Chapter XII: Part 12

Fräulein Louise Büchner, who had been for ten years so intimately connected with the Grand Duchess, not only as working with her for the good of others, but also by ties of the truest friendship, died on the 28th of November. Her death caused a gap which was sorely felt. A few days before her death, when she was already confined to her bed, she received a letter from the Grand Duchess herself, on the occasion of the tenth anniversary of the opening of the “Alice Bazaar,” thanking her for all she had done.

The Grand Duchess had caused many of the pamphlets written by Miss Octavia Hill to be translated, in the hopes of encouraging in Darmstadt the authorities, and those at the head of private undertakings, to further exertions for improving the condition of the poor.

Whilst in England she had become acquainted with Miss Octavia Hill, “the warm-hearted friend of the poor,” and had visited with her many of the poorer parts of London. She felt the sincerest admiration and respect for Miss Hill, and entirely shared her view, “that we must become the friends of the poor to be their benefactors.” The Grand Duchess did not wish to copy exactly in Germany what Miss Hill had done in London: but she hoped that the knowledge of what had been done in other places would be an incentive to work in the same direction.

At the beginning of this year the Grand Duchess had visited in strictest incognito the worst houses (in sanitary respects) in Mayence, and determined to make a plan for the erection of new dwellings for the working classes there.

DARMSTADT, January 1st.

* * * How beautifully Max Müller’s letter[133] is written and
expressed, and how touchingly and truly he puts the point of view
on which we all should learn to stand. To become again pure as
children, with a child’s faith and trust--there where our human
intellect will _ever_ stand still!

I have been reading some of Robertson’s sermons again, and I think
his view of Christianity one of the truest, warmest, and most
beautiful I know. * * *

DARMSTADT, March 23d.

Thank you so much for your dear and sympathizing letter. These have
been most painful--most distressing days--so harrowing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

DARMSTADT, June 7th.

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

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

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

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

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

_Telegrams._

June 7th.

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

SEEHEIM, 13th.

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

DARMSTADT, 6.20 o’clock, 13th.

Such press of business and decisions. Feel very tired.

15th.

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

18th.

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

ALICE.

DARMSTADT, June 19th.

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

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

June 28th.

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

July 15th.

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

HOULGATE, July 25th.

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

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

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

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

HOULGATE, July 28th.

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

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

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

August 22d.

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

DARMSTADT, September 9th.

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

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

DARMSTADT, October 30th.

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

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

December 13th.

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

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

DARMSTADT, December 21st.

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

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

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

THE END.

1878.

“Life is serious--a journey to another end.” (_December 12, 1874._)

The state of the Grand Duchess’ health prevented her from accompanying the Grand Duke to Berlin on the occasion of the marriages of Princess Charlotte of Prussia (eldest daughter of the Crown Prince and Princess of Germany) to the Hereditary Prince of Saxe-Meiningen, and of Princess Elizabeth of Prussia (sister to the Duchess of Connaught) to the Hereditary Grand Duke of Oldenburg. Although she was unable to go out much into society, or to take an active part in social gayeties, her interest and sympathy were unabated, particularly in all matters concerning art and science. She received many guests, and Prince William of Prussia (then studying at Bonn) often visited her.

The celebrated portrait painter Heinrich von Angeli came to Darmstadt in the spring to paint a family picture of the Grand Duke and Grand Duchess and their children by command of the Queen of England. Princess Alice greatly enjoyed his acquaintance, and was charmed as well by his musical talent as by his wonderful genius in painting. Angeli’s picture of Princess Alice was the last ever painted of her.

The repeated attempts on the life of the old Emperor of Germany affected the Grand Duchess very nearly, as from her childhood she had ever been greatly attached to him.

The Grand Duke and Grand Duchess with their children spent the summer months of this year at Eastbourne. Sea-bathing and sea-air had again been recommended as necessary.

The Grand Duke had to return to Darmstadt soon after their arrival at Eastbourne, but toward the end of the stay there he rejoined them.

The whole family visited the Queen at Osborne.

