Susan B. Anthony at the Queen’s Court

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In July 1899, Susan B. Anthony, who was nearly eighty, was in London for the International Council of Women. She wrangled a visit to Windsor Castle for the group:

One  day  I  said  to  Lady  Aberdeen,  “Now  if  this  great  Council  were  in Washington,  I  should  certainly  get  an  invitation  for  you  to  call  on  the  President and  his  wife.  Isn’t  it  possible  for  us  to  secure  some  recognition  from the  Queen?”  She  said  she  didn’t  know,  but  she  would  try,  so  she  sent  a  letter to  the  Queen  and  soon  received  a  reply  from  her  secretary  that  Her  Majesty would  be  very  happy  to  see  us.  The  Queen  gave  directions  to  provide  tea  for the  ladies.  “Ah,  but,”  said  the  secretary,  “you  must  remember  that  you  will have  to  provide  for  hundreds.”  “Well,”  was  the  Queen’s  answer,  “if  there be  thousands,  provide  for  thousands.  I  cannot  allow  the  ladies  to  call  upon me  without  giving  them  a  cup  of  tea.”  The  tables  were  placed  in  St.  George’s hall,  the  banquet-room  of  the  palace,  where  all  kinds  of  refreshments,  with  the luxuries  of  the  season,  hot-house  grapes,  strawberries,  etc.,  were  served  on the  royal  china  by  the  Queen’s  own  retainers  in  scarlet  livery.

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Victoria did not personally greet Anthony or the other delegates but allowed them to witness her setting out for an afternoon drive. As Ida Husted Harper, Anthony’s official biographer, recalled,

Our  party  passed  through  the  old  Norman  gateway,  the  most  ancient  portion of  the  castle,  and  then  we  paused  under  the  shadow  of  the  great  round tower.  .  .  .  The  omnipresent  red-coated,  fur-topped  soldiers  stand  guard at  the  entrance,  a  solitary  policeman  paces  back  and  forth  and  tries  to  evade the  volley  of  questions  from  the  crowd  of  women  who  are  afraid  to  approach the  soldiers  but  who  have  policemen  at  home.  Far  across  the  court  in  an  open doorway  stand  three  individuals  in  long  coats,  white  “spats”  and  silk  hats. They  are  the  gentlemen-in-waiting.  We  have  a  fellow  feeling  for  them,  we have  been  ladies-in-waiting  for  more  than  an  hour.

At  last  a  wave  of  excitement  goes  scurrying  over  the  dry  gravel.  We  are all  arranged  in  a  semi-circle  along  the  driveway.  A  broad,  low  carriage  dashes up  to  the  main  door  in  the  southeast  corner,  drawn  by  two  beautiful  dappled bay  horses  with  black  points,  attended  by  two  outriders,  mounted  on  prancing steeds,  a  perfect  match  to  the  others.  The  coachman  is  an  exact  counterpart of  the  typical  John  Bull  Various  functionaries  appear;  one  stands  at  the horses’  heads,  another  blocks  the  wheels  so  they  may  not  move.  White-aproned  maids  are  seen  in  the  hall—and  now  comes  the  Queen!  Carried  in  a chair  by  a  stalwart  Scotchman  in  plaid  and  kilts  and  bare  legs,  and  a  tall, black  East  Indian  in  white  skirt  and  turban,  she  is  gently  placed  in  the  carriage. The  Princess  Beatrice  takes  a  seat  beside  her,  and  the  chief  lady-in-waiting  sits  opposite,  but  we  have  eyes  only  for  Victoria.

As  slowly  as  the  horses  can  step  she  approaches  the  line.  All  around  us the  English  women  whisper,  “Don’t  forget  to  courtesy [sic]!”  We  Americans  have not  been  taught  to  crook  the  knee  but  we  make  our  very  best  bow.  The  carriage stops  before  Lady  Aberdeen,  who  stands  at  the  head  of  the  line.  She courtesies  to  the  ground  and  kisses  the  extended  fingers.  A  Canadian  woman, who  is  presented  on  account  of  some  special  service,  does  the  same.  Then, horror  of  horrors,  up  steps  a  woman  from  the  United  States  and  shakes  the Queen’s  hand!  She  supposed,  of  course,  Her  Majesty  was  going  to  greet  all of  us  in  that  democratic  fashion.  Slowly  the  carriage  passes  on,  pausing  for another  moment  in  front  of  the  delegates  from  India  in  their  picturesque garments.  The  English  women  begin  to  sing  “God  Save  the  Queen.”  We Americans  do  not  know  the  words,  but,  led  by  Emma  Thursby,  we  sing “America”  to  the  same  tune,  and  it  answers  just  as  well.  Her  Majesty  smiles and  looks  pleased.  She  is  a  lovely  old  lady,  with  fair  hair  and  blue  eyes,  a complexion  as  pink  and  white  as  a  girl’s,  and  does  not  appear  a  day  over sixty.  On  goes  the  carriage,  under  the  high  arch  beneath  which  only  royalty can  pass—and  the  great  event  is  over.  The  Queen  has  sanctioned  the  Woman’s Congress!

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Anthony told the London Daily  Chronicle:  “I  shall  always  remember the  delightful  sensation  of  sitting  there  on  a  sofa  in  the  Queen’s own  home,  drinking  her  tea,  and,  as  it  were,  breaking  bread  with her.  It  was  not  a  mere  matter  of  curiosity  with  us;  we  felt that  the  Queen  is  a  grand  woman,  who  has  set  a  good  example to  the  nations  of  the  world,  that  her  influence  has  always  been for  peace,  and  that  she  has  been  a  good  wife  and  a  good  mother; moreover  in  her  reign  woman  has  made  enormous  advance.”

In an interview with an American syndicate after her return to the United States, Anthony said, “I thought Her Majesty was a very human looking woman—a good, motherly woman. That is usually one’s first impression in meeting royalty or nobility—that they are much like other people—that is, refined and cultured people. . . . The Queen is a most conspicuous example to refute the oft repeated assertion that public life destroys the feminine instincts and unfits women for home duties. As the mother of nine children and head of the largest household in the world, she always has been distinguished for her wifely and maternal devotion and for her thrift and ability in managing her domestic affairs.”

Anthony’s interactions with the great during her visit to England were not without their hiccups. As Harper recalled:

Two little stories are told about that staunchest exponent of democratic and republican institutions, Susan B. Anthony. On one occasion she actually undertook to introduce one of the greatest lords of the kingdom to two poor little girl employees on a London paper, and, as if this were not sufficiently heinous, she told him frankly that she had forgotten his name. He did not tell it to her and if Gibson could have caught the expression of his lordship’s face he might have produced his masterpiece.

At another time she was invited to a luncheon to meet the Princess Christian, the Queen’s daughter. After shaking hands with her and talking a few minutes. Miss Anthony sat down. Presently some one came and told her she must not sit while royalty was standing. Some of her friends say that her eighty years and the fatigue from the strain of the past weeks justified her in sitting. Others say that she could have stood up two hours if she had had a suffrage speech to make, but that the awful breach of etiquette was due to ‘that spirit of her Quaker ancestors which made them face death rather than take off their hats to a king. Miss Anthony herself only laughs and “refuses to be interviewed.”

From Ida Husted Harper,  Life and Work of Susan B. Anthony, vol. 3.

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