The Attempt on the Queen’s Life

It is the rare fortune of the reigning Monarch that her life is bound up with the most important interests of her people. The Queen is respected and loved for the qualities she has manifested on the throne; but, besides these feelings, there is one of an interest, not dishonoured by the name of selfish, in her life and the continuance of her line. When the tidings of the attempted assassination went forth, the emotions of astonishment and horror were followed by the reflection that the Queen’s escape was the nation’s escape, and that the blow which might have deprived her of life would have subjected the country to grievous trials and calamities. These considerations, superadded to the respect and attachment which the Queen’s character inspires, render her life more precious to the people than the life of any Sovereign in history. Her life is prayed for for the sake of her virtues, and for the sake of the peace and the liberties of her people. She is not only loved as the friend of her people, but also as standing between them and an object of their distrust and dread.

The motives of the monster who aimed at a life so innocent and so dear to millions are as yet inexplicable. The very circumstances in which the enormity was attempted heighten its savage character, the Queen’s confidence in her people, in going about without state or escort, having exposed her to the murderous attack. There is something in the sight of the domestic simplicity of the young Queen, with her young husband by her side, making no show of greatness but the greatness of her happiness, which might have touched malice itself with relentings. The fact and the temper in which it was committed constitute altogether a prodigy of wickedness, and yet we strongly suspect that nothing more than a passion for notoriety has prompted this horrible enormity. It may seem incredible that for such a motive such a crime could be meditated, and certain death could be braved, but the experience of every day shows that the appetite for vulgar éclat, at the most extraordinary sacrifices, is a growing disease. In France, where it is more prevalent than in England, many of the suicides are attributed to it. Insanity is the easy, off-hand explanation of acts for which it is difficult to account; as if crime were in its nature so rational, that irrationality in the motives of an action were enough to take it out of the categories of crime. Were each analysed strictly, it would be found that there was an ingredient of insanity in most of them, and that the question is only one of degree.

Whatever may have been the motive for the crime, it will, we trust, be a warning to the Queen’s enemies in the Tory party to abstain from calumnious invectives, which, as the Chronicle well observes, to say the least of them, could have no tendency to avert or check the impulse of assassination in the bosom where once it had found admission.

Had the attempt to assassinate the Queen occurred a few months ago, when Tory prints and Tory orators were holding forth in execration of her, how terrible would have been the appearance of correspondence between the crime and the calumnies tending to it. The worst reviler of the young Queen doubtless feels horror at the attempt on her life, but he should also feel horror at the reflection that his attacks on her character might have whetted the assassin’s purpose, or abated his repugnance to the deed. The speech of Oxford, that he thought a woman should not reign over such an empire as this, is but a mild repetition of an argument laboured in the Quarterly Review last summer. The Chronicle forcibly remarks: “A lesson, we trust, will be learned from this atrocious attempt by those partisans who, in the latter part of last summer, addicted themselves to such outrageous language in reference to her Majesty. Their hearts must sink within them at the recollection. When they call to mind their descriptions of the alleged vices and orgies of the Palace, their allusions to the constrained abdication of King James, their incautious application of the name of that accursed woman Jezebel, and all the other ravings which excited partisans uttered to assemblies excited also, by liquor or by fanaticism, they must of themselves, we hope, feel the solemn rebuke which Providence has administered, and take warning for the future.”

The Queen’s demeanour after the attempt evinced the courage which is a noble characteristic of her race. Persons who had heard of the attack, and who saw the Queen continuing her drive about half an hour after it, discredited the report, seeing the calm composure, and unaltered manner of her Majesty. Whatever may have been the Queen’s feelings, she kept them thoroughly under command.

In the proceedings of the police we see some of the matter for wonderment which generally presents itself, and makes it appear almost a miracle that the ends of justice are ever attained. The report states—

“In consequence of the crowds round the station-house, it was arranged that the prisoner should pass out as quickly as possible, turn to the left, and proceed the back way through Downing Street passage to the Home Office; and this was so excellently managed, that scarcely those who were admitted inside the station-house saw him pass along. He did not wear handcuffs, and as soon as he got into Gardener’s Lane he took to his heels as fast as he could, and was followed, as was preconcerted, by Inspectors Pierce and Hughes. So it was preconcerted, was it, that the prisoner should run away to the place for his examination and committal, and that the officers should run after him? But suppose the prisoner had run fastest, and had taken it into his head not to run to the place for his examination and committal? How did the officers know that he could not, and would not, run away from them?” And imagine such an arrangement between the police and a prisoner, the custody of whom was of such importance—“Run away if you please to the Council, and we will run after you.” The next improvement would be letting prisoners run away to their places of punishment.

How great would have been the indignation of the country if the monster Oxford had made his escape by the absurd proceeding described, and though it is not probable that he could have concealed himself from pursuit, he might have got the opportunity of destroying himself.