Books: Life of Her Most Gracious Majesty the Queen V.1.

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St. James's has still a royal resident in the sole surviving member of the
great family of George III., the venerable Duchess of Cambridge, who lives
in the north wing of the palace. Marlborough House and Clarence House are
in the immediate vicinity, indeed the last is so near that it is reached by
a covered way. And as if to make the sense of the neighbourhood of a
cluster of royal establishments more vivid, and the thought of the younger
generation of the Royal Family more present in the old place, as the
visitor passes through its corridors the cannon in the park peals forth the
announcement of the birth of the last of her Majesty's grandchildren.

On the 28th of February, a little more than a fortnight after the marriage,
came the Prince's first practical experience of its cost to him. His father
left on his return to Coburg. "He said to me," the Queen wrote in her
Journal, "that I had never known a father, and could not therefore feel
what he did. His childhood had been very happy. Ernest, he said, was now
the only one remaining here of all his earliest ties and recollections; but
if I continued to love him as I did now, I could make up for all.... Oh!
how I did feel for my dearest, precious husband at this moment! Father,
brother, friends, country, all has he left, and all for me. God grant that
I may be the happy person, the _most_ happy person to make this
dearest, blessed being happy and contented. What is in my power to make
him happy I will do."

Prince Ernest remained in England nearly three months after his father had
left.

Early in March a step was taken to render the Prince's position clearer and
more secure. Letters patent were issued conferring on him precedence next
to the Queen. How necessary the step was, even in this country, towards a
conclusion which appears to us to-day so natural as to be beyond dispute,
may be gathered from the circumstance that, even after the marriage,
objections were made to the Prince's sitting by the Queen's side in the
State carriage on State occasions, and to his occupying a chair of State
next the throne when she opened and prorogued Parliament.

Prince Albert proposed for himself a wise and generous course, which he
afterwards embodied in fitting words--"to sink his own individual existence
in that of his wife, to aim at no power by himself or for himself, to shun
all ostentation, to assume no separate responsibility before the public;
continually and anxiously to watch every part of the public business in
order to be able to advise and assist her at any moment, in any of the
multifarious and difficult questions brought before her--sometimes
political, or social, or personal--as the natural head of the family,
superintendent of her household, manager of her private affairs, her sole
confidential adviser in politics and only assistant in her communications
with the affairs of the Government." In fact, the Prince was the Queen's
private secretary in all save the name, uniting the two departments,
political and social, of such an office which had hitherto been held
separately by Lord Melbourne and Baroness Lehzen.

Prince Albert discharged the double duty with the authority of his rank and
character, and especially of his relations to the Queen. He expressed his
object very modestly in writing to his father: "I endeavour quietly to be
of as much use to Victoria in her position as I can." The post was a most
delicate and difficult one, and would have been absolutely untenable, had
it not been for the perfect confidence and good understanding always
existing between the Queen and the Prince, and for his remarkable command
of temper, and manly forbearance and courtesy, under every provocation, to
all who approached him. Perhaps a still more potent agent was a quality
which was dimly felt from the beginning, and is fully recognised
to-day--his sincerity of nature and honesty of purpose. In the painful
revelations which, alas! time is apt to bring of double-dealing and
self-seeking on the part of men in power, no public character of his day
stands out more honourably in the strong light which posterity is already
concentrating on the words and actions of the past, than does Prince Albert
for undeniable truthfulness and disinterestedness. Men may still cavil at
his conclusions, and maintain that he theorised and systematised and was
tempted to interfere too much, but they have long ceased to question his
perfect integrity and single-heartedness, his rooted aversion to all
trickery and to deceit in every form. "He was an honest man and a noble
prince who did good work," is now said universally of the Queen's husband;
and honesty is not only the highest praise, it is a great power in dealing
with one's fellows.

But it was not in a day or without many struggles that anything approaching
to his aim was achieved. The inevitable irritation caused by the transfer
of power and the disturbance of existing arrangements on the part of a new
comer, the sensitive jealousy which even the Prince's foreign birth
occasioned, had to be overcome before the first approach to success could
be attained.

We can remember that some of the old Scotch Jacobite songs--very sarcastic
where German royal houses were concerned--experienced a temporary revival,
certainly more in jest than in earnest, and with a far higher appreciation
of the fun than of the malice of the sentiment. The favourite was "The wee,
wee German Lairdie," and began in this fashion:--

Wha the Diel hae we gotten for a King,
But a wee, wee German Lairdie?
And when they gaed to bring him hame
He was delvin' in his little kail-yardie.

