There was a titter and a whispering for it seemed strange that the man who should have rolled down should be called Lord Rolle. His friends lifted him, and determined to pay his homage he started up the stairs again. His face was red, his breathing difficult, so Victoria, feeling sure he was going to fall again, rose and went to meet him, giving him her hand to kiss.
It was a charming gesture and the congregation in its present mood were ready to adore their little Queen. A cheer went up and, pink and smiling, Victoria returned to her seat to receive the further homage.
She was delighted when it was Lord Melbourne’s turn to kiss her hand and touch her crown. How gracefully he performed this duty! And how clumsy were the old Bishops and Dukes; and how dignified and handsome he looked. When he had touched the crown and kissed her hand, he pressed it and raised his eyes to hers (full of tears) and there was such tenderness and pride in them that she no longer felt tired and she believed that she could happily go through a hundred such ceremonies just to win his approval. Then she thought of the Lord Rolle incident and how they would laugh about that tomorrow.
The Duke of Wellington was loudly cheered too when he paid homage. People still remembered him as the hero of Waterloo.
She did notice of course that certain of her trainbearers were giggling and whispering together during some of the most sacred moments of the service. Later she would let it be known that she was aware of it.
When the Homage was over the members of the House of Commons cheered the Queen and cried: ‘God Save Queen Victoria;’ and the Queen took off her crown for the receiving of the sacrament.
It was a little bewildering because there were moments when no one seemed to know what she was to do next. Neither the Bishop of Durham nor Lord John Thynne, the Sub-Dean, who were supposed to be guiding her through the ceremony, seemed to have very much idea; and the Bishop of Bath and Wells cut a piece out of the service by inadvertently turning over two pages.
It was a relief to go back into St Edward’s Chapel to prepare for the procession and fortunately Lord Melbourne was at her side to take care of her so that everything was all right.
‘You were magnificent,’ he whispered; and she was happy, even though the crown which she had put on after taking the sacrament was so heavy and the stupid old Archbishop of Canterbury had crammed the ring onto the wrong finger and it was hurting.
Victoria was rather startled to see that on the altar in St Edward’s Chapel sandwiches had been laid out with bottles of wine. She looked about for Lord Melbourne to mention that it seemed like sacrilege when she saw him helping himself to a glass of wine. She noticed then that he looked very tired and she was all concern.
But he had seen her watching him and put down the wine to come at once to her side.
‘Was the crown heavy?’ he wanted to know.
She told him that it was and he suggested that it be taken off for a moment.
‘A little respite,’ he whispered.
She told him about the ring and he said it was that bumbling old Archbishop. It wouldn’t come off, she said; he had crammed it on so fiercely and already her finger was becoming swollen. That would not do, said Lord Melbourne, and added that very cold water must be brought immediately for he could not allow the Queen to suffer discomfort. There was more of the ceremony to be endured and she must appear smiling and fresh to her subjects in spite of all she had endured.
So ice-cold water was brought and the ring finally but painfully eased off and while this was happening the Archbishop himself burst into the Chapel in a fine flurry crying: ‘Where is the orb? I should have given it to the Queen.’
‘I already have it,’ said Victoria coldly.
The poor man looked so confused and upset that she was immediately sorry for him, but when he went out she caught Lord Melbourne’s eye and they exchanged looks of secret mirth.
‘At least,’ whispered Lord Melbourne, ‘his cope is very fine. It was worn at the Coronation of James II.’
How knowledgeable he was! And how lighthearted everything seemed when he was near!
It was time to leave for the procession back to the Palace and the eight trainbearers took their places. Out into the Abbey they went and to the strains of organ music, the heavy crown weighing her down and the trainbearers having a little trouble with their own trains so that they were not very efficient with hers. But as soon as she was outside she forgot such minor details, for there were the dear people waiting to cheer her and show their loyalty. It was so touching.
Through the streets she rode in the golden coach with its glass windows specially designed so that the spectators could have a good view of their sovereign. It was indeed a magnificent coach with its elaborate carvings of lions’ heads and the great crown on the roof. Lord Melbourne, that mine of information, had told her that it had been built for her grandfather and used for the first time at his Coronation.
How pleasant to sit and not feel conscious of her lack of inches; she bowed her head and smiled and now that she was sitting she felt as fresh as when she had started, although the crown was so heavy and her finger still smarted from that foolish Archbishop’s bumbling mistake.
The cheers, the bands, the trumpets, the smiling faces of her people – all proclaimed her triumph. She felt exultant and her determination was intensified to do her duty by this dear country and her dear people for as long as she lived and to do all in her power to make sure that they never, never regretted this day.
The coach had arrived at the Palace. The crowds keeping their respectful distance, cheered wildly. She smiled, showing her delight and yet never losing that regality which was so much a part of her.
What a relief though to be in her own room, to remove the heavy crown and to say to herself: It is over and I did it well.
Dash came running to her barking fiercely. He had been in the garden digging again.
‘Oh you dirty Dash!’ she cried. ‘Now you will have to be bathed at once.’
Lehzen was in the room. They flew at each other.
‘My precious little Queen. I am so proud.’
‘Oh, dear Lehzen, I was all right, wasn’t I?’
Being overcome with emotion, Lehzen could only nod.
‘I saw you watching me, dear Lehzen.’
‘I didn’t have my eyes off you one moment.’
‘And I was remembering lots of things … how we used to play with the dolls … our reading while my hair was being done … It was a strange time to remember things like that.’
Lehzen could only repeat: ‘I was so proud … so proud.’
‘Now look at this wicked Dashy. He is filthy.’
‘Someone will have to bath him,’ said Lehzen.
‘Someone! You know Dashy never allows anyone to bath him but me. Come, help me out of these things.’
‘But not on your Coronation day!’
Victoria shrugged objections aside and half an hour after her return from the Abbey was seated at the bath with an unrepentant and resentful Dash sending his mistress into shrieks of laughter because he would not stay still and had made up his mind that if he were going to be immersed in his bath he would at least see that she had a good drenching.
The sound of her laughter and Dash’s occasional barks filled the room. Lehzen, hearing it, shook her head.
‘Who would believe she had just been crowned Queen of England,’ she said.
There was not much respite, for dinner was at eight. Not that it was a ceremonial occasion, for just the family were present with one or two guests, including Lord Melbourne. The sight of him made Victoria’s spirits rise. He was at her side immediately.