A Barrier
After Presentation
These rooms are divided by barriers, guarded by gentlemen of the household, which prevents over-crowding. It is an extraordinary sight to see room after room filled with nervous young girls and their more composed mothers sitting in the unbecoming light of an afternoon sun, with white plumes in their hair and the family jewels on their necks. With the exception of a now and then whispered conversation, everything is quiet until the barriers leading into the next room are opened; then a rush follows and small pieces of lace, spangles, flowers, and ostrich feathers are left on the floor. Mothers and daughters are separated. After the confusion of finding each other, all is quiet for another thirty minutes, when a rush for a better place in the next room begins. A retired Colonel, the guardian of a barrier, noticing my interest and my evening dress, asked me if I did not think it looked like an ostrich farm. He pointed out his wife to me, and said a French hairdresser had been at his house all that morning. The Colonel’s pretty wife looked it. From there I crossed the ambassadors’ room and the picture-gallery, where the people who have the entree wait, and entered the throne-room. At that time there were three men in it; two of them, gentlemen of the household, were standing on either side of the door. One of them told me that the young officer with a bearskin hat on his arm, standing by a long window overlooking the central court, was there to signal to the band outside when the royal family entered, in order that they might know when to play “God Save the Queen.” He also motioned with his head toward a small door in one corner of the big red room, and said through it the royal party would enter. I asked the same gentleman why Drawing-rooms were not held in the evening. He said he did not know. At this time the Prime-Minister, in a dark uniform with a blue ribbon across his breast, entered the room, followed by Court dignitaries, gentlemen ushers, and the Lord Chamberlain with his staff of office. Then the little door opened, and while the band played “God Save the Queen,” the Princess of Wales and the royal party filed in. Then there was a low bow on both sides; the Lord Chamberlain took his position by the Princess of Wales, and read from the cards handed him by the ushers the names of those who were being presented.
After the ambassadors and their wives came those having the entree; after them those without. The white procession had started, and the Drawing-room that had been rehearsed and looked forward to for years, as far as each individual’s part in it was concerned, was soon over. At the end of two hours there was another low bow, and the royal family filed back through the little door. The bustle and waiting was transferred to the grand hall below, where little olive-skinned Indian ladies of high birth, and famous English beauties whose photographs could be bought on Piccadilly, stood side by side until their carriages stopped the way. Mothers and daughters passed between rows of Yeomen of the Guard to the door, daylight, and the photographers; finally home, where tea is arranged, and friends are gathered to hear about it.
I had a second opportunity to see a Drawing-room, and I am of the impression that they must be very much alike.
A Gentleman at Arms