The last verse declared:--

He'a pu'ed the rose o'English blooms,
He's broken the harp o'Irish, clowns,
But Scotia's thistle will jag his thoomba,
The wee, wee German Lairdie.

A prophecy honoured in its entire breach.

Even tried and trusty friends grown old in Court service could not make up
their minds at once to the changed order of affairs, or resign, without an
effort to retain it, their rule when it came into collision with the wishes
of the new head of the household; Prince Albert, in writing frankly to his
old comrade Prince Lowenstein, said he was very happy and contented, but
the difficulty in filling his place with proper dignity was that he was
only the husband and not the master of the house. The Queen had to assert,
like a true woman, when appealed to on the subject, that she had solemnly
engaged at the altar to obey as well as to love and honour her husband, and
"this sacred obligation she could consent neither to limit nor define."

It may be stated that, in spite of the fidelity and devotion of those who
surrounded the Queen, the old system under which the arrangements of the
palaces were conducted stood in great need of reform. Anything more
cumbrous, complicated, and inconvenient than the plan adopted cannot
easily be conceived. The great establishments were not subject to one
independent, responsible rule, they were divided into various departments
under as many different controlling bodies. Rights and privileges,
sinecures and perquisites, bristled on all sides, and he who would reform
them must face the unpopularity which is almost always the first
experience of every reformer. There is a graphic account of the situation
in the "Life of the Prince Consort," and "Baron Stockmar's Memoirs." "The
three great Officers of State, the Lord Steward, the Lord Chamberlain, and
the Master of the Horse, all of them officials who varied with each change
of the Ministry, and were appointed without regard to any special
qualifications for their office, had each a governing voice in the
regulation of the household.... Thus one section of the palace was
supposed to be under the Lord Chamberlain's charge, another under that of
the Lord Steward, while as to a third it was uncertain whose business it
was to look after it. These officials were responsible for all that
concerned the interior of the building, but the outside had to be taken
care of by the office of Woods and Forests. The consequence was, that as
the inside cleaning of the windows belonged to the Lord Chamberlain's
department, the degree of light to be admitted into the palace depended
proportionably on the well-timed and good understanding between the Lord
Chamberlain's Office and that of Woods and Forests. One portion of the
_personnel_ of the establishment again was under the authority of the
Lord Chamberlain, another under that of the Master of the Horse, and a
third under the jurisdiction of the Lord Steward." "The Lord Steward,"
writes Baron Stockmar, "finds the fuel and lays the fire, and the Lord
Chamberlain lights it.... In the same manner the Lord Chamberlain provides
all the lamps, and the Lord Steward must clean, trim, and light them.
Before a pane of glass or a cupboard door could be mended, the sanction of
so many officials had to be obtained, that often months elapsed before the
repairs were made."

One is irresistibly reminded of the dilemma of the unfortunate King of
Spain, who died from a feverish attack brought on by a prolonged exposure
to a great fire, because it was not etiquette for the monarch to rise, and
the grandee whose prerogative it was to move the royal chair happened to
be out of the way.

"As neither the Lord Chamberlain nor the Master of the Horse has a regular
deputy residing in the palace, more than two-thirds of all the male and
female servants are left without a master in the house. They can come on
and go off duty as they choose, they can remain absent hours and hours on
their days of waiting, or they may commit any excess or irregularity;
there is nobody to observe, to correct, or to reprimand them. The various
details of internal arrangement whereon depend the well-being and comfort
of the whole establishment, no one is cognisant of, or responsible for.
There is no officer responsible for the cleanliness, order, and security
of the rooms and offices throughout the palace."

Doubtless, it was under this remarkable condition of the royal household
that a considerable robbery of silver plate from an _attic_ in which
it was stored took place at Windsor Castle in 1841. Massive silver
encasings of tables, borders of mirrors, fire-dogs and candelabra,
together with the silver ornaments of Tippoo Saib's tent, disappeared in
this way.

