It is interesting to note how closely the views of the Prince agreed
with those of John Ruskin in matters of art and literature. Ruskin
declared that it was the greatest misfortune of the age that, owing
to the wholesale introduction of machinery, the designer and maker
were nearly always different people instead of being one and the same
person. He declared that no work of art could really be 'living' or
capable of moving us to admiration as did the masterpieces of the
Middle Ages unless the maker had thought out and designed it himself.
It was largely owing to his teachings that the 'Arts and Crafts'
movement under William Morris and Walter Crane arose--a movement
which has since that time spread over the whole civilized world.
In 1862, together with some of his friends, Morris formed a company
to encourage the use of beautiful furniture and to introduce 'Art
in the House.' Morris himself had learnt to be a practical
carpet-weaver and dyer, and had founded the Society for the
Protection of Ancient Buildings.
All the work of this firm was done by hand as far as possible; only
the best materials were to be used and designs were to be original.
They manufactured stained glass, wall paper, tapestry, tiles,
embroidery, carpets, etc., and many of the designs were undertaken
by Edward Burne-Jones.
Dante Gabriel Rossetti, the poet-painter, Holman Hunt (best
remembered by his famous picture "The Light of the World ") and others,
formed what was known as the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, to instruct
public taste in creative work in art and literature. At the Kelmscott
Press some of the most beautiful printed books of their kind were
produced under the direction of Morris.
Ruskin, like so many others of his time, was greatly influenced by
Carlyle, and his views on the 'condition of England' question were
practically the same. He bewailed the waste of work and of life, the
poverty and the 'sweating.' He urged employers to win the goodwill
of those who worked for them as the best means of producing the best
work. He preached the 'rights' of Labour--that high wages for good
work was the truest economy in the end, and that beating down the
wages of workers does not pay in the long run. He declared that the
only education worth having was a 'humane' education--that is, first
of all, the building of character and the cultivation of wholesome
feelings. "You do not educate a man by telling him what he knew not,
but by making him what he was not," was the theory which he
endeavoured to put into practice by experiments such as an attempt
to teach every one to "learn to do something well and accurately with
his hands."
In common with Wordsworth Ruskin held that the love of Nature was
the greatest of educators. He believed that
The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers.
The beauty and the everlasting marvel of Nature's works were, to him
as to the poet of the Lakes, the real road to knowledge:
Come forth into the light of things,
Let Nature be your teacher.
An education of not the brain alone, but of heart and hand as well,
all three working in co-operation, was necessary to raise man to the
level of an intelligent being.
Ruskin's teachings fared no better than those of Carlyle at first,
and though he is spoken of sometimes as being 'old-fashioned,' yet
his lesson is of the old-fashioned kind which does live and will live,
for, like Dickens, he knew how to appeal to the hearts of his readers.
He is one of the most picturesque writers in the language, a man of
great nobility of character and generous feelings, who had a
tremendous belief in himself and knew how to express his thoughts
in the most beautiful language. Some of his books, for example
_Sesame and Lilies_ and _Unto this Last_, are probably destined for
immortality.
CHAPTER XI: _Albert the Good_
The year 1861 was a black year for the Queen. On March 15th her mother,
the Duchess of Kent, died. She had been living for some time at
Frogmore, a pleasant house in the Windsor Home Park, and here in the
mausoleum erected by her daughter her statue is to be seen.
She was sincerely loved by every member of her household, and her
loss was felt as one affecting the whole nation. In the words of
Disraeli: "She who reigns over us has elected, amid all the splendour
of empire, to establish her life on the principle of domestic love.
It is this, it is the remembrance and consciousness of this, which
now sincerely saddens the public spirit, and permits a nation to bear
its heartfelt sympathy to the foot of a bereaved throne, and to
whisper solace to a royal heart."
The death of the Queen's' mother came as a great shock to the Prince
Consort. The Queen was, for a time, utterly unable to transact any
business, and this added to his already heavy burden of cares and
responsibilities.
In the following November the King of Portugal died. The Prince had
loved him like a son, and this fresh disaster told so severely upon
his health that he began to suffer much from sleeplessness. The
strain of almost ceaseless work for many years was gradually wearing
him out.
