In the Days of Queen Victoria Page 2

  CHAPTER I

  BABY DRINA

  "Elizabeth would be a good name for her," said the Duke of Kent."Elizabeth was the greatest woman who ever sat on the throne ofEngland. The English people are used to the name, and they like it."

  "But would the Emperor Alexander be pleased?" asked the Duchess. "If heis to be godfather, ought she not to be named for him?"

  "Alexandra--no; Alexandrina," said the Duke thoughtfully. "Perhaps youare right. 'Queen Alexandrina' has a good sound, and the day may comewhen the sovereign of England will be as glad of the friendship of theEmperor of Russia as the Regent is to-day."

  "Are you so sure, Edward, that she will be a sovereign?" asked his wifewith a smile.

  "Doesn't she look like a queen?" demanded the Duke. "Look at her goldenhair and her blue eyes! There, see how she put her hand out, just as ifshe was giving a command! I don't believe any baby a week old ever didthat before. The next time I review the troops she shall go with me.You're a soldier's daughter, little one. Come and see the world thatyou are to conquer." He lifted the tiny baby, much to the displeasureof the nurse, and carried her across the room to the window that lookedout upon Kensington Garden. "Now, little one," he whispered into thebaby's ear, "they don't believe us and we won't talk about it, butyou'll be queen some day."

  "Is that the way every father behaves with his first baby?" asked theDuchess.

  "They're much alike, your Grace," replied the nurse rather grimly, asshe followed the Duke to the window with a blanket on her arm. The Dukewas accustomed to commanding thousands of men, and every one of themtrembled if his weapons and uniform were not spotless, or if he hadbeen guilty of the least neglect of duty. In more than one battle theDuke had stood so firmly that he had received the thanks of Parliamentfor his bravery and fearlessness. He would never have surrendered acity to a besieging army, but now he had met his match, and he laid thebaby in the nurse's arms with the utmost meekness.

  The question of a name for the child was not yet decided, for thewishes of someone else had to be considered, and that was the PrinceRegent, the Duke's older brother, George. He thought it proper that hisniece should be named Georgiana in honor of himself.

  "Georgiana let it be," said the Duke of Kent, "her first name shall beAlexandrina."

  "Then Georgiana it shall _not_ be," declared the Prince Regent. "Noniece of mine shall put my name second to any king or emperor here inmy own country. Call her Alexandrina Alexandra Alexander, if youchoose, but she'll not be called Alexandrina Georgiana."

  When the time for the christening had arrived the Archbishop ofCanterbury and the Bishop of London came to Kensington in company withthe crimson velvet curtains from the chapel at St. James' and abeautiful golden font which had been taken from the Tower for thebaptism of the royal baby. The Archbishop and the Bishop, the PrinceRegent, and another brother of the Duke of Kent, who was to representthe Emperor of Russia as godfather, all stood around the golden font inthe magnificent cupola room, the grand saloon of Kensington Palace. Thegodmothers were the child's grandmother and aunt, and they wererepresented by English princesses. All the royal family were present.

  After the prayers had been said and the promises of the sponsors made,the Archbishop took the little Princess in his arms and, turning to thegodfathers and the godmothers, he said: "Name this child."

  "Alexandrina," responded the Duke of York.

  "Give her another name," bade the Duke of Kent in a low tone.

  "Name her for her mother, then," said the Prince Regent to theArchbishop, and the baby was christened Alexandrina Victoria.

  It made little difference to either the Duke or the baby how the PrinceRegent might feel about her name, for the Duke was the happiest offathers, and the little Drina, as the Princess was called, was a merry,sweet-tempered baby. Everyone at Kensington loved her, and over the seawas a grandmother, the Dowager Duchess of Coburg, who could hardly waitfor the day to come when she would be able to see the child. "Howpretty the little Mayflower will be," she wrote, "when I see it in ayear's time." Another letter said: "The English like queens, and theniece of the beloved Princess Charlotte will be most dear to them."Princess Charlotte was the only child of Prince George, and the nationhad loved her and longed to have her for their queen. She had marriedLeopold, the brother of the Duchess of Kent, and had died only twoyears before "Princess Drina" was born.

