TRIALS. 1873-1877.

“May the hour of trial and grief bring its blessing with it, and not have come in vain! The day passes so quickly, when one can do good and make others happy—and one leaves always so much undone.” (August 2, 1873.)

1873.

THIS year began brightly and happily to the Prince and Princess, for little Prince Fritz, whose health had often given rise to serious anxiety, seemed stronger and better. In March the Princess at last was able to carry out her long-cherished wish to visit Italy. She travelled incognita, accompanied by Miss Hardinge and Hofrath Ruland. The journey was made in a comparatively short time, but was thoroughly successful. The Princess travelled from Darmstadt by Munich and the Brenner Pass to Florence, where she spent three days, and from there went straight on to Rome.

During her stay in the “eternal city” she employed her mornings in visiting the many beautiful picture-galleries, the churches, and the ruins of ancient Rome. In the afternoons she made longer excursions into the neighborhood, visiting the more distant churches in the Campagna, as well as the celebrated villas of Albani, Ludovisi, Borghese, etc. She used to spend her evenings in talking over and discussing all the objects of interest she had seen during the day. The Princess with her wonderful power of observation was able to do a large amount of sight-seeing in a comparatively short time. She was accompanied by Monsignore Howard (now Cardinal Howard) over St. Peter’s; and he showed her many interesting parts of this glorious edifice, which in general are never shown to Protestants. At the “Farnesina,” the private palace of Count Bermudez, she was received and conducted over it by the Count himself. The ruins of Rome which interested the Princess the most were those which dated from the time of the first Christians, as far back as the early mediæval period, the catacombs of “San Callisto,” and the curious church of “San Clemente.” Amongst the ceremonies of the “Holy Week” the Princess was greatly struck by “The Lamentations,” whilst others made her ask, as all Protestants do, how the pure simple Christian religion could possibly be so misrepresented. After attending all the grand ceremonies of the Church of Rome, the quiet service at the German Embassy made a most happy and peaceful impression on the Princess. She visited the Pope, Pius IX., who received her with his usual winning kindness.[110] She also went to the Quirinal to pay her respects to King Victor Emanuel, and to the Crown Princess of Italy, Princess Margherita. The two Princesses drove together through Rome on the occasion of the celebration of its “birthday,” and witnessed the illumination of the Capitol, Forum, and Colosseum.

On the 13th of April the Princess made a brief excursion to Sorrento by way of Naples, where her father-in-law and the Empress of Russia were staying. On the 24th of April she left with her suite for Florence, travelling by way of Perugia and Lake Thrasimene, through the valley of the Arno. As she had but little time, she was only able to visit the galleries of the Uffizi and Pitti Palaces, the tombs of the Medici in San Lorenzo, the Convent of St. Mark, the Cathedral, the Church of Santa Croce, and the “Museo Nazionale.”

The Princess left Italy on the 28th April, reaching Darmstadt on the 2d of May.

Her journey had been one of thorough enjoyment, and she felt deeply grateful that she had at last been able to see with her own eyes those glorious works of art, which from her childhood she had only been able to picture dimly to herself.

The joy of her reunion with her family was, alas! not to be of long duration. Prince Louis had been obliged to leave Darmstadt early on the morning of the 29th of May to inspect the troops in Upper Hesse, leaving the Princess still in bed, exhausted from the great fatigue of her Italian journey. The two little Princes came to wish her “good-morning,” and by her wish were left in her room by the nurse. The children soon began to play, as was their wont, running in and out of the room into the adjacent one, and looking from one window and then from another. Prince Ernest having run into the next room, the Princess followed him, leaving Prince Fritz in her bedroom. During her almost momentary absence he fell out of the window on to the stone terrace below. Whether he had leaned too far out of it and overbalanced himself, or whether in running fast through the room to the window to look for his brother he could not stop himself and fell from it, no one actually knows. He was picked up insensible, and died a few hours afterward in the arms of his distracted mother. Effusion of blood on the brain caused by the fall ended that young and bright little life. The loss of this unusually-gifted and beloved child was a blow to the mother from which she never recovered. Her married life had till then been such a happy one, that this first sorrow came on her with redoubled force.

On the evening of Whitsunday, June 1st, the beloved little Prince was taken to his last resting-place, at the Rosenhöhe (the Grand Ducal Mausoleum), his parents and sisters and brother being present. It was very long before the Princess at all recovered from the terrible shock of the death of her child, though the sympathy shown to her by her family and friends—indeed, by all—greatly comforted and helped her.

In the autumn the Prince and Princess went to Heiden in Appenzell for a little change. From there they paid a visit to the Prince of Hohenzollern at his castle of the Weinburg. At the end of November they went to England with their three youngest children, and remained there till the 23d of December, when they returned to Darmstadt.

Darmstadt, January 12th.

* * * We were both much shocked to hear of the death of the Emperor Napoleon, and I must say grieved; personally he was so amiable, and she is much to be pitied. That he should die an exile in England and, as Louis Phillipe did, is most striking. In England the sympathy shown must touch the poor Empress, and, as I telegraphed, we should be so grateful to you, if you would kindly be the medium through which both of us would like to express to her how much we feel for her. How proud you must ever be, in feeling that your country is the one always able to offer a home and hospitality for those driven away from their own countries! England is before all others in that; and its warm sympathy for those who are in misfortune is such a generous feeling.

Fannie Baillie’s Victoria is such a nice girl. She comes to our children every Saturday, and is not above playing at dolls with them, though she is so much older. There are two rather nice little English girls, daughters of the chaplin here, who come to them.

February 1st.

If any one will feel with us, I know you will do so most. Since three days, with an interruption of one day, poor Frittie has been bleeding incessantly from a slight cut on his ear, which was nearly healed. Since yesterday evening we cannot stop it. All the usual remedies were used, but as yet unavailing. Just now the place has been touched again with caustic and tightly bound, after we had with great trouble got rid of the quantity of dried blood from his hair, ear, neck, etc. He is horrified at the sight of so much blood, but shows great strength as yet in spite of so great a loss. He is of course very irritable, and, as he must not scream, one has to do whatever he wishes, which will spoil him dreadfully. I own I was much upset when I saw that he had this tendency to bleed, and the anxiety for the future, even if he gets well over this, will remain for years to come. All have their trials, one or another, and, please God, we shall bear whatever is sent without complaining. To see one’s own child suffer is for a mother a great trial. With what pleasure one would change places with the little one, and bear its pain!

February 6th.

* * * In the summer Fritz had a violent attack of dysentery, which was so prevalent at Darmstadt, and off and on for two months it continued, until Scotland stopped it; and this illness made him sensitive and delicate.

* * * What has caused him such great suffering has been that, what with the use of caustic, the tight bandaging and the iron, a quantity of small gatherings formed on his cheek and neck, causing such an amount of pain that he could not remain in bed or anywhere quiet for the two first days and nights. Now they are drying off, the itching is such that he don’t know what to do with himself, and we have the greatest difficulty in keeping him from rubbing or scratching himself. The want of sleep through pain, etc., has excited him very much, so that he has been very difficult to manage. The bandages of course cannot be removed, and great care will be taken when they are removed, lest bleeding should re-commence. He has been out twice a day as usual all along, and his skin never quite lost its pinkness and mottled appearance; all of which are signs that he has good blood and to spare, else he would look worse and have shown weakness, which after all he did not. * * *

He speaks well for his age, and is, alas! very wild, so that it will be impossible to keep him from having accidents. * * *

* * * I have been playing some lovely things (very difficult) of Chopin lately, which I know you would admire.

Darmstadt, February 19th.

My best thanks for your dear letter! That I forgot to thank you at once for dear Grandmama’s very beautiful print[111] came from my having the lithograph of that picture in my room always before me, and, though the print far surpasses it, I am so fond of the lithograph, that I forgot the print at the moment I was writing to you. Before that dear picture, the painting of which I recollect so well, my children often sit, and I tell them of her who was and ever will be so inexpressibly dear to us all. In the schoolroom, in my sitting-room, in the nursery, there is, with the pictures of you and dear Papa, always one of dear Grandmama, and, in my room and the schoolroom, the Duke of Kent also.

My sitting-room has only prints and lithographs, all Winterhalters, of the family: you and Papa, your receiving the Sacrament at the Coronation, Raphael’s “Disputa” and “Bella Jardiniérre,” and the lovely little engraving of yourself from Winterhalter’s picture in Papa’s room at Windsor.[112]

Vicky is coming here on Wednesday. The Grand Duke of Weimar has kindly allowed Mr. Ruland to join us as cicerone: which for galleries, etc., is very necessary, and we take no courier. Rome is our first halting-place in Italy, and for years it has been my dream and wish to be in that wonderful city, where the glorious monuments of antiquity and of the Middle Ages carry one back to those marvellous times.

