THE SOUL OF QUEEN ALEXANDRA

A SPIRIT-PICTURE

Haveyou seen the Queen?

Thousands of eager lips voiced this question,—thousands of eager eyes were turned towards the stately towers of Westminster, rising darkly outlined like fine bronze against the cold grey sky, on that bleak and bitter feast-day of St. Valentine, 1901, when Edward VII., King of Great Britain and Emperor of India, went in state to open his first Parliament. Thousands of loving and loyal hearts, still heavy with grief for the loss of Victoria the Good, so long the Mother of her people, grew warm with tenderness and devotion as the whispered name “Alexandra!” ran from mouth to mouth, and the old fiery chant, so gloriously sung by the last great Poet-Laureate of England, came back like a wave breaking on the shore of many memories:—

“Sea-King’s daughter from over the sea,Alexandra!Saxon, and Norman, and Dane are we,But all of us Danes in our welcome of thee,Alexandra!Welcome her thunders of fort and of fleet,Welcome her thundering cheer of the street!“Oh, joy to the people, and joy to the Throne,Come to us, love us, and make us your own!”

“Sea-King’s daughter from over the sea,

Alexandra!

Saxon, and Norman, and Dane are we,

But all of us Danes in our welcome of thee,

Alexandra!

Welcome her thunders of fort and of fleet,

Welcome her thundering cheer of the street!

“Oh, joy to the people, and joy to the Throne,Come to us, love us, and make us your own!”

“Oh, joy to the people, and joy to the Throne,

Come to us, love us, and make us your own!”

For had she not obeyed and fulfilled the Poet’s invocation? Had she not, indeed, come to us, and loved us, and made us her own? And had we not taken her in all her youth and hope and beauty, and made her our own in turn?—our own Princess of Loving-Kindness, dear to all, honoured by all as one of the purest and noblest figures in all the history of English Royal annals? And so on this St. Valentine’s Day of never-to-be-forgotten memory, the people gathered in multitudes to see her pass,—transformed from Princess into Queen—a change which, though always predestined, seemed at the time singular and as much attended by grief as by gladness. For she—like all the people who were one with her in truthand loyalty to the Throne—mourned the loss of the greatest, best, and wisest Sovereign that had ever reigned in England since the days of Elizabeth,—one, who to the diplomacy, tact, and foresight of Elizabeth, had added the sweetness, gentleness, and love of a pure womanly heart, ever in sympathy with the joys and griefs of her people. Affection, curiosity, and compassion struggled for the mastery in the minds of the vast crowds that watched the progress of the gorgeous State Coach, drawn by the dainty cream ponies which had but lately, alas! drawn the dead Queen through the great city to her last rest; and people standing a-tiptoe strove to peer through the glass on all sides, not so much to catch a glimpse of the King’s familiar face as to note the expression on the delicate fair features of his Consort. It was difficult to see her within the cumbrous painted and gilded equipage,—the King’s brilliant uniform and glittering orders made his figure more conspicuous than hers; moreover, his features were so well known to the crowds who had long loved him as their “popular” prince, that no one was put to any great strain to recognize him. But the shrinking, graceful form at his side was lessdistinct in outline—one saw a blur of sable robes and long-flowing veil, the gleam of jewels, a wistful face with soft grieved eyes, and that was all.

Inside the House of Lords, however, the impression was different. There, amid the rustle of black silken robes, and the sweep of mourning veils and funereal plumes, the glisten of diamonds, the milky sheen of pearls, and the almost startling relief of colour afforded by the scarlet robes of the Peers, came the very incarnation of majesty;—of grief and beauty in one, when the “Sea-King’s daughter” stood pale and proud beside her Husband and King,—when the Royal robes of ruby velvet and snowy ermine fell around that slight regal figure clad in solemn black, almost crushing it with a weight of splendour, and when the sweet eyes gazed out on the crowded gathering of the world’s most brilliant personages of rank and influence with a gravity not unmingled with pain. A fitting partner for the Throne of the greatest Emperor on earth.

