that it reveals, in a striking manner, Victoria's

tender love for and close sympathy with her mother. It seems that the

King's jealous hostility to the Duchess of Kent had grown with his decay,

and strengthened with his senility, till at last it culminated in a sort

of declaration of war at his own table. The account is given by Greville

_second-hand_, and so, very likely, over-colored, though doubtless true

in the main. The King invited the Duchess and Princess to Windsor to

join in the celebration of his birthday, which proved to be his last.

There was a dinner-party, called "private," but a hundred guests sat down

to the table. The Duchess of Kent was given a place of honor on one side

of the King, and opposite her sat the Princess Victoria. After dinner

Queen Adelaide proposed "His Majesty's health and long life to him," to

which that amiable monarch replied by a very remarkable speech. He began

by saying that he hoped in God he might live nine months longer, when the

Princess would be of age, and he could leave the royal authority in her

hands and not in those of a Regent, in the person of a lady sitting near

him, etc. Afterwards he said: "I have particularly to complain of the

manner in which that young lady (the Princess Victoria) has been kept

from my Court. She has been repeatedly kept from my Drawing-rooms, at

which she ought always to have been present, but I am resolved that this

shall not happen again. I would have _her_ know that I am _King_, and am

determined to make my authority respected, and for the future I shall

insist and command that the Princess do, upon all occasions, appear at my

Court, as it is her duty to do."

This pleasant and hospitable harangue, uttered in a loud voice and an

excited manner, "produced a decided sensation." The whole company "were

aghast." Queen Adelaide, who was amiable and well-bred, "looked in deep

distress"; the young Princess burst into tears at the insult offered to

her mother; but that mother sat calm and silent, very pale, but proud and

erect--Duchess of Duchesses!

CHAPTER VII.

Victoria's first meeting with Prince Albert--She comes of Age--Ball in

honor thereof--Illness of King William--His Death--His Habits and

Character--The Archbishop of Canterbury and the Lord Chancellor inform

Victoria that she is Queen--Her beautiful bearing under the ordeal.

In May, 1836, the Princess saw, for the first time, her cousins, Ernest

and Albert, of Saxe-Coburg. These brothers, one eighteen and the other

seventeen, are described as charming young fellows, well-bred and

carefully educated, with high aims, good, true hearts, and frank, natural

manners.

In personal appearance they were very prepossessing. Ernest was handsome,

and Albert more than handsome. They were much beloved by their Uncle

Leopold, then King of Belgium, and soon endeared themselves to their Aunt

Kent and their Cousin Victoria. They spent three weeks at Kensington in

daily intercourse with their relatives, and with their father, the Duke

of Coburg, were much _fêted_ by the royal family. They keenly enjoyed

English society and sights, and learned something of English life and

character, which to one of them, at least, proved afterwards useful.

Indeed this admirable young Prince, Albert, seemed always learning and

assimilating new facts and ideas. He had a soul athirst for knowledge.

On May 24, 1837, the Princess Victoria came of age. She was awakened

early by a matutinal serenade--a band of musicians piping and harping

merrily under her bedroom windows. She received many presents and

congratulatory visits, and had the pleasure of knowing that the day was

observed as a grand holiday in London and throughout England. Boys were

let out of school, and M.P.'s out of Parliament. At night the metropolis

was "brilliantly illuminated"--at least so thought those poor, benighted,

ante-electrical-light Londoners--and a grand state ball was given in St.

James' Palace. Here, for the first time, the Princess took precedence of

her mother, and we may believe she felt shy and awkward at such a

reversal of the laws of nature and the habits of years. But doubtless the

stately Duchess fell back without a sigh, except it were one of joy and

gratitude that she had brought her darling on so far safely.

This could hardly have been a very gay state ball, for their Majesties

were both absent. The King had that very day been attacked with hayfever,

and the Queen had dutifully stayed at home to nurse him. He rallied from

this attack somewhat, but never was well again, and in the small hours of

June 2d the sailor King died at Royal Windsor, royally enough, I believe,

though he had never been a very royal figure or spirit. Of course after

he was gone from his earthly kingdom, the most glowing eulogies were

pronounced upon him in Parliament, in the newspapers, and in hundreds of

pulpits. Even a year later, the Bishop of London, in his sermon at the

Queen's coronation, lauded the late King for his "unfeigned religion,"

and exhorted his "youthful successor" to "follow in his footsteps." Ah,

if she had done so, I should not now be writing Her Majesty's Life!

It must be that in a King a little religion goes a long way. The good

Bishop and other loyal prelates must have known all about the Fitz-

Clarences--those wild "olive branches about the table" of His Majesty;

and they were doubtless aware of that little unfortunate habit of

profanity, acquired on the high-seas, and scarcely becoming to the Head

of the Church; but they, perhaps, considered that His Majesty swore as

the sailor, not as the sovereign. He certainly made a good end, hearing

many prayers, and joining in them as long as he was able, and devoutly

receiving the communion; and what is better, manifesting some tender

anxiety lest his faithful wife and patient nurse should do too much and

grieve too much for him. When he saw her like to break down, he would

say: "Bear up; bear up, Adelaide!" just like any other good husband.

William was not a bad King, as Kings went in those days; he was,

doubtless, an orthodox churchman, and we may believe he was a good

Christian, from his charge to the new Bishop of Ely when he came to "kiss

hands" on his preferment: "My lord, I do not wish to interfere in any way

with your vote in Parliament, except on one subject--the Jews. I trust I

may depend on your always voting against them!"

When the solemn word went through the old Castle of Windsor, "The King is

dead!" his most loyal ministers, civil and religious, added under their

breath: "Long live the Queen!" and almost immediately the Archbishop of

Canterbury and the Lord Chamberlain left Windsor and travelled as fast as

post-horses could carry them, to Kensington Palace, which they reached in

the gray of the early dawn. Everybody was asleep, and they knocked and

rang a long time before they could rouse the porter at the gate, who at

last grumblingly admitted them. Then they had another siege in the court-

yard; but at length the palace door yielded, and they were let into one

of the lower rooms, "where," says Miss Wynn's account, "they seemed

forgotten by everybody." They rang the bell, called a sleepy servant, and

requested that the special attendant of the Princess Victoria should

inform her Royal Highness that they desired an audience on "very

important business." More delay, more ringing, more inquiries and

directions. At last the attendant of the Princess came, and coolly stated

that her Royal Mistress was "in such a sweet sleep she could not venture

to disturb her." Then solemnly spoke up the Archbishop: "We are come on

business of State, to _the Queen_, and even her sleep must give way." Lo

it was out! The startled maid flew on her errand, and so effectually

performed it, that Victoria, not daring to keep her visitors waiting

longer, hurried into the room with only a shawl thrown over her night-

gown, and her feet in slippers. She had flung off her night-cap (young

ladies wore night-caps in those queer old times), and her long, light-

brown hair was tumbling over her shoulders. So she came to receive

the first homage of the Church and the State, and to be hailed "Queen!"

and she was Queen of Great Britain and Ireland, of India and the mighty

Colonies! It seems to me that the young girl must have believed herself

at that moment only half awake, and still dreaming. The grand, new title,

"Your Majesty," must have had a new sound, as addressed to her,--

something strange and startling, though very likely she may have often

said it over to herself, silently, to get used to it. The first kiss of

absolute fealty on her little hand must have thrilled through her whole

frame. Some accounts say that as full realization was forced upon her,

she burst into tears; others dwell on her marvellous calm and self-

possession. I prefer to believe in the tears, not only because the

assumption of the "dangerous grandeur of sovereignty" was a solemn and

tremendous matter for one so young, but because something of awe and

sorrow on hearing of the eternal abdication of that sovereignty, by her

rough but not to her unloving old uncle, was natural and womanly, and

fitting. I believe that it has not been questioned that the first words

of the QUEEN were addressed to the Primate, and that they were simply, "I

beg your Grace to pray for me," which the Archbishop did, then and there.

Doubtless, also, as related, the first act of her queenly life was the

writing of a letter of condolence to Queen Adelaide, in which, after

expressing her tender sympathy, she begged her "dear aunt" to remain at

Windsor just as long as she might feel inclined. This letter she

addressed to "Her Majesty, the Queen." Some one at hand reminded her that

the King's widow was now only Queen Dowager. "I am quite aware of that,"

replied Victoria, "but I will not be the first person to remind her of

it." I cannot say how much I like that. Wonderful is the story told by

many witnesses of the calmness and gentle dignity of Her Majesty, when a

few hours later she met the high officers of the Church and State,

Princes and Peers, received their oaths of allegiance and read her first

speech from an improvised throne. The Royal Princes, the Dukes of

Cumberland and Sussex, Her Majesty's uncles, were the first to be sworn,

and Greville says: "As they knelt before her, swearing allegiance and

kissing her hand, I saw her blush up to the eyes, as if she felt the

contrast between their civil and their natural relations; and this was

the only sign of emotion which she evinced."

When she first entered the room she had kissed these old uncles

affectionately, walking toward the Duke of Sussex, who was very feeble.

Greville says that she seemed rather bewildered at the multitude of men

who came to kiss her hand and kneel to her, among them the conqueror of

Napoleon--soldier of soldiers--_the_ Duke!--but that she did not make any

difference in her manner, or show any especial respect, or condescension

in her countenance to any individual, not even to the Premier, Lord

Melbourne, for whom she was known to have a great liking, and who was

long her trusted friend and favorite Minister.

The Queen was also called upon to take an oath, which was for "the

security of the Church of Scotland." This she has most faithfully kept;

indeed, she has now and then been reproached by jealous champions of the

English Establishment for undue graciousness towards the Kirk and its

ministers.

For this grand but solemn ceremony at Kensington--rendered the more

solemn by the fact that while it was going on the great bell of St.

Paul's was tolling for the dead King,--the young Queen was dressed very

simply, in mourning.

She seems to have thought of everything, for she sent for Lord Albemarle,

and after reminding him that according to law and precedent she must be

proclaimed the next morning at 10 o'clock, from a certain window of St.

James' Palace, requested him to provide for her a suitable conveyance and

escort. She then bowed gravely and graciously to the Princes, Archbishops

and Cabinet Ministers, and left the room, as she had entered it--alone.

CHAPTER VIII.

The last day of Victoria's real girlhood--Proclaimed Queen from St.

James' Palace--She holds her first Privy Council--Comments upon her

deportment by eye-witnesses--Fruits of her mother's care and training.

It seems to me that the momentous day just described was the last of

Victoria's real girlhood; that premature womanhood was thrust upon her

with all the power, grandeur, and state of a Queen Regnant. I wonder if,

weary and nervously exhausted as she must have been, she slept much, when

at last she went to bed, probably no longer in her mother's room. I

wonder if she did not think, with a sort of fearsome thrill that when the

summer sun faded from her sight, it was only to travel all night,

lighting her vast dominions and her uncounted millions of subjects; and

that, like the splendor of that sun, had become her life--hers, the

little maiden's, but just emerging from the shadow of seclusion, and from

her mother's protecting care and wise authority, and stepping out into

the world by herself!

The next day she went in state to St. James Palace, accompanied by great

lords and ladies, and escorted by squadrons of the Life Guards and Blues,

and was formally proclaimed from the window of the Presence Chamber,

looking out on the court-yard. A Court chronicle states that Her Majesty

wore a black silk dress and a little black chip bonnet, and that she

looked paler than usual. Miss Martineau, speaking of the scene, says:

"There stood the young creature, in simplest mourning, her sleek bands of

brown hair as plain as her dress. The tears ran down her cheeks, as Lord

Melbourne, standing by her side, presented her to the people as their

Sovereign. ... In the upper part of the face she is really pretty, and

with an ingenuous, sincere air which seems full of promise."