  The succession to the English crown was in a peculiar condition. Theking, George III., had become insane, and his eldest son, George, wasruling as Prince Regent. If the Regent lived longer than his father, hewould become George IV. His next younger brother was Frederick, Duke ofYork; then came William, Duke of Clarence; and then the Duke of Kent.George and Frederick had no children, and William's baby girl died onthe very day that the Princess Alexandrina was born. If these threebrothers died without children, the Duke of Kent would become king; buteven then, if the Duke should have a son, the law was that he, ratherthan the daughter, should inherit the crown. The baby Princess, then,stood fifth in the succession to the throne, and a child born to anyone of these three uncles, or a son born to her father, would removeher still further from sovereignty.

  The English people had talked of all these possibilities. The Duke ofKent had also several younger brothers, but they were all middle-agedmen, the youngest forty-five, and not one of them had a child. If allthe children of George III. died without heirs, the English crown woulddescend to a line of Germans who had never walked on English soil. "Wehave had one king who could not speak English," said the people, "andwe do not want another." The Duke of Kent was a general favorite amongthem, and they hoped that he, and after him his daughter, would becometheir ruler. Indeed, they hoped for this so strongly that they began tofeel sure that it would come to pass. Everyone wanted to see the littlePrincess. Many a person lingered under the palace windows for hours,and went away feeling well repaid for the delay if he had caught aglimpse of the royal baby in her nurse's arms.

  When the Princess was four months old, the Duke gave orders oneafternoon that she should be made ready for a drive with him.

  "But is it not the day of the military review on Hounslow Heath?" askedthe Duchess.

  "Yes," replied the Duke, "and where else should a soldier's daughter bebut at a review? I want to see how she likes the army. You know shewill be at the head of the army some day," he added half in jest andhalf in earnest. "Won't you let me have her?" The Duchess shook herhead playfully. Just then the nurse entered the room with the littlePrincess in her outdoor wraps. The tall Duke caught up the child andran to the carriage like a naughty boy with a forbidden plaything, andthe nurse followed.

  At the review the Duke was not so stern a disciplinarian as usual, formore than one man who was expected to stand "eyes front" took a slylook at the pretty baby in her nurse's arms, and the proud fatherforgot to blame him for the misdemeanor. After the review the peoplegathered about the carriage.

  "God bless the child," cried an old man. "She'll be a PrincessCharlotte to us."

  "Look at her sweet face," said another. "Did you ever see such brightblue eyes? She'll be a queen who can see what her people want."

  There were hurrahs for the Princess and hurrahs for the Duke. Then avoice in the crowd cried: "Give us a rousing cheer for the Duchess whocares for her own baby and doesn't leave her to the hired folk."

  In all this hubbub and confusion the blue-eyed baby did not cry or showthe least fear. "She's a soldier's child," said the Duke with delight,and he took her from the nurse and helped her to wave her tiny hand tothe admiring crowd.

  Prince George had never been on good terms with his brother, the Dukeof Kent, and after the affair of the name he was less friendly thanever. He was always jealous of the child, and when he heard of herreception at the review he was thoroughly angry. "That infant is tooyoung to be brought into public," he declared.

  She was not brought into so public a place again, but she won friendswherever she went. The Duke could not bear to have her away from himf
or an hour, and the greatest honor he could show to a guest was toallow him to take the little one in his arms. An old friend was at thePalace, one evening, and when he rose to go, the Duke said: "No, comewith me first and see the child in her crib." As they entered the roomof the little Princess, the Duke said: "We are going to Sidmouth in twoor three days to cheat the winter, and so we may not meet again forsome time. I want you to give my child your blessing. Pray for her, notmerely that her life may be brilliant and free from trouble, but thatGod will bless her, and that in all the years to come He will guide herand guard her." The prayer was made, and the Duke responded with anearnest "Amen."

  In a few days the family set out for Sidmouth. Kensington was becomingcold and damp, and the precious baby must not be risked in the Londonchills of the late autumn. The Duchess, moreover, had devoted herselfso closely to her child that she needed a change and rest.

  At Sidmouth the old happy life of the past six months went on for alittle while. The house was so small that it was called "hardly morethan a cottage," but it had pretty verandas and bay windows, shaded byclimbing roses and honeysuckles. It stood on a sunny knoll, with talltrees circling around it. Just below the knoll was a little brookrunning merrily to the sea, a quarter of a mile away, and, followingthe lead of the brook, was the road. Sidmouth was a nest of sunbeams,and the baby Princess was well and strong. "She is too healthy, Ifear," wrote the Duke, "in the opinion of some members of my family bywhom she is regarded as an intruder."