I am learning Italian, and studying the history and art necessary to enable me, in the short time we have, to see and understand the finest and most important monuments. I am so entirely absorbed and interested in these studies just now, that I have not much time for other things. My father-in-law, perhaps Princess Charles too, will be with Aunt Marie of Russia at Sorrento then. William will probably join us at Rome; he is quite a connoisseur in art, and a good historian, quite at home in Rome, about which he raves. I must say that I look forward immensely to this journey; it opens a whole new life to one. * * *

Kanné has made all arrangements for us at Rome. We shall leave here about the 18th of March.

Rome, Hôtel Allemagne, March 27th.

* * * We left the dear children well, but very sorry at parting. The two days at Munich were most interesting. The National Museum in its way surpasses any I have ever seen, and in originals is richer even than South Kensington. Aunt Mariechen was very kind and dear; the Moriers very amiable hosts, and we met some interesting people there. Two hours before we left, after eight in the evening, Ludwig and Otto[113] came to us and remained some time.

The Brenner, over which we came, was covered with snow—most beautiful scenery, like St. Moritz in the Engadine. The journey was very fatiguing. We had a morning for Bologna, and had to wait three hours at Florence for the night train—time enough to drive round and in the town, which is most lovely. What trees, mountains, colors! then the fine buildings!

The following morning at six we reached Rome. The sun was bright, the distance blue—the grand ruins dark and sharp against the sky, cypresses, stone pines, large cork oaks, making up such a beautiful picture. Every day I admire the scenery more and more; every little bit of architecture, broken or whole, with a glimpse of the Campagna, a picturesque dirty peasant and a dark tree close by, is a picture in itself which one would like to frame and hang up in one’s room. It is too, too beautiful! To tell you all we have seen and are seeing would tire you. Bertie and Arthur’s descriptions, too, so lately have told you the same.

The Via Appia, the grand old road lined with ruins of splendid tombs, leading from Albano through the Campagna to Rome, along which St. Paul went, and the great kings and emperors made their triumphal entries, is a fit one to lead to such a city as Rome, which ruled the world.

The antique monuments, those of the Middle Ages, are so magnificent and interesting that as yet I don’t know which to mention first or admire most!

Our incognito did not last long (though even now we maintain it), for the Crown Princess heard of us and came to see us, as did the Crown Prince, and we had to go to the Quirinal, a morning visit without entourage.

Palm Sunday, Rome, April 6th.

* * * We saw the beginning of mass and blessing of the palms in St. Peter’s this morning, with a procession and beautiful singing. Whilst the procession, with part of the choristers, go outside the church, some remain within, and they respond to each other, which produces a very striking effect. In spite of the bad style inside of St. Peter’s, as a whole it produces a marvellous effect through its wonderful size and richness of decoration.

I saw two convents yesterday: the Sepolte Vive, which Bertie and Alix saw, and where the nuns asked much after him, and said that he was molto amabile; and another equally strict one, but not austere, where the Superior told me that Aunt Feodore with Princess Hohenzollern had paid them a visit. Monsignore Howard was the only gentleman with me and the ladies, as they never see any men. Their idea is, that they spend the whole of their life in contemplation and prayer, so as to pray for those who cannot pray for themselves.

The museums of the Vatican and of the Capitol, with their enormous collection of antiques, are very fine. The celebrated Venus, Apollo Belvidere, the Torso (which Michael Angelo admired so much, and was taken to touch when he could no more see it), the wounded Gladiator, etc., are there. The Sistine Chapel, with Michael Angelo’s frescoes, which are certainly the most marvellous pieces of painting and conception, is very dark, and the frescoes are suffering much from the smoke, dust, etc. Raphael’s Stanze are far better preserved, and lighter than I had expected, and of such beauty!

I thought so often and so much of dear Papa, when I saw the originals of all the pictures he so much admired and took such interest in. How this alone fascinates me I cannot tell you. In these galleries and churches there is only too much to be seen, besides the antique ruins, etc. You would be terrified to see how full our day is from before nine. Mr. Ruland is an excellent cicerone for pictures and sculptures. William is with us here since last Sunday.

We are going to the Villa Ludovisi this afternoon. The gardens of the Villa Doria Pamfili are most beautiful: the terraces there remind me of Osborne. I can see in many things where dear Papa got his ideas from for Osborne and for his decorations, which Professor Gruner understood so well to carry out.

Many thanks for your having told Lady Churchill to send me an account of your opening of the Park.[114] I am glad that all went off so well, and that you were not the worse for it.

I have quite refused going to Naples. We shall arrange probably to go for two days to Castellamare (one hour from Naples); from thence to Sorrento and Pompeii, and return here. As yet it is not hot here at all.

Rome, April 9th.

Let me thank you for your letter written on our dear Victoria’s birthday. I have never been away from her on her birthday before, and though we see such fine interesting things, yet I feel very homesick for the dear children always. In three weeks or less I shall see them again. I look forward all the time with perfect impatience, as I am so rarely separated from them, and we live so much together. Every other day Fräulein Kitz and Orchard write, so that I have news daily.

Louis’ father wrote me to-day, as his sister asks us to her house at Sorrento for one or two nights for the 12th; but as I was rather deranged from a sick headache yesterday, I shall wait a day before we decide. It is wet and quite cold to-day.

We visited San Clemente two days ago, and Father Mulooly took us through the three churches—one under the other. The antique one was full of water, and we walked about on rickety planks, each with a lighted taper, as it is quite dark there. It is most curious, and the old paintings on the walls telling the legend of St. Clement are wonderfully full of expression and feeling for the time they were done.

Rome, April 19th.

* * * Our visit to Sorrento went off well. We got there at one on Monday morning for luncheon. The sun had given me a dreadful headache, which ended in sickness, so that I could not leave my room. Marie sat with me, and was very dear and kind. The next day, she and my Aunt, who seems tired and dispirited, had bad headaches. We went with my father-in-law and some of the ladies and gentlemen on the following afternoon in the Empress’ yacht to Capri, close by, to see the blue grotto.

The Bay of Naples, particularly seen from Sorrento, is most lovely—like a beautiful dream—the colors, the outlines are so perfect.

We breakfasted together in the morning with Aunt and Marie, and on Tuesday we took our leave.

We shall go to Florence the 23d, (the first station homeward); remain there three or four days; one night at Verona, and then home. It is a fatiguing journey, and we have so often had people in the carriage, which is very unpleasant—some very rude English, going to Sorrento; they did not know us.

Florence, April 25th.

Your kind wishes I received early this morning. Thousand thanks for them, and for the presents which I shall find on getting home.

I shall be so glad to have a large photograph of yourself. Thirty years! Good-bye, youth! but I feel quite as old as I am, though the time has flown by so fast. I would it had flown as well as it has fast! I look back to the past with great gratitude to the Almighty for innumerable blessings, and pray our life may continue so blest. I have a very bad headache—neuralgia; I have it continually; and the journey is very long and tiring. Darling Ernie wanted to buy something for my birthday, and he thought a china doll with a bath would be the best. I am glad Victoria remembered to write to Beatrice as I told her; they are very fond of their Auntie.

Florence seems a beautiful town, and the situation amongst the hills, over which the suburbs spread, is most picturesque.

I enclose the last telegrams from Sorrento. It is fièvre du pays which Marie had. We remained at Rome a day longer on account of poor Alfred. He is very patient and hopeful.

The King, whom we saw at the races, sends you his respects, and was delighted with the cream-colored horse you sent him. Many thanks for the flowers. I enclose two from here. The account of your giving away the colors[115] I had already read with interest.

We must go to the Grand Duchess Marie to-morrow; Monday to Verona, twelve hours; next morning to Munich, and that night to Darmstadt. How I look forward to seeing the dear children! It seems to me an age since we parted.

Darmstadt, June 9th.

Tender thanks for your last letter, and for every word of sympathy! The weary days drag on, and bring much pain at times, though there are moments of comfort, and even consolation.

The horror of my darling’s sudden death[116] at times torments me too much, particularly waking of a morning; but when I think he is at rest, free from the sorrow we are suffering, and from every evil to come, I feel quite resigned. He was such a bright child. It seems so quiet next door; I miss the little feet, the coming to me, for we lived so much together, and Ernie feels so lost, poor love.

We were at the Mausoleum with all the children yesterday evening. It is a quiet spot amidst trees and flowers, with a lovely view toward the hills and plain. He loved flowers so much. I can’t see one along the roadside without wishing to pick it for him.

There is a young sculptor from Stuttgart, who was accidently here, and, meeting the children, had asked permission to make medallions of them. The last afternoon sweet Frittie had sat to him, and he is now making a lovely bust of him, which is getting very like.

On Wednesday my mother-in-law, with her three sons, goes to Berlin; on Thursday Uncle Adalbert[117] will be buried in the Dom.

