Books: Life of Her Most Gracious Majesty the Queen V.1.

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"'The Anointing' was the next part of the ceremony. The Queen sat in King
Edward's chair; four Knights of the Garter--the Dukes of Buccleugh and
Rutland, and the Marquesses of Anglesea and Exeter--held a rich cloth of
gold over her head; the Dean of Westminster took the ampulla from the
altar, and poured some of the oil it contained into the anointing spoon,
then the Archbishop anointed the head and hands of the Queen, marking them
in the form of a cross, and pronouncing the words, 'Be thou anointed with
holy oil, as kings, priests, and prophets were anointed; and as Solomon was
anointed king by Zadok the priest, and Nathan the prophet, so be you
anointed, blessed, and consecrated Queen over this people, whom the Lord
your God hath given you to rule and govern, in the name of the Father, and
of the Son and of the Holy Ghost, Amen.'

"The Archbishop then said the blessing over her.

"The spurs were presented by the Lord Chamberlain, and the sword of State
by Viscount Melbourne, who, however, according to custom, redeemed it with
a hundred shillings, and carried it during the rest of the ceremony. Then
followed the investing with the 'royal robes and the delivery of the orb,'
and the 'investiture _per annulum et baculum,_' by the ring and
sceptre.

"The Coronation followed. The Archbishop of Canterbury offered a prayer to
God to bless her Majesty and crown her with all princely virtues. The Dean
of Westminster took the crown from the altar, and the Archbishop of
Canterbury, with the Archbishops of York and Armagh, the Bishops of London,
Durham, and other Prelates, advanced towards the Queen, and the Archbishop
taking the crown from the Dean reverently placed it on the Queen's head.
This was no sooner done than from every part of the crowded edifice arose a
loud and enthusiastic cry of 'God save the Queen,' mingled with lusty
cheers, and accompanied by the waving of hats and handkerchiefs. At this
moment, too, the Peers and Peeresses present put on their coronets, the
Bishops their caps, and the Kings-of-Arms their crowns; the trumpets
sounding, the drums beating, and the Tower and park guns firing by signal."

Harriet Martineau, who, like most of the mere spectators, failed to see and
hear a good deal of the ceremony, was decidedly impressed at this point.
"The acclamation when the crown was put on her head was very animating; and
in the midst of it, in an instant of time, the Peeresses were all
coroneted--all but the fair creature already described." The writer refers
to an earlier paragraph in which she had detailed a small catastrophe that
broke in upon the harmonious perfection of the scene. "One beautiful
creature, with transcendent complexion and form, and coils upon coils of
light hair, was terribly embarrassed about her coronet; she had apparently
forgotten that her hair must be disposed with a view to it, and the large
braids at the back would in no way permit the coronet to keep on. She and
her neighbours tugged vehemently at her braids, and at last the thing was
done after a manner, but so as to spoil the wonderful effect of the
self-coroneting of the Peeresses."

To see "the Enthronement," the energetic Norwich woman stood on the rail
behind her seat, holding on by another rail. But first "the Bible was
presented by the Archbishop of Canterbury to the Queen, who delivered it
again to the Archbishop, and it was replaced on the altar by the Dean of
Westminster.

"The Benediction was delivered by the Archbishop, and the _Te Deum_
sung by the choir. At the commencement of the _Te Deum_ the Queen went
to the chair which she first occupied, supported by two Bishops; she was
then 'enthroned,' or 'lifted,' as the formulary states, into the chair of
homage by the Archbishops, Bishops, and Peers surrounding her Majesty. The
Queen delivered the sceptre with the cross to the Lord of the Manor of
Worksop (the Duke of Norfolk), and the sceptre with the stone to the Duke
of Richmond, to hold during the performance of the ceremony of homage. The
Archbishop of Canterbury knelt and did homage for himself and other Lords
Spiritual, who all kissed the Queen's hand. The Dukes of Sussex and
Cambridge, removing their coronets, did homage in these words:--

"'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 folks, so help me God.'

"They touched the crown on the Queen's head, kissed her left cheek, and
then retired. It was observed that her Majesty's bearing towards her
uncles was very kind and affectionate. The Dukes and other Peers then
performed their homage, the senior of each rank pronouncing the words; as
they retired each Peer kissed her Majesty's hand. The Duke of Wellington,
Earl Grey, and Lord Melbourne were loudly cheered as they ascended the
steps to the throne. Lord Rolle, "who was upwards of eighty, stumbled and
fell on going up the steps. The Queen immediately stepped forward and held
out her hand to assist him, amidst the loudly expressed admiration of the
entire assembly."