Although the Grand Duchess had, during all her former visits to England, shown her lively personal interest in all charitable institutions in London, visiting many herself, she seems on the occasion of this, her last, visit to her beloved native land, to have taken a more than ordinary interest in these matters, and to have also gone minutely into the subject of the exertions which were being made to relieve the pressing wants of the poor.

The Grand Duchess had scarcely arrived at Eastbourne (an eye-witness tells us), when she at once made enquiries as to the condition of the poorer parts of that town, and determined to visit them herself. She loved to wander about that part of Eastbourne which is inhabited by the fishing population. She often entered their cottages, visiting the sick, and showing her sympathy to all. The visits to the Sunday-school were a great pleasure to her. The Princess often remarked, “How much good such instruction must do!”

She attended divine service at a church some little way off, not because the service was particularly attractive, but because the church and its congregation needed support and help.

Amongst those good works which from year to year had specially occupied her were the Refuges and Penitentiaries for those poor women and girls who most need our help. Much had been done in this way in England, and the Albion Home at Brighton, founded and managed solely by Mrs. Murray Vicars, had proved of the greatest service and blessing. The Grand Duchess invited Mrs. Vicars to come and see her at Eastbourne, and tell herself about her work, and showed her, when she came, the greatest sympathy and kindness, entering with the warmest interest into all details of the working of the Home.

Before leaving Eastbourne the Grand Duchess went incognita to Brighton, and paid a private visit to the Albion Home. “I only come as one woman to visit another” were the Princess Alice’s own words, when Mrs. Vicars begged her to be allowed to tell the poor Penitents who their visitor was.

The Grand Duchess was greatly impressed, after her visit to the Home, by Mrs. Vicars’ wonderful power and practical knowledge, and by her gentle, loving way toward those poor girls; and this in a great measure induced her, with the Grand Duke’s consent, to become Patroness of the Albion Home. At first, when asked by Mrs. Vicars to become the Patroness, she had refused to do so; but, having reconsidered the subject, she wrote to her the following letter from Darmstadt:

NEW PALACE, DARMSTADT.

DEAR MRS. VICARS:--I have returned from visiting the Home so
convinced of your excellent management of it in every respect,
that, if you still feel my becoming Patroness of the Home (and of
the Ladies’ Association connected with it) can further the good and
noble work, I am most willing to comply with your request. The
spirit of true, loving, Christian sympathy in which the work was
begun by you, and with which it is carried out; the cheerfulness
you impart, the motherly solicitude you offer to those struggling
to return to a better life, cannot fail to restore in a great
measure that feeling of self-respect so necessary to those
voluntarily seeking once more a virtuous life, and by so doing
regaining the respect of their fellow-creatures. “Inasmuch as ye
have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have
done it unto Me.” In this spirit may the Home, as well as the
Association connected with it, continue its good work. My entire
sympathy and good wishes will ever be with it.

Ever yours truly,
ALICE.

After the Grand Duchess’ return to Darmstadt, she devoted herself with redoubled energy to all her charitable institutions; but, alas! she felt more and more that her bodily strength was no longer equal to her exertions.

In the autumn she had the happiness of seeing several of her family at Darmstadt, the last of them being her brother, Prince Leopold.

Darmstadt, January 26th.

Though I have no letter, and expect none at such a moment, still I
must send you a few lines to tell you how constantly I think of
you, and of my own beloved and adored country. The anxiety you must
be going through, and the feelings you must experience, I share
with my whole heart. * * *

God grant it may be possible to do the right thing, for it is late,
and the complication is dreadful!

I have barely any thoughts for any thing else; and the Opposition
seems to me to have been more wrong in its country’s interest, and
to have done her a greater harm than can ever be redressed. It is a
serious, awful moment for Sovereign, country, and Government; and
in your position none have to go through what you have--and after
all so alone!

I hope your health bears up under the anxiety.

April 9th.

