POWER BEHIND THE THRONE.

Waikato Times, Volume 112, Issue 18809, 3 December 1932, Page 13 (Supplement)

POWER BEHIND THE THRONE.

Queen Victoria’s Secret Advise (Bv E. F. Benso QUEEN VICTORIA had published In the year 18(58 an artless little volume called “ Leaves from the Journal of a Life in the Highlands," describing the manner of her days at Balmoral with the Prince Consort. It was the kind of book which Is usually privately printed by the author, and given "to a few friends,” w’lio thereupon write to say liow’ it brings back the .old’days, and instantly relegate It to an obscure bookshelf in the bedroom. But the Queen was easily persuaded by Sir Arthur Helps to let these “ Leaves ” be published, not for a few friends alone, but for all her subjects. They had always been deeply in sympathy with the joys and sorrows of their Sovereign, and it would indeed be a prhilege to them to know "how her rare moments of leisure were passed in her Highland home when every joy was heightened, and every sorrow diminished by the loving companionship of the Prince Consort." The Queen yielded to these arguments, and appointed Sir Arthur Helps as editor. Lord Beaconsfleld received a copy, and subsequently wrote, referring to her and himself as " we authors," and told her that her book and the Bible were his bedside volumes. Others gave her to understand that all her subjects regarded it as an almost sacred disclosure.. John Brown: Encouraged by this reception, the Queen followed up " Leaves " early in 1884 with another volume .called "More Leaves from the Journal of a Life in the Highlands,” a very similar chroniole of later days there after the Prince Consort’s death. In both she described her picnics and her ponies, the cloud of midges that bit her dreadfully, the blueness of skies, the purpleness of the heather, the toothache of one daughter, the sitting down on a wasp’s nest of another, the amusement of seeing the crowds on the banks of the Clyde w'ho had assembled to see the Victoria and Albert go by, oaught by the backwash of her yacht, the christenings and funerals she had attended, the devotion of John Brown and the present of a plated biscuit tin w’hich she made him. In fact, in the second volume there was a good deal about John Brown, and she dedicated it to his memory, for he had died the year before. Now, there had been a good deal of quiet amusement (of which, of course, the Queen knew nothing) about the books generally, for they were of the most trivial sort, for all mention of politics and international interests was excluded altogether; and this dedication to John Brown had in particular been the source of innocent merriment. He had been the Prince Consort’s gillie, and, starting from that cherished association, the Queen had allowed him lo adopt towards her a tone of familiarity and a brusqueness in his demeanour which she would certainly not have stood from any of her other subjects or from her family. " Unthinkable.’* The thing was grotesque: Ministers at Balmoral were liable to be patronised and patted on the shoulder by this ill-bred Highlander, whose struttings and swaggerings were no longer confined to Balmoral, for he was with her now at Windsor and Osborne as well Long before his death he had become quite intolerable, but nobody had one tithe of the courage necessary to speak to the Queen about it: they knew 'perfectly well how such a complaint, would lie received. After his death, as we have seen, site dedicated her second volume to his memory. She sent this hook, as soon as it was out, to Dean Daviclson, and told him that she meant to write even more “ Leaves,” which would certainly contain additional allusions to John Brown. Davidson instantly saw that this would never do. More about John Brown was unthinkable: there had been far too much about him already, and she would make herself ridiculous. His personal admiration of her was'unbounded. He knew that she discharged her great office with noble consciousness and wisdom, and he hated the thought that those who did not know her should find excuse for belittling her supremo qualities. ' Unpalatable Advice. At whatever personal risk to his career, he was determined if possible to save her from this mistake, and he did what nobody else, especially those who knew her best, would have dared to do. In a letter of great tact and respectfulness he told her that her previous publications, though valued and treasured by all right-minded people, had provoked very unappreciative criticism from those of the baser sort, who had thus proved themselves unworthy of the privilege her Majesty had granted them in making them partakers of her private joys and sorrows; he felt most strongly that they did not deserve any further confidences. The Queen received this letter with the most signal mark of her displeasure, namely dead silence, devastating and prolonged silence. She had not asked for advice, but advice of the most unpalatable sort had been given her: nobody had ever dared to write to her like that before. But, all the time, as he hoped she would do, she had been taking counsel with her own superb gift (that almost equalled Ills) of common sense, and when next after a portentous pause she sent for him again to learn his opinion on some other matter, no allusion was made to the past. The fresh literary adventure, which would have been a great mistake, was never heard of again, and she treated her Dean with an added intimacy and confidence such as she gave to no one else. No Ordinary Character. Now, a young clergyman who had the nerve to taokle that most formidable personage In a manner so wholly unprecedented was no ordinary character. The awful silence of her displeasure had not in the least disintegrated