He had never been afraid of death, and not long before his last
illness he had said to his wife: "I do not cling to life. You do;
but I set no store by it. If I knew that those I love were well cared
for, I should be quite ready to die to-morrow. . . . I am sure, if
I had a severe illness, I should give up at once, I should not struggle
for life."
On the 1st of December the Queen felt anxious and depressed. Her
husband grew worse and could not take food without considerable
difficulty, and this made him very weak and irritable.
The physicians in attendance were now obliged to tell her that the
illness was low fever, but that the patient himself was not to know
of this. The Ministers became alarmed at his state, and when the news
of his illness became public there was the greatest and most
universal anxiety for news.
In spite of slight improvements from time to time, the Prince showed
no power of fighting the disease, and on the evening of the 14th
December he passed gently away.
It is no exaggeration to say that the death of the Queen's beloved
husband saddened every home in the land; it was a sorrow felt equally
by the highest and the lowest. He died in the fulness of his manhood,
leaving her whom he had loved and guarded so tenderly to reign in
lonely splendour.
In the dedication of _Idylls of the King_ to the memory of Prince
Albert, Tennyson, the poet-laureate, wrote:
Break not, O woman's-heart, but still endure;
Break not, for thou art Royal, but endure,
Remembering all the beauty of that star
Which shone so close beside Thee that ye made
One light together, but has past and leaves
The Crown a lonely splendour.
When one looks over the vista of years which have passed since that
mournful day, it is with sadness mingled with regret. For it is too
true that "a prophet is not without honour, save in his own country."
'Albert the Good' was, like many other great men, in advance of his
times, and not until he was dead did the nation as a whole realize
the blank he had left behind him.
Even so late as 1854 Greville writes in his Diary of the extraordinary
attacks which were made upon the Prince in the public Press. Letter
after letter, he noted, appeared "full of the bitterest abuse and
all sorts of lies. . . . The charges against him are principally to
this effect, that he has been in the habit of meddling improperly
in public affairs, and has used his influence to promote objects of
his own and the interests of his own family at the expense of the
interests of this country; that he is German and not English in his
sentiments and principles; that he corresponds with foreign princes
and with British Ministers abroad without the knowledge of the
Government, and that he thwarts the foreign policy of the Ministers
when it does not coincide with his own ideas and purposes." And again:
"It was currently reported in the Midland and Northern counties, and
actually stated in a Scotch paper, that Prince Albert had been
committed to the Tower, and there were people found credulous and
foolish enough to believe it."
But English gratitude is always such
To hate the hand which doth oblige too much.
These words of Daniel Defoe help to explain something of the attitude
of a part of the nation toward the Prince in his lifetime.
He had given his life in the service of his wife and his adopted
country, but he was a 'foreigner,' and the insular Briton, brought
up in the blissful belief that "one Englishman was as good as three
Frenchmen," could not and would not overcome his distrust of one who
had not been, like himself, so singularly blessed in his nationality.
But Time has its revenges, and the services of Prince Albert will
"smell sweet and blossom in the dust" long after the very names of
once famous lights of the Victorian era have been forgotten.
His home life was singularly sweet and happy, and a great contrast
to that of some of his wife's predecessors upon the English throne.
The Queen, writing to her Uncle Leopold in this the twenty-first year
of their marriage, says: "_Very_ few can say with me that their
husband at the end of twenty-one years is _not_ only full of the
friendship, kindness, and affection which a truly happy marriage
brings with it, but the same tender love of the _very first days of
our marriage_!"
The Prince, in a letter to a friend, rejoiced that their marriage
"still continues green and fresh and throws out vigorous roots, from
which I can, with gratitude to God, acknowledge that much good will
yet be engendered for the world."
The finest tribute to the Prince Consort's memory is to be found in
the Dedication written by Lord Tennyson to his _Idylls of the King_:
These to His Memory--since he held them dear,
Perchance as finding there unconsciously
Some image of himself--I dedicate,
I dedicate, I consecrate with tears--
These Idylls.
Like Arthur, 'the flower of kings,' he was a man of ideals, above
petty jealousies and small ambitions:
Hereafter, thro' all times, Albert the Good.
The _Idylls_ produced such a deep impression upon the Prince that
he wrote to the author, asking him to inscribe his name in the volume.
