or other, the ordinary measurements were not applicable and the ordinary rules did not apply.  So our ancestors had laid it down, giving scope, in their wisdom, to that mystical element which, as it seems, can never quite be eradicated from the affairs of men.  Naturally it was in the Crown that the mysticism of the English polity was concentrated—­the Crown, with its venerable antiquity, its sacred associations, its imposing spectacular array.  But, for nearly two centuries, common-sense had been predominant in the great building, and the little, unexplored, inexplicable corner had attracted small attention.  Then, with the rise of imperialism, there was a change.  For imperialism is a faith as well as a business; as it grew, the mysticism in English public life grew with it; and simultaneously a new importance began to attach to the Crown.  The need for a symbol—­a symbol of England’s might, of England’s worth, of England’s extraordinary and mysterious destiny—­became felt more urgently than ever before.  The Crown was that symbol:  and the Crown rested upon the head of Victoria.  Thus it happened that while by the end of the reign the power of the sovereign had appreciably diminished, the prestige of the sovereign had enormously grown.

Yet this prestige was not merely the outcome of public changes; it was an intensely personal matter, too.  Victoria was the Queen of England, the Empress of India, the quintessential pivot round which the whole magnificent machine was revolving—­but how much more besides!  For one thing, she was of a great age—­an almost indispensable qualification for popularity in England.  She had given proof of one of the most admired characteristics of the race—­persistent vitality.  She had reigned for sixty years, and she was not out.  And then, she was a character.  The outlines of her nature were firmly drawn, and, even through the mists which envelop royalty, clearly visible.  In the popular imagination her familiar figure filled, with satisfying ease, a distinct and memorable place.  It was, besides, the kind of figure which naturally called forth the admiring sympathy of the great majority of the nation.  Goodness they prized above every other human quality; and Victoria, who had said that she would be good at the age of twelve, had kept her word.  Duty, conscience, morality—­yes! in the light of those high beacons the Queen had always lived.  She had passed her days in work and not in pleasure—­in public responsibilities and family cares.  The standard of solid virtue which had been set up so long ago amid the domestic happiness of Osborne had never been lowered for an instant.  For more than half a century no divorced lady had approached the precincts of the Court.  Victoria, indeed, in her enthusiasm for wifely fidelity, had laid down a still stricter ordinance:  she frowned severely upon any widow who married again.  Considering that she herself was the offspring of a widow’s second marriage, this prohibition might