This tirade and mass of exaggeration was followed by the publication of a spurious letter supposed to have been addressed to the editor by the young Prince Albert:—
“Sare,—I sall addresser you in Anglaish, cos vy? Cos in honnare of de countray in vich I vas vant to be second rang personne. Ver well. Terefore if the Q—— vas like me to mari her, Cot tam, Sare, vat am tat to you—eh? Am you her modare? Ver well, ten; vat rite you to objet to ’tis alliance—eh? Noting: von tam noting. Terefore, Sare, I vos appy to troubel you to hold fast your tam tongue. La Baronne tell to me tat her M——’s modare hab not objection: terefore, vy should nobody else hab now? Vy sall you play him debbil vid dis littel projet ob my uncale and Stockmar, and odare some ver tere amis? It vos ter most tamnable! I say dat, Sare! Terefore, you will be pleas to co to de debbel! I am, Sare, “Albert Françoise Auguste Charles Emanuel.”
As a matter of fact, the announcement was premature, and the Queen had two serious troubles to endure before she sought refuge in matrimony, one being the Bedchamber trouble already dealt with, and the other the Lady Flora Hastings scandal.
What had really started the belief that the marriage was settled was the fact that two of Leopold’s confidential hommes d’affaires, Monsieur Van Praet and Baron de Diestrau, came over to England in January, and were said to have had interviews with Melbourne, to have seen much of Lehzen, to have been agreeable to Sir James Clark and Sir Henry Seton, and to have gone back to Brussels “to report progress concerning the chance of planting another young Coburg in England.”
Prince George of Denmark also came to London in 1839, bringing with him an enormous household, including a Master of the Horse, a Master of the Robes, six Lords of the Bedchamber, and eight grooms of the Bedchamber, all among the first people of his country. He, too, was supposed to be looking for a wife, but he did not find one in England.
From that time on, the Queen, who was said “to be caricatured here, charivaried there,” had to see her name daily in the papers coupled with that of some young man or other, Albert’s name recurring often. Lord Alfred Paget, the second son of the Marquis of Anglesey, then in his twenty-third year, figured fairly frequently as a love-sick swain, who wore Her Majesty’s portrait over his heart—and under his shirt front—and, the better to assert his love, hung her miniature round the neck of his dog. The Satirist of January, 1838, asserted that “Her Majesty must be married soon, or there will be the devil to pay,” and went on to say, “She must be an extraordinary little creature to turn people’s brains in this fashion. A swain has forced his way into Buckingham Palace declaring himself to be ‘a shepherd sent from Heaven to look after the Royal lamb.’ There are plenty of wolves in sheep’s clothing already looking after her, and Her Majesty’s present shepherd will have plenty to do to keep them out of the fold.”
One paragraph ran as follows, commencing with a quotation from another paper: “‘Her Majesty having received from Germany a delicious cake, sent it as a present to the Princess Augusta.’ This is doubtless one of those delicate attentions which ‘my nephew Albert’ has been instructed to despatch from Coburg through the medium of the dearly loved Baroness Lehzen. It would have been cut up for Twelfth Night at the Palace, but as Lord Melbourne could not secure the character of the King, he refused to take a slice, so the cake was sent off to the good-natured Princess.”’ The italics are mine.
As soon as Victoria’s accession had seemed near, the thoughts of madmen seemed to turn to her, and from time to time one such would go to some Royal residence that he might be crowned King, or receive his rights, or secure a wife. One day in May, 1837, a man named Captain John Wood, of the 10th Regiment of Foot, was found sitting on the terrace at Kensington Palace, where the Duchess often breakfasted. A policeman requested him to go away, but he said he had a right to be there, as he was the real and rightful King of England, and the person at Windsor was only the Duke of Clarence. He told the magistrate, before whom he was taken, that his proper name was John Guelph, and that he was a son of George IV. and Queen Caroline, being born at Blackheath, adding that the Royal family knew all about it. He seemed perfectly sane, and being admonished, went away.
For some time after her accession a Scotch suitor would make special journeys to Windsor to see Queen Victoria, sometimes standing all the morning at the door of St. George’s Chapel that he might watch her leave after service. Then he would walk on the terrace in the afternoon that he might have the pleasure of bowing to his liege Lady.
One, who was undoubtedly a lunatic, climbed some iron gates in the Park, and walked across to the Castle, demanding admittance as King of England. “Very well, your Majesty,” said the porter, “be pleased to wait till I get my hat.” He then took him to the Castle and handed him over to the police. He was named Stockledge, and was in a large way of business in Manchester. On being questioned as to his motive, he said he was like all other men who wanted wives—he was looking after one.