At the close of the season the Prince of Wales sailed for Canada, after he had accepted the President of the United States' invitation to visit him at Washington. At the same time another distant colony was to be graced by the presence of royalty; it was settled that Prince Alfred was to land at the Cape of Good Hope. The Queen's sons were to serve her by representing her race and rule in her far distant dominions.

In July the Princess Royal became the medium, in a letter home, of the overtures of the Hesse family for a marriage between Prince Louis and Princess Alice--overtures favourably received by the Queen and the Prince, who were much attracted by the young suitor. Immediately afterwards came the intelligence of the birth of the Princess Royal's second child--a daughter.

The eyes of all Europe began to be directed to Garibaldi as the champion of freedom in Naples and Sicily.

In August the Court went North, staying longer than usual in Edinburgh for the purpose of holding a volunteer review in the Queen's Park, which was even a greater success than that in Hyde Park. The summer day was cloudless; the broken nature of the ground heightened the picturesqueness of the spectacle. There was much greater variety in the dress and accoutrements of the Highland and Lowland regiments, numbering rather more than their English neighbours. The martial bearing of many of the men was remarkable, and the spectators crowding Arthur's Seat from the base to the summit were enthusiastic in their loyalty. The Queen rejoiced to have the d.u.c.h.ess of Kent by her side in the open carriage. The old d.u.c.h.ess had not appeared at any public sight for years, and her presence on this occasion recalled former days. She was not venturing so far as Abergeldie, but was staying at Cramond House, near Edinburgh. Soon after the Queen and the Prince's arrival at Balmoral the news reached them of the death of their aunt, the d.u.c.h.ess of Kent's only surviving sister, the widow of the Grand- Duke Constantine of Russia.

This year the Queen and the Prince, with the Princesses Alice and Helena, made, in fine weather, a second ascent of Ben Macdhui.

The success of such an excursion led to a longer expedition, which meant a night spent on the way at what was little better than a village inn. Such a step was only possible when entire secrecy, and even a certain amount of disguise, were maintained. Indeed, the little innocent mystery, with all the amus.e.m.e.nt it brought, was part of the pleasure. The company consisted of the Queen and the Prince, Lady Churchill and General Grey, with two keepers for attendants. Their destination, reached by driving, riding, and walking through the shiel of the Geldie, Glen Geldie, Glen Fishie, &c, was Grantown, where the party spent the night, and were waited on, in all unconsciousness, by a woman in ringlets in the evening and in curl-papers in the morning.

But before Grantown was left, when the truth was known, the same benighted chambermaid was seen waving a flag from the window of the dining and drawing-room in one, which had been lately so honoured, while the landlady on the threshold made a vigorous use of her pocket- handkerchief, to the edification and delight of an excited crowd in the street.

The Court returned to Osborne, and on the 22nd of September the Queen, the Prince, and Princess Alice, with the suite, sailed from Gravesend for Antwerp _en route_ for Coburg, where the Princess Royal was to meet them with her husband and the child-prince, whom his grandparents had not yet seen.

The King of the Belgians, his sons and daughter-in-law met the travellers with the melancholy intelligence that the Prince's stepmother, the d.u.c.h.ess-Dowager of Coburg, who had been ill for some time, but was looking forward to this visit, lay in extremity. At Verviers a telegram announced that she had died at five o'clock that morning--a great shock to those who were hastening to see her and receive her welcome once more. Royal kindred met and greeted the party at each halting-place, as by Aix-la-Chapelle, Frankfort, where they slept, the valley of the Maine and the Thuringen railway, the travellers approached Coburg. Naturally the Queen grew agitated at the thought of the arrival, so different from what she had expected and experienced on her last visit, fifteen years before. At the station were the Duke of Saxe-Coburg and Prince Frederick William of Prussia, in deep mourning. Everything was quiet and private. At the door of the palace, in painful contrast to the gala faces and dresses of her earlier reception, stood the Grand d.u.c.h.ess and the Princess Royal in the deepest German mourning, with long black veils, the point hanging over the forehead. Around were the ladies and gentlemen of the suites.

"A tender embrace, and then we walked up the staircase," wrote the Queen; "I could hardly speak, I felt so moved, and quite trembled."

Her room was that which had formerly belonged to the d.u.c.h.ess of Kent when she was a young Coburg princess. One of its windows looked up a picturesque narrow street with red roofs and high gables, leading to the market-place. His English nurse led in the Queen's first grandchild, aged two years, "in a little white dress with black bows."

He was charming to his royal grandmother. She particularised his youthful attractions--"A beautiful white soft skin, very fine shoulders and limbs, and a very dear face, ... very fair curly hair."

