The shock of Raglan’s death silenced at the time all just criticism on his career. The most that can be said for him is said by Lord Malmesbury in his “Memoirs of an Ex-Minister.” “I knew him well,” he writes, “and cannot recollect a finer character. He was the Duke’s right-hand man through the Peninsular war, and was greatly esteemed by him. Handsome and high-bred in person, and charming in society, he was one of the most popular of its members. He was remarkable for his coolness under fire, and St. Arnaud, in his famous despatch after the battle of the Alma, says of him: ‘Il avait toujours ce même calme qui ne le quitte jamais.’” It is, alas! not given to every man to wield the Arthurian brand Excalibur, and whatever he may have been in the Peninsula under Wellington, in the Crimea, Raglan was almost as incompetent as St. Arnaud, Canrobert, and Menschikoff. His blunders were as follows: (1), According to Sir T. Martin, he approved of the invasion of the Crimea in utter ignorance of the ground, when the campaign was proposed by the French Emperor.[219] (2), He consented to invade the Crimea after he had discovered that it was a mad project, and when the discretionary clause in his instructions from the Duke of Newcastle gave him an opportunity of remonstrating with the Cabinet. (3), He invaded the Crimea without an organised Transport Corps. (4), His blunders at the Alma, Balaclava, and Inkermann have been already noted. (5), Till pressure was put on him by Prince Albert, he concealed the miserable state of the army from the Government. (6), By neglecting to make a road between Balaclava and his camp he brought all the miseries of the winter of ’54-’55 on his troops. (7), By attacking the Redan when he knew quite well it was impossible to capture it, he doomed his troops to useless and avoidable slaughter. No defence has been made for him except on the last two counts of the heavy indictment against him. He did not make a road from Balaclava to the camp, says Mr. Kinglake, because he had not enough men at his disposal. This is an explanation rather than a defence. His first duty as a general was to connect his camp with his base. If he was unable to do that, he ought to have abandoned his position. But is not Mr. Kinglake’s defence just a little absurd, taken in connection with the Homeric episodes of the war? Had anybody enough men to do anything great or valuable in the Crimea? Campbell had not enough men to turn the tide of battle, in our favour at the Alma. But he did it. He had not enough men to save our base at Balaclava—but he saved it. Scarlett and Cardigan had not enough men to break through the Russian columns in “the Valley of Death”—but they broke through them. The Duke of Cambridge had not enough men to hold his ground at Inkermann—but he and his Guards held it, till it was positively soaked and saturated with their blood. Mr. Kinglake’s advocacy, indeed, provokes one to say that scarcity of men never kept Lord Raglan back from any enterprise, when, as at Balaclava and the Redan, the only attainable end was the purposeless butchery of his battalions. The feeble attack on the Redan has been justified on the ground that, as Pélissier was determined to assault the Malakoff, and was certain to be beaten, he was equally certain to attribute his defeat to the timidity of the English, unless they co-operated with him. It is, however, the business of an English general to win battles for his country—not to lose them in deference to the childish petulance of a foreign colleague. At the same time, it must be admitted that Raglan was greatly embarrassed from the first by his French coadjutors, and it is because some of his errors sprang from enforced concessions to their views, that these have been omitted from the present catalogue of his blunders. The truth is, that Lord Raglan was really a diplomatist, and his diplomatic ability was essential to the consolidation of our military alliance with France in the field. That was the sole justification for his appointment as Commander-in-Chief. His personal courage—rivalling that of antiquity, said St. Arnaud—was the only soldierly quality he possessed. “He was a very perfect gentle knight,” too sweetly graceful for the rude ravishment of war, or the weary travail of a siege. His generosity of heart, his charm of manner, his exquisite tact, his serene temper, his chivalrous sense of honour, his high and courtly bearing, rendered him worthy of

though not worthy to hold the post to which he was appointed in the Crimea. But if he was not a great general, he was a great gentleman; and so, when he passed away, the hand of censure fell very lightly on his career.

CHAPTER XXXII.

ROYALTY AND THE WAR.