The book remained always a great favourite with him, and Princess
Frederick William was engaged upon a series of pictures illustrating
her favourite passages at the time of his death.
An enumeration of the varied activities of Prince Albert during his
lifetime would need a volume. His position was always a difficult
one and was seldom made easier by the section of the Press which
singled him out as a target for its poisoned arrows. Only a strong
sense of duty and an unwavering belief in his wife's love could have
sustained him through the many dark hours of tribulation and sorrow.
He rose early all the year round, and prepared drafts of answers to
the Queen's Ministers, wrote letters and had cleared off a
considerable amount of work before many men would have thought of
beginning the day's tasks.
[Illustration: THE ALBERT MEMORIAL]
No article of any importance in the newspapers or magazines escaped
his attention. Every one appealed to him for help or advice, and none
asked in vain. His wide knowledge and judgment were freely used by
the Queen's statesmen, and the day proved all too short for the
endless amount of work which had to be done.
In spite of increasing burdens and poor health he was always in good
spirits. "At breakfast and at luncheon, and also at our family
dinners, he sat at the top of the table, and kept us all enlivened
by his interesting conversation, by his charming anecdotes, and
droll stories without end of his childhood, of people at Coburg, of
our good people in Scotland, which he would repeat with a wonderful
power of mimicry, and at which he would himself laugh most heartily.
Then he would at other times entertain us with his talk about the
most interesting and important topics of the present and of former
days, on which it was ever a pleasure to hear him speak."[10]
[Footnote 10: Queen Victoria's _Journal_.]
His rule in life was to make his position entirely a part of the
Queen's, "to place all his time and powers at her command." Every
speech which he made in public was carefully considered beforehand,
and then written out and committed to memory. As he had to speak in
a foreign tongue, he considered this precaution absolutely necessary.
At the same time it often made him feel shy and nervous when speaking
before strangers, and this sometimes gave to those who did not know
him a mistaken impression of coldness and reserve.
His sympathy with the working classes was sincere and practical. He
was convinced that "any real improvement must be the result of the
exertion of the working people themselves." He was President of the
Society for Improving the Condition of the Labouring Classes, and
never lost an opportunity of pointing out that, to quote his own words,
"the Royal Family are not merely living upon the earnings of the
people (as these publications try to represent) without caring for
the poor labourers, but that they are anxious about their welfare,
and ready to co-operate in any scheme for the amelioration of their
condition. We may possess these feelings, and yet the mass of the
people may be ignorant of it, because they have never heard it
expressed to them, or seen any tangible proof of it."
His grasp of detail and knowledge of home and foreign political
affairs astonished every one who met him, ministers and ambassadors
alike. His writing-table and that of the Queen stood side by side
in their sitting-room, and here they used to work together, every
dispatch which left their hands being the joint work of both. The
Prince corrected and revised everything carefully before it received
the Queen's signature. Considering the small amount of time at his
disposal, it was remarkable how much he was able to read, and read
thoroughly, both with the Queen and by himself. "Not many, but much,"
was his principle, and every book read was carefully noted in his
diary.
Even to the last he exerted his influence in the cause of peace. The
American Civil War broke out in 1861, and Great Britain declared her
neutrality. But an incident, known as 'The Trent Affair,' nearly
brought about a declaration of war.
The Southern States, or 'Confederates,' as they were usually called,
sent two commissioners to Europe on board the British mail steamer
_Trent_. The _Trent_ was fired upon and boarded by a Federal officer,
who arrested the commissioners.
This was regarded as an insult to our flag, as it was a breach of
international law to attack the ship of a neutral power. The
Government therefore decided to demand redress, and a dispatch,
worded by Palmerston, was forwarded to the Queen for her signature.
The Prince realized at once that if the dispatch were forwarded as
it was written it would lead to open war between the Northern States
and our country, and he suggested certain alterations to the Queen,
who agreed to them. A more courteously worded message was sent, and
the Northern States at once agreed to liberate the commissioners and
offered an ample apology.
