THE QUEEN'S POWDER BALL.
On the evening of the 6th of June, 1845, her Majesty, who was at Buckingham Palace for the season, gave another great costume ball, still remembered as her Powder Ball—a name bestowed on it because of the universally-worn powder on hair and periwigs. It was not such a novelty as the Plantagenet Ball had been, neither was it so splendidly fantastic nor apparently so costly a performance; not that the materials used in the dresses were less valuable, but several of them —notably the old lace which was so marked a feature in the spectacle that it might as well have been called "The Lace Ball"—existed in many of the great houses in store, like the family diamonds, and had only to be brought out with the other heirlooms, and properly disposed of, to constitute the wearer en grande tenue. No doubt trade was still to be encouraged, and Spitalfields, in its chronic adversity, to be brought a little nearer to prosperity by the manufacture of sumptuous stuffs, in imitation of gorgeous old brocades, for a portion of the twelve hundred guests. But these motives were neither so urgent nor so ostensible, and perhaps the ball originated as much in a wish to keep up a good custom once begun, and to show some cherished guests a choice example of princely hospitality, as in an elaborate calculation of forced gain to an exotic trade.
The period chosen for the representation was much nearer the present. It was only a hundred years back, from 1740 to 1750. It may be that this comparative nearness fettered rather than emancipated the players in the game, and that, though civil wars and clan feuds had long died out, and the memory of the Scotch rebellion was no more than a picturesque tragic romance, a trifle of awkwardness survived in the encounter, face to face once more, in the very guise of the past, of the descendants of the men and women who had won at Prestonpans and lost at Culloden. It was said that a grave and stately formality distinguished this ball—a tone attributed to dignified, troublesome fashions—stranger then, but which since these days have become more familiar to us.
No two more attractive figures presented themselves that night than the sisters-in-law, the Duchess of Kent and the Duchess of Gloucester, the one in her sixtieth the other in her seventieth year. The third royal duchess in the worthy trio, who represented long and well the royal matronhood of England, the Duchess of Cambridge, was, along with her Duke, prevented from being present at the Queen's ball in consequence of a recent death in her family. The Duchess of Kent wore a striped and "flowered" brocade, with quantities of black lace relieving the white satin of her train. The Duchess of Gloucester, sweet pretty Princess Mary of more than fifty years before, came in the character of a much less happy woman, Marie Leczinska, the queen of Louis XV. She must have looked charming in her rich black brocade, and some of the hoards of superb lace—which she is said to have inherited from her mother, Queen Charlotte—edged with strings of diamonds and agraffes of diamonds, while over her powdered hair was tied a fichu capuchin of Chantilly.
Among the multitude of guests assembled at Buckingham Palace, the privileged few who danced in the Queen's minuets, as well as the members of the royal family, arrived by the Garden Gate and were received in the Yellow Drawing-room. Included in this select company was a German princess who had lately married an English subject— Princess Marie of Baden, wife of the Marquis of Douglas, not the first princess who had wedded into the noble Scotch house of Hamilton, though it was many a long century since Earl Walter received—
all Arran's isle To dower his royal bride
The Queen had special guests with her on this occasion—her brother the Prince of Leiningen, the much-loved uncle of the royal children; and the favourite cousin of the circle, the young Duchesse de Nemours, with her husband. The Queen and Prince Albert, accompanied by their visitors, the various members of the English royal family present at the ball, and the different suites, passed into the ball-room at half- past ten. The first dance, the graceful march of the German polonaise, was danced by all, young and old, the bands striking up simultaneously, and the dance extending through the whole of the State apartments, the Queen leading the way, preceded by the Vice- Chamberlain, the Comptroller and Treasurer of the Household, and two gentlemen ushers to clear a space for her. After the polonaise the company passed slowly before the Queen. A comical incident occurred in this part of the programme through the innocent mistake of an old infantry officer, who in his progress lifted his peaked hat and gave the Queen a military salute, as he walked by.
