Chapter XI: Part 11

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):

Nun hat euch Gott verlieh’n, was wir auch wollten thun,
Wir wollten euch erzieh’n, und ihr erzieht uns nun.
O Kinder, ihr erziehet mit Schmerz die Eltern jetzt;
Ihr zieht an uns, und ziehet uns auf zu euch zuletzt.[123]

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--

But when I stood beneath the fresh green tree,
Which living waves where thou didst cease to live,
And saw around me the wide field revive
With fruits and fertile promise, and the Spring
Come forth her work of gladness to contrive,
With all her reckless birds upon the wing,
I turn’d from all she brought, to those she could not bring.[127]

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.

A month had scarcely passed since Prince Charles’ death, when the Grand Duke himself was attacked by serious illness at Seeheim, one of his summer residences, near Darmstadt, and died on the 13th of June at the age of seventy-one.

Prince Louis was the next heir, and ascended the throne as Grand Duke Louis IV.

The total change of circumstances, the heavy duties and responsibilities of her new position, came most unexpectedly upon the Princess, and she scarcely felt herself equal to them. With her well-known conscientiousness and high feeling of duty it was not surprising that they weighed heavily upon her, more especially as her health had of late become very delicate. Still, the hope of being able to carry out many a plan for the welfare of her adopted country encouraged her greatly.

After the official receptions held by the Grand Duke and Grand Duchess were over, they left Darmstadt for the quiet little watering-place of Houlgate, in Normandy. The Grand Duke was only able to accompany the Grand Duchess as far as Metz, but he followed her later on with the children. The rest and quiet were good for them all; and, apparently much improved in health, the Grand Duchess returned for the first time as “mother of the country” [_Landesmutter_] to Darmstadt. Her reception was of the warmest and most enthusiastic nature, which she took as a good omen for the future.

The Emperor of Germany and the Crown Prince visited Darmstadt at the end of September, for the purpose of assisting at the cavalry manœuvres, to the great satisfaction of the country.

The change in Princess Alice’s position in no wise affected her relations to her many charitable institutions, though she had, of course, many new responsibilities thrown upon her. Her constant endeavor was to be just and free from prejudice, to recognize what was good, no matter where, and to promote and further it to the best of her power.

The Grand Duke and Grand Duchess saw much of the Crown Prince and Crown Princess of Germany during the latter part of the year, as they were living at Wiesbaden.