After the ceremony of proclamation was over, the "little Queen" remained

for a few moments at the window, bowing and smiling through her tears at

that friendly and enthusiastic crowd of her subjects, and listening to

the National Anthem played for the first time for her, then retired, with

her mother, who had not been "prominent" during the scene, but who had

been observed "to watch her daughter with great anxiety."

At noon the Queen held a Privy Council, at which it was said, "She

presided with as much ease as though she had been doing nothing else all

her life." At 1 P.M. she returned to Kensington Palace, there to remain

in retirement till after the funeral of King William.

It is certain that the behavior of this girl-queen on these first two

days of her reign "confounded the doctors" of the Church and State.

Greville, who never praises except when praise is wrung out of him, can

hardly say enough of her grace and graciousness, calmness and self-

possession. He says, also, that her "agreeable expression, with her

youth, inspire an excessive interest in all who approach her, and which,"

he is condescending enough to add, "I can't help feeling myself." He

quotes Peel as saying he was "amazed at her manner and behavior; at her

apparent deep sense of her situation, her modesty, and at the same time

her firmness. She appeared to be awed, but not daunted."

The Duke of Wellington paid a similar tribute to her courage.

Now, if these great men did not greatly idealize her, under the double

glamour of gallantry and loyalty, Victoria was a most extraordinary young

woman. A few days before the death of the King, Greville wrote: "What

renders speculation so easy and events so uncertain is the absolute

ignorance of everybody of the character, disposition, and capacity of the

Princess. She has been kept in such jealous seclusion by her mother

(never having slept out of her bedroom, nor been alone with anybody but

herself and, the Baroness Lehzen), that not one of her acquaintance, none

of the attendants at Kensington, not even the Duchess of Northumberland,

her governess, can have any idea what she is, or what she promises to

be." The first day of Victoria's accession he writes: "She appears to act

with every sort of good taste and good feeling, as well as good sense,

and nothing can be more favorable than the impression she has made, and

nothing can promise better than her manner and conduct do... William IV.

coming to the throne at the mature age of sixty-five, was so excited by

the exaltation that he nearly went mad... The young Queen, who might well

be either dazzled or confounded with the grandeur and novelty of her

situation, seems neither the one nor the other, and behaves with a

propriety and decorum beyond her years."

Doubtless nature was kind to Victoria in the elements of character, but

she must have owed very much of this courage, calmness, modesty,

simplicity, candor, and sterling good sense to the peculiar, systematic

training, the precept and example of her mother, the much-criticised

Duchess of Kent, so unpopular at the Court of the late King, and whom Mr.

Greville had by no means delighted to honor. Ah, the good, brave Duchess

had her reward for all her years of patient exile, all her loving labor

and watchful care, and rich compensation for all criticisms,

misrepresentations, and fault-finding, that June afternoon, the day of

the Proclamation, when she rode from the Palace of St. James to

Kensington with her daughter, who had behaved so well--her daughter and

her _Queen!_

PART II.

WOMANHOOD AND QUEENHOOD.

CHAPTER IX.

The sovereignty of England and Hanover severed forever--Funeral of King

William IV. at Windsor--The Queen and her household remove to Buckingham

Palace--She dissolves Parliament--Glowing account of the scene by a

contemporary Journal--Charles Sumner a spectator--His eulogy of the

Queen's reading.

Ever since the accession to the throne of Great Britain of the House of

Brunswick, the Kings of England had also been Kings of Hanover. To carry

on the two branches of the royal business simultaneously must have been a

little difficult, at least perplexing. It was like riding a "two-horse

act," with a wide space between the horses, and a wide difference in

their size. But the Salic law prevailed in that little kingdom over

there; so its Crown now gently devolved on the head of the male heir-

apparent, the Duke of Cumberland, and the quaint old principality parted

company with England forever. That is what Her Majesty, Victoria, got, or

rather lost, by being a woman. A day or two after her accession, King

Ernest called at Kensington Palace to take leave of the Queen, and she

dutifully kissed her uncle and brother-sovereign, and wished him God-

speed and the Hanoverians joy.

There is no King and no kingdom of Hanover now. When Kaiser William was

consolidating so many German principalities into his grand empire, gaily

singing the refrain of the song of the old sexton, "_I gather them in!

I gather them in!_" he took Hanover, and it has remained under the

wing of the great Prussian eagle ever since. It is said that the last

King made a gallant resistance, riding into battle at the head of his

troops, although he was blind--too blind, perhaps, to see his own

weakness. When his throne was taken out from under him, he still clung to

the royal title, but his son is known only as the Duke of Cumberland.

This Prince, like other small German Princes, made a great outcry against

the Kaiser's confiscations, but the inexorable old man still went on

piecing an imperial table-cover out of pocket-handkerchiefs.

The young Queen's new Household was considered a very magnificent and

unexceptionable one--principally for the rank and character and personal

attractions of the ladies in attendance, chief among whom, for beauty and

stateliness, was the famous Duchess of Sutherland--certainly one of the

most superb women in England, or anywhere else, even at an age when most

women are "falling off," and when she herself was a grandmother.

The funeral of King William took place at Windsor in due time, and with

all due pomp and ceremony. After lying in state in the splendid Waterloo

chamber, under a gorgeous purple pall, several crowns, and other royal

insignia, he was borne to St. George's Chapel, followed by Prelates,

Peers, and all the Ministers of State, and a solemn funeral service was

performed. But what spoke better for him than all these things was the

quiet weeping of a good woman up in the Royal Closet, half hidden by the

sombre curtains, who looked and listened to the last, and saw her husband

let down into the Royal Vault, where, in the darkness, his--their baby-

girl awaited him, that Princess with the short life and the long name--

poor little Elizabeth Georgina Adelando, whom the childless Queen once

hoped to hear hailed "Elizabeth Second of England."

In midsummer the Queen, the Duchess of Kent, and their grand Household

moved from Kensington to Buckingham Palace, then new, and an elegant and

luxurious royal residence internally, but externally neither beautiful

nor imposing. But with the exception of Windsor Castle, none of the

English Royal Palaces can be pointed to as models of architectural

beauty, or even sumptuous appointments. The palaces of some of our

Railway Kings more than rival them in some respects, while those of many

of the English nobility are richer in art-treasures and grander in

appearance. Kensington Palace was not beautiful, but it was picturesque

and historic, which was more than could be said of any of the Georgian

structures; there was about it an odor of old royalty, of poetry and

romance. The literature and the beauty of Queen Anne's reign were

especially associated with it. Queen Victoria was, when she left it, at

an age when memories count for little, and doubtless the flitting "_out

of the old house into the new_" was effected merrily enough; but long

afterwards her orphaned and widowed heart must often have gone back

tenderly and yearningly to the scene of many tranquilly happy years with

her mother, and of that first little season of companionship with her

cousin Albert.

Hardly had she got unpacked and settled in her new home when she had to

go through a great parade and ceremony. She went in state to dissolve

Parliament. The weather was fine and the whole route from Buckingham

Palace to the Parliament House was lined with people, shouting and

cheering as the magnificent procession and that brilliant young figure

passed slowly along. A London journal of the time gave the following

glowing account of her as she appeared in the House of Lords: "At 20

minutes to 3 precisely, Her Majesty, preceded by the heralds and attended

by the great officers of state, entered the House--all the Peers and

Peeresses, who had risen at the flourish of the trumpets, remaining

standing. Her Majesty was attired in a splendid white satin robe, with

the ribbon of the Garter crossing her shoulder and a magnificent tiara of

diamonds on her head, and wore a necklace and a stomacher of large and

costly brilliants. Having ascended the throne, the royal mantle of

crimson velvet was placed on Her Majesty's shoulders by the Lords in

waiting." And this was the same little girl who, six years before, had

bought her own straw hat and carried it home in her hand! I wonder if her

own mother did not at that moment have difficulty in believing that

radiant and royal creature was indeed her little Victoria!

The account continues: "Her Majesty, on taking her seat, appeared to be

deeply moved at the novel and important position in which she was placed,

the eyes of the assembled nobility, both male and female, being riveted

on her person." I would have wagered a good deal that it was the 'female'

eyes that she felt most piercingly. Then it goes on: "Her emotion was

plainly discernible in the heavings of her bosom, and the brilliancy of

her diamond stomacher, which sparkled out like the sun on the swell of

the ocean as the billows rise and fall." So disconcerted was she, it

seems, by all this silent, intense observation, that she forgot, nicely

seated as she was, that all those Peers and Peeresses were standing, till

she was reminded of it by Lord Melbourne, who stood close at her side.

Then she graciously inclined her head, and said in rather a low tone, 'My

Lords, be seated!' and they sat, and eke their wives and daughters.

"She had regained her self-possession when she came to read her speech,

and her voice also, for it was heard all over the great chamber." And it

is added: "Her demeanor was characterized by much grace and modest self-

possession."

Among the spectators of this rare royal pageant was an American, and a

stiff republican, a young man from Boston, called Charles Sumner. He was

a scholar, and scholar-like, undazzled by diamonds, admired most Her

Majesty's reading. In a letter to a friend he wrote: "I was astonished

and delighted. Her voice is sweet and finely modulated, and she

pronounced every word distinctly, and with a just regard to its meaning.

I think I never heard anything better read in my life than her speech,

and I could but respond to Lord Fitz-William's remark to me when the

ceremony was over, 'How beautifully she performs!'" How strange it now

seems to think of that slight girl of eighteen coming in upon that great

assembly of legislators, many of them gray and bald, and pompous and

portly, and gravely telling them that they might go home!

CHAPTER X.

Comments upon the young Queen by a contemporaneous writer in

_Blackwood_--A new Throne erected for her in Buckingham Palace--A

touching Anecdote related by the Duke of Wellington--The Queen insists on

paying her Father's Debts--The romantic and passionate interest she

evoked--Her mad lover--Attempts upon her life--She takes possession of

Windsor Castle.

A writer in _Blackwood_, speaking of the Queen about this time,

said: "She is 'winning golden opinions from all sorts of people' by her

affability, the grace of her manners, and her prettiness. She is

excessively like the Brunswicks and not like the Coburgs. So much the

more in her favor. The memory of George III. is not yet passed away, and

the people are glad to see his calm, honest, and English physiognomy

renewed in his granddaughter."

Her Majesty's likeness to the obstinate but conscientious old king, whose

honest face is fast fading quite away from old English half-crowns and

golden guineas, has grown with her years.

The same writer, speaking of her personal appearance, says: "She is low

of stature, but well formed; her hair the darkest shade of flaxen, and

her eyes large and light-blue." A friend who saw her frequently at the

time of her accession, said to me the other day: "It is a great mistake

to suppose that the Queen owed all the charming portraits which were

drawn of her at this time, to the fortunate accident of her birth and

destiny. She was really a very lovely girl, with a fine, delicate, rose-

bloom complexion, large blue eyes, a fair, broad brow, and an expression

of peculiar candor and innocence."

A few days later there was a sensation in Buckingham Palace, at the

setting up in the Throne-room of a very magnificent new piece of

furniture--a throne of the latest English fashion, but gorgeous enough to

have served for the Queen of Sheba, Zenobia, Cleopatra, or Semiramis. It

was all crimson velvet and silk, with any amount of gold embroideries,

gold lace, gold fringe, ropes, and tassels. The gay young Queen tried it,

and said it would do; that she had never sat on a more comfortable throne

in all her life.