* * * Angeli has arrived, and will begin at once. We thought Ernie
and Ella--Victoria is too big, though she is the eldest and ought
to be in the picture; she would be too preponderant. Angeli is
quite lost in admiration of Aliky and May, who are, I must say
myself, such a lovely little pair as one does not often see. He
will begin our heads to-morrow. * * *

DARMSTADT, November 6th.

* * * I am but very middling, and leading a very quiet life, which
is an absolute necessity. It is so depressing to be like this. But
our home life is always pleasant--never dull, however quiet. Only a
feeling of weariness and incapacity is in itself a trial.

On the 8th of November Princess Victoria was suddenly attacked with diphtheria. How and where she caught the illness remains unexplained. The Grand Duchess, always so courageous in illness, and fearing none, had, however, always had a great horror of diphtheria. Princess Victoria was at once isolated from her family and the others in the house; but, alas! to no purpose. Princess Alice superintended the nursing, aided by the nurses and the Lady Superintendent of her hospital. The terrible anxiety of the poor mother during that illness is best described by her own telegrams and letters to the Queen.

_Telegrams._

November 8th.

Victoria has diphtheria since this morning. The fever is high. I am
so anxious.

November 10th.

Victoria is out of danger.

November 12th.

This night my precious Aliky has been taken ill.

DARMSTADT, November 12th.

This is dreadful! my sweet, precious Aliky so ill! At three this
morning Orchie called me, saying she thought the child was
feverish; complaining of her throat. I went over to her, looked
into her throat, and there were not only spots, but a thick
covering on each side of her throat of that horrid white membrane.
I got the steam inhaler, with chlorate of potash for her at once,
but she was very unhappy, poor little thing. We sent for the
doctor, who lives close by, and who saw at once that it was a
severe case. We have put her upstairs near Victoria, who is quite
convalescent, and have fumigated the nursery to try and spare May
and the others. It is a _terrible_ anxiety; it is such an acute,
and often fatal, illness. * * * Victoria has been graciously
preserved; may God preserve these [the younger ones] also in His
mercy! My heart is sore; and I am so anxious.

_Telegram._

November 13th.

Aliky tolerable. Darling May very ill; fever so high. Irène has got
it too. I am miserable; such fear for the sweet little one!

On the 14th of November Prince Ernest and the Grand Duke were attacked with diphtheria, so that, up to that time, Princess Elizabeth only had escaped the infection. She was sent to her Grandmother’s, Princess Charles of Hesse’s palace.

_Telegram._

November 15th.

My precious May no better; suffers so much. I am in such horrible
fear. Irène and Ernie fever less. Ernie’s throat very swelled.
Louis no worse; almost no spots. Aliky recovering.

Evening.

Darling May’s state unchanged; heart-rending. Louis’ fever and
illness on the increase. The others, as one could expect; all
severe cases. May’s most alarming.

The sympathy with the Grand Duchess in her great anxiety was universal. In many of the churches special services were held, praying for the recovery of that dearly beloved family. The well-known suffering state of the Grand Duchess’ own health, so sorely tried at this moment, caused the gravest fears to be entertained on her own account.

On the morning of the 16th of November sweet little Princess “May”--the Princess’ sunshine, as she ever called her--was taken from her doting parents. The Grand Duchess telegraphed as follows to her mother:

November 16th.

* * * Our sweet little one is taken. Broke it to my poor Louis this
morning; he is better; Ernie very, very ill. In great anguish.

_Telegrams._

November 16th; evening.

The pain is beyond words, but “God’s will be done!” Our precious
Ernie is still a source of such terrible fear. The others, though
not safe, better.

November 17th.

Ernie decidedly better; full of gratitude.

November 18th.

My patients getting better; hope soon to have them better. Last
painful parting at three o’clock.

The coffin had to be closed very soon. It was entirely covered with flowers. The Grand Duchess quietly entered the room where it had been placed. She knelt down near it, pressing a corner of the pall to her lips; then she rose, and the funeral service began.

