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

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The Queen left Kensington, within a month of her uncle's death, we do not
need to be told "greatly to the regret of the inhabitants." She went on the
13th of July to take up her residence at Buckingham Palace. "Shortly after
one o'clock an escort of Lancers took up a position on the Palace Green,
long previous to which an immense concourse of respectable persons had
thronged the avenue and every open space near the Palace." About half-past
one an open carriage drawn by four greys, preceded by two outriders, and
followed by an open barouche, drawn by four bays, drove up from her
Majesty's mews, Pimlico, and stopped before the grand entrance to the
Duchess of Kent's apartments. The Queen, accompanied by the Duchess of
Kent and Baroness Lehzen, almost immediately got into the first carriage.
There was a tumult of cheering, frankly acknowledged. It is said the young
Queen looked "pale and a little sad" at the parting moment. Then with a
dash the carriages vanished in a cloud of July dust, and the familiar
Palace Green, with its spreading trees and the red chimneys beyond--the
High Street--Kensington Gore, were left behind. Kensington's last brief
dream of a Court was brought to an abrupt conclusion. What was worse,
Kensington's Princess was gone, never to return to the changed scene save
for the most fleeting of visits.

We should like to give here one more story of her Majesty's stay at
Kensington--a story that refers to these last days. We have already spoken
of an old soldier-servant of the Duke of Kent's, said to have been named
Stillman, who was quartered with his family--two of them sickly--in a
Kensington cottage of the period, visited by the Duchess of Kent and the
Princess Victoria. The little boy had died; the ailing girl still lived.
The girl's clergyman, a gentleman named Vaughan, went to see her some days
after the Queen had quitted the Palace, and found the invalid looking
unusually bright. He inquired the reason. "Look there!". said the girl,
and drew a book of Psalms from under her pillow, "look what the new Queen
has sent me to-day by one of her ladies, with the message that, though now,
as Queen of England, she had to leave Kensington, she did not forget me."
The lady who had brought the book had said the lines and figures in the
margin were the dates of the days on which the Queen herself had been
accustomed to read the Psalms, and that the marker, with the little peacock
on it, was worked by the Princess's own hand. The sick girl cried, and
asked if this act was not beautiful?

CHAPTER V.
THE PROROGUING OF PARLIAMENT, THE VISIT TO GUILDHALL, AND THE CORONATION.

Buckingham Palace had been a seat of the Duke of Buckingham's, which was
bought by George II., and in the next reign was settled on Queen Charlotte
instead of Somerset House, and called the "Queen's House." It was rebuilt
by George IV. but not occupied by him, and had been rarely used by King
William. Besides its gardens, which are of some extent, it shares with St.
James's, which it is near, the advantage of St. James's Park, one of the
most agreeable in London, and full of historic memories. Though it, too,
was modernised by George IV., its features have still much interest. It
was by its canal, which has been twisted into the Serpentine, that the
Merry Monarch strolled alone, lazily playing with his dogs, feeding his
ducks, and by his easy confidence flattering and touching his good citizens
of London. On the same water his gay courtiers practised their foreign
accomplishment of skating, which they had brought back with them from the
Low Countries. In the Mall both Charles and his brother, the Duke of York,
joined in the Court game of Palle Malle, when a ball was struck with a
mallet through an iron ring down a walk strewn with powdered cockle-shells.
At a later period the Mall was the most fashionable promenade in London.
While dinners were still early on Sunday afternoons, the fashionable world
walked for an hour or two after dinner in the Mall. An eyewitness declared
that he had seen "in one moving mass, extending the whole length of the
Mall, five thousand of the most lovely women in this country of female
beauty, all splendidly attired, and accompanied by as many well-dressed
men." For, as Mr. Hare, in his "Walks in London," points out, the
frequenters of the Mall were very different in one respect from the company
in the Row: "The ladies were in full dress and gentlemen carried their hats
under their arms."

One relic of the past survives intact in the park--that is, the cow-stalls,
which formerly helped to constitute "Milk Fair." Mr. Hare tells us "the
vendors are proud of the number of generations through which the stalls
have been held in their families."