The funeral of the Dowager-d.u.c.h.ess took place at seven o'clock on the morning of the 27th September, at Gotha, and was attended by the gentlemen of the party, while the ladies in deep mourning, wearing the pointed veils, were present at a commemorative service in the Schloss Kirche at Coburg.

Then followed a quiet happy time, among the pleasures of which were the daily visits from the little grandchild, the renewal of intercourse with Baron Stockmar, whom Germans called the familiar spirit of the house of Coburg; the acquaintance of the great novelist, Auerbach; a visit to Florrschutz, the Prince's old tutor, in the pretty house which his two pupils had built for him.

The holiday was alarmingly interrupted by what might have been a grave accident to the Prince Consort. He was driving alone in an open carriage with four horses, which took fright and dashed along at full gallop in the direction of the railway line, where a waggon stood in front of a bar, put up to guard a level crossing. Seeing that a crash was inevitable, the Prince leapt out, escaping with several bruises and cuts, while the driver, who had remained with the carriage, was thrown out when it came in contact with the railway-bar, and seriously hurt. One of the horses was killed, the others rushed along the road to Coburg. They were met by the Prince's equerry, Colonel Ponsonby, who in great anxiety procured a carriage and drove with two doctors to the spot, where he found the Prince lending aid to the injured man.

Colonel Ponsonby was sent to intercept the Queen as she was walking and sketching with her daughter and sister-in-law, to tell her of the accident and of the Prince's escape, before she could hear a garbled version of the affair from other quarters.

In deep grat.i.tude for the Prince's preservation, her Majesty afterwards set aside the sum deemed necessary--rather more than a thousand pounds--to found a charity called the "Victoria Stift," which helps a certain number of young men and women of good character in their apprenticeship, in setting them up in trade, and marriage.

The royal party returned at the end of a fortnight by Frankfort and Mayence. At Coblentz, where they spent the night, her Majesty was attacked by cold and sore throat, though she walked and drove out next day, inspecting every object she was asked to see in suffering and discomfort. It was her last day with the Princess Royal and "the darling little boy," whom his grandmother was so pleased to have with her, running about and playing in her room. The following day was cold and wet, and the Queen felt still worse, continuing her journey so worn out and unwell that she could only rouse herself before reaching Brussels, where King Leopold was at the station awaiting her. By the order of her doctor, who found her labouring under a feverish cold with severe sore throat, she was confined to her room, where she had to lie down and keep quiet. Never in the whole course of her Majesty's healthful life, save in one girlish illness at Ramsgate, of which the world knew nothing, had she felt so ailing. Happily a night's rest restored her to a great extent; but while a State dinner which had been invited in her honour was going on, she had still to stay in her room, with Lady Churchill reading to her "The Mill on the Floss," and the door open that the Queen might hear the band of the Guides.

On the 17th of October the travellers left Brussels, and on the 17th arrived at Windsor, where they were met by the younger members of the family.

On the 30th of October the great sea captain, Lord Dundonald, closed his chequered life in his eighty-fifth year.

In December two gallant wooers were at the English Court, as a few years before King Pedro, the Arch-Duke Maximilian, and Prince Frederick William were all young bridegrooms in company. On this occasion Prince Louis of Hesse-Darmstadt came to win Princess Alice, and the hereditary Prince of Hohenzollern Seigmaringen was on his way to ask the hand of Donna Antoine, sister of King Pedro. Lord Campbell paid a visit to Windsor at this time, and made his comment on the royal lovers. "My stay at Windsor was rather dull, but was a little enhanced by the loves of Prince Louis of Hesse and the Princess Alice.

He had arrived the night before, almost a stranger to her" (a mistake), "but as her suitor. At first they were very shy, but they soon reminded me of Ferdinand and Miranda in the _Tempest_, and I looked on like old Prospero."

The betrothal of Princess Alice occurred within the week. Her Majesty has given an account in the pages of her journal, transferred to the "Life of the Prince Consort," how simply and naturally it happened.

"After dinner, whilst talking to the gentlemen, I perceived Alice and Louis talking before the fireplace more earnestly than usual, and when I pa.s.sed to go to the other room both came up to me, and Alice in much agitation said he had proposed to her, and he begged for my blessing.

I could only squeeze his hand and say 'Certainly,' and that we would see him in our room, later. Got through the evening work as well as we could. Alice came to our room ... agitated but quiet.... Albert sent for Louis to his room, went first to him, and then called Alice and me in...." The bride was only seventeen, the bridegroom twenty-three years of age--but nearly two years were to elapse, with, alas! sad changes in their course, before the marriage thus happily settled was celebrated.

This winter her Majesty's old servant and friend, Lord Aberdeen, died.

In December the Empress of the French, who had recently lost her sister, the d.u.c.h.ess of Alba, in order to recover health and cheerfulness, paid a flying visit in private to England and Scotland.

