This visit was afterwards returned by Queen Victoria and the Prince Consort, when they were received by Napoleon III. with great magnificence in Paris, and attended there the Grande Exposition; as the French were the first to follow the example of the English in the great World’s Exhibition, which had been originally conceived of by Prince Albert, when he devised the famous Crystal Palace.
This great International Exhibition, inaugurated and carried out by Prince Albert, this first Crystal Palace of the world, of which the Paris Exposition, and others of the kind, have been copies, some on a larger scale, but none of equal beauty, is best described in Queen Victoria’s own words:—
“The glimpse of the transept through the iron gates, the waving palms, flowers, statues, myriads of people filling the galleries and seats around, with the flourish of trumpets as we entered, gave us a sensation I can never forget, and I felt much moved. We went for a moment to a little side-room, where we left our shawls, and where we found mamma and Mary, and outside which were standing the other princes. In a few seconds we proceeded, Albert leading me, having Vicky at his hand and Bertie holding mine. The sight, as we came to the middle, where the steps and chair (which I did not sit on) were placed, with the beautiful crystal fountain just in front of it, was magical—so vast, so glorious, so touching. One felt, as so many did whom I have since spoken to, filled with devotion, more so than by any service I have ever heard,—the tremendous cheers; the joy expressed in every face; the immensity of the building; the mixture of palms, flowers, trees, statues, fountains; the organ (with two hundred instruments, and six hundred voices, which sounded like nothing); and my beloved husband, the author of this Peace Festival, which united the industry of all nations of the earth. All this was moving indeed, and it was and is a day to live forever. God bless my dearest Albert! God bless my dearest country, which has shown itself so great to-day! One felt grateful to the great God, who seemed to pervade all and to bless all! The only event it in the slightest degree reminded me of was the Coronation, but this day’s festival was a thousand times superior. In fact, it is unique, and can bear no comparison, from its peculiar beauty and combination of such striking and different objects. I mean the slight resemblance only as to its solemnity; the enthusiasm and cheering, too, were much more touching, for in a church naturally all is silent.... That we felt happy, thankful, I need not say; proud of all that had passed, of my darling husband’s success, and of the behavior of my good people.”
Thus did the queen gracefully acknowledge her indebtedness to the devoted husband, who, refusing all titles but that of Prince Consort, spent his life in ministering to her greatness, and consecrated his superior talents of mind in unostentatiously smoothing the difficulties in her royal path. Prince Albert would, without doubt, have made one of the best and most beneficent rulers that England ever had, if he had been the sovereign; it was to his wise head and clear judgment that Victoria was indebted for many of the popular measures of her government during his life; and his loss was indeed irreparable. And her constant devotion to his memory is a more noble tribute to him than the magnificent memorial erected by her in his honor, even though the inscription reads:—
To The Beloved Memory
OF
ALBERT, THE GREAT AND GOOD PRINCE CONSORT.
Raised by his Broken-Hearted Widow
VICTORIA R.
Charlotte M. Yonge, in her recent “Jubilee Book,” “The Victorian Half-Century,” gives the following incident:—
“We have a charming picture of domestic life in the letters of the great musical composer Mendelssohn, who was in England in the summer of 1842. ‘Prince Albert had asked me to go to him on Saturday, at two o’clock, that I might try his organ before I left England. I found him alone, and as we were talking away, the queen came in, also alone, in a simple morning dress. She said she was obliged to leave for Claremont in an hour, and then suddenly interrupting herself, exclaimed, “But, goodness! what a confusion!” For the wind had littered the whole room, and even the pedals of the organ (which, by the way, made a very pretty feature of the room), with leaves of music from a large portfolio that lay open. As she spoke she knelt down and began picking up the music; Prince Albert helped, and I, too, was not idle. Then Prince Albert proceeded to explain the stops to me, and she said that she would meanwhile put things straight. I begged that the prince would first play me something, that I might boast about it in Germany, and he played a chorale, by heart, with the pedals, so charmingly and clearly and correctly that it would have done credit to any professional; and the queen, having finished her work, came and sat by him and listened, and looked pleased. Then it was my turn, and I began my chorus from “St. Paul,” “How lovely are the messengers.” Before I got to the end of the first verse they had both joined in the chorus, and all the time Prince Albert managed the stops so cleverly for me,... and all by heart, that I was really quite enchanted. Then the young Prince of Gotha came in, and there was more chatting, and the queen asked if I had written any new songs, and said she was very fond of singing my published ones. “You should sing one to him,” said Prince Albert, and after a little begging, she said she would try the “Frühlingslied” in B flat, “if it is still here,” she added, “for all my music is packed for Claremont.” Prince Albert went to look for it, but came back, saying it was already packed. “But one might, perhaps, unpack it,” said I. “We must send for Lady ——,” she said (I did not catch the name). So the bell was rung, and the servants were sent after it; but without success, and at last the queen went herself, and whilst she was gone, Prince Albert said to me, “She begs you will accept this present as a remembrance,” and gave me a case with a beautiful ring, on which is engraved “V. R., 1842.” Then the queen came back, and said, “Lady —— is gone, and has taken all my things with her. It is really most annoying.”’
“However, Mendelssohn begged that he might not be the sufferer, and after some consultation, Prince Albert said, ‘She will sing you something of Gluck’s.’ Then they proceeded to the queen’s sitting-room, where there stood by the piano a mighty rocking-horse and two great bird-cages. The walls were decorated with pictures; beautifully bound books lay on the tables, and music on the piano. Mendelssohn found among the music a set of songs of his own, and, first sending away the parrot, ‘for he will scream louder than I can sing,’ the queen sang ‘Schöner und Schöner schmückt sie’ quite charmingly, in strict time and tune, but with one slight error. Mendelssohn confessed that the song was not his, but his sister Fanny’s, and she then, with some doubt, undertook to try to sing his ‘Pilger Spruch, Lass dich nur,’ which she did quite faultlessly, and with charming feeling and expression.
“Mendelssohn says: ‘I thought to myself, one must not pay too many compliments on such an occasion, so I merely thanked her a great many times; on which she said, “Oh! if only I had not been so frightened; generally I have such a long breath.” Then I praised her heartily and with the best conscience in the world, for just that part, with the long C at the close, she had done so well, and taking the three notes next to it all in the same breath, as one seldom hears it done, and therefore it amused me doubly that she herself should have begun about it.’ Afterwards the prince sang ‘Es ist ein Schnitter,’ and Mendelssohn improvised till it was time for her Majesty to start for Claremont.”