Familiar as his garter.”
And so, as the great Victorian epoch rolls away into the deep shadow of the past, the Empire rests as it were on a rainbow-edge between the storm and sunshine, grief and hope,—grief for the Monarch that was, hope for the Monarch that is. One invaluable influence Edward VII brings with him to the Throne in his Queen-Consort, the “sea-king’s daughter from over the sea,” whom we all love and admire with a boundless love and admiration. Never has there been a more exquisite woman than the beautiful Princess whom we now call Queen Alexandra; her sweet face has been a light in our land for many years, and her generous deeds of sympathy and love are known wherever her name is spoken. All manner of kindly thoughts have moved her spirit,—thoughts which have blossomed into kindliest actions, and the very sorrows she has suffered have seemed merely to increase her sweetness, if such a thing could be possible. It will be strange at first to think of her as Queen Alexandra, having known her always as Princess of Wales, but if queenly deeds can make queenliness, then she has been a queen all the time. Of gracious manner and rare dignity, she, too, possesses the love of home and home surroundings which so notably distinguished our late Queen, and it may be prophesied that her quiet influence will maintain the Court at that high standard of combined excellence, brilliancy and intellectuality which shall give the key-note to manners and culture throughout Europe. All the same we shall do well to remember that society is not what it was in the early Victorian days, and also that with the spread of educational systems, the masses of the people equally are not what they were. In the older times the middle and lower classes were uneducated and illiterate; now they have sufficient learning to be able to think for themselves, and to judge men and matters more or less correctly. The toiling millions know while they toil, that they have a right to an opinion on government and social questions, and they give utterance to that opinion sometimes in unexpected ways. The feudal system no longer works; and the most careful, prudent and painstaking rulers of countries and peoples are sometimes called to account sharply when altogether unprepared. The militarism of the German Emperor is exceedingly picturesque, but it would not find favour with free Britons, and though it is well that the ties of amity and good-will should be cemented between nations, the Englishman is not over fond of his German brother, or his German rival in every branch of trade. “Made in Germany” has become a contemptuous by-word with the British artisan, and the spirit which is at the root of that contempt is a very strong spirit indeed. It can scarcely be called pessimistic to feel, aye, to almost see, much political and social agitation for England in the immediate future,—much trouble and difficulty for all concerned in England’s government, when the last tears have been shed, and the last farewells spoken in pulpit and on platform for the “passing” of the great Queen! For with her passes more than herself; her death sets the closing seal on the scroll of the nineteenth century; and with her departs for ever a Royal dynasty! We do not quite grasp the meaning of the grave historical events through which we have rushed, half blind with amazement, during the first month of the Twentieth Century; many of us do not yet fully understand that we have done with the House of Hanover, and have accepted as reigning Sovereigns the House of Saxe-Coburg Gotha. It means nothing very much to our ears as yet, but who shall predict that it may not in future mean something more than we can anticipate? Edward VII is King over a generation of people whose modes of thought and life are totally different to the modes of thought and life which distinguished the English during the first half of his Mother’s reign. Few will deny that there is much in modern society which would be better eliminated, and that the general callousness and carelessness shown for most things save self and money are not good signs of the times. People who made our late Queen’s Funeral an excuse for private rowdyism, who engaged “windows with luncheon inclusive,” for £50 and £100, and laughed and giggled in their “fashionable” black as the solemn cortège went by, as if the whole pageant were a circus fair, are not promising subjects of our great realm. Such persons, however, it must be remembered, were of the ultra-moneyed class, and it is the ultra-moneyed class who are likely to have much to do in the ruling of social matters. The actual People of Great Britain have nothing in common with these; these, who in their millions watched the mortal remains of their great Queen carried through the streets of London in a silence that was almost terrible, because so pregnant with unuttered meanings. These millions are they who are most deeply and loyally conscious of their loss in the death of the good Queen,—these are they who take up the labour of their days again with heavy hearts, and doubting, puzzled brains wondering what is to come next. War is draining out young brave lives through the country,—trade is slipping from British hands to Americans and foreigners,—taxation is heavy; food and fuel are dear. Speculators in South African holdings are preparing largely for their own self-aggrandizement, regardless of the country’s welfare, or the life-blood that has been shed in the long and cruel contest with the Boers; and it is, under the circumstances, which are visible to the most casual observer, and need no exaggeration to make them more serious, that Edward VII ascends the Imperial Throne of England. He has what none of his early ancestors had,—a cheap Press ready to flatter him,—to note his every movement,—to eulogize his every smile and nod, to crawl and cringe and clean his boots with paragraph blacking daily, and editors who want to be “Sirs” and “Barts” will so demean themselves before him as to make him wonder, perchance, in an idle moment why God made such men! Unfortunately he cannot avoid this kind of thing, only it is devoutly to be wished that the people who read such gratuitous accounts of his Majesty’s doings would once for all understand that they are merely reading “smart” fiction, and that for news of the King which shall be correct and legitimate, they had best pin their faith on the Court Circular. Otherwise they will soon lose their way in the wonderful web of Fleet Street imaginings, which are more potent to transform a truth to a lie, and a wise man to a fool, than the most direful spells of Circe.
A leading and popular journalist has lately penned the following:—
“That we have loved our Queen is beyond dispute, but the pretence that has been offered that her departure brings a great epoch to a close is ridiculous.”
Nevertheless, “ridiculous” as it seems to this one individual, there can be no doubt that a great epoch has closed, and that it is particularly doubtful whether as great a one will ever dawn again. Nations have their lives and deaths like individuals, and in the opinion of many, both here and abroad, the more active life of England has already begun to decline. “For,” as Carlyle says, “never on this earth was the relation of man to man long carried on by Cash-payment alone. If at any time a philosophy of Laissez-faire, Competition, and Supply-and-demand start up as the exponent of human relations, expect that it will soon end.”
We will not, however, shall not accept forebodings of disaster; and yet there are hints in the very air of a coming battle and a dawning change.
“Great thoughts are heaving in the world’s wide breast;
The time is labouring with a mighty birth; The old ideals fall.
Men wander up and down in wild unrest;
A sense of change preparing for the Earth Broods over all.