is only the ante-chamber of an imperial palace, and your Majesty would do well to deign to consider steps which are now necessary to influence the opinions, and affect the imaginations of the Indian populations. The name of your Majesty ought to be impressed upon their native life." Here was the first rough design of the Imperial Crown Disraeli was to hand her, eighteen years later.
WHEN the Princess Royal went to Prussia it seemed that she took the better part of her father's heart with her; as if, with death near, his emotions and thoughts were returning across the Channel to the land of his boyhood. Everything he wrote about affairs in England ended in complaint and disillusionment. All that he wrote of Germany was sad with yearning. Reports on his eldest son made him petulant, and when the London season opened, he decided that the Prince of Wales should be kept away. "As long as he is neither fish nor flesh . . . it would not be good for him. "1 The Prince's letters to his daughter were warm with appreciation. "If you have succeeded in winning people's hearts by friendliness, simplicity, and courtesy, the secret lay in this: that you were not thinking of yourself. Hold fast this mystic power; it is a spark from Heaven." Then came wise caution. "The public, just because it was rapturous and enthusiastic, will now become minutely critical and take you to pieces anatomically. This is to be kept in view."
The Prince Consort enjoyed every sign of his daughter's success in her new country, but he prejudiced the success with too much advice, and a visit too soon after her marriage. She gathered musicians about her, as her father had done, much to the surprise of the stodgy Prussian royalties. Also, she drove out with only two horses when four were the least her position demanded. Also, the constant reminders of English life in her father's letters made her critical of the pretensions of the self-conscious society in Berlin. Parvenüopolis, the Viennese called it, and the Princess found it so.
The Prince Consort liked to think of his daughter at Sanssouci pouring out English tea in the sunshine, or walking in the Potsdam gardens, handing on her father's liberal ideas to whoever walked beside her. His long letters to his daughter were heavy with politics and metaphysics. Her husband was with her, but the mind that governed