One class of extortionate robbers only succeeded in making unwarrantable gain without interference on the part of the authorities, or appeal on that of the public. The class in question consisted of the Dean and Chapter of Westminster, who exacted five guineas a foot as the rent or hire of the space for the erection of scaffolding for seats. This caused the tariff of places to be of so costly a nature, that, willing as the public were to pay liberally for a great show, the seats were but scantily occupied.
The popular eagerness which existed, especially to see the young Queen, was well illustrated in the person of a married lady, for whom not only was a front room taken, from the window of which she might see the procession pass, but a bedroom also engaged, and a medical man in attendance; the lady’s condition of health rendering it probable that both might be required before the spectacle had concluded.
Much had been said of the Queen’s beauty, but to that her Majesty had really little pretension. The public near enough to distinguish her features were the more disappointed, from the fact that the portrait of a very pretty woman had been in all the print-shops as a likeness of the young Queen. The publisher, however, had selected an old engraving of a young beauty, and erasing the name on the plate, issued the portrait as that of the royal consort of his Majesty George III. Many were indignant at the trick, but few were more amused by it than her Majesty herself.
As illustrative of the crowds assembled, even on places whence but little could be seen, it may be mentioned that the assemblage on Westminster Bridge (which was no ‘coign of vantage,’ for the platform on which the procession passed could hardly be discovered from it) was so immense as to give rise to a report, which long prevailed, that the structure of the bridge itself had been injured by this superincumbent dead weight.
The multitude was enthusiastic enough, but it was not a kindly endowed multitude. The mob was ferocious in its joys in those days. Of the lives lost, one at least was so lost by a murderous act of the populace. A respectable man in the throng dropped some papers, and he stooped to recover them from the ground. The contemporary recorders of the events of the day detail, without comment, how the mob held this unfortunate man forcibly down till they had trampled him to death! The people must have their little amusements.
It was, perhaps, hardly the fault of the people that these amusements were so savage in character. The people themselves were treated as savages. Even on this day of universal jubilee they were treated as if the great occasion were foreign to them and to their feelings; and a press-gang, strong enough to defy attack, was not the least remarkable group which appeared this day among the free Britons over whom George and Charlotte expressed themselves proud to reign. Such a ‘gang’ did not do its work in a delicate way, and a score or two of loyal and tipsy people, who had joyously left their homes to make a day of it, found themselves at night, battered and bleeding, on board a ‘Tender,’ torn from their families, and condemned to ‘serve the King’ upon the high seas.
The interior of the Abbey displayed, so says the ‘St. James’s Chronicle,’ the finest exhibition of genteel people that the world ever saw. That was satisfactory. The Countess of Northampton carried three hundred thousand pounds’ worth of diamonds upon her, and other ladies dropped rubies and other precious stones from their dresses in quantity sufficient to have made the fortune of any single finder. The day, too, did not pass without its ominous aspect. As the King was moving with the crown on his head, the great diamond in the upper portion of it fell to the ground, and was not found again without some trouble.
Perhaps the prettiest, though not the most gorgeous portion of the show, was the procession of the Princess-dowager of Wales from the House of Lords to the Abbey. The King’s mother was led by the hand of her young son, William Henry. These and all the other persons in this picturesque group were attired in dresses of white and silver; and the spectators had the good sense to admire the corresponding good taste. The princess wore a short silk train, and was consequently relieved from the nuisance of being pulled back by train-bearers. Her long hair flowed over her shoulders in hanging curls, and the only ornament upon her head was a simple wreath of diamonds. She was the best dressed and perhaps not the least happy of the persons present.
The usual ceremonies followed. The Westminster boys sang ‘Vivat Regina’ on the entry of the Queen into the Abbey, and ‘Vivat Rex’ as soon as the King appeared. The illustrious couple engaged for a time in private devotions, were presented to the people, and the divine blessing having been invoked upon them, they sat to hear a sermon of just a quarter of an hour in length, from Drummond, Bishop of Salisbury. The text was sermon in itself. It was from I Kings, x. 9: ‘Because the Lord loved Israel for ever, therefore made he thee king, to do judgment and justice.’ The episcopal comment was not a bad one; but when the prelate talked, as he did, of our constitution being founded upon the principles of purity and freedom, and justly poised between the extremes of power and liberty, his sentiment was but poorly illustrated by the presence of that press-gang without, with whom was much power over a people who, in such a presence, enjoyed no liberty.
Secker, Archbishop of Canterbury, placed the crowns on the heads of the Sovereigns, and did not get kissed in return, as was formerly the custom, at least on the part of a newly crowned king. But perhaps the prettiest incident took place when the King was about to partake, with the Queen, of the Sacrament. He desired that he might first put aside his crown, and appear humbly at the table of the Lord. There was no precedent for such a case, and all the prelates present were somewhat puzzled, lest they might commit themselves. Ultimately, and wisely, they expressed an opinion that, despite the lack of authorising precedent, the King’s wishes might be complied with. A similar wish was expressed by Queen Charlotte; but this could not so readily be fulfilled. It was found that the little crown fixed on the Queen’s head was so fastened, to keep it from falling, that there would be some trouble in getting it off without the assistance of the Queen’s dressers. This was dispensed with, and the crown was worn by the Queen; but the King declared that in this case it was to be considered simply as part of her dress, and not as indicating any power or greatness residing in a person humbly kneeling in the presence of God.