When it was over, she cast one long, loving look at the coffin which hid her darling from her. She then left the room and slowly walked up-stairs. At the top of the stairs she knelt down, and taking hold of the golden balustrade, looked into the mirror opposite to her to watch the little coffin being taken out of the house. She was marvellously calm; only long-drawn sighs escaped her.

When all had left the palace, she went to the Grand Duke, who was to be kept in ignorance of all that was going on. The Grand Duchess had herself arranged every detail of the funeral.

_Telegram._

November 19th.

The continued suspense almost beyond endurance. Ernie thought he
was going to die in the night, and was in a dreadful state for some
hours. Louis very nervous, too; but they are not worse. The six
cases have been one worse than the other.

Later, November 19th.

Ernie had a relapse, and our fears are increased. I am in an agony
between hope and fear.

The Grand Duchess desired her warmest thanks to be expressed to the country for their heart-felt sympathy.

On the 25th of November the Grand Duke was able for the first time to leave his bed for a few hours, and on the 6th of December he and Prince Ernest drove out for the first time, in a shut carriage.

It was on this day that the Grand Duchess wrote for the last time to the Queen.

November 19th.

BELOVED MAMA:--Tender thanks for your dear, dear letter, soothing
and comforting!

Our sweet May waits for us up there, and is not going through our
agony, thank God! Her bright, happy, sunshiny existence has been a
bright spot in our lives--but oh! how short! I don’t touch on the
anguish that fills me, for God in His mercy helps me, and it must
be borne; but to-day, again, the fear and anxiety for Ernie is
still greater. This is quite agonizing to me; _how_ I pray that he
may be spared to me!

His voice is so thick; new membranes have appeared. He cries at
times so bitterly, but he is gayer just now.

To a mother’s heart, who would spare her children every pain, to
have to witness what I have, and am still doing, knowing all these
precious lives hanging on a thread, is an agony barely to be
conceived, save by those who have gone through it.

* * * Your letter says so truly all I feel. I can but say, in all
one’s agony there is a mercy and a peace of God, which even now He
has let me feel. * * *

P.S.--I mean to try and drive a little this afternoon. I shall go
out with Orchie. Of my six children, since a week none more about
me, and not my husband. It is like a very awful dream to me.

November 22d.

BELOVED MAMA:--Many thanks for your dear letter, and for all the
expressions of sympathy shown by so many! I am _very_ grateful for
it.

Dear Ernie having been preserved through the greatest danger is a
source of such gratitude! These have been terrible days! He sent a
book to May this morning. It made me almost sick to smile at the
dear boy. But he must be spared yet awhile what to him will be such
a sorrow.

For myself, darling Mama, God has given me comfort and help in all
this trouble, and I am sure His Spirit will remain near us in the
trials to come! Great sympathy, such as all show, is a balm; but I
am very tired, and the pain is often very great; but pain can be
turned into a blessing, and I pray this may be so. * * *

When alone, I rest; and writing even is a physical exertion. Those
around me have spared me all they could, but one must bear the
greater weight one’s self.

May God spare you all future sorrow, and give you the peace which
He alone can give!

* * * * *

P.S.--I finish these lines at my dear Louis’ bed. He thanks you so
much for your dear, loving sympathy. Thank God, he is doing well.
But the pain they have all gone through in their poor throats has
been _awful_. The doctors and nurses--eight! for they have changed
day and night, and had such constant attendance--have been _all_ I
could wish.

Your loving child,
ALICE.

DARMSTADT, December 1st.

* * * Every one shows great sympathy, I hear, everywhere. * * * All
classes have shown a great attachment to us personally, and to the
House, and amongst the common people--it goes home to them that our
position does not separate us so very far from them, and that in
death, danger, and sorrow the palace and the hut are visited
alike.

So many deep and solemn lessons one learns in these times, and I
believe all works together for good for those who believe in God. *
* *

December 2d.

So many pangs and pains come, and must yet for years to come. Still
gratitude for those left is _so_ strong, and indeed resignation
entire and complete to a higher will; and so we all feel together,
and encourage each other. Life is _not_ endless in this world, God
be praised! There is much joy--but oh! so much trial and pain; and,
as the number of those one loves increases in Heaven, it makes our
passage easier--and _home_ is there!