Then her Majesty left the ball-room and repaired to the throne-room, where the first minuet was formed. It is only necessary to recall that most courtly of slow and graceful dances to judge how well suited it was for this ball. The Queen danced with her cousin, Prince George of Cambridge. Her Majesty wore a wonderful dress of cloth of gold and cloth of silver, with daisies and poppies worked in silks, and shaded the natural colours; trimmings and ruffles of exquisite old lace, stomacher covered with old lace and jewels, the sacque set off with scarlet ribands, the fair hair powdered under a tiara and crown of diamonds, dainty white satin shoes with scarlet rosettes—a diamond in each rosette, the Order of the Garter on the arm, the Star and Riband of the Order.
Prince George was less fortunate in the regimentals of a cavalry officer a century back; for, as it happened, while the costume of 1740-50 was favourable to women and to civilians, it was trying to military men.
Prince Albert danced with the Duchesse de Nemours. These two had been early playmates who never, even in later and sadder days, got together without growing merry over the stories and jokes of their childhood in Coburg. The Prince must have been one of the most graceful figures there, in a crimson velvet coat edged with gold and lined with white satin, on the left breast the splendid Star of the Order of the Garter, shoulder-strap and sword inlaid with diamonds, white satin waistcoat brocaded with gold, breeches of crimson velvet with gold buttons, shoes of black kid with red heels and diamond buckles, three- cornered hat trimmed with gold lace, edged with white ostrich feathers, a magnificent loop of diamonds, and the black cockade of the Georges, not the white cockade of the Jameses.
His golden-haired partner was in a tastefully gay and fantastic as well as splendid costume of rose-coloured Chinese damask, with gold blonde and pearls, over a petticoat of point d'Alençon, with a deep border of silver and silver rosettes. The stomacher of brilliants and pearls, on the left shoulder a nosegay with diamond wheat-ears interspersed, shoes of purple satin with fleurs-de-lys embroidered in gold and diamonds, as became a daughter of France, and gloves embroidered with similar fleurs-de-lys.
There were many gay and gallant figures and fair faces in that minuet of minuets. Prince Edward of Saxe-Weimar was meant to dance with the young Marchioness of Douro, but she by some strange chance came too late for the honour, and her place was supplied by another young matron and beauty, Lady Jocelyn, formerly Lady Fanny Cowper. Prince Leiningen, who wore a white suit faced with blue and a buff waistcoat edged with silver lace, danced with Lady Mount-Edgcumbe. The Duke of Beaufort once more disputed with the Earl of Wilton the distinction of being the finest gentleman present.
The Queen danced in four minuets, standing up in the second with
Prince Albert. This minuet also included several of the most beautiful
women of the time and of the Court; notably Lady Seymour, one of the
Sheridan sisters, the Queen of Beauty at the Eglinton tournament; and
Lady Canning.
After the second minuet the Queen and all the company returned to the ball-room, where two other minuets, those of Lady Jersey and Lady Chesterfield, were danced, and between them was given Lady Breadalbane's strathspey. There was such crowding to see these dances that the Lord Chamberlain had difficulty in making room for them. While Musard furnished special music for the minuets and quadrilles, adapting it in one case from airs of the '45, the Queen's piper, Mackay, gave forth, for the benefit of the strathspey and reel- dancers, the stirring strains of "Miss Drummond of Perth," "Tullochgorum," and "The Marquis of Huntly's Highland Fling," which must have rung with wild glee through the halls of kings.
Lady Chesterfield's minuet was the last dance before supper, served with royal splendour in the dining-room, to which the Queen passed at twelve o'clock. After supper the Queen danced in a quadrille and in the two next minuets. Her first partner was the Duc de Nemours, who wore an old French infantry general's uniform—a coat of white cloth, the front covered with gold embroidery, sleeves turned up with crimson velvet, waistcoat and breeches of crimson velvet, stockings of crimson silk, and red-heeled shoes with diamond buckles. In the second minuet her Majesty had her brother, the Prince of Leiningen, for her partner. The ball was ended, according to a good old English fashion, by the quaint changing measure of "Sir Roger de Coverley," known in Scotland as "The Haymakers," in which the Queen had her husband for her partner. This country-dance was danced in the picture gallery.