We sha’n’t be able to go to Seeheim until Saturday.

How too kind of you to have asked us to Osborne! How a rest and home air would have revived me—and the pleasure of seeing you again; but Louis cannot leave until after his birthday. If he did get leave, it would so throw him out before he has to command; and, having been absent this spring, he feels it an impossibility, and this I am sure you will understand. I could not leave him or the children. Our circle has grown smaller, and drawn us all the more together with a dread of parting from each other. We thank you a thousand times for the kind offer.

Seeheim, June 22d.

* * * I do earnestly hope that too long a time may not elapse before we meet.

It is very hot, and I feel very low and unhappy.

To-morrow this house will be full, and all the Russians, etc., close by. Had there only been any other quiet country place to be at, how gladly would I have escaped this.

* * * It is only three weeks to-day since we took our darling to his last resting-place! I wish I could go there to-day, but it is too hot and too far.

Fritz and Louise of Baden came two days ago to Darmstadt, to see my parents-in-law and us.

Dr. Macleod’s letter is very kind.

I enclose two photographs of dear Frittie out of groups, the negative of one of which unluckily does not exist any more. The little blouse is the one he had on on that terrible day. My darling sweet child—to have lost him so! To my grave shall I carry this sorrow with me.

In the book you sent me there is a fine poem by Miss Procter, “Our grief, our friend,” called “Friend Sorrow,” which expresses so much what I myself feel about a deep grief.

Seeheim, June 27th.

* * * It was just four weeks yesterday since our darling died, and we went to the Mausoleum. I felt the whole weight of my sorrow, and the terrible shock doubly again. But the precious child does not—that is a comfort. He is happy and at rest, whilst we grieve and mourn. Ernie always prays for Frittie, and talks to me of him when we walk together.

Aunt Marie arrived at two on Monday, and a few hours later came to see me, and was so sympathizing, motherly, and loving; it touched me much. At such moments she is peculiarly soft and womanly, and she loves her own children so tenderly. She cried much, and told me of the sad death of her eldest girl, who was seven, and of the terrible, irreparable loss her eldest son was to her. She has such a religious, truly resigned way of looking at great sorrows such as these. In the room I am now living in Aunt Marie had seen Frittie in his bath two years ago, and she remembered all about him. She is coming to “Sunshine’s” toilet this evening; it always amuses her, and she is very fond of the children.

Seeheim, July 9th.

* * * There are days which seem harder than others, and when I feel very heartsick, prayer and quiet and solitude do me good.

I hear Affie comes on Thursday night. This evening the Emperor arrives. Poor Marie[118] is very happy, and so quiet. * * * How I feel for the parents, this only daughter (a character of Hingebung [perfect devotion] to those she loves), the last child entirely at home, as the parents are so much away that the two youngest, on account of their studies, no more travel about.

Seeheim, July 26th.

* * * I am glad that you have a little colored picture of my darling. I feel lower and sadder than ever, and miss him so much, so continually. There is such a gap between Ernie and Sunny, and the two boys were such a pretty pair, and were become such companions. Having so many girls, I was so proud of our two boys! The pleasure did not last long, but he is mine more than ever now. He seems near me always, and I carry his precious image in my heart everywhere. That can never fade or die!

Seeheim, August 2d.

Many thanks for your dear letter! I am feeling so low and weak to-day that kind words are doubly soothing. You feel so with me, when you understand how long and deep my grief must be. And does one not grow to love one’s grief, as having become part of the being one loved—as if through this one could still pay a tribute of love to them, to make up for the terrible loss, and missing of not being able to do any thing for the beloved one any more?[119] I am so much with my children, and am so accustomed to care for them and their wants daily, that I miss not having Frittie, the object of our greatest care, far more than words can describe; and in the quiet of our every-day life, where we have only the children around us, it is doubly and trebly felt, and is a sorrow that has entered into the very heart of our existence.

May the hour of trial and grief bring its blessing with it, and not have come in vain! The day passes so quickly, when one can do good and make others happy, and one leaves always so much undone. I feel more than ever, one should put nothing off; and children grow up so quickly and leave one, and I would long that mine should take nothing but the recollection of love and happiness from their home with them into the world’s fight, knowing that they have there always a safe harbor, and open arms to comfort and encourage them when they are in trouble. I do hope that this may become the case, though the lesson for parents is so difficult, being continually giving, without always finding the return.

Dear Fannie Baillie has been a few days here, and goes to England to-day. I shall miss her so much. I am so very fond of her. I hope you will see her; she will bring you many messages from us.

Seeheim, August 13th.

* * * After endless difficulties it has been settled that we can go to the Mainau. I am so far from strong and well that a change is necessary, and we shall go on the 15th, as Louise of Baden proposed, and I have written this to her.

How you will enjoy the rest at Balmoral! After so much going on you must require it.

Hélène Reuter is coming here for a fortnight with her boy—Ernest’s age. Poor boy, he longs for a playfellow.

Seeheim, August 16th.

* * * Louis joins with me in saying that we shall gratefully accept your wish that we should come to Windsor, and he trusts there will be no difficulties for leave then. * * *

Seeheim, September 7th.

* * * You ask if I can play yet? I feel as if I could not, and I have not yet done so. In my own house it seems to me as if I never could play again on that piano, where little hands were nearly always thrust when I wanted to play. Away from home—in England—much sooner. I had played so often lately that splendid, touching funeral march of Chopin’s, and I remember it is the last thing I played, and then the boys were running in the room.

Mary Teck came to see me and remained two nights, so warm-hearted and sympathizing. I like to talk of him to those who love children, and can understand how great the gap, how intense the pain, the ending of a little bright existence causes.

Soon I shall have my Louis back. I long for him very much; but the change of air, the active out-door life, and being quite thrown into men’s society and occupations, must refresh body and mind. Here he has only me, the governess and children as Umgang. But he is what the Germans call ein Haushammel—it is what he likes best.

We shall do nothing for his birthday. The children will recite their poems and write little things, and his parents will come to our five o’clock tea.

Heiden, Appenzell, October 7th.

How kind of you to remember our darling’s birthday; we both thank you for this. Sad and many are our thoughts. I think of my loneliness and anxiety when he was born, with Louis far away in the midst of danger—a sad and awful time to come into the world; but sweet Frittie was my comfort and occupation, a second son, a pleasure to us both! Now all this is wiped out, and our parents’ hearts are sore, and asking for the dear bright face we miss so much from amongst our circle of children! He ended his fight very soon. May we all follow in a way as peaceful, with as little struggle and pain, and leave an image of as much love and brightness behind, to be a blessed remembrance for the rest of our lives!

I can’t write on any other subject to-day, therefore close these short lines with much love from your devoted child,

Alice.

Darmstadt, November 14th.

* * * It is very kind of you to ask about the rooms. I should prefer living in the tapestry rooms this time. It won’t be like the last time—though after our house here, so full of happy and heart-rending recollections, I go through continual pangs, which it will take many a year to soften down, as you can understand.

Buckingham Palace, December 20th.

Beloved Mama:—How much I thank you for your dear precious letter, and for all the true love and considerate sympathy you showed me during our visit! It has soothed and comforted me, I assure you, and will be a pleasure and satisfaction for me to look back to the many pleasant talks we had together.

Louis, who has always been so devoted to you, was touched to tears, as I was, by your expressions of love to us and to our children.

Thank you also for all advice, which is so precious to me, and in following it I shall like to think that I am doing something that you told me.

How much I felt in parting from you I cannot say. Neither did I like to speak of it, for it was too much, and the harder things in life are better borne in silence, as none can bear them for one, and they must be fought out by one’s self.

Ernie and Irène send endless loves to you, to Uncle and Auntie. Sunny’s hand is better.

Tilla came to see me yesterday, and we both drove with her to the Memorial.[120]

* * * There is so much I would run on about, now the dear habit of intercourse together has once more become so natural to me. Writing is at best a poor remplaçant.

Once more from both of us warm and tender thanks for so much love and kindness! Love to Leopold and Beatrice; kind remembrances to all who surround you! From your grateful and devoted child,

Alice.

Buckingham Palace, December 21st.

* * * It is fine and warm and still. I hope it will be so early to-morrow when we cross over. I shall telegraph how the passage has been.

Please thank Brown for his kind wishes. I am so sorry that I missed saying good-bye to several. To say the truth, I dreaded it. It is always so painful. The old Baron’s[121] way of disappearing was almost the best.

1874.

During the first months of this year the Princess had the comfort of seeing many of her relations. The year was chiefly spent in retirement, and devoted to many sad memories. On the 24th of May she gave birth to a daughter, whose christening took place on the 11th of July at Jugenheim, near Darmstadt, in the presence of the Empress of Russia and the Duke of Edinburgh. The child received the names of Marie Victoria Feodora Leopoldine.

