Albert Memorial

Gold catches the light first. Even on a grey London morning, the seated figure under this tall Gothic canopy shines through the trees of Kensington Gardens. As you walk closer, the gravel crunches underfoot and the traffic on Kensington Gore fades a little. Then the detail starts to arrive. There is coloured stone, polished granite, bright mosaic and white marble. Hundreds of carved faces look out from the base. This is the Albert Memorial, and it rewards anyone who slows down.

The man in gold is Prince Albert, husband of Queen Victoria. He died in December 1861, at only forty-two years old. Victoria was devastated. She wore mourning black for the rest of her long life, and she wanted her husband remembered in the grandest possible way. A public committee raised money for a national memorial. The result is part monument, part shrine, and part statement about what Victorian Britain believed it stood for.

The design came from George Gilbert Scott, one of the busiest architects of the nineteenth century. Scott worked in the Gothic Revival style. That means he borrowed the pointed arches, spires and rich decoration of medieval churches and adapted them for modern buildings. Here he imagined something like a shrine from a cathedral, the kind of canopy that once sheltered relics of saints. He then enlarged that idea to the scale of a city monument, rising well above the surrounding trees.

Look at the shape of the canopy. Four clusters of polished granite columns hold up pointed gables, and above them a spire climbs in stages toward a cross at the top. The gables carry glittering mosaics, made in Venice, showing figures from the arts. Up close, you can see that almost every surface carries ornament. There are angels, enamel, inlaid stone and gilded metal. Scott wanted the eye to keep finding something new at every height.

Now look at the prince himself. He sits facing south, and he holds a book on his knee. That book is the catalogue of the Great Exhibition of 1851. Albert was one of the driving forces behind that exhibition, held in the Crystal Palace in nearby Hyde Park. It brought together industry, science and design from across the world. Many visitors never notice the catalogue, but it explains why Albert sits exactly here.

The statue was the work of the sculptor John Henry Foley. Foley died before it was finished, and another sculptor, Thomas Brock, completed the job. The memorial itself opened in the early 1870s, but the prince did not take his seat until a few years later. For a while, the great canopy stood without the man it was built to honour. It is a small reminder that monuments like this took years of patient work.

Here is a surprise. For much of the twentieth century, Albert was not gold at all. The gilding was covered over and the figure looked dark. It is often said this happened during the First World War, to stop the statue becoming a bright target for air raids. Whatever the exact reason, Londoners grew used to a black prince. Only during a major restoration in the 1990s did the gold come back, and the memorial reopened to the public in 1998.

Walk around the base and look at the long marble frieze that wraps all four sides. It is known as the Frieze of Parnassus. In Greek myth, Parnassus was the mountain of the Muses, the home of the arts. Here it holds well over one hundred and eighty carved figures. They are painters, poets, musicians, sculptors and architects from many centuries. Two sculptors shared this work, Henry Hugh Armstead and John Birnie Philip.

Take your time with the frieze, because the names are carved beneath the figures. You may spot Shakespeare, Michelangelo, Homer or Beethoven. Here is a second detail many people miss. Among the architects on one side, Scott included a figure of himself, tucked in among the great builders of history. It is a quiet piece of self-promotion. Finding him is a small game worth playing as you circle the steps.

At the four outer corners stand large marble groups. Each one represents a continent: Europe, Asia, Africa and the Americas. Each has a central animal. Look for the elephant, the camel, the bull and the bison. These groups show how Victorian Britain saw the wider world, from the centre of a global empire. Today many visitors read them with fresh eyes, as a record of nineteenth century attitudes as much as artistic skill.

Closer to the canopy, at the corners of the upper platform, are four smaller groups. These represent Agriculture, Commerce, Engineering and Manufactures. They link back to the prince's real passions. Albert cared about education, science and practical progress. He helped turn the area to the south into a district of museums, colleges and concert halls. People sometimes call that district Albertopolis, after him. Look for the tools, wheels and machinery carved into these figures.

Now turn around and face the way Albert faces. Across the road stands the Royal Albert Hall, its round red-brick body and pale frieze clear through the gates. The hall and the memorial were planned as a pair, looking at each other. Behind the hall, out of sight, lie the great museums of South Kensington. From the steps, you can sense how much of this neighbourhood grew from one man's ideas and from the money of the Great Exhibition.

Before you leave, step back to the edge of the gravel and look at the whole memorial once more. Notice how the gold glows against the green of the park, and how the spire seems light despite all that stone. Listen to the birds in the trees, the runners passing, the distant buses. A grieving queen asked for this. A whole age poured its confidence into it. And now it simply stands in a London park, waiting for the next person to look closely.