From Buckingham Palace the Queen went in State on the 17th of July to close
Parliament. The carriage, with the eight cream-coloured horses, was used.
As far as we can judge, this was the first appearance in her Majesty's
reign of "the creams," so dear to the London populace. The carriage was
preceded by the Marshalmen, a party of the Yeomen of the Guard in State
costumes, and runners. The fourth carriage, drawn by six black horses,
contained the Marchioness of Lansdowne, the Duchess of Sutherland, the Duke
of Argyle, Lord Steward and Gold Stick in Waiting. The Queen was
accompanied by the Earl of Albemarle, Master of the Horse, and the Countess
of Mulgrave, the Lady-in-Waiting. The procession, escorted by a squadron of
the Horse Guards, moved into Whitehall, and was cheered in Parliament
Street by deafening shouts from a mass of spectators lining the streets and
covering the house-tops. On arriving opposite the entrance of the House of
Lords her Majesty was received by a battalion of the Grenadier Guards,
whose splendid band, when she alighted, played the National Anthem.

Thus heralded, the young Queen entered the old Houses of Parliament, seated
herself on the throne of her ancestors, and accorded her maiden reception
to her loyal Lords and faithful Commons. This was the first occasion in a
great assembly that people remarked the natural gift which has proved a
valuable possession to her Majesty, and has never failed to awaken the
admiration of the hearers. We allude to the peculiar silvery clearness, as
well as sweetness, of a voice which can be heard in its most delicate
modulations through the whole House. In reply to the Speaker of the House
of Commons' assurance of the Commons' cordial participation in that strong
and universal feeling of dutiful and affectionate attachment which
prevailed among the free and loyal people of which they were the
representatives, the Queen read her speech in an unfaltering voice,
thanking the Parliament for its condolence upon the death of his late
Majesty, and for its expressions of attachment and affection to herself,
announcing her determination to preserve all the rights, spiritual and
civil, of her subjects, touching on the usual topics in a royal speech in
its relation to home and foreign affairs, and making the solemn assertion:
"I ascend the throne with a deep sense of the responsibility which is
imposed upon me, but I am supported by the consciousness of my own right
intentions and by my dependence on the protection of Almighty God." Fanny
Kemble was present at this memorable scene, and has given her impression of
it. Her testimony, as a public speaker, is valuable. "The Queen was not
handsome, but very pretty, and the singularity of her great position lent a
sentimental and poetical charm to her youthful face and figure. The serene,
serious sweetness of her candid brow and clear soft eyes gave dignity to
the girlish countenance, while the want of height only added to the effect
of extreme youth of the round but slender person, and gracefully moulded
hands and arms. The Queen's voice was exquisite, nor have I ever heard any
spoken words more musical in their gentle distinctness than "My Lords and
Gentlemen," which broke the breathless silence of the illustrious assembly
whose gaze was riveted on that fair flower of royalty. The enunciation was
as perfect as the intonation was melodious, and I think it is impossible to
hear a more excellent utterance than that of the Queen's English by the
English Queen."

The accession of Queen Victoria almost coincided with a new era in English
history, art and letters, new relations in politics at home and abroad, new
social movements undreamt of when she was born. In spite of the strong
party spirit, the country was at peace within and without. France, the
foreign neighbour of most importance to England, was also at peace under a
so-called "citizen-king." The "Tractarian" movement at Oxford was startling
the world with a proposed return to the practices of the primitive Church,
while it laid the foundation of the High Church and Ritualistic parties in
the modern Church of England. The names of Newman and Pusey especially were
in many mouths, spoken in various terms of reprobation and alarm, or
approval and exultation. Next to Tractarianism, Chartism--the people's
demand for a charter which should meet their wants--was a rising force,
though it had not reached its full development. Arnold was doing his noble
work, accomplishing a moral revolution in the public schools of England.
Milman and Grote had arisen as historians. Faraday was one of the chief
lights of science. Sir John Herschel occupied his father's post among the
stars. Beautiful modest Mary Somerville showed what a woman might do with
the Differential Calculus; Brewster had taken the place of Sir Humphry
Davy. Murchison was anticipating Robert Dick and Hugh Miller in geology.
Alfred Tennyson had already published two volumes of poems; Browning had
given to the world his "Paracelsus," and this very year (1837) his
_Strafford_ had been performed at Covent Garden, while it was still on
the cards that his calling might be that of a great dramatist. Dickens, the
Scott of the English lower-middle classes, was bringing out his "Pickwick
Papers." Disraeli had got into the House of Commons at last, and his
"Vivian Grey" was fully ten years old. So was Bulwer's "Pelbam"--the author
of which also aided in forming the literary element of the House of Commons
in the Queen's first Parliament. Mrs. Gore, Mrs. Trollope, Miss Mitford,
Mrs. S. C. Hail, and Harriet Martinean represented under very different
aspects the feminine side of fiction. Macready remained the stage king, but
he shared his royalty with the younger Kean. A younger Kemble had also
played Juliet well, but the stage queen was Helen Faucit. In painting,
Turner was working in his last style; Stanfield's sea-pieces were famous.
Mulready and Leslie were in the front as _genre_ painters. Maclise was
making his reputation; Etty had struggled into renown, while poor Haydon
was sinking into despair. Landseer was already the great animal painter.
Sir C. Eastlake had court commissions. Wilkie, too, still had royal
commissions, but his best work was done, and he was soon to set out on his
last travels in a vain search after health and strength.