The hottest part of the summer was spent at Blankenberghe for the use of sea-baths. In September the great manœuvres of the Eleventh Army Corps took place in Upper Hesse, where the Princess met the Emperor of Germany.

The Princess’ charitable institutions were all prospering, and assuming larger and larger proportions; amongst them the Princess’ own hospital was by degrees slowly approaching completion. It was the institution she had the most at heart. It was intended to be a training-school for those who intended to become nurses, and a home for probationers whose training was at an end. It was also to serve as a model of those reforms in sanitary arrangements which the Princess had so much at heart.

When the provisional English hospital at Darmstadt (already mentioned during the war in 1870) had been taken over by the Hessian authorities, all its furniture, appointments, etc., were left to the “Alice Ladies’ Union” for the small hospital which it had started, aided by a small body of doctors in Darmstadt. This was the origin of the “Alice Hospital,” begun in a very small humble way in a cramped little house in the Mauer-Strasse. The Frauen-Verein had undertaken, when the English National Society for Aid to the Sick and Wounded had made over their hospital to them, either to build quite a new one or thoroughly to reorganize the existing one on the Mauer-Strasse. There were no funds to build a new hospital; therefore the “Alice Ladies’ Union,” could only resort to the other alternative, and this was carried out to the letter, by additional buildings and a totally new arrangement of its interior. As time went on, it was found advisable to give the hospital a distinct administration, and to separate it from the “Alice Ladies’ Union,” placing special funds at its disposal. This never would have come to pass, nor would the hospital have proved the success it did, had it not been for the untiring zeal, perseverance, economy, and practical knowledge of the lady directing it. During the summer months of 1874, a lady well acquainted with German and English hospitals—a trained nurse herself—became Lady Superintendent of the training-school for nurses, and of the hospital generally, which gradually, but surely, was gaining in importance.

The Alice Union for the Employment of Women made a further step in advance during this year, and established itself on a firm broad basis under the name of “The Alice Society for the Education and Employment of Women of all Classes.” Of this the Princess was the President, whilst Fräulein Louise Büchner directed the whole. The gentlemen and ladies who formed the committee were chosen by the Princess. All worked most harmoniously together; and the Princess was as anxious to receive advice from others in matters concerning the society as she was glad to give it herself.

Darmstadt, January 12th.

* * * How low and miserable I am at times in these rooms, particularly when I go to bed, I cannot tell you! The impression of all is so vivid and heart-rending. I could cry out for pain sometimes.

Till the first year is round this will often return, I know, and must be borne as part of the sorrow!

January 16th.

* * * I know well what your grief and your bereavement were compared to mine; but they are such different sorrows, I don’t think one can well compare them. Your life was broken—upset: altered from the very roots, through the one you lost; my life is unchanged, save in the mother’s heart the blank, the pain which thousands of little things awaken—which by the world, even by the family, are scarcely felt; and this ofttimes loneliness of sentiment clouds one’s life over with a quiet sorrow which is felt in every thing. * * *

Darmstadt, January 23d.

On our dear Affie’s [Prince Alfred’s] wedding-day, a few tender words. It must seem so strange to you not to be near him. My thoughts are constantly with them all, and we have only the Times’ account, for no one writes here—they are all too busy, and of course all news comes to you. What has Augusta [Lady Augusta Stanley] written, and Vicky and Bertie? Any extracts or other newspaper accounts but what we see would be most welcome.

We give a dinner to-night to the family and entourage, and Russian and English legations. * * *

Louis sends you his love and warmest wishes for yourself and the happiness of the dear pair, in which I most earnestly join. God bless and protect them, and may all turn out well!

Darmstadt, January 28th.

* * * Dear Marie [the Duchess of Edinburgh] seems to make the same impression on all. How glad I am she is so quite what I thought and hoped. Such a wife must make Affie happy, and do him good, and be a great pleasure to yourself, which I always like to think. I shall read to my mother-in-law the letters, and show them to Bäuerlein. Both will be very grateful for being allowed to see them.

We are going from Saturday to Monday to Carlsruhe. The eldest girls and Bäuerlein, who is going to take charge of them for a week, are going with us.

* * * One day we have six degrees of heat, the next two or four of cold; it is very unwholesome.

Carlsruhe, February 2d.

I have a little time before breakfast to thank you so very much for the enclosures, also the Dean’s [Stanley] letter through dear Beatrice. We are most grateful for being allowed to hear these most interesting reports! It brings every thing so much nearer. How pleasant it is to receive only satisfactory reports! I fear Aunt Marie is far from well. I should be very anxious, for she is like a fading flower.

All the family, Hohenlohes and Holsteins, send their duty. All their respective children and ours were together yesterday afternoon. I hope not to seem vain, if it strikes me that amongst all the children my girls usually carry away the palm. Victoria is in such good looks at present; they are both natural and real children, and as such I hope to be able to retain them long.

Sophie Weiss[122] came to see me yesterday. I was very glad to be able to give her so good an account of you, and how young you looked when I had that great happiness of those few short days at Windsor, which did me good in every respect. Old Frau von Bunsen, now eighty-three, I went to see—such a charming old lady, fresh in her mind, with snow-white hair. You and Papa were the topic she enjoyed speaking about, and our brothers and sisters.

Darmstadt, March 2d.

* * * My nice Miss Graves I could so well have taken when Kitty left, but I was so anxious for a German, though I was much inclined toward her; I thought a German more important than it really is. Not the nationality but the individuality is the first thing; and here I think I have succeeded in finding the right person. * * *

Darmstadt, March 11th.

* * * I hope you were not the worst for all your exertions. The Times’ accounts are charming. Such a warm reception must have touched Marie, and shown how the English cling to their Sovereign and her house.

We have cold, snow, and dust, after quite warm weather. I trust you will have sunshine to-morrow.

This last fortnight the news from Ashantee has so absorbed our thoughts. It has been an arduous undertaking, and one’s heart warms to our dear troops, who under all difficulties sustain their old name for bravery and endurance. The poor 42d [Regiment] lost many through illness, too; and I see they entered Coomassie playing the bagpipes!

Louis is just reading to me Sir Hope Grant’s book on the Indian Mutiny, which he kindly sent me, and which is interesting and pleasant to read.

I am taking the first snowdrops to sweet Frittie’s grave. How the first flowers he so dearly loved bring tears to my eyes, and recollections which wring my heart anew! I dread these two next months with their flowers and their birds. Good bye, darling Mama.

Darmstadt, April 7th.

* * * Surely Marie must feel it very deeply, for to leave so delicate and loving a mother must seem almost wrong. How strange this side of human nature always seems—leaving all you love most, know best, owe all debts of gratitude to, for the comparatively unknown! The lot of parents is indeed hard, and of such self-sacrifice.

April 11th.

* * * The children are too much an object here; they have too little to compare with; they would be benefited by a change, seeing other things and people, else they get into a groove, which I know is not good. They are very unspoilt in their tastes, and simple and quiet children, which I think of the greatest importance.

Louis Battenberg has passed a first-rate examination. The parents are so happy, and the influence the good conduct and steady work of the elder brother has on the younger is of the greatest use, as they wish to follow him, and be as well spoken of, and please their parents, as he does. * * *

April 15th.

My best thanks for your dear letter of the 13th. You say rightly, what a fault it is of parents to bring up their daughters with the main object of marrying them. This is said to be a too prominent feature in the modern English education of the higher classes. * * * I want to strive to bring up the girls without seeking this as the sole object for the future—to feel they can fill up their lives so well otherwise. * * * A marriage for the sake of marriage is surely the greatest mistake a woman can make. * * * I know what an absorbing feeling that of devotion to one’s parent is. When I was at home, it filled my whole soul. It does still, in a great degree, and Heimweh [homesickness] does not cease after ever so long an absence. * * *

Darmstadt, April 23d.

* * * I thought so much of your remarks about daughters, etc., and do think it so natural and dutiful to remain with one’s parent as long as one is wanted. Is it not a duty when no one else can take one’s place? I should feel it so.

April 26th.

I thank you most tenderly for your loving wishes for my birthday, received on getting up yesterday morning. You can understand that the day was inexpressibly sad, that the fair head missing in our circle was painfully felt, and that all these recollections caused me endless tears and heartache—though not for him, sweet precious child.

As you say, life at best is a struggle; happy those who can lie down to rest, having fought their battle well; or those who have been spared fighting it at all, and have remained pure and untouched, barely touching this earth, so mixed up with grief and sin!

Let me thank you for the charming photographs, and for the present toward the layette—a most kind assistance.

* * * We went to the Mausoleum. The children had made me wreaths to take there, and we all went together. How often and tenderly Ernie speaks of Frittie! It is very touching, and speaks of his deep and warm heart. He said the other day—for the recollection of death has left such a deep impression, and he cannot reconcile it with life, it pains him,—“When I die, you must die too, and all the others; why can’t all die together? I don’t like to die alone, like Frittie.” Poor child! the wish that all have, who love their own, so early expressed. * * *

May 4th.