Early in 1855 her Majesty became anxious, not to say nervous, as to the plans that were to be adopted for financing the war. Her personal prepossessions were all in favour of Mr. Gladstone’s policy—which was that of meeting expenditure out of current revenue. But then the cost of the campaign was now so enormous that it was impossible to increase taxation so as to cover it. The winter had been severe. Though the end of December and the first thirteen days of January had been like summer, during the night of the 13th, says Sir F. Hastings Doyle, “the wind shifted suddenly to the N.N.E., and a savage frost came on which lasted at least two months without intermission or abatement.”[220] Outdoor workers found themselves without employment. Gangs of hungry-eyed labouring men began to parade the streets of London, levying black-mail on well-to-do householders. Ultimately mobs of roughs attacked and plundered the bakers’ and chandlers’ shops in the East End on the 21st and 22nd of February, and in Liverpool, where some 15,000 riverside labourers were out of work, terrible scenes of riot and outrage were enacted. It was a time when the abstraction of capital from the country by raising a war loan would be a slight evil, compared with that which might follow from the imposition of heavy war taxes on a discontented and suffering industrial population. It was therefore decided that the cost of the war should be met by a loan.

Sir George Cornewall Lewis brought forward his Budget on the 30th of April. He could estimate for a prospective revenue of £63,000,000. This, however, still left him with a deficit of £23,000,000, which he raised (1), by a Three per Cent. Loan of £16,000,000; (2), by an addition to taxation which brought in £4,000,000; (3), by raising £3,000,000 on Exchequer Bills. “The additional taxes,” Sir George Lewis wrote to his friend Sir E. Head, “were, however, assented to without resistance by the House, who feared a larger addition to the Income Tax, and thought that if they objected to my proposition, taxes which they disliked still more would be substituted.” As for the loan, the Money Market, he says, “was in a state favourable for such an operation; for at present there is an abundance of money, but a want of profitable investment for the purpose of trade.”[221] The loan of £2,000,000 to Sardinia was sanctioned without much demur, but the loan of £5,000,000 to Turkey was violently objected to—especially by the Tories and Cobdenites. It was raised under the joint guarantee of France and England—an arrangement which many people thought might create disputes between the guarantors. Lord Palmerston, in fact, only carried the loan through by a vote of 135 to 132. Lord Aberdeen’s followers opposed the transaction, and their opposition was resented by the Queen, who had already concluded and ratified the arrangement with the French Emperor for guaranteeing the loan.

In other respects, however, the relations of the Court to the war were less open to criticism. It has already been stated how her Majesty toiled with her own hands to aid those who were striving to mitigate the sufferings of the army during the Crimean winter. She wrote a letter to the Commander-in-Chief on the subject that touched the heart of every soldier in camp or hospital. Mr. Augustus Stafford, in the debate on Mr. Roebuck’s motion in the House of Commons (26th of January), thrilled his audience by telling them how he saw a wounded man, after hearing the letter read, propose the Queen’s health in a draught of bark and quinine. Mr. Stafford said to him it was a bitter cup for a loyal toast; to which the man replied, with a smile, “Yes, and but for these words of the Queen I could not have got it down.” Nor was her Majesty less assiduous in her attention to the wounded, when their haggard and mournful contingents began to return. On the 3rd of March she went down to Chatham with her husband and her two eldest sons to inspect the Military Hospital at Fort Pitt and Brompton. The wounded men who could crawl from their beds were drawn up on the lawn, each bearing a card with a description of his name, services, and wounds. Along this gaunt array the Queen passed, sad-eyed and thoughtful, speaking a few kind and cheering words to the sufferers whose wounds or services especially attracted her notice. Contemporary reports of course stated that the Sovereign was well pleased with the manner in which those poor men were treated. But two days afterwards she sent a sharp letter to Lord Panmure, which showed that she had been using her eyes to good purpose during her inspection. He must, she says, have some really serviceable military hospitals built for the sick without delay. The poor men at Fort Pitt were well treated; but, she complains, “the buildings are bad—the wards more like prisons than hospitals, with the windows so high that no one can look out of them—and the most of the wards are small, with hardly space to walk between the beds.” Her criticisms on the dining arrangements are trenchant; and then she goes on to argue that though Lord Panmure’s plan of building hulks may do very well at first, it will not do for any length of time. “A hulk,” she contends, “is a very gloomy place, and these poor men require their spirits to be cheered, as much as to have their physical sufferings attended to. The Queen is particularly anxious on this subject, which is, she may truly say, constantly in her thoughts, as, indeed, is everything connected with her beloved troops, who have fought so bravely and borne so heroically all their sufferings and privations.”[222]

