But four more years were to elapse before the central
figure was ready to be placed under its starry canopy.
It was designed by Mr. Foley, though in one particular
the sculptor’s freedom was restricted by Mr.
Scott. “I have chosen the sitting posture,”
Mr. Scott said, “as best conveying the idea
of dignity befitting a royal personage.”
Mr. Foley ably carried out the conception of his principal.
“In the attitude and expression,” he said,
“the aim has been, with the individuality of
portraiture, to embody rank, character, and enlightenment,
and to convey a sense of that responsive intelligence
indicating an active, rather than a passive, interest
in those pursuits of civilisation illustrated in the
surrounding figures, groups, and relievos... To
identify the figure with one of the most memorable
undertakings of the public life of the Prince—the
International Exhibition of 1851—a catalogue
of the works collected in that first gathering of
the industry of all nations, is placed in the right
hand.” The statue was of bronze gilt and
weighed nearly ten tons. It was rightly supposed
that the simple word “Albert,” cast on
the base, would be a sufficient means of identification.
CHAPTER VIII. GLADSTONE AND LORD BEACONSFIELD
I
Lord Palmerston’s laugh—a queer metallic
“Ha! ha! ha!” with reverberations in it
from the days of Pitt and the Congress of Vienna—was
heard no more in Piccadilly; Lord John Russell dwindled
into senility; Lord Derby tottered from the stage.
A new scene opened; and new protagonists—Mr.
Gladstone and Mr. Disraeli—struggled together
in the limelight. Victoria, from her post of vantage,
watched these developments with that passionate and
personal interest which she invariably imported into
politics. Her prepossessions were of an unexpected
kind. Mr. Gladstone had been the disciple of her
revered Peel, and had won the approval of Albert;
Mr. Disraeli had hounded Sir Robert to his fall with
hideous virulence, and the Prince had pronounced that
he “had not one single element of a gentleman
in his composition.” Yet she regarded Mr.
Gladstone with a distrust and dislike which steadily
deepened, while upon his rival she lavished an abundance
of confidence, esteem, and affection such as Lord
Melbourne himself had hardly known.
Her attitude towards the Tory Minister had suddenly
changed when she found that he alone among public
men had divined her feelings at Albert’s death.
Of the others she might have said “they pity
me and not my grief;” but Mr. Disraeli had understood;
and all his condolences had taken the form of reverential
eulogies of the departed. The Queen declared
that he was “the only person who appreciated
the Prince.” She began to show him special
favour; gave him and his wife two of the coveted seats
in St. George’s Chapel at the Prince of Wales’s
wedding, and invited him to stay a night at Windsor.
Copyrights
Queen Victoria from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