Ever your loving child,
ALICE.

December 6th.

Louis and Ernie will go out in a shut carriage to-day, though it
rains--but it is warm. Louis’ strength returns _so_ slowly. Of
course he shuns the return to life, where our loss will be more
realized; to him, shut off so long, it is more like a dream. I am
so thankful they were all spared the dreadful realities I went
through--and alone. My cup seemed very full, and yet I have been
enabled to bear it. But daily I must struggle and pray for
resignation; it is a cruel pain and one that will last years, as I
know but too well.

Ever your loving child,
A.

Amongst the last letters from the Grand Duchess is one written on the 6th of December, instructing Prince Ernest’s new tutor in his duties. Princess Alice wished her son to become a truly good man in every sense of the word--upright, truthful, courageous, unselfish, ready to help others, modest and retiring. She wished his tutor to encourage in him fear of God and submission to His will, a high sense of duty, a feeling of honor and of truth.

It had been settled that as soon as the convalescent patients were able to be moved, the whole Grand Ducal family should go to Heidelberg for thorough change of air.

On the 7th of December the Grand Duchess went to the railway station to see the Duchess of Edinburgh, who was passing through Darmstadt on her way to England. That night she first complained of feeling ill; and on the following morning the unmistakable symptoms of diphtheria had begun to show themselves. It is supposed that she must have taken the infection, when one day, in her grief and despair, she had laid her head on her sick husband’s pillow. During the first day of her illness she settled several things, and gave various orders in case of her death. Still it was evident that she thought she would recover.

She bore her great sufferings with wonderful patience, and was most obedient to every thing the doctors ordered her to do, however painful and trying. Those were terrible days! How much so to her is apparent from short sentences which from time to time she wrote down on slips of paper. Every thing was done to alleviate her sufferings--every thing to encourage her. The high fever which set in at the commencement of the illness did not decrease on the third day as in the previous cases, though her sufferings were perhaps not so great. At times she was very restless and distressed. In the night of the 12th of December she gave many directions to her mother-in-law, and to her lady-in-waiting. At times, too, she spoke in the most touching manner about her household, also enquiring kindly after poor and sick people in the town. Then followed hours of great prostration.

On the morning of the 13th of December the doctors could no longer disguise from the Grand Duke that their efforts to save that beloved life were in vain. As the danger increased, the Grand Duchess expressed herself as feeling better. She received her mother-in-law that afternoon in the most affectionate manner; also saw her lady-in-waiting; and when the Grand Duke entered her room her joy was most evident. She even read two letters--the last one being from her mother. After some hours of heavy sleep she woke perfectly conscious and took some nourishment. She then composed herself to rest, saying: “Now I will go to sleep again.” And out of this sleep she woke no more.

Shortly after 1 A.M. on the 14th of December a change took place which left no doubt to those around that that precious life was fast ebbing away. When, a little later on, Princess Charles went into the Grand Duke’s room, who was then asleep, she had left the Grand Duchess perfectly unconscious. It required no words of his mother’s to break the news to him.

At half-past eight that morning Princess Alice died peacefully, murmuring to herself, like a child going to sleep: “From Friday to Saturday--four weeks--May--dear Papa----!”

It was exactly to the day four weeks since Princess May’s death, and seventeen years since the death of the Prince Consort. On the following Tuesday evening, the 17th of December, after a solemn service held by the English chaplain, the remains of the beloved Princess were quietly removed from her own palace to the chapel in the Grand Ducal Castle. The next day, amidst the universal grief of high and low, the coffin was placed in the Mausoleum at the Rosenhöhe. Her brothers, the Prince of Wales and Prince Leopold, were present.

A beautiful recumbent monument by Boehm, representing the Princess holding Princess May in her arms, is now placed in the Mausoleum over the spot where she rests.

CONCLUDING REMARKS.

