England—that part of it which was interested—watched breathlessly while William fought his last fight, and the social and political forces gathered themselves together for some great and unknown change. In this state of tension there was one man, loyal and upright, who seemed always ready to give good advice and who would neither lose nor gain by the change; this was the Duke of Wellington. To him on Waterloo Day the King sent a message, bidding him hold the usual banquet in commemoration of the great fight; just as it pleased him that Victoria should go in state to Ascot on June 12th, for which he sent seven carriages for her cortège, her own being drawn by six grey horses.
Cumberland, still troubled with a lingering hope that his ambition might be satisfied, went to the Duke, asking what he should do.
“Do?” said the Duke. “The best thing you can do is to go away as fast as you can. Go instantly, and take care that you are not pelted.”
This is given on good authority, and, if true, could not have been very pleasant for the Duke to hear, as he probably had hoped for very different advice. He had always held that the Salic law, as applied to the Hanoverian dynasty, should also apply to Great Britain, and as Victoria had no right to rule in Hanover, she had therefore no right to rule in England. It was about this period that he asked of his aide-de-camp, already mentioned:
“Would you and your troop follow me through the streets of London if I were proclaimed King?”
“Yes, and to the Tower the next day,” was the indignant reply.
“You have cut your own throat, my boy, by that remark. As King of England I could make you a great man. What will the Princess Victoria do for you and yours?”
It was to the Duke of Wellington that Lord Melbourne went a month later for advice as to how best to initiate the Queen into her various duties. Indeed, though Wellington had not taken the popular side in the long struggle over Reform, he was by no means a keen party man; in each question he followed the line that he believed would be best for the nation, and, in spite of plots and innuendoes, he was, with one, perhaps with two, exceptions, loyal to the Crown, no matter who wore it.
When it was almost certain that William would not recover, “Grandmamma,” or, to use its better name, The Times, proceeded to mould “the child” Victoria into shape. It began with a fairly mild article, not, of course, insinuating anything, but just devoutly praying that her education had been conducted under a noble and lofty regard to her fitness for the duties of Queen of England, that she had been prepared to think for herself, to employ her own discernment, to take nothing upon trust; and asserting that she ought not to be made the subject of jealous or vexatious restraint or be kept in a state of pupilage, &c.
Two days later it went a step further in a leader, expressing the fear that the Princess had received a narrow, or a jealous, or otherwise ill-framed education, and roundly impressing upon the Duchess that she had no political status, no political duties whatever beyond that of obedience to laws. They said that she had no more power over the Sovereign (who happened to be her offspring) than any other Duchess of the Royal Family. They considered that she could not be a sound adviser to an inexperienced Queen because of her foreign connections, while her entourage at home would form no desirable Cabinet for a Queen of England. Then the article concluded with the avowal that it had been written on purpose to meet the eye of Victoria, that she might learn how vital it was that her earliest advisers should be men in whom the better part of England could repose entire confidence.