of affairs upon the Continent, the restless and vague ambition of the Emperor of the French, the struggles of Italy, ultimately triumphant, for independence, and the growing antagonism between Prussia and Austria in their struggle for supremacy in Germany. On the prince the government could at all times rely for valuable information, which was not always to he obtained through the ordinary official channels, and for the conclusions of a calm and penetrating judgment unswayed by political or party bias.
Nor was his influence less available in every movement for promoting the interests of art and science, for developing the education and improving the material welfare of the people. His speeches at meetings for promoting these objects were eagerly studied, and carried into the people's homes ideas which have since borne the best fruits. He always lifted his subject to a high level, and his life was felt to be impregnated by a noble sense of duty and a determination to do always what was right. So he won by degrees a hold upon the hearts of the English people much stronger than he was himself aware of.
His toil was unremitting. Rising at seven every morning, the day was never long enough for what he had to do. Imperceptibly the strain was undermining his health; but to the last he preserved his natural vivacity and cheerfulness. ‘At breakfast and luncheon,’ the queen writes (1862), ‘and also at our family dinners, he sat at the top of the table, and kept us all enlivened by his interesting conversation, by his charming anecdotes, and droll stories without end of his childhood, of people at Coburg, of our good people in Scotland, which he would repeat with a wonderful power of mimicry, and at which he would himself laugh most heartily. Then he would at other times entertain us with his talk about the most interesting and important topics of the present and former days, on which it was ever a pleasure to hear him speak.’
In the strongest man there is only a limited power of endurance. If he puts the work of eighty years into forty years, there can be but one result. So it was with the prince. While yet young in years he had done the work of a long life. During the three or four last years of his life signs were not wanting, in recurring attacks of illness, that he was using up his physical resources too rapidly. He had doubtless an inward feeling that this was so, and that the end might not be far off. Shortly before his last illness he said to the queen, ‘I do not cling to life, I set no store by it. If I knew that those I love were well cared far, I should be quite ready to die to-morrow.’ Very significant were the words which followed: ‘I am sure if I had a severe illness I should give up at once, I would not struggle for life.’ His old friend Stockmar had said many years before that any severe fever would kill him. The prediction proved true. Early in November 1861 the prince showed signs of serious indisposition. Persistent sleeplessness was one of the worst symptoms. With his usual energy he struggled on at his multifarious pursuits. The last of his political acts was one which will always be remembered to his honour, for it was probably instrumental in preventing a war with America, which threatened to arise out of the unwarrantable seizure of Messrs. Mason and Slidell, the confederate envoys, on the English steamer Trent. The draft of the despatch to be sent to the American government on the subject was submitted to the queen for consideration on the night of 30 Nov. Its terms seemed to the prince likely to cause perilous irritation. Ill as he was, he was up by seven next morning and wrote the draft of a memorandum for the queen, pointing out his objections, and brought it to her, telling her he could scarcely hold his pen while writing it. His suggestions were adopted by Lord John Russell, and the disaster of a war was averted.
From this time onward the prince grew steadily worse. Typhoid fever was developed, and by the night of 14 Dec. 1861 his strength had run down, and calmly and gently his noble spirit was released from its burden of ‘world-wearied flesh.’ The event, wholly unexpected by the nation, filled it with profound sorrow. Much as it had seen in the prince to admire, it had yet to learn how much it owed to him of which it knew nothing, how deep and loyal had been his devotion to his adopted country, how pregnant for good had been his example to his family and to those on whom rest the responsibilities of governing the state, of which he had for many years been the silent stay. As this has from time to time been brought to light, the country has not been slow to acknowledge its debt of gratitude, and to assign to him a foremost place among its most honoured worthies.
[For fuller details see Sir Theodore Martin's Life of the Prince Consort.]
ALBERTAZZI, EMMA (1813–1847), vocalist, was the daughter of Francis Howson, a music teacher in London. She was first trained as a pianiste, and, in 1827, placed as an articled pupil in the house of Signor Costa, where she met a fellow pupil, Signor Alber-
