THE CORONATION
When the young Queen awoke on the morning after her accession, she must
have fancied for a moment that she had dreamed all the events of the
previous day. She had gone to bed expecting a quiet morning of study;
she had been aroused to hear that she was a queen. Thus far she had
remained in her own home, and had merely received those who had come to
her, the Prime Minister, the Councilors, and others; but when she had
been Queen for a little more than twenty-four hours, the time had come
for her to go to London and be proclaimed sovereign of England in the
presence of thousands of her subjects.
Victoria and her mother came out of the palace followed by Lord
Melbourne. Both ladies were in mourning. The young Queen wore a black
dress with white at the neck and wrists. Her bonnet was black and, in
comparison with the great pink one that had so delighted her subjects,
it was very small. In front of the royal carriage were the Life Guards,
a magnificent body of men, everyone drawing himself up to his full
height in his pride that it was _his_ company that was to escort the
Queen on her first appearance. She bowed to them first, then to the
crowds that thronged about the entrance. She and her mother entered the
carriage. More of the Life Guards followed and a long line of carriages
filled with lords and ladies.
The carriages did not go rapidly, for every road and lane and passage
way was full of people, who cheered and waved banners and shouted "God
save the Queen!"
When they arrived at St. James', the officers of state stood waiting to
receive them, and they were escorted to a window overlooking the
quadrangle below, which had long been filled with a great crowd of
enthusiastic people.
"Make way for his Grace, the Garter King-at-Arms!" cried the heralds,
and that officer advanced, escorted by the Earl-Marshal, gave one look
over the assembled people, then waved his scepter for silence, and read
the formal proclamation of Victoria as Queen of Great Britain and
Ireland. He was glittering in all the insignia of his office, but the
eyes of the people were not on him; they were turned toward an upper
window where against a background of crimson curtains stood the slender
figure of the Queen, accompanied by her mother and the Prime Minister.
The last words of the proclamation were "God save the Queen!" and "God
save the Queen!" repeated the bands in a great outburst of martial
music. The trumpets sounded, the cannon in the park roared, and the
cannon in the Tower roared in response. The people in the court
cheered, and the people outside the court cheered. They waved their
handkerchiefs, hats, canes, umbrellas, anything that they could wave.
They could not be induced to leave the place, and thousands hung about
the entrance to the palace for hours, hoping for just one glimpse of
their sovereign.
Not long after this proclamation, the Queen presided over another
Council meeting, and did it, so said one who was present, "as if she
had done nothing else all her life." This was not the end of the day by
any means, for now the reception of archbishops, bishops, and judges
followed. She met them with the most perfect dignity; but she was a
merry young girl as well as a queen, and after she had received the
bishops and had withdrawn from the room with a most stately demeanor,
they were greatly amused to see her running down the corridor like a
child just let out of school. Her Majesty had forgotten that the door
was made of glass!
While all this rejoicing was going on, the dead King lay in state at
Windsor Palace, shrouded in a crimson pall and under a purple canopy.
The crowns of England and of Hanover lay above him. There were banners
and imperial escutcheons. Around him were nobles, admirals, and
guardsmen. Nearest stood the feeble old Duke of Sussex in his scarlet
uniform. The Dead March sounded, and the long line moved slowly on and
down to St. George's Chapel. The last honors were duly paid to the dead
King, but the thoughts of all the land were with the young Queen.
Before the day had closed, Victoria and her mother were escorted back
to Kensington by the Life Guards to spend a short time before the Queen
should take up her abode in Buckingham Palace. "I do not want to go
there," she said to the Duke of Sussex. "I love the old Kensington
Gardens, where I can wander about as I please. Buckingham Palace is far
too big and too grand for me."
Other people may choose their homes, but sovereigns are less free, and
there was nothing to do but to leave the homelike Kensington, where her
greatest troubles had been an occasional hard lesson, and go to
Buckingham, or the New Palace, as it was called, which was to be her
London residence.
The New Palace was not yet completed, but men had been working night
and day to prepare it for the Queen. It stood on a desolate sand-flat.
There were dirty alleys and mud-puddles and dingy little hovels around
it, but the coming of the Queen was to make it gorgeous. A splendid new
throne, all dazzling in its crimson and gold, was built for her.
"Is it as your Majesty would have it?" inquired the builder.
"It's the most comfortable throne I ever sat on," replied the merry
young sovereign.
