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CHAPTER XV
THE PRINCESS MAUD'S WEDDING
(1896)
AFTER many months of preparation the wedding of the Princess
Maud, the youngest daughter of the Prince and Princess of Wales was solemnized,
Wednesday, July 22. For a week preceding the event, London had been
visited with a brief season of intensely hot weather. The streets, shops and
parks were empty and people either rushed out into the country or remained
within doors in their town houses. There is something peculiarly oppressive in
London heat; it is muggy and steamy, frequently with a yellow-grey haze over the
sky which is like a molten lid above the simmering earth. Although the mercury
rarely ever touches the altitudes which it reaches in our American dog-days, yet
it is much more enervating because of the greater humidity.
Tuesday, the day preceding the wedding, was the hottest day
of the year, but notwithstanding this, fashionable folk came flocking back from
their cool retreats, and Piccadilly was once more thronged with carriages. The
club windows were crowded with parties of on-lookers, but everybody seemed dull
and tired. I had engaged a window in Piccadilly which I shared with a friend and
was told by the care-taker that the procession would pass about half past
twelve. I was also assured that coffee, tea, bread and butter and sandwiches
could be procured, and everything would be arranged with a view to securing the
greatest comfort and convenience. This gratifying infor-[-156-]mation
was given before the bargain was concluded. The prices asked for the lower
windows were extortionate - a premonition of the Jubilee the following year;-
two, three and even four guineas for a single place. I had observed that the
supply far exceeded the demand up to that hour, but supposed that people were
merely a little slow in concluding their bargains. Early Wednesday morning I set
out with my friend from her house in Hampstead to the scene of the fete. After a
week of blank stagnation the street was once more packed, and trains crowded
with passengers arriving from every direction over the countless suburban roads,
constantly swelled the throng.
As we left Finchley Road station the carriages were filled
with men, women and children in holiday spirits and arrayed in their best
clothes. At Baker street the station platforms were still more uncomfortably
thronged, and omnibuses loaded inside and out left every second for Piccadilly
where the passengers were deposited. Our route lay through Oxford and along Bond
street, and from there we walked to our destination. Below St. James street the
sidewalks were comparatively free. Even at that late hour, for it was then half
past ten, the decorations were not all completed and preparations were still
going forward; carpenters were sawing and hammering, putting up rough seats, and
florists were arranging wreaths and plants and suspending baskets filled with
vines from windows and balconies, and servants in the clubs were putting the
finishing touches to festoons and drapery. It seemed surprising that the
decorations were not more general, but they were confined to a very small area,
chiefly along Pall Mall in the region of the clubs, in St. James, Piccadilly
from the Circus to the foot of Constitution hill, and in the vicinity of
Buckingham palace. There was little or nothing along Regent or Oxford streets;
the government buildings did not display an inch [-157-] of
bunting, but stood grim and unashamed of their dinginess. The royal standard
floated over the parliament buildings instead of the ordinary English flag, and
it was the only hint given in this quarter that a royal wedding was in progress.
Many shops displaying the royal warrant were as apathetic as the government, and
furnishers and artisans to "H. R. H." were apparently indifferent and
unresponsive. The decorations displayed were in no way very remarkable. The high
wall on the Piccadilly side of Devonshire House was simply hung with lengths of
crimson cloth, while several of the Piccadilly clubs imitated this simplicity of
design. At the head of St. James street were three tall Venetian masts wreathed
in garlands of green and decorated with red and white roses, like Elizabethan
May poles; from these, red and blue ribbons fluttered gaily, and from a line
across the street hung a rich banner of dark blue satin, gold fringed with the
motto in gold letters "May you be happy all your life."