“I myself,” said Queen Elizabeth to her troops at Tilbury, “will be your general and your judge, and the rewarder of every one of your virtues in the field.” If Queen Victoria has never either in statecraft or power attained the position held by that leonine woman, she did not fail to emulate her in her devotion to the gallant men who bled and died for England in the desolate Chersonese. The Queen’s visit to the hospital at Chatham, and her reception there by the soldiers, prompted her to take the unusual course of suggesting to Lord Clarendon, on the 22nd of March, that she should with her own hands present war medals to the officers and men who were at home disabled or on leave. On the 18th of May a Royal daïs was accordingly put up in the centre of the Horse Guards parade ground, with barriers enclosing from the crowd of spectators, a space for the heroes of the ceremony. At eleven o’clock the Queen, Prince Albert, and their family appeared, and at a signal the soldiers who were to be decorated stood before her. They passed along in single file, each handing a card recording his name and services to an officer, who delivered it to the Queen. She then presented each hero with his medal, saying a kindly word to every man as he went by. It was a strange and impressive spectacle. Gaunt, pallid forms, maimed and

mutilated, hobbled along on crutches—or staggered forward, aided by walking-sticks—and for officers and men alike the Queen had words of sympathy that drew tears from many an eye. From the highest Prince of the blood—the Duke of Cambridge was the first to step forward for his medal—to the humblest private, writes the Queen to King Leopold, “all received the same distinction for the bravest conduct in the severest actions, and the rough hands of the brave and honest private soldier came for the first time in contact with that of their Sovereign and their Queen. Noble fellows! I feel as if they were my own children; my heart beats for them as for my nearest and dearest.”[223] Captain Currie, of the 14th, was so feeble that he almost failed to reach the daïs on his crutches, and his condition profoundly touched the heart of the Queen. Captain Sayer, of the 23rd Fusiliers, could not be lifted out of his chair, so the Queen bent over him gracefully and pinned his medal to his breast, with a few words of comfort and hope. Colonel Sir T. Troubridge, of the 7th Fusiliers, who, when he had both his feet shot away at Inkermann, refused to leave his command till the battle was won, was also unable to leave his chair. When the Queen gave him his medal she whispered in his ear that she would reward his courage by making him one of her own aides-de-camp, whereupon he answered, “I am now amply repaid for everything.” It was a scene which moved the hearts of all who took part in it, with the exception, perhaps, of the brusque and churlish Secretary of State for War. Lord Malmesbury says, “After the ceremony, Lady Seymour, whom I met, told me that Mrs. Norton, talking about it to Lord Panmure, asked, ‘Was the Queen touched?’ ‘Bless my soul, no!’ was the reply. ‘She had a brass railing in front of her, and no one could touch her.’ Mrs. Norton then said, ‘I mean was she moved?’ ‘Moved!’ answered Lord Panmure, ‘she had no occasion to move.’ Mrs. Norton then gave it up in despair.”[224]

When the Emperor of the French first hinted at his intention of going to the Crimea, the idea frightened everybody. His own entourage, knowing his ignorance of the art of war, and convinced that defeat meant ruin for him and for them, were in despair. The Queen, too, was alarmed, because she foresaw infinite danger from the scheme. The Emperor would naturally desire to take supreme command of both armies, whereas the English people would not permit British troops to serve under a foreign sovereign, whose antecedents were doubtful, and whose friendship was uncertain. The French and English Governments therefore privately suggested to the Queen that she should now invite the Emperor and Empress to pay their promised visit to England, hoping that the Queen’s influence might be used for the purpose of preventing him from proceeding to the seat of war.[225] The invitation was accepted, and the rooms in Windsor which had been occupied by the Czar Nicholas and King Louis Philippe were set apart for the Imperial guests.

