IN OCTOBER 1839, the twenty-year-old Queen Victoria proposed to Prince Albert of Saxe-Coburg, as was proper for a couple of their respective stations. The initial distaste she had expressed for arranged marriages dissolved when she saw him, and after their engagement she scribbled in her journal ‘he is perfection in every way – in beauty, in everything!’ Perhaps the most striking aspect of the union was how much control Victoria exerted in every detail, from formalising the engagement to selecting the materials for her dress. As the plans advanced amid a whirl of popular excitement, she wrote in her diary: ‘talked of wearing my robes at the wedding, which I wished not.’ Instead, she opted for a white silk and satin dress that was to set a pattern for the rest of the century. The court train was embellished with a tumbling border of orange blossom embroidery, a traditional symbol of betrothal and affection. While floral motifs were always popular in bridal fashion, the custom for wearing this flower had just begun to supersede the tradition for wearing roses, as her cousin Charlotte had. Electing a dress of Honiton lace and Spitalfields silk, the young queen was intentionally supporting local manufacturers, but she proudly adorned herself with the elegant jewelled gifts that Albert had presented to her as tokens of his affection. The groom himself wore the uniform of a British Field Marshal.
St James’s Palace again played host to the ceremony, as it would for many of her children, even though Victoria thought the resident choir sang ‘schockingly’; the regality of the location clearly atoned for any lack of musical proficiency. In a significant departure from the matrimonial practices of her ancestors, it was decreed that the ceremony would take place at noon, allowing for a full day of festivity. The morning weather was inclement, and the crowds lining the procession route from Buckingham Palace to St James’s fought to withstand the ‘torrents of rain, and violent gusts of wind.’ The queen’s spirits were not dampened, however, and she sent her husband-to-be an excited note as soon as she awoke: ‘Dearest, how are you today and have you slept well? What weather!’ The queen entered the chapel to a flourish of silver trumpets, the procession led by the Prime Minister Lord Melbourne (who was ‘built like a seventy-four gun ship’ according to one observer) and followed by a flock of bridesmaids. The service ran smoothly, lasting only fifteen minutes or so. The roaring thunder of the guns signalled to the crowds that the vows had been exchanged, and the royal procession made its way back to Buckingham Palace for the wedding breakfast.
Perhaps because of the success of her own wedding, or perhaps because it simply would not do to allow the young to arrange their own ceremonies, Victoria insisted on being consulted on royal matches, both of her children and her grandchildren in their turn. The relationship between Albert and Victoria continued in respect and love, and as the 1850s progressed they began to look forward to the expected flurry of royal weddings as their own children came of age.
It began with the Princess Royal’s engagement to Frederick William of Prussia, contrived when she was just 14. Although it was not publicly announced for two years, it suited such a convenient purpose against the threat of Russian growth in Europe that popular speculation had long attached the two. The only negativity in the press came from insinuations that he simply wasn’t good enough for their princess (coming from a ‘paltry German dynasty’ according to The Times), but such grumblings softened as it seemed that the couple were genuinely attached, and he was soon ‘beloved Fritz’. Before long ‘the cheapest popular publication and the humblest shop-window gave evidence of the general goodwill.’ When the suggestion came from Prussia that the ceremony should take place in the groom’s homeland, Queen Victoria was left ‘speechless with indignation.’ The royal foot being firmly put down, she retorted, ‘whatever may be the usual practice of Prussian Princes, it is not every day that one marries the eldest daughter of the Queen of England.’
Instead, the couple entered into wedlock in the same chapel as her parents on the bitterly cold morning of 25 January, 1858. Declared an ‘English holyday’, the chill did little to discourage ‘the million of people or thereabouts who were on their legs … seeking enjoyment from the spectacle of the PRINCESS ROYAL’S wedding’. According to a reporter for The Times, the crowds ‘cheered lustily’ as the procession was being prepared, ‘sometimes probably giving a vociferous welcome to a highly adorned underling of the Palace, under the impression that he was some great personage.’ Of course, although the public was entertained with festivities and illuminations, they were not granted admittance to the ceremony itself. Described as ‘pretty and lighthearted’, perhaps the most notable aspect of the service was its role in popularising Felix Mendelssohn’s comparatively little-known musical suite ‘Opus 61’, now known as the ‘Wedding March’.