The lamp posts were banked with flowers-roses, ferns and
smilax surmounted by English, American and Danish flags, the American flag on
the left-another evidence of national good will-balancing the English flag on
the right. Indeed, American flags were used almost everywhere in great
profusion. There were two, six feet or more in length, with English flags of the
same size in St. James street, under which the bridal cortege was to pass. At
regular intervals down this street also, were structures resembling small Gothic
temples, their pillars and arches covered thickly with flowers, surmounted by
three plumes - the crest of the Prince of Wales in carnations, or by the royal
coronet in yellow. The initials "M." and "C" were also
profusely displayed, white on a blue ground, or white and scarlet and yellow
contrasted with blue, the letters arranged singly or intertwined in a monogram.
The walls of one club were veiled in pale green and yellow [-158-]
muslin, with additional decorations of white flowers and green vines;
windows and doors were Outlined in small flags, which were also flustered above
the cornices and capitals. The entire effect, however, was not very pleasing or
striking, there being a noticeable lack of grace and originality. Being much too
early and not wishing to wait at our post until the procession arrived, we
called a cab and drove down St. James street to Marlborough House along Pall
Mall and back to Piccadilly. At Marlborough House a detail of policemen had been
stationed on both sides of the street, about six feet apart, but they did not
display their truncheons, and in their smart uniforms and white gloves were the
mildest and most amiable representatives of the law that I had ever seen. Here
and there, at the upper and rear windows of Marlborough House, the faces of
servants could be seen pressed against the panes, under-footmen and housemaids,
reminding one of the faces in the background of Hogarth's pictures. Over the
gate a platform had been erected, and here seats had been placed for the
officials of the household, and their friends.
A temporary balcony opposite, from which floated their flag,
was occupied by a party of gaily dressed Americans who had for their neighbors
dark-skinned natives of India with whom they fraternized as they never would
have done with the scarcely darker-skinned negro of their native land. ·Many
people drove about in their carriages looking at the banners and flowers and
arches, while scores of the very poor went on foot-costermongers in corduroy ·with
a following of children and the "missus" in a shapeless bonnet and
trailing gown. It was interesting and pleasant to notice the self-respecting
independence of these humble folk; they were neither noisy nor intrusive, and
while they retained a certain hereditary reverence for the classes above them,
at the same time their [-159-] attitude was without
servility and they were allowed to do as they liked within the sacred confines
of the Green park which, that day, was the brownest of brown parks, after weeks
of drought All sorts of contrivances had been devised, to be rented at a few
pence, upon which people might stand and look over the heads of the crowd along
the curbstone. There were packing boxes, improvised four-legged stools, rickety
chairs, aged and infirm, and rough benches. In the course of the day one of
these benches collapsed under the weight of ten people, two of whom were removed
to the hospital, one with a broken arm and another with a dislocated knee. At
the foot of the streets opening into Piccadilly and the more crowded
thoroughfare, detachments of the uniformed St. John's ambulance corps had been
stationed with supplies of stretchers, bandages, and restoratives in readiness
for immediate relief; but happily, comparatively few accidents occurred.
