The new queen was almost entirely unknown to her subjects.
In her public appearances her mother had invariably
dominated the scene. Her private life had been
that of a novice in a convent: hardly a human
being from the outside world had ever spoken to her;
and no human being at all, except her mother and the
Baroness Lehzen, had ever been alone with her in a
room. Thus it was not only the public at large
that was in ignorance of everything concerning her;
the inner circles of statesmen and officials and high-born
ladies were equally in the dark. When she suddenly
emerged from this deep obscurity, the impression that
she created was immediate and profound. Her bearing
at her first Council filled the whole gathering with
astonishment and admiration; the Duke of Wellington,
Sir Robert Peel, even the savage Croker, even the cold
and caustic Greville—all were completely
carried away. Everything that was reported of
her subsequent proceedings seemed to be of no less
happy augury. Her perceptions were quick, her
decisions were sensible, her language was discreet;
she performed her royal duties with extraordinary
facility. Among the outside public there was a
great wave of enthusiasm. Sentiment and romance
were coming into fashion; and the spectacle of the
little girl-queen, innocent, modest, with fair hair
and pink cheeks, driving through her capital, filled
the hearts of the beholders with raptures of affectionate
loyalty. What, above all, struck everybody with
overwhelming force was the contrast between Queen Victoria
and her uncles. The nasty old men, debauched
and selfish, pig-headed and ridiculous, with their
perpetual burden of debts, confusions, and disreputabilities—they
had vanished like the snows of winter, and here at
last, crowned and radiant, was the spring. Lord
John Russell, in an elaborate oration, gave voice
to the general sentiment. He hoped that Victoria
might prove an Elizabeth without her tyranny, an Anne
without her weakness. He asked England to pray
that the illustrious Princess who had just ascended
the throne with the purest intentions and the justest
desires might see slavery abolished, crime diminished,
and education improved. He trusted that her people
would henceforward derive their strength, their conduct,
and their loyalty from enlightened religious and moral
principles, and that, so fortified, the reign of Victoria
might prove celebrated to posterity and to all the
nations of the earth.
Very soon, however, there were signs that the future
might turn out to be not quite so simple and roseate
as a delighted public dreamed. The “illustrious
Princess” might perhaps, after all, have something
within her which squared ill with the easy vision
of a well-conducted heroine in an edifying story-book.
The purest intentions and the justest desires?
No doubt; but was that all? To those who watched
Copyrights
Queen Victoria from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