Many thanks for your last dear letter written on dear Arthur’s birthday, of which, though late, I wish you joy. Such a good, steady, excellent boy as he is! What a comfort it must be to you, never to have had any cause of uneasiness or annoyance in his conduct! He is so much respected, which for one so young is doubly praiseworthy. From St. Petersburg, as from Vienna, we heard the same account of the steady line he holds to, in spite of all chaffing, etc., from others; which shows character.

My mother-in-law tells me that since Miechen has been allowed to retain her religion, this right will of course be conceded to all Princesses in future. What a good thing, for the changing I always thought too bad, and nowadays so intolerant and narrow. * * * To think of Mr. Van de Weyer also leaving this world! To you he will be a loss, and to all who knew him. Old friends are precious landmarks in the history of one’s life, and not to be replaced by new ones; and it is sad, how time reduces the number as one gets on in life. How deeply you must feel this with each fresh loss! I feel much for you. * * *

Darmstadt, May 18th.

* * * Since 1867 the Emperor’s [of Russia] face shrank so, and he became so thin. When I first saw him, in 1864, he was much stouter and fresher looking. He has many cares, and one sees they weigh upon him, for he is so kind and so well-meaning, and has done so much to advance liberty and culture in his own country.

Darmstadt, June 5th.

Beloved Mama:—* * * The day (Whitsunday, and dear Frittie’s burial-day) of baby’s birth would have been too sad, had not the fact of its being your birthday given a double significance; but when I heard those bells, and became conscious again of every thing, my feelings were deep and mingled beyond expression. * * * With repeated tender thanks, your most loving child,

Alice.

June 11th.

* * * Having no cow, or country place to keep one, in this tremendous heat where one can’t keep milk, and dysentery carries off so many babies, it would not be fair to deprive the poor little thing of its natural and safest nourishment till the hot months are over. These, darling Mama, are my reasons, and though I do it with such pleasure, yet it is not without sacrifices of comfort and convenience, etc.; but it seems to me the best course to take for our children, and as we are situated.

Many thanks for being baby’s godmother! It gives us great pleasure.

Do thank all our good people for their kind interest. * * *

I am driving out this afternoon if cool enough. You must not tell one of the heavenly Scotch air, when one is breathing heated stove air; it makes one too envious.

July 13th.

The christening went off very well. Baby looked really pretty for so young an individual. It was in a large room. Marie [Duchess of Edinburgh], quite in pink, held her godchild; and my mother-in-law, with her best love, begs me to tell you, it had pleased her so much that you had asked her to represent you. My three older girls looked very nice, I thought, in lavender silk (your Christmas present). I had the same color, and “Sunny” in pink, was immensely admired. She is still improving in looks since you saw her.

I was glad it was another place, in different circumstances from the last christening. As it was, it moved me much. The last time I heard these words, darling Frittie was with us, and now the chain has a gap!

* * * We can get nothing at Scheveningen except at exorbitant prices, so we go to that dreadful Blankenberghe—without tree or bush, nothing but a beach and sand banks.

Blankenberghe, July 24th.

The sea air is doing all good, the children especially, the heat had pulled them so.

I have bathed once, and hope it will agree. * * * My cough and relaxed throat are getting better.

The rooms are small and few, but clean, and the cooking good, and we are quite satisfied. There is not a soul one knows.

Blankenberghe, August 16th.

This day makes me think of our dear kind Grandmama, whose image still dwells amongst us! None who ever knew her can forget how truly lovable she was; and we grandchildren will ever retain such a bright recollection of her. So many little attentions, small souvenirs, kind letters, all tokens of affection so pleasing to the receivers.

Yesterday Louis saved a lady from drowning. He was bathing. The waves were high, and he heard a cry for help, and saw a bather struggling. She had lost her footing. Her husband tried to help her, but was exhausted and let her go; equally so the brother-in-law, and Louis felt he was losing his strength, but she kept her presence of mind and floated. He let her go once till a wave brought her near him again, and he caught her hand and brought her in, feeling quite done himself. I was not in the sea at the time, for the waves were so tremendous that I lost my footing several times, and had come out, fearing an accident. The lady is a Mrs. T. Sligo, a Scotchwoman, and she has just written to me to thank Louis. He is a good swimmer, and very strong. The gentlemen are two grey-haired Scotchmen.

Ella has so wonderfully improved since she has been here. She is no more pale and languid, and Ernie is another child also.

Luckily it has not been warm, so the air and baths are doubly efficacious. They have done me a world of good. I feel quite different to what I have done ever since Sunny’s birth. I believe the sea to be the only thing for such a relaxed state, and, being strong and healthy by nature, I can’t bear not being well, and feeling so weak. Miss Graves has returned, but the girls have been very good—no trouble at all.

Kranichstein, August 26th.

On dear Papa’s birthday I must send you a few lines. The past is ever bright and vivid in my mind, though year after year intervenes. How must it be for you, who live surrounded by such precious recollections of the happy past!

I think doubly of you to-day, and doubly tenderly, sweet Mama!

I got home quite right, and found the house here cold. There was no sun, and our rooms being to the north, and the wood so near, makes them feel chilly.

I am glad dear Leopold bore the journey well. The air will do him good in his weakened state.

The day at Laeken was quiet and pleasant. Marie is still thinner, and more aged, I think. The loss of that nice boy weighs on them still, and they spoke much about it, and she with many tears.

Every one has his burden to bear, and must bear it alone with trust and resignation—that is the thing to struggle and to pray for.

Kranichstein, September 1st.

* * * I shall get a comforter done for good Mrs. Brown, kind old woman. I am glad she does not forget me, and shall be pleased to do any little thing that can give her pleasure. Will you tell her the plaid she made me still goes everywhere with me? How is Mrs. Grant?

Louis is gone, and I have a good deal to do every day. We breakfast at half-past eight, then I have baby, and take the children out till eleven. I then have business, baby, and, at one, the elder girls alternately for French reading. After luncheon I write my letters, etc., and before five go out. In the evenings I read, and have supper at eight with the two ladies.

Ella is another child since she has been at the seaside—fine color, no longer pale and languid, learns well, and is quite different. Ernie the same, bright and fresh; while before they had been looking pulled and weak, outgrowing their strength.

“Sunny” is the picture of robust health, and sweet little “sister Maly” sits up quite alone, and is very neat and rosy, with such quick eyes, and two deep dimples in her cheeks—a great pet, and so like my poor Frittie.

The return here has been very painful, and days of great depression still come, when I am tormented with the dreadful remembrance of the day I lost him. Too cruel and agonizing are those thoughts. I dwell on his rest and peace, and that our sufferings he cannot know. What might not life have brought him? Better so! but hard to say, “God’s will be done.”

Kranichstein, September 15th.

* * * ——’s conversion has created no smaller sensation with us than elsewhere, and the Times criticised his step so sharply. It remains a retrograde movement for any Protestant, how much more so for a man of his stamp! Quite incomprehensible to me.

* * * This Catholic movement is so un-English. I think, among those Ritualists there are bonâ fide Catholics who help to convert. * * *

I will send you sweet little Maly’s photograph next time. * * * Baby has a very fair skin, light-brown hair and deep-blue eyes with marked eyebrows, not much color in her cheeks, but pink and healthy-looking altogether.

Kranichstein, September 24th.

* * * People with strong feelings and of nervous temperament, for which one is no more responsible than for the color of one’s eyes, have things to fight against and to put up with, unknown to those of quiet, equable dispositions, who are free from violent emotions, and have consequently no feeling of nerves—still less, of irritable nerves. If I did not control mine as much as I could, they would be dreadful. * * * One can overcome a great deal—but alter one’s self one cannot. * * *

October 31st.

* * * I always think, that in the end children educate the parents. For their sakes there is so much one must do: one must forget one’s self, if every thing is as it ought to be. It is doubly so, if one has the misfortune to lose a precious child. Rückert’s lovely lines are so true (after the loss of two of his children):

Yesterday Ernie was telling Orchard that I was going to plant some Spanish chestnuts, and she said: “Oh, I shall be dead and gone before they are big; what a pity we had none sooner!” and Ernie burst out crying and said: “No, you must not die alone—I don’t like people to die alone; we must die all together!” He has said the same to me before, poor darling. After Lenchen’s [Princess Christian’s] boys were gone, and he had seen Eddy and Georgy [sons of the Prince of Wales], his own loss came fresh upon him, and he cried for his little brother! It is the remaining behind the loss, the missing of the dear ones, that is the cruel thing to bear. Only time can teach one that, and resignation to a Higher Will. * * *

Darmstadt, November 9th.

