ON THE NEXT morning, she and Bertie stood just outside the courtyard door, near Mama, busy talking with her cousins the Duke of Cambridge and his plump sister Mary, who were joining them for the day. Grandmamma had arrived as well, and she admired Vicky’s attire: a shell-pink silk dress with a wreath of rosebuds for her hair.
“You look very pretty, dear, and I always like to see you and your mother match.”
“But Mama’s gown is watered silk, with diamonds sewn on, and it’s a darker shade of pink,” Vicky said.
“Yes, quite the same,” her grandmother insisted.
No use arguing with Grandmamma; she was so often muddled. But she cooed over Bertie in the kilt and Highland hat that Mama and Papa had bought for him in Scotland. Then she asked for the younger children.
“Mama and Papa decided they’d better stay home, because it will be hot and crowded at the exhibition.”
“Crowded? Not on the first day,” said Grandmamma.
Vicky exchanged an exasperated look with Bertie. The servants reported the city teemed with people from all over England who had come to see the show.
Now here was Papa stepping out the door with the Prussians. Prince Wilhelm and Fritz, tall and resplendent in white dress uniforms trimmed with gold, walked beside him. Following behind, Louise looked pretty in a lemon-yellow dress. Princess Augusta wore dark blue.
Vicky held the two exhibition catalogs that Papa had had bound in red satin especially for Uncle and Aunt Prussia. She stepped toward them and curtsied.
“These programs are for you,” she said.
The prince and princess took them without smiling or expressing thanks. Quite ungracious, Vicky thought. When they began to open the programs, Papa said: “No, we must go now, come this way.”
Their parents walking on toward the carriages, Fritz and Louise lingered.
Suddenly she was nervous. “I’m sorry we have only the two special catalogs. I’m sure Uncle and Aunt Prussia will share,” she said.
“I have a different question,” said Fritz, smiling. “Will we two ride there together with you two? We hope so!”
“Oh, no,” exclaimed Vicky. “You are obliged to go in the carriage with your parents. Bertie and I are to ride with Papa and Mama in the first one.”
“Too bad,” said Fritz. “Komm, Loulee, we will see Vicky and Bertie there. For our personal tour.” He winked at Vicky before shepherding his sister toward the line of open landaus, painted the sovereign’s color, chocolate brown, and each driven by a pair of coachmen in the royal livery, scarlet and dark blue. She watched them walk away, Princess Louise slipping her hand into her brother’s. It had never occurred to Vicky until just then that having an older brother might be a lovely thing.
FROM THE MOMENT the file of carriages turned out of the palace gates, huge crowds lining both sides of the road cheered and waved, making such a racket that Vicky could barely hear Mama and Papa speaking to each other on the seat opposite. Mama kept squeezing Papa’s hand and beaming at him. He looked stunned. From time to time Vicky heard calls of “The Princess Royal!” and she made a point of leaning forward and waving vigorously in that direction. She wondered if there had ever before been this many people out in London. Maybe for Mama’s coronation.
They pulled up outside the Crystal Palace, which towered above them, mammoth. Vicky watched the Prussians get out of their carriage, and gaze up, and crane their necks to take in all four floors of glass, crowned by the glorious arched roof.
As Prince Wilhelm led his family toward them, he was shaking his head.
“I thought you exaggerated, Albert,” he said to Papa in German. “But it’s truly a remarkable structure. How long did it take to construct?”
“Only four months, once the design was set,” Papa said. “A new factory in Staffordshire can manufacture glass in large single sheets with a mechanized pouring process. You will notice only a few panes are not the standard size. Those were custom cut.”
The prince stood transfixed, looking up. Fritz, beside him, pointed at the roof.
“So the roof is like the walls, completely glass? The entire length of the building?” Fritz asked.
“Ja, and when we go inside, you will see, it’s as bright as day,” Papa replied.
As if on cue, the sun broke through the morning’s low clouds, and they walked up to the entrance in the sunshine, policemen holding back the happy, noisy throng.
Inside, a quieter, more reverent assembly stood to greet them. An invitation to the opening ceremony had become the most sought-after commodity in London, Papa had said. Members of Parliament, bankers and businessmen, lords and ladies, all clamored to attend. As the royal party processed up the center aisle toward the stage, Vicky saw on either side of them gentlemen in tailcoats and tall hats, and women, too, in their finery, silk dresses with wide hoop skirts laden with ribbons and lace, most holding small parasols to shade themselves.
Bertie beside her, she followed Mama and Papa up the four red-carpeted stairs onto the stage, while a chorus in the distance sang an oratorio Papa had composed for the occasion. Papa pointed to seats for them on the right of the dais and escorted Mama to a huge Indian chair covered in rugs that sat under a blue and gold canopy. He then took his place, standing at her left, as the last notes of music faded away. A pause. A blare of trumpets. And the organ began “God Save the Queen.”
The rest of their group had seats in the front row, facing the stage. Vicky felt her chest swell with pride and excitement. Everyone had come to witness this glorious achievement of her papa’s, with her mama presiding and celebrating her nation—the best, most advanced in the world. No wonder the Prussians looked so awestruck.
The lord mayor of London walked up the stairs and proclaimed that this “Great Exhibition of the Works of Industry of All Nations” was not only a triumph for Britain but a beacon of hope, promising peace and cooperation for all of humankind. When it was Papa’s turn to speak, the applause was thunderous. At one point he tried to share credit with Mr. Henry Cole, his colleague from the Royal Society, and he summoned that paunchy, gray-haired gentleman to the stage. But the audience had no time for Cole. Instead a man in the second row shouted out: “Three cheers for the prince,” and led the crowd in “Hip-hip-hooray.”
Next, foreign dignitaries lined up to be presented to the queen, including a Chinese man in a long yellow silk coat who prostrated himself at her feet and had to be lifted away by two guards. Later Vicky heard he hadn’t been a dignitary at all, but was the captain of a junk moored in the Thames who had desired to meet the famous Victoria. But in the moment, she thought that maybe ambassadors from Eastern countries always expressed reverence this way.
Bertie swung his legs restlessly and whispered that he couldn’t wait for this endless proceeding to be over, and Vicky was about to scold him when a gong sounded and Mama rose and declared the exhibition open. A tremendous rustling of skirts and pushing back of chairs could be heard as the crowd got up and headed toward the exhibits. The Cambridges and the Prussians mounted the stage.
“Excellent, excellent,” said the Duke of Cambridge, thumping Papa on the back.
Cousin Mary kissed Mama’s cheek. “Your husband is the man of the hour.”
Mama flushed.
“And how warmly the people cheered you, Victoria, all the way from the palace,” said Aunt Prussia.