At noon on the 16th of April, after some mishaps in the dense fog which shrouded the Channel, the Imperial yacht reached the Admiralty Pier at Dover, where Prince Albert was waiting to receive his guests. The Prince went on board, shook hands with the Emperor, and then going down to the cabin reappeared with the Empress on his arm. They landed amidst complimentary salvoes of artillery from the castle, the salutes of the military, and the ringing cheers of the crowd. The Royal party then proceeded to London, and when they arrived at the Bricklayers’ Arms Station, they found dense masses of people assembled to welcome them. Their route lay along the line of streets leading to the Great Western station, where they took train for Windsor. Lord Malmesbury writes in his Diary, “Lady Ossulton, Lady Manners, my wife and I went to Lord Carrington’s house in Whitehall to see the Emperor of the French pass. The weather was beautiful and bright, the streets were choked with people. The cortège made its appearance at 6.15 p.m.; there were but six open carriages, four of them escorted by a squadron of Life Guards, and a good many outriders in scarlet liveries. They passed very slowly at a walk

and were enthusiastically cheered the whole way from the South Eastern to the Great Western terminus.... On going up St. James’s Street, the Emperor was seen to point out to the Empress the house where he formerly lived in King Street. This was at once understood by the crowd, who cheered louder than ever. On passing the Horse Guards the Emperor stood up in his carriage and saluted the colours, and was of course immensely cheered.”[226] At Windsor the excitement was intense, and the Queen was on tiptoe of expectation. Referring to the arrival of the visitors, she writes, “I cannot say what indescribable emotions filled me—how much all seemed like a wonderful dream. These great meetings of sovereigns, surrounded by very exciting accompaniments, are always very agitating.”[227] Her Majesty advanced and the Emperor kissed her hand. She saluted him once on each cheek, and then, as she says, “embraced the very gentle, very graceful, and evidently very nervous Empress.” The Duke of Cambridge and the Prince of Leiningen and the Royal children were presented—“Vicky (now Princess Imperial of Germany) with very alarmed eyes making very low curtesies.” In the Throne Room other presentations followed. At dinner, however, the Emperor put the Queen quite at her ease. He assumed the soft, low voice and the melancholy manner of the hero of some romance of mystery. They talked about the war—the Queen gently dissuading him from going to the Crimea, he mournfully expressing his apprehension of disasters unless he went out, and complaining of the blunders of the generals. Next morning (the 17th) the subject was renewed during a long walk after breakfast. This time the Empress was eager in pressing the Emperor to proceed to Sebastopol, where, she said with truth, he was perhaps safer than in Paris. In the afternoon the Royal Family and their Imperial guests reviewed the Household troops, surrounded by gay crowds, full of effusive enthusiasm for our Allies. At dinner they discussed the manifold iniquities of Austria, and mourned over her decadence, because she would not fight to vindicate a plan for reducing the Russian navy in the Black Sea to six ships instead of eight. At night there was a ball in the Waterloo Room—an odd place in which to find the granddaughter of George III. dancing with the nephew of Napoleon I. The sombre memories of the hall, however, did not prevent the Queen’s guest from dancing, as she herself records, “with great dignity and spirit.” Next morning (the 18th) at breakfast the Emperor received a telegram announcing the death of M. Ducos, the Minister of Marine,[228] and at eleven o’clock a grand Council of War was held in the Emperor’s rooms, at which those present were Prince Albert, Lords Palmerston, Panmure, Hardinge, and Cowley, Sir Charles Wood, Sir John Burgoyne, Count Walewski, and Marshal Vaillant. “Something should be done somewhere, and by somebody in the Crimea,” seems to have been the resolution to which the council came. Though unanimous in urging the Emperor not to go there, it failed to convince him that he ought to stay at home. In the afternoon Prince Albert, when out walking with the Emperor, submitted a plan of his own for reorganising the Allied Forces, which the Emperor approved. It was sent on to Palmerston, Panmure, Hardinge, and Burgoyne, and they resolved to draw up a memorandum on the subject for the next Conference.

