Part 25

The recollections of 1861, of dear Frittie’s death, when my dear father-in-law was so tender and kind, were painfully vivid. My mother-in-law’s resignation and touching goodness, doing all that she could during the illness and since for all arrangements, is very beautiful!

The poor sons gave way to bursts of tears during those agonizing hours; yet they held their father alternately with me, and were quiet and helpful for their mother and for him, just as their simple, quiet natures teach them. I begged Bäuerlein to write to you meanwhile. I am feeling so exhausted, and there is so much to do, and we are always going from one house to the other.

It was heart-rending from Monday morn till Tuesday eve to see the painful alteration in the dear well-known features augmenting from hour to hour, though I believe he did not suffer latterly. He was not conscious, unless spoken to, or called very directly.

My mother-in-law never left his bedside day or night, and we were only a few hours absent on Monday night. Before we went home she called our names distinctly to him as we kissed him, and he seemed to notice it; then she knelt down, and distinctly, but choked with tears, prayed the Lord’s Prayer for him, calling him gently.

The next day at six we were there again, and till half past six in the evening never left the bedside. She repeated occasionally, as long as she thought he might hear, a short verse--_so_ touching! and once said: “Bist Du traurig? es ist ja nicht auf lange, dann sind wir wieder zusammen!” [“Art thou sad? It is not for long, and then we shall be together again”] kissing and stroking his hands. It was very distressing.

When all was over we four were close to her, and she threw herself on him, and then clasped her sons to her heart with words of such grief as you so well understand!

Early the next morning we went with her to his room. He lay on his bed, very peaceful, in his uniform. Louis had clasped the hands together when he died, and I arranged flowers on the bed and in the room round him.

There is a terrible deal to do and to arrange, and many people come, and we are much with my poor mother-in-law. Yesterday we went for the last time to see the remains of what had been so precious. She read a “Lied” [a hymn], and then kissed him so long, and took with us the last look. Yesterday evening the coffin was closed in presence of the sons.

We are going to the Rosenhöhe [the Mausoleum] now, before going to Louis’ mother, to put things straight there, and see if one can get by dear Frittie--it is _so_ small.

The three brothers are dreadfully upset, but able to arrange and see after what is necessary. Aunt Marie [the Empress of Russia] wanted to come, and is in terrible distress; she loved that brother beyond any thing. In her last letter to my mother-in-law she says: “Ich habe solche Sehnsucht nach dem alten Bruder” [“I have such a yearning after my old brother”].

His was a singularly delicate-minded, pure, true, unselfish nature, so full of consideration for others, so kind. My tears flow incessantly, for I loved him very dearly.

My dear mother-in-law has such a broken, ruined existence now--all turned round him! She knows where to find strength and comfort--it will not fail her. * * *

DARMSTADT, June 7th.

* * * We are going through a dreadful ordeal. The whole of Monday and Monday night, with a heat beyond words, dreading the worst. Now there has been a slight rally.[134] Whether it will continue to-morrow is doubtful. He is always conscious, makes his little jokes, but the pulse is very low and intermits. I was there early this morning with Louis. * * *

The questions, long discussions between Louis and some people, as to complication and difficulty of every kind that will at once fall upon us, are really dreadful, and I so unfit just now! The confusion will be dreadful. * * *

I am so dreading every thing, and above all the responsibility of being the first in every thing, and people are not _bienveillant_.

I shall send you news whenever I can, but I am so worn out. I shall not be able to do so much myself.

I know your thoughts and wishes are with us at so hard a time. God grant we may do all aright! * * *

_Telegrams._

June 7th.

Going to Seeheim, as great weakness has come on. Am much tired by all that lies before us, and not feeling well.

SEEHEIM, 13th.

Dear Uncle Louis is no more. We arrived too late.

DARMSTADT, 6.20 o’clock, 13th.

Such press of business and decisions. Feel very tired.

15th.

We are both so over-tired; the press of business and decisions is so wearing, with the new responsibility.

18th.

Last ceremony over! All went off well, and was very moving.

ALICE.

DARMSTADT, June 19th.

Only two words of thanks from both of us for your kind wishes and letters! Christian and Colonel Gardiner bring you news of every thing that has been and is still going on. But we are overwhelmed, over-tired, and the heat is getting very bad again.

* * * Will tell you what a very difficult position we are in. It is too dreadful to think that I am forced to leave Louis in a few weeks under present circumstances, but, if he wishes to keep me at all, I must leave every thing and this heat for a time. These next weeks here will be very anxious and difficult. God grant we may do the right things!

June 28th.

* * * To have to go away just now, when the refreshment of family life is so doubly pleasant to Louis after his work, I am too sorry for. If I were only better; if I only thought that I shall have the chance of rest, and what is necessary to regain my health! Now it will be more difficult than ever, and I see Louis has the fear, which I also have, that I shall not hold out very long.

July 15th.

* * * I leave on Tuesday, but stop on the way. The children go direct and join me in Paris, when we go on together on Friday or Saturday to Houlgate. The trains don’t fit, and one has some way to drive from Trouville.