CHAPTER XII: _Friends and Advisers_
Possibly the person to whom the Queen owed most--next to her
husband--was Lord Melbourne. His position at the time when the young
Queen came to the throne was a unique one. Victoria was just eighteen
years of age--that is to say, if she had been a little younger it
would have been necessary to appoint a Regent until such time as she
came of age. For many years it had not been a matter of certainty
that she would succeed to the throne, and the late King's unreliable
temper had been the means of preventing the matter from being
properly arranged as regards certain advantages which might have
been given to the Princess during his life-time. In many ways,
however, it was fortunate that the Queen came to the throne at such
an early age: if her knowledge of State politics was small, she
possessed, at any rate, a well-trained mind, a sense of duty, and
a clear idea as to the responsibilities of her position as ruler of
a great nation.
There had been four reigning queens in this country before Victoria,
but all of them had had some previous training for their duties. The
two Tudor queens came of a ruling stock, and were older in years and
experience. The times, too, were very different. Queen Elizabeth,
for example, before coming to the throne possessed an intimate
knowledge of political affairs, and experience--she had been
confined in the Tower of London and narrowly escaped losing her
head--had endowed her with the wisdom of the serpent. The two Stuart
queens were no longer young, and both were married.
The circumstances in the case of the young Victoria were thus totally
different. She stood alone, and it was clear that some one must help
her to grapple with the thousand and one difficulties which
surrounded her. It was for some time uncertain who would undertake
the duty, until, almost before he had realized it himself, Lord
Melbourne found himself in the position of 'guide, philosopher, and
friend.'
How he devoted himself to this work can be judged from the fact that
no one--not even any of his opponents--regarded him with the
slightest mistrust or jealousy.
Melbourne was at this time fifty-eight years of age, an honourable,
honest-hearted Englishman. He was sympathetic by nature, fond of
female society, and, in addition, was devoted to the Queen. His
manner toward her was always charming, and he was in constant
attendance upon her.
Nor was the training which the Queen received from him limited to
politics, but matters of private interest were often discussed.
Every morning he brought dispatches with him to be read and answered;
after the midday meal he went out riding with her, and, whenever his
parliamentary duties allowed, he was to be found at her side at the
dinner-table. When he retired from office he was able to state with
pride that he had seen his Sovereign every day during the past four
years.
The news of her engagement to Prince Albert was received by him with
the keenest pleasure, and the Queen in writing to her uncle says:
"Lord Melbourne, whom I of course have consulted about the whole
affair, quite approves my choice, and expresses great satisfaction
at the event, which he thinks in every way highly desirable. Lord
Melbourne has acted in this business, as he has always done toward
me, with the greatest kindness and affection."
It was a real wrench to the Queen when the time for parting came.
Melbourne, with his easy-going nature and somewhat free and easy
language, had schooled himself as well as his young pupil, and had
become a friend as well as an adviser. Some words of Greville's might
aptly serve for this great statesman's epitaph:
"It has become his providence to educate, instruct, and form the most
interesting mind and character in the world. No occupation was ever
more engrossing or involved greater responsibility . . . it is
fortunate that she has fallen into his hands, and that he discharges
this great duty wisely, honourably, and conscientiously."
The Queen was equally fortunate in his successor, Sir Robert Peel,
a statesman for whom she had every confidence and respect, "a man
who thinks but little of party and never of himself."
Peel was never afraid of making up his mind and then sticking to his
plan of action, although, as often happened, it brought him into
opposition with members of his own party. In his hands both the Queen
and her husband felt that the interests of the Crown were secure.
Peel naturally felt considerable embarrassment on first taking up
office, as he had given support in the previous year to a motion which
proposed cutting down the Prince's income. But the Prince felt no
resentment, and so frank and cordial was his manner that Peel,
following Lord Melbourne's lead, continued to keep him, from day to
day, thoroughly in touch with the course of public affairs.
The relations between the Queen and her Minister were cordial in the
extreme. Peel appreciated very fully her simple domestic tastes, and
he was able at a later date to bring before her notice Osborne, which
might serve as a "loophole of retreat" from the "noise and strife
and questions wearisome."
The Queen was delighted with the estate. "It is impossible to see
a prettier place, with woods and valleys and _points de vue_, which
would be beautiful anywhere; but when these are combined with the
sea (to which the woods grow down), and a beach which is quite private,
it is really everything one could wish."
In 1845 the Queen asked Lord Aberdeen if she could not show in some
way her appreciation of the courage with which Sir Robert Peel had
brought forward and supported two great measures, in the face of
tremendous opposition. She suggested that he should be offered the
Order of the Garter, the highest distinction possible.
