Part 9

It is spring weather here altogether--quite warm when one comes out of the house. It is so unnatural. The children enjoy it, and are out a great deal, looking so well and strong: I wish you could see them. The little one is growing up to her sister very fast, and actually wears the frocks Victoria wore last year. I wish you could hear all the extraordinary things Victoria says. Ella is civil to all strangers--excepting to my mother-in-law, or to old ladies. It is too tiresome. There is a large ball given by the officers at their Casino to-night, to which we must go. It will be crowded and hot. Our house gets on tolerably. The housekeeper, a Berlinerinn, comes on the 20th, and we told that we can go into the house next month. I can’t help doubting it, and I regret leaving this nice little house, where our first happy years have been spent. I am so glad that you have at least been in the new house, so that I can always think that you are no stranger to it, which makes me like it much better.

February 10th.

* * * I am happy to think you are quiet at Osborne after all you had to go through. The emotion and all other feelings recalled by such an event must have been very powerful and have tried you much.[58] It was noble of you, my darling Mama, and the great effort will bring compensation. Think of the pride and pleasure it would have given darling Papa--the brave example to others not to shrink from their duty; and it has shown that you felt the intense sympathy which the English people evinced, and still evince, in your great misfortune.

How to-day recalls those bright and happy former years! There is no cloud without a silver lining, and the lining to the black cloud which overshadows your existence is the bright recollection of the past blending into the bright hope of a happy future; a small part of it also is the intense love of your children and nation, which casts a light around you which many live to enjoy and admire, and which few--if any--possess like you. I wish I could have sent a fine nosegay of orange blossoms for to-day, but they could not have arrived fresh so I gave it up.

Louis sends his tenderest love, and wishes me to say how much his thoughts with mine are to-day constantly with you. He is very industrious, and has a great deal to do now, and, I hear, does all very well.

DARMSTADT, February 15th.

How dear of you to have written to me on the 10th--a day of such recollections! That last happy wedding-day at Buckingham Palace, how well I remember it, and all the previous ones at Windsor, when we all stood before your door, waiting for you and dear Papa to come out. You both looked so young, bright, and handsome. As I grew older, it made me so proud to have two such dear parents! And that my children should never know you both together--that will remain a sorrow to me as long as I live.

DARMSTADT, March 10th.

* * * Your idea of Friedrichroda for us was so good, but alas! now even that will be impracticable, on account of money. Louis has had to take up money again at Coutt’s to pay for the house, and the house is surety.

We must live so economically--not going _anywhere_, or seeing many people, so as to be able to spare as much a year as we can. England cost us a great deal, as the visit was short last time. We have sold four carriage horses, and have only six to drive with now, two of which the ladies constantly want for theatre, visits, etc.; so we are rather badly off in some things. But I should not bore you with our troubles, which are easy to bear.

March 16th.

How trying the visit to Aldershot must have been, but it is so wise and kind of you to go. I cannot think of it without tears in my eyes. Formerly that was one of the greatest pleasures of my girlhood, and you and darling Papa looked so handsome together. I so enjoyed following you on those occasions. Such moments I should like to call back for an instant.

Our house here is quite empty, and the _déménagement_ creates such work. To-morrow night we sleep for the first time in the new house.

March 17th.

I write from our dear little old house. May dear Papa’s and your blessing rest on our new home, as I am sure it will! It is full of souvenirs of you both--all your pictures, photographs of dear brothers and sisters and home. It reminds me a little of Osborne, of Buckingham Palace, a little even of Balmoral. Could I but show it to darling Papa! If I have any taste, I owe it all to him, and I learned so much by seeing him arrange pictures, rooms, etc.

At half-past seven we go into our house to-night. Bender is to say a prayer and pronounce a blessing, when we with all our household are assembled in hall; only Louis’ parents and William besides ourselves. Yours and dear Papa’s I pray to rest on us.

March 20th.

That [the death of the Duchess of Kent] was the commencement of all the grief; but with darling Papa, so full of tenderness, sympathy and delicate feeling for you, how comparatively easy to bear, compared to all that followed!

* * * We are very comfortably established here, and I can’t fancy that I am in Germany, the house and all its arrangements being so English. When can we hope once to have you here? Of course _that_ is the summit of our wishes. Your rooms are on the east side and very cool--as you always go abroad when it is hot, and suffer so much from the heat. I shall die of it this year, as my rooms are to the west.

March 24th.

* * * Our grand-uncle of Homburg has just died, so that Homburg falls to Uncle Louis now. But all the things of the Landgravine Elizabeth go to Princess Reuss, and her [Aunt Elizabeth’s[59]] rooms are full of beautiful miniatures, oil-paintings, and ornaments _en masse_, like Gloucester House.

