her most extraordinary character.” Sometimes
the delightful routine of domestic existence had to
be interrupted. It was necessary to exchange
Windsor for Buckingham Palace, to open Parliament,
or to interview official personages, or, occasionally,
to entertain foreign visitors at the Castle. Then
the quiet Court put on a sudden magnificence, and
sovereigns from over the seas—Louis Philippe,
or the King of Prussia, or the King of Saxony—found
at Windsor an entertainment that was indeed a royal
one. Few spectacles in Europe, it was agreed,
produced an effect so imposing as the great Waterloo
banqueting hall, crowded with guests in sparkling
diamonds and blazing uniforms, the long walls hung
with the stately portraits of heroes, and the tables
loaded with the gorgeous gold plate of the kings of
England. But, in that wealth of splendour, the
most imposing spectacle of all was the Queen.
The little hausfrau, who had spent the day before
walking out with her children, inspecting her livestock,
practicing shakes at the piano, and filling up her
journal with adoring descriptions of her husband,
suddenly shone forth, without art, without effort,
by a spontaneous and natural transition, the very
culmination of Majesty. The Tsar of Russia himself
was deeply impressed. Victoria on her side viewed
with secret awe the tremendous Nicholas. “A
great event and a great compliment
his visit certainly
is,” she told her uncle, “and the people
here are extremely flattered at it. He is
certainly a
very striking man; still very
handsome. His profile is
beautiful and his
manners
most dignified and graceful; extremely
civil—quite alarmingly so, as he is so full
of attentions and
politeness. But the expression
of the
eyes is
formidable and unlike anything
I ever saw before.” She and Albert and “the
good King of Saxony,” who happened to be there
at the same time, and whom, she said, “we like
much—he is so unassuming-” drew together
like tame villatic fowl in the presence of that awful
eagle. When he was gone, they compared notes
about his face, his unhappiness, and his despotic power
over millions. Well! She for her part could
not help pitying him, and she thanked God she was
Queen of England.
When the time came for returning some of these visits,
the royal pair set forth in their yacht, much to Victoria’s
satisfaction. “I do love a ship!”
she exclaimed, ran up and down ladders with the greatest
agility, and cracked jokes with the sailors.
The Prince was more aloof. They visited Louis
Philippe at the Chateau d’Eu; they visited King
Leopold in Brussels. It happened that a still
more remarkable Englishwoman was in the Belgian capital,
but she was not remarked; and Queen Victoria passed
unknowing before the steady gaze of one of the mistresses
in M. Heger’s pensionnat. “A little
stout, vivacious lady, very plainly dressed—not
much dignity or pretension about her,” was Charlotte