The Song of the Siren

I woke early the next morning, excited to find myself in a strange bed. I went to my window and looked down on the street where people were already gathering. They would come in today from the surrounding country. It was the twenty-third of April, St. George’s Day. The people were very excited. I wondered how the Queen felt. What would one’s reaction be if one were taking a crown which did not by right belong to one. Of course the English would never have a Catholic on the throne. I had heard my grandfather expound at length on that subject. And King James could have retained his crown if he had given up his faith. He refused and lost it, and then we had had Protestant William and Mary, now both dead, and Mary’s sister Anne was our Queen.

The Jacobites would be angry but the mood of the people seemed to indicate that they wanted Anne. Or perhaps they just wanted a coronation.

At eleven o’clock we rode into the streets and saw the Queen on her way from St.

James’s Palace to Westminster Hall. She was carried in a sedan chair because she was so troubled with dropsy and swollen feet that she could not walk. She was about thirty-seven years of age, which seemed young to be afflicted with such an infirmity, but she had given birth to so many children and not one of them had survived-the young Duke of Gloucester, on whom all her hopes were set, having died recently-that this had had its effect on her.

Prince George of Denmark, her husband, who was as devoted to her as she was to him, walked before her and he was preceded by the Archbishop of Canterbury.

It was a glittering sight with garter-king-at-arms and the lord mayor and black rod with the high steward of England all in attendance.

The Queen looked calm and surprisingly beautiful in spite of the fact that she was very fat, a condition induced by a lack of exercise and a love of food; on her head was a circle of gold set with diamonds and its simple elegance became her.

We had places in the Abbey and we followed the procession treading our way through the sweet herbs which had been sprinkled on the ground and taking the places allotted to us.

It was an uneasy moment when Thomas Tennison, the Archbishop of Canterbury, presented the Queen to the assembly and asked the question: “Sirs, I here present unto you Queen Anne, undoubted Queen of this realm. Whereas all you that are come this day to do your homages and service, are you willing to do the same?”

It seemed to me that the pause following those words went on for a long time, but that was merely my imagination because I had heard so much talk about the Jacobites.

Then the shout was deafening: “God save Queen Anne.”

The Archbishop had to repeat the question three times after that for he had to face the east, west, north and south each time he said it.

It was a thrilling moment when the choir began to sing the anthem. “The Queen shall rejoice in Thy strength, oh Lord. Exceeding glad shall she be in Thy salvation. Thou shalt present her with the blessings of goodness and shalt set a crown of pure gold on her head.”

When I heard all those voices singing in unison I felt sure that Anne really was the chosen sovereign and the King Across the Water presented no threat to the peace of the land.

It was sad, though, to see the Queen having to be helped to the altar; but when she made the declaration her voice was loud and clear.

“Will you to the utmost of your power maintain the laws of God, the true profession of the gospel, and the protestant reformed religion established by law ... ?”

“I promise to do this,” declared Anne firmly.

This was what the people wanted. After all, it was because her father had not been an upholder of the Protestant faith that he had lost his throne.

After that there was the ceremony of the anointing, which was carried out in accordance with the ancient customs. Anne must stand while she was girt with the sword of St.

Edward and then she must walk to the altar to offer it there. The spurs were presented to her and she placed them beside the sword on the altar and then she was invested with the ring and the staff.

The ring, my father had told me, was called the wedding ring of England and was engraved with the Cross of St. George. When it was placed on the finger it symbolized that the sovereign was pledged to honour his or her country and offer all the service and devotion of which that sovereign was capable. It is like a marriage, added my father.

I was deeply moved by the ceremony, as one must be, and when the Queen was seated on her chair and the Dean of Westminster brought the crown for the Archbishop of Canterbury to place on her head I joined with fervour in the loyal shout of “God save the Queen.” It was wonderfully inspiring to hear the guns booming out from the turrets of the Abbey and being answered by those of the Tower of London.

I watched the peers led by the Queen’s Consort, the Prince of Denmark, pay their homage to the new Queen by kneeling before her and then kissing her cheek.