In the winter of 1850 the whole of England was disturbed by the Papal Bull which professed to divide England afresh into Roman Catholic bishoprics, with a cardinal-archbishop at their head. Protestant England hotly resented the liberty the Pope had taken, the more so that the Tractarian movement in the Church seemed to point to treachery within the camp. Lord John Russell took this view of it, and the announcement of his opinion intensified the excitement which expressed itself, in meetings all over the county and numerous addresses to the Queen, condemning the act of aggression and urging resistance. The protests of the Universities of Oxford and Cambridge, and of the Corporation of London, were presented to her Majesty in St. George's Hall, Windsor Castle, on the 10th of December. The Oxford address was read by the Chancellor of Oxford, the Duke of Wellington, the old soldier speaking "in his peculiar energetic manner with great vigour and animation." The Cambridge address was read by the Chancellor of Cambridge, Prince Albert, "with great clearness and well-marked emphasis." The Queen replied "with great deliberation and with decided accents." Her Majesty, while repelling the invasion of her rights and the offence to the religious principles of the country, held, with the calmer judges of the situation, that no pretence, however loudly asserted, could constitute reality. The Pope might call England what he liked, but he could not make it Catholic.
In January, 1851, the Court had a great loss in the retirement of Lady Lyttelton from her office of governess to the royal children, which she had filled for eight years; while her service at Court, including the time that she had been a lady-in-waiting, had lasted over twelve years. Thenceforth her bright sympathetic accounts of striking events in the life at Windsor and Osborne cease. The daughter of the second Earl of Spenser married, at twenty-six years of age, the third Lord Lyttelton. She was forty-two when she became a lady-in-waiting, and fifty-four when she resigned the office of governess to the Queen's children. She desired to quit the Court because, as she said, she was old enough to be at rest for whatever time might be left her. In the tranquillity and leisure which she sought, she survived for twenty years, dying at the age of seventy-four in 1870. The parting in 1851 was a trial to all. "The Queen has told me I may be free about the middle of January," wrote Lady Lyttelton, "and she said it with all the feeling and kindness of which I have received such incessant proofs through the whole long twelve years during which I have served her. Never by a word or look has it been interrupted." Neither could Lady Lyttelton say enough in praise of the Prince, of "his wisdom, his ready helpfulness, his consideration for others, his constant kindness." "In the evening I was sent for to my last audience in the Queen's own room," Lady Lyttelton wrote again, "and I quite broke down and could hardly speak or hear. I remember the Prince's face, pale as ashes, and a few words of praise and thanks from them both, but it is all misty; and I had to stop on the private staircase and have my cry out before I could go up again."
Lady Lyttelton was succeeded in her office by Lady Caroline Barrington, sister of Earl Grey, who held the post for twenty-four years, till her death in 1875. She too was much and deservedly esteemed by the Queen and the royal family.
The Exhibition was the event in England of 1851. From the end of March till the opening-day, for which May-day was fitly chosen, Prince Albert strove manfully day and night to fulfil his important part in the programme, and it goes without saying that the Queen shared in much of his work, and in all his hopes and fears and ardent desires.
Already the building, with its great transept and naves, lofty dome, transparent walls and roof, enclosing great trees within their ample bounds, the chef-d'-oeuvre of Sir Joseph Paxton—who received knighthood for the feat—the admiration of all beholders, had sprung up in Hyde Park like a fairy palace, the growth of a night. Ships and waggons in hundreds and thousands, laden by commerce, science and art, were trooping from far and near to the common destination. Great and small throughout the country and across the seas were planning to make the Exhibition their school of design and progress, as well as their holiday goal.
It must be said that the dread of what might be the behaviour of the vast crowds of all nations gathered together at one spot, and that spot London, assailed many people both at home and abroad. But as those who are not "evil-doers" are seldom "evil-dreaders," the Queen and the Prince always dismissed the idea of such a danger with something like bright incredulous scorn, which proved in the end wiser than cynical suspicion and gloomy apprehension.
The Exhibition of 1851, with its reverent motto, chosen by Prince Albert, "The earth is the Lord's, and the fullness thereof; the compass of the world, and they that dwell therein," is an old story now, and only elderly people remember some of its marvels—like the creations of the "Arabian Nights'" tales—and its works of art, which, though they may have been excelled before and since, had never yet been so widely seen and widely criticised. The feathery palm-trees and falling fountains, especially the great central cascade, seemed to harmonize with objects of beauty and forms of grace on every side. The East contended with the West in soft and deep colours and sumptuous stuffs. Huge iron machines had their region, and trophies of cobweb lace theirs; while "walking-beams" clanked and shuttles flew, working wonders before amazed and enchanted-eyes.
Especially never had there been seen, such modern triumphs in carved woodwork, in moulded iron, zinc, and bronze, in goldsmiths' work, in stoneware and porcelain, in designs for damasks in silk and linen.
The largest diamond in the world, the Koh-i-Noor or "mountain of light," found in the mines of Golconda, presented to the great Mogul, having passed through the hands of a succession of murderous and plundering Shahs, had been brought to England and laid at the feet of Queen Victoria as one of the fruits of her Afghan conquests, the year before the Exhibition. It was now for the first time publicly displayed. Like many valuable articles, its appearance, marred by bad cutting, did not quite correspond with the large estimate of its worth, about two millions. In order to increase its effect, the precious clumsily-cut "goose's egg," relieved against a background of crimson velvet in its strong cage, was shown by gas-light alone. Since those days, the jewel has been cut, so that its radiance may have full play when it is worn by her Majesty on great occasions. To keep the Koh-i-Noor in company, one of the largest emeralds and one of the largest pearls in the world were in this Exhibition. So were "le saphir merveilleux"—of amethystine colour by candle-light, once the property of Egalité Orleans, and the subject of a tale by Madame Genlis-and a renowned Hungarian opal.
Hiram Powers's "Greek Slave" from America more than rivalled Monti's veiled statue from Italy, while far surpassing both in majesty was Kiss's grand group of the "Mounted Amazon defending herself from, the attack of a Lioness," cast in zinc and bronzed. Statues and statuettes of the Queen abounded, and must have constantly met her eye, from Mrs. Thornycroft's spirited equestrian statue to the great pedestal and statue, in zinc, of her Majesty, crowned, in robes of State, with the sceptre in one hand and the orb in the other, modelled by Danton, which stood in the centre of the foreign nave.