Sir Robert Peel's reply was that he would much prefer not to accept
any reward at all; he sprang, he said, from the people, and such a
great honour in his case was out of the question. The only reward
he asked for was Her Majesty's confidence, and so long as he possessed
that he was content.
When his ministry came to an end the Prince wrote to him, begging
that their relations should not on that account cease. Sir Robert
replied, thanking him for "the considerate kindness and indulgence"
he had received at their hands, and regretting that he should no
longer be able to correspond so frequently as before. The Prince and
he were in the fullest sympathy in matters of politics, art, and
literature, and Peel had supported the Prince loyally through all
the anxieties connected with the arrangements for the Great
Exhibition.
His death in 1850 was a calamity. Prince Albert, in a letter, speaks
of Peel as "the best of men, our truest friend, the strongest bulwark
of the throne, the greatest statesman of his time."
The Duke of Wellington said in the Upper House: "In all the course
of my acquaintance with Sir Robert Peel I never knew a man in whose
truth and justice I had a more lively confidence, or in whom I saw
a more invariable desire to promote the public service. In the whole
course of my communications with him I never knew an instance in which
he did not show the strongest attachment to truth; and I never saw
in the whole course of my life the slightest reason for suspecting
that he stated anything which he did not believe to be the fact."
The Queen writing to her uncle said that "Albert . . . felt and feels
Sir Robert's loss dreadfully. He feels he has lost a second father."
As a statesman it was said of him that "for concocting, producing,
explaining and defending measures, he had no equal, or anything like
an equal."
By far the most interesting person who acted as both friend and
adviser to the Queen and her husband was the Baron Christian
Friedrich von Stockmar, who had been private physician to Prince
Leopold, and afterward private secretary and controller of his
household. He took an active part in the negotiations which led to
his master becoming King of the Belgians. Long residence in this
country had given him a thorough knowledge of England and the English,
and he claimed friendship with the leading diplomatists both at home
and on the European continent.
In 1834 he retired to Coburg, but later was chosen, as we have seen,
to lend his valuable advice toward bringing about a union between
Prince Albert and Queen Victoria, both of whom he knew and admired.
Immediately before Victoria's accession King Leopold had sent him
to England, where his counsel, judgment, and thorough knowledge of
the English Constitution were placed at the service of the young
Princess. He accompanied Prince Albert on a tour in Italy, and again
returned to England to make arrangements for the Prince's future
household.
All that he did during this period was done quietly and behind the
scenes, and though he was a foreigner by birth, he worked to bring
about the marriage for the sake of the country he loved so well. He
looked upon England as the home of political freedom. "Out of its
bosom," he stated, "singly and solely has sprung America's free
Constitution, in all its present power and importance, in its
incalculable influence upon the social condition of the whole human
race; and in my eyes the English Constitution is the foundation-,
corner-, and cope-stone of the entire political civilization of the
human race, present and to come."
He soon became the Prince's confidential adviser, and his unrivalled
knowledge and strict sense of truth and duty proved of the utmost
value.
He endeared himself to both the Queen and the Prince, and successive
statesmen trusted him absolutely for his freedom from prejudice and
for his sincerity.
In 1842 he drew up for the Queen some rules for the education of her
children. "A man's education begins the first day of his life," was
one of his maxims. He insisted that "the education of the royal
infants ought to be from its earliest beginning _a truly moral and
a truly English one_." The persons to whom the children are entrusted
should receive the full support and confidence of the parents,
otherwise "education lacks its very soul and vitality." He suggested
that a lady of rank should be placed at the head of the nursery, as
being better able to understand the responsibilities and duties
attached to the education and upbringing of the Queen's children.
His advice was again taken when it was necessary to settle upon what
plan the young Prince of Wales should be educated.
Stockmar's judgment of men was singularly correct and just. He formed
the highest opinion of Sir Robert Peel, and on the Duke of
Wellington's death in 1852 he wrote in a letter to the Prince a
masterly analysis of the great commander's character, concluding
with these words: "As the times we live in cannot fail to present
your Royal Highness with great and worthy occasions to distinguish
yourself, you should not shrink from turning them to account . . .
as Wellington did, for the good of all, yet without detriment to
yourself."
