THE ILLNESS OF DECEMBER, 1871.
How much the Prince of Wales had endeared himself to all classes in the nation was attested by the deep anxiety and the universal sorrow when he was struck down with illness in December, 1871. Those who remember that time, can tell how, for some weeks, all thoughts were turned to the chamber of sickness at Sandringham; with what earnest anxiety the daily bulletins were looked for; and with what fervent devotion the prayers of millions ascended to the throne of grace. The "dark December" of 1861, when the good Prince Consort lay on his deathbed, increased the ominous foreboding. Touching incidents of that critical period are still told. The watchful attendance of the Princess of Wales was illustrated in no way more strikingly than in the anecdote of her request to the clergyman at Sandringham to alter the order of the morning service so as to let her, after joining in the public prayer for recovery, hasten back to her husband's side. We remember, too, the affectionate anxiety of the royal mother, and brothers and sisters; and how the Prince himself, when he recovered consciousness, asked thoughtfully about the condition of the servant, who died of the same fever which nearly proved fatal to his master.
Had the Prince been "taken" at this period of his life, history would have recorded the loss in terms of tender regret, such as had been, more than once, felt towards Princes of Wales who died before coming to the throne. The eldest son of James I., for instance, was long remembered with deepest sorrow, so much was he loved, and so large the hopes of the nation which had been centered in him. Had our Prince been lost in that illness, there would have been another instance of what inspired one of the noblest of all passages in classic literature, the "Tu Marcellus eris" of Virgil. Happily it was otherwise ordained, and the enthusiasm of joyful thankfulness at the recovery of the Prince was as truly national as had been the anxiety and grief at his illness. The special Thanksgiving Collect, written by the Archbishop of Canterbury, expressed well the universal feeling of the nation:—
"O Father of mercies and God of all comfort, we thank Thee that Thou hast heard the prayers of this nation in the day of our trial. We praise and magnify Thy glorious name for that Thou hast raised Thy servant Albert Edward Prince of Wales from the bed of sickness. Thou castest down and Thou liftest up, and health and strength are Thy gifts. We pray Thee to perfect the recovery of Thy servant, and to crown him day by day with more abundant blessings both for body and soul; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen."
When the Thanksgiving day was proclaimed, it was still doubtful whether the Prince himself would be allowed by his medical attendants to risk the winter journey for Osborne, along with the Queen. But his own desire to be present nerved him for the effort, and he obtained the assent of Sir James Paget, who had gone specially to give his opinion.
The danger had increased in the end of November and the first weeks of December. The first hopeful announcement was made on December 17th, and on January 3rd convalescence had decidedly begun. A public thanksgiving service was proclaimed for the 21st of January. On February 22nd the Letter of the Queen to the nation was published, and then followed the National Thanksgiving Service in St. Paul's on the 27th.
With regard to the Royal procession, and the display inside the Cathedral, the scene was far less imposing than on that famous day, the 23rd of April, 1789, when King George III. and Queen Charlotte went to St. Paul's to return public thanks for His Majesty's restoration to health. On that occasion there was more of heraldic pageantry, and more of official display, than accords with modern usage. But everything was done to make this assemblage as far as possible representative of all classes in social and public life. Not fewer than 13,000 persons had places allocated to them in the Cathedral. In the Times of Wednesday, February 28th, a full classified list of the ticket-holders will be found. About 300 Mayors and Provosts from all parts of the kingdom had places. There were 560 places for representatives of the Army and Navy. The Peers and Commons had 885 tickets for each house. The Dean of St. Paul's had nearly 1300 tickets at his disposal. The Corps Diplomatique, "distinguished foreigners," London School Board, the Board of Works, Learned Societies, Nonconformists, and numerous other bodies figure in the catalogue. The wearers of uniform and official dress, besides the gaudy civic corporations, gave variety to the scene. The Judges, English, Scotch, and Irish, with robes and wigs, gave warm tone to the Law corner. Special state chairs were occupied by the Lord Chancellor and the Speaker, representing Parliament. The Press had 80 places, and the "General Public" made up the number 12,480 tickets—those who took part in the procession—the stewards, police, firemen, and the officials bringing up the total to about 13,000.
The crowds lining the streets, for about seven miles along which the procession passed, were innumerable; and every window and coign of vantage, with numerous scaffoldings along the line, appeared filled with spectators. Not even when the Princess of Wales entered London was there such a dense multitude seen, and it is only on rare occasions that one can see "all London in the streets." In our time we can remember some such occasions—the funeral of the Duke of Wellington, the reception of the Princess of Wales, and the entrance of Garibaldi, being among them.
It was not in the Metropolis alone, that the rejoicing was universal. Every city and town had its festivities, and its services of thanksgiving in Church and Chapel. Addresses came, by hundreds, from all quarters, and the announcement was made of holiday gatherings, of crowded meetings, of illuminations, and every form of public rejoicing. The telegraph flashed news of similar excitement throughout the whole of the Empire; and religious services were held wherever Englishmen are found on the Continent, in the Colonies, and in India. If ever a rejoicing could be called national and imperial, it was this, on the Thanksgiving Day for the recovery of the Prince of Wales.