After looking at the decorations we returned and took the
seats at our window which commanded a good view of Constitution hill, and found,
by this time, that the curb-stones were well lined, all the chairs and benches
occupied, and many were refreshing themselves with luncheon. Venders were going
up and down shouting " Eres yor 'fishal progrime". These were of
various kinds; some printed on thick card-board, others on ordinary paper or on
Japanese paper with bright red or green borders. The latter were recommended as
suitable "to take 'ome to the children." After we were seated at our
airy post we were told that we might have chairs at a window on the lower floor
which had remained unsold. But we preferred the seclusion of our own place,
which we had to ourselves. A white-capped, white-aproned maid came presently
with a plate of very uninviting fruit which was offered to tie for a shilling
and was afterward reduced to a sixpence. [-160-] This
we declined and when we asked for ~the promised tea and coffee we were told that
"they had been disappointed." This probably meant that there were not
people enough in the building to make it worth while to provide these luxuries;
the cheese, biscuits and mineral water which were substituted, however, proved
sufficient. As we ate and drank, a state carriage drove by with its coachman and
footman in plush and powder; and, occasionally, there was a clatter of hoofs as
a detachment of Life Guards in their gold and scarlet uniform cantered toward
Buckingham Palace. Companies of police were stationed along the curbstone as in
Pall Mall, and finally their chief arrived, mounted on a spirited charger, in
full uniform with plumed chapeau, and rode slowly up and down the line
inspecting the men. After he and his aides had departed, there was a jingle of
copper, shouts of laughter and much good humored commotion; a favorite diversion
had begun; men in the club windows where they sat surrounded by bevies of women
in splendid Parisian toilettes, were tossing out pennies to be scrambled for by
the crowd below. The scramble for the money did not confine itself to the
children; older people took part in it - dreadful wrecks of men with swollen,
purple faces, broken boots and filthy tattered clothes; and impudent brazen
women sodden with gin, who scuffled and fought and rolled over in the dust. One
or two of the women were decently dressed, but they, too, shouted with laughter,
wrestled and struggled and screamed like furies. Attracted by the uproar the
chief came riding back and sternly commanded the police to put a stop to the
disturbance, which, for a few seconds they endeavored to do; then the tumult
began again and continued until the procession was in sight. The people were not
actually violating any law, and consequently could not be "given in
charge." At three o'clock the Queen's trumpeters rode slowly up Piccadilly [-161-]
in their splendid uniform stiff with gold lace, and kettle drums and trumpets
from which depended richly embroidered banners; the wedding was over, and then
came the procession returning from Buckingham Palace to Marlborough House, a
pageant which was both brief and disappointing, with few soldiers and no music,
not even the beating of drums. First the bride and groom appeared in one of the
gilded state carriages, with the Queen's monogram "V. R." in huge
letters on the panel, the hammer cloth of silk heavily fringed and embroidered
in gold; the coachman and the three footmen in the royal livery, scarlet and
gold, with inharmonious pink silk stockings, buckled shoes and velvet caps, and
nosegays in their buttonholes. All that could be seen of the bride from our
elevated station was a billowy heap of satin wedding- gown, and a passing
glimpse of a bridal bouquet, veil and tiara; the groom in his simple naval
uniform was quite extinguished by the shimmering folds of his bride's finery; a
detachment of mounted troops, preceded the carriage of the Prince and Princess
of Wales. The royal mother- in-law was in a gown of pale gray silk with a
sparkling tiara of diamonds; the Prince of Wales in full uniform, carried his
gloves and shako in his hand. In the carriages that followed, each with its
attendant guard, were the Duke and Duchess of York, the Duke and Duchess of
Fife, the Princess Victoria and the crown Prince and Princess of Denmark. There
was not much enthusiasm as the procession passed, popular demonstration being
confined to waving of handkerchiefs and a discreet clapping of hands. On all
sides the people said disappointedly; "It was nothing, compared to the Duke
of York's wedding;" the splendors of which they had evidently expected to
see repeated. After the bride and groom had returned to Marlborough House the
lookers-on in that vicinity remained to see them set out to the railway station [-162-]
- to which they were conveyed in an open landau, the bride having changed
her splendid satin gown for a simple and tasteful travelling dress. It was some
time before the crowds in Piccadilly finally dispersed, and at various points
they formed a solid and immovable body. We were an hour in walking less than
half a mile, moving inch by inch, in a mass of humanity from which it would have
been impossible to escape had a panic ensued. At times we were carried along by
sheer force, propelled by the slowly-moving crowd, and it was easy to realize
what crushing and stifling would have ensued had it been excited or hurried; as
it was, the people were extremely patient and good-natured, waiting their chance
to move on as space was made for them, and without pushing or struggling. When
we finally emerged at Bond street, somewhat disheveled and breathless, we agreed
that there were far more satisfying pleasures in this transitory world than
seeing, or trying to see, a royal wedding procession.