I shall be so glad to see dear Affie. His rooms are to be ready by this evening. The house is very comfortable, but the weather is awful--wind, rain, and sleet. In spite of it the house is so cheerful.

How sorry I am for you that dear Aunt[60] is gone. As she was so well this time, it will be a reason more for her returning soon to you.

Dear Lady Frances Baillie was with me on Thursday, so dear and charming.

April 2d.

* * * We are living in such a state of anxiety and alarm. War[61] would be too fearful a thing to contemplate--brother against brother, friend against friend, as it will be in this case! May the Almighty avert so fearful a calamity! Here, at Mayence and Frankfort, it will begin, if any thing happens, as there are mixed garrisons; and we must side with one against the other. For Henry, who is still here, it is dreadful. He can’t desert at such a moment, and yet if he should have to draw his sword against his country, his brothers fighting on the other side! Fancy the complications and horrors of such a war!

For Vicky and Fritz it is really dreadful; please let me hear by messenger what you hear from them. I am sure you think of us in these troubled times. What would dear Papa have said to all this? I long to hear from you, to know that your warm heart is acting for Germany.

March 26th.

* * * The dear old Oueen Marie Amélie[62] is gone to her rest at last, after a long and so stormy a life! Claremont is now also altered. How sad those constant changes are! It reminds one again and again that we are on a journey, and that the _real home_ is elsewhere. All those who work hard and love their fellow-creatures meet again, and the thorny path will be forgotten which leads to the happy meeting. I sincerely mourn for the dear Queen, and she was so kind to me always. I am glad she was one of Victoria’s god-mothers.

April 7th.

* * * Our Bazaar goes off wonderfully: 7,000 florins the first day, and to-day again a great deal. Affie was invaluable in arranging, selling, and assisting in every way. There have been crowds these two days, as in England: something quite unusual for the quiet inhabitants of this place. They have shown so much zeal and devotion that I am quite touched by it, as I am more or less a stranger to them.

April 25th.

Thousand thanks for your dear lines, and for the money and charming bas-relief of you, which I think very good. I thought so much of former birthdays at home in Buckingham Palace. They were so happy. We did nothing in particular; merely dined at Kranichstein with Uncle Louis in the afternoon. It was warm and fine.

The money will go at once to Louis’ man of business toward paying off the furniture, and is, indeed, very, very acceptable, more so under present circumstances than any thing else you could give us; and that part of the furniture will then all be your present.

May 3d.

* * * The prospect of war seems to be nearing realization. It will be so dreadful if it does. God be with us, if such a misfortune befall poor Germany! These prospects have already done much harm to trade. The large manufacturies send away their superfluous workmen, and they sell next to nothing. Most unpopular amongst high and low, and amongst people of all opinions, this civil war will be. * * *

I have made all the summer out-walking dresses, seven in number, with paletôts for the girls--not embroidered, but entirely made from beginning to end; likewise the new necessary flannel shawls for the expected. I manage all the nursery accounts, and every thing myself, which gives me plenty to do, as every thing increases, and, on account of the house, we must live _very_ economically for these next years.

It is so kind of you to give Dr. Priestley his fee, otherwise I would have had scruples in giving so large a sum for my own comfort.

If there is a war then, and Louis is away, what shall I do? This is my constant dread and apprehension. As long as he comes home safe again--that is all I shall think of. Please God to spare me that fearful anxiety, which weighs on me now already; for he, having only a brigade, could not keep out of danger, like Fritz in Schleswig.

I put my trust wholly in the Almighty, who has watched over and blessed our life so richly thus far--so _much, much_ more than I ever deserved, or can deserve; and He will not forsake us in the hour of need, I am sure.

These dangerous times make one very serious and anxious; the comfort of faith and trust in God, who does all well and for the best, is the only support. Life is but a pilgrimage--a little more or a little less sorrow falls to one’s lot; but the anticipation of evil is almost as great a suffering as the evil itself, and mine always was an anxious nature, so I cannot banish the thoughts which all the dreadful chances of war force upon one.

May 7th.

* * * I am so sorry for poor Louise and Beatrice, and whooping-cough is a nasty thing, though I wish we could complain of that as our sufferings here. Anxiety, worry without end!

Uncle Alexander returned from Vienna two days ago. The Emperor, Uncle Alexander Mensdorff, all frantic at being forced into war, but fearing now no more being able to prevent it. Cannot the other three Powers interfere and step between at this dangerous crisis--proposing a Congress, or any thing, so as to avert this calamity?