The death of Prince Albert in 1862 occasioned the postponement of their second daughter Alice’s wedding, and cast a gloom over the queen from which she would never recover. So as not to offend her mourning mother, when Princess Alice finally married Louis of Hesse in July the ceremony was kept low-key, and solemnised in a manner ‘as private as possible’. Set for March the following year, the wedding of the future Edward VII to Alexandra of Denmark remained largely under the control of the queen. She bemoaned the excited chatter of her eldest daughter, sighing, ‘Dear child! Your ecstasy at the whole thing is to me very incomprehensible.’ However, the younger Victoria’s spirits were not to be suppressed, not least because of the elegance that the new princess promised to inject back into the sombre court: ‘Her voice, her walk, carriage and manner are perfect, she is one of the most ladylike and aristocratic looking people I ever saw!’
Apparently determined that the nation was not yet ready for unadulterated festivity, the queen controversially ordered that the location for the wedding should be Windsor Castle, which had not seen a royal wedding since the fourteenth century. This caused a flutter of apprehension among the press, who expected the union of their future monarchs to be a more accessible affair, and not, as Punch sardonically remarked, in ‘an obscure Berkshire village, noted only for an old castle with bad drains.’ Dress codes of half-mourning were still a prerequisite for guests, turning the company into a cloud of lilac, white and grey. The queen herself wore black and observed the proceedings from a private box above the crowd. Happily the bride was exempt from the sartorial restrictions, wearing a fashionable white satin court gown ‘trimmed with chatelaines of orange blossom, myrtle and bouffantes of tulle Honiton lace’. According to a German custom signifying affection and hopes for good fortune, the myrtle in her bouquet was grown from a sprig carried in the bouquet of the Princess Royal in 1858. The service was lengthy and the bride’s nerves were betrayed by her ‘crimson flush’ and whispered vows. According to one souvenir publication, even the Queen’s band seemed ‘overwrought’- when the guns thundered outside, they hurriedly began tuning their instruments before the Archbishop had even concluded the service.
The next ceremony of national importance was that of their son George, Duke of York, to his bride Princess Mary of Teck, in July 1893. Mary had originally been intended for his elder brother Albert, until his death just a month before they were due to be married. Public sympathy for the grieving ‘Princess May’ and the gentle duke thrown into the line of succession quickly blossomed into joy at their engagement. After consultation with his grandmother, St James’s Palace was adorned with red and white flowers gathered from the royal gardens in preparation for the nuptials. After a string of weddings openly taking the opportunity to boost money for native manufacturers, the royal couple found that suppliers were falling over themselves to offer their services. Lacemakers from Devon provided lace leaf in a cherub design for royal fans, and rivals from Amersham made silver lace to trim the bridesmaids’ dresses.
The bride seemed overwhelmed, exclaiming ‘we get trousseau things sent to us from all parts of England, Scotland and Ireland so that we are nearly driven mad and have not a moment’s peace.’ In the event, her dress was considered a triumph, described by The Illustrated London News as ‘a white and silver brocade with a pattern of clustered roses, thistles and shamrocks’ and trails of orange-blossom, in a design ‘typical of Britain and Ireland.’ After Mary reached the altar, to the strains of the Bridal March from Wagner’s Lohengrin, the service began with a choir singing a hymn composed in honour of the occasion. Outside, a vast throng of spectators enjoyed the atmosphere and waited for the royal party to appear. A gossip columnist for The Sketch wrote:
I mixed on wedding day with the unwashed in St James’s Park. Heavens! Extreme merriment was caused when a seedy man, under the influence of ginger beer and the sun probably, sat down in the middle of the cleared roadway, and declined to move until four policemen united their persuasions.
After the procession to sign the register at Buckingham Palace, the queen encouraged the newlyweds to make an appearance on the front balcony, before a delighted crowd. Apparently pleased with the adoring scenes below, chairs were ordered and the party sat there for ten minutes. At the wedding breakfast, the contented royal grandmother toasted the couple and commented, no doubt with a hint of self-congratulation, ‘it has all been very prettily arranged.’
The British royals of the nineteenth century suffered their share of sorrows, but enjoyed more public affection than many of their ancestors. Warmth towards Buckingham Palace resulted from the popular opinion that ‘Her Majesty has reigned gently and prudently … and the Royal Family has set an admirable example of domestic life.’ While the nation may have occasionally grumbled that they expected more of a show, they appreciated that at the heart of the ceremonies was a sense of familial duty and devotion.
However, the empire that gave the political nation such comfort was about to be rocked by war and revolution that swept away many of the crowned dynasties of Europe. The British monarchy emerging from the ravages of the First World War wore a very different countenance, and the public was invited to take a more active role in royal ceremony. The royal house would, once and for all, throw off the ‘cold glamour of thrones.’