Let who would be the beauty at the Queen's ball, there was at least one poetess there in piquant black and cerise, with cerise roses and priceless point à l'aiguille, Lady John Scott, who had been the witty heiress, Miss Spottiswoode of Spottiswoode. She wrote to an old refrain one of the most pathetic of modern Scotch ballads—
Douglas, Douglas, tender and true
The beauty of the ball was the Marchioness of Douro, who not so long ago had been the beauty of the season as Lady Elizabeth Hay, daughter of the Marquis of Tweeddale, when she caught the fancy of the elder, son and heir of the Duke of Wellington. In this case beauty was not unadorned, for the lovely Marchioness, [Footnote: Her likeness is familiar to many people in an engraving from a well-known picture of the Duke of Wellington showing his daughter-in-law the field of Waterloo] the Greek mould of whose head attracted the admiration of all judges, was said to wear jewels to the value of sixty thousand pounds, while the superb point-lace flounce to her white brocade must have been a source of pious horror to good Roman Catholics, since it was believed to have belonged to the sacred vestments of a pope.
We have said that lace and jewels gave the distinguishing stamp to the ball—such lace!—point d'Alençon, point de Bayeux, point de Venise, point a l'aiguille, Mechlin, Guipure, Valenciennes, Chantilly, enough to have turned green with envy the soul of a cultured petit- maître, an aesthetic fop of the present day.
Some of the jewels, no less than the lace, were historical. The
Marchioness of Westminster, besides displaying sabots of point-
lace, which had belonged to Caroline, queen of George II., wore the
Nassuk and Arcot diamonds.
Miss Burdett-Coutts wore a lustrous diadem and necklace that had once graced the brow and throat of poor Marie Antoinette, and had found their way at last into jewel-cases no longer royal, owing their glittering contents to the wealth of a great city banker.
A word about the antiquated finery of the Iron Duke, with which the old soldier sought to please his young mistress. It provoked a smile or two from the more frivolous as the grey, gaunt, spindle-shanked old man stalked by, yet it was not without its pathetic side. The Duke wore a scarlet coat, a tight fit, laced with gold, with splendid gold buttons and frogs, the brilliant star of the Order of the Garter, and the Order of the Golden Fleece, a waistcoat of scarlet cashmere covered with gold lace, breeches of scarlet kerseymere trimmed with gold lace; gold buckles, white silk stockings, cocked hat laced with gold, sword studded with rose diamonds and emeralds.
It is nearly forty years since these resplendent masquers trod the floors of Buckingham Palace, and if the changes which time has brought about had been foreseen, if the veil which shrouds the future had been lifted, what emotions would have been called forth!
Who could have borne to hear that the bright Queen and giver of the fete would pass the years of her prime in the mournful shade of disconsolate widowhood? That the pale crown of a premature death was hovering over the head of him who was the life of her life, the active promoter and sustainer of all that was good and joyous in that great household, all that was great and happy in the kingdom over which she ruled?
Who would have ventured to prophesy that of the royal kindred and cherished guests, the Prince of Leiningen was to die a landless man, the Duc de Nemours to spend long years in exile, the Duchesse to be cut down in the flower of her womanhood? Who would have guessed that this great nobleman, the head of an ancient house, was to perish by a miserable accident in a foreign hotel; that his sister, the wife of an unfortunate statesman, was to be dragged through the mire of a divorce court; that the treasures of a princely home were to pass away from the race that had accumulated them, under the strokes of an auctioneer's hammer? Who could have dreamt that this fine intellect and loving heart would follow the lord of their destiny to Hades, and wander there for evermore distracted, in the land of shadows, where there is no light of the sun to show the way, no firm ground to stay the tottering feet and groping hands? As for these two fair sisters in Watteau style of blue and pink, and green and pink taffetas, lace, and pearls, and roses—surely the daintiest, most aristocratic shepherdesses ever beheld—one of them would have lost her graceful equanimity, reddened with affront, and tingled to the finger-tips with angry unbelief if she had been warned beforehand that she would be amongst the last of the high-born, high-bred brides who would forfeit her birthright and her presence at a Queen's Court by agreeing to be married at the hands of a blacksmith instead of a bishop, before the rude hymeneal altar at Gretna.