Buckingham was not lonely by any means. From over the whole country
came delegations from universities, corporations, and all kinds of
societies. One of these delegations was composed of Quakers, who
believe that to uncover the head is to show to man a reverence that
should be shown to God alone, and they marched up the stairway without
removing their broad-brimmed gray hats. This could not be allowed, but
the delegates could hardly be forbidden to see their Queen. Someone was
quick-witted enough to discover a way out of the dilemma. "The Quakers
won't take off their hats," he whispered, "but it is against their
principles to resist violence and they won't object if we do it for
them." Two of the attendants then respectfully raised each man's hat as
he passed between them, and returned it to his head when the audience
had come to an end.
At the death of a sovereign, Parliament is always dissolved, and a new
election is held. Victoria had stood by her "Aunt Adelaide's" side and
seen the grand procession which marked the prorogation, but now the
time had come for her to take the principal place in the procession.
"It would be better to remain away and allow your speech to be read for
you," said both her mother and her physician. "Remember how much you
have been through within the past month, and avoid this unnecessary
excitement."
The little Queen was wiser than her watchful advisers. She knew well
that her subjects had thronged every road leading to Buckingham because
they wanted to see her, and she meant to gratify them and appear in all
the splendor that a prorogation demanded. As to being exhausted by
these ceremonials, she laughed at the idea of such a thing. "I like it
all," she said. "I have lived so quietly that it is new to me. It isn't
tiresome, it is amusing."
Therefore "Victoria Regina" was written in letters of gold about a
beautiful new throne in the House of Lords. Mr. Davys, her "good, kind
master," as she called him, heard her practice her speech; then she was
made ready for the ceremony. There were no more simple white muslin
dresses for her. She wore a kirtle of white satin and over it a crimson
velvet robe with border of ermine. The kirtle flashed with gold
embroidery, and the velvet robe was confined by a heavy golden cord and
tassels. Diamonds glittered and sparkled in her bracelets and coronet
and on her stomacher. A few years before, the young girl had walked to
the milliner's and home again, carrying her new bonnet in her hand; but
now she seated herself in the royal carriage and was drawn by eight
cream-colored horses. The Yeomen of the Guard rode before her; and so
she went to the House of Parliament.
The band played "God Save the Queen," as she entered the House of Lords
and was conducted to the throne on which "Victoria Regina" was written.
It was fortunate that she had no farther to walk, for before she seated
herself the lords-in-waiting laid upon her shoulders the heavy
parliamentary mantle of purple velvet.
The brilliant company of peers and bishops remained standing. "My
lords, be seated," said the Queen. The usual forms of business were
followed, but all interest centered in the speech of the sovereign. Mr.
Davys had tutored her well, and when she had finished, Fanny Kemble,
the greatest actress of the day, declared, "I never heard any spoken
words more musical in their gentle distinctness." Charles Sumner wrote,
"I never heard anything better read in my life;" and the Queen's kind
old uncle, the Duke of Sussex, could only wipe his eyes and murmur,
"Beautiful!"
It was not long before the court moved to Windsor Palace. The ordinary
routine of the Queen's day was breakfast with her mother between eight
and nine, followed by an hour or two with Lord Melbourne attending to
matters of state. Then came an audience with the Cabinet Ministers,
whenever there was business to be transacted. About two o'clock the
Queen and some twenty or thirty of the ladies and gentlemen of the
court took a horseback ride of two hours or longer. After this came
music or amusement of some kind until the dinner hour. If there were
any children in the palace, the Queen was always ready to spend this
time with them, and their company must have been a great relief after
the formalities of the day. Dinner was at about half-past seven. After
dinner came music, games, dancing, and conversation. This was the order
of the day when it was not broken into, but it was almost always broken
into, for there were balls, receptions, concerts, banquets, and the
reception of delegations.
One visit which was soon paid to the court of England gave the Queen
special delight. It was that of her uncle, King Leopold, and his Queen.
Victoria had never played the hostess before, but there could have been
no one else to whom she would have been so glad to show honor; and now
there was a merry time, indeed, for the English Queen planned picnics,
dinner parties, sailing parties, and all sorts of gayeties.