The Council of War of the 18th sat on from 11 till 2 p.m., and at 4 p.m. a Grand Chapter of the Order of the Garter was held in the Throne Room—the Emperor being invested with the insignia of the Order—in all the pomp and circumstance of Royal State. The Queen sat at the head of the table with a vacant chair on her right hand; Garter King-at-Arms summoned each Knight in the order of his creation, beginning with the Marquis of Exeter and ending with Lord Aberdeen. The Prelate of the Order read the new statute dispensing with existing statutes in favour of the Emperor of the French, who was then introduced by Prince Albert and the Duke of Cambridge. The Queen and the assembled Knights stood up to receive the Emperor, who passed on and sat in the chair on the Queen’s right hand. Her Majesty having proclaimed the Emperor’s election, the King-at-Arms presented the Garter to the Queen, who, assisted by her husband, buckled it on the Emperor’s left leg, after which she placed the riband over his Majesty’s left shoulder, the Chancellor of the Order pronouncing the admonition. The accolade was then presented to the new Knight, and the ceremony was over. “It is one bond the more,” said the Emperor as he walked with the Queen to his apartments—“I have given my oath of fidelity to your Majesty and to your country.” But all the world knows, neither bond nor oath was strong enough to prevent him from subsequently intriguing with Russia against England, when the Congress of Paris met to settle the questions raised by the sudden termination of the Crimean War. Yet, the Imperial flatteries served the purpose of the moment, for the Queen wrote, “These words are very valuable from a man like him, who is not profuse in phrases, and who is very steady of purpose.”[229] After dinner her Majesty seems to have been chiefly amused by Marshal Vaillant’s confidential conversation with her, in which he manifested great terror lest the Emperor would take command of the Army in the Crimea. In the evening there was an orchestral concert. “The Queen, Emperor, and Empress,” writes Lord Malmesbury, “with the Royal Family, their suites, and those invited to the banquet, entered soon after ten, and seated themselves without speaking to any one. As soon as music was over the company passed before the Queen and Emperor.... The Queen had arranged everything herself, made out the lists of invitations for both parties at Windsor, and the concert for to-morrow at Buckingham Palace. Very few, except Cabinet Ministers, are asked twice. Even Lady Breadalbane, who is one of the Court, was invited only for the evening party last night, and had to sleep at a pastrycook’s, there being no room at the Castle.”[230]

Next day (the 19th) the Emperor and Empress had to visit the City, and hosts and guests seemed alike sad and nervous when the Royal party set forth. There was just a chance that some sufferer from the crime of December, 1851, might wreak his vengeance on the perpetrator of it. The Lord Mayor and Corporation, however, gave their guests a splendid reception. London decked itself forth with loyal bunting. Crowds cheered the Emperor and Empress on their way, and the town rang with “Partant pour la Syrie,” which dismal air Cockneydom in those days preferred to the “Marseillaise,” as the symbol of the French alliance, and, perhaps, also as being less trying to the nerves of its guest.[231] The Corporation gave their Imperial visitor a sumptuous banquet. With characteristic delicacy of taste they served him with sherry, which

they produced proudly, because it was from the famous butt that had been bought for £600 by Napoleon I. in his palmy days. In the evening the Imperial visitors went with the Queen to the opera, where Fidelio was played. “We literally drove through a sea of human beings,” writes the Queen, “cheering and pressing near the carriage.”[232] When the Royal party appeared after the first act was over, the audience in Her Majesty’s Theatre rose and hailed them with deafening cheers, the Queen leading the Emperor and Prince Albert the Empress forward, so as to emphasise the fact that they were especially the objects of this demonstrative greeting.[233] Next day, the 20th of April, was the Emperor’s birthday. When the Queen congratulated him in the morning it seems he looked confused, because for the moment he had forgotten all about the event. He, however, kissed her hand gratefully when she presented him with her gift—a little pencil-case—and was much touched with the other present he received—“two violets, the flower of the Bonapartes—from Prince Arthur.”[234] Amidst great crowds cheering most enthusiastically the Royal party drove to the Crystal Palace. They went through the building in perfect privacy, and then walked on to the balcony to see the fountains play. But when they returned to luncheon they found that quite a crowd of sightseers had been admitted, and were lining the avenue of the nave. It was a trying moment. The rows of spectators through which the Royal party had to walk were almost touching them, and Emperor and Empress both dreaded assassination. The Queen, nervous as she was, courageously took the Emperor’s arm, feeling sure her presence would protect him; and so the day passed without any unpleasantness. In the evening there was another meeting of the Grand Council of War, the Queen being present. Again the Council failed to decide on a plan of operations. But it was admitted that they could come to an agreement as to the stake to be played for in the game of war, and this agreement, under seven heads, was drawn up by Prince Albert, and signed by Marshal Vaillant and Lord Panmure.[235] Next day (the 21st) the guests left amidst tender farewells on both sides. At Lady Malmesbury’s dinner-party that day, Lord Adolphus Fitzclarence told the company that the leave-taking was very affecting. “Everybody cried—even the suite. The Queen’s children began, as the Empress had been very kind to them, and they were sorry to lose them, and this set off the Maids of Honour.”[236] The Emperor’s last words to the Queen were, “I believe that having spent my birthday with your Majesty will bring me good luck, that and the little pencil-case you gave me.”[237] The Queen wrote in her Diary, “I am glad to have known this extraordinary man, whom it is certainly impossible not to like when you live with him, and not even to a considerable extent to admire.... I believe him to be capable of kindness, affection, friendship, and gratitude.” Prince Albert’s admiration, on the other hand, was not quite so unqualified, and the Queen notes that he preferred the Empress to the Emperor. When the Emperor returned to Paris he found that his reception in England had done much to increase his prestige. But he also discovered that he must abandon his intention of going to the Crimea. On the 25th of April he communicated this welcome news to the Queen in a letter abounding with engaging expressions of gratitude, for her kindness and hospitality to him and his Imperial consort.

