The marriage procession was formed at Buckingham Palace. It consisted of more than twenty carriages, the first detachment of which conveyed the Princes and magnates of the House of Prussia. At a short interval the bridegroom and his suite followed; then the Queen and her family. When it arrived at St. James’s Palace the procession was received by the great officers of State, who conducted it to the chapel through the splendid apartments, rich in sombre decorations of Queen Anne’s reign.
The Prince Consort and King Leopold were radiant in the bravery of Field Marshals’ uniforms, “the three girls,” writes the Queen, with quick feminine memory for the details of such an occasion, “in pink satin trimmed with Newport lace, Alice with a wreath, and the two others only with bouquets in their hair of cornflowers and marguerites; next the four boys in Highland dress.” As for the eight bridesmaids, they “looked charming in white tulle, with wreaths and bouquets of pink roses and white heather;” and “Mama” (the Duchess of Kent) “looking so handsome,” says the Queen, “in violet velvet trimmed with ermine and white silk and violet,” with “the Cambridges” and all the foreign Princes and Princesses, made up a brilliant party. The wedding procession was, in fact, formed in the Closet—the room in the Chapel which on Court days is reserved for the Royal Family and the families of Peers, “just as at my marriage,” writes the Queen, “only how small the old Royal Family has become!” Lord Palmerston carried the Sword of State “with easy grace and dignity,” says the Morning Post,[365] “with a ponderous solemnity,” says the Times, in their respective accounts of the scene, and the Queen, with the “two little boys” on each side, and followed by her three daughters, walked after Lord Palmerston and the two elder Princes. Amidst
MARRIAGE OF THE PRINCESS ROYAL. (See p. 751.)
beating drums and blaring trumpets, the procession entered the Chapel, the appearance of the Queen crowned with a glittering diadem, being greeted with a profound and reverential obeisance by the wedding guests as she swept on to her chair of State on the left of the altar. The entrance of the bride with her father and King Leopold sent a flutter of excitement through the throng. When the Princess appeared her face seemed pale, even in contrast with her snowy robe of rich moire antique. She passed the Queen with a deep bow, and as her eyes met those of the bridegroom, her cheeks suddenly flushed to deepest crimson. “My last fear of being overcome,” writes the Queen, “vanished on seeing Vicky’s quiet, calm, and composed manner.” The whole scene indeed recalled her own marriage, and her eyes glistened with tears as the sweet memories of her happy and busy life flitted through her mind. The ceremony was performed by the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Bishops of London, Oxford, and Chester. The Archbishop was “very nervous,” however—much more so than either bride or bridegroom, and the Queen records that he omitted some of the passages in the Service. When the ceremony was over, tender and affectionate congratulations passed between the married pair and their relations. The bride and her mother fell weeping into each other’s arms, and for a minute or so their agitation was manifestly beyond their control. The bridegroom then kissed the bride, who, escaping from his embrace, threw herself into the arms of her father, whom she kissed again and again. The Princess of Prussia embraced her son and kissed the Queen most affectionately; but the most touching greeting of all was that which passed between the bridegroom and his father, who seemed quite unnerved with emotion. The Prince clasped his father passionately to his heart, and then, as if recovering self-control, suddenly knelt down and reverently kissed his hand. These congratulations were repeated when the register was signed by all the Princesses and Princes present, including the Maharajah Duleep Sing. Through cheering crowds bride and bridegroom and the splendid train of wedding guests proceeded to Buckingham Palace, where the wedded pair and their parents appeared on the balcony and bowed their thanks to the kindly people who stood huzzaing outside. Then came the breakfast and the parting, which is “such sweet sorrow” to mother and daughter on such occasions. The married couple drove to Windsor, and at the railway station were met by the Eton boys, who dragged their carriage all the way to the Castle. London was one blaze of illuminations that night, and the rejoicings at the Palace closed with a State concert. Nothing pleased the Queen more than the demeanour of the populace. Their demonstrations of loyalty were purely spontaneous and utterly unaffected. So much was this the case that the foreign guests were amazed to find that the Government offices were the only buildings which were not illuminated; in fact, their gloomy darkness alone rendered the general illumination of London a little less brilliant than that which celebrated the Proclamation of Peace with Russia.
On the 27th of January the Court removed to Windsor, where Prince Frederick William was invested with the Order of the Garter, and a dinner-party followed, at which the Duke of Buccleuch gratified the Princess with his reports of the enthusiastic loyalty of the crowds in London, among whom he had moved about incognito on the night of the wedding ceremony. Next day the whole family returned to London, and in the evening went to see Sheridan’s Rivals and the Spitalfields Weaver at Her Majesty’s Theatre, the Queen being greatly amused, as she herself records, by the drolleries of Wright, the low comedian, in the latter piece. On the 30th loyal addresses from the City of London and all the great towns came pouring in, and what the Prince Consort calls “a monster Drawing-Room” was held. On Monday the 1st of February the Queen writes in her Diary, “The last day of our dear child being with us, which is incredible, and makes me at times feel sick at heart,”[366] and when the next day came round the Queen’s fortitude failed her. Mother and daughter sat weeping in each other’s arms, and when the “dreadful time,” as the Queen calls it, arrived, and they had to go down into the Hall, filled with weeping friends and sad-eyed servants, the scene was touching in the extreme. “Poor dear child,” writes the Queen, “I clasped her in my arms and blessed her, and knew not what to say. I kissed good Fritz, and pressed his hand again and again. He was unable to speak, and the tears were in his eyes.” But the final parting could be postponed no longer, and the Queen returned to her room in sorrow. Instead of driving from Buckingham Palace to the Bricklayers’ Arms Station by the shortest route, the Prince and Princess drove along the Strand, Fleet Street, Cheapside, and London Bridge. The houses and shops were profusely decked with flags, though the decorations were got ready in a hurry. The day was bitterly cold, and snow fell fast. Yet the inclement weather did not deter vast crowds from turning out to bid the newly-married pair “Good speed.” When the Prince Consort, who had accompanied his daughter and son-in-law part of the way, returned home, the Queen’s grief broke out again. Even the sight of “the darling baby” (Princess Beatrice) saddened her, for, as she writes, “Dear Vicky loved her so much, and only yesterday played with her.” As for the Prince Consort, he told the Princess, in one of his letters, that the void she had left was not in his heart only, but in his daily life. In fact, nothing save the cordial and brilliant reception which welcomed her in Germany could have consoled him for the loss of a daughter whom he proudly described to her husband as one who “had a man’s head and a child’s heart.”
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Morley’s Life of Cobden.