The prelude was played, and now the great moment was at hand. Already carriages were rolling up full of the Queen’s kindred, full of her children and children’s children, but we hardly looked at them. Down there, through an avenue of eager faces, through a storm of white, waving handkerchiefs, through roaring volleys of cheers, there was approaching a carriage drawn by eight cream-colored horses. The roar surged up the street, keeping pace with the eight horses. The carriage passed the barrier; it entered the churchyard; it wheeled left and then right. It drove up to the very steps of the Cathedral.
We all leaped up. Cheers broke into screams, and the enthusiasm swelled to delirium. The sun, watery until now, shone out suddenly, clear and dry, and there was a little, plain, flushed old lady, all in black, with a silver streak under her black bonnet, and with a simple white sunshade, sitting quite still, with the corners of her mouth drawn tight, as if she was trying not to cry; but that old lady was the Queen and you knew it. You did not want to look at the glittering uniforms now, nor yet at the bright gowns and young faces in the carriages, nor yet at the stately princes, though by now all these were ranged in a half-circle round her. You could not look at anybody but the Queen, so very quiet, so very grave, so very punctual, and so unmistakably every inch a lady and a Queen.
It was almost pathetic, if you will, that small, black figure, in the middle of these shining cavaliers, this great army, this roaring multitude, but it was also very glorious. When other kings of the world drive abroad, an escort rides close at the wheels of their carriages. The Queen drove through her people quite plain and open, with just one soldier at the curbstone between her and them. Why not? They are quite free. They have no cause to fear her. They have much cause to love her. Was it not all for her; gala trappings of the streets, men, horses, guns and the living walls of British men and women? for the Queen summed up all that had gone before—all the soldiers and sailors, the big-limbed colonials, and the strange men from unheard-of islands over the sea. We know now what that which had come before all stood for. We know as we had never known before what the Queen stands for. The Empire had come together to revere and bless the mother of the Empire; the mother of the Empire had come to do homage to the one Being more majestic than she.
There were the archbishops, bishops and deans, in gold and crimson caps, and white, orange and gold embroidered vestments, waiting on the steps. There, through gaps in the pillars and scaffoldings, you could see all her Ministers and great men, a strange glimpse of miniature faces, as in some carefully labored picture, where each face stands for an honored name.
All stood, and the choir sang the Te Deum. Next rose up a melodious voice intoning prayers. The Queen bowed her head, and then the whole choir and the company outside the Cathedral and the whole company in the stands, at the windows, on the house tops, and away down the street, all standing, all uncovered, began to sing the One Hundredth Psalm: “Come ye before Him and rejoice.” The Queen’s lips were tight, and her eyes, perhaps it was fancy, looked dim; but then, “Three cheers for the Queen,” and the Dean, pious man, was wildly waving that wonderful crimson cap, and the pillars and roofs were ringing as if they must come down. Then “God Save the Queen,” a lusty peal, till you felt drowned in sound.
The Queen looked up and smiled, and the Queen’s smile was the end of it all—a smile that broke down the sad mouth—a smile that seemed half-reluctant, so wistful, yet so kind, so sincere, so motherly.—G. W. Steevens in London Daily Mail.
Examine each of the foregoing passages for principles of description. Notice the way in which the theme is introduced, the selection and arrangement of details, and the effective conclusion.
EXERCISE II.
Write a description of one of the following:—