"While the Lords were doing homage, the Earl of Surrey, Treasurer of the
Household, threw coronation medals, in silver, about the choir and lower
galleries, which were scrambled for with great eagerness.

"At the conclusion of the homage the choir sang the anthem, 'This is the
day which the Lord hath made.' The Queen received the two sceptres from the
Dukes of Norfolk and Richmond; the drums beat, the trumpets sounded, and
the assembly cried out--'God save Queen Victoria!'" [Footnote: Annual
Register.]

Harriet Martineau, from her elevated perch, says, "Her small dark crown
looked pretty, and her mantle of cloth of gold very regal; she, herself,
looked so small as to appear puny." (At a later stage of the proceedings
the same keen critic notes that the enormous train borne by her ladies made
the figure of the Queen look still less than it really was.) "The homage
was as pretty a sight as any: trains of Peers touching her crown, and then
kissing her hand. It was in the midst of that process that poor Lord
Rolle's disaster sent a shock through the whole assemblage. It turned me
very sick. The large infirm old man was held up by two Peers, and had
nearly reached the royal footstool when he slipped through the hands of his
supporters, and rolled over and over down the steps, lying at the bottom
coiled up in his robes. He was instantly lifted up, and he tried again and
again, amidst shouts of admiration of his valour. The Queen at length spoke
to Lord Melbourne, who stood at her shoulder, and he bowed approval; on
which she rose, leaned forward, and held out her hand to the old man,
dispensing with his touching the crown. He was not hurt, and his
self-quizzing on his misadventure was as brave as his behaviour at the
time. A foreigner in London gravely reported to his own countrymen, what he
entirely believed on the word of a wag, that the Lords Rolle held their
title on the condition of performing the feat at every coronation."

Sir David Wilkie, who was present at the coronation, wrote simply, "The
Queen looked most interesting, calm, and unexcited; and as she sat upon the
chair with the crown on, the sun shone from one of the windows bright upon
her."

Leslie, another painter who witnessed the scene, remarked, "I was very near
the altar, and the chair on which the Queen was crowned, when she signed
the coronation oath. I could see that she wrote a large, bold hand.... I
don't know why, but the first sight of her in her robes brought tears into
my eyes, and it had this effect on many people; she looked almost like a
child."

"The Archbishop of Canterbury then went to the altar. The Queen followed
him, and giving the Lord Chamberlain her crown to hold, knelt down at the
altar. The Gospel and Epistle of the Communion service having been read by
the Bishops, the Queen made her offering of the chalice and patina, and a
purse of gold, which were laid on the altar. Her Majesty received the
sacrament kneeling on her faldstool by the chair."

Leslie afterwards painted this part of the ceremony for her Majesty. In his
picture are several details which are not given elsewhere. The Peers and
Peeresses who had crowned themselves simultaneously with the coronation of
the Queen, removed their crowns when she laid aside hers. Among the
gentlemen of the royal family was the Duc de Nemours.

After receiving the communion, the Queen put on her crown, "and with her
sceptres in her hands, took her seat again upon the throne. The Archbishop
of Canterbury proceeded with the Communion service and pronounced the final
blessing. The choir sang the anthem, 'Hallelujah! for the Lord God
omnipotent reigneth.' The Queen then left the throne, and attended by two
Bishops and noblemen bearing the regalia and swords of State, passed into
King Edward's chapel, the organ playing. The Queen delivered the sceptre
with the dove to the Archbishop of Canterbury, who laid it on the altar.
She was then disrobed of her imperial robe of State and arrayed in her
royal robe of purple velvet by the Lord Chamberlain. The Archbishop placed
the orb in her left hand. The gold spurs and St. Edward's staff were
delivered by the noblemen who bore them to the Dean of Westminster, who
placed them on the altar. The Queen then went to the west door of the Abbey
wearing her crown, the sceptre with the cross being in the right and the
orb in the left hand.... It was about a quarter to four o'clock when the
royal procession passed through the nave, in the same order as before, at
the conclusion of the ceremony in the Abbey."