We must leave it to those who have read the preceding pages--mere chronicle of facts as they are, to form their own idea of the character and personality of the Princess.

Still, the disjointed manner in which the whole subject has been treated seems to call for a few more additional remarks.

The world has long been acquainted with the outward appearance of the Princess--with the delicacy of her features, the sweetness of their expression, and the dignity and gracefulness of her every movement. Though so perfectly natural and simple in manner, she never forgot that she was a Princess. While she knew how to encourage and draw out those who, from timidity, kept themselves in the background, she also understood how, in a moment, to check any thing like forwardness, and, where necessary, to silence presumption by a glance.

Her conversation was bright and animated, passing rapidly from topic to topic, but always directed to subjects worth talking about. There was a certain distinction in the way she dealt even with minor matters of daily life. She spoke German with a slightly foreign accent, but with a power of idiomatic expression that seldom failed her, and showed how thoroughly she had mastered the genius of the language.

Occupation was a necessity to her; she could not understand how any one could be idle. When at home, she always had some needlework at hand ready to take up.

The Princess was singularly free from all prejudice, and always endeavored to judge people according to their worth.

It sometimes happened that she offended people by her independent views, but she never knowingly hurt anybody’s feelings; innate generosity was a striking trait in her character.

Frank and sincere herself to an unusual degree, she always encouraged others to be the same, and was most tolerant of well-grounded contradiction.

In times of trouble and danger, when so much was expected of her, her powers seemed to expand. It was in such moments that she really showed the master-spirit, which remains calm and self-possessed when all around lose their heads.

The Princess took the deepest interest in the personal welfare of all around her, even to the humblest of her servants. This interest was shown by many small services, seldom rendered to their servants by masters or mistresses.

With all her appreciation of the purely theoretical and scientific aspect of things, she was naturally of a very practical turn of mind. She had few equals in her love and talent for organizing, for communicating her own ideas to those around her, and in turn being animated by the views of others. Thus it was that she expected not a little from those about her, and might almost have given the impression of a very restless nature, had not this activity been counterbalanced by an unceasing perseverance in carrying out and adhering to what she had once undertaken.

To become acquainted with great men of every profession, whether scholars, artists, or men of science, was a real pleasure to her. She loved to gain an insight into their thoughts and views, and proved herself a very German in her admiration and appreciation of serious scientific work.

Among the arts, music and painting were those she loved the best, and cultivated the most. In both she was far ahead of even distinguished amateurs. Her drawing was free, firm, and bold; she had a decided talent for composition, and was rich in inventive power. She had a wonderful eye for color, and was especially successful in water-colors.

She was an excellent musician, and played extremely well. Few could read and understand difficult pieces at sight as the Princess did. In music, as in all the arts, her taste was rather severe. She had a great predilection for the classical school. Bach, Beethoven, and Schumann, Schubert, Mendelssohn, and Brahams were her especial favorites.

In theatrical performances she disliked empty show and splendor--the mere decoration of pieces for the love of decoration. She believed in the ennobling influence of the representation of sound classical works.

Her whole being mentally and morally was concentrated in her children and their education, and in this she showed herself to be a thorough woman. She endeavored to make them feel the worth and greatness of both the nations to which they belonged by birth. She was apt to be more severe in her criticisms of the German mode of education and of moral training than of that of her own country. That this should have been so is easily to be explained. In Germany her life and work were not easy, and she knew that it would take time before her endeavors for the welfare of her adopted country met with recognition, whilst in England, the country of her birth and her affection, to which she clung with ever-increasing reverence and devotion, she knew she was ever becoming more beloved.

Still, being so thoroughly English as she was, we cannot but say that much that was best and finest in her character must be considered as the inheritance of her German father. A nature such as the Princess’ could not help coming in contact with many deep and serious questions, in which religion alone could help her.

The traces of perfect trust in God, and entire submission to His will, will be found throughout her letters. We know that at one time she wavered in her convictions. Although she never doubted the value of practical religion, although she ever turned to her Bible for help and comfort in hours of distress and anxiety, she had to wrestle heart and soul with theoretical doubts. It seems to have been a struggle of many years’ duration, at the commencement and end of which personal influences played a great part.

