It was thought better to make no order on the subject, but that the two gentlemen, with Lord Grey, should open a negotiation with the Duchess, and ask her of her own accord to waive the salutes, and should send word when returning to the Isle of Wight that, as she was sailing about for her amusement, she preferred that she should not be saluted whenever she appeared. However, the Duchess was too childishly fond of the importance of the noise to be a party to its discontinuance, and took council of Conroy, who is reported to have replied, “that, as Her Royal Highness’s confidential adviser, he could not recommend her to give way on this point.” The King would not give way either, so by an Order in Council the regulations were altered under the King’s directions, and the Royal Standard was for the future only to be saluted when the King or Queen was on board.
It was a stupid wrangle on a silly subject, but even in so small a matter as this, in the modern desire to justify everything that the mother of Victoria did, writers of royal “Lives” always affirm that the King was bad-tempered enough to object to the salute being offered to the Duchess on her arrival at the commencement of her holiday.
That the Duchess should resent such happenings as this was natural, but it was rather sad that she included her old friend Queen Adelaide in her resentful feelings.
In contemporary writings I find many comments upon the change of manner which she gradually showed towards Adelaide after the former had become Queen. Before that the two ladies had been good friends, but there seems to have arisen such a jealousy on the part of the Duchess that she began to treat the Queen with studied rudeness, and to make absurd demands as to her own treatment. Thus, if she were under the obligation of calling upon the Queen, she would name her own hour, and, if that did not suit Adelaide, would make that an excuse for considering the call paid. In earlier and more friendly times, if one of these ladies went to see the other, she would feel at liberty to go from room to room until she found her. By 1833, however, though the Duchess still followed this custom at the Palace, she would not allow it to the Queen at Kensington, but gave orders that she must await her in this or that room.
In that same year the Duchess had two nephews on a visit at the time when Donna Maria da Gloria of Portugal was staying with the King. The Queen gave a ball for the young people, and between the dances was quite glad to see that little Victoria seemed to care for her as much as ever and constantly came to sit by her side. During the evening Adelaide, wishing to know something of the two young German princelets, asked the Duchess to have them brought to her that she might have a talk with them. But for some hidden reason the Duchess refused, and added to the snub by taking her whole party away long before the ball was over, saying that the Princes had been to a review and were tired. Lady Bedingfield, who tells this story, adds: “Note that they are six feet high and stout for their age!” It is difficult to think that anything but ill-humour was responsible for this, that or the idea that she must show her importance by leaving early, for the Duchess would sometimes keep her daughter at the Opera until a very late hour.
However, gentle-minded Adelaide passed this by and invited the young men down to Windsor, upon which the Duchess wrote one of her characteristic notes, saying that she could not come with them and could not spare them, and as they had paid their respects to the King at the Drawing Room, she did not think the visit to Windsor necessary. There was some discussion between the royal pair as to how this letter should be answered, and the King preferred that a bare acknowledgment should be made. Adelaide had the curiosity to look in the paper to see what these boys were so busy about on the day she had hoped to have them with her, and found that they had spent it at the Zoological Gardens!
CHAPTER III
PRINCESS VICTORIA’S TUITION IN POLITICS
“Confound their politics.”—National Anthem.
Queen Adelaide, being in a high place, had many detractors, though she was certainly a kind and gentle woman. Her two faults in the eyes of the English people were that she was drawn from a poor German family, and that she exercised, or was said, perhaps erroneously, to exercise a strong political influence in great matters over the King. It was the time of the fight over the Reform Bill, when the whole country was in a ferment, and everyone, down to the children, took sides, whether they understood the question or not. When it became known that the Queen was opposed to the passage of the Bill, the papers published skits and cartoons against her, accusing her of plotting against the people and even against the Crown, so that the populace did not hesitate to show its animus. Thus on one occasion when an election was exciting the passions of all, the King arranged to pay a State visit to the City, and the Lord Mayor, somewhat foolishly, illuminated the streets the day before. The glare and light seem to have been the one thing too much for the inflamed minds of the mob, which showed its joy by breaking windows and creating a general uproar. The Queen had, unfortunately, gone that evening to a concert without guards, and as she was returning she was recognised, her carriage being surrounded by a roaring crowd, some of whom tried to thrust their heads into the windows. The footmen used their canes freely to beat them off, and the coachman managed to reach the Palace safely; but the poor lady was much alarmed and thought herself in danger of her life. The King, worried at her late return, paced from room to room waiting her, and when at last she arrived he caught hold of Lord Howe, her Chamberlain, who preceded her, asking in agitated voice:
“How is the Queen?”