Two stories of the young Queen have touched me especially--one was

related by the Duke of Wellington. A court-martial death sentence was

presented by him to her, to be signed. She shrank from the dreadful task,

and with tears in her eyes, asked: "Have you nothing to say in behalf of

this man?"

"Nothing; he has deserted three times," replied the Iron Duke.

"O, your Grace, think again!"

"Well, your Majesty, he certainly is a bad soldier, but there was

somebody who spoke as to his good character. He may be a good fellow in

civil life."

"O, thank you!" exclaimed the Queen, as she dashed off the word,

"Pardoned," on the awful parchment, and wrote beneath it her beautiful

signature.

This was not her last act of the kind, and at length Parliament so

arranged matters that this fatal signing business could be done by royal

commission, ostensibly to "relieve Her Majesty of a painful duty," but

really because they could not trust her soft heart. She might have sudden

caprices of commiseration which would interfere with stern military

discipline, and the honest trade of Mr. Marwood.

The other incident was told by Lord Melbourne. Soon after her accession,

in all the dizzy whirl of the new life of splendor and excitement, the

young Queen, in an interview with her Prime Minister, said: "I want to

pay all that remain of my father's debts. I _must_ do it. I consider

it a sacred duty." This was, of course, done--the Queen also sending

valuable pieces of plate to the largest creditors, as a token of her

gratitude. Lord Melbourne said that the childlike directness and

earnestness of that good daughter's manner when she thus expressed her

royal will and pleasure, brought the tears to his eyes. It seems to me it

was almost mission enough for any young woman, to move the hearts of hard

old soldiers like Wellington, and _blasé_ statesmen like Melbourne--

mighty dealers in death and diplomacy, and to bring something like a

second youth of romance and chivalrous feeling into worn and worldly

hearts everywhere.

I suppose it is impossible for young people of this day, especially

Americans, to realize the intense, enthusiastic interest felt forty-six

years ago by all classes, and in nearly all countries, in the young

English Queen. The old wondered and shook their heads over the mighty

responsibility imposed upon her--the young dreamed of her. She almost

made real to young girls the wildest romances of fairy lore. She called

out such chivalrous feelings in young men that they longed to champion

her on some field of battle, or in some perilous knightly adventure. She

stirred the hearts and inspired the imaginations of orators and poets.--

The great O'Connell, when there was some wild talk of deposing "the all

but infant Queen," and putting the Duke of Cumberland in her place, said

in his trumpet-like tones, which gave dignity to brogue: "If necessary, I

can get 500,000 brave Irishmen to defend the life, the honor, and the

person of the beloved young lady by whom England's throne is now filled."

Ah, the difference between then and now. "Brave Irishmen" of this day,

men who know not O'Connell, are more disposed to blow up the English

Queen's palaces, throne and all.

Charles Dickens, who was then full of romance and fancy, was, it is said,

possessed by such unresting, wondering thoughts of the fair maiden

sovereign, and her magnificent destiny, that for a time his more prosaic

friends regarded his enthusiasm as a sort of monomania. Other imaginative

young men with heads less "level" (to use an American expression) than

that of the great novelist, actually went mad--"clean daft"--the noble

passion of loving loyalty ending in an infatuation as absurd as it was

unhappy. Before the Queen left Kensington Palace she was much annoyed by

the persistent attentions of a provincial admirer, a respectable

gentleman, who labored under the hallucination that it was his destiny

and his duty to espouse the Queen. He may have felt a preference for

private life and rural pleasures, but as a loyal patriot he was ready to

make the sacrifice. He drove in a stylish phaeton every morning to the

Palace to inquire after Her Majesty's health; and on several days he

bribed the men who had charge of the gardens to allow him to assist them

in weeding about the piece of water opposite her apartments, in the fond

hope of seeing her at the windows, and of her seeing him. Every evening,

however, he put on the gentleman of fortune and phaetons, and followed

the Queen and the Duchess in their airings. Drove they fast or drove they

slow, he was just behind them. On their last drive before removing from

Kensington, they alighted in the Harrow Road for a little walk, and were

dismayed at seeing this Mr. ---- spring from his phaeton, and come

eagerly forward. The Duchess sent a page to meet him and beg of him not

to annoy Her Majesty by accosting her; but the page was "no let" to him--

a whole volume of remonstrance would not have availed. He pressed on, and

the august ladies were obliged to re-enter their carriage, and return to

Kensington. When on the next morning they removed from the old home, Mr.

---- was at the gate in his phaeton, and drove before them to Buckingham

Palace, and was there to give them a gracious welcome. He haunted Pimlico

for a time, but his friends finally got possession of him and suppressed

him, and so ended his "love's young dream."

It is likely that the merry young Queen laughed at the absurd

demonstrations and amatory effusions of her demented admirers; but when,

after her marriage, and her appearing always in public with the

handsomest Prince in Christendom at her side, such monomaniacs grew

desperate and took to shooting, the matter became serious. Then no more

gentlemen in phaetons menaced her peace; her demented followers were poor

wretches--so poor that sometimes, after investing in pistols, they had

not a six-pence left for ammunition. One, a distraught Fenian, pointed at

her a broken, harmless weapon, charged with a scrap of red rag. Another,

a humpbacked lad, named Bean, loaded his with paper and a few bits of an

old clay pipe. Bean escaped for a time, and it is said that for several

days there were "hard lines" for all the poor humpbacks of London. Scores

of them were arrested. No unfortunate thus deformed, could appear in the

streets without danger of a policeman smiting him on the shoulders, right

in the tender spot, with a rough, "You are my prisoner." Life became a

double burden to the poor fellows till Bean was caught. But to return to

the young Queen, in her happy, untroubled days.

In August she took possession of Windsor Castle, amid great rejoicing.

The Duchess, her mother, came also; this time not to be reproached or

insulted. They soon had company--a lot of Kings and Queens, among them

"Uncle Leopold" and his second wife, a daughter of Louis Philippe of

France.

The royal young house-keeper seems keenly to have enjoyed showing to her

visitors her new home, her little country place up the Thames. She

conducted them everywhere,

"Up-stairs, down-stairs, and in my lady's chamber,"

peeping into china and silver closets, spicy store-rooms, and huge linen

chests smelling of lavender.

Soon after came a triumphal progress to Brighton, during which the royal

carriage passed under an endless succession of triumphal arches, and

between ranks on ranks of schoolchildren, strewing roses and singing

pæans. At Brighton there was an immense sacrifice of the then fashionable

and costly flower, the dahlia, no fewer than twenty thousand being used

for decorative purposes. But a sadder because a vain sacrifice on this

occasion, was of flowers of rhetoric. An address, the result of much

classical research and throes of poetic labor, and marked by the most

effusive loyalty, was to have been presented to Her Majesty at the gates

of the Pavilion, but by some mistake she passed in without waiting for

it.

About this time the Lunatic Asylums began to fill up. Within one week two

mad men were arrested, proved insane, and shut up for threatening the

life of the Queen and the Duchess of Kent. So Victoria's life was not all

arched over with dahlia-garlands, and strewn with roses, nor were her

subjects all Sunday-school scholars.

CHAPTER XI.

Banquet in Guildhall--Victoria's first Christmas at Windsor Castle as

Queen--Mrs. Newton Crosland's reminiscences--Coolness of Actors and

Quakers amid the general enthusiasm--Issue of the first gold Sovereigns

bearing Victoria's head.

On Lord Mayor's Day, the Queen went in state to dine with her brother-

monarch, the King of "Great London Town." It was a memorable, magnificent

occasion. The Queen was attended by all the great ladies and gentlemen of

her Court, and followed by an immense train of members of the royal

family, ambassadors, cabinet ministers and nobility generally--in all,

two hundred carriages of them. The day was a general holiday, and the

streets all along the line of the splendid procession were lined with

people half wild with loyal excitement, shouting and waving hats and

handkerchiefs. It may have been on this day that Lord Albemarle got off

his famous pun. On the Queen saying to him, "I wonder if my good people

of London are as glad to see me as I am to see them?" he replied by

pointing to the letters "V. R." "Your Majesty can see their loyal cockney

answer-'_Ve are_.'"

One account states that, "the young sovereign was quite overcome by the

enthusiastic outbursts of loyalty which greeted her all along the route,"

but a description of the scene sent me by a friend, Mrs. Newton Crosland,

the charming English novelist and poet, paints her as perfectly composed.

My friend says: "I well remember seeing the young Queen on her way to

dine with the Lord Mayor, on the 9th of November, 1837, the year of her

accession. The crowd was so great that there were constant stoppages,

and, luckily for me, one of them occurred just under the window of a

house in the Strand, where I was a spectator. I shall never forget the

appearance of the maiden-sovereign. Youthful as she was, she looked every

inch a Queen. Seated with their backs to the horses were a lady and

gentleman, in full Court-dress--(the Duchess of Sutherland, Mistress of

the Robes--and the Earl of Albemarle, Master of the Horse), and in the

centre of the opposite seat, a little raised, was the Queen. All I saw of

her dress was a mass of pink satin and swan's-down. I think she wore a

large cape or wrap of these materials. The swan's-down encircled her

throat, from which rose the fair young face--the blue eyes beaming with

goodness and intelligence--the rose-bloom of girlhood on her cheeks, and

her soft, light brown hair, on which gleamed a circlet of diamonds,

braided as it is seen in the early portraits. Her small, white-gloved

hands were reposing easily in her lap.

"On this occasion not only were the streets thronged, but every window in

the long line of the procession was literally filled, while men and boys

were seen in perilous positions on roofs and lamp-posts, trees and

railings. Loud and hearty cheers, so unanimous they were like one immense

multitudinous shout, heralded the royal carriage.

"A little before this date, a story was told of the lamentations of the

Queen's coachman. He declared that he had driven Her Majesty for six

weeks, without once being able to see her. Of course he could not turn

his head or his eyes from his horses."

At Temple Bar--poor, old Temple Bar, now a thing of the past!--the Queen

was met by the Lord Mayor, who handed her the city keys and sword, which

she returned to his keeping--a little further on, the scholars of

Christ's Hospital--the "Blue-Coat Boys," offered her an address of

congratulation, saying how glad they were to have a woman to rule over

them, which was a good deal for boys to say, and also sung the National

Anthem with a will.

The drawing-room of Guildhall was fitted up most gorgeously. Here the

address of the city magnates was read and replied to,--and here in the

midst of Princes and nobles, Her Majesty performed a brave and memorable

act. She knighted Sheriff Montefiore, the first man of his race to

receive such an honor from a British sovereign, and Sir Moses Montefiore,

now nearly a centenarian, has ever since, by a noble life and good works,

reflected only honor on his Queen. But ah, what would her uncle, the late

King, have said, had he seen her profaning a Christian sword by laying it

on the shoulders of a Jew! He would rather have used it on the

unbeliever's ears, after Peter's fashion.

After this ceremony, they all passed into the Great Hall, which had been

marvellously metamorphosed, by hangings and gildings, and all sorts of

magnificent decorations, by mirrors and lusters, and the display of vast

quantities of gold and silver plate--much of it lent for the occasion by

noblemen and private gentlemen, but rivalled in splendor and value by the

plate of the Corporation and the City Companies. From the roof hung two

immense chandeliers of stained glass and prisms, which with the flashing

of innumerable gas-jets, lighting up gorgeous Court-dresses, and the most

superb old diamonds of the realm, made up a scene of dazzling splendor,

of enchantment, which people who were there go wild over to this day.

Poets say it was like a vision of fairyland, among the highest circles of

that most poetic kingdom--and they know. I think a poet must have managed

the musical portion of the entertainment, for when Victoria appeared

sweet voices sang--

"At Oriana's presence all things smile!"

and presently--

"Oh happy fair!

Your eyes are lode-stars and your tongue's sweet air,

More tunable than lark to shepherd's ear,

When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds appear."

There was a raised platform at the east end of the hall, and on it the

throne, a beautiful state-chair, of dainty proportions, made expressly

for that fairy Princess, who took her seat thereon amid the most joyous

acclamations. On the platform before her, was placed the royal table,

decorated with exquisite flowers, and covered with a costly, gold-fringed

damask cloth, on which were served the most delicate viands and delicious

fruits, in season and out of season. Ah, as the young Queen, seated up

there, received the homage of the richly-robed Aldermen, and the

resplendent Sheriffs, and that effulgent Lord Mayor, she must have

fancied herself something more than a fairy Princess,--say, an Oriental

goddess being adored and sacrificed to by gorgeous Oriental Princes,

Sultans and Satraps, Pashas, Padishas, and the Grand-Panjandrum himself.

After the dinner, an imposing personage, called the Common Crier, strode

into the middle of the hall, and solemnly cried out: "The Right Honorable

the Lord Mayor gives the health of our Most Gracious Sovereign, Queen

Victoria!" This, of course, was drunk with all the honors, and extra

shouts that made the old hall ring. The Queen rose and bowed her thanks,

and then the Common Crier announced--Her Majesty's toast: "The Lord

Mayor, and prosperity to the City of London." The Queen, it is stated,

honored this toast in sherry one hundred and twenty years old--liquid

gold! Very gracious of her if she furnished the sherry. I hope, at all

events, she drank it with reverence. Why, when that old wine was bottled,

Her Majesty's grandfather lacked some twenty years of being born, and the

American Colonies were as loyal as London;--then the trunk of the royal

old Bourbon tree, whose last branch death lopped away but yesterday at

Frohsdorf, seemed solid enough, though rotten at the core; and, the great

French Revolution was undreamed of, except in the seething brain of some

wild political theorist, or in some poor peasant's nightmare of

starvation. When that old wine was bottled, Temple Bar, under the

garlanded arch of which Her Majesty had just passed so smilingly, was

often adorned with gory heads of traitors, and long after that old wine

was bottled, men and women could be seen of a Friday, dangling from the

front of Newgate prison, and swinging in the morning air, like so many

ghastly pendulums.

This year 1837, Victoria spent her first Christmas as a Queen at Windsor,

right royally I doubt not, and I think it probable she received a few

presents. A few days before, she had gone in state to Parliament, to give

her assent to the New Civil List Act-not a hard duty for her to perform,

it would seem, as that act settled on her for life an annual income of

£385,000. Let Americans who begrudge our President his $50,000, and wail

over our taxation, just put that sum into dollars. The English people did

not grumble at this grant, as they had grumbled over the large sums

demanded by Her Majesty's immediate predecessors. They knew it would not

be recklessly and wickedly squandered, and they liked to have their

bonnie young Queen make a handsome appearance among crowned heads. She

had not then revealed those strong and admirable traits of character

which later won their respect and affection,--but they were fond of her,

and took a sort of amused delight in her, as though they, were all

children, and she a wonderful new doll, with new-fashioned talking and

walking arrangements. The friend from whom I have quoted--Mrs. Crosland--

writes me: "I consider that it would be impossible to exaggerate the

enthusiasm of the English people on the accession of Queen Victoria to

the throne. To be able at all to understand it, we must recollect the

sovereigns she succeeded--the Sailor-King, a most commonplace old man,

with 'a head like a pine-apple'; George IV., a most unkingly king,

extremely unpopular, except with a small party, of High Tories; and poor

George III., who by the generation Victoria followed, could only be

remembered as a frail, afflicted, blind old man--for a long period shut

up at Kew, and never seen by his people. It was not only that Victoria

was a really lovely girl, but that she had the _prestige_ of having

been brought up as a Liberal, and then she kept the hated Duke of

Cumberland from the throne. Possibly he was not guilty of half the

atrocious sins attributed to him, but I do not remember any royal

personage so universally hated."

It was fear of this bogie of a Cumberland that made the English people

anxious for the early marriage of the Queen, and yet caused them to dread

it, for the fate of poor Princess Charlotte had not been forgotten. But I

do not think that political or dynastic questions had much to do with the

popularity of the young Queen. It was the resurrection of the dead

dignity of the Royal House of Brunswick, in her fair person--the

resuscitation of the half-dead principle of loyalty in the hearts of her

people. Of her Majesty's subjects of the better class, actors and quakers

alone seem to have taken her accession with all its splendid accessions,

coolly,--the former, perhaps, because much mock royalty had somehow

cheapened the real thing, and the latter because trained from infancy to

disregard the pomps and show of this world. Macready jots down among the

little matters in his "Diary," the fact of Her Majesty coming to his

theatre, and waiting awhile after the play to see him and congratulate

him. He speaks of her as "a pretty little girl," and does not seem

particularly "set up" by her compliments. Joseph Sturge, the eminent and

most lovable philanthropist of Birmingham,--a "Friend indeed" to all "in

need,"--waited on Her Majesty, soon after her accession, as one of a

delegation of the Society of Friends. Some years after, he related the

circumstance to me, and simply described her to me as "a nice, pleasant,

modest young woman,--graceful, though a little shy, and on the whole,

comely."

"Did you kiss her hand?" I asked. "O yes, and found that act of homage no

hardship, I assure thee. It was a fair, soft, delicate little hand."

I afterwards regretted that I had not asked him what he did with his

broad-brimmed hat when he was about to be presented, knowing that the

principles of Fox and Penn forbade his removing that article in homage to

any human creature; but I have just discovered in a volume of Court

Records, that "the deputation from the Society of Friends, commonly

called Quakers, were uncovered, according to custom, by the Yeoman of the

Guard." As they were all non-resistants, they doubtless bore the

indignity passively and placidly. Moreover, they all bowed, if they did

not kneel, before the throne on which their Queen was seated, and as I

said kissed her hand, in token of their friendly fealty.

In June, 1838, were issued the first gold sovereigns, bearing the head of

the Queen--the same spirited young head that we see now on all the modern

gold and silver pieces of the realm. That on the copper is a little

different, but all are pretty--so pretty that Her Majesty's loyal

subjects prefer them to all other likenesses, even poor men feeling that

they cannot have too many of them.

CHAPTER XII.

The Coronation.

The coronation was fixed for June 28, 1838 a little more than a year from

the accession.

The, Queen had been slightly troubled at the thought of some of the

antiquated forms of that grand and complicated ceremony--for instance,

the homage of the Peers, spiritual and temporal. As the rule stood, they

were all required after kneeling to her, and pledging their allegiance,

to rise and kiss her on the left cheek. She might be able to bear up

under the salutes of those holy old gentlemen, the archbishops and

bishops--but the anticipation of the kisses of all the temporal Peers,

old and young, was enough to appall her--there were six hundred of them.

So she issued a proclamation excusing the noble gentlemen from that

onerous duty, and at the coronation only the Royal Dukes, Sussex and

Cambridge, kissed the Queen's rosy cheek, by special kinship privilege.

The others had to be content with her hand. The other omitted ceremony

was one which formerly took place in Westminster Hall--consisting chiefly

of the appearance of a knight armed, mailed and mounted, who as Royal

Champion proceeded to challenge the enemies of the new Sovereign to

mortal combat. This, which had appeared ridiculous in the case of the

burly George IV., would have been something pretty and poetic in that of

the young maiden-Queen, but she doubtless felt that as every Englishman

was disposed to be her champion, the old form would be the idlest,

melodramatic bravado.

The crown which had fitted George and William was too big and heavy for

their niece--so it was taken to pieces, and the jewels re-set in a way to

greatly reduce the size and weight. A description now before me, of the

new crown is too dazzling for me to transcribe. I must keep my eyes for

plainer work; but I can give the value of the bauble--£112,760!--and this

was before the acquisition of the koh-i-noor.

Of the coronation I will try to give a clear, if not a full account.

It was a wonderful time in London when that day of days was ushered in,

by the roar of cannon from the grim old Tower, answered by a battery in

St. James' Park. Such a world of people everywhere! All Great Britain and

much of the Continent seemed to have emptied themselves into this

metropolis, which overflowed with a surging, murmuring tide of humanity.

Ah me, how much of that eager, noisy life is silent and forgotten now!

There may have before been coronations surpassing that of Victoria in

scenic splendor, if not in solid magnificence-that of the first Napoleon

and his Empress, perhaps-but there has been nothing so grand as a royal

pageant seen since, until the crowning of the present Russian Emperor at

Moscow, where the almost intolerable splendor was seen against a dark

background of tragic possibilities. This English coronation was less

brilliant, perhaps, but also less barbaric than that august, overpowering

ceremony over which it seemed there might hover "perturbed spirits" of

men slain in mad revolts against tyranny--of youths and women done to

death on the red scaffold, in dungeons, in midnight mines, and Siberian

snows; and about which there surely lurked the fiends of dynamite. But

this pure young girl, trusting implicitly in the loving loyalty of her

subjects--relying on Heaven for help and guidance, lifted to the throne

by the Constitution and the will of a free people, as conquerors have

been upborne on shields, what had she to fear? A very different and un-

nihilistic "cloud of witnesses" was hers, we may believe. If ever there

was a mortal state-occasion for the immortals to be abroad, it was this.

The great procession started from Buckingham Palace at about 10 o'clock.

The first two state carriages, each drawn by six horses, held the Duchess

of Kent and her attendants. The Queen's mother, regally attired, was

enthusiastically cheered all along the way. The Queen was, of course, in

the grand state coach, which is mostly gilding and glass--a prodigiously

imposing affair. It was drawn by eight cream-colored horses--great

stately creatures--with white flowing manes, and tails like mountain

cascades. Many battalions and military bands were stationed along the

line, presenting arms and playing the National Anthem, "And the People, O

the People!" Every window, balcony, and door-step was swarming, every

foot of standing room occupied--even on roofs and chimneys. Ladies and

children waved handkerchiefs and dropped flowers from balconies, and the

shouts from below and the shouts from above seemed to meet and break into

joyous storm-bursts in the air. Accounts state that Her Majesty "looked

exceedingly well, and that she seemed in excellent spirits, and highly

delighted with the imposing scene and the enthusiasm of her subjects."

One would think she might have been.

She had a great deal to go through with that day. She must have rehearsed

well, or she would have been confused by the multiform ceremonials of

that grand spectacular performance. The scene, as she entered Westminster

Abbey, might well have startled her out of her serene calm, but it

didn't. On each side of the nave, reaching from the western door to the

organ screen, were the galleries, erected for the spectators. These were

all covered with crimson cloth fringed with gold. Underneath them were

lines of foot-guards, very martial-looking, fellows. The old stone floor,

worn with the tread of Kings' coronations and funeral processions, was

covered with matting, and purple and crimson cloth. Immediately under the

central tower of the Abbey, inside the choir, five steps from the floor,

on a carpet of purple and gold, was a platform covered with cloth of

gold, and on it was the golden "Chair of Homage." Within the chancel,

near the altar, stood the stiff, quaint old chair in I which all the

sovereigns of England since Edward the Confessor have been crowned. Cloth

of gold quite concealed the "chunk of old red sandstone," called the

"stone of Scone," on which the ancient Scottish Kings were crowned, and

which the English seem to keep and use for luck. There were galleries on

galleries upholstered in crimson cloth, and splendid tapestries, wherein

sat members of Parliament and foreign Princes and Embassadors. In the

organ loft were singers in white, and instrumental performers in scarlet

--all looking very fine and festive; and up very high was a band of

trumpeters, whose music, pealing over the heads of the people, produced,

at times, a wonderful effect.

Fashionable people had got up early for once. Many were at the Abbey

doors long before 5 o'clock, and when the Queen arrived at 11:30,

hundreds of delicate ladies in full evening-dress, had been waiting for

her for seven long hours. The foreign Princes and Embassadors were in

gorgeous costumes; and there was the Lord Mayor in all his glory,

blinding to behold. His most formidable rival was Prince Esterhazy, who

sparkled with costly jewels from his head down to his boots-looking as

though he had been snowed upon with pearls, and had also been caught out

in a rain of diamonds, and had come in dripping. All these grand

personages and the Peers and Peeresses were so placed as to have a

perfect view of the part of the minster in which the coronation took

place-called, in the programme, "the Theatre."

The Queen came in about the middle of the splendid procession. In her

royal robe of crimson velvet, furred with ermine, and trimmed with gold

lace, wearing the collars of her orders, and on her head a circlet of

gold-her immense train borne by eight very noble young ladies, she is

said to have looked "truly royal," though so young, and only four feet

eight inches in height. As she entered the Abbey, the orchestra and choir

broke out into the National Anthem. They performed bravely, but were

scarcely heard for the mighty cheers which went up from the great

assembly, making the old minster resound in all its aisles and arches and

ancient chapels. Then, as she advanced slowly towards the choir, the

anthem, "_I was glad_" was sung, and after that, the sweet-voiced

choir-boys of Westminster chanted like so many white-gowned, sleek-headed

angels, "_Vivat Victoria Regina!_" Ah, then she felt very solemnly

that she was Queen; and moving softly to a chair placed between the Chair

of Homage and the altar, she knelt down on the "faldstool" before it, and

meekly said her prayers.

When the boys had finished their glad anthem, the Archbishop of

Canterbury, with several high officers of state, moved to the east side

of the theatre, when the Primate, in a loud voice, said: "I here present

unto you Queen Victoria, the undoubted Queen of this realm, wherefore all

you who are come this day to your homage, are you willing to do the

same?"

It seems a little confused, but the people understood it, and shouted,

"God save Queen Victoria!" This "recognition," as it was called, was

repeated at the south, west, and north sides of the "theatre," and every

time was answered by that joyous shout, and by the pealing of trumpets

and the beating of drums. The Queen stood throughout this ceremony, each

time turning her head towards the point from which the recognition came.

One may almost wonder if all those loyal shouts and triumphant

trumpetings and drum-beatings did not trouble somewhat the long quiet of

death in the dusky old chapels in which sleep the fair Queen Eleanor, and

the gracious Philippa, and valiant Elizabeth, and hapless Mary Stuart.

Then followed a great many curious rites and ceremonies of receiving and

presenting offerings; and many prayers and the reading of the Litany, and

the preaching of the sermon, in which the poor Queen was exhorted to

"follow in the footsteps of her predecessor"--which would have been to

walk "sailor-fashion" morally. Then came the administration of the oath.

After having been catechised by the Archbishop in regard to the

Established Church, Her Majesty was conducted to the altar, where

kneeling, and laying her hand on the Gospels in the great Bible, she

said, in clear tones, silvery yet solemn: "The things which I have here

before promised, I will perform and keep. So help me God!"

She then kissed the book, and after that the hymn, "_Come, Holy Ghost,

our souls inspire_" was sung by the choir, the Queen still kneeling.

I read the other day that the Duke of Connaught (Prince Arthur), on

visiting Norwich Cathedral, was shown the very Bible on which his mother

took her well-kept coronation oath, forty-five years ago. It was a most

solemn pledge, and yet it was all comprehended in the little girl

Victoria's promise to her governess, "I will be good."

Her Majesty next seated herself in St. Edward's chair; a rich cloth of

gold was held over her head, and the Archbishop anointed her with holy

oil, in the form of a cross. Then followed more prayers, more forms and

ceremonies, the presentation of swords and spurs, and such like little

feminine adornments, the investing with the Imperial robe, the sceptre

and the ring, the consecration and blessing of the new crown, and at last

the crowning. In this august ceremony three Archbishops, two Bishops, a

Dean, and several other clergymen were somehow employed. The task was

most religiously performed. It was the Primate of all England who

reverently placed the crown on that reverent young head. The moment this

was done all the Peers and Peeresses, who, with their coronets in their

hands, or borne by pages at their sides, had been intently watching the

proceedings, crowned themselves, shouting, "God save the Queen!" while

again trumpets pealed forth, and drums sounded, and the far-off Tower and

Park guns, fired by signal, boomed over the glad Capital.

It is stated that the most magically beautiful effect of all was produced

by the Peeresses, in suddenly and simultaneously donning their coronets.

It was as though the stars had somehow kept back their radiance till the

young moon revealed herself in all her silver splendor.

Then came the exhortation, an anthem, and a benediction, and after a few

more forms and pomps, the Queen was conducted to the Chair of Homage.

Before the next long ceremony began, the Queen handed her two sceptres to

two of the lords in attendance, to keep for her, as quietly as any other

girl might hand over to a couple of dangling young gentlemen her fan and

bouquet to hold for her, while she drew on her gloves.

The Lords Spiritual, headed by the Primate, began the homage by kneeling,

and kissing the Queen's hand. Then came the Dukes of Sussex and

Cambridge, who, removing their coronets, and touching them to the Crown,

solemnly pledged their allegiance, and kissed their niece on the left

cheek. Her manner to them was observed to be very affectionate. Then the

other Dukes, and Peers on Peers did homage by kneeling, touching coronet

to crown, and kissing that little white hand. When the turn of the Duke

of Wellington came, the entire assembly broke into applause; and yet he

was not the hero of the day, but an older and far more infirm Peer, Lord

Rolle, who mounted the steps with difficulty, and stumbling at the top,

fell, and rolled all the way back to the floor, where "he lay at the

bottom of the steps, coiled up in his robes." At sight of the accident

the Queen rose from her throne, and held out her hands as though to help

him. It was a pretty incident, not for the poor Peer, but as showing Her

Majesty's impulsive kindness of heart. The old nobleman was not hurt, but

quickly unwound himself, rose, mounted the steps, and tried again and

again to touch the crown with the coronet in his weak, uncertain hand,

every plucky effort being hailed with cheers. At length the Queen,

smiling, gave him her hand to kiss, dispensing with the form of touching

her crown. Miss Martineau, who witnessed the scene, states that a

foreigner who was present was made to believe by a wag that this

ludicrous tumble was a part of the regular programme, and that the Lords

Rolle held their title on condition of performing that feat at every

coronation, Rolle meaning roll.

This most tedious ceremony over, finishing up with more anthems,

trumpets, drums, and shouts, the Sacrament was administered to the Queen

--she discrowning herself, and kneeling while she partook of the holy

elements. Then a re-crowning, a re-enthronement, more anthems, and the

blessed release of the final benediction. Passing into King Edward's

chapel, the Queen changed the Imperial for the Royal robe of purple

velvet, and passed out of the Abbey, wearing her crown, bearing the

sceptre in her right hand, and the orb in her left, and so got into her

carriage, and drove home through the shouting multitude. It is stated

that Her Majesty did not seem exhausted, though she was observed to put

her hand to her head frequently, as though the crown was not, after all,

a very comfortable fit.

After reigning more than a year, she had been obliged to spend nearly

five fatiguing hours in being finished as a Queen. How strange it all

seems to us American Republicans, who make and unmake our rulers with

such expedition and scant ceremony.

CHAPTER XIII.

Pictures and descriptions of the Queen--Her love of pets--Her passion for

horseback exercise--Her spirited behavior in the first change of her

Ministers.

In the Hall of the St. George's Society of Philadelphia there is a very

interesting picture by the late Mr. Sully of Queen Victoria in her

coronation robes. It is life-size, and represents her as mounting the

steps of the throne, her head slightly turned, and looking back over the

left shoulder. It seems to me that Her Majesty should own this picture,

for it is an exquisite specimen of Mr. Sully's peculiar coloring, and a

very lovely portrait. Here is no rigidity, no constraint, no irksome

state. There is a springy, exultant vitality in the bearing of the

graceful figure, and the light poise of the head, while in the complexion

there is a tender softness and a freshness of tints belonging only to the

dewy morning of life. The princeliness of youth, the glow of joy and hope

overtop and outshine the crown which she wears as lightly as though it

were a May-queen's Coronal of roses; and the dignity of simple girlish

purity envelops her more royally than velvet and ermine. The eyes have

the softness of morning skies and spring violets, and the smile hovering

about the red lips, a little parted, is that of an unworn heart and an

eager, confident spirit. This was the first portrait of the young Queen I

ever saw, and still seems to me the loveliest.

Another American artist, Mr. Leslie, painted a large picture of the

coronation, which Her Majesty purchased. As he was to paint the scene, he

was provided with a very good seat near the throne--so near that he said

he could plainly see, when she came to sign her coronation oath, that she

wrote a large, bold hand, doing credit to her old writing master, Mr.

Steward.

In his recollections he says: "I don't know why, but the first sight of

her in her robes of state brought tears into my eyes, and it had this

effect upon many people; she looked almost like a child." Campbell, the

poet, is related to have said to a friend: "I was at Her Majesty's

coronation in Westminster Abbey, and she conducted herself so well during

the long and fatiguing ceremony that I shed tears many times."

Carlyle said at the time, with a shake of his craggy, shaggy head: "Poor

little Queen! she is at an age at which a girl can hardly be trusted to

choose a bonnet for herself, yet a task is laid upon her from which an

archangel might shrink.":

And yet, according to Earl Russell, this "poor little Queen," over whom

the painters and poets wept, and the great critic "roared gently" his

lofty commiseration, informed her anxious mother that she "ascended the

throne without alarm." Victoria, if reminded of this in later years,

might have said, "They who know nothing, fear nothing"; and yet the very

vagueness, as well as vastness, of the untried life would have appalled

many spirits.

The Queen was certainly a very valiant little woman, but there would have

been something unnatural, almost uncanny, about her had the regal calm

and religious seriousness which marked her mien during those imposing

rites, continued indefinitely, and it is right pleasant to read in the

reminiscences of Leslie, how the child in her broke out when all the

magnificent but tiresome parade, all the grand stage-business with those

heavy actors, was over. The painter says: "She is very fond of dogs, and

has one favorite little spaniel, who is always on the lookout for her

return when she is from home. She had, of course, been separated from him

on that day longer than usual, and when the state-coach drove up to the

Palace steps she heard him barking joyously in the hall, and exclaimed,

'There's Dash,' and was in a hurry to doff her crown and royal robe, and

lay down the sceptre and the orb, which she carried in her hands, and go

and give Dash his bath."

I hope this story is literally true, for I have a strong impression that

it was this peculiar love of pets, this sense of companionship with

intelligent, affectionate animals, especially dogs and horses, that with

an ever-fresh delight in riding and dancing, healthful sports and merry

games, was the salvation of the young Queen. Without such vents, the

mighty responsibility of her dizzy position, the grandeur, the dignity,

the decorum, the awful etiquette would have killed her--or at least,

puffed her up with pride, or petrified her with formality. Sir John

Campbell wrote of her at this time: "She is as merry and playful as a

kitten."--I hope she loved kittens! Again he says: "The Queen was in

great spirits, and danced with more than usual gaiety, a romping,

country-dance, called the Tempest."

In addition to this girlish gaiety, Victoria seems always to have had a

vein of un-Guelph-like humor, a keen sense of the ludicrous, a delicious

enjoyment of fun, which are among Heaven's choicest blessings to poor

mortals, royal or republican. Prince Albert's sympathy with her love of

innocent amusement, and her delight in the absurdities and drolleries of

animal as well as of human life and character, was one and perhaps not

the weakest of the ties which bound her to him.

With the young Queen equestrian exercise was more than a pastime, it was

almost a passion. She rode remarkably well, and in her gratitude for this

beautiful accomplishment,--rarer even in England than people think--she

wished as soon as she came to the throne, to give her riding-master,

Fozard, a suitable position near her person, something higher than that

of a groom. She was told that there was no situation vacant that he could

fill. "Then I will create one," she said, and dubbed him "Her Majesty's

Stirrup holder." I would have done more for him--made him Master of the

Horse, in place of Lord Albemarle, who always rolled along in the royal

carriage, or created for him the office of Lord High Equerry of the

Realm.

N. P. Willis, in his delightful "Pencilings By the Way," gives a bright

glimpse of the Queen on horseback. It was in Hyde Park, and he saye the

party from the Palace came on so fast that the scarlet-coated outriders

had difficulty in clearing the track of the other equestrians. Her

Majesty has always liked to go fast by horse or steam-power, as though

determined not to let Time get ahead of her, for all his wings.

The poet then adds: "Her Majesty rides quite fearlessly and securely. I

met her party full gallop near the centre of Rotten Row. On came the

Queen, on a dun-colored, highly-groomed horse, with her Prime Minister on

one side of her, and Lord Byron on the other; her _cortège_ of Maids

of Honor, and Lords and Ladies of the Court checking their spirited

horses, and preserving always a slight distance between themselves and

Her Majesty. ... Victoria's round, plump figure looks exceedingly well in

her dark green riding-dress. ... She rode with her mouth open, and seemed

exhilarated with pleasure."

This was in 1839. Some years later, a young American writer, who shall be

nameless, but who was as passionate a lover of horses as the Queen

herself, wrote a sort of pæan to horseback-riding. She began by telling

her friends, all whom it might concern, that when she was observed to be

low in her mind--when she seemed "weary of life," and to "shrink from its

strife"--when, in short, things didn't go well with her generally, they

were not to come to her with the soft tones or the tears of sympathy;

then she went on thus, rather pluckily, I think:

"No counsel I ask, and no pity I need,

But bring me, O bring me, my gallant young steed,

With his high-arched neck and his nostril spread wide;

His eye full of fire, and his step full of pride.

As I spring to his back, as I seize the strong rein,

The strength to my spirit returneth again,

The bonds are all broken that fettered my mind,

And my cares borne away on the wings of the wind,--

My pride lifts its head, for a season, bowed down,

And the queen in my nature now puts on her crown."

Now if the simple American girl prepared for a lonely gallop through the

woods, could so have thrilled with the fulness, joy, and strength of

young life; could have felt so royal, mounted on a half-broken, roughly-

groomed western colt (for that's what the "steed" really was), with few

fine points and no pedigree to speak of--what must the glorious exercise

have been to that great little Queen, re-enthroned on thoroughbred,

"highly-groomed," magnificent English horse-flesh?

Her Majesty has always been constant in her equine loves. Six of her

saddle-horses, splendidly caparisoned, walked proudly, as so many

Archbishops, in the coronation procession; and in the royal stables of

London and Windsor, her old favorites have been most tenderly cared for.

When she could no longer use them, she still petted them, and never

reproached them for having "outlived their usefulness."

Another writer from America, James Gordon Bennett, sent home, this

coronation year, some very pleasant descriptions of the Queen. At the

opera he had his first sight of her. "About ten o'clock, when the opera

was half through, the royal party entered. 'There! there! there!'

exclaimed a young girl behind me--'there's the Queen!' looking eagerly up

to the royal box. I looked too, and saw a fair, light-haired little girl,

dressed with great simplicity, in white muslin, with hair plain, a blue

ribbon at the back, enter the box and take her seat, half hid in the red

drapery at the corner remote from the stage. The Queen is certainly very

simple in her appearance; but I am not sure that this very simplicity

does not set off to advantage her fair, pretty, pleasant, little round

Dutch face. Her bust is extremely well-proportioned, and her complexion

very fair. There is a slight parting of the rosy lips, between which you

can see little nicks of something like very white teeth. The expression

of her face is amiable and good-tempered. I could see nothing like that

awful majesty, that mysterious something which doth hedge a Queen. ...

During the performance, the Queen would now and then draw aside the

curtain and gaze back at the audience, with that earnestness and

curiosity which any young girl might show."

Mr. Bennett gave other descriptions of the Queen as he saw her driving in

the Park. He wrote: "I had been taking a walk over the interior of the

Park, gazing listlessly at the crowd of carriages as they rolled by. Just

as I was entering the arched gateway to depart, a sensation spread

through the crowd which filled that part of the promenade. 'The Queen!

the Queen!' flew from lip to lip. In an instant two outriders shot

through the gate; near Apsley House, followed by a barouche and four,

carrying the Queen and three of her suite. She sat on the right hand of

the back seat, leaning a good deal back. She was, as usual, dressed very

simply, in white, with a plain straw, or Leghorn bonnet, and her veil was

thrown aside. She carried a green parasol."

Ah, why _green_, O Queen? Later that afternoon he saw her again, going at

a slower rate, holding up that green parasol, bowing right and left and

smiling, as the crowd saluted and cheered. The Queen does not bow and

smile so much nowadays, but then she no longer carries a green parasol.

N. P. Willis also saw the young sovereign at the opera, and dashes off a

poet's vivid sketch of her:

"In her box to the left of me sat the Queen, keeping time with her fan to

the singing of Pauline Garcia, her favorite Minister, Lord Melbourne,

standing behind her chair, and her maids of honor grouped around her--

herself the youthful, smiling, admired sovereign of the most powerful

nation on earth. The Queen's face has thinned and grown more oval since I

saw her four years ago as the Princess Victoria. She has been compelled

to think since then, and such exigencies in all stations in life work out

the expression of the face. She has now what I should pronounce a

decidedly intellectual countenance, a little petulant withal when she

turns to speak, but on the whole quite beautiful enough for a virgin

Queen. She was dressed less gaily than many others around her."

I have given much space to these personal descriptions of Queen Victoria

as she appeared in those first two years of her Queenhood, because they

are still to the world--the world of young people, at least--the most

interesting years of all her glorious reign. There was great poetry about

that time, and, it must be confessed, some peril.

Mrs. Oliphant, in her excellent little life of the Queen, says: "The

immediate circle of friends around the young sovereign fed her with no

flatteries."

It is difficult to believe such a statement of any mortal Court-circle.

But if gross adulation was not offered--a sort of moral pabulum, which

the Queen's admirable good sense would have rejected, there was profound

homage in the very attitude of courtiers and in the etiquette of Court

life. The incense of praise and admiration, "unuttered or exprest," was

perpetually and inevitably rising up about her young footsteps wherever

they strayed; it formed the very air she breathed--about as healthful an

atmosphere to live and sleep in as would be that of a conservatory

abounding in tuberoses, white lilies, and jessamine.

Still, that she did not grow either arrogant or artificial, seems proved

by the pleasant accounts given of her simple and gracious ways by the

painters of whom I have spoken--Thomas Sully and Charles Leslie. I

remember particularly, hearing from a friend of Mr. Sully, of the

generous interest she took in his portrait of her, which, I think, was

painted at Windsor. She gave him all the sittings, or rather standings,

her busy life would allow; giving him free use of all the splendid

paraphernalia necessary for his work. Between whiles the painter's young

daughter stood for the picture, being, of course, obliged to don the

royal robes and even the tiara. One day, while thus engaged and arrayed,

the Queen came suddenly into the room. Miss Sully much confused was about

to descend from the steps of the throne, when the Queen exclaimed,

laughing: "Pray stay as you are; I like to see how I look!"

Leslie, whose picture of the Coronation was painted at Windsor, gave a

pleasant account of the Queen's kindly and easy ways. "She is now," he

says, "so far satisfied with the likeness that she does not wish me to

touch it again. She sat five times--not only for the face, but for as

much as is seen of the figure, and for the hands, with the coronation-

ring on the finger. Her hands, by the by, are very pretty--the backs

dimpled and the fingers delicately shaped. She was particular to have her

hair dressed exactly as she wore it at the ceremony every time she sat."

The Queen in her writings says very little of this portion of her

"strange, eventful history,"--a time so filled with incident, so gilded

with romance, so bathed in poetry, so altogether splendid in the eyes of

all the world; for to her, life--or all which was most "happy and

glorious" in life--began and ended with Prince Albert. She even speaks

with regret of that period of single queenliness, and says: "A worse

school for a young girl--one more detrimental to all natural feelings and

affections--cannot well be imagined than the position of a Queen at

eighteen without experience and without a husband to guide and support

her. This the Queen can state from painful experience, and she thanks God

that none of her own dear daughters are exposed to such danger."

Human nature is rash and young-woman-nature ambitious and ill-disposed to

profit by the costly experience of eld, and I doubt not the clever

Princess Royal or the proud and fair Princess Louise would have mounted

any throne in Christendom "without alarm." Most of Her Majesty's loyal

subjects deny that any harm came to her from her unsupported position as

Queen Regnant, or that she was capable of being thus harmed--but the

Queen knows best.

The Princess Victoria was a proud, high-spirited girl, and it were no

treason to suppose that at the first she had a sense of relief when the

leading-strings, in which she had been so long held, were cut, though by

the scissors of Atropos, and she was free to stand and go alone. Her good

mother, becoming at once an object of political jealousy, removed herself

from the old close companionship, though retaining in her heart the old

tender solicitude--perhaps feeling herself more than ever necessary to

her daughter. Mothers are so conceited. It is small wonder if after her

life of studious and modest seclusion and filial subordination, the

gaiety, the splendor, and the supremacy of the new existence intoxicated

the young sovereign somewhat. The pleasures of her capital and the homage

of the world captivated her imagination, while the consciousness of power

and wealth and personal loveliness inclined her to be self-indulgent and

self-willed. In spite of the good counsel of the family Mentor, Baron

Stockmar, and of her sagacious uncle, Leopold, she must have committed

some errors of judgment--fallen into some follies; she was so young and

impulsive--so very human. Her first independent political act seems to

have been a mistake, founded on a misunderstanding. It was at all events

an act more Georgian than Victorian. The Whig party, to which she was

attached, had by a series of blunders and by weak vacillation lost

strength and popularity, and Lord Melbourne's Ministry found itself so

hard-pressed that it struck colors and resigned. Then the Queen was

advised by the Duke of Wellington to invite the Conservative leader, Sir

Robert Peel, to form a new Ministry. She did so, but frankly told that

gentleman that she was very sorry to lose Lord Melbourne and his

colleagues, whom she liked and approved--which must have been pleasant

talk to Sir Robert. However, he went to work, but soon found that

objections were made by his colleagues to certain Whig ladies in personal

attendance on the Queen, and likely to influence her. So it was proposed

to Her Majesty to make an important change in her household. I believe

that the Duchess of Sutherland and Lady Normandy--the first the sister

and the second the wife of a prominent Liberal--were especially meant;

but the Queen took it that she was called on to dismiss all her ladies,

and flatly refused, saying that to do so would be "repugnant to her

feelings"--forgetting that feeling was no constitutional argument. She

had got used to those Ladies of the Bed-Chamber, and they to her. They

knew just where everything was, what colors became her, and what gossip

and games amused her. Doubtless she loved them, and doubtless also she

loved her own way. Surely the right of her constitutional advisers to

dictate to her must have a limit somewhere, and she drew the line at her

bed-chamber door. Then, as Sir Robert would not yield the point, she

recalled Melbourne and went on as before. The affair created immense

excitement. Non-political people were amused at the little Queen's spirit

of independence. Liberals applauded her patriotism and pluck in defeating

the "wicked Bed-Chamber Plot," and for her loyalty to her friends; but

the defeated Tories were very naturally incensed, and, manlike, paid Her

Majesty back, when measures which she had much at heart came before

Parliament a year or so later--as we shall see.

Many years later the Queen appears to have thought that she was beginning

to drift on to rocks of serious political mistakes and misfortunes as

well as into rapids of frivolity, when the good, wise Pilot came to take

the helm of her life-craft.

This pilot was, of course, the "Prince Charming," selected and reared for

her away in Saxe-Coburg--that handsome Cousin Albert, once in a letter to

the good uncle Leopold tacitly accepted by her in girlish

thoughtlessness, as she would have accepted a partner in a joyous

country-dance, and afterwards nearly as thoughtlessly thrown over and

himself sent adrift.

CHAPTER XIV.

Prince Albert.

If the Princess Charlotte was the prototype of her cousin Victoria,

Prince Leopold was in some respects the prototype of his beloved nephew

Albert, who was born in August, 1819, at Rosenau, a charming summer

residence of his father, the reigning Duke of Saxe-Coburg-Saalfield. The

little Prince's grandmother, the Dowager-Duchess of Saxe-Coburg, in

writing to her daughter, the Duchess of Kent, to announce the happy

event, says: "The little boy is to be christened to-morrow, and to have

the name of Albert."

When the christening came off it appeared that "Albert" was only one and

the simplest of several names, but he was always known and always will be

known by that name. It has been immortalized by his upright character,

his rare intellectual gifts, his goodness and grace; by the affection of

his countrymen and his noble life-work in England; by the genius of

England's greatest living poet, and by the love and sorrow of England's

Queen.

While the Prince was yet a baby, his mother wrote of him: "Albert is

superb,--remarkably beautiful, with large blue eyes, a delicate mouth, a

fine nose, and dimpled cheeks. He is lively and always gay."

Albert was the second son of the Duke and Duchess. Ernest, a year or two

older, is thus described by his mother: "Ernest is very strong and

robust, but not half so pretty as his brother. He is handsome, though;

with black eyes."

Prince Leopold spent some time with his brother at Coburg when Albert was

about two years old, and then began the tender, life-long mutual

affection which led to such happy and important results. The young mother

wrote: "Albert adores his uncle Leopold; never quits him for a moment;

looks sweetly at him; is constantly embracing him; and is never happy

except when near him."

The grandmother also wrote: "Leopold is very kind to the little boys.

Bold _Albertinchen_ drags him constantly about by the hand. The little

fellow is the pendant to the pretty cousin (Princess Victoria); very

handsome, but too slight for a boy; lively, very funny, all good nature,

and full of mischief. The other day he did not know how to make enough of

me, because I took him with me in the carriage. He kept saying, 'Albert

is going with grandmamma!' and gave me his little hand to kiss. 'There,

grandmamma, kiss!'"

The little Princes were not long to enjoy the care and society of their

loving and lovely mother. An unhappy estrangement between their parents,

followed by a separation and a divorce, left them at seven and five years

old half-orphaned; for they never saw their mother again. She died at St.

Wendel, in Switzerland, while still young and beautiful; but doubtless

weary enough of life, which had brought her such happiness, only to take

it away. Two words as holy as her prayers, were on her dying lips--

"Ernest!" "Albert!"

But the boys were rich in grandmothers--having two of the very tenderest

and dearest of Dowager-Duchesses to watch over them (watching each other,

perhaps, the while) and to minister to them for many a year. According to

these venerable ladies, Albert, who was certainly a delicate, nervous

child, was one of those "little angels" who are destined not to survive

the dimpled, golden-curled, lisping, and croupy period; being too good

and sweet and exquisite for this wicked and rough world. But, according

to certain entries in the Prince's own diary--his first, begun in his

sixth year--he at that age happily revealed some hopeful signs of saving

naughtiness and healthful "original sin."

"11th _February_, 1825.

"I was told to recite something, but did not wish to do so. That was not

right--naughty!"

"20th _February_.

"I had left all my lesson books lying about in the room, and I had to put

them away; then I cried."

"28th _February_.

"I cried at my lesson to-day because I could not find a verb, and the

Rath (tutor) pinched me, to show me what a verb was. I cried about it."

"9th _April_.

"I got up well and happy; afterward I had a fight with my brother."

"10th _April_.

"I had another fight with my brother; that was not right."

This almost baby-prince seems to have been a valorous little fellow. When

his blood was up he seems to have given little thought to the superior

age or strength of his opponents, but to have been always ready to "pitch

in"; or, to use the more refined and courtly language of his tutor, M.

Florschütz, "he was not, at times, indisposed to resort to force, if his

wishes were not at once complied with."

For several years the young Princes, devoted to each other, passed

studious, yet active and merry lives at the Coburg Palace, and in the

dear country home of Rosenau. They seem to have corresponded with their

cousin Victoria, whom, it seems, the lad Albert was led by his grandmamma

Coburg to regard with an especially romantic and tender interest. That

grandmamma, the mother of Prince Leopold and the Duchess of Kent, and who

seems to have been a very able and noble woman, died when her darling

Albert was about twelve years old; but the hope of her heart did not die

with her, and without doubt Prince Albert was educated with special and

constant reference to a far more important and brilliant destiny than

often falls to the lot of the young sons of even Grand Ducal houses. He

was well instructed in many branches of science, in languages, in music

and literature, in politics, and what seems a contradiction, in ethics,--

his moral development being most carefully watched over, while his

physical training was a pendant to that which made his cousin Victoria

one of the healthiest and hardiest of modern Englishwomen. With a

delicate constitution and a sensitive, nervous temperament, Prince Albert

would scarcely have lived to manhood, except for that admirable physical

training. As a child, he was braced up by much life in the open air,

simple diet, a good deal of rough play--while as to sleep, he was allowed

to help himself, which he did plentifully, being much given to

somnolency. As a lad and youth, he hardened himself by all healthful

manly sports and exercises; in short, made a boy of mamma's "angel," a

man of grandmamma's golden-haired darling. Nor was that great element of

a liberal education, travel, wanting. The brothers paid visits to their

uncle Leopold, now King of Belgium, and after tours in Germany, Austria,

and Holland, visited England, and their aunt Kent and their cousin

Victoria, to whom they were most warmly commended by their uncle.

According to the Queen's books, with this visit of three weeks began the

personal acquaintance of the cousins; yet old Kensingtonians have a

legend which they obstinately cling to, that Prince Albert, when much

younger, spent three years in the old brick palace with his aunt and

cousin, in pursuance of the matrimonial plans of the Duchess of Kent and

Prince Leopold; and I have seen in a quaint old juvenile book a wood-cut

representing the little Victoria in a big hat, riding on a pony in the

park, and little Albert in a visored cap and short jacket running along

at her side. But, of course, it was all a mistake; there was no such

period of childish courtship, and the boy in the queer Dutch cap was an

optical illusion, or a "double," in German a _doppel-gänger_. During

the real visit, occurred the seventeenth birthday of the Princess, and

there were public rejoicings and Court-festivities, preceded and followed

for the cousins by days of pleasant companionship, in walking and riding,

and evenings of music and dancing. But if the lad Albert, remembering the

promise of his garrulous nurse, and the prophecy of his fond grandmamma,

and the wish of his father and uncle Leopold, sought to read his destiny

in the baffling blue eyes of the gay young girl, he seems to have failed,

for he could only write home: "Our cousin is most amiable." Perhaps

Victoria's own wonderful destiny, now drawing near, left little room in

her heart or thought for lesser romances; perhaps the crown of England

suspended over her head as by a single hair, the frail life of an old

man, outdazzled even the graces and merits of her handsome but rather

immature kinsman. Besides, "Prince Charming" at that time was short and

stout, and he spoke our language too imperfectly to make love (which he

would have pronounced _luf_) in the future Queen's English; and so

he went away without any exchange of vows, or rings, or locks of fair

hair or miniatures, and returned to his studies, principally at the

University of Bonn. It is true that the Princess wrote to her "dearest

uncle Leopold" soon after this visit, begging him to take special care of

one now so dear to her, adding: "I hope and trust that all will go on

prosperously and well on this subject now of so much importance to me."

Yet King Leopold was a wise man, and did not build too securely on the

fancy of a girl of seventeen, though he kept to work, he and the Baron,

on their Prince-Consort making, in spite of the opposition of old King

William, and all his brothers, and the candidates favored by them.

It was from quaint, quiet old Bonn that Prince Albert wrote, on his

cousin's accession to the throne, his famous letter of congratulation, in

which there appeared not one word of courtier-like adulation--not a

thought calculated to stir the heart of the young girl suddenly raised to

that giddy height overlooking the world, with a thrill of exultation or

vain-gloriousness. Thus wrote this boy-man of eighteen: "Now you are

Queen of the mightiest land of Europe; in your hand lies the happiness of

millions. May Heaven assist you, and strengthen you with its strength in

the high, but difficult task."

After leaving the University Prince Albert traveled in Switzerland and

Italy with Baron Stockmar--everywhere winning the admiration and respect

of the best sort of people by the rare princeliness of his appearance,

his refined taste, his thoughtful and singularly receptive mind. And so

three years went by. They were three years of uncertainty in regard to

the great projects formed for him, of happiness, and a noble and useful,

if subordinate career. King Leopold, the good genius of the two families,

had not suffered his cousin to forget him, but though she declared she

cared for no one else, she was not disposed to enter into any positive

engagement, even with Albert. She enjoyed intensely her proud,

independent position as Queen Regnant. She was having such a glorious

swing at life, and very naturally feared the possible restraints, and the

inevitable subordination of marriage. She was "too young to marry," and

Albert was still younger--full three months. She would remain as she was,

the gay, untrammeled maiden-Queen of England, for at least three or four

years longer, and then think about it. The Prince was made, aware by his

uncle Leopold of his royal cousin's state of feeling, or unfeeling, and

was in a very doubtful and despondent state of mind when, polished by

study and travel, grown tall and graceful, and "ideally beautiful," a

veritable "Prince Charming," he came over the sea, out of fairyland, via

Rotterdam, to seek his fortune--to attempt, at least, to wake the

grandeur-enchanted Princess from her passionless dream of lonely,

loveless sovereignty. He came, was seen, and conquered! But not at once;

ah, no; for this charming royal idyll had its changing strophes, marking

deepening degrees of sentiment--admiration, interest, hope, assurance,

joyous certainty.

The Queen had resolved to receive both the Princes with cousinly

affection and royal honors, but as though they had come on an ordinary

visit. As for Albert, she meant probably to reason with him frankly, till

he should be convinced that they were "ower young to marry yet"--till he

should realize his own exceeding youthfulness. Then, as he must go away,

and "wait a little longer," she would see as much of him as possible--he

was such a good, constant fellow. But she must give due attention to her

other guests; and then the State had some claim on her time. But when the

Coburg Princes arrived at Windsor, and the Queen, with her mother, met

them at the head of the grand staircase, somehow she had only eyes for

the younger brother; he had grown so manly, so tall, quite out of the old

objectionable stoutness; he had so improved in his English; he was so

handsome--so every way presentable! So, in spite of the gaieties and

forms, and the comings and goings of Windsor, so very much did the royal

maiden, hitherto so gay and "fancy-free" see of her cousin Albert

preparatory to bidding him an indefinite adieu, that on the second day

even, cause for jealousy was given to aspiring courtiers by smiles and

words, especially sweet and gracious, bestowed on the fair Saxon Knight.