We are indebted to an intimate friend and relation of Princess Alice’s for the following communication, which is in accord with the observations of others who knew her:

“After her son’s death I thought I observed a change in her
feelings. Before that time she had often expressed openly her
doubts as to the existence of God--had allowed herself to be led
away by the free-thinking philosophical views of others. After
Prince Fritz died she never spoke in such a way again. She remained
silent while a transformation was quietly going on within, of which
I afterwards was made aware, under the influence of some hidden
power. It seemed as if she did not then like to own the change that
had come over her.

“Some time afterwards she told me herself, in the most simple and
touching manner, how this change had come about. I could not listen
to her story without tears. The Princess told me she owed it all to
her child’s death, and to the influence of a Scotch gentleman, a
friend of the Grand Duke’s and the Grand Duchess’, who was residing
with his family at Darmstadt.

“‘I owe all to this kind friend,’ she said, ‘who exercised such a
beneficial influence on my religious views; yet people say so much
that is cruel and unjust of him, and of my acquaintance with him.’
At another time she said: ‘The whole edifice of philosophical
conclusions which I had built up for myself, I find to have no
foundation whatever; nothing of it is left; it has crumbled away
like dust. What should we be, what would become of us, if we had no
faith, if we did not believe that there is a God who rules the
world and each single one of us? I feel the necessity of prayer; I
loved to sing hymns with my children, and we have each our favorite
hymn.’[136]

“I remember observing that her table in her room was covered with
religious books of all languages. Some of them she recommended to
me.”

The German Protestant form of worship did not satisfy her. Her own English liturgy, with its fine simple prayers and benedictions, with its many appointed lessons from Holy Writ--the old Testament especially,--with its sermons confined to a limited time, pleased her more. At the same time she always acknowledged with gratitude and admiration that the great spiritual hero who was the first to demand as a right absolute sincerity in the life of faith, and so brought on the Reformation, was a German.

The Princess had a very wide knowledge of history. Her political opinions were independent, entirely free from party prejudice, and based on the principle she had imbibed from her father--that Princes exist for the welfare of their people.

Future generations must ever acknowledge how the Princess Alice throughout her life strove to fulfil the saying of her favorite hero in history, “the great Fritz” (Frederic the Great, in his “Anaimachiavell”): “The rulers of nations must set the example of virtue to the world.”

APPENDIX.

The beautiful sketch which follows appeared in the _Darmstädter Zeitung_, dated “Christmas Eve, 1878”; and the annexed translation of it, by Sir Theodore Martin, appeared a few days afterward in the _Times_.

A WATCHER BY THE DEAD.

Long, long before daybreak on one of those gloomy December days of
last week, an officer made his way hurriedly along the empty,
silent streets of the capital. He was in full uniform, but its pomp
and splendor were shrouded in a thick covering of crape, for he was
afoot thus early to do duty by the bier of the beloved Princess.
Desolate were the streets, as of a city of the dead; desolate as
though tenanted only by the dead was the lordly palace to which he
bent his steps. The sentinels at the great gate stood motionless,
despite the severe cold, as if they feared to disturb the repose of
death. Here, where the inhabitants of the capital used to see all
astir with the busy, cheerful life inseparable from the residence
of a reigning Prince; here, where in days but recently gone by
children, blooming and beautiful, the country’s pride and the joy
of their princely parents, gave animation to house and garden, all
was silent and void; a deadly blast had swept over the till now so
happy home. The country’s young, idolized mother had closed her
beautiful eyes, closed them for evermore, after doing and enduring
nobly, after tasting the bitterness of great earthly sorrow. Many
long and woful days, many nights of even greater anguish, had she
watched, trembled, and prayed by the couch of a husband sick unto
death, and of five children beloved past telling. The sweet,
youngest bud in the fair wreath of princely children, had been torn
from her bleeding heart, and tears--scalding tears--for the sweet
little May-blossom, which she had herself put to its last sleep
under chaplets of flowers, flowed fast, as she folded her hands in
gratitude, when the peril of death had passed over the heads of her
husband and her other children. “Thus do we learn humility!” she
said, with quivering lip, to a lady who stood beside her. “God has
called for one life, and has given me back five for it; how, then,
should I mourn?” And now, when, with fear and trembling, joy seemed
about to enter once more into that heavily-stricken home, again the
dark pinions of the Angel of Death were heard upon the air, and he
bore away the truest of wives, the most loving of mothers, a
sacrifice to duty fulfilled with the noblest forgetfulness of self.
These were the thoughts with which the solitary wayfarer went upon
his sorrowful way, and crossed the threshold of the chamber of
death. With light step and whispered words the watchers by the dead
whom he relieved withdrew.

