Monarchy redefined by Victoria
By John Sutherland |
July 29, 2012, Sunday
|
Print Edition
Print Edition
PAUL Thomas Murphy is the most free-spirited of scholars. His "Shooting Victoria" rambles uninhibitedly and learnedly through 19th-century history into literature, penology, constitutional theory and even ballistics, stimulating highly topical thoughts along the way.
Victoria's 63-year reign brought about what Murphy sees as the now familiar "redefinition" of the British monarchy: "The royal weddings, the Jubilees, the walkabouts and openings, the triumphal appearances on the royal balcony are Victorian creations." Victorian, that is, both in terms of the period and the character of the indomitable little woman who created Britain's modern, exceptionally serviceable royal institution.
Victoria did it at considerable personal risk. There were eight attempts on her life between 1840 and 1882. She survived, and, more important, the British monarchy survived. Its triumphant durability was evident on June 3, 2012: Diamond Jubilee Sunday and the great London river pageant. A downpour did not prevent a million loyal "subjects" from lining the Thames to cheer their queen.
Murphy's epigraph is Victoria's plucky comment after the last outrage, in 1882: "It is worth being shot at to see how much one is loved." Astutely, after every attempt on her life, she declined to retreat behind her castle walls, insisting on being seen everywhere, seeking safety among her people. Every one of the attempts occurred in public places where it was widely known she would be. Until Prince Albert's death in 1861 plunged her into decades of seclusion, such appearances were a regular feature of her schedule. Victoria's behavior forged, as Murphy says, "a sense of daily responsibility to the public that defines the monarchy today."
It had other constructive outcomes. Cannily, Victoria used the popularity arising from these failed attempts to push through legislation she favored. As Murphy argues, the shootings were instrumental in wide-ranging reforms of British policing. Scotland Yard and detectives - plainclothes investigators, not uniformed street constables - were a direct result.
The first would-be killer was 18-year-old Edward Oxford, in June 1840. A London pub barman, he craved fame and chose to do the act during Victoria's regular carriage outing in Hyde Park. She was accompanied, as usual, by Albert, who, ever alert, espied a "little, mean-looking man" striking a ridiculously "theatrical" pose as he took aim.
Theatrical in every sense. There was some doubt as to whether Oxford had actually loaded the dueling pistols, which nevertheless discharged "with a thunderous report." This attempt established a pattern of hopeful Victorian regicides who were not merely feeble of mind but feeble in every department of life. Gladstone called it a credit to the nation that in other countries assassinations were carried out by men of high intelligence, while in Britain, it was "men of weak and morbid minds." Idiots, in a word. Every village had one. No rational Englishman would want to kill his queen.
Dr John Conolly, a reformer of British insane asylums, testified for Oxford's defense at trial. The jury concurred, and the defendant was bundled off to Bedlam, where he was reportedly well treated. Madame Tussaud promptly installed his waxwork in her museum with the caption "the Lunatic Edward Oxford." He got his fame.
There was little discernible political content in the assassination attempts.
Compared with other late-industrial societies, Britain is relatively rarely plagued by firearms offenses, and when perpetrated they're often woefully inexpert.
Victoria's 63-year reign brought about what Murphy sees as the now familiar "redefinition" of the British monarchy: "The royal weddings, the Jubilees, the walkabouts and openings, the triumphal appearances on the royal balcony are Victorian creations." Victorian, that is, both in terms of the period and the character of the indomitable little woman who created Britain's modern, exceptionally serviceable royal institution.
Victoria did it at considerable personal risk. There were eight attempts on her life between 1840 and 1882. She survived, and, more important, the British monarchy survived. Its triumphant durability was evident on June 3, 2012: Diamond Jubilee Sunday and the great London river pageant. A downpour did not prevent a million loyal "subjects" from lining the Thames to cheer their queen.
Murphy's epigraph is Victoria's plucky comment after the last outrage, in 1882: "It is worth being shot at to see how much one is loved." Astutely, after every attempt on her life, she declined to retreat behind her castle walls, insisting on being seen everywhere, seeking safety among her people. Every one of the attempts occurred in public places where it was widely known she would be. Until Prince Albert's death in 1861 plunged her into decades of seclusion, such appearances were a regular feature of her schedule. Victoria's behavior forged, as Murphy says, "a sense of daily responsibility to the public that defines the monarchy today."
It had other constructive outcomes. Cannily, Victoria used the popularity arising from these failed attempts to push through legislation she favored. As Murphy argues, the shootings were instrumental in wide-ranging reforms of British policing. Scotland Yard and detectives - plainclothes investigators, not uniformed street constables - were a direct result.
The first would-be killer was 18-year-old Edward Oxford, in June 1840. A London pub barman, he craved fame and chose to do the act during Victoria's regular carriage outing in Hyde Park. She was accompanied, as usual, by Albert, who, ever alert, espied a "little, mean-looking man" striking a ridiculously "theatrical" pose as he took aim.
Theatrical in every sense. There was some doubt as to whether Oxford had actually loaded the dueling pistols, which nevertheless discharged "with a thunderous report." This attempt established a pattern of hopeful Victorian regicides who were not merely feeble of mind but feeble in every department of life. Gladstone called it a credit to the nation that in other countries assassinations were carried out by men of high intelligence, while in Britain, it was "men of weak and morbid minds." Idiots, in a word. Every village had one. No rational Englishman would want to kill his queen.
Dr John Conolly, a reformer of British insane asylums, testified for Oxford's defense at trial. The jury concurred, and the defendant was bundled off to Bedlam, where he was reportedly well treated. Madame Tussaud promptly installed his waxwork in her museum with the caption "the Lunatic Edward Oxford." He got his fame.
There was little discernible political content in the assassination attempts.
Compared with other late-industrial societies, Britain is relatively rarely plagued by firearms offenses, and when perpetrated they're often woefully inexpert.
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