It is impossible to exaggerate the grief of the widowed queen. Other women have loved their husbands as dearly, but not all, nor perhaps many, of these have experienced so long and so poignantly what Tennyson, Victoria's favourite poet, called "sor row's crown of sorrow," the continued overshadowing of the present by the never-forgotten brightness of the past. The queen's mourning, alike in form and in fact, was indefinitely prolonged. Never again would she, to the end of her days, take up her resi dence in London. Only seven times, and then as a rule with much protest and complaining, did she consent to undertake the cere monial duty of opening the parliamentary session. Up to the time of the first Jubilee the public and spectacular functions of royalty remained almost entirely in abeyance, except in so far as they could be, and were, performed by the prince and princess of Wales. It was inevitable that this should cause dissatisfaction. There were suggestions, in the 'sixties, that the queen should abdicate in favour of her son. In the early 'seventies two rising politicians, Joseph Chamberlain and Sir Charles Dilke, were reputed to be "republicans," and the queen's failure to use her large income for what was supposed to be its proper purpose, was acrimoniously criticised. Victoria bitterly resented such com plaints. Her physicians agreed that her health could not stand the strain of public ceremonies, and she held that she was dis charging with unremitting industry the essential, as distinct from the ornamental, duties of her office. The modern notion that politics should be left to politicians had never been accepted by even the most lethargic of her predecessors, and it certainly found no favour with Victoria.
Letters of Queen Victoria (1862-85), we find ministers repri manded for making decisions without first submitting them to the queen. The ministers humbly apologise, plead haste, or accident, or suggest that the decision in question had in fact already been in principle approved, and promise not to offend again,—a promise seldom fulfilled, it would appear. The duties of ministers in this respect were indeed not easy, for in politics, especially foreign policy which was the queen's principal interest, speed is often an essential ingredient of efficiency, and the queen's absence at Balmoral or Osborne (she spent about four months of every year at each of these residences) made royal consultation diffi cult. In her exercise of "the right to encourage," the queen was more sparing, though she gave generous commendation where she felt that commendation was deserved; but only an exceptional statesman—a Disraeli for example—won that affectionate con fidence which the queen gave so readily to all her leading soldiers and to some of her representatives abroad, Lord Odo Russell, for example, when ambassador at Berlin, and Lord Lytton when Viceroy of India. The third of the rights enumerated by Bagehot, "the right to warn" was exercised without any intermission what ever. Again and again the queen exerted all her resources to secure a reversal of the policy adopted by her ministers. In small matters often and in great matters sometimes she succeeded. But when she found that no warnings of hers, however vehement, would avail, she remembered the limitations of her power, and officially identified herself with the policy she personally detested.