“She stood beside him like a rainbow braided,Within some storm, when scarce its shadows vastFrom the blue paths of the swift sun have faded.”

“She stood beside him like a rainbow braided,

Within some storm, when scarce its shadows vast

From the blue paths of the swift sun have faded.”

There was present one who looked upon her at that moment, and looking, saw her with other eyes than those of mere humanity,—saw her as earthly sight alone can never see her,—in the clear undarkened air of psychic vision which brings all things, all circumstances, all seeming shapes into the true prospective of the Soul’s distinct and unerring observation. And in that Light she stood uplifted;—the symbols of earth’s passing power and splendour were no longer visible—the crowding forms around her were as drifting shadows, dimly outlined or vanishing altogether into darker space. High above them all her Spirit rose transfigured;—revealed in its true beauty,—transformed by a Thought,—and hallowed by a Prayer! No longer robed in sombre mourning garb, her figure shone resplendent, clad in the dazzling whiteness of an Angel’s wearing;—Royal robes of Heaven’s imperishable gold enfolded her as with wings,—and on her brow sparkled the deathless Crown of many bravely-endured mortal sorrows turned into jewels of immortal joy! Unconscious of the living radiating light surrounding her she stood; serene and prayerful,—watchful and patient,—fearless and resigned,—loving andtrue; and like the breaking of great waves upon the shifting sand, came the murmur of a mighty people’s praise,—the grateful blessings of brave soldiers far away, fighting for England’s honour,—the tenderness of children’s love—the thankfulness of struggling souls rescued from sin and death! Pure thoughts, pure words, pure deeds formed a glittering triumphal arch of rainbow hues above her, attracting with an irresistible force the unseen powers of good, which, through all clouds of doubt and chance, do yet flash their star-like rays of hope upon the world, inspiring the mind of humanity to fresh work, ambition, and endeavour. To her—a Queen of Fair Virtues—ascended the earnest, though unworded petitions of all good women for guidance and example,—to her their looks were turned for leadership through the devious and difficult ways of life,—for to them she seemed

“Fixt like a beacon-tower above the wavesOf tempest.”

“Fixt like a beacon-tower above the waves

Of tempest.”

War or peace,—loss or gain,—defeat or victory—these earthly incidents of life passed over her as the mere brief reflex of a darkness on her brightness, and touched her not at all.Plainly could it be seen that she had known sorrow; plainly was it evident that she had shed tears. She had clasped the Cross to her breast—she had testified her faith in God by a grand resignation to the Divine Will. But these things made the stature of her Soul so much the fairer, that such marks of pain and loss could only be perceived in her as indications of more perfect gladness. So did she shine;—pictured for a fleeting moment in the clear mirror of spiritual perception, with all the colours of unfading Truth about her, and seen, not “as in a glass darkly, but face to face,”—a visible Queen indeed, of a far wider realm than Imperial Britain! For Imperial Britain may have its day like Imperial Rome—may run its course equally to decay and death,—but the Empire of love and purity, of unselfishness and goodness, of truth and kindness, is built up on eternal foundations and can never end! And within that Empire the Soul of Queen Alexandra is crowned more gloriously than with the crown of England,—from every quarter of it she commands more subjects than any earthly kingdom holds,—and those who cannot penetrate into this boundless and everlasting realm of hers, do not know her,and cannot say they have ever looked upon her! And when the King’s first Parliament was opened—when all the “great” in rank and wealth and fashion had pushed and scrambled and hustled themselves out of Westminster, commenting audibly and flippantly on the looks, manners and deportment of their Majesties, how many among them, we may wonder, had seen the veil of earthly things withdrawn and the appearance of that lovely Soul disclosed as God sees it, in all the fairest portraiture of a truly Royal Presence?

One—certainly one—out of all the brilliant assemblage had truly “seen” the Queen;—and that one who was so permitted to behold her as she actually is in the watchful sight of Heaven, remembers every line, every grace, every touch of colour and beauty in the gracious Spirit-picture,—and is glad—for England’s sake!

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