It took years to remedy such a state of matters, and it was only by the
exercise of the greatest tact, which, to be sure, was comparatively easy
to the Prince, that the improvement was effected. The necessary reforms
were made to proceed from the officers of State themselves, and the
enforcement of the new regulations was carried out by a Master of the
Household, who resided permanently in the palace which the Queen occupied.
Eventually each royal establishment was brought to a high average of order
and efficiency. If possible, still greater caution had to be practised in
the Prince's dealing with political affairs, for here the jealousy of
foreign influence was national, and among the most deeply rooted of
insular prejudices. In the beginning of their married life the Prince was
rarely with the Queen at her Cabinet Councils, though no objection had
been made to his presence, and he did not take much share in business,
though Lord Melbourne, especially, urged his being made acquainted with it
in all its details. Both in its public and private relations, the path at
starting was not an easy one, while the Prince and the Queen shared its
anxieties and worries. Happily for all, the two, who were alike in sense,
good feeling, and trusting affection, stood firm, and gradually surmounted
the contradictions in their brilliant lot. But it was probably under
these influences that Baron Stockmar, always exacting in the best
interests of those he loved, fancied--even while he had no hesitation in
recording the Prince behaved in his difficult position very well--that a
friend had reason to dread in the young man not yet twenty-one, the old
defects of dislike to intellectual exertion and indifference to politics.
No efforts were wanting on the part of the good old mentor, who in his
absence kept up a constant correspondence with the Prince, to preserve the
latter's "ideal aspirations." Sometimes, the keen observer feared that the
object of his dreams and cares was losing courage for his self-imposed
Herculean labours, but the brave will and loyal heart proved triumphant.

That spring and the next two springs and summers were gay seasons in
London--and London life meant then to the Queen and the Prince an
overwhelming amount of engagements, besides the actual part in the
government of the country. "Levees, Drawing-rooms, presentations of
addresses, great dinners, State visits to the theatre" swelled the long
list. The Prince, like most Germans, was fond of the play, and had a
great admiration of Shakespeare, whose plays were revived at Covent Garden
in 1840, Charles Kemble giving a last glimpse of the glory of the early
Kemble performances. The couple presided over many little balls and dances
which became a Court where the sovereigns were in the heyday of their
youth and happiness. Lady Bloomfield, who as the Hon. Miss Liddell was one
of the Queen's Maids of Honour a little later, gives a pleasant account of
an episode at one of these dances. "One lovely summer's morning we had
danced till dawn, and the quadrangle being then open to the east, her
Majesty went out on the roof of the portico to see the sun rise, which was
one of the most beautiful sights I ever remember. It rose behind St.
Paul's, which we saw quite distinctly; Westminster Abbey and the trees in
the Green Park stood out against a golden sky."

All this innocent gaiety was consecrated by the faithful discharge of duty
and the reverent observance of sacred obligations. At Easter, which was
spent at Windsor, the Queen and the Prince took the Sacrament together for
the first time. "The Prince," the Queen has said, "had a very strong
feeling about the solemnity of the act, and did not like to appear in
company either the evening before or on the day on which, he took it, and
he and the Queen almost always dined alone on these occasions." Her
Majesty has supplied a brief record, in the "Early Years of the Prince
Consort," of one such peaceful evening. "We two dined together. Albert
likes being quite alone before he takes the Sacrament; we played part of
Mozart's Requiem, and then he read to me out of _Stunden den Andacht_
(Hours of Devotion) the article on _Selbster Kentniss_ (Self-knowledge.)"
The whole sounds like a sweet, solemn, blessed pause in the crowded busy
life.

A sudden shock, which was only that of a great danger happily averted,
broke in on the flush of all that was best worth having and doing in
existence, and seemed to utter a warning against the instability of life
at its brightest and fairest. There was stag-hunting on Ascot Heath, at
which the Queen and the Prince were to be present. He was to join in the
hunt and she was to follow with Prince Ernest in a pony phaeton. As she
stood by a window in Windsor Castle, she saw Prince Albert canter past on
a restless and excited horse. In vain the rider turned the animal round
several times, he got the bit between his teeth and started at the top of
his speed among the trees of the Park; very soon he brushed against a
branch and unseated the Prince, who fell, without, however, sustaining any
serious injury. The Queen saw the beginning but not the end of the
misadventure, and her alarm was only relieved by the return of one of the
grooms in waiting, who told the extent of the accident. _Noblesse
oblige._ The Prince mounted a fresh horse and proceeded to the hunt,
and the Queen joined him. "Albert received me on the terrace of the large
stand and led me up," the Queen wrote in her Journal. "He looked very
pale, and said he had been much alarmed lest I should have been frightened
by his accident.... He told me he had scraped the skin off his poor arm,
had bruised his hip and knee, and his coat was torn and dirty. It was a
frightful fall."

On the 20th of April, an event took place in France which at this time
naturally was particularly interesting both to the Queen and the Prince.
The Duc de Nemours, second son of Louis Philippe and brother to the Queen
of the Belgians, married Princess Victoire of Saxe-Coburg, only daughter
of the head of the Catholic branch of the family, sister of the King
Consort of Portugal, and first cousin both to the Queen and Prince Albert.
This marriage drew many intertwined family ties still more closely
together. Princess Victoire was a pretty golden-haired girl, and is
described afterwards as a singularly sweet, affectionate, reasonable
woman. She had spent much of her youth at Coburg, and been a favourite
playmate of Prince Albert, whose junior she was by three years. She was
the friend of the Queen from girlhood. "We were like sisters," wrote her
Majesty, "bore the same name, married the same year.... There was in short
a similarity between us, which, since 1839, united us closely and
tenderly." The Duc de Nemours, without the intellectual gifts of some of
his brothers, resembled his good mother, Queen Amelie, in many respects.
He had quiet, domestic tastes, and was affectionately attached to his
wife.

CHAPTER X.
ROYAL OCCUPATIONS.--AN ATTEMPT ON THE QUEEN'S LIFE.

The family arrangements in the marriage of the Queen and Prince Albert
appear to have been made with the kindest, most judicious consideration
for what was due to former ties, that all the relations of life might be
settled gradually and naturally, on the footing which it was desirable
they should assume. The connection between the Queen and the Duchess of
Kent was very close. It was that of a mother and child who had been nearly
all in all to each other, who, till Queen Victoria's marriage, had not
been separated for a day. Since the Duchess of Kent's arrival in England,
she had never dwelt alone. It was now deemed advisable that she should
have a separate house, which was, however, to be in constant communication
with the Queen's, the intercourse between the two continuing to be of the
most intimate character, mother and daughter meeting daily and sharing the
most of their pleasures. In April, two months after the marriage, the
Duchess removed to Ingestrie House, Belgrave Square.

In another month, on the 7th of May, Prince Ernest left England. The
parting between the brothers was a severe trial to both. They bade
farewell, German student fashion, singing together beforehand the parting
song _Abschied_.

The young couple were now left in a greater measure to themselves to form
their life, and lead it to noble conclusions. They spent the Queen's
birthday in private at Claremont--a place endeared to her by the happiest
associations of her childhood, and very pleasant to him because of its
country attractions. There the pair could wander about the beautiful
grounds and neighbourhood, as another royal pair had wandered before them,
and do much as they pleased, like simple citizens or great folks living
_in villeggiatura_. The custom was then established of thus keeping
the real birthday together in retirement, while another day was set apart
for public rejoicing.

There is a story told of the Queen and Prince Albert's early visits to
Claremont--a story certainly not without its parallel in the lives of
other popular young sovereigns in their honeymoons, but probable enough in
this case. The couple were caught in a shower, during one of their longer
rambles, and took refuge in a cottage--the old mistress of which was
totally unacquainted with the high rank of her guests. She entertained
them with many extraordinary anecdotes of Princess Charlotte and Prince
Leopold, the original heroine and hero of Claremont. At last the dame
volunteered to give her visitors the loan of her umbrella, with many
charges to Prince Albert that it should be taken care of and returned to
its owner. The Queen and the Prince started on their homeward way under
the borrowed shelter, and it was not for some time that the donor knew
with whom she had gossipped, and to whom she had dealt her favours.

The Prince's first appearance as an art patron took place in connection
with the Ancient Music Concerts. He had already been named one of the
directors who arrange in turn each concert. He made the selections for his
concert on the 29th of April, and both he and the Queen appeared at the
rehearsal on the 27th. Perhaps the gentle science was what he loved above
every other, being a true German in that as in all else. At this time he
played and sang much with the Queen; the two played together often on the
organ in one of his rooms. Lady Lyttelton has described the effect of his
music. "Yesterday evening, as I was sitting here comfortably after the
drive by candlelight, reading M. Guizot, suddenly there arose from the
room beneath, oh, such sounds! It was Prince Albert, dear Prince Albert,
playing on the organ; and with such master skill, as it appeared to me,
modulating so learnedly, winding through every kind of bass and chord,
till he wound up with the most perfect cadence, and then off again, louder
and then softer. No tune, as I was too distant to perceive the execution
or small touches so I only heard the harmony, but I never listened with
much more pleasure to any music. I ventured at dinner to ask him what I
had heard. 'Oh! my organ, a new possession of mine. I am so fond of the
organ! It is the first of instruments; the only instrument for expressing
one's feelings' (I thought, are they not good feelings that the organ
expresses?), 'and it teaches to play; for on the organ a mistake, oh! such
misery;' and he quite shuddered at the thought of the _sostenuto_
discord."

But while the Prince was an enthusiastic musician, he was likewise fond of
painting; his taste and talent in this respect also having been carefully
cultivated. In these sunshiny early days, sunshiny in spite of their
occasional clouds, he still possessed a moderate amount of leisure,
notwithstanding the late hours night and morning, of which the Queen took
the blame, declaring it was her fault that they breakfasted at ten,
getting out very little--a practice quite different from their later
habits. He seized the opportunity of starting various pursuits which
formed afterwards the chief recreation of his and the Queen's laborious
days. He tried etching, which afforded the two much entertainment, and he
began his essays in landscape gardening, developing a delightful faculty
with which she had the utmost sympathy.

On the 1st of June the Prince took the initiatory step in identifying
himself with moral and social progress, and in placing himself, as the
Queen's representative, at the head of those humane and civilising
movements which recommended themselves to his good judgment and
philanthropic spirit. He complied with the request that he should be
chairman at a meeting to promote the abolition of the slave trade, and
made his first public speech in advocacy of justice between man and man.
This speech was no small effort to a young foreigner, who, however
accomplished, was certainly not accustomed to public speaking in a foreign
tongue. It was like delivering a maiden speech under great difficulties,
and as it was of importance that he should produce a good impression, he
spared no preparation for the task. He composed the speech himself, learnt
it by heart, and repeated it to the Queen in the first instance.

Among the crowd present was the young Quaker lady, Caroline Fox, whose
"Memories" have been given to the world. She wrote at the time: "The
acclamations attending his (the Prince's) entrance were perfectly
deafening, and he bore them all with calm, modest dignity, repeatedly
bowing with considerable grace. He certainly is a very beautiful young
man, a thorough German, and a fine poetic specimen of the race. He uttered
his speech in a rather low tone and with the prettiest foreign accent."

On the 18th of the same month great horror and indignation were excited by
the report of an attempt to assassinate the Queen. About six o'clock on
the June evening, her Majesty was driving, according to her usual custom,
with Prince Albert. The low open phaeton, attended by two equeries, was
proceeding up Constitution Hill, on its way first to the house of the
Duchess of Kent in Belgrave Square and afterwards to Hyde Park. Suddenly a
little man leaning against the park railing drew a pistol from under his
coat and fired at her Majesty, who was sitting at the farther side from
him. He was within six yards of the phaeton--so near, in fact, that the
Queen, who was looking another way, neither saw him nor comprehended for a
moment the cause of the loud noise ringing in her ears. But Prince Albert
had seen the man hold something towards them, and was aware of what had
occurred. The horses started and the carriage stopped. The Prince called
to the postillions to drive on, while he caught the Queen's hands and
asked if the fright had not shaken her, but the brave royal heart only
made light of his alarm. He looked again, and saw the same man still
standing in a theatrical attitude, a pistol in each hand. The next instant
the fellow pointed the second pistol and fired once more. Both the Queen
and the Prince saw the aim, as well as heard the shot, on this occasion,
and she stooped, he pulling her down that the ball might pass over her
head. In another moment the man, who still leant against the railing,
pistols in hand, with much bravado and without any attempt to escape, was
seized by a bystander. In the middle of the consternation and wrath of the
gathering crowd, the Queen and the Prince went on to the Duchess of Kent
that they might be the first to tell her what had happened and assure her
of the safety of her daughter. A little later, in order to show the people
that the Queen had not lost her confidence in them, the couple carried out
their original intention of taking a drive in Hyde Park. There they were
received with a perfect ovation, a crowd of nobility and gentry in
carriages and on horseback forming a volunteer escort on the way back to
Buckingham Palace, where another multitude awaited them, vehemently
cheering, as the Queen, pale but smiling and bowing, re-entered her
palace. The wretched lad who was the author of the attack did not deny it,
but seemed rather sorry that it had failed to inflict any injury, though
he had no motive to allege for such a crime. In spite of the strictest
search no ball could be found, which left the question doubtful whether or
not the pistols had been loaded. On further examination it proved that the
lad, Edward Oxford--not above eighteen years of age, was a discharged
barman from a public-house in Oxford Street. His father, who was dead, had
been a working jeweller in Birmingham.

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