Withal the world was a light-hearted world enough--not so hurried as it is
to-day, though railways were well established, and the electric telegraph
had been hit upon in this same 1837. Young blood continued hot, and play
was apt to be riotous. Witness the fantastic frolics of the Marquis of
Waterford--public property in those years. He had inherited the
eccentricities of the whole Delaval race, and not content with tickling his
peers in England, carried his whims and pranks into Scotland and Ireland
and across the Channel. Various versions of his grotesque feats circulated
and scintillated through all classes, provoking laughter, and tempting to
clumsy imitation, till the gentleman may be said to have had a species of
world-wide reputation in a madly merry way.

The Queen held a review at Windsor on the 28th of September, 1837. She had
dwelt at Windsor before as a cherished guest; but what must it not have
been to her to enter these gates as the Queen? The rough hunting-seat of
William Rufus had long been the proudest and fairest palace in England. St
George's Tower and battlements are the most royal in these realms. St.
George's Hall and St. George's Chapel are the best examples of ancient and
modern chivalry. The stately terrace commanding the red turrets of Eton and
the silvery reaches of the Thames, where George III. and Queen Charlotte,
with their large family and household, were wont to promenade on Sunday
afternoons for the benefit of their Majesties' loyal subjects, where the
blind old King used to totter along supported by two of his faithful
Princesses; the green alleys and glades of the ancient forest, with the
great boles of the venerable oaks--Queen Elizabeth's among them; Virginia
Water sparkling in the sunshine or glimmering in the moonlight, all make up
such a kingly residence, as in many respects cannot be surpassed. What must
it not have been to enter the little Court town, another Versailles or
Fontainebleau, as its liege Lady, to be hailed and welcomed by the goodly
throng of Eton lads--those gay and gallant attendants on royal Windsor
pageants--to pass through these halls as their mistress, and fairly
recognise that all the noble surroundings were hers, with all England, all
Britain and many a great dependency and colony on which the sun never
sets--hers to rule over, hers to bless if she would?

At the review, in compliment to her soldiers whom she saw marshalled in
their disciplined masses, and saluting her as the Captain of their
Captains--even of Wellington himself--the Queen wore a half-military
dress--a tight jacket with deep lappels, the blue riband of the Garter
across one shoulder, and its jewelled star upon her breast, a stocklike
black neckerchief in stiff folds holding up the round throat, and on the
head--hiding nearly all the fair hair--a round, high, flatcap with a broad
black "snout"; beneath it the soft, open, girlish face, with its
single-hearted dignity.

In this month of September the Queen heard that her sister-queen and girl
friend, Donna Maria da Gloria, had received consolation for the troubles of
her kingdom in becoming the youthful mother of a son and heir, Prince
Ferdinand of Portugal.

By November the Court was back at Buckingham Palace, and on the 9th the
Queen paid her first visit to the City of London, which received her with
magnificent hospitality.