From Claridge's Hotel she went for a day to Windsor to see the Queen and the Prince. Towards the close of the year the Prince had a brief but painful attack of one of the gastric affections becoming so common with him.

In January, 1861, the Queen received the news of the death of the invalid King of Prussia at Sans Souci. His brother, the Crown Prince, who had been regent for years, succeeded to the throne, of which the husband of the Princess Royal was now the next heir.

In the beginning of the year the Prince of Wales matriculated at Cambridge.

In February the Queen opened Parliament. The twenty-first anniversary of the royal wedding-day falling on a Sunday, it was celebrated quietly but with much happiness. The Queen wrote to her uncle, King Leopold, "Very few can say with me that their husband, at the end of twenty-one years, is not only full of the friendship, kindness, and affection which a truly happy marriage brings with it, but of the same tender love as in the very first days of our marriage."

CHAPTER x.x.xIII.

DEATH OF THE d.u.c.h.eSS OF KENT.

The d.u.c.h.ess of Kent was now seventy-five years of age. For the last few years she had been in failing health, tenderly cared for by her children. When she had been last in town she had not gone to her own house, Clarence House, but had stayed with her daughter in the cheerful family circle at Buckingham Palace.

A loss in her household fell heavily on the aged d.u.c.h.ess. Sir George Cooper, her secretary, to whose services she had been used for many years, a man three years her junior, died in February, 1860.

In March the d.u.c.h.ess underwent a surgical operation for a complaint affecting her right arm and rendering it useless, so that the habits of many years had to be laid aside, and she could no longer without difficulty work, or write, or play on the piano, of which her musical talent and taste had made her particularly fond. The Queen and the Prince visited the d.u.c.h.ess at Frogmore on the 12th of March, and found her in a suffering but apparently not a dangerous condition.

On the 15th good news, including the medical men's report and a letter from Lady Augusta Bruce, the d.u.c.h.ess of Kent's attached lady-in- waiting, came from Frogmore to Buckingham Palace, and the Queen and the Prince went without any apprehension on a visit to the gardens of the Horticultural Society at Kensington. Her Majesty returned alone, leaving the Prince to transact some business. She was "resting quite happily" in her arm-chair, when the Prince arrived with a message from Sir James Clark that the d.u.c.h.ess had been seized with a shivering fit-- a bad symptom, from which serious consequences were apprehended.

In two hours the Queen, the Prince, and Princess Alice were at Frogmore. "Just the same," was the sorrowful answer given by the ladies and gentlemen awaiting them.

The Prince Consort went up to the d.u.c.h.ess's room and came back with tears in his eyes; then the Queen knew what to expect. With a trembling heart she followed her husband and entered the bedroom.

There "on a sofa, supported by cushions, the room much darkened," sat the d.u.c.h.ess, "leaning back, breathing heavily in her silk dressing- gown, with her cap on, looking quite herself"

For a second the sight of the dear familiar figure, so little changed, must have afforded a brief reprieve, and lent a sense of almost glad incredulity to the distress which had gone before. But the well-meant whisper of one of the attendants of "_Ein sanftes ende_"

destroyed the pa.s.sing illusion. "Seeing that my presence did not disturb her," the Queen wrote afterwards, "I knelt before her, kissed her dear hand and placed it next my cheek; but though she opened her eyes, she did not, I think, know me. She brushed my hand off, and the dreadful reality was before me that for the first time she did not know the child she had ever received with such tender smiles. I went out to sob.... I asked the doctors if there was no hope; they said they feared none whatever, for consciousness had left her.... It was suffusion of water on the chest which had come on."

The long night pa.s.sed in sad watching by the unconscious sufferer, and in vain attempts at rest in preparation for the greater sorrow that was in store.

A few months earlier, on the death of the King of Prussia, the Prince Consort had written to his daughter that her experience exceeded his, for he had never seen any person die. The Queen had been equally unacquainted with the mournful knowledge which comes to most even before they have attained mature manhood and womanhood. Now the loving daughter knelt or stood by the mother who was leaving her without a sign, or lay painfully listening to the homely trivial sounds which broke the stillness of the night--the crowing of a c.o.c.k, the dogs barking in the distance; the striking of the old repeater which had belonged to the Queen's father, that she had heard every night in her childhood, but to which she had not listened for twenty-three years-- the whole of her full happy married life. She wondered with the vague piteous wonder--natural in such a case--what her mother, would have thought of her pa.s.sing a night under her roof again, and she not to know it?

