It seems to me that the English people get up all sorts of
opening and unveiling occasions in order to supply employment to their
Princes and Princesses, who, I must say, never shirk such monotonous
duties, however much they may be bothered and bored by them.
Occasionally the Duchess of Kent and her daughter visited Brighton, and
stopped in that grotesque palace of George IV., called the Pavilion. I
have seen a picture of the demure little Princess, walking on the
esplanade, with her mother, governesses, and gentlemen attendants, the
whole elegant party and the great crowd of Brightonians following and
staring at them, wearing the absurd costumes of half a century ago--the
ladies, big bonnets, big mutton-leg sleeves, big collars, heelless
slippers, laced over the instep; the gentlemen, short-waisted coats,
enormous collars, preposterous neckties, and indescribably clumsy hats.
By this time the Princess had learned to bear quietly and serenely, if
not unconsciously, the gaze of hundreds of eyes, admiring or criticising.
She knew that the time was probably coming when the hundreds would
increase to thousands, and even millions--when the world would for her
seem to be made up of eyes, like a peacock's tail.
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