Long before the hour appointed for her Majesty's departure for Guildhall,
all the approaches to the palace and the park itself presented dense crowds
of holiday folks. At two o'clock the first carriage of the procession
emerged from the triumphal arch, and in due time came the royal State
carriage, in which sat the Queen, attended by the Mistress of the Robes and
the Master of the Horse. Her Majesty's full-dress was a "splendid pink
satin shot with silver." She wore a queenly diamond tiara, and, as we are
told, looked remarkably well. Her approach was the signal for enthusiastic
cheering, which increased as she advanced, while the bells of the city
churches rang out merry peals. The fronts of the houses were decorated with
bright-coloured cloth, green boughs, and such flowers as November had
spared. Devices in coloured lamps waited for the evening illumination to
bring them out in perfection. Venetian masts had not been hoisted then in
England, but "rows of national flags and heraldic banners were stretched
across the Strand at several points, and busts and portraits of her Majesty
were placed in conspicuous positions." The only person in the Queen's train
who excited much interest was the Duke of Wellington, and he heard himself
loudly cheered. The mob was rapidly condoning what they had considered his
errors as a statesman, and restoring him to his old eminence, in their
estimation, as the hero of the long wars, the conqueror of Bonaparte.
Applause or reprobation the veteran met with almost equal coolness. When he
had been besieged by raging, threatening crowds, calling upon him to do
justice to Queen Caroline, as he rode to Westminster during the wild days
of her trial, he had answered "Yes, yes," without a muscle of his face
moving, and pushed on straight to his destination. For many a year he was
to receive every contrite huzza, as he had received every fierce hiss, with
no more than the twinkling of an eyelid or the raising of two fingers.

The gathering at Temple Bar--real, grim old Temple Bar, which had borne
traitors' heads in former days--was so great that a detachment of Life
Guards, as well as a strong body of police, had work to do in clearing a
way for the carriages. The aldermen had to be accommodated with a room in
Child's old banking-house, founded by the typical industrious apprentice
who married his master's daughter. It sported the quaint old sign of the
"Marigold," and was supposed to hold sheaves of papers containing noble,
nay, royal secrets, as well as bushels of family jewels, in its strong
boxes. It had even a family romance of its own, for did not the great Child
of his day pursue his heiress in her flight to Gretna with the heir of the
Villiers, who, leaning, pistol in hand, from his postchaise in front, sent
a bullet into the near horse of the chaise behind, and escaped with his
prize?

Undisturbed by these exciting stories, the aldermen waited in the dim
interior--charged with other than money-lending mysteries, till the worthy
gentlemen were joined by the Lord Mayor and sheriffs, when they proceeded
to mount their chargers in Temple Yard--perhaps the most disturbing
proceeding of any, with the riders' minds a little soothed by the
circumstance that the horses had been brought from the Artillery barracks
at Woolwich, and each was led by the soldier to which it belonged, in the
capacity of groom.

"A few minutes before three the approach of the Queen was announced. The
Lord Mayor dismounted, and, taking the City sword in his hand, stood on the
south side of Temple Bar. As soon as the Queen's carriage arrived within
the gateway it stopped, and then, unfortunately, it began to rain." The
Queen's weather, which has become proverbial, of which we are given to
boast, did not attend her on this occasion. Perhaps it would have been too
much to expect of the clouds when the date was the 9th of November.
Regardless of the weather, "the Lord Mayor delivered the keys of the City
to the Queen, which her Majesty restored in the most gracious manner." At
this time the multitude above, around, and below, from windows,
scaffolding, roofs, and parapets, cheered long and loud. The Lord Mayor
remounted, and, holding the City sword aloft, took his place immediately
before the royal carriage, after which the aldermen, members of the Common
Council, and civic authorities formed in procession.

Rather a curious ceremony was celebrated in front of St. Paul's. Booths and
hustings had been erected in the enclosure for the accommodation of members
of the different City companies and the boys of Christ's Hospital. "The
royal carriage having stopped in the middle of the road, opposite the
cathedral gate, a platform was wheeled out, on which were Mr. Frederick
Gifford Nash, senior scholar of Christ's Hospital, and the head master and
treasurer. The scholar, in conformity with an old usage, delivered an
address of congratulation to her Majesty, concluding with an earnest prayer
for her welfare. 'God Save the Queen' was then sung by the scholars and a
great part of the multitude."