  The people of Sidmouth did not look upon the pretty, blue-eyed baby asan intruder, and there was great excitement in the village when it wasknown that the Duke had taken Woolbrook Glen. Every boy in the countryaround was eager to see the soldier Duke who had been in real battles,and every girl longed for a sight of the little Princess, There was nodifficulty in seeing them when they had once come, for whenever it waspleasant they were out of doors, walking or driving. A lady who met theparty one morning wrote that the Duke and the Duchess were strollingalong arm in arm, and close to them was the nurse carrying the Princesswith her white swansdown bonnet and cloak. She was holding out her handto the Duke, and just as the village people drew near, he took her fromthe nurse and lifted her to his shoulder.

  When the Duke had been away from the house, his first thought onreturning was the little daughter. One morning, only a few days afterthis meeting with the lady and her children, he took a long walk in therain. He was hardly over the threshold on his return before he called,"Where's my daughter? Bring little Drina."

  "But, Edward," the Duchess objected, "your boots must be wet through.Won't you change them first? You will surely be ill."

  "Soldiers aren't ill, my lady," replied the Duke, laughing. "I neverwas ill in all my life. Where's my queen?"

  An hour's romp with the merry baby followed. But then came a chill, andthe strong man was overcome with inflammation of the lungs. In thosedays physicians had little knowledge how to treat such a disease. Theyhad an idea that whenever one was feverish he had too much blood, andthat some of it must be taken away; so the Duke was bled until, if hehad not been in the least ill, the loss of blood would have made himfaint and weak. A messenger was sent to London to bring a famousdoctor, but when he came the Duke was dead. "I could have done nothingelse," said the great man, "except to bleed him much more than you havedone."

  Prince Leopold had come to Sidmouth a day or two earlier, and he wentwith the Duchess and the Princess to London. The villagers gatheredabout the carriage to bid a silent farewell to the sorrowful company.Many of them were weeping and their tears flowed still faster when thenurse held the baby up to the carriage window and whispered, "Saygood-by to the people;" for the little one waved her hand and pattedthe glass and sprang up and down in her nurse's arms without the leastrealization of her loss.

  The carriage rolled away, but the people stood watching it until it wasout of sight.

  "That's the sweetest child in all England," said one woman, wiping hereyes with the corner of her apron, "and now the poor little thing willhave no father."

  "Did ever you see a man so fond of his child as the Duke?" said anotherwith a sob.

  "King George had nine sons," said a man who stood near, "and the Dukewas every whit the best of them. The King never treated him fairly.When the others wanted money, they had it; but when the Duke needed it,his father just said, 'Get along as you can.' There wasn't one of thesons that the King wasn't kinder to than to the Duke."

  "He'll have little more chance to be kind or unkind," declared another."Have you not heard the news from London? The King is very ill, and thePrince Regent will soon be George IV."

  "It's bad luck speaking ill of him that's to be king," said one, "butthe man that's gone to London in his coffin was the man that I'd haveliked to see on the throne."

  "Will the Duchess go back to her own land, think you?" questioned thefirst woman.

  "Yes, that she will," replied the second positively "There never was awoman that loved her own people better than she. Folks say she writesher mother every day of her life."

  "I say she'll not go back," declared one of the men with equalpositiveness. "She'll do her duty, and her duty is to care for thePrincess. God bless her, and make her our queen some day."

  So the people in the village talked, and so people were talkingthroughout the kingdom. After the first sad days were past the questionhad to be decided by the Duchess and her devoted brother Leopold. TheDuchess loved her family and her old home at Amorbach, near Heidelberg.There she and the Duke had spent the first months of their marriedlife, and nothing would have helped her more to bear her lonelinessthan a return to the Bavarian Palace, in which every room wasassociated with memories of him. She was a stranger in England and shecould not even speak the language of the country. The Duke's sistersloved her, and Adelaide, who had been a German princess before shebecame the wife of the Duke of Clarence gave her the warmest sympathyin this time of sorrow; but the Regent disliked her and had alwaysseemed indignant at the possibility that his brother's child wouldinherit the throne. The Regent had now become king, for his father haddied on the very day of the Duchess's return to London. Unless a childwas born to either the Duke of York or the Duke of Clarence the babyPrincess would become queen at their death. The child who would ruleEngland ought to be brought up in England.

