“Nineteen years had passed away since the occurrences related in the preceding chapters!”—Such is the sweeping assertion which we have now to make.
Nineteen years!—how much joy had been experienced, how much misery felt, during that interval: what vast changes had taken place over the whole earth!
In these islands that period was marked with the names of three sovereigns:—George the Fourth—William the Fourth—Victoria.
The debaucheries, vices, and profligacies of George lessened the value of Monarchy even in the eyes of its stanchest supporters: the utter incompetency, weakness, and even downright silliness of William reduced it to a still greater discount;—and the accession of Victoria proclaimed the grand fact that Monarchy is a farce, since a mere school-girl can be put up as the throned puppet of the Punch-and-Judy show of Royalty.
During nineteen years, then, did the value of Monarchy experience a rapid and signal decline: and, though it still endures, it is hastening with whirlwind speed to total annihilation. Men are becoming too wise to maintain a throne which may either be filled by a voluptuary, a fool, or a doll: they see something radically and flagrantly bad in an institution which is fraught with such frightful contingencies;—and they look forward to a convenient moment and a proper opportunity to effect, by moral means, and without violence, a complete change. The throne is worm-eaten—its velvet is in holes and covered with dust: and no earthly power can repair the wood nor patch up the cloth. It is old—ricketty—and good-for-nothing; and the magisterial seat of a President, elected by the nation at large, must displace it. Monarchy falling, will drag down the ancient Aristocracy along with it; and the twenty-six millions of these realms all starting fair together on a principle of universal equality, those who succeed in reaching the goals of Virtue and Talent will constitute and form a new Aristocracy.
Nineteen years had passed away since the occurrences related in the preceding chapters; and it was now the summer of 1846.
The July sun gave forth a heat of intense sultriness; and not a breath of air fanned the stifling streets of the West-End, nor agitated the green foliage of St. James’s Park. Nevertheless all that fashionable quarter of London which lies within the immediate vicinity of the old palace that gives its name to the park just mentioned, presented a bustling and animated appearance; for Queen Victoria was to hold a grand reception at noon that day.
Pall Mall was thronged with well-dressed persons of both sexes;—and the windows and balconies in that thoroughfare were crowded with elegantly-attired ladies and gentlemen, who were either the occupants of the houses at the casements of which they were thus stationed, or had hired seats at the shops where the cupidity of the proprietors turned to advantage the curiosity of the public.
It was evident, then, that the reception to be holden this day was of no ordinary character, and that some great or illustrious personage was expected to attend the royal levee. For, amongst the thousands that thronged the streets, an immense anxiety to secure the best places prevailed; and in all quarters was the eager question asked—“But is it certain that the Prince will come this way?”