“Forty-one guns fired from St. James’s Park announced the arrival of the Royal party. It was at this point of overpowering excitement that the heralds first made their appearance. They were gorgeous in red and blue and gold, ornamented with lions, rose, shamrock, and thistle, headed by the Rouge Croix and Rouge Dragon, and followed by the officers of the Lord Chamberlain’s office, Gentlemen of the Court, and the Ushers. After sundry officials had passed, the Lord Privy Seal (the Marquis of Salisbury) appeared. He was looking very, very old, his stoop more noticeable than ever, in spite of his great height; and he was certainly one of the tallest men present, with the exception of the magnificent Lifeguardsmen who lined the staircase. The Prime Minister appeared somewhat more bald, and the hair at each side of his head seemed longer and whiter than usual. The Duke of Norfolk, on the other hand, was looking quite smart, and so was His Grace of Devonshire, who wore his red robes with white bands round the shoulders with manly grace. The Duke of Portland, many years their junior, though getting extremely stout, is still strikingly handsome. Then came the exciting moment; the Sword of State appeared in view, carried by the Marquis of Londonderry, followed by the King, on whose left side walked the Queen. She looked perfectly lovely. Her carriage, the majestic turn of her head, all denoted the bearing of a young woman, instead of one on the wrong side of fifty, and a grandmother. On her chestnut hair she wore a small diamond crown with a point in front like a Marie Stuart cap, and a long cream veil of Honiton lace. This was caught under the crown, and hung down the back, showing to advantage over her red velvet robe, which was borne by pages. She wore a high black dress, high probably owing to her recent illness; but the front of the bodice was so covered with diamonds, arranged in horizontal bands from her deep diamond collarette, that but little of the bodice was seen. She bowed most sweetly, and, as she passed, folk murmured, ‘Isn’t she lovely, and every inch a Queen!’ Her black-gloved hand rested lightly upon the King’s white one, as he led her through the Royal Gallery to the House of Peers. She wore large pearls in her ears, and lengthy chains of pearls round her neck; in fact, she was literally ablaze with diamonds and pearls.
“The King was looking better than formerly, only a little paler and thinner. He wore a scarlet uniform, which rather clashed with the dark red velvet of his robe, but his deep ermine cape with small black tails broke the discordant tones. The Royal couple bowed slightly as they moved slowly along, and a deathlike stillness prevailed after the first blare of trumpets which heralded their approach, when the doors were first thrown open, and they entered the gallery. Immediately behind the Queen came the Countess of Antrim, the Lady of the Bedchamber; the Duchess of Buccleuch, as Mistress of the Robes; and Lady Alice Stanley, who bears the strange title ‘Woman of the Bedchamber.’ They were all dressed in black—their Court dresses cut low—and wore black feathers and spotted black veils, with diamond pins in the hair.
“One of the chief features of the procession was the Cap of Maintenance, which was carried immediately before His Majesty by the Marquis of Winchester. Then came the Duke of Devonshire, bearing the State Crown, which resembled an extremely large peer’s crown of red velvet with an ermine border. Then came Gold Sticks and Silver Sticks, pages and officers in uniform, truly a magnificent procession, as it wended its way along the Royal Gallery. The Yeomen of the Guard lined the aisle, and looked as delightfully picturesque as usual. Now came the moment of disappointment. These much-prized tickets did not admit us into the House of Peers to hear the Speech from the Throne. We had to wait patiently for about a quarter of an hour for the return of the procession, which—by the by—had been a quarter of an hour late in starting, and then wend our way down the Royal staircase and out through the funny little oak door towards home. Wonderful carriages were waiting below, with hammercloths and wigged coachmen, and all the glories of nobility. Truly a regal entertainment.
“Now for a growl. That Royal Gallery is all very well, but it was packed to suffocation, and there were no chairs at all, the three raised tiers being impossible as seats, when the great crush came. Would it not be better to issue less tickets, and provide narrow benches for those present? Two to three hours’ standing for women not accustomed to it is rather trying, especially when the space is so crowded that it is hardly possible to breathe. Peeresses married to commoners were there; peeresses by marriage whose fathers-in-law are still living; sons who one day will succeed noble fathers in the House of Lords; they were all there, crowds of them; that was why the Hall was so full. There were some beautiful women and handsome men in that Royal Gallery. Only peeresses, who are the wives of the heads of noble families, were admitted to the Peeresses’ Gallery itself, and even they could not all find room. Standing in a crowd is a tedious performance; but a look at the King and Queen was a grand recompense, and made us all forget our aching feet and the want of luncheon.”
A tea-party at the House of Commons is another London experience that to me is always rather amusing. For this one drives to St. Stephen’s Porch, and, passing up a wide stairway flanked here and there by ponderous-looking policemen, is accosted at the top of the stairs by another magnificent guardian of the law, who demands one’s business.
“Tea with Dr. Farquharson,” was my humble reply on one occasion, whereupon the functionary bowed graciously, and waved me through the glass doors that led to the central hall.
There is always a hubbub in that particular lobby; at least, I have never been there when it has not been full of men discussing political affairs. (Or dare we call it gossiping?) Between four and five o’clock a small sprinkling of ladies, who have been invited to tea within the sacred precincts, are dotted here and there. Members are generally very good at meeting their guests, and on the alert, at the appointed place and time. It is well this is so, for it would be an awful trial for a lone woman to stand and wait there long.
Having collected his chickens, the evergreen Member for Aberdeen led us along the passage opposite our entrance to the Terrace. The way on the left leads to the House of Commons, that on the right to the House of Lords. It is all very imposing, as far as the end of the passage, but having reached that one stumbles down a stone-flagged stairway which would hardly do credit as the ordinary back-stairs of a private London house, and would certainly be a poor specimen of the back-stairs of a country mansion. Foreigners and Americans must be rather surprised at the cellar-like and tortuous means by which they are led to the famous river view; for back regions, consisting of kitchens, store-rooms, pantries, and other like places, have to be passed by the dainty ladies who trip their way to the Terrace overlooking the Thames.
Having emerged from semi-darkness to the light, all is changed. From the Terrace there is a magnificent view of St. Thomas’s Hospital opposite, and the barges and river craft plying between.
Neat maids in black dresses and white caps and aprons serve the Commons. It is a charming place; still, although shaded from the sun, wind on the Terrace is not unknown, and the cloths on the little tables have to be carefully pegged down to keep them in their places. The entertainment, however pleasant, is not exactly what one would call smart. Plain white cups and brown earthenware teapots, hunks of cake on plates, or strawberries and cream, form the fare. There are none of those dainty little trays and mats, and pretty crockery, to which one is accustomed at ladies’ clubs or in Bond Street tea-rooms.