r : Dr. Davidson’s Record. In Sunday Times.) him: he knew he was right, ftnd he believed that on reflection should would come to agree with him. If she did not, he had still done his duty by one who had honoured him hitherto with her confidence, and the event showed how right he was in his outspokenness. Nobody else would have dared to do what lie had done, and prooably they were quite right in not venturing, for their attempt would have been a disastrous failure. But he had judged her correctly, trusting that, unaccustomed as she was to criticism of any sort, she would get over her resentment at this unasked-for frankness, and weigh his advice. • Courage—and Caution. It wag not once only or twice, but invariably, when she consulted him, that he gave her the frankness which, at heart, she wanted. There were moments when on offering her unpalatable suggestions, he was aware of her deadly silence, and knew that those prominent blue eyes, before which her nearest and dearest were wont to quail, were fixed on his audacious face, and he wondered if, this time, he had gone too far. But his courage never failed him; never did he refrain from giving her the counsel that ho would have given to any other old lady who, in the matter of friends, was lonely, and who knew it. The criticism then that, in the high position in the Church that he was presently to hold, and in his twentyfive years’ occupancy of the highest, he showed timidity when boldness would have been better is completely answered by his policy when dealing with the Queen. His courage was unimpeachable, but like all people of an exceedingly subtle mind, he coupled with it the gift of caution. He preferred to win his point through the exercise of persuasion and counsel and even minor compromise If he thought that he risked more than he might gain by a coup de main. This subtlety was not intellectual, but consisted in the main In his power of awakening the reasonableness of those who disagreed with him .... Prayer Book Measure. There can be little doubt that, eagerly conscientious though he was in the discharge of his duties, many if not the majority of the questions that incessantly occupied him had not in themselves any very great interest for him, nor the obsessing, haunting quality of dreams that must be realised. The rules and ordinances of the Church should certainly be observed, and he was prepared to go to extremes, when persuasion failed, with those who broke them, but he did not personally care a jot whether a recalcitrant Incumbent had lighted candies on the Communion Table, or ceremonially mixed the Chalice, or recited prayers for the dead, and at heart he thought it waste of time to be occupied overmuch in such matters. And, ns the irony of fate would have it, during the whole period of his archi-episcopate, the revision of Hie Prayer Book demanded his close and constant attention, and at the end, all liis diligence and finesse were lost labour, the weaving of ropes of sand. .Certainly that was a tragedy in his eyes, but it was not primarily tragic because a cause .which he had passionately at heart was unachieved, or because he thought, that its rejection by Ihe House of Commons had deprived the realm of some great spiritual benefit. Trusted Counsellor. A vast amount of time and trouble had been spent oyer a few additions and omissions to which, spiritually, like most other people, he was indifferent; lie could worship Cod quite as well according to the rubrics or the old Prayer Boojv as of (lie new, and the only object of these interminable committees extending over twenty years had been to define a little more accurately what the .laws and by-laws of the Church were, and how much latitude was allowed to its ministers. It had been a very painstaking 'drafting of rules, and at the end when all the labour was done the whole went into the waste-paper basket . . . It may be questioned, therefore, whether his work, vast though it was, gave him scope for ail that his superb gifts of Insight and of diplomatic dealing with questions of wider import fitted him. He was at his best when he was adviser and counsellor, and men in the highest positions in the political world trusted his wisdom and his farsighted common-sense in matters that had nothing to do with eoclesiastical questions more than they trusted that of anyone living, exactly as, for seventeen - years, Queen Victoria had done. His True Gift. An instance of, Ibis occurred just before the war when there was a threat of imminent insurrection in Ireland. On one particular Sunday morning lie was due to hold a confirmation in his diocese, but there arrived at Lambeth three urgent summonses for his presence elsewhere. These highly-placed personages all sent for him to seek his counsel in the crisis. His first task was to find another bishop who could confirm just as efficiently as he, and off he went to render services which no one could do (such was the feeling of his petitioners) as well as he. There lay his true gift, and he brought to such functions as secret adviser to men in high public office abilities that did not attain their full fruition in ecclesiastical presidency. Immensely, 100, did he enjoy being in touch with great affairs, and pleasure in such oases is always a whetstone to wisdom: he was at his best in such dealings, it may seem strange to suggest that a man who for twentyfive years has admirably discharged the duties of the first subject in the realm could have done better yet for his country and used with greater effect his individual gifts, •but such I believe to be the case, for the man at the age of 34 effectively advised Queen Victoria for her good on a matter concerning authorship, and at the age of f>s was sent for by those who sought his advice on a matter of national Importance concerning Ireland.