The Prince corresponded regularly with 'the good Stockmar,' and
always in time of doubt and trial came sage counsel from his trusted
friend. In fact, the Prince took both the Queen and his friend equally
into his confidence; they were the two to whom he could unbosom
himself with entire freedom.
Disraeli, afterward Lord Beaconsfield, obtained the Queen's fullest
confidence and won her friendship to an extent which no Minister
since Melbourne had ever been able to do. 'Dizzy,' the leader of the
'Young England' party, the writer of political novels, was a very
different person from the statesman of later years. It is difficult
to remember or to realize in these days that it was looked upon as
something quite extraordinary for a member of a once despised and
persecuted race, the Jews, to hold high office. The annual
celebrations of 'Primrose Day,' April 19, the anniversary of his
death, are sufficient proof that this great statesman's services to
the British Empire are not yet forgotten.
Lord Beaconsfield, whom she regarded with sincere affection,
possessed a remarkable influence over the Queen, for the simple
reason that he never forgot to treat her as a woman. He was noted
throughout his life for his chivalry to the opposite sex, and his
devotion to his wife was very touching.
He was a firm believer in the power of the Crown for good. "The proper
leader of the people," he declared, "is the individual who sits upon
the throne." He wished the Sovereign to be in a position to rule as
well as to reign, to be at one with the nation, above the quarrels
and differences of the political parties, and to be their
representative.
When quite a young man, he declared that he would one day be Prime
Minister, and with this end in view he entered Parliament against
the wishes of his family. He was an untiring worker all his life,
and a firm believer in action. "Act, act, act without ceasing, and
you will no longer talk of the vanity of life," was his creed.
His ideas on education were original, and he did everything in his
power to improve the training of the young. In 1870 he supported the
great measure for a scheme of national education. Some years earlier
he declared that "it is an absolute necessity that we should study
to make every man the most effective being that education can
possibly constitute him. In the old wars there used to be a story
that one Englishman could beat three members of some other nation.
But I think if we want to maintain our power, we ought to make one
Englishman equal really in the business of life to three other men
that any other nation can furnish. I do not see otherwise how . . .
we can fulfil the great destiny that I believe awaits us, and the
great position we occupy."
He did more than any other Minister to raise the Crown to the position
it now occupies, and no monarch ever had a more devoted and faithful
servant. His high standard of morals and his force of character
especially appealed to the English people, and his loyalty to his
friends and colleagues remained unshaken throughout his whole life.
He impressed not only his own countrymen, but also foreigners, with
his splendid gifts of imagination and foresight.
Bismarck, the man of 'blood and iron,' who welded the disunited
states of Germany into a united and powerful empire, considered that
Queen Victoria was the greatest statesman in Europe, and of the great
Beaconsfield he said: "Disraeli _is_ England."
Disraeli was a master of wit and phrase, and many of his best sayings
and definitions have become proverbial, _e.g._ "the hansom, the
'gondola' of London," "our young Queen and our old institutions,"
"critics, men who have failed," "books, the curse of the human race."
[Illustration: Sir Robert Peel, Lord Melbourne, Benjamin Disraeli
Photo W.A. Mansell & Co.]
The central figure of his time was the statesman-warrior, the great
Duke of Wellington, '_the_ Duke.' After the famous Marlborough,
England had not been able to boast of such a great commander. He was
the best known figure in London, and though he never courted
popularity or distinction, yet he served his Queen as Prime Minister
when desired. "The path of duty" was for him "the way to glory." In
1845 the greatest wish of his life was realized when the Queen and
her husband paid him a two days' visit at his residence,
Strathfieldsaye.
Alfred Tennyson's "Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington," in
1852, praises him as 'truth-teller' and 'truth-lover,' and mourns
for him:
Let the long, long procession go,
And let the sorrowing crowd about it grow,
And let the mournful, martial music blow;
The last great Englishman is low.
In striking contrast to the 'Iron Duke' was the man whom Disraeli
could never learn to like, Lord John Russell. Generally depicted in
the pages of _Punch_ as a pert, cocksure little fellow, 'little
Johnny,' the leader of the Whig party was a power as a leader. He
knew how to interpret the Queen's wishes in a manner agreeable to
herself, yet he did not hesitate, when he thought it advisable, to
speak quite freely in criticism of her actions.
