
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.

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!

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.