Queen Victoria by Richard Rivington Holmes Page B

possible from Windsor, to convey the news to Kensington. They arrived at five in the morning, and with some difficulty aroused the sleeping household. Alter much delay, an attendant stated that the Princess was in such a sweet sleep that she could not be disturbed; to which the messengers replied, “We have come on business of State to the Queen, and even her sleep must give way to that.” In a few minutes she came into the room, a shawl thrown over her dressing-gown, her feet in slippers, and her hair falling down her back. She had been wakened by the Duchess of Kent, who told Her Majesty she must get up; she went alone into the room where Lord Conyngham and the Archbishop were waiting. The Lord Chamberlain then knelt down, and presented a paper announcing the death of her uncle to the Queen; and the Archbishop said he had come by desire of Queen Adelaide, who thought the Queen would like to hear in what a peaceful state the King had been at the last. Meanwhile, at the Council Office, to which the news of the late King’s death had been conveyed by special messenger from Windsor, summonses were issued with all possible haste to the Privy Counsellors to attend at Kensington, to present a loyal address of fealty, and to offer homage. This address, which had been kept in readiness, was conveyed at once to the Palace by Mr. Barrett Lennard, chief clerk of the Council Office, whose son, acting as his private secretary, has communicated an account of the ceremony, of which he is now, besides Her Majesty, the only survivor. In the antechamber to which they were introduced, six persons at most were present, amongst whom were the Duke of Sussex and the Duke of Wellington, with Lord Melbourne, who had previously been received in audience alone at 9 a.m.
    Subsequently about a dozen ministers, prelates, and officials, were admitted, when the doors were closed. The address was read aloud and signed by the Duke of Sussex and then by the others present, after which the doors were opened, “disclosing a large State Saloon, close to whose threshold there stood unattended a small, slight, fair-complexioned young lady apparently fifteen years of age. She was attired in a close-fitting dress of black silk, her light hair parted and drawn from her forehead; she wore no ornament whatever on her dress or person. The Duke of Sussex advanced, embraced, and kissed her - his niece, the Queen. Lord Melbourne and others kissed hands in the usual form, and the Usher taking the address, closed the folding doors, and the Queen disappeared from our gaze. No word was uttered by Her Majesty or by any present, and no sound broke the silence, which seemed to me to add to the impressive solemnity and interest of the scene.” The subsequent meeting of the Queen’s first Council has been described by many of those who were privileged to attend it; and a fairly accurate picture of it has been painted by Sir David Wilkie, who, at the expense of truth, has emphasized the principal figure by painting her in a white dress instead of the black which was actually worn, the Queen being already in mourning for the death of the mother of Queen Adelaide. The Council met at eleven o’clock, and at that hour the Queen, who had been accompanied to the adjoining room by her mother, was met by her uncles, the Dukes of Cumberland and Sussex, who introduced her to the Council Chamber, where she took her seat on a chair at the head of the table. No better description of the scene can be given than that, often quoted, by Greville, clerk of the Council: “Never was anything like the first impression she produced, or the chorus of praise and admiration which is raised about her manner and behaviour, and certainly not without justice. It was very extraordinary, and something far beyond what was looked for. Her extreme youth and inexperience, and the ignorance of the world concerning her, naturally excited intense curiosity to see how she would act on this trying occasion, and