His ancestors in the Bedford family had in olden days been advisers
of the Crown, and Lord John thus came of a good stock; he himself,
nevertheless, was always alert to prevent any encroachment upon the
growing powers and rights of the people.
He was a favourite of the Queen, and she gave him as a residence a
house and grounds in Richmond Park. He was a man of the world and
an agreeable talker, very well read, fond of quoting poetry, and
especially pleased if he could indulge in reminiscences in his own
circle of what his royal mistress had said at her last visit.
Finally, mention must be made of one who, though he held no high
position of State, can with justice be regarded as both friend and
adviser of the Queen--John Brown. He entered the Queen's service at
Balmoral, became later a gillie to the Prince Consort, and in 1851
the Queen's personal outdoor attendant. He was a man of a very
straightforward nature and blunt speech, and even his Royal Mistress
was not safe at times from criticism. In spite of his rough manner,
he possessed many admirable qualities, and on his death in 1883 the
Queen caused a granite seat to be erected in the grounds of Osborne
with the following inscription:
A TRUER, NOBLER, TRUSTIER HEART, MORE LOVING
AND MORE LOYAL, NEVER BEAT WITHIN
A HUMAN BREAST.
CHAPTER XIII: _Queen and Empire_
What should they know of England who only England know?
The England of Queen Elizabeth was the England of Shakespeare:
This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle,
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
This other Eden, demi-paradise;
This fortress built by Nature for herself
Against infection and the hand of war;
This happy breed of men, this little world,
This precious stone set in the silver sea,
Which serves it in the office of a wall,
Or as a moat defensive to a house,
Against the envy of less happier lands;
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England.
In Tennyson's _Princess_ we find an echo of these words, where the
poet, in contrasting England and France, monarchy and republic--much
to the disadvantage of the latter--says:
God bless the narrow sea which keeps her off,
And keeps our Britain, whole within herself,
A nation yet, the rulers and the ruled.
But at a later date, in an "Epilogue to the Queen," at the close of
the _Idylls of the King_, Tennyson has said farewell to his narrow
insular views, and speaks of
Our ocean-empire with her boundless homes
For ever-broadening England, and her throne
In our vast Orient, and one isle, one isle,
That knows not her own greatness: if she knows
And dreads it we are fall'n.
He had come to recognize the necessity for guarding and maintaining
the Empire, with all its greatness and all its burdens, as part of
this country's destiny.
It is a little difficult to realize that the British Empire, as we
now know it, has been created within only the last hundred years.
Beaconsfield, in his novel _Contarini Fleming_, describes the
difference between ancient and modern colonies. "A modern colony,"
he says, "is a commercial enterprise, an ancient colony was a
political sentiment." In other words, colonies were a matter of
'cash' to modern nations, such as the Spaniards: in the time of the
ancients there was a close tie, a feeling of kinship, and the colonist
was not looked upon with considerable contempt and dislike by the
Mother Country.
Beaconsfield believed that there would come a time, and that not far
distant, when men would change their ideas. "I believe that a great
revolution is at hand in our system of colonization, and that Europe
will soon recur to the principles of the ancient polity."
This feeling of pride in the growth and expansion of our great
over-seas dominions is comparatively new, and there was a time when
British ministers seriously proposed separation, from what they
considered to be a useless burden.
The ignorance of all that concerned the colonies in the early years
of Victoria's reign was extraordinary, and this accounted, to a great
extent, for the indifference with which the English people regarded
the prospect of drifting apart.
Lord Beaconsfield was a true prophet, for this indifference is now
a thing of the past, and in the year 1875 an Imperial Federation
League was formed, which, together with the celebrations at the
Jubilees in 1887 and 1897, helped to knit this country and the
Dominions together in bonds of friendship and sympathy. The rapid
improvements in communication have brought the different parts of
the Empire closer together; the Imperial Penny Postage and an
all-British cable route to Australia have kept us in constant touch
with our kinsmen in every part of the world where the Union Jack is
flown.
But this did not all come about in a day. Prejudice and dislike are
difficult to conquer, and it was chiefly owing to the efforts of Lord
Beaconsfield that they were eventually overcome.
Imperialism too often means 'Jingoism,'--wild waving of flags and
chanting of such melodies as:
We don't want to fight,
But, by Jingo, if we do,
We've got the ships, we've got the men,
We've got the money too.
