After landing in San
Francisco, the royal party proceeded to Washington, D.C., where they were received
by President and First Lady Grover Cleveland and a state dinner was hosted in
their honour. They then travelled to Boston and finally in New York where they
boarded a ship and sailed to London.
The royal ladies were
granted an audience with Queen Victoria at Buckingham Palace, later joining
European royals and other foreign dignitaries at special Jubilee service at
Westminster Abbey. For this occasion, Kapiʻolani donned peacock feathered dress
designed by her Special Equerry James Washington Lonoikauoalii McGuire.
The trip to London
and becoming part of this historic spectacle was a surreal experience for Liliʻuokalani.
However, the Hawaiian royals’ stint in the British capital was cut short when news
reached them of political unrest in Hawaii. They were supposed to commence a tour
of Europe but they cancelled it and headed back to Hawaii in no time.
In 1938, New Zealand
journalist Eric Ramsden wrote a lengthy
story detailing the Liliʻuokalani and Kapiʻolani’s meeting with Queen
Victoria.
Kalakaua, the "Merry Monarch" of Hawaii, sent his consort Queen Kapiʻolani to represent him at Queen Victoria's Jubilee in 1887. On this particular day she was waiting to receive another Queen, Kapiʻolani, Consort to Kalakaua, King of Hawaii. The Polynesian monarch, unable to make the journey, had sent his wife, and his sister, the Crown Princess (later known as Queen Liliʻuokalani), to tender the congratulation of the Hawaiians, then an independent people.
The brown-skinned Queen of a Pacific people was received with all the honors accorded to European Royalty. It was a curious meeting. Victoria, who took her title as "The Great White Mother," quite seriously, was also Empress of India.
Thousands of people, of many races and creeds, gave her allegiance. The Hanoverian stock from which she sprang had been rulers for centuries. But equally proud of race was the dignified Kapiʻolani.
Though her people were few in numbers, she came from a line that had roamed the Pacific when European navigators had been afraid to lose sight of the land. Magnificent in physique, her forebears had been accompanied into unchartered seas by their equally daring womenfolk.
Kapiʻolani spoke no English. With the consciousness of a racial background that equalled that of the English Queen's, she approached the little old lady on the sofa.
Victoria was a stickler for etiquette. When Queen Kapiʻolani bowed before her, she kissed her on both cheeks. Then, turning to Princess Liliuokalani, she kissed her once on the forehead. The Queen of Hawaii was invited to sit beside her sister sovereign. Liliʻuokalani was given a chair. The queens then engaged in polite conversation.
Colonel Iaukea, a member of the Hawaiian household, acted as interpreter. But when it came to the Princess's turn, Queen Victoria found that she could speak excellent English.
The audience was typical of its kind. The customary congratulations were offered and as politely accepted. The British Queen made some inquiries about schools in Honolulu. She also asked after the health of King Kalakaua, the "Merry Monarch" of Hawaii, and then the Polynesian visitors rose to take their leave. Before saluting them in the precise manner in which they had been received, Victoria made one of those little gestures that endeared her to overseas travellers. "I want you to meet my children," she said.
Princess Beatrice, her youngest daughter, and the Duke of Connaught, her soldier son, are still living; they were summoned by the old Queen, shook hands with the Polynesians, and then retired.
Liliʻuokalani hesitated a moment, waited to see if the queen had anything more to say to her, but Victoria was staring ahead. Then the Hawaiian princess curtsied, and left the audience chamber.
Queen Kapiʻolani was already well ahead.
In double quick time, once she had left Victoria's presence, Liliʻuokalani endeavored to make up the distance which, according to etiquette, should have separated her from her sister-in-law.
As she hurried along the passage, the English ladies in attendance upon her whispered, "His Majesty." Standing in the corridor was old King Christian IX of Denmark, accompanied by the German Crown Prince. The former was, of course, the father of the Princess of Wales (later Queen Alexandra). The German prince, fated to reign for three short months as the Emperor Frederick, was Victoria's son-in-law and father of William II. The foreigners acknowledged Liliuokalani's presence with the most gallant of bows.
“On finding myself again with Queen Kapiʻolani, we entered our carriage and returned to our hotel," she subsequently wrote in her memoirs. "Thus terminated my first interview with one of the best of women and greatest of monarchs."
Years before, Liliuokalani had had an even more intimate contact with the British Royal Family. In 1869, H.M.S. Galatea had arrived at Honolulu under the command of Prince Alfred, Duke of Edinburgh, Queen Victoria's sailor son.
Alfred was to escape an assassin's bullet in Sydney and to die a petty German duke: he succeeded his uncle as Duke of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha. But in those days he was a fair-haired, blue-eyed young man, a roistering young sailor with an eye for a pretty girl.