* * * The new Church laws (similar to the Prussian) go through our Upper Chamber to-morrow, and will meet with great opposition. Louis is, of course, for accepting them, as a check must be put on the Catholics; for the Catholic clergy are paid by the State as well as the Protestant, so that the State has an equal right over both; but this right the Catholics have for years managed to evade. The Bishop of Mayence is doing his utmost to create every possible obstacle, but it is to be hoped that one will not here have to have recourse to the method of fines and imprisonment as in Prussia * * *

November 16th.

Many thanks for your dear letter, and for the advice, which, as a mark of your interest in our children, is very precious, besides being so good! What you mention I have never lost sight of, and there is, as you say, nothing more injurious for children than that they should be made a fuss about. I want to make them unselfish, unspoiled, and contented; as yet this is the case. That they take a greater place in my life, than is often the case in our families, comes from my not being able to have enough persons of a responsible sort to take charge of them always; certain things remain undone from that reason, if I do not do them, and they would be the losers. I certainly do not belong by nature to those women who are above all wife; but circumstances have forced me to be the mother in the real sense, as in a private family, and I had to school myself to it, I assure you, for many small self-denials have been necessary. Baby-worship, or having the children indiscriminately about one, is not at all the right thing, and a perpetual talk about one’s children makes some women intolerable. I hope I steer clear of these faults—at least I try to do so, for I can only agree in every word you say, as does Louis, to whom I read it; and he added when I was reading your remarks: “Das thust Du aber nicht. Die Kinder und andere Menschen wissen gar nicht, was Du für sie thust” [“But you don’t do so. Neither the children nor anybody else knows what you do for them”]. He has often complained that I would not have the children enough in my room, but, being of your opinion, where it was not necessary, I thought it better not. * * *

December 12th.

I enclose a few lines to Mr. Martin.[124] I have only had time to look at the preface, and am very glad to hear that you are satisfied.

With what interest shall I read it! You will receive these lines on the 14th. Last year I had the comfort of being near you. It did me real good then, and I thank you again for those short and quiet days, where the intercourse with you was so soothing to my aching heart. There is no Umgang [intercourse] I know, that gives me more happiness than when I can be with you—above all, in quiet. The return to the so-called world I have barely made. Life is serious—a journey to another end. The flowers God sends to brighten our path I take with gratitude and enjoy; but much that was dearest, most precious, which this day commemorates, is in the grave; part of my heart is there too, though their spirits, adored Papa’s, live on with me, the holiest and brightest part of life, a star to lead us, were we but equal to following it! The older I grow, the more perfect, the more touching and good, dear Papa’s image stands before me. Such an entire life for duty, so joyously and unpretendingly borne out, remains for all times something inexpressibly fine and grand! With it how tender, lovable, gay, he was! I can never talk of him to others who have not known him, without tears in my eyes—as I have them now. He was and is my ideal. I never knew a man fit to place beside him, or so made to be devotedly loved and admired. * * *

December 14th.

Before this day is over, I must write a few words—my thoughts are so much with you and with the past, the bright, happy past of my childhood, where beloved Papa was the centre of this rich and happy existence. I have spent nearly the whole day with the precious volume which speaks so much of you and of him.

What a man in every sense of the word; what a Prince he was—so entirely what the dear old Baron [Stockmar] urged him always to be! Life with him must have seemed to you so secure and well-guarded. How you must have loved him! It makes one’s heart ache again and again, in reading and thinking of all dear Papa was to you, that you should have had to part from him in the heat of the day, when he was so necessary. Ihm ist wohl [With him it is well]. A life like his was a whole long lifetime, though only twenty-two years, and he well deserved his rest!

The hour is nearing when we last held and pressed his hand in life, now thirteen years ago. How well I recollect that last sunrise, and then the dreadful night with you that followed on that too awful day! But it is not well to dwell on these things, when we have the bright, sunny past to look back to. Tennyson’s beautiful Dedication[125] expresses all one feels and would wish to say. I can only add, with a heavy-drawn sigh, “Oh, to be worthier of such a Father!” How far beneath him, if not always in aims, at least in their fulfilment, have I always remained!

December 17th.

My best thanks for the letter of the 15th. Poor Colonel Grey’s[126] death is shocking, and Bertie and Alix are sure to have felt it deeply. Dear Bertie’s true and constant heart suffers on such occasions, for he can be constant in friendship, and all who serve him serve him with warm attachment. I hope he won’t give way to the idea of Sandringham being unlucky, though so much that has been trying and sad has happened to them there! Superstition is surely a thing to fight against; above all, with the feeling that all is in God’s hands, not in ours!

How interesting the book is [“Life of the Prince Consort”]! I have finished it, and am befriedigt [satisfied]. It was a difficult undertaking, but Mr. Martin seems to have done it very well.

I am sure dear Osborne is charming as ever, but I can’t think of that large house so empty; no children any more; it must seem so forsaken in our old wing. I have such a Heimweh [yearning] to see Osborne again after more than six years. * * *

1875.

Each year the Princess Alice endeavored by some public effort or other—either a dramatic or musical performance—to collect funds for her many charitable institutions which, as they extended their field of usefulness, were more and more in need of pecuniary help. Artists as well as amateurs gladly offered their services on all such occasions.

In the beginning of this year the Prince and Princess and their children went to England for two months, spending part of the time with the Queen, and part with the Prince and Princess of Wales. The two eldest daughters, Victoria and Elizabeth, accompanied their grandmother to Balmoral in May.

The whole family returned to Darmstadt at the end of June. In July the Prince and Princess Louis were present at the “coming of age” of the Hereditary Grand Duke of Baden. The rest of the summer was spent at Kranichstein.

In 1874 the Hessian Government had amended their educational laws for the schools, and had established, as a fundamental principle, that needle-work in all its branches should be taught in all girls’ schools, and that suitable teachers for this purpose should be engaged. To meet this necessity, a course of lectures and instruction in the art of needle-work was instituted by the “Alice Society,” open to women and girls of all classes. This has proved in its results of real blessing and benefit to the whole country.

[The next two letters arose out of the expression of an opinion on the part of some of the Prince Consort’s friends, that the publication of his Life under the sanction of the Queen, with unreserved fulness of details, had been premature.]

Darmstadt, January 3d, 1875.

* * * It is touching and fine in you to allow the world to have so much insight into your private life, and allow others to have what has been only your property and our inheritance.

People can only be the better for reading about dear Papa, such as he was, and such as so feelingly and delicately Mr. Theodore Martin places him before them. To me the volume is inexpressibly precious, and opens a field for thought in various senses.

For the frivolous higher classes how valuable this book will be, if read with real attention, as a record of a life spent in the highest aims, with the noblest conception of duty as a leading star.

To this letter Her Majesty replied:

Osborne, January 12, 1875.

Dearest Alice:—* * * Now as regards the book. If you will reflect a few minutes, you will see how I owed it to beloved Papa to let his noble character be known and understood, as it now is, and that to wait longer, when those who knew him best—his own wife, and a few (very few there are) remaining friends—were all gone, or too old, and too far removed from that time, to be able to present a really true picture of his most ideal and remarkable character, would have been really wrong.

He must be known, for his own sake, for the good of England and of his family, and of the world at large. Countless people write to say, what good it does and will do. And it is already thirteen years since he left us!

Then you must also remember, that endless false and untrue things have been written and said about us, public and private, and that in these days people will write and will know: therefore the only way to counteract this is to let the real, full truth be known, and as much be told as can be told with prudence and discretion, and then, no harm, but good, will be done. Nothing will help me more, than that my people should see what I have lost! Numbers of people we knew have had their Lives and Memoirs published, and some beautiful ones: Bunsen’s by his wife; Lord Elgin’s, by his (very touching and interesting); Lord Palmerston’s; etc., etc.

“The Early Years” volume was begun for private circulation only, and then General Grey and many of Papa’s friends and advisers begged me to have it published. This was done. The work was most popular and greatly liked. General Grey could not go on with it, and asked me to ask Sir A. Helps to continue it, and he said that he could not, but recommended Mr. Theodore Martin as one of the most eminent writers of the day, and hoped I could prevail on him to undertake this great national work. I did succeed, and he has taken seven years to prepare the whole, supplied by me with every letter and extract; and a deal of time it took, but I felt it would be a national sacred work. You must, I think, see I am right now; Papa and I too would have suffered otherwise. I think even the German side of his character will be understood.

One of the things that pleases people most is the beautiful way in which he took all good Stockmar’s often very severe observations. And they also admire so much good old Stockmar’s honesty, fearlessness, and are pleased to be shown what a dear warm-hearted old man he was. Your devoted Mama,

V. R.

January 18th.