The true Imperialism is "defence, not defiance." Beaconsfield looked
back into the past and sought to "resume the thread of our ancient
empire." For him empire meant no easy burden but a solemn duty, a
knitting together of all the varied races and religions in one common
cause. "Peace with honour" was his and England's watchword. He
believed, in fact, like Shakespeare, in saying
Beware
Of entrance to a quarrel; but, being in,
Bear't, that th' opposed may beware of thee.
He was very particular on the duty of "if necessary, saying rough
things kindly, and not kind things roughly," which was a lesson Lord
Palmerston never seemed to be capable of learning. Another of his
maxims was that it was wiser from every point of view to treat
semi-barbarous nations with due respect for their customs and
feelings. He preached Confederation and not Annexation. "By pursuing
the policy of Confederation," he declared, "we bind states together,
we consolidate their resources, and we enable them to establish a
strong frontier, that is the best security against annexation."
His whole policy was to foster the growth of independence and build
the foundations of a peace which should be enduring. "Both in the
East and in the West our object is to have prosperous, happy, and
contented neighbours."
The object of his imperialism was to progress, at the same time paying
due respect to the traditions of the past; he rightly believed that
the character of a nation, like that of an individual, is
strengthened by responsibility.
"The glory of the Empire and the prosperity of the people" was what
he hoped to achieve.
During the anxious times of the Indian Mutiny he alone seemed to grasp
the real meaning of this sudden uprising of alien races. He declared
that it was a revolt and not a mutiny; a revolt against the English
because of their lack of respect for ancient rights and customs.
After the war was ended he declared that the Government ought to tell
the people of India "that the relation between them and their real
ruler and sovereign, Queen Victoria, shall be drawn nearer." This
should be done "in the Queen's name and with the Queen's authority."
He appealed to the whole Indian nation by his 'Royal Titles Bill,'
by means of which the Queen received the title of Empress of India.
This brought home to the minds and imaginations of the native races
the real meaning and grandeur of the Empire of which they were now
a part. The great Queen was now _their_ Empress, or, to use the Indian
title, '_Kaiser-i-Hind_.'
The Queen took the deepest interest in the Proclamation to the Indian
people in 1858, and insisted on a number of alterations before she
would allow it to be passed as satisfactory. She wrote to Lord Derby
asking him to remember that "it is a female sovereign who speaks to
more than a hundred millions of Eastern people on assuming the direct
government over them after a bloody, civil war, giving them pledges
which her future reign is to redeem, and explaining the principles
of her government. Such a document should breathe feelings of
generosity, benevolence, and religious feeling, pointing out the
privileges which the Indians will receive in being placed on an
equality with the subjects of the British Crown, and the prosperity
following in the train of civilization."
Direct mention was to be made of the introduction of railways, canals,
and telegraphs, with an assurance that such works would be the cause
of general welfare to the Indian people. In conclusion she added:
"Her Majesty wishes expression to be given to her feelings of horror
and regret at the results of this bloody civil war, and of pleasure
and gratitude to God at its approaching end, and Her Majesty thinks
the Proclamation should terminate by an invocation to Providence for
its blessing on a great work for a great and good end."
The amended Proclamation was read in every province in India and met
everywhere with cordial approval by princes and natives alike. The
feeling of loyalty was aroused by the Queen's assurance that "in your
prosperity is our strength, in your contentment our security, and
in your gratitude our best reward."
On May 1, 1859, in England, and on July 28, 1859, in India, there
was a general thanksgiving for the restoration of peace.
Although the Queen was never able to visit India in person, in 1875
the Prince of Wales went, at her request, to mark her appreciation
of the loyalty of the native princes. The welcome given to the future
King of England was truly royal. Reviews, banquets, illuminations,
state dinners followed one another in rapid succession. Benares, the
sacred city of the Hindoos, was visited, and here the Prince
witnessed a great procession which included large numbers of
elephants and camels, and an illumination of the entire river and
city. At Delhi, the capital of the Great Mogul, the Prince was met by Lord Napier of Magdala at the head of fifteen thousand troops, and at Lucknow an address and a crown set with jewels were presented to him. |
|
댓글 없음:
댓글 쓰기