The coronation lasted three hours, and must have been attended with great
fatigue of mind and body to the young girl who bore the burden of the
honours. Even the mere spectators, who, to be sure, had been in their
places from dawn of day, the moment the stimulus of excitement was removed,
awoke to their desperate weariness. "I watched her (the Queen) out at the
doors," said Harriet Martineau, "and then became aware how fearfully
fatigued I was. I never remember anything like it. While waiting in the
passages and between the barriers, several ladies sat or lay down on the
ground. I did not like to sink down in dust half a foot deep, to the
spoiling of my dress and the loss of my self-respect, but it was really a
terrible waiting till my brothers appeared at the end of the barrier."

But the day's business was not ended for the great world, high and low. The
return of the procession, though the line was broken, had the special
attraction that the Queen wore her crown, and the Peers and Peeresses their
coronets. The Queen's crown was a mass of brilliants, relieved here and
there by a large ruby or emerald, encircling a purple velvet cap. Among the
stories told of the coronation, foremost and favourite of which was the
misadventure of poor Lord Rolle, and the pretty gentle way in which the
young Queen did her best to help the sufferer; an incident was reported
which might have had its foundation in the difficulties described by Miss
Martineau as besetting the fair Peeress in the Abbey. It was said that the
Queen's crown was too cumbrous, and disturbed the arrangement of those soft
braids of hair, the simple, modest fashion of which called forth Sir David
Wilkie's praise, and that as her Majesty drove along in her State carriage,
she was seen laughingly submitting to the good offices of her beautiful
companion seeking with soft hands to loop up afresh the rebellious locks
which had broken loose. Leslie, from whom we have already quoted, gives an
anecdote of the Queen on her coronation-day, which serves at least to show
how deeply the youthfulness of their sovereign was impressed on the public
mind. He had been informed that she was very fond of dogs, and that she
possessed a favourite little spaniel which was always on the look-out for
her. She had been away from him longer than usual on this particular day.
When the State coach drove up to the palace on her return, she heard his
bark of joy in the hall. She cried, "There's Dash!" and seemed to forget
crown and sceptre in her girlish eagerness to greet her small friend.
[Footnote: In the list of Sir Edwin Landseer's pictures there is one, the
property of the Queen, which was painted in 1838. It includes "Hector,"
"Nero," "Dash," and "Lorey" (dogs and parrot).]

In spite of the ordeal her Majesty had undergone, she entertained a party
of a hundred to dinner, and witnessed from the roof of Buckingham Palace
the grand display of fireworks in the Green Park and the general
illumination of London. The Duke of Wellington gave a ball at Apsley House,
followed next day by official dinners on the part of the Cabinet ministers.
The festivities lasted for more than a week in the metropolis. Prominent
among them was a fancy fair held for the space of four days in Hyde Park,
and visited by the Queen in person. On the 9th of July, a fine, hot day
there was a review in Hyde Park. The Queen appeared soon after eleven in an
open barouche, with her aides-de-camp in full uniform. The Dukes of
Cambridge and Wellington, the Duc de Nemours, Marshal Soult, Prince
Esterhazy, Prince Schwartzenburg, Count Stragonoff, were present amidst a
great crowd. The Queen was much cheered. The country's old gallant foe,
Soult, was again hailed with enthusiasm, though there was just a shade of
being exultingly equal to the situation, in the readiness with which, on
his having the misfortune to break a stirrup, a worthy firm of saddlers
came forward with a supply of the stirrups which Napoleon had used in one
of his campaigns. And there might have been something significant to the
visitor, in the rapturous greeting which was bestowed on the Iron Duke,
round whose erect, impassive figure the multitude pressed, the nearest men
and women defying his horse's hoofs and stretching up to shake hands with
"the Conquering Hero" amidst a thunder of applause.

The rejoicings pervaded every part of the country from John o' Groat's to
Land's End, from the Scilly Isles to Sark. There was merry-making among the
English residents in every foreign place, as far as the great colonies in
the still remote continents.

To many simple people the Queen did not seem to reign, hardly to exist,
till she had put on her crown and taken up her sceptre. It was to do the
first honour to their youthful liege lady that June garlands were swung
over every village street, bonfires gleamed like carbuncles on mountain
cairns, frightening the hill foxes, or lit up the coast-line and were flung
back in broken reflections from the tossing waves, scaring the very fish in
the depths of the sea, where hardy islanders had kindled the token on some
rock of the ocean.

