Queen Victoria gave a grand concert at Buckingham Palace in honour of her mother’s birthday on the 17th of August, the Court going out of mourning for the day—a concert made memorable by the fact that all the men—even the aged Duke of Sussex—were required to stand, as well as the Ladies of the Household, while the ladies who were guests occupied chairs. This somewhat inhospitable arrangement seems to have made a great impression, for I have come across mention of it in various places.
The Queen opened the Victoria Gate of Hyde Park, entertained her uncle, King Leopold, and his wife at Windsor in September, sat for her portrait—being, it is said, a most patient sitter—and appointed Sir David Wilkie as Painter in Ordinary. When Hayter was painting her he had done much to the face, but had not started upon the arms, and she asked him how he would place her hands. “Just take them and pose them as you think,” she said. With some diffidence the painter did as she wished. She turned to the lady near her, saying, “How strange! I have often thought how I would place the hands if I were painting the portrait of a Queen, and it was exactly in this position.”
A queer little speech, which shows how thoroughly the Princess had soaked her mind in the anticipation of being Queen.
The Times, which Lord Grey once called the most infamous of all papers, published a curious description of a portrait of Queen Victoria which was painted in 1838 by Parris. The writer went into rhapsodies over it, and concluded by remarking that “the bosom had been most delicately handled, and had been brought out by the artist in admirable rotundity, who had imparted full relief to it.” Lord Palmerston used to say that when Her Majesty was once asked how she would like to be painted, she replied, “In my Dalmatic robe. Lord Melbourne thinks that I look best in that.”
When she went to the Royal Academy for the second time that year (after her accession), C. R. Leslie says that she appeared towards her mother the same affectionate little girl as hitherto, calling her “Mamma.”
On her return to town from Windsor in the autumn there were many functions to attend, the first and most wonderful being the banquet given in her honour on November 9th at Guildhall. Books have been written on this ceremony, and amusing incidents are not wanting to make it interesting. The streets were avenues of green boughs and flags as the Queen drove through them, followed by a train of two hundred carriages. On this occasion Her Majesty sat alone in her State carriage, her mother occupying one which preceded her.
The new Lord Mayor (Alderman Cowan) and the Aldermen met the Queen outside Temple Bar, near Child’s Bank. All the civic magnates were riding, and for this purpose had hired horses from the Artillery Barracks at Woolwich, each horse being brought up by its usual rider, who was to act as attendant squire to the Alderman who temporarily became its master.
It was not an easy thing for gentlemen unaccustomed to the saddle to mount on horseback; however, with much care and pains bestowed by the troopers, the Aldermen were at last seated and formed into procession. One of the daily journals added to its account of the proceedings: “We believe only one fell off, and that accident happened through a laudable desire to perform an act of obeisance to a fair lady at a window. The worthy Alderman fell flat upon the ground, and his horse walked over him. Since the days of John Gilpin no feat of a citizen of London on horseback has excited so much masculine laughter and feminine sympathy. A general cry was raised, the procession stopped, and several military officers and brother corporators rushed to the assistance of the fallen cavalier, who had sustained but little injury, and he was hoisted into the saddle amidst general cheers and laughter.”
It is needless to tell of the display at Guildhall—of the £400,000 worth of plate, gold dishes, coffee-cups of gold with handles of lapis lazuli, a candelabra formed of a thousand ounces of gold, and a thousand other extravagances. It reads like an Eastern story. The banquet itself lasted three hours, while the whole function took from two in the afternoon until past nine at night. The Queen was gorgeous in pink satin, gold and silver, pearls and diamonds; and the Queen of the City was equally gorgeous, though perhaps not so youthful, in green velvet, white satin, gold fringe, Brussels lace, opals, and diamonds. On the return journey the Queen went as she had come, a stately little figure alone in an enormous carriage.
At this period she delighted in her State amusements, and it is pleasant to think that for once fate allowed a young thing to go through all these experiences just at the right age, just when a romantic, colour-loving girl could really appreciate pomp and ceremony, could bow and smile, and listen with pleasure to cheers and applause, without seeing the things that lay behind.