* * * The service in Dr. Weber’s study before the open coffin, filled with flowers, was very affecting. He was truly beloved and respected. His sufferings must have been intense, and for many years borne heroically—not a word said; not a complaint; always ready to bear the sorrows of others with them, yet bearing his own unassisted! Wonderful self-command and unselfishness! He knew his illness was fatal; even to the latter weeks considered his days as but few, and put all in order, without letting his family and friends know what he himself only too well foresaw.

It was a stormy afternoon with pouring rain when he was buried. Louis, his poor boy, and many were out. * * *

We have April weather. I have a very heavy cold, and feel so weak and done up. It is too warm and unhealthy; every place smells, our house especially.

January 27th.

* * * My little May has such a cold, which lessens her usual smiles. She is a fine, strong child, more like what Victoria was, but marked eyebrows, with the fair hair and such speaking eyes. She and Aliky are a pretty contrast!

February 14th.

You say of the drains just what I have said from year to year; and this summer—if we can get away in the spring, when it is most unwholesome—what can be done is to be done, and I hope with better success than what has hitherto been attempted.

My little May cannot get rid of her cough, though she looks pink and smiling. I shall be so glad to show her to you—she is so pretty and dear.

My father-in-law has for the first time got the gout in his feet, and is so depressed. Uncle Louis suffers dreadfully from oppression at night, so that he can’t remain in bed. He is a good deal aged, and stoops dreadfully. * * *

March 14th.

Louis gave me a dreadful fright last week by suddenly breaking through the ice, and at a very deep place. He laid his arms over the thicker ice, and managed to keep above water till some one was near enough to help him out. He said the water drew immensely, and he feared getting under the ice. The gentleman, who is very tall, lay down and stretched his arms out to Louis, another man holding the former: and so he got out without ill effects. As it was at Kranichstein, he undressed and rubbed himself before the stove in the Verwalter’s [land-steward’s] room; and he came home in the Verwalter’s clothes, which looked very funny. * * *

Marlborough House, May 15th.

I did not half thank you yesterday for our pleasant visit. I could not trust myself to speak. I felt leaving you again so much. It has been a great happiness to me, so wohlthuend [doing me so much good] to have been with you, and I can never express what I feel, as I would, nor how deep and tender my love and gratitude to you are! The older I grow, the more precious the Verhältniss [relation] to a mother becomes to me, and how doubly so to you!

Louis feels as I do; his love to you has always been as to his own mother; and my tears begin to run when I recall your dear face and voice, which to see and hear again has seemed so natural, so—as it ought to be! that it is quite difficult to accustom myself to the thought that only in memory can I enjoy them now.

How I do love you, sweet Mama! There is no sacrifice I would not make for you! and as our meetings are of late years so fleeting and far between, when they are over I feel the separation very much. * * *

Marlborough House, June 15th.

* * * God bless you, my precious Mother, watch over and guard you; and let your blessing and motherly interest accompany us and our children! Louis’ tenderest love; many, many kisses from all children, and William’s respectful duty!

Kranichstein, June 20th.

* * * All Victoria and Ella tell me of their stay at Balmoral—the many things you gave them and their people—touches me so much: let me thank you so many times again. I feel I did not half say enough, but you know how much I feel it!

Our journey did very well; no one was ill, after that dreadful storm—a piece of luck. You are now again at Windsor. How much I think of you and of dear Beatrice!

July 10th.

* * * We got home from Carlsruhe at eleven o’clock last night. We went there on Thursday; arrived at two; were received there by Fritz and Louise and the Emperor; found dear Marie Leiningen and Hermann and Leopoldine there. Fritz W. arrived half an hour afterwards from Vienna, having met with a railway accident in the night; but he was, thank God, unhurt—barely shaken.

It was frightfully hot! Family dinner at five; then a drive about the town, which was decked with flags. At nine in the evening a large soirée and continual circle! and supper—such a heat! At eight next morning in gala, church service. Fritz (son) for the first time in uniform with the Black Eagle; then at ten a very fine parade, in which Fritz marched past as second lieutenant with his regiment. The troops were so fine; the Emperor led his own regiment past, and it was a very moving sight, with a great deal of cheering. At two there was a large banquet, at which Fritz made a beautiful speech, and the Emperor a very good answer.

All Fritz’s (son) former school-fellows, and the different schools and masters, came by in procession, and the day was very fatiguing. He is such a good boy. His former tutor, who finished his task of education yesterday, said to me: “Er ist ein guter Mensch und die Wahrheit selber” [He is a good man, and truth itself]. He was very self-possessed, modest, and civil, talking to every one. He is full of promise, and has been carefully and lovingly brought up by his parents, who are such excellent people. I have the greatest regard for them.

I told the Emperor the fright we had about the war. He was much distressed, that any one could believe him capable of such a thing; but our Fritz and Fritz of Baden agree that, with Bismarck, in spite of the nation not wishing it, he might bring about a war at any moment. Our Fritz spoke so justly and reasonably—quite anti-war—and I told him all the opinions I had gathered and heard in London; and he was much grieved and worried, I could see; but it must and can be prevented, if all are against it, I am sure. This enormous and splendid army, ready at any moment, is a dangerous possession for any country. * * *

Kranichstein, October 7th.

* * * To-day my eyes will not remain dry; the recollection of five years ago, which brought us joy and promise of more in our sweet second boy, is painful in the extreme. The sudden ending of that young life; the gap this has left; the recollections that are now but to be enjoyed in silent memory, will leave a heart-ache and a sore place, beside where there is much happiness and cause for gratitude. The six children and we, with endless flowers and tears, decked his little grave this morning, and some sad lines of Byron’s struck me as having much truth in the pain of such moments—

The weather is fine; it was much like this five years ago, but round Metz it rained. Louis was turning into quarters with his troops from a sortie, and he called the news out to the regiments as he rode along, and they gave a cheer for their little Prince!

It was a dreadful time of trial and separation for both of us, and Frittie was such a comfort and consolation to me in all my loneliness.

How sorry I am for poor Alix at this long separation![128] For her sake I grieve at the impossibility of her accompanying him.

We hope to get back to our house by the 19th, though there will be an end of nice walks for the next eight months—the town grows so, and is all railroad and coal heaps where we had our walks formerly, and the town pavement in the streets is most unpleasant walking. * * *

Schloss Kranichstein, October 16th.

For your dear letter and for the inclosures I am so grateful, but distressed beyond measure at dear Fannie’s [Lady Frances Baillie]. I had a long letter from her some weeks back, when she was more hopeful about dear Augusta [Stanley]. This is too much sorrow for them all! Fannie I loved as a sister, and dear Augusta’s devotion and self-sacrifice to you, and even to us in those dreadful years, was something rare and beautiful. Her whole soul and heart were in the duty, which to her was a sacred one. The good, excellent Dean! My sympathy is so great with these three kind and good people so sorely tried. I grieve for you too! God help them!

October 26th.

How sorry I am for dear good old Mrs. Brown and for her sons.[129] Please say something sympathizing from me; her blindness is such a trial, poor soul, at that age. How gloomily life must close for her!

1876.

Although this new year brought no actual change to the usual routine of the daily life in the Princess’ home, and although the Princess was able to fulfil her social duties, traces of serious illness now began to show themselves by repeated attacks of exhaustion and weakness. These attacks were partially relieved by a short stay in the Black Forest in June, and by a visit to England and Scotland, which she made without her husband. The Prince had been detained in Germany by the great manœuvres, on the conclusion of which he fetched her from England, in the autumn. On their way back to Darmstadt they stopped at Brussels. They also visited Coblenz, to pay their respects to the Empress of Germany, who had been to see their children at Darmstadt in October.

January 18th, 1876.

No words can express how deep my sympathy and grief is for what our dear Augusta and the Dean have to go through. With her warm, large heart, which ever lived and suffered for others, how great must her pain be in having to leave him! I can positively think of nothing else lately, as you know my love for Augusta, the General [her brother, General Bruce], and Fanny has always been great; and when I think back of them in former times, and in the year 1861, my heart aches and my tears flow—feeling what you and we shall lose in dear Augusta. My pity for the dear, good, kind Dean is so deep. I sent him a few words again to-day, in the hope he may still say a few words of love and gratitude to dear Augusta from me.

Darmstadt, January 22d.

* * * Yesterday morning Ernie came in to me and said, “Mama, I had a beautiful dream; shall I tell you? I dreamt that I was dead and was gone up to Heaven, and there I asked God to let me have Frittie again; and he came to me and took my hand. You were in bed, and saw a great light, and were so frightened, and I said, ‘It is Ernie and Frittie.’ You were so astonished! The next night Frittie and I went with a great light to sisters.” Is it not touching? He says such beautiful things, and has such deep poetic thought, yet with it all so full of fun and romping.

February 9th.

* * * I am so sorry and shocked about excellent Mr. Harrison.[130] What a loss! He was so obliging and kind always in the many commissions for us children. Poor Kräuslach,[131] too—so sad! It is too grievous; how one well-known face—with its many associations—after another, is called away; and on looking back, how short a space of time they seemed to have filled!