Pen and pencil were soon busy with the great event of the season. Elizabeth
Barrett Browning wrote later:--

The Minster was alight that day, but not with fire, I ween,
And long-drawn glitterings swept adown that mighty aisled scene;
The priests stood stoled in their pomp, the sworded chiefs in theirs,
And so the collared knights--and so the civil ministers;
And so the waiting lords and dames--and little pages best
At holding trains--and legates so, from countries east and west;
So alien princes, native peers, and high-born ladies bright
Along whose brows the Queen's new crown'd, flashed coronets to light.
And so, the people at the gates, with priestly hands on high,
Which bring the first anointing to all legal majesty;
And so, the Dead--who lay in rows beneath the Minster floor,
There verily an awful state maintaining evermore--
The statesman, with no Burleigh nod, whate'er court tricks may be;
The courtier, who, for no fair Queen, will rise up to his knee;
The court-dame, who for no court tire will leave her shroud behind;
The laureate, who no courtlier rhymes than "dust to dust" can find;
The kings and queens who having ta'en that vow and worn that crown,
Descended unto lower thrones and darker, deeper adown;
"Dieu et mon Droit," what is't to them? what meaning can it have?
The king of kings, the dust of dust--God's judgment and the grave.
And when betwixt the quick and dead the young fair Queen had vowed,
The living shouted, "May she live! Victoria, live!" aloud,
And as these loyal shouts went up, true spirits prayed between,
The blessings happy monarchs have, be thine, O Crowned Queen!

In the autumn and winter of 1838 Leslie went down to Windsor to get
sittings for his picture of the coronation. He had been presented to the
Queen on her first visit to the Academy after her accession, as he mentions
in one of his pleasant letters to his kindred in America. He was now to
come into nearer contact with royalty. He slept at the Castle Inn, Windsor,
and went up daily to the Castle. If he found her Majesty and any other
sitter engaged, he improved the occasion by copying two of the Queen's fine
Dutch pictures, a De Hooghe and a Nicholas Maas. He wrote his experience to
his wife in London, and his sister in America. To the latter he said, "I
came here on the 29th of last month by appointment to have a sitting of the
Queen, and with little expectation of having more than one.... I have been
here ever since, with the exception of a day or two in town (I perform the
journey in an hour by the railroad), and the Queen has sat five times. She
is now so far satisfied with the likeness, that she does not wish me to
touch it again. She sat not only for the face, but for as much as is seen
of the figure, and for the hands with the coronation-ring on her finger.
Her hands, by-the-bye, are very pretty, the backs dimpled, and the fingers
delicately shaped. She was particular also in having her hair dressed
exactly as she wore it at the ceremony, every time she sat. She has
suggested an alteration in the composition of the picture, and I suppose
she thinks it like the scene, for she asked me where I sat, and said, 'I
suppose you made a sketch on the spot.'

"The Duchess of Kent and Lord Melbourne are now sitting to me, and last
week I had sittings of Lord Conyngham and Lady Fanny Cowper [Footnote:
Daughter of a beautiful and popular mother, Lady Palmerston, by her first
husband, Earl Cowper.] (a very beautiful girl, and one of the Queen's
train-bearers), who was here for a few days on a visit to her Majesty.
Every day lunch is sent to me, which, as it is always very plentiful and
good, I generally make my dinner. The best of wine is sent in a beautiful
little decanter, with a V.R. and the crown engraved on it, and the
table-cloth and napkins have the royal arms and other insignia on them as a
pattern.

"I have two very good friends at the Castle--one of the pages, and a little
man who lights the fires. The Queen's pages are not little boys in green,
but tall and _stout gentlemen_ from forty to fifty years of age. My
friend (Mr. Batchelor) was a page in the time of George III, and was then
twenty years old; George IV died in his arms, he says, in a room adjoining
the one I am painting in. Mr. Batchelor comes into the room whenever there
is nobody there, and admires the picture to my heart's content. My other
friend, the fire-lighter, is extremely like Peter Powell, only a size
larger. He also greatly admires the picture; he confesses he knows nothing
about the robes, and can't say whether they are like or not, but he
pronounces the Queen's likeness excellent." [Footnote: Leslie's
Autobiography.]

CHAPTER VI.
THE MAIDEN QUEEN.

When the great event of the coronation was over the Queen was left to
fulfil the heavy demands of business and the concluding gaieties of the
season. It comes upon us with a little pathetic shock, to think of one whom
we have long known chiefly in the chastened light of the devoted unflagging
worker at her high calling, of our lady of sorrows, as a merry
girl--girl-like in her fondness, in spite of her noble nature and the
serious claims she did not neglect, of a racket of perpetual excitement. We
read of her as going everywhere, as the blithest and most indefatigable
dancer in her ball-room, dancing out a pair of slippers before the night
was over; we hear how reluctant she was to leave town, how eager to return
to it.