HOULGATE, July 25th.

* * * This place is quite charming--real country, so green, so picturesque--a beautiful coast; the nicest sea-place I have been at yet. Our house is “wee” for so many, and the first days it was very noisy; and it was so dirty. The maids and nurses had to scrub and sweep; the one French housemaid was not up to it. All is better now, and quite comfortable enough. The air is doing me good, and the complete change. I have bathed twice, and the sea revives me.

I follow as eagerly as any in England the advance of the Russians, and with cordial dislike. _They_ can never be redressers of wrongs or promoters of civilization and Christianity. What I fear is, even if they don’t take Constantinople, and make no large demands as the price of their victories now, the declaration of the independence of Bulgaria will make that country to them in future what Roumania has been for Russia now, and therefore in twenty years hence they will get all they want, unless the other Powers at this late hour can bring about a change. It is bad for England, for Austria, for Germany, if this Russian Slav element should preponderate in Europe; and the other countries must sooner or later act against this in self-preservation.

What do the friends of the “Atrocity Meetings” say now? How difficult it has been made for the Government through them, and how blind they have been! All this must be a constant worry and anxiety for you!

The children are so happy here--the sea does them such good. I am very glad I brought them.

HOULGATE, July 28th.

* * * Though we have rain off and on, still the weather is very pleasant, and we are all of us charmed with the place, and the beautiful, picturesque, fertile country. The life is so pleasant--real country--which I have never yet found at any bathing-place abroad yet. I have bathed every other day--swim, and it does me good. I feel it already. Ella is getting her color back, and the little ones look much better.

I send you the last photos done of the children; Ella’s is not favorable, nor Irène’s, but all in all they are a pretty set. May has not such fat cheeks in reality; still it is very dear. The two little girlies are so sweet, so dear, merry, and nice. I don’t know which is dearest, they are both so captivating.

I have been to an old tumble-down church at Dives--close by here--where William the Conqueror is said to have been before starting for England. His name and those of all his followers are inscribed there--names of so many families now existing in England. It was very interesting.

August 22d.

* * * How difficult it is to know one’s children well; to develop and train the characters according to their different peculiarities and requirements! * * *

DARMSTADT, September 9th.

* * * I must tell you now, how very heartily and enthusiastically the whole population, high and low, received us yesterday. It was entirely spontaneous, and, as such, of course, so very pleasing. * * * I was really touched, for it rained, and yet all were so joyous--flags out, bells ringing, people bombarding us with beautiful nosegays; all the schools out, even the higher ones, the girls all dressed in white. The Kriegerverein, Louis’ old soldiers, singing, etc. In the evening all the Gesangvereine joined together and sang under our windows.

We are very glad to be at home again, and, please God, with earnest will and thought for others, we together shall in our different ways be able to live for the good of the people entrusted to our care! May God’s blessing rest on our joint endeavors to do the best, and may we meet with kindness and forbearance where we fall short of our duties.

DARMSTADT, October 30th.

* * * I had to receive sixty-five ladies--amongst them my nurses--and some doctors from here and other towns, all belonging to my Nursing Society, which has now existed ten years. Then I was at the opening of my Industrial Girls’ School, where girls from all parts of the country come, and which is a great success. I started it two years ago. On Sunday I took the children to hear the Sunday-school, which interested them very much.

I have been doing too much lately, though, and my nerves are beginning to feel the strain, for sleep and appetite are no longer good. Too much is demanded of one; and I have to do with so many things. It is more than my strength can stand in the long run. * * *

December 13th.

For to-morrow, as ever, my tenderest sympathy! Time shows but more and more what we all lost in beloved Papa; and the older I grow, the more people I know, the more the remembrance of him shines bright as a star of purer lustre than any I have ever known. May but a small share of his light fall on some of us, who have remained so far beneath him, so little worthy of such a father! We can but admire, reverence, long to imitate, and yet not approach near to what he was.

We are going with the children to-day to Wiesbaden until Saturday; and I mean to tell Vicky that she had better give up the hope of my being able to come for the wedding.[135] I could not do it. I only trust the why will be understood. Do write to the dear Empress about it when next you write. _How_ sorry I am to be absent at a moment when, as sister and a German Sovereign’s wife, I should be there; but the doctor would not hear of it, so I gave it up. * * *

DARMSTADT, December 21st.

* * * You say all that happened after the dreadful 14th is effaced from your memory. How well I can imagine that! I remember saying my utmost to Sir Charles Phipps in remonstrance to your being wished to leave Windsor--it was so cruel, so very wrong. Uncle Leopold insisted; it all came from him, and he was alarmed lest you should fall ill.

_How_ you suffered was dreadful to witness; never shall I forget what I went through for you then; it tore my heart in pieces; and my own grief was so great too. Louis thought I would not hold to my engagement then any more--for my heart was too filled with beloved, adored Papa, and with your anguish, to have room or wish for other thoughts.

God is very merciful in letting time temper the sharpness of one’s grief, and letting sorrow find its natural place in our hearts, without withdrawing us from life!