But to-night there was no alarming interlude, like a herald of evil, to shake the nerves of the company—nothing more unpropitious than the contretemps to an unlucky lady of being overcome by the heat and seized with a fainting-fit, which caused her over-zealous supporters to remove her luxuriant powdered wig in order to give her greater air and coolness, so that she was fain, the moment she recovered, to hide her diminished head by a rapid discomfited retreat from what remained of the revelry.
On the 21st of June the Queen and the Prince, with the Lords of the Admiralty, inspected the fleet off Spithead. The royal yacht was attended by a crowd of yachts belonging to the various squadrons, a throng of steamboats and countless small boats. The Queen visited and went over the flagship—which was the St. Vincent—the Trafalgar, and the Albion. On her return to the yacht she held a levee of all the captains of the fleet. A few days afterwards she reviewed her fleet in brilliant, breezy weather. The royal yacht took up its position at Spithead, and successive signals were given to the squadron to "Lower sail," "Make sail," "Shorten sail and reef," and "Furl topgallant sails," all the manoeuvres—including the getting under way and sailing in line to St. Helen's—being performed with the very perfection of nautical accuracy. The review ended with the order, "Furl sails, put the life-lines on, and man yards," which was done as only English sailors can accomplish the feat, while the royal yacht on its return passed through the squadron amidst ringing cheers.
During the earlier part of the summer Sir John Franklin sailed with his ships, the Erebus and Terror, in search of that North Pole which, since the days of Sir Hugh Montgomery, "a captain tall," has been at once the goal and snare of many a gallant English sailor. The good ships disappeared under the horizon, never to reach their haven. By slow degrees oblivion, more or less profound, closed over the fate of officers and men, while, for lack of knowledge of their life or death, the light of many a hearth was darkened, and faithful hearts sickened with hope deferred and broke under the strain. As one instance, out of many, of the desolation which the silent loss of the gallant expedition occasioned, sorrow descended heavily on one of the happy Highland homes among which the Queen had dwelt the previous summer. Captain, afterwards Lord James, Murray, brother of Lord Glenlyon, was married to Miss Fairholme, sister of one of the picked men of whom the explorers were composed. When no tidings of him came, year after year, from the land of mist and darkness, pining melancholy seized upon her and made her its prey.
In the month of July the King of the Netherlands, who, as Prince of Orange, had served on the Duke of Wellington's staff at the close of the Peninsular War, came to England and took up his quarters at Mivart's Hotel, the Queen being in the Isle of Wight, where he joined her. Prince Albert met the King at Gosport and escorted him to Osborne. On his return to London the King, who was already a general in the English army, received his appointment as field-marshal, and reviewed the Household troops in Hyde Park. He paid a second visit to the Queen at Osborne before he left Woolwich for Holland.
A curious accident happened when the Queen prorogued Parliament on the 9th of August. The Duke of Argyle, an elderly man, was carrying the crown on a velvet cushion, when, in walking backwards before the Queen, he appeared to forget the two steps, leading from the platform on which the throne stands to the floor, and stumbled, the crown slipping from the cushion and falling to the ground, with the loss of some diamonds. The Queen expressed her concern for the Duke instead of for the crown; but on her departure the keeper of the House of Lords appeared in front of the throne, and prevented too near an approach to it, with the chance of further damage to the dropped jewels. The misadventure was naturally the subject of a good deal of private conversation in the House.