Overwhelmed by the majesty of death, which met him here in its most
sombre form, the new comer bent his head and continued long in
silent prayer. The Princess lay on a bier in the great hall on the
ground-floor, where she had so often sat surrounded by a radiant
circle of guests. What of her was earthly, cased in a triple
cerement, was covered with a pall of black velvet, which, however,
was almost hid from view beneath a mass of flowers and palms. Upon
the head of the coffin stood a little, simple crucifix of perfect
artistic workmanship. Six torches on pedestals, hung with black,
stood round the bier, shedding but a feeble glimmer through the
hall, scarcely brighter, indeed, than the scanty light of the
dawning winter day. From the wall opposite the coffin the youthful
image of her husband, painted in happier times, looked sadly down
upon the loved one lost. Directly opposite hung the picture which
the Hessian Division had had painted for their much-loved leader,
in remembrance of the glorious day of Gravelotte--a picture of
battle and of the wild _mêlée_ of slaughter in the silent chamber
of death. He who now watched by the coffin had played a part in the
conflict of the memorable day which the picture was meant to
perpetuate, and he knew how deeply it was interwoven with the life
of the Princess who lay there in her long last sleep. Her dear
husband had gone to the campaign with his faithful Hessians; she
knew his precious life to be in hourly danger; but her own sorrows
and cares were not her first thought. Helpful, comforting,
encouraging, she gave at all times to those who were left behind a
brilliant example of cheerful and devoted courage; and when the
wounded and sick came back from the battlefields in ever-increasing
numbers, she it was who everywhere took the lead with noblest
self-abnegation and practical good sense. By the beds of the sick
and dying she stood like a comforting angel, and the love of the
Hessian people twined the fairest of all diadems, the aureole of
the heroine, round her princely brows.

This grateful love, not only of those who bore arms, but of the
citizen and artisan as well, for which these things laid the
foundation, was now sincerely and unconstrainedly busy beside the
bier of the princely sleeper. Servants came, with loads of wreaths
and bouquets, and arranged them upon the coffin. But it was not the
official tributes of flowers from Court and noble, from the
deputations of regiments far and near, which were laid as a
mournful homage at the feet of the dead mistress, that touched most
deeply the heart of him who stood there on guard. No, the tear that
stole down unbidden, the little trivial gift of the poor and humble
who lived far away from Court favor, had a greater value in his
eyes. It was still quite early morning when, with the first glimmer
of day, came an old peasant woman from the Odenwald. Advancing
timidly, she laid, with a murmured prayer, a little wreath of
rosemary, with a couple of small white flowers, perhaps the only
ornament of her poor little room at home, as a token of grateful
affection down upon the velvet pall. Then, thinking herself
unnoticed, she took a rosebud from one of the splendid wreaths, and
hid it under the old woollen dress. Who could interfere to balk the
impulse of genuine affection, that longed to carry off some slight
memorial with it? And now the little flower is lying between the
leaves of the old Bible, and in days to come the matron, when she
turns the leaves of the sacred volume, will tell her daughters and
granddaughters of the noble lady, too early snatched away from her
people--of her, who never forgot the poorest and the humblest of
them all.