The British Prince's arrival in Hawaii created a sensation. He appeared at a time of mourning. Lilʻiuokalani's mother had died three months previously. But the occasion was such an auspicious one that thoughts of sorrow were put aside.
Kamehameha V, the last Hawaiian king to bear that honored name, ordered special preparations for the Duke's reception.
Liliuokalani is reticent concerning the Prince's visit.
If he behaved as he did in New Zealand and Tahiti it can be taken that the visitor caused many a Polynesian maid's heart to flutter. In Tahiti the people still speak of Prince Alfred's winning ways, and on occasion a song that was specially composed for "Arii-Afriti," as they called him, is sung.
However, Liliʻuokalani gave a grand luau at her Waikiki residence, to which were invited all the first families of Hawaii, whether of native or foreign birth. In other lands the feast might have been called a breakfast, as it commenced at 11 o'clock in the afternoon.
The Sailor Prince, rather to the astonishment of the Hawaiians, mounted the box of his carriage, and, taking the reins from the coachman, drove to the luau. The Polynesian royalties arrived solemn state: the drivers of their carriages wore the royal feather shoulder capes, priceless possessions, now regarded as museum exhibits.
King Kamehameha was there to welcome his royal visitor, and the function was voted "one of the grandest occasions in the history of those days, befitting the high birth and commanding the position of the Prince."
As Prince Alfred entered Liliʻuokalani's home, two Hawaiian chieftainesses of high rank, in accordance with the custom of their country, decorated him with leis, long, pliable wreaths of flowers, which they hung about his neck.
At first the Prince "was a little confused, but "submitting with the easy grace of a gentleman, he appeared to be excessively pleased with the flowers and the friendly welcome conveyed to him by the act."
Before his departure from Honolulu, he called on Liliʻuokalani and presented her with an armlet symbolic of his profession. Of solid gold, it was a massive wrought chain in the pattern of a ship's cable with an anchor as a pendant. The Prince also gave his hostess two of his own musical compositions. This raving son of the great Victoria was a skilled violinist.
There is a story told in Tahiti to the effect that the Prince wore a pair of plain gold bangles—one on each wrist. It was said that his mother gave them to him when he departed. With it came an injunction that, if ever he tempted to stray, the bangles would remind him of her Majesty! Perhaps Prince Alfred did not stand in as much awe of her, as certainly did his brother, Edward VII, for if local tradition has any basis—and in such matters the natives are invariably truthful — the bangles certainly did not retard his triumphal progress among the Tahitian wahine.
These, and other thoughts, must have strayed through the mind of Princess Liliuokalani as she sat in Westminster Abbey in 1887. In London she had renewed her friendship with the Duke of Edinburgh.
Queen Victoria honored the Hawaiian Royal visitors with an escort of Life Guards to the Abbey.
On arrival, they found, seated near them was a little old lady who was busy arranging her husband's tie: the stranger pulled down his coat and arranged other parts of his uniform to suit her taste. Finally, when she had everything to her satisfaction, she introduced herself. The Grand Duchess of Meckinburg-Strelitz was Queen Victoria's cousin, and her husband was blind. Incidentally, she was also Queen Mary's aunt, being a daughter of George II.'s son, the first Duke of Cambridge.
At last the Queen herself walked slowly through the Abbey and took a seat on the dais. "Simply attired in black, and wearing a bonnet "small and unobtrusive," but with a magnificent necklace of single stone diamonds, she made a little curtsey to her guests.
At Buckingham Palace, the Duke of Edinburgh was in attendance upon Liliʻuokalani, while the Prince of Wales waited upon Queen Kapiʻolani. During the state luncheon, Prince William of Prussia asked the Hawaiian Princess if she recognised a young man in sailor uniform sitting opposite. Liliʻuokalani had also welcomed Prince Henry of Prussia to Hawaii. But the young Prussian had never left the impression in Polynesia that did his cousin, the Duke of Edinburgh.
The round of festivities in which the Hawaiian visitors participated, being received in the home of duchesses, and royally entertained wherever they went in England, ceased with a jolt. News was received of the progress of the revolutionary movement in the kingdom engineered by American interests resident in Hawaii. Kalakaua was a typical Polynesian: he never gave a decision that could not possibly be postponed. A Constitution was forced upon him. The King never liked it, did what he could to avoid its provisions, and, though he died on the throne, he left a legacy that cut short the reign of his sister, the forceful, intelligent Liliuokalani.
The Queen and her sister-in-law left at once for home. As their steamer came alongside the wharf at Honolulu, the streets were lined with people.
"And yet, mingled with all the joy felt at our safe return," wrote Liliʻuokalani, "there was an undercurrent of sadness as of a people who had known with us a crushing sorrow. There were traces of tears on the cheeks of many of our faithful retainers. . . . They knew, and we knew, though no word was spoken, the changes which had taken place while we had been away, and which had been forced upon the King."
It was the beginning of the end of the Hawaiian monarchy.
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