But already the dreariness and discomfort of a dark and wet November
afternoon had been too much even for the staunchest loyalty, and had
dispersed the feebler spirits among the onlookers. The Lord Mayor assisted
her Majesty to alight at the door of the Guildhall, where the Lady Mayoress
was waiting to be presented by her husband. We have a full description of
the Council-room and retiring-room, with their draperies of crimson and
gold, including the toilet-table, covered with white satin, and embroidered
with the initials V. R., a crown and wreath in gold, at which the maiden
Queen was understood to receive the last touches to her toilet, while she
was attended by such distinguished matrons as the Duchess of Kent, the
Duchess of Gloucester, and the Duchess of Cambridge. In the drawing-room
the address of the City of London was read by the Recorder, and replied to
by the Queen. At twenty minutes past five dinner was announced, and the
Queen, preceded by the Lord Mayor and the Lady Mayoress, and conducted by
the Lord Chamberlain, in "respectful silence," descended into the hall
where the banquet was prepared. The great old hall, with its "glorious
timber roof," could hardly have known itself. Gog and Magog--compared by
Nathaniel Hawthorne to "playthings for the children of giants"--must have
looked down with goggle eyes at the transformation. These were different
days from the time when Anne Ascue, of Kelsey, was tried there for heresy,
and the brave, keen-witted lady told her judges, when examined on the
doctrine of transubstantiation, she had heard that God made man, but that
man made God she had never heard; or when gallant Surrey encountered his
enemies; or melodious Waller was called to account. It was on the raised
platform at the east end of the hall that the Common Council had expended
its strength of ornament and lavished its wealth. Here London outdid
itself. The throne was placed there. "It was surmounted by an entablature,
with the letters V. R. supporting the royal crown and cushion. In the front
was an external valance of crimson velvet, richly laced and trimmed with
tassels. The back-fluting was composed of white satin, relieved with the
royal arms in gold. The curtains were of crimson velvet, trimmed with lace
and lined with crimson silk. The canopy was composed of crimson velvet,
with radiated centre of white satin enamelled with gold, forming a gold ray
from which the centre of velvet diverged; a valance of crimson velvet,
laced with gold, depended from the canopy, which was intersected with
cornucopia, introducing the rose, thistle, and shamrock, in white velvet.
Beneath this splendid canopy was placed the State-chair, which was richly
carved and gilt, and ornamented with the royal arms and crown, including
the rose, thistle, and shamrock, in crimson velvet. Its proportions were
tastefully and judiciously diminished to a size that should in some sort
correspond with the slight and elegant figure of the young Sovereign for
whom it was provided. The platform on which the throne stood was covered
with ermine and gold carpeting of the richest description." ... In front
of the throne was placed the royal table, extending the whole width of the
platform. It was thirty-four feet long and eight wide, and was covered with
a cloth of the most exquisite damask, trimmed with gold lace and fringe.
The sides and front of the platform were decked with a profusion of the
rarest plants and shrubs. The royal table was on a dais above the level of
the hall. A large mirror at each side of the throne reflected the gorgeous
scene. From the impromptu dais four long tables extended nearly half-way
down the hall, where the Lord and Lady Mayoress presided over the company
of foreign ambassadors, Cabinet Ministers, nobility, aldermen, and members
of the Common Council. The "royal avenue" led up the middle of the hall to
the throne, with the tables on each side. The Queen took her seat on the
throne; the Lord and Lady Mayoress stood on either side of her Majesty, but
were almost immediately bidden be seated at their table.

The company had now time to study the central figure, the cause and
culmination of the assembly. Over her pink and silver she wore the riband
and order of the Garter, with the George appended. Besides her diamond
tiara she had a stomacher of brilliants, and diamond ear-rings. She sat in
the middle of a regal company, only two of the others young like herself.
To the rest she must have been the child of yesterday; while to each and
all she preserved in full the natural relations, and was as much the
daughter, niece, and cousin as of old; yet, at the same time, she was every
inch the Queen. What a marvel it must have seemed--still more to those who
sat near than to those who stood afar. The Queen was supported by the Dukes
of Sussex and Cambridge, the Duchesses of Kent, Gloucester, Cambridge, and
Sutherland; and there were present her two cousins, Prince George and
Princess Augusta Of Cambridge.

After dinner, _Non Nobus Domine_ was sung; and then, preceded by a
flourish of trumpets, the common crier advanced to the middle of the hall
and said, "The Right Honourable the Lord Mayor gives the health of our most
gracious Sovereign, Queen Victoria."

The company simultaneously rose and drank the toast with enthusiasm. "God
Save the Queen" was sung, after which her Majesty rose and bowed repeatedly
with marked goodwill.... The common crier then shouted, "Her Majesty gives
the Lord Mayor and Prosperity to the City of London." Bishop's "When the
Wind Blows" was sung. The only other toast was, "The Royal Family," given
by the Lord Mayor.

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