On that second day the Queen wrote to her uncle Leopold: "Albert's beauty

is most striking, and he is most amiable and unaffected; in short, very

fascinating." She then added, with an exquisite touch of maiden coyness:

"The young men are _both_ amiable, delightful companions, and I am

glad to have them here."

When a few more days had passed in familiar intercourse, in singing and

walking, in dancing and driving, and best of all, in riding together

(for there is no cradle to rock young Love in like the saddle), the poor

little Queen forsworn, found she had no longer the courage to propose to

that proud young Prince to wait indefinitely on her will--to tarry at

Coburg for more wisdom and beard. At the thought of it she seemed to see

something of noble scorn about his lips, and such grave remonstrance in

his gentle, pensive, forget-me-not eyes, that--the words of parting were

never spoken, or not till after many happy years.

Alas for this fairy-Prince in an unfairylike kingdom! He could only

declare his love, and sound the heart of his beloved, with his eyes.

Etiquette put a leaden seal on his lips till from hers should come the

sweet avowal and the momentous proffer to rule the ruler--to assume

love's sovereignty over the Sovereign. After five days of troubled yet

joyous waiting, it came--the happy "climax," as the Prince called it in a

letter to Baron Stockmar--and then that perfectest flower of human life,

whether in palace or cottage, a pure and noble love, burst into full and

glorious bloom in each young heart. One cannot, even now, read without a

genuine heart-thrill, and a mistiness about the eyes, the simple touching

story of that royal romance of royal old Windsor. More than two-score

years have passed, and yet how fresh it seems! It has the dew and the

bloom of Paradise upon it.

What in all this story seems to me most beautiful and touching, because

so exquisitely womanly, is the meekness of the young Queen. Though as

Queen she offered the Prince her coveted hand--that hand that had held

the sceptre of sceptres, and which Princes and Peers and the

representatives of the highest powers on earth, had kissed in homage, it

was only as a poor little woman's weak hand, which needed to be upheld

and guided in good works, by a stronger, firmer hand; and her head, when

she laid it on her chosen husband's shoulder, had not the feel of the

crown on it. Indeed, she seems to have felt that his love was her real

coronation, his faith her consecration.

To the beloved Stockmar, to whom but a little while before she had

communicated her unalterable determination not to marry any one for ever

so long the newly betrothed wrote: "I do feel so guilty I know not how to

begin my letter; but I think the news it will contain will be sufficient

to ensure your forgiveness. Albert has completely won my heart, and all

was settled between us this morning. I feel certain he will make me

happy. I wish I could feel as certain of my making him happy, but I will

do my best."

Among the entries in the Queen's journal are many like this: "How I will

strive to make Albert feel as little as possible the great sacrifice he

has made. I told him it _was_ a great sacrifice on his part, but he

would not allow it."

Of course the Prince had too much manly feeling and practical good sense

to "allow it." He knew he was the most envied, not only of all poor

German Princes about that time, but of all young scions of royalty the

world over; and besides, he loved his cousin. There is no record or

legend or hint of his having ever loved any other woman, except his good

grandmothers. To her of Gotha he wrote: "The Queen sent for me alone to

her room the other day, and declared to me in a genuine outburst of

affection that I had gained her whole heart, and would make her intensely

happy if I would make her the sacrifice of sharing her life with her, for

she said she looked on it as a sacrifice; the only thing which troubled

her was that she did not think she was worthy of me. The joyous openness

with which she told me this enchanted me, and I was quite carried away by

it."

Still, and always the thought of "sacrifice!" This sentiment of tender

humility, of deference and reverence the Queen never lost. Indeed, it

seems to have grown with years, and as the character of the Prince-

Consort unfolded more and more in beauty, strength, dignity, and

uprightness.

A month was passed by the lovers, in such happiness as comes but once in

life to the most fortunate human beings--to some, alas! never. Then the

Prince returned to Coburg, to settle his affairs and to take leave of his

old home and his kindred. Those partings seem to have pulled hard on his

heart-strings, and are distressing to read about. One would think he was

bound for the "under-world," to wed the Queen of Madagascar. These

Germans are such passionate lovers of the fatherland, that one wonders

how they can ever bring themselves to leave it, to make grand marriages

in England, or fortunes in America, to start a royal house, or a

kindergarten--to become a Field Marshal or a United States Senator.

But all that grief at Coburg and Gotha showed how dearly Prince Albert

was loved, and how he loved.

It seems that the fair cousin at Windsor was scarcely gay, for the

Prince, writing to her mother, says: "What you say of my poor little

bride, sitting all alone in her room, silent and sad, has touched my

heart. Oh, that I might fly to her side to cheer her!"

But she could not have much indulged in this solitary, idle brooding, for

she had work to do, and must be up and doing. First, she had to summon a

Privy Council, which met at Buckingham Palace;--more than eighty Peers,

mostly solemn old fellows, who had outlived their days of romantic

sentiment, if they ever had any, yet to whom the Queen had to declare her

love for her cousin Albert, and her intention to marry him, being

convinced, she said, that this union would "secure her domestic felicity,

and serve the interests of her country." It was a little hard, yet a

certain bracelet, containing a certain miniature, which she wore on her

arm, gave her "courage," she said. Then came a yet more trying ordeal,

for a modest young lady--the announcement of her intended marriage, in a

speech from the throne, in the House of Lords. With the utmost dignity

and calmness, and with a happiness which sparkled in her eyes and glowed

in her blushes, and made strangely beautiful her young face, she read the

announcement in the clear, musical tones so peculiar to her, and with an,

almost religious solemnity. The glory of pure maidenly trust and devotion

resting on her head, outshone the jewels of her tiara; Love was enthroned

at her side.

All was not sunshine, rose-bloom and soft airs before the young German

husband of the Queen. Much doubt and jealousy and some unfriendliness

were waiting for him in high places. The disappointed Tory party, and

some Radicals, opposed hotly the proposed grant for the Prince of

£50,000, and at last cut it down to £30,000.

Then came a discussion over a clause in the Bill for the Naturalization

of the Prince, empowering the husband of the Queen to take precedence

over even the Royal Princes, and to be ever at her side, where he

belonged, which, though finally assented to by these most interested in

England--the Dukes of Sussex and Cambridge--was stoutly opposed by their

elder brother, the Duke of Cumberland, for Heaven and Hanover had not

relieved the English Government of "the bogie." In support of his rights,

Wellington and Brougham stood out, and the clause was dropped. But the

Queen, by the exercise of her prerogative, gave the Prince the title of

Royal Highness, and made him a Field Marshal in the British army; and

about a month later, she settled the precedence question, as far as

concerned England, by proclaiming that by her royal will and pleasure her

husband should "enjoy place, pre-eminence and precedence, next to Her

Majesty."

The amiable Prince is said never to have cherished resentment towards Sir

Robert Peel and others who had voted to cut down his allowance, or the

Duke of Wellington, and Lord Brougham, who had argued that those tiresome

old gentlemen, the Royal Dukes, should have the right to walk and sit

next to _his_ wife on State occasions; but Victoria confesses that

she long felt "most indignant." She was hurt not only in her wifely love,

but in her queenly pride.

Greville says of Kings: "The contrast between their apparent authority

and the contradictions which they practically meet with, must be

peculiarly galling--more especially to men whose minds are seldom

regulated by the beneficial discipline of education, and early collision

with their equals." It must be yet more "galling" for Queens, because

they always have been more flattered, and are imaginative enough to fancy

that in grasping the symbols they hold the power.

But I do not believe that the royal lovers took deeply to heart these

disagreeable matters at this time. I hope they didn't mourn much over the

£20,000 they didn't get. I hope that Love lifted them far above the murky

air of party strife and petty jealousy into a clear, serene atmosphere of

its own. They knew--and it was a great thing to know--that they had the

sympathy of all the true hearts of the realm, whether beating under the

"purple and fine linen" of the rich and noble, or the rough and simple

garments of the poor and humble.

On the 10th of February, 1840, Prince Albert, always tenderly thoughtful

of the dear old Dowager of Saxe-Gotha, his "_liebe grosmama_" who,

when he had parted from her last, had stood at her window, weeping,

stretching out her arms and so desolately calling after him, "Albert!

Albert!" sat down and wrote as no beautifulest Prince of poetry or

romance ever wrote to a feeble, old female relative on his wedding-day:

"DEAR GRANDMAMMA: In less than three hours, I shall stand at the altar,

with my dear bride. In these solemn moments, I must once more ask your

blessing, which I am well assured I shall receive, and which will be my

safeguard and future joy. I must end. God be my stay!

"Your faithful

"ALBERT."

This letter may seem a little too solemn and ill-assured, but it shows in

what a serious and devout spirit this young Prince, not yet of age,

entered on that auspicious and splendid union, whose wedding-bells rang

round the world. Moreover, the young man's position was a rather trying

one. As yet, he was little known in England, while it was well known that

the Royal Family had been from the first opposed to his marriage with

Victoria. Though the land of the Teutons had so long been the nursery of

English Kings and Queens, the English common people were jealous of

Teutonic Princes--regarding them for the most part as needy adventurers,

for whom England was only the great milch-cow of Germany. Prince Albert

had a host of prejudices to live down; and he did live down most of them,

but some have died hard over his grave.

The Queen's wedding was second only to the coronation, as a grand and

beautiful pageant for the privileged few who could witness it, for of

course the old Royal Chapel of St. James was a much narrower stage for

the great scene than the Abbey. Still, royalty and nobility turned out in

force, and all the greatest of the great were there. The sombre chapel

was made to look very gay and gorgeous with hangings and decorations;

even before the ladies in rich dresses and with all their costliest

jewels on, and the gentlemen in brilliant uniforms and Court-costumes

arrived. The bridegroom, when he walked up the aisle, between his father

and his brother, bowing affably right and left, drew forth murmurs of

admiration by his rare beauty and grace--princeliest of Princes.

The Queen is described as looking unusually pale, but very lovely, in a

magnificent robe of lace over white satin trimmed with orange blossoms,

and with a most exquisite Honiton veil. In the midst of her twelve

bridesmaids, her face radiant with happiness, she seemed like the whitest

of diamonds set in pearls--or so they say.

Her Majesty is also described as bearing herself with great dignity and

composure, and to have gone through the service very solemnly. And yet I

have heard a little story that runs thus: When Prince Albert, in this

last act of "_Le Jeune Homme Pauvre_" came to repeat, as he placed

the ring on her finger, the words, "With all my worldly goods I thee

endow," the merry girl-Queen was unable to suppress an arch smile.

The Duchess of Kent is described as looking "tearful and distressed." Ah,

why will mothers always cry at their daughters' weddings, even when they

have hoped and schemed for that very match; and why will brides, though

ever so much in love, weep, first or last, on the wedding morning? Lady

Lyttleton, in her correspondence, said of the Queen--"Her eyes were

swollen with tears; but," she adds, "there was great happiness in her

countenance, and her look of confidence and comfort at the Prince, when

they walked away, as man and wife, was very pleasant to see."

Ah, "when they walked away as man and wife"--now simply and for always to

each other, "Albert" and "Victoria," the separate life of our "Prince

Charming" closed. Thenceforth, the two bright life-streams seemed to flow

on together, completely merged, indistinguishable, indivisible, but only

_seemed_--for, alas, one has reached the great ocean before the

other.

PART III.

WIFEHOOD AND MOTHERHOOD.