Those who looked on from the outside thought of the Queen as a
light-hearted young girl enjoying to the full what was almost her first
taste of gayety and pleasure, but there was quite another side to her
life. More was required of the sovereign of England than to sit on a
throne and wear handsome dresses and jewels. There was much hard work
for her to do, and this merry little Queen had no thought of attempting
to escape it. Those morning hours with Lord Melbourne were hours when
she must give her keenest thought and closest attention. At an age when
many girls have little more responsibility than to learn a lesson or to
choose a dress, this girl had to read complicated papers, to listen to
arguments on difficult subjects, and sometimes to decide whether a man
proven guilty of crime should live or die. Of course she might have
made all this much easier for herself by simply writing her name
wherever her Ministers advised, but she would not sign any paper
without reading and understanding it.
"Your Majesty," said Lord Melbourne one day, "there is no need of your
examining this paper, as it is of no special importance."
"But it is of special importance to me," replied the Queen, "whether I
sign a paper with which I am not thoroughly satisfied."
Papers of all sorts were showered upon her. Sometimes after listening
to Lord Melbourne's advice she would come to a decision on the first
reading, but often she would say, "I must think about this before I
sign it." Never was a sovereign so overwhelmed with papers, and her
friends began to suspect that some of the officials who wished to have
matters go their own way were trying to disgust her with public
business hoping that after a little while she would become so tired of
it that she would sign whatever was sent her. They did not know that
they were dealing with a Queen who had had to finish her haycocks when
she was a little girl. Even Lord Melbourne used to say laughingly, "I'd
rather manage ten kings than one queen."
There could hardly have been a better man than Lord Melbourne for the
difficult position of adviser to a young woman who was also a queen. He
was three times her age, and while his manner to her was always one of
most profound respect, he showed an almost fatherly feeling for the
fatherless young girl. He was her Prime Minister and was also her
trusted friend. Before she became Queen, he had won her confidence in a
remarkable way, by opposing her desires and those of her mother. In one
of those constantly recurring differences between King and Duchess, he
had stood firmly for the King's wishes, because he was the King's
servant, although he knew that in a few months at most the Princess
would be on the throne. Victoria was wise enough to see that the man
who would be faithful even at the probability of his own loss was the
man whom she might safely trust, and she did trust him implicitly.
Another member of the Queen's household was the honest Baron Stockmar.
He had been sent by King Leopold, as soon as his royal niece had
attained her eighteenth birthday, to guard her interests and advise her
if it should be necessary. With people in general he was quiet and
reserved. At table he "ate nothing and talked less," according to the
description of one who was at the court; but all felt that the Queen
was especially frank with him, and that he and Lord Melbourne were in
perfect agreement. One other duty he had at the English court which was
known only to himself and King Leopold and that was to prepare the way
for the marriage that the King hoped would come about between his niece
and his nephew. The two young people were really in training for
sovereignty. King Leopold kept Prince Albert with him for nearly a year
after Victoria's accession He saw to it that the young man should
acquire a good knowledge of English and of the English constitution.
Baron Stockmar was in the meantime teaching the Queen the rightful
position of the sovereign of England. "The sovereign must belong to no
party," he said. "Whatever party is in power has been put in power by
the nation, and has a right to claim the loyalty of the Queen."
Of course the devoted Baroness Lehzen had followed her beloved pupil,
for one of the first acts of the Queen was to appoint her private
secretary. The Baroness said: "I copy all her private correspondence
just as I used to do when she was my Princess, and she is as frank with
me as when she was a child; but she has never shown me a state document
or said a word to me about any state business. She knows that such
matters should go to her advisers, and not to me or any other woman."
Surely the little Queen was not without good friends. There were King
Leopold, the wisest sovereign in Europe; Baron Stockmar, the "only
honest man"; Lord Melbourne, who seemed to have no thought but for her,
and Baroness Lehzen, who had loved her from her babyhood. The position
of her mother was very peculiar and not agreeable in all respects. For
eighteen years her only aim in life had been to prepare her daughter
for the throne of England. The daughter was now on the throne, and the
Duchess felt that her occupation was gone. She realized that matters of
state must be discussed with the councilors only, and for this she was
prepared; but it was not a pleasant surprise to find that the young
girl who less than a year before her accession had meekly left the
ballroom for bed at her mother's bidding was now manifesting very
decided opinions of her own. The Duchess had the fullest confidence in
one of the executors of her husband's will, and she would have been
glad that he should hold some office in the new government. The Queen
treated her mother with the most tender affection, and she willingly
granted the gentleman a generous pension, but she refused to have
anything to do with him.