  There was something else to be considered, however. When the Duchesswas only a girl of seventeen she had become the wife of the Prince ofLeiningen, and at his death he had made her sole guardian of their twochildren, Charles and Feodore. As soon as Charles was old enough hewould succeed his father as ruler of Leiningen but until then hismother was Regent.

  "Is it right for me to neglect my duties in Bavaria?" questioned theDuchess; "to give up the regency of Leiningen? Shall I neglect Charlesto care for Drina's interest?"

  "Charles will be well cared for," said Prince Leopold. "His people lovehim already and will be true to him. England is a great kingdom. It isnot an easy land to rule. A queen who has grown up in another countrywill never hold the hearts of the people."

  "True," said the Duchess. "I must live in England. That is my duty tomy child and to her country."

  How the Duchess and her child were to live was a question of muchimportance. The King could not refuse to allow them to occupy their oldapartments in Kensington Palace, but the Duchess was almost penniless.Nearly all the money which her first husband had left her she had beenobliged to give up on her second marriage and she had surrendered allthe Duke's property to his creditors to go as far as it would in payinghis debts. Some money had been settled upon her when she married theDuke, but that was so tied up that it would be many months before shecould touch it. The only plea that she could make to the King would beon the ground that her child might become his heir, and nothing wouldhave enraged him so much as to suggest such a thing. WhateverParliament might appropriate to the Princess would be given against thewishes of the King, and there would, at any rate, be a long delay. Itwas a strange condition of affairs
. The child would probably havemillions at her command before many years had passed, but for thepresent there was no money even to pay the wages of the servants fortheir care of her.

  Her Royal Highness the Duchess of Kent and PrincessVictoria.(_From painting by Sir W. Beechey, R.A._)]

  If this story had been a fairy tale, the fairy godmother with the magicwand would have been called upon to shower golden guineas into theempty purse, but in this case it was the good uncle who came to the aidof his Princess niece. When Prince Leopold married the PrincessCharlotte he went to England to live, for he expected that some day hiswife would become Queen of Great Britain. After her death he made hishome in England, but spent much of his time in travelling. He was notrich, but he was glad to help his sister as much as possible, and afterthe death of the Duke of Kent he made her and her children his firstcare.

  It was decided, then, that the Duchess would remain in England, andthat Kensington Palace should become the home of the PrincessAlexandrina Victoria. This was a large, comfortable-looking abode. Ithad been a favorite home of several of the English sovereigns. About itwere gardens cut into beds shaped like scrolls, palm leaves, ovals,circles, and all sorts of conventional figures so prim and stiff thatone might well have wondered how flowers ever dared to grow in anyshape but rectangular. The yew trees were trimmed into peacocks andlions and other kinds of birds and beasts. All this was interestingonly as a curiosity, but there was a pretty pond and there were long,beautiful avenues of trees. There were flowers and shrubs and softgreen turf. It was out of the fog and smoke of the city; indeed it wasso far out that there was danger of robbers to the man who ventured towalk or drive at night through the unlighted roads. For many yearsafter the birth of the Princess a bell was rung Sunday evenings so thatall Londoners might meet and guard against danger by going over thelonely way to their homes in one large company.

  The life at Kensington was very quiet. No one would have guessed fromseeing the royal baby that the fate which lay before her was differentfrom that to be expected for any other child who was not the daughterof a Prince. She spent much of the time out of doors, at first in thearms of her nurse, then in a tiny carriage, in which her half-sister,the Princess Feodore, liked to draw her about. "She must learn never tobe afraid of people," declared the wise mother, and before the childcould speak plainly she was taught to make a little bow when strangerscame near her carriage and say, "Morning, lady," or "Morning, sir."

  The little girl was happy, but life was hard for the mother. She hadgiven up her home and her friends, and now she had to give up even herown language, for English and not German must be her child's mothertongue, and she set to work bravely to conquer the mysteries of EnglishHer greatest comfort in her loneliness was the company of the DuchessAdelaide, wife of the Duke of Clarence. For many weeks after the deathof the Duke of Kent, the Duchess drove to Kensington every day to spendsome time with her sister-in-law. When the Princess was about a yearand a half old, a little daughter was born to the Duchess Adelaide, butin three months she was again childless. She had none of the royalbrothers' jealousy of the baby at Kensington, and she wrote to theDuchess of Kent, "My little girls are dead, but your child lives, andshe shall be mine, too."