In the March morning the Prince took the Queen from the room in which she could not rest, yet from which she could not remain absent. When she returned windows and doors were thrown open. The Queen sat down on a footstool and held the d.u.c.h.ess's hand, while the paleness of death stole over the face, and the features grew longer and sharper. "I fell on my knees," her Majesty wrote afterwards, "holding the beloved hand which was still warm and soft, though heavier, in both of mine. I felt the end was fast approaching, as Clark went out to call Albert and Alice, I only left gazing on that beloved face, and feeling as if my heart would break.... It was a solemn, sacred, never-to-be-forgotten scene. Fainter and fainter grew the breathing; at last it ceased, but there was no change of countenance, nothing; the eyes closed as they had been for the last half-hour.... The clock struck half-past nine at the very moment. Convulsed with sobs I fell on the hand and covered it with kisses. Albert lifted me up and took me into the next room, himself entirely melted into tears, which is unusual for him, deep as his feelings are, and clasped me in his arms. I asked if all was over; he said, "Yes." I went into the room again after a few minutes and gave one look. My darling mother was sitting as she had done before, but was already white. Oh, G.o.d! how awful, how mysterious! But what a blessed end. Her gentle spirit at rest, her sufferings over."

By the Prince's advice the Queen went at once to the late d.u.c.h.ess's sitting-room, where it was hard to bear the unchanged look of everything, "Chairs, cushions ... all on the tables, her very work- basket with her work; the little canary bird which she was so fond of, singing!"

In one of the recently published letters of Princess Alice to the Queen, the former recalled after an interval of eight years the words which her father had spoken to her on the death of her grandmother, when he brought the daughter to the mother and said, "Comfort mamma,"

a simple injunction which sounded like a solemn charge in the sad months to come.

The melancholy tidings of the loss were conveyed by the Queen's hand to the d.u.c.h.ess's elder daughter, the Princess of Hohenlohe; to the d.u.c.h.ess's brother, the King of the Belgians--the last survivor of his family--and to her eldest grand-daughter, the Crown Princess of Prussia.

The moment the Princess Royal heard of the death she started for England, and arrived there two days afterwards.

The unaffected tribute of respect paid by the whole country, led by the Houses of Parliament, to the virtues of the late d.u.c.h.ess, was very welcome to the mourners. The d.u.c.h.ess of Kent by her will bequeathed her property to the Queen, and appointed the Prince Consort her sole executor. "He was so tender and kind," wrote the Queen, "so pained to have to ask me distressing questions, but spared me so much.

Everything done so quickly and feelingly."

The funeral took place on the 25th of March, in the vault beneath St.

George's Chapel, Windsor. The Prince Consort acted as chief mourner, and was supported by two of the grandchildren of the late d.u.c.h.ess, the Prince of Wales and the Prince of Leiningen. The pallbearers were six ladies; among whom was Lady Augusta Bruce. Neither the Queen nor her daughters were present. They remained, in the Queen's words, "to pray at home together, and to dwell on the happiness and peace of her who was gone." On the evening of the funeral the Queen and the Prince dined alone; afterwards he read aloud to her letters written by her mother to a German friend, giving an account of the illness and death of the Duke of Kent more than forty years before. The Queen continued the allowances which the d.u.c.h.ess of Kent had made to her elder daughter, the Princess Hohenlohe, and to two of the d.u.c.h.ess's grandsons, Prince Victor Hohenlohe and Prince Edward Leiningen. Her Majesty pensioned the d.u.c.h.ess's servants, and appointed Lady Augusta Bruce, who had been like a daughter to the dead Princess, resident bedchamber woman to the Queen.

Frogmore had been much frequented by Queen Charlotte and her daughters, and was the place where they held many of their family festivals. It had been the country house of Princess Augusta for more than twenty years. On her death it was given to the d.u.c.h.ess of Kent.

It is an unpretending white country house, s.p.a.cious enough, and with all the taste of the day when it was built expended on the grounds, which does not prevent them from lying very low, with the inevitable sheet of water almost beneath the windows. Yet it is a lovely, bowery, dwelling when spring buds are bursting and the birds are filling the air with music; such a sheltered, peaceful, home-like house as an ageing woman well might crave. On it still lingers, in spite of a period when it pa.s.sed into younger hands, the stamp of the old d.u.c.h.ess, with her simple state, her unaffected dignity, her affectionate interest in her numerous kindred. The place is but a bowshot from the old grey castle of Windsor. It was a chosen resort of the royal children, to whom the n.o.ble, kind, grandame was all that gracious age can be. Here the Queen brought the most distinguished of her guests to present them to her mother, who had known so many of the great men of her time. Here the royal daughter herself came often, leaving behind her the toils of government and the ceremonies of rank, where she could always be at ease, was always more than welcome. Here she comes still, after twenty years, to view old scenes--the chair by which she sat when the d.u.c.h.ess of Kent occupied it, the piano she knew so well, the familiar portraits, the old-fashioned furniture, suiting the house admirably, the drooping trees on the lawn, under which the Queen would breakfast in fine weather, according to an old Kensington --an old German--custom.