Henry, who was here on six weeks’ leave, as he and Uncle Louis were to have gone to Russia (which now, of course, they won’t do), had suddenly to return to Bonn, as his regiment is made _mobil_. Uncle Alexander receives the command of the 8th Armee-corps, which I suppose and hope will be stationed somewhere near here, as Louis is in that, and _is to go_. He means to go to Berlin this afternoon for a day to see Fritz, and tell him how circumstances now force him to draw his sword against the Prussians in the service of his own country. The whole thing is dreadful, and the prospect of being left alone here at such a moment (for all our people, nearly, will accompany Louis) is dreadful! If I were only over my troubles I should not be so anxious, so nervous and unhappy, as I must say the anticipation of all these dreadful things makes me. Could I follow in the distance! But now that is impossible, and I have not a single older married person near me. When dear Louis goes, of course Westerweller goes too. I still pray and hope that there be no war; even if all the troops are assembled, I hope that the other Powers will interfere, and not look on whilst these brothers cut each others throats. It is such an unnatural, monstrous war!

The death of Lord and Lady Rivers is dreadful for their children, but how blessed for themselves! I hope Lady Caroline [Barrington] will pass by here, which will be a great pleasure to me, though she says she can but stop two days, as you wish her to be home by the 15th.

May 18th.

* * * How glad I am to hear that Lord Clarendon is still hopeful! Here as yet, though there is no distinct reason for it, save the repugnance of all to this civil war, all still hope to avoid the war. Every day we have occasion to hear how the Prussians detest this war--army and all--and there are constant rows, with the Landwehr in particular. Men of forty, who have families and homes to look after, are taken away with their sons; and those who have horses are also taken, with their horses: so that the wife and children sit at home, unable to do any thing for their land. It is ruining numbers, and murmurs get louder and louder. A revolution must break out if this continues. * * * I do pray _most fervently_ that the King will listen to the just advice, in no way derogatory to his dignity, of placing the hated question of the Duchies before the Confederation; but I fear he won’t. If he would only listen to that advice and disarm, all Germany would do it at once--only too gladly--forgetting all the losses in the happiness of peace restored. Forgive my stupid letter, but we live really so in the midst of these affairs, on which our existence will turn, that I can think of nothing else.

Austria can’t hold out much longer, and the country is getting very violent against the King and Bismarck. The Emperor is less able to concede and keep peace.

Now good-bye, dearest Mama. We are so grateful to you for taking the children, if any thing comes to pass.

May 22d.

* * * Any thing you hear of Vicky and Fritz, will you write it to me? * * * The cloud grows blacker every day, and the anxiety we all live in is very great. But I ought not to write to you to-day of such gloomy things, which, thank God, you only see and hear of from the other side of the water.

May 25th.

* * * The Duke and Duchess of Nassau were here yesterday. They, like me, are in such an unpleasant position, should it come to blows, which I still hope may be averted--for why should we harmless mortals be attacked?

* * * We shall be beggars very soon, if all goes on as it promises to do; it is quite dreadful, and the want of other people (and dissatisfaction) increases. * * * I have ordered a good travelling-bag for Louis, for much the same reason that some people take out an umbrella in fine weather to keep off the rain, and this is to be against a war. * * * I have a sort of _Ahnung_ [presentiment] that it won’t come to the worst--for us at least--and here we shall keep so quiet, only on the defensive, if attacked.

May 28th.

* * * There seems a little chance of the dreadful prospects being bettered. How I do pray it may be the commencement of a better time; and that, if peace be established, it may be so _firmly_, so that one may not live in the daily dread of new quarrels re-opening between the two countries. * * *

The man who built our house has nearly been made bankrupt, and wants money from us to save him from ruin, and we can scarcely manage it. The ruin this preparation for war, and consequent cessation of all speculations, buildings, or trade, has brought on people is dreadful, and of course increases.

June 8th.

* * * How precious are your words of love and sympathy and the hope you still hold to, that war may somehow be averted! It does me good to hear it; and I know how much, and how lovingly, your thoughts dwell with dear Vicky and with me during this time of trial. * * *

June 13th.

* * * I fear if the Bund orders the mobilization, and goes against Prussia, our troops will be the first to go, and then Louis may get orders to be off any day. It is too dreadful! I live in such dread that he may have to go just before, or at the very moment of my confinement. * * *

I hope Scotland will do you good. Please God, when you return matters may be better. If Austria and Prussia would only fight out their quarrel together; but the latter has taken refuge with the Bund now, because she wanted it.

DARMSTADT, June 15th.

* * * The serious illness of poor little Sigismund[63] in the midst of all these troubles is really dreadful for poor Vicky and Fritz, and they are so fond of that merry little child.