Victoria had ascended the throne, but she had never yet worn the
English crown, for though a young girl may become a queen in a moment,
a coronation is a different matter. "The King is dead, and therefore
Victoria is Queen," declared the Council, and she was Queen; but the
preparations for a coronation require more time than does the writing
of an address of loyalty, and it was a whole year before these
preparations were completed. It was not an easy task to decide just
what ceremonies should be observed. One matter to be seriously
deliberated upon was whether the left cheek of the young girl should be
forced to endure six hundred kisses of state from the six hundred
nobles and bishops. There was not even a crown suited to the occasion,
for the old one weighed seven pounds, and the most devoted admirers of
the ancient usages could not ask that the "little Queen" should carry
that load on her head. After many lengthy consultations, these
momentous questions were decided. The tradesmen were assured that there
would be enough ceremony to bring about large sales, the peers and
bishops were told that they would not be allowed to kiss the pink cheek
of the Queen, and the crown jewelers were bidden to set to work on a
new crown that should weigh only half as much as the old one.
The day came at last, June 28, 1838. London evidently meant to make the
most of it, and as soon as the eager watchers saw the first glimpse of
dawn, a salute of twenty-one cannon was fired. It was only a little
after three o'clock, but the earliness of the hour made little
difference to the thousands that had been up all night. Some had stayed
up to be sure of securing a good place to see the procession, some
because the services of the hairdressers were in such demand that, when
a head was once in order, no risk of disarrangement could be ventured
upon, and some had been kept awake by pure excitement and nervousness.
There was no sleeping after daylight for anyone, for those who were far
enough from the Tower to drowse through the firing of cannon were
aroused by the ringing of bells which followed, as every church tower
rang out its merriest chimes. At five o'clock Westminster Abbey was
opened, and this was none too early, for the people who were fortunate
enough and rich enough to obtain tickets had long been thronging the
entrance. These people in the Abbey had a long time to wait, for it was
fully ten o'clock before the salute of twenty-one guns from the park
gave the signal that the procession had started from Buckingham Palace.
Such a procession as it was! First came the trumpeters, then the Life
Guards, bands, foreign ambassadors in most gorgeous carriages, more
Life Guards, the carriage of the Duchess of Kent, the Duke of Sussex,
and others of the royal family, the officers of the royal household,
and the Yeomen of the Guard. Then all the thousands along the way were
agape, for the eight cream-colored horses were seen drawing the chariot
of state, wherein sat the pretty little maiden who was the center and
cause of all this magnificence. A circlet of diamonds was on her head.
She wore a dress of gold tissue, and a mantle of crimson velvet trimmed
with gold lace and lined with ermine. Pearls and diamonds gleamed and
flashed at every motion. With her rode the Mistress of the Robes and
the Master of the Horse. A body of cavalry followed her.
The procession was nearly an hour and a half in reaching the Abbey, for
the Queen would not go by the shortest way. All that time people were
shouting, and banners were waving, for every house along the line of
march was brilliant with as much decoration as its owner could afford.
Half a million strangers were in London, and many houses were rented at
enormous rates. Five or six thousand dollars was not looked upon as a
rental at all exorbitant, and some were let at a much higher price.
At the door of the Abbey, the Queen was met by the chief officers of
state. She walked slowly up the aisle, but not alone by any means.
Heralds, clergy, and officers of state came first; then a noble bearing
the coronet of the Duchess of Cambridge, followed by the Duchess
herself, with her long train of purple velvet. Another coronet was
borne on a silken cushion, and after it came the Duchess of Kent. Then
came six nobles, each carrying some piece of the regalia. There were
dukes and earls and marquises and generals and field marshals and
bishops, all in their most brilliant array. A little whisper, "The
Queen, the Queen!" ran through the long lines of peers and peeresses
and ambassadors and judges. It was followed by the waving of
handkerchiefs and scarfs and such shouts of applause as shook the Abbey
to its foundations, and Victoria advanced, escorted by three bishops.
Eight young girls in white silk and silver, with blush roses, carried
her train. Then came members of the royal household, gentlemen-at-arms,
lords-in-waiting, and other officials without number.
All this time the choir were singing "I was glad when they said unto
me, Let us go into the house of the Lord." Then they sang "God save the
Queen!" and the trumpets sounded the accompaniment. A most impressive
moment followed. The trumpets ceased, every voice was hushed, not a
sound was heard among all the thousands in the vast Abbey. The Queen
had passed through the door looking "like a young girl on her
birthday," but now her face was grave, and she knelt before the altar
for a moment of silent prayer. By an ancient privilege, the Westminster
schoolboys had the right to give the first greeting to the sovereign,
and as she rose, the Abbey rang with their shouts, "Victoria! Victoria!
