Potsdam, 2nd January 1861.
Beloved Parents,—At last I can find a moment for myself to sit down and collect my thoughts and to write to you an account of these two last dreadful days! My head is in such a state, I do not know where I am hardly—whether I am in a dream or awake, what is yesterday and what to-day! What we have so long expected is come at last! All the confusion, bustle, excitement, noise, etc., is all swallowed up in that one thought for me—I have seen death for the first time! It has made an impression upon me that I shall never, never forget as long as I live—and I feel so ill, so confused and upset by all that I have gone through in the last forty-eight hours, that you must forgive me if I write incoherently and unclearly. But to go back to Monday evening (it seems to me a year now). At a quarter to eight in the evening of Monday the 31st, I took dear darling Affie to the railway station, and took leave of him with a heavy heart. You know I love that dear boy distractedly, and that nothing could have given me more pleasure than his dear, long-wished-for visit. At nine o'clock Fritz and I went to tea at the Prince Regent's; we four were alone together. The Princess was rather low and unwell, the Prince low-spirited, and I thinking of nothing but Affie and of how dear he is. While we were sitting at tea we received bad news from Sans Souci,3 but nothing to make us particularly uneasy. Fritz and I went home and to bed, not being in a humour to sit up till twelve.
About half-past one we heard a knock at the door and my wardrobe maid brought in a telegram saying the King was given up, and a note from the Prince Regent saying he was going up immediately. We got up in the greatest hurry and dressed—I hardly know how; I put on just what I found, and had not time to do my hair or anything. After we had hurried on our clothes we went downstairs and out—for there was no time to get a carriage or a footman or anything—it was a splendid night, but twelve degrees of cold (Réaumur). I thought I was in a dream finding myself alone in the street with Fritz at two o'clock at night. We went to the Prince Regent's, and then with them in their carriages to the railway station—we four all alone in the train. We arrived at Sans Souci and went directly into the room where the King lay—the stillness of death was in the room—only the light of the fire and of a dim lamp. We approached the bed and stood there at the foot of it, not daring to look at one another or to say a word. The Queen was sitting in an armchair at the head of the bed, her arm underneath the King's head, and her head on the same pillow on which he lay; with her other hand she continually wiped the perspiration from his forehead. You might have heard a pin drop; no sound was heard but the crackling of the fire and the death-rattle, that dreadful sound which goes to one's heart, and which tells plainly that life is ebbing. This rattling in the throat lasted about an hour longer, and then the King lay motionless. The doctors bent their heads low to hear whether he still breathed—and we stood, not even daring to sit down, watching the death-struggle; every now and then the King breathed very fast and loud, but never unclosed his eyes; he was very red in the face, and the cold perspiration pouring from his forehead. I never spent such an awful time! And to see the poor Queen sitting there quite rent my heart—three, four, five, six, seven struck, and we were still standing there—one member of the family came in after the other and remained motionless in the room, sobs only breaking the silence. Oh! it is dreadful to see a person die! All the thoughts and feelings that crowded on my mind in those hours I cannot describe, more than in my whole past lifetime. The light of the morning dawned, and the lamps were taken away—oh, how sad for the first morning in the year! We all went into the next room, for I assure you, anxiety, watching, standing, and crying had worn us out. The Princess fell asleep on a chair, I on a sofa, and the rest walked up and down the room asking one another, How long will it last? Towards the middle of the day, Marianne and I went into the room alone, as we wished to stay there; we came up and kissed the Queen's hand and knelt down and kissed the King's; it was quite warm still. We stood about and waited till five o'clock and then had some dinner, and I felt so sick and faint and unwell, that Fritz sent me here to bed. At one o'clock this morning I got up and dressed, and heard that the King had not many minutes more to live, but by the time I had got the carriage I heard all was over. I drove to Sans Souci and saw the King and Queen. May God bless and preserve them, and may theirs be a long and happy and blessed reign. Then I went into the room where the King lay, and I could hardly bring myself to go away again. There was so much of comfort in looking at that quiet, peaceful form, at rest at last after all he had suffered—gone home at last from this world of suffering—so peaceful and quiet he looked, like a sleeping child. Every moment I expected to see him move or breathe—his mouth and eyes closed, and such a sweet and happy expression—both his hands were on the coverlid. I kissed them both for the last time; they were quite cold then. Fritz and I stood looking at him for some time. I could hardly bring myself to believe that this was really death, that which I had so often shuddered at and felt afraid of; there was nothing there dreadful or appalling, only a heavenly calm and peace. I felt it did me so much good, and was such a comfort. "Death, where is thy sting? Grave, where is thy victory?" He was a just and good man, and had a heart overflowing with love and kindness, and he has gone to his rest after a long trial which he bore with so much patience. I am not afraid of death now, and when I feel inclined to be so, I shall think of that solemn and comforting sight, and that death is only a change for the better. We went home and to bed and this morning went there at ten. I sat some time with the poor Queen, who is so calm and resigned and touching in her grief. She does not cry, but she looks heartbroken. She said to me: "I am not longer of any use in this world. I have no longer any vocation, any duties to perform. I only lived for him." Then she was so kind to me, kinder than she has ever been yet, and said I was like her own child and a comