CHAPTER II

PRINCESS VICTORIA’S MOTHER AND UNCLE

“A country gentleman going to the theatre when William IV. was there would not believe the King was King because he was not wearing his crown; being almost persuaded, he looked more closely and then was quite sure that William was not the King, for the Lion and the Unicorn did not hang down on each side of him, and he had always been taught--and implicitly believed--that the King of England had never had any other arms than these.”--_Contemporary Gossip._

From what has been said of the treatment given to the Duchess of Kent it can hardly be wondered at that she turned from the whole Royal family, though she could not always resist the kindness of the Duchess of Clarence, who came to weep with her and to admire the fat, good baby. The Duke of Sussex, too, did his best to show by his visits and advice that she might rely upon his friendship, but on the whole the resentment felt by the widowed mother was so keen that she would do nothing to conciliate the people among whom she thought it wise to live. Thus until the death of William IV. in 1837 there were constant royal disputes, which increased in bitterness as Victoria neared her majority.

The Duke of Wellington sometimes took an active part in trying to make things run smoothly for the Duchess, even against her will. For instance, he knew not only the Duke of Cumberland’s sentiments about her, but he knew also that Cumberland was an ugly hater. He had married in 1815 and his wife was not received by his mother, Queen Charlotte, so the Duchess of Kent, following her lead, took no notice of the Duchess of Cumberland when she came to take up her residence in England. Upon this, the Duke of Wellington told Leopold to advise his sister to write regretting that she was unable to welcome her on her arrival, and so was prevented from calling. When the lady of Kent got the message she wanted to know why she should do this thing, and Wellington replied that he should not tell her why, that he knew what was going on better than she did, and advised her for her own sake to do as he suggested. The Duchess returned that she would give him credit for counselling her well, and did as he suggested. For this act of politeness she reaped her reward in remaining untroubled for a long time by any active show of enmity from the Duke of Cumberland.

As a matter of fact, the Duchess of Kent had her share of the Teutonic quality of self-complacence; she was a strong woman who knew her own mind and who had very definite aims in life, and she did not think it worth while to placate anyone. Either anger against the Royal Family made her continually show haughtiness to them, or she was obsessed by a sense of the very important position she held as mother of a possible Sovereign of England. A weaker person, possessing a greater charm and tact, and imbued with less determination to secure her own rights, would have sailed serenely and almost unconsciously through troubles which the Duchess always met more than half-way, if she did not actually cause them. Perhaps had she insisted less definitely upon recognition for herself, that recognition would have been more freely accorded.

It was even more difficult for her to meet William IV. cordially than George IV. for the reason that they not only met more often, but that, while William readily recognised the child as his probable successor, George had for years refused to see her. It was not until Victoria was seven that she and her mother received an invitation to go to Windsor, and there is recorded an incident of that visit which, though amusing, is somewhat provocative of cynicism. George told this infant to choose a tune for the band to play, and she gave the diplomatic answer that she wanted them to play “God save the King.” One wonders whether she had run to an astute mother for advice, whether it was her favourite tune in actual fact, or whether the unwonted delights of her visit, and the kindness of George, the hitherto unknown uncle, made her spontaneously think of the air which would best please him. Whatever the motive had been, it was a clever reply.

When William IV. became King in 1830 he desired that the Princess Victoria should attend the Court functions, and we are given a ludicrous picture of this child of eleven, dressed in a long Court train and a veil reaching to the ground, following Queen Adelaide at a chapter of the Order of the Garter held at St. James’ Palace. She was also present at the prorogation of Parliament, and attended her first Drawing Room in February, 1831, in honour of the Queen’s birthday. Royalties of the time were inconsistent with regard to their birthdays. Thus on this occasion Adelaide’s natal day was honoured in February, while in 1836 it was kept in August. In that latter year, too, according to the papers, the King’s birthday was celebrated both in May and August! But the Duchess did not willingly allow her child to go to Court. She may have feared the influence of the coarse manners and uncontrolled tempers shown by the Princes, but this could not have been an excuse for slighting Queen Adelaide. However, there is no record from her own pen of the reason which induced her to keep Princess Victoria at home.

As soon as King George was dead, the Duchess made the first false move in her relations with William. She was too anxious for recognition, too eager to secure what she thought was due to her, and she did not give the new King the chance of showing his appreciation of her change of circumstances. She wrote to the Duke of Wellington, then Prime Minister, asking that a suitable income should be bestowed upon her and her daughter, over which allowance she should have full control, and that the Princess should be put on the footing of Heir-Apparent. It is hard to imagine a more injudicious course for her to have taken. There had just been elevated to the Throne a man who had been comparatively poor all his life, and who was looking forward to the luxury of exercising a great power; one who had a quick temper, to which he gave uncontrolled expression. His wife had borne two children, both of whom had died, and there was still the possibility that she might give birth to more. Yet here, before he had had time to realise his position, was a woman whom he disliked dictating to him what her place should be near the Throne, and demanding that her daughter at once should be recognised as next in succession.

To the demands of the Duchess the Duke of Wellington replied that nothing could even be proposed for her until the Civil List was settled, but that nothing should be considered without her knowledge. This reply is said to have much offended the Duchess, and for a long time she ignored the gallant old man when she met him.

This incident probably left its stamp upon the future intercourse of the King and the Duchess; it certainly affected William’s attitude at the Coronation in 1831; for he insisted upon being immediately followed in the procession, not by the little Victoria, but by his brothers. Everyone expected to see the child taking part in the festivities of that day, but when the morning arrived, and the most wonderful and gorgeous carriages rolled up to the Abbey, none of them held the Princess. All the world wondered where were mother and child, and then _The Times_ published an article upon the matter, accusing the Duchess of staying away through pique, and commenting strongly upon the “systematic opposition” which Her Royal Highness showed “to all the wishes and all the feelings of the present King.” Some newspapers had got into the facetious habit of alluding to _The Times_ as Grandmamma, but on this occasion the _Morning Post_ insulted its great relative by accusing it of “grossness and scurrility,” and affirming that a place had been allotted to the Princess which was derogatory to her rank; which after all was scarcely a refutation of the charge against the Duchess. When questions on this matter of absence were asked in Parliament, it was vaguely asserted that sufficient reasons had existed with which the King was perfectly satisfied. _The Globe_--among others--announced that the Princess had been kept away through illness, and this was the impression which it seemed most politic to accept. It appeared that Lord de Ros, whose sister was Maid-of-Honour to the Queen, had written the offending article in _The Times_, and it is quite likely, not only that he believed what he wrote, but that it was true, in spite of the reports that the Duchess “was in the greatest distress and vexation over the matter.” For though the indisposition of the Princess was said to have “rendered her removal from the Isle of Wight to town to take part in so exciting a pageant much too hazardous to be attempted,” the little lady was the centre of a crowd two or three days later when she laid the foundation stone of a new church at East Cowes. It is also quite certain that the Princess anticipated going, for in later life she often, when speaking of that time to her children, mentioned how bitterly she cried at her mother’s decision, and her disappointment when she was kept at home. “Nothing could console me, not even my dolls,” she said.

Both King and country showed confidence in the Duchess when the Regency Bill was under discussion--an important Bill, for if the King died, a minor would become the Sovereign. It was decided that if Queen Adelaide bore another child she should hold the post of Regent, but otherwise, during the minority of the Princess Victoria, the Duchess of Kent should be Regent. When this Bill was framed, the Duke of Wellington, mindful of his promise, asked the King’s leave to wait upon the Duchess with it. The King agreed, and the Duke wrote to Her Royal Highness saying that he had a communication to make to her on the part of His Majesty, and therefore proposed to wait upon her at Kensington Palace. The Duchess was, however, at Claremont, and from there she sent the following reply:--

“MY LORD DUKE,

I have just received your letter of this date. As it is not convenient for me to receive Your Grace at Kensington, I prefer having in writing, addressed to me here, the communication you state the King has commanded you to make to me.

“VICTORIA.”

[Illustration:

_Photo_ _Emery Walker._

QUEEN ADELAIDE.

From the Painting by Sir William Beechey, in the National Portrait Gallery.]

It would seem as though the Duchess not only distrusted the King’s word, but had not yet forgiven the Duke for not being able to accede to her earlier request. Had she sent her general adviser, Sir John Conroy, to negotiate with the Duke, or had she invited the latter to Claremont, she would have kept within the limits of politeness; as it was, the only thing left for the Duke to do was to send the Bill to her to study, as he could not in writing give all the explanations he had intended. In the meanwhile Lord Lyndhurst had brought up the measure in the House of Lords, and the Duchess of Kent had sent Conroy up to hear him.

Sir John Conroy was very much in the confidence of the Duchess. He had been equerry to the Duke of Kent for ten years, and had been greatly trusted by His Royal Highness, so much so that he was appointed co-executor of the Duke’s will, with General Wetherall as colleague. After his master’s death Conroy became _major-domo_ to the Duchess, and was consulted by her in all things. There are some indications that he fostered the desire for greater importance, and it is possible that some of the troubles that made so indelible an impression upon the mind of the Princess were due to his influence. It was a great pity, for the Duchess could quite safely have left her dignity in the hands of the King’s Ministers. Such men as Wellington or Lyndhurst, or even those of the Opposition, Melbourne and Brougham, would have seen that so important a person as the mother of the heiress to the Throne received her due. She could not be sure of the King, for, when he disliked a person, were it man or woman, his manners were atrocious. But as one cynical subject once asked in reference to him, “What can you expect of a man with a head like a pineapple?” Greville made the further complimentary remark concerning something that the King had said, “If he were not such an ass that nobody does anything but laugh at what he says, this would be very important.”

However, William was by no means always an ass. He alternately aroused laughter and admiration, and sometimes, among individuals, fierce anger. When in good health he was lively and appreciated a joke, and, unlike his predecessor, he was conscientious in seeing to business matters and keeping his engagements. Even Greville, who, in spite of his sweeping judgments, was an honest critic, not often allowing mere prejudice to warp his opinion, said of William on another occasion, “The fact is he turns out to be an incomparable King, and deserves all the encomiums lavished upon him.” William horrified people at first by prying into every concern; he actually, to the stupefaction of some, reviewed the Guards, both horse and foot, and spent some energy in “blowing up” the people at the Court, actions which were regarded as symptoms of a disordered mind. Later, when suffering from illness, he did not hesitate to “blow up” his Prime Minister, or the Commander-in-Chief, or the guest at his table--and all in public! During the first year of his reign people thought and spoke of nothing but the King, how he slept in a cot, how he dismissed his brother’s cooks, how he insisted upon sitting backwards when in a carriage, refusing to allow anyone to occupy the seat facing him. One day he went to inspect the Tower of London, and a contemporary writer gives this picture of the Royal party:--

“The King is a little, old, red-nosed, weather-beaten, jolly-looking person, with an ungraceful air and carriage; and as to the Duke of Sussex, what with his stiff collar and cocked hat bobbing over his face, nothing could be seen of him but his nose. He seemed quite overcome with heat, and went along puffing and panting with the great, fat Duchess of Cumberland leaning on his arm. The Queen is even worse than I thought--a little insignificant person as ever I saw. She was dressed, as perhaps you will see by the papers, ‘exceeding plain,’ in bombazine with a little shabby muslin collar, dyed Leghorn hat, and leather shoes.”

Creevy went to the opera on a Royal night, and his impressions, related in his own peculiarly flippant way, were as follows:--“Billy 4th at the Opera was everything one could wish: a more _Wapping_ air I defy a King to have--his hair five times as full of _poudre_ as mine, and his seaman’s gold lace cock-and-pinch hat was charming. He slept most of the Opera--never spoke to anyone, or took the slightest interest in the concern.... I was sorry not to see more of Victoria: she was in a box with the Duchess of Kent, opposite, and, of course, rather under us. When she looked over the box I saw her, and she looked a very nice little girl indeed.”

He adds a little later that when the question of proroguing Parliament by commission arose, and Lord Grey said to William that it was, of course, quite out of the question to ask him to prorogue in person, the King replied: “My Lord, I’ll go, if I go in a hackney coach,” which showed at least the true kingly spirit, even if it was perturbing to his Minister. William meant it, too, and Lord Durham had to borrow the Chancellor’s carriage and dash off to the Master of the Horse, whom he found at breakfast. On the demand being made that he should at once have the King’s equipage sent round, the latter asked:

“What, is there a revolution?”

“No,” was the answer, “but there will be if you stop to finish that meal first.”

In 1834 Oliver Wendell Holmes was in England, and he also went to the Opera one night when the King was present. His impressions are to the full as uncomplimentary and as outspoken as those of the jovial Creevy.

“I went last night to the Royal Opera, where they were to be in state. I had to give more than two dollars for a pit ticket,[2] and had hardly room to stand up, almost crowded to death. The Duchess of Kent and the Princess Victoria--a girl of fifteen--came in first on the side opposite the King’s box. The audience applauded somewhat, not ferociously.... The Princess is a nice, fresh-looking girl, blonde, and rather pretty. The King looks like a retired butcher. The Queen is much such a person as the wife of the late William Frost, of Cambridge, an exemplary milkman, now probably immortal on a slab of slatestone as a father, a husband, and a brother. The King blew his nose twice, and wiped the royal perspiration repeatedly from a face which is probably the largest uncivilised spot in England.” The critic adds, in excuse for his plain speaking, “I have a disposition to tartness and levity which tells to the disadvantage of the Royal living and advantage of the plebeian defunct, but it is accidental and must be forgiven.”

But to return to the reasons for the animosity between the King and the Duchess of Kent. There was another person besides Conroy about the Duchess’s household who was generally regarded as injudicious, and whose name was speedily written in the King’s bad books. This was John George Lambton, created Earl of Durham in 1833, a man of whom Lord Brougham said that he had many good and some great qualities, but all were much obscured, and even perverted, by his temper, which was greatly affected by the painful liver disease from which he suffered. Creevy speaks of him, soon after the death of his first wife, as an excellent host, as full of good qualities, and possessing remarkable talents, adding that “his three little babies are his great resource.” Durham once said that he thought £40,000 a year a moderate income--one which a man might just jog on with; and the phrase was never forgotten, he being called “Old Jog” or “King Jog” by some of his friends ever after.

Before his elevation to the peerage Durham had been very friendly with the Duke of Kent, for they thought alike in politics, both being Whigs. Thus from the start Durham was associated with the Kent household; and as he was arrogant and tactless, with tremendous ideas about money, he must have been one of the worst advisers that the Duchess could have secured. He seems to have been particularly active in small matters before the commencement of William’s reign, becoming Leopold’s right-hand man when he thought of accepting the position of King of Greece, drawing up all his papers for him, and being “his bottle-holder ever since.” Greville styles him the Duchess of Kent’s “magnus Apollo.” When Leopold left England, Durham became more useful still to the Duchess, and is heard of constantly in connection with the affairs at Kensington. In 1831 the Duchess hired Norris Castle, in the Isle of Wight, for the autumn, and Lord Durham is mentioned as being there as a guest; one malicious commentary upon the matter being that “Lord Durham was acting the part of Prime Minister to the Duchess of Kent and _Queen_ Victoria, who were all together making their arrangements for a new reign”; and it was a general opinion that when the Princess ascended the throne Durham would be first favourite with her and her mother. On his return from an Extraordinary Embassy to St. Petersburg the King gave him an audience, which, says Greville, “must have been very agreeable to him (the King), as he hates him and the Duchess of Kent.”

There are many little stories told of this man’s pettishness; his second wife was the daughter of Lord Grey, and it is said that he harassed the life out of his father-in-law during the Reform agitation. Once when Lord Grey was speaking he rudely interrupted him. Grey paused, and said, “My dear Lambton, only hear what I am going to say,” whereupon the other jumped up, replying, “Oh, if I am not to be allowed to speak, I may as well go away”; so, ordering his carriage, he departed.

In a bad mood he once said evil things about Lady Jersey, accusing her of defaming his wife to the Queen, and declaring that Lady Durham should demand an audience of Her Majesty to contradict these scandals. For once he had met his peer in bad temper, for Lady Jersey, at the Drawing Room which was the cause of little Victoria’s first appearance at William’s Court, saw him standing at the opposite side of the room. She went close to him, and said loudly:

“Lord Durham, I hear that you have said things about me which are not true, and I desire that you will call upon me to-morrow with a witness to hear my denial.”

She was in a fury, and put Lord Durham into the same state. He, turning white, muttered that he would never go into her house again, but she had flounced back to her seat, and did not hear him.

Durham naturally made an enemy of a man like Brougham, who was too extreme himself to like the same quality in another, and when Durham resigned office a popular couplet ran:

“Bore Durham fell--(ye Whigs his loss deplore)-- Pierced by the tusks of Brougham--greater Bore.”

There seems to be no record of the Duchess of Kent asking advice, consulting the King, or even telling him her plans; she marked out her own path and took it composedly, leaving the consequences to follow. She probably reasoned that the Princess was her child, and she was the recognised guardian, therefore she could act independently. That she brought her up well is evident, though in these days so often called degenerate, and yet so full of happiness for children, most mothers would be sorry for a babe of six years old who had to carry home on Sunday morning the text of the sermon with the heads of the discourse. I have read somewhere that the child would fix her eyes upon the clergyman’s face as soon as he began his sermon, and never move them while he continued to speak, seeming to give a preternatural attention to all that he said; the reason being explained by the fact that her mother desired to test her appreciation of his address by putting that strain upon her memory and understanding. Well, many mothers did the same thing in those days, but, fortunately for the children, we have a better sense of what is fitting to-day.

When the extra allowance of £10,000 was made to the Duchess in 1831, the Duchess of Northumberland was appointed governess to Victoria, and went to Kensington each day to superintend the studies. The _Court Journal_, in commenting upon this, spoke of the Princess as the Duchess’s “great charge,” upon which _Figaro in London_ made the remark that it was scarcely according to fact to call the child a great charge to her governess, though it might with propriety be admitted that “her little Royal Highness was a _great charge_ to the country,” a weak pun based upon insufficient cause, as the family income was, all things considered, by no means large.

Those who had so far helped in the Princess’s education deserve a word. The person who earliest exercised her authority was Louise Lehzen, the daughter of a Lutheran clergyman in Hanover, who had been governess to Princess Féodore, the Duchess’s elder daughter by the Prince of Leiningen. In 1824, by the command of George IV., this lady transferred her attentions to Princess Victoria, and from that time until 1842 was her constant companion. The fact that she came from a small German State was sufficient to make her unpopular in England, but she won the child’s confidence, and helped in teaching her the usual accomplishments of the day. That she was a governess in reality may be doubted; she talked much but knew little, and had no respect for progressive ideas in education, though she was shrewd in judgment. The Princess both loved and feared her, saying after her death in 1870: “She knew me from six months old, and from my fifth to my eighteenth years devoted all her care and energies to me with most wonderful abnegation of self, never even taking one day’s holiday. I adored, though I was greatly in awe of her. She really seemed to have no thought but for me.”

Among the close friends of Baroness Lehzen--she was created, by the suggestion of Princess Sophia, a Hanoverian Baroness in 1826, when Dr. Davys was appointed as tutor to the Princess--was the Baroness Späth, who had for a long time been Lady-in-Waiting to the Duchess, and might have continued to hold the post had not Sir John Conroy quarrelled with her and secured her dismissal. For this maybe he, in later years, failed to reach the honours to which he aspired, for Lehzen never forgave him, and remained his enemy to the end. Who can say that her dislike of the Duchess’s counsellor did not influence the Princess’s feelings towards him? Baroness Späth perhaps annoyed the Duchess as well as Conroy by her exuberant love for the Princess. It is mentioned in a letter from Princess Féodore to the Queen: “There certainly never was such devotedness as hers to all our family, although it sometimes showed itself rather foolishly--with you it was always a sort of idolatry, when she used to go upon her knees before you when you were a child. She and poor old Louis did all they could to spoil you.”

Louis had been an attendant and dresser to Princess Charlotte, and she remained until her death, in 1838, in the service of Victoria, who felt much affection for her.

Baroness Lehzen was only responsible for the child’s training for three years, for when the Princess was about eight years old, as has been said, a grant of six thousand a year--in addition to the six thousand then forming the Duchess’s income--was allowed “for the purpose of making an adequate provision for the honourable support and education of Her Highness Princess Alexandrina Victoria of Kent.” It was really felt that the child needed to be under English tuition, and a country clergyman, the Rev. George Davys, became her tutor. No sooner had the Duchess chosen him than King William asserted that it was a bad choice, and that no one under the rank of a prelate should have been offered the work, whereupon the Duchess intimated that it would be quite easy to give Mr. Davys a bishopric; and this was eventually done, though at first the Crown living of St. Hallows-on-the-Wall in the City was the preferment bestowed. Mr. Davys gathered various masters to teach the Princess different subjects, but from many sources it is seen that Baroness Lehzen still did much of the elementary teaching, though her labours in this respect stopped when the Duchess of Northumberland took charge. Mr. Davys’s daughter, a girl a little older than the Princess, shared the tuition, and, as far as can be told, represented most of what the Princess knew of child companionship. When Victoria became Queen this early friend was made permanent Woman of the Bedchamber.

The strained relations between the King and his sister-in-law took active form over what were known as the Duchess’s progresses. On looking at the matter from this long distance of time, it is impossible not to agree with the Duchess that it was well that the child should see England, should know the different districts of the country, should visit the manufacturing towns, the seats of learning, and the beautiful hills in the north and west. The grievance lay, first and foremost, in the fact that the King would have liked to introduce his successor to his people through Court functions and constant companionship, but was debarred almost entirely from seeing her; and, secondly, that the Duchess planned all her journeys quite independently of the King, and demanded Royal honours wherever she went. Thus for some years from 1832 an annual series of visits was projected, taking place generally in the autumn. The first of which we have any definite account was made in 1832, and shows an extraordinary activity. The Duchess and her suite went to Chatsworth, Hardwicke Hall, Chesterfield, Matlock; to the Earl of Shrewsbury’s at Alton Towers, and to the Earl of Liverpool’s at Shrewsbury, where they knew they would have a warm welcome, as Lady Catherine Jenkinson, Lord Liverpool’s daughter, was one of the Ladies in Waiting upon the Duchess. This was followed by visits to Oakley Park, Howell Grange, and Oxford, where the degree of Doctor was conferred upon Conroy. Powis Castle, the early home of the Duchess of Northumberland, was also visited, and a house rented at Beaumaris, on the Isle of Anglesey, for a month, whence they had to flee, because of an epidemic of cholera, to Plâs Newydd, the home of the Marquis of Anglesey, on the Menai Straits, which the Marquis gladly put at their disposal.

In Wales, Victoria, a child of thirteen, presented prizes at the Eisteddfod, laid the foundation of a boys’ school, and, on her way back through Chester, opened a new bridge over the Dee.

Year after year tours of this sort were carried out, the arrangements being in the hands of Sir John Conroy--“a ridiculous fellow,” says Greville--who seemed to have given every opening that he could for loyal speeches, which, in the peculiar circumstances, could not avoid touching upon dangerous topics.

On the whole, the laudatory biographies of Queen Victoria have shown great injustice to William IV. The writers of those biographies, painfully anxious to please living people, have not allowed themselves to exercise either sound criticism or sound judgment. They have made the King a vulgar, brutal monster, always ready to insult “defenceless women,” and have extolled the Duchess of Kent as a miracle of propriety and wisdom. As a matter of fact, both of them, in different ways, were wanting in self-control; both were people of passionate temperament, the King hotly so, the Duchess in a more reserved but equally intractable way. At that time William still had a faint hope that his wife might bear children--a fact that is shown in the negotiations concerning the Regency, and in various little significant events. For that reason he insisted upon Princess Victoria being regarded as Heir Presumptive, which was keenly resented by the Duchess, who thought that the right title should be Heir Apparent. Thus when all the papers detailed the events of the Duchess’s tours through the country, and gave in full many loyal speeches and their acknowledgments, or if they did not give them in full were particular to pick out the most striking passages, it is scarcely to be wondered at that the soul of the King was shaken with rage, for these speeches were sometimes a little too anticipatory to be pleasant to him. “The Princess who will rule over us,” was a common phrase, to which the Duchess responded freely with “your future Queen,” softening the expression, however, with the pious wish, “I trust at a very distant date.”

These progresses, lasting sometimes for a couple of months or even longer, gave the young Princess much information, and showed her something of England; she probably liked the novelty at first, and all through enjoyed some incidents and the kindness offered her. She is said to have displayed wonderfully precocious powers of shrewdness (a cheap bit of praise!), and to have written long letters to her governess, describing, “with an accuracy, minuteness, and spirit quite extraordinary,” her impressions of the manners, customs, and peculiarities of the people in the various towns she visited. But there were times when she was bored to death. The absurd triumphal meanderings through this town and that, bowing here, bowing there, surrounded by crowds sometimes so dense that the carriage could not move, cheered, gazed at, addressed by mayors and popular speakers--all this became dull and tedious to her. A young thing who should have been playing at ball and learning French verbs had to sit for hours playing, instead, at being grown up, and when she entered a house as a guest had to retain a dignified manner, had to lead off the dance with a middle-aged host instead of romping with his young people, and for dreary weeks had to assume a mock royalty. There must have been also moments of acute pain; for a girl of that age, at least in the present day, will turn scarlet with anger if she and her qualities are discussed before her face, without perhaps quite comprehending why she feels that such a course is a dire and undignified offence, by inference depriving her of her sensibility and relegating her to the position of the unthinking creatures who cannot understand what is said.

Yet little Victoria had to listen daily to the speeches made by her mother, in which her education, her tendencies, and the desires concerning her were fully described to the “great unwashed.” Such instances as the following were of common occurrence. When, in 1833, mother and child attended the ceremony of opening the pier at Southampton, the Mayor offered a loyal address, to which the Duchess replied, among other things, that it was a great advantage to the Princess to be thus early taught the importance of being attached to works of utility, adding that it was her anxious desire to impress upon her daughter the value of everything recommended by its practical utility to all classes of the community.

On another occasion she said to the public crowd,“I cannot better allude to your good feeling towards the Princess than by joining fervently in the wish that she may set an example in her conduct of that piety towards God and charity towards men which is the only sure foundation either of individual happiness or national prosperity.”

Again she would say that “it was the object of her life to render her daughter deserving of the affectionate solicitude she so universally inspired, and to make her worthy of the attachment and respect of a free and loyal people.” These sentiments were quite natural and laudable, the only thing wrong about them being that they were expressed publicly and with considerable ceremony before the child of whom they were spoken. For these responses were generally written, and when the moment came for their delivery, John Conroy, standing by the Duchess’s side, would hand up her answer, “just as the Prime Minister hands the King the copy of his speech when opening Parliament.” This habit was specially noticed when, in 1835, the royal pair went through the north-east of England, to York, Wentworth House, Doncaster (where they witnessed the races), Belvoir Castle, Burghley, Lynn, Holkham, and Euston Hall. At Burghley the loyal address spoke of the Princess as one “destined to mount the throne of these realms,” and most splendid preparations were made by Burghley’s master, the Marquis of Exeter, for the lodgment of his guests. The dinner was a great function and all went well until a clumsy or nervous servant slipped and turned the contents of an ice-pail into the Duchess’s lap, “which made a great bustle.” The Princess opened the ball with Lord Exeter, and then, like a good child, went off to bed.

At Holkham a crowd of people were waiting in the brilliantly illuminated Egyptian Hall while the Princess was dragged for miles in her carriage by navvies, making her two hours late. At last a carriage arrived at the Hall containing three ladies, and Mr. Coke, with a lighted candle in each hand, made a profound bow. When he resumed the perpendicular the visitors had vanished, and the host was told that he had been making his obeisance to the dressers! Soon after this, their Royal Highnesses appeared, and the Princess won all by her pleasant courtesy.

It is more than probable that among those who were personally affected by these journeys they were popular, but on the whole they were harshly criticised, not only by those who surrounded the King, but by the diarists of that time, and among those who guided the tone of the newspapers; and these we must suppose gave voice to the general sentiment. It was an age which preferred the retirement of women, and many people were shocked at the publicity of it all. The Duchess went, they affirmed, “to fish up loyalty in the provinces, and to prepare her daughter for the business of sovereignty, which, however, in this free and high-spirited country is merely to be hooted at, cheered, gazed at, dragged in triumph and addressed by the populace.” On one occasion they dined at Plymouth, the blinds up to show the illuminated room to the dense crowd which filled the area of the hotel, “a vulgar process which appears to have excited fresh enthusiasm among the herd of minions who accompanied with adulatory yelps the course of the visitors.”

Apart from the spiteful tone of all this, the charge was true; but the Duchess was right. She was following a certain system of education; she was bringing up a Queen, teaching her the social duties of her station and training her in those habits of self-control and _savoir faire_ which made Victoria astonish England at her accession by her coolness and dignity. Without her mother’s training the Princess would have been far more like the Georges in outward manners than she was; with it she became perhaps too conscious of what was due from others to herself, too ready to be offended if all did not bow to the wishes of “the Crown”; but the gain was the country’s, and the country has largely to thank the Duchess of Kent for a revolution in the character and moral position of the English Sovereign.

It was during the second visit to Norris Castle, in the Isle of Wight, in 1833, that another quarrel took place between the King and his sister-in-law. At Osborne Lodge--the site of the later Osborne Cottage built by Victoria--Sir John Conroy had his residence, where he entertained the two Princesses. They also went to East Cowes, to Whippingham, and crossed over at different times to Portsmouth, to Weymouth, and to Plymouth. They inspected the dockyards, made a cruise to Eddystone Lighthouse, went to Torquay, Exeter and Swanage; the Princess presented new colours to the Royal Irish Fusiliers stationed at Devonport, during which ceremony the Duchess told the troops that “her daughter’s study of English history had inspired her with martial ardour.” Day after day they were crossing and recrossing the Sound, and every time they appeared salutes were fired. It is true that William could not hear the guns at Windsor or at St. James’s, but the knowledge of the daily, and more than daily, recurrence annoyed him. To be saluted on arrival and on departure was one thing, but to have a “continual popping” going on was quite another. So William called a Council, and dignified statesmen had to go to Court to discuss the matter. Greville’s account runs as follows:--

“The King has been (not unnaturally) disgusted at the Duchess of Kent’s progresses with her daughter through the kingdom, and amongst the rest with her sailings at the Isle of Wight, and the continual popping in the shape of salutes to Her Royal Highness. He did not choose that the latter practice should go on, and he signified his pleasure to Sir James Graham and Lord Hill, for salutes are matters of general order, both to Army and Navy.”

It was thought better to make no order on the subject, but that the two gentlemen, with Lord Grey, should open a negotiation with the Duchess, and ask her of her own accord to waive the salutes, and should send word when returning to the Isle of Wight that, as she was sailing about for her amusement, she preferred that she should not be saluted whenever she appeared. However, the Duchess was too childishly fond of the importance of the noise to be a party to its discontinuance, and took council of Conroy, who is reported to have replied, “that, as Her Royal Highness’s _confidential adviser_, he could not recommend her to give way on this point.” The King would not give way either, so by an Order in Council the regulations were altered under the King’s directions, and the Royal Standard was for the future only to be saluted when the King or Queen was on board.

It was a stupid wrangle on a silly subject, but even in so small a matter as this, in the modern desire to justify everything that the mother of Victoria did, writers of royal “Lives” always affirm that the King was bad-tempered enough to object to the salute being offered to the Duchess on her arrival at the commencement of her holiday.

That the Duchess should resent such happenings as this was natural, but it was rather sad that she included her old friend Queen Adelaide in her resentful feelings.

In contemporary writings I find many comments upon the change of manner which she gradually showed towards Adelaide after the former had become Queen. Before that the two ladies had been good friends, but there seems to have arisen such a jealousy on the part of the Duchess that she began to treat the Queen with studied rudeness, and to make absurd demands as to her own treatment. Thus, if she were under the obligation of calling upon the Queen, she would name her own hour, and, if that did not suit Adelaide, would make that an excuse for considering the call paid. In earlier and more friendly times, if one of these ladies went to see the other, she would feel at liberty to go from room to room until she found her. By 1833, however, though the Duchess still followed this custom at the Palace, she would not allow it to the Queen at Kensington, but gave orders that she must await her in this or that room.

In that same year the Duchess had two nephews on a visit at the time when Donna Maria da Gloria of Portugal was staying with the King. The Queen gave a ball for the young people, and between the dances was quite glad to see that little Victoria seemed to care for her as much as ever and constantly came to sit by her side. During the evening Adelaide, wishing to know something of the two young German princelets, asked the Duchess to have them brought to her that she might have a talk with them. But for some hidden reason the Duchess refused, and added to the snub by taking her whole party away long before the ball was over, saying that the Princes had been to a review and were tired. Lady Bedingfield, who tells this story, adds: “Note that they are six feet high and stout for their age!” It is difficult to think that anything but ill-humour was responsible for this, that or the idea that she must show her importance by leaving early, for the Duchess would sometimes keep her daughter at the Opera until a very late hour.

However, gentle-minded Adelaide passed this by and invited the young men down to Windsor, upon which the Duchess wrote one of her characteristic notes, saying that she could not come with them and could not spare them, and as they had paid their respects to the King at the Drawing Room, she did not think the visit to Windsor necessary. There was some discussion between the royal pair as to how this letter should be answered, and the King preferred that a bare acknowledgment should be made. Adelaide had the curiosity to look in the paper to see what these boys were so busy about on the day she had hoped to have them with her, and found that they had spent it at the Zoological Gardens!