Vivat Victoria Regina!"
The next part of the ceremony is known as the "Recognition"--that is,
the recognition of the new sovereign as the lawful sovereign. The Queen
and the Archbishop of Canterbury turned to the north, and the
Archbishop said:
"Sirs, I here present unto you Queen Victoria, the undoubted Queen of
this realm; wherefore, all you who are come this day to do your homage
are you willing to do the same?" "God save Queen Victoria!" the people
cried. The Archbishop and the Queen then turned to the south, to the
east, and to the west, and the same words were repeated with the same
response. This signified that the people of the land had formally
accepted her as their sovereign.
After this, the Queen, followed by the eight train-bearers, walked to
the altar, and she made an offering of a golden altar cloth and a
pound's weight of gold. This was only the beginning of the four-hours'
ceremony, and next came a long sermon preached by the Bishop of London,
followed by the solemn oath of the Queen to be just and govern
according to the law.
Then came the act of coronation, but for this Victoria was not to
appear in jewels and ermine. She was escorted to one of the chapels and
robed in a flowing gown of fine white muslin. Over this was thrown a
robe of gold brocade worked with the rose, the shamrock, and the
thistle emblematic of England, Ireland, and Scotland. In this quaint
and ancient costume she knelt before the altar. The Archbishop led her
to the famous old chair of St. Edward, wherein was the stone of Scone,
and touched her head and hands with the holy oil. The scepter, orb,
sword, and other things signifying power and authority in either Church
or state, were handed to her, each with a few words from the
Archbishop, exhorting her to use it properly. The ruby ring was placed
upon her finger, and the cloth-of-gold mantle upon her shoulders. Then
the Archbishop slowly lifted the crown, which was blazing with
diamonds, sapphires, rubies, and emeralds, and placed it upon her head.
The next moment all the peers and peeresses lifted their coronets and
put them on. The whole building flashed and glittered until one might
have fancied that it was raining diamonds. "God save the Queen!" echoed
and re-echoed. The thousands who stood outside the Abbey caught up the
cry, the bells of all the churches in London began to ring, and the
guns of all the garrison towns were fired.
[Illustration: The Coronation of Queen Victoria.
(_From painting by Sir George Hayter._)]
The ceremony of homage followed. The Archbishop, the two royal dukes,
and many other dukes, marquises, earls, viscounts, and barons knelt
and, kissing her hand, said: "I do become your liege man of life and
limb, and of earthly worship, and faith and truth I will bear unto you,
to live and die against all manner of folk, so help me God!" One of the
peers was so aged and infirm that he tried twice in vain to ascend the
steps. The Queen rose and moved toward him and extended her hand to him
as simply and naturally as any other young girl might have done who was
not sitting on a throne. After the homage, she received the Holy
Sacrament; the "Hallelujah Chorus" was sung; and then the procession
re-formed and went slowly over the way to Buckingham Palace.
When George III. was crowned, he complained of some blunders that were
made, but he could hardly have been much comforted by the reply that
matters would "go better next time." Even though Victoria was the third
sovereign crowned since the time of George III., there were still some
mistakes. England was accustomed to crowning strong men, but not
slender young girls, and the orb was made so heavy that holding it was
very wearisome, while the ruby ring was made for the little finger and
had to be forced upon the ring finger as best it could be. When the
peers did homage, they were required to touch the crown; and the Queen
said it was fortunate that she had had it made as tight as possible,
for many of them knocked it, and one actually clutched it.
After such a day as this, Victoria must have felt that she was "really
and truly" a queen; but with all her dignity and her royalty, she was
still a frank, natural young girl, and the story is told that when she
entered Buckingham Palace and heard the bark of her favorite dog, she
exclaimed, "Oh, there's Dash! I must go and give him his bath."
The English were proud of their Queen, of her dignity and her royal
bearing, but it was these touches of frankness and simplicity that won
their hearts, and made them feel that with all her jewels, her velvets,
and her ermine, she was, after all, one of themselves. It was at this
time that the Duke of Sussex wrote to a friend:
"The girl Queen is becoming more and more popular. You would simply
idolize her if you saw that bright little face, with clear blue eyes,
winning all hearts and making us all say, 'God save the Queen!'"