Wolfach, June 7th.

* * * The heat here is excessive; the wild flowers covering every field are more beautiful than I have ever seen them anywhere—such quantities of large forget-me-nots. The streams are very much like Scotch ones; the valleys are partly very narrow, and the hills wooded to the very top—rather like the Thüringer Wald, but more different greens: such lovely coloring. I admire the country so much.

Darmstadt, June 23d.

* * * How sorry I am for good, kind old Mrs. Brown—to be blind with old age seems so hard, so cruel; but I am sure with your so loving heart you have brightened her latter years in many kind ways. It is such a pleasure to do any thing for the aged; one has such a feeling of respect for those who have the experience of a long life, and are nearing the goal.

* * * Yesterday, again, the Emperor Alexander spoke to me, really rejoicing that the political complications were clearing peacefully: “Dites à Maman encore une fois comme cela me réjouit, et de savoir comme c’est elle qui tient à la paix. Nous ne pouvons, nous ne voulons pas nous brouiller avec l’Angleterre. Il faudrait être fou de penser à Constantinople ou aux Indes!” He had tears in his eyes, and seemed so moved, as if a dreadful weight was being lifted off; so happy for the sake of Marie, and Affie, too, that matters were mending. He showed me after dinner the buttons you gave him; spoke also so affectionately of Bertie. * * * I thought of you—thirty-nine years of rule not to be envied, save for the service one can render one’s country and the world in general in such an arduous position.

Private individuals are, of course, far the best off—our privileges being more duties than advantages—and their absence would be no privation compared to the enormous advantage of being one’s own master, and of being on equality with most people, and able to know men and the world as they are, and not merely as they please to show themselves to please us. * * *

Darmstadt, July 5th.

* * * We dined with Uncle Louis, the Emperor, etc., and Grand Duke of Weimar, at Seeheim yesterday. The Emperor said he had written to you, but Prince Gortschakoff seemed only half-happy, and said to me: “Franchement puis-je vous le dire, je désirerais voir l’Angleterre grande, forte, décidée dans la politique, comme l’était Canning et les grands hommes d’état que j’ai connus en Angleterre il y a quarante ans. La Russie est grande et forte; que l’Angleterre le soit aussi; nous n’avons pas besoin de faire attention à tous les petits.” He said we made our foreign policy and despatches for the Blue Book, and not an open decided policy before the House of Commons and the world. It may interest you to hear this opinion, as it shows the temper of his policy.

September 5th.

It is long since I have felt such pain as the death (to me really sudden and unexpected, in spite of the danger inherent in her case) of my good, devoted, kind Emily[132] has caused me. My tears won’t cease. Louis, the children, the whole household, all mourn and grieve with me. She was singularly beloved, and richly deserved to be so! Her devotion and affection to me really knew no bounds. I cannot think what it will be to miss her. I have never been served as she served me, and probably never shall be so again. It is a wrench that only those can estimate who knew her well—like poor Mary Hardinge. She came first in Emily’s heart, and the loss for her is quite, QUITE irreparable! Had I but seen dear Emily again! This sudden, cruel sort of death shocks me so.

How I should have nursed and comforted her had I been near her! She always wished this, and told me she had such a fear of death. There never breathed a more unselfish, generous, good character.

September 6th.

* * * I fear you will find me so dull, tired, and useless. I can do next to nothing of late, and must rest so much. Poor Emily! My thoughts never leave her. I cannot yet get accustomed to the thought of her loss.

P. S.—Just received your dear note. The accounts of my dear Emily’s sad end have just reached me, and I am terribly upset. You can hardly estimate the gap, the blank she will leave—my only lady, and in many ways homme d’affaires. We had been so much together this last waiting; every thing reminds me of her, and of the touching love she bore me. Surely some years more she would have lived.

Darling Mama, I don’t think you quite know how far from well I am, and how absurdly wanting in strength. I only mention it, that you should know that until the good air has set me up I am good for next to nothing; and I fear I sha’n’t be able to come to dinner the first evenings. I hope you won’t mind. I have never in my life been like this before. I live on my sofa, and in the air, and see no one, and yet go on losing strength! Of course this unexpected shock has done me harm too, and has entailed more sad things. * * *

Douglas’ Hotel, Edinburgh, Sunday, September 11th.

* * * I hear Ernie is still so dull and melancholy at missing me; he always feels it most, with that tender loving heart of his. God preserve and guard this to me so inexpressibly precious child! I fancy that seldom a mother and child so understood each other, and loved each other, as we two do. It requires no words; he reads in my eyes, as I do in his, what is in his little heart.

It is so wonderfully still here, not a soul in the streets. The people of the house have sent up several times to enquire when and to what church I was going; so I shall go, as it seems to shock them, one’s staying away. I shall see the Monument this afternoon, and go and see Holyrood again. The whole journey here brought back with the well-remembered scenery the recollection of my childhood, all the happy journeys with dear Papa and you. How the treasured remembrance, with the deep love, lives on, when all else belongs to the past!

I seem, in returning here, so near you and him in former happy years, when my home was in this beloved country. No home in the world can quite become what the home of one’s parents and childhood was. There is a sacredness about it, a feeling of gratitude and love for the great mercies one had there. You, who never left country, Geschwister [kindred], or home, can scarcely enter into this feeling.

In the hopes of meeting you soon, kissing your dear hands, with thanks for all goodness, and many excuses for having caused so much trouble. * * *

Buckingham Palace, October 19th.

I was so sad at parting with you yesterday. I could not half thank you for all your love and kindness during those weeks. But you know how deeply I feel it; how truly grateful I am to you; how happy and contented I am to be allowed to be near you as in old days. Darling Mama, once more, thousand thanks for all and for every thing!

The journey went quite well, and I am not particularly tired.

Buckingham Palace, November 19th.

Thousand thanks for your dear letter received this morning! I feel leaving dear England, as always, though the pleasure of being near the dear children again is very great.

Let me thank you once more from my heart, darling Mama, for all your great kindness, and for having enabled me to do what was thought necessary and best. I return so much stronger and better than I came, in every way—refreshed by the pleasant stay in dear Balmoral with you, and then much better for the time here. I feel morally refreshed, too, with the entire change, the many interests to be met with here, which is always so beneficial, and will help me in every way when I get back to Darmstadt. All this I have to thank you for, and do so most warmly.

Louis, who, as you know, is full of love and affection for you, is very grateful for your kind words, and has likewise derived profit and enjoyment from his stay in England.

* * * My color and strength have so much returned, that I do not doubt being well again this winter.

I went with Dean Stanley to see Mr. Carlyle, who was most interesting, and talked for nearly an hour. Had I had time, I would have written down the conversation. The Dean said he would try and do so.

With Louise I visited Mr. Motley also, who in his way is equally interesting, and has a great charm. * * *

Darmstadt, November 26th.

Many thanks for your last letter from Balmoral, received yesterday morning! I know you feel leaving the dear place, but without going away there is no Wiedersehen [meeting again]. The happiness of our meeting with the dear children was very great on all sides—they eat me up!

They had made wreaths over the doors, and had no end of things to tell me. We arrived at three, and there was not a moment’s rest till they were all in bed, and I had heard the different prayers and hymns of the six, with all the little different confidences they had to make. My heart was full of joy and gratitude at being with them once more, and I prayed God to make me fit to be their real friend and stay as long as they require me, and to have the insight into their different characters to guide them aright, and to understand their different wants and feelings. This is so difficult always.

Victoria is immensely grown, and her figure is forming. She is changing so much—beginning to leave the child and grow into the girl. I hear she has been good and desirous of doing what is right; and she has more to contend with than Ella, therefore double merit in any thing she overcomes, and any self-sacrifice she makes.

Ernie is very well, and his birthday was a great delight. Sweet little May is enchanting,—“my weet heart,” as she calls me. Aliky is very handsome and dear.

Darmstadt, December 12th.

I see this letter will just arrive on the 14th—day never to be forgotten! How deeply it is graven in my heart—with letters of blood; for the pain of losing him, and of witnessing your grief, was as sharp as any thing any child can go through for its beloved parents. Yet God’s mercy is to be found through all, and one learns to say “Thy will be done,” hard though it is. * * *

1877.

The health of Prince Charles of Hesse (father of Prince Louis) had for some time past given cause for great anxiety. He had always suffered from violent headaches and a delicate throat. On the evening of the 11th of March he was seized with erysipelas, and died peacefully on the 20th. The Princess shared the grief of her mother-in-law and family most truly; for Prince Charles, though outwardly shy and retiring, was a man of great cultivation and refinement, and had made himself beloved by all who knew him. He was buried in the Mausoleum at the Rosenhöhe on the 24th of March. The Grand Duke, who was deeply affected by his brother’s death, and all the family were present.