We have just received the news that the Prussians have crossed our frontier and established themselves at Giessen. The excitement here is dreadful and it is very difficult to keep people back from doing stupid things--wanting to attack, and so on, which with our force alone would be madness.

Louis--as always--remains quiet; but we live in a perpetual fever, alarms being sent, being _gehetzt_ [stirred up] from Vienna, as they want the Bund to go with them at once. It is a dreadful time. I anticipate it will be the close of the existence of the little countries. God stand by us! Without the civil list Uncle Louis and the family are beggars, as all the private property belongs to the country.

It is so kind of dear Lady Ely to offer to come. I shall be very glad of it, for from one day to another I don’t know what Louis’ duties may be; and, when I am laid up, it is so pleasant to have some one who can write to you.

June 18th.

These lines I send by our children, whom you will so kindly take charge of--alas, that the times should be such as to make this necessary! In your dear hands they will be so safe; and if we can give you a little pleasure in sending them, it would be a real consolation in parting from them, which we both feel very much.

The state of excitement here is beyond description. Troops arriving, being billeted about--all will be concentrated from here to Frankfort. Two days ago the Bund telegraphed for Uncle Alexander to come, as the Prussians were advancing; we, of course, were all unprepared, and the confusion and fright were dreadful; but, thank God, they retreated again, when they got wind that troops were assembling.

June 24th.

* * * The state of affairs is awful; perpetual frights and false news arrive. The Prussians are coming from Wetzlar or Bingen; all the bustle and alarm for necessary defence; it is really dreadful. Louis’ chief has his staff at Frankfort. Louis’ cavalry brigade is there likewise, so he has his adjutant, etc., there, and does his work early in the morning at Frankfort, returning here in the afternoon, which has been kindly allowed on account of me. I remain here, of course, as near dear Louis as I can; and now that the children are gone, I have only myself to look after. * * * I have not the least fear, but my anxiety about Louis will be very great, as you can imagine. * * * Collections are already being made for the hospitals in the field, and the necessary things to be got for the soldiers. Illness and wounds will be dreadful in this heat. Coarse linen and rags are the things of which one can’t have enough, and I am working, collecting shirts, sheets, etc.; and now I come to ask, if you could send me some old linen for rags. In your numerous households it is collected twice a year, and sent to hospitals. Could I beg for some this time? It would be such a blessing for the poor Germans; and here they are not so rich, and that is a thing of which in every war there has been too little. Lint I have ordered from England by wish of the doctors; and bandages also they wished for. If you could, through Dr. Jenner, procure me some of these things, I should be so grateful. * * * Four dozen shirts we are making in the house. Every contribution of linen or of patterns of good cushions, or any good bed which in the English hospitals has been found useful, we should be delighted to have. * * * For the moment the people beg most for _rags_; our house being new, we have none. I am tolerably well, and cannot be too thankful for good nerves. Louis is very low at times, nervous at leaving me; and for him I keep up, though at times not without a struggle. May the Almighty watch over us, and not separate us, is my hourly prayer!

In your hands we feel the children so safe, though we miss them much. It is so kind of you to have taken them, and they are strong and healthy. * * *

June 25th.

Two words by Lady Ely’s courier. I am so glad she is here. She performed the journey in a day and night without difficulty; and Christa, who merely came from Cassel, took three days coming by road.

Alas! to-morrow Louis’ division moves on into the country to make room for other troops, and he must go. It will be too far for him to return--save with special permission for a few hours--so we shall have to part. My courage is beginning to fail me, but I bear up as best I can. God knows what a bitter trial it is! He is just in front, so the first exposed. William is to go in Uncle Alex.’s staff, and my poor mama-in-law is beginning to break down now. We try to cheer each other. The whole thing is so hard: against her countrymen--there where Louis has served. The whole thing is so _contrecœur_, and the Prussian soldiers dislike it as much as we do.

I am going to Frankfort with ever so many poor wives to take leave of their husbands, who march to-day.

The heat is awful. I have no time to think of myself, or I daresay I should have heat, etc., to complain of. Being still off and on with Louis, and having things to do, keeps me up; but when he is gone, and I have no man here to reassure me, it will be dreadful.

I must close. * * * Letters from home _now_ are such a pleasure; do let any one write to me sometimes to give me news of you all. Your own child,

ALICE.

DARMSTADT, July 1st.

* * * The parting _now_ was _so_ hard! and he feels it so dreadfully. I can scarcely manage to write. The heat, besides, is overpowering. Our dear wedding-day four years ago! Four years of undisturbed, real, and increasing happiness. How I thank and bless the Almighty for them, and how fervently I pray that we may live over this most bitter trial!