Inevitably the old and dear friends most interested in her welfare were now
regarding this critical period in the Queen's career with anxious eyes. In
looking back upon it in after life, she has frankly and gravely
acknowledged its pitfalls; "a worse school for a young girl, or one more
detrimental to all natural feeling and affection, cannot well be imagined,
than the position of a queen at eighteen, without experience, and without a
husband to guide and support her. This the Queen can state from painful
experience, and she thanks God that none of her dear daughters are exposed
to such danger."

The King of the Belgians sought to abridge the period of probation by
renewing the project of the worthy marriage to which his niece had been
well inclined two years before. But either from the natural coyness and
the strain of perversity which are the privilege and the danger of
girlhood, or simply because, as she has, stated, "the sudden change from
the secluded life at Kensington to the independence of her position as
Queen Regnant, at the age of eighteen, put all ideas of marriage out of her
head," the bride in prospect demurred. She declared, with the unhesitating
decision of her age, that she had no thought of marriage for years to come.
She objected, with some show of reason, that both she and Prince Albert
were too young, and that it would be better for him to have a little more
time to perfect his English education.

The princely cousin who had won her first girlish affections, and the
tender sweetness of love in the bud, were by no means forgotten. The idea
of marriage never crossed the Queen's mind without his image presenting
itself, she has said, and she never thought of herself as wedded to any
other man. But every woman, be she Queen or beggar-maid, craves to exercise
one species of power at one era of her life. It is her prerogative, and
though the ruth of love may live to regret it, and to grudge every passing
pang inflicted, half wilfully half unwittingly, on the true heart, it may
be questioned whether love would flourish better, whether it would attain
its perfect stature, without the test of the brief check and combat for
mastery.

But if a woman desires to prove her power, a man cannot be expected to
welcome the soft tyranny; the more manly, the more sensitive he is, the
more it vexes and wounds him. Here the circumstances were specially trying,
and while we have ample sympathy with the young Queen--standing out as much
in archness as in imperiousness for a prolonged wooing--we have also
sympathy to spare for the young Prince, with manly dignity and a little
indignant pain, resisting alike girlish volatility and womanly despotism,
asserting what was only right and reasonable, that he could not wait much
longer for her to make up her mind--great queen and dear cousin though she
might be. It was neither just nor generous that he should be kept hanging
on in a condition of mortifying uncertainty, with the risk of his whole
life being spoilt, after it was too late to guard against it, by a final
refusal on her part. That the Queen had in substance made up her mind is
proved by the circumstance that it was by her wish, and in accordance with
her written instructions--of which, however, Prince Albert seems to have
been ignorant--that Baron Stockmar, on quitting England in 1838, joined the
Prince, who had just endured the trial of being separated from his elder
brother, with whom he had been brought up in the closest and most brotherly
relations, so that the two had never been a day apart during the whole of
their previous lives. Prince Albert was to travel in Italy, and Baron
Stockmar and Sir Francis (then Lieutenant) Seymour were appointed his
travelling companions, visiting with him, during what proved a happy tour,
Rome and Naples.

At home, where Baroness Lehzen retained the care of purely personal matters
and played her part in non-political affairs and non-political
correspondence, Lord Melbourne, with his tact and kindness, discharged the
remaining offices of a private secretary. But things did not go altogether
well. Party feeling was stronger than ever. The Queen's household was
mainly of Whig materials, but there were exceptions, and the lady who had
borne the train of the Duchess of Kent at the coronation belonged to a
family which had become Tory in politics.

Lady Flora Hastings was a daughter of the Marquis of Hastings and of Flora,
Countess of Loudoun, in her own right. The Countess of Loudoun in her youth
chose for her husband Earl Moira, one of the plainest-looking and most
gallant officers in the British army. The parting shortly after their
marriage, in order that he might rejoin his regiment on active service, was
the occasion of the popular Scotch song, by Tannahill, "Bonnie Loudoun's
woods and braes." Earl Moira, created Marquis of Hastings, had a
distinguished career as a soldier and statesman, especially as
Governor-General of India. When he was Governor-General of Malta he died
far from Loudoun's woods and braes, and was buried in the little island;
but in compliance with an old promise to his wife, who long survived him,
that their dust should rest together, he directed that after death his
right hand should be cut off, enclosed in a casket, and conveyed to the
family vault beneath the church of Loudoun, where the mortal remains of his
widow would lie.

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