On the 28th of June Prince Albert writes to Stockmar saying, “Uncle Leopold comes on Tuesday with Philippe and Carlo, and by the end of the week we purpose to get away from the thoroughly used-up air of London. The political folly and the levity of parties and the press, amidst the terrible mass of business, makes our head reel.”[238] When these visitors reached Osborne they found the Queen depressed and sorrowful. Scarlet fever had attacked the Princes Arthur and Leopold and the Princess Louise, and her Majesty was naturally afraid lest her young Belgian relatives might be smitten also. Fortunately this peril was avoided, and the Queen, encouraged by the approaching prorogation of Parliament, gradually regained her cheerfulness. She had suffered from intense anxiety during the Session, and it was with a deep sense of relief that she found herself able to prorogue both Houses by Commission on the 14th of August. The Speech from the Throne dwelt on the advantages derived from cementing the French alliance. The Legislature was also congratulated on having passed several useful measures—amongst which those establishing local self-government in the metropolis, sanctioning the formation of Limited Liability Companies, and abolishing the stamp duty on newspapers, may be mentioned.

The allusion to the French alliance was made with skill and tact. “You will come to Paris this summer,” said the Emperor to the Queen when he was bidding her farewell at Windsor. “Yes,” she replied, “if my public duties do not prevent me.” These duties it was now obvious would in no way prevent her, and it was therefore determined that the Queen and her husband should spend eight days with the Emperor and Empress. The visit was to begin on the 18th of August, and before that day came round the British fleet in the Baltic and the allied armies in the Crimea had won some slight successes, which rendered the war a little less unpopular than it had been in France. Still, despite the victory at Tchernaya, it was unpopular. France, according to Frenchmen, was spending blood and treasure for English interests. The alliance between the two countries was giving England the time and experience needed to improve her defective military system—leaving her in relation to France stronger than ever. As for the political parties—Legitimists, Orleanists, and Democrats—they looked on the Queen’s visit with hostility, because it was meant to strengthen the hands of a usurper, whom they all hated. The visit therefore was not made under auspicious circumstances. Just before the Queen started on this journey the King of Portugal arrived at Osborne, and on the 4th of August the Prince tells Stockmar how they had to lodge him on their yacht, to keep him out of danger from scarlet fever—the two eldest children in the Royal Family having alone escaped the malady. Many visits were interchanged, however, between the King and the Queen and Prince Albert. The Queen, indeed, at the request of her Ministers, had agreed to persuade King Pedro to join us in the war, a proposal which he, however, very sensibly rejected.[239]

It was in the early dawn of Saturday, the 18th of August, that the Queen and Prince Albert, accompanied by the Prince of Wales and the Princess Royal, embarked at Osborne, and, escorted by a steam squadron, proceeded to Boulogne, where they arrived at one o’clock in the afternoon. Salutes of cannon from the heights, volleys of musketry from the troops, and enthusiastic cheers from the people greeted the visitors. When the Royal yacht came to the pier the Emperor hastened on board, saluted the Queen, kissing her hand and both cheeks, and then shook hands with Prince Albert, the Prince of Wales, and the Princess Royal. The Queen and her family drove to the station, the Emperor and Marshal Magnan riding on each side of her carriage. They took train to Paris, where they were cordially received. From the terminus of the Strasbourg Railway to the Palace of St. Cloud the houses were all in festal array, and 200,000 National Guards formed a double line for five miles along the route. This brilliant display was somewhat lost on the Queen, for her arrival was delayed till seven in the evening. She, however, had the pleasure of seeing Paris under the flare of illumination, and when she approached the Arc de Triomphe her escort carried blazing torches, which gave a strange picturesque effect to the scene. She was welcomed to the Palace of St. Cloud, which had been set apart for her, by the Empress and the ladies and high officers of the household; and Prince Albert describes their reception by the people as “splendid” and “enthusiastic.” The Queen says in her Diary, “I felt bewildered but enchanted—everything is so beautiful.” Sunday, the 19th, was devoted to a quiet morning drive with the Emperor, who was in high spirits over the Crimean news, and to church-going—service being held in one of the rooms of the palace by the chaplain to the British Embassy. Then there was a charming drive in the afternoon to Neuilly, and later on a dinner-party, at which Canrobert appeared, almost fresh from the Crimean trenches. He sat next the Queen, and was surprised to find that she was nearly as well acquainted with the details of the war as he was himself. On Monday, the 20th, the Emperor escorted his guests to breakfast—“the coffee quite excellent, and all the cookery very plain and very good,” writes the Queen, and served “on a small round table as we have at home.” A visit to the Exhibition of Fine Arts, luncheon at the Elysée, a long drive through the chief streets of Paris, and a theatrical performance in the evening (at the Palace) of the Demoiselles de St. Cyr, formed the programme. Tuesday, the 21st, was dedicated to a visit to the Palace of Versailles and the Trianon, associated with mournful memories of Marie Antoinette and the ladies of her court, who used to retire at times to this retreat to play at Arcadian simplicity. In the evening, after dinner, the Queen and her hosts went to the Opera, where her Majesty’s reception was most cordial and gratifying. The notabilities of Parisian society were there, and they were all charmed with the easy, cheerful, high-spirited bearing of the Queen. On Wednesday, the 22nd, she visited the Exhibition of Industry, remarking that the English exhibits of china were the most striking. Then she drove to

the Tuileries, and accepted an invitation from the Préfet and the Municipality of Paris to a ball at the Hôtel de Ville. The Queen, Prince Albert, the Prince of Wales, and Princess Royal next drove through Paris incognito, and in the evening were entertained at a great dinner, at which eighty guests were present. At this dinner the Queen and the Emperor talked long and earnestly over the Anglo-French alliance—he telling her that Drouyn de Lhuys had suggestively reminded him how Louis Philippe became unpopular because of his alliance with England; the Queen retorting that it was not Louis Philippe’s friendship with England, but his insincerity and treachery, which caused his fall. On Thursday, the 24th, the Louvre was visited, and in the evening the Queen attended the ball at the Hôtel de Ville—the opening quadrille being danced by her Majesty, the Emperor, Prince Albert, the Princess Mathilde, Prince Napoleon, Lady Cowley, Prince Aldebert of Bavaria, and Mdle. Haussmann, daughter of the Prefect of the Seine. The scene was brilliant beyond conception. It was a triumph of decorative art having, as the Queen said, “all the effect of the Arabian Nights.” Picturesque Arabs from Algeria at one part of the proceedings came forward and did homage to the Emperor and his guests, staring admiringly at the Koh-i-noor which the Queen wore in her diadem. The Royal party made the tour of the rooms, tarrying for a little in the Salle du Trône, where Robespierre was wounded and Louis Philippe proclaimed; and where the Emperor gallantly said to the Queen, “This occasion will banish from us all sad remembrances.” On Friday, the 24th, the Queen visited a second time the Palais d’Industrie, lunched at the École Militaire, and witnessed a review of the troops. Their smart uniforms, her Majesty writes, “are infinitely better made and cut than those of our soldiers, which provokes me much.” After this the Queen drove to the Hôtel des Invalides, to visit the tomb of the first Emperor. As she stood before the coffin leaning on the Emperor’s arm, by a strange coincidence, while the organ of the church was pealing forth the solemn strains of the English National Anthem, a dreadful thunder storm broke overhead. At dinner the Emperor and Queen that day entertained each other with complaints about the incapacity of their generals in the Crimea, and in the evening another visit, but not in State, was paid to the Opera. On Saturday, the 24th, the Queen attended a hunt in the forest of St. Germain, where she was received by the local curé and a bevy of village maidens, one of whom broke down in the middle of her complimentary address to the visitors, though when the curé prompted her, greatly to the Queen’s amusement, she went on glibly to the end. In the evening there was a grand State Ball at Versailles, the Empress, as she appeared at the head of the grand staircase, says the Queen, “looking like a fairy queen or nymph,” and surprising even the Emperor into exclaiming, “Comme tu es belle!” (“How lovely you are!”) After a splendid display of fireworks there was dancing, and many distinguished guests were presented to the Queen, amongst others Count Bismarck, then Prussian Minister to Frankfort. But he did not make himself agreeable to her Majesty, for when she expressed her admiration for Paris as a beautiful city, he replied, “Yes, even more beautiful than St. Petersburg”—a very significant indication of his strong pro-Russian sympathies. On Sunday, the 26th, Prince Albert’s birthday was quietly celebrated, and the Queen and Emperor had some serious talk over the persecution of her friends—the Orleans Princes and Princesses—in the course of which she very frankly and honestly explained to the Emperor the precise nature of her relations to them. Monday, the 27th, was devoted to leave-takings and the journey home. At Boulogne there was an inspection of troops and the camps of Hensault and Ambleteuse were visited, and late at night the Queen steamed away in her yacht from Boulogne Harbour. “Adieu, Madame, au revoir,” to which I replied, “Je l’espère bien”—these, according to the Queen, were the parting words which passed between her and her Imperial host. By half-past eight next morning her Majesty reached Osborne, finding her younger sons waiting on the beach to welcome her home.

The Queen was deeply impressed, she says, with the Emperor’s quietness, gentleness, and simplicity of manner. She felt encouraged to confide in him without reserve, and was greatly charmed by his kindness and attention to her children, and his admiration for Prince Albert. The Prince, however, did not quite share the Queen’s enthusiasm for their host, though he admitted that the Emperor had great powers of fascination when he chose to exert them. Lord Clarendon, who was Minister in attendance on her Majesty, told Mr. Greville that during this visit “the Queen was delighted with everything, and especially with the Emperor himself, who, with perfect knowledge of women, had taken the surest way to ingratiate himself with her. This it seems he began when he was in England, and followed it up at Paris. After her visit the Queen talked it all over with Clarendon, and said ‘it is very odd; but the Emperor knows everything I have done, and where I have been ever since I was twelve years old; he even recollects how I was dressed, and a thousand little details it is extraordinary he should be acquainted with.’ She has never before been on such a social footing with anybody, and he has approached her with the familiarity of their equal positions, and with all the experience and knowledge of womankind he has acquired during his long life, passed in the world and in mixing in every sort of society. She seemed to have played her part throughout with great propriety and success. Old Jérôme[240] did not choose to make his appearance till just at the last moment, because he insisted on being treated as a king, and having the title of ‘Majesté’ given him—a pretension Clarendon would not hear of her yielding to.... Clarendon said nothing could exceed the delight of the Queen at her visit to Paris, at her reception, at all she saw, and that she was charmed with the Emperor. They became so intimate, and she on such friendly terms with him, that she talked to him with the utmost frankness, and even discussed with him the most delicate of all subjects—the confiscation of the Orleans property, telling him her opinion upon it. He did not avoid the subject, and gave her the reasons why he thought himself obliged to take that course; that he knew all this wealth was employed in fomenting intrigues against his government, which was so new that it was necessary to take all precautions to avert such dangers. She replied that even if this were so, he might have contented himself with sequestrating the property and restoring it when he was satisfied that all danger on that score was at an end. I asked Clarendon what he thought of the Emperor himself, and he said that he liked him and that he was very pleasing, but he was struck with his being so indolent and so excessively ignorant. The Prince of Wales was put by the Queen under Clarendon’s charge, who was desired to tell him what to do in public, when to bow to the people, and whom to speak to. He said that the Princess Royal was charming, with excellent manners and full of intelligence. Both the children were delighted with their séjour, and very sorry to come away. When the visit was drawing to a close, the Prince said to the Empress that he and his sister were both very reluctant to leave Paris, and asked if she could not get leave for them to stay there a little longer. The Empress said she was afraid this would not be possible, as the Queen and Prince Albert would not be able to do without them; to which the boy replied, ‘Not do without us! don’t fancy that, for there are six more of us at home, and they don’t want us.’”[241]