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. Disra