And compass’d by the inviolate sea.”
—Tennyson.
In September, 1841, the Queen found herself face to face with another political crisis, and Melbourne tendered his resignation once more. He went to Windsor to accomplish this dread deed, and it is said that he showed no appearance of depression, but seemed to consider the change only as it might affect the Queen.
“For four years I have seen you every day,” he said, “but it is so different now from what it would have been in 1839; the Prince understands everything so well.” Indeed, he warmed the Queen’s affectionate heart by the way he both spoke and wrote of Albert. “I have formed the highest opinion of His Royal Highness’s judgment, temper, and discretion, and cannot but feel a great consolation and security in the reflection that your Majesty has the inestimable advantage of such advice and assistance. I feel certain that your Majesty cannot do better than have recourse to it whenever it is needed, and rely upon it with confidence.” This made the Queen very pleased and proud, coming as it did from a man who was, as she herself said, no flatterer.
Thenceforth Melbourne had to endure not only loss of occupation, but of the society of one whom he had grown to love as a daughter, and in whose company he had for years passed several hours each day. “He consorted constantly with the Queen on the most easy and delightful footing, and he is continually banished from her presence.”
However, he fell naturally into those habits which were his before his long spell of power, and ere a year had passed he had a slight stroke of paralysis, which kept him a prisoner for months.
The resignation of the Whig Government naturally brought once more to the front the vexed question of the Bedchamber Ladies. Extraordinary care was taken that the Queen’s susceptibilities should not be hurt; Melbourne, on the one hand, conferring with the Royal pair and with Anson and Peel, and being approached by the last-named with pacific suggestions. Peel was terribly nervous, and desirous to do nothing that would give pain to Her Majesty, saying, “I would waive every pretension to office, I declare to God, sooner than that my acceptance of it should be attended with any personal humiliation to the Queen.”
The Mistress of the Robes, the sweet-natured Duchess of Sutherland, sent in her resignation, she being the only person who for the future would be required to be of the same party as the Government, and she was replaced by the Duchess of Buccleuch. The exclusively Whig character of the Household had been broken soon after the crisis in 1839 by the Queen’s invitation to Lady Sandwich, the wife of a Tory peer, to fill a vacant post. The Duchess of Bedford (i.e., Lady Tavistock) and Lady Normanby also resigned, and with these changes Peel was content. Thus the principle that the ladies about the Queen should belong to the governing party, and be changed when the party changed, was never established, and after that time the Queen’s ladies were chosen irrespective of political considerations, excepting the Mistress of the Robes.
Victoria was desolate at the loss of Melbourne. Writing to King Leopold, she said: “You don’t say that you sympathise with me in my present heavy trial, the heaviest I have ever had to endure, and which will be a sad heart-breaking to me”—and Melbourne did his utmost to cheer her and to insist upon her showing friendly feelings towards the new Government. But she spent the last evening on which the old Household remained in a sorrowful silence. “Scarcely a word was spoken at dinner, but later on tears and regrets broke forth with little restraint.”
In considering the ways of Queen Victoria during her early career, I am forced to recognise the fact that when once she really accepted an impression she could not let it fade. This is curiously exemplified in several ways, small as well as large. Thus when at the end of August most of the arrangements had been made for the formation of a Tory Administration, she somewhat frightened her husband by telling him that, seeing how the Tories had treated him nearly two years earlier in the matter of the annuity, he ought now to keep them at a distance. They would be sure to come and see him and to flatter him, and his part was to resist them and refuse to see them, at least for some time. A most extraordinary piece of advice! The curious fact about it is that Prince Albert did not laugh at it; he was really troubled, and told his secretary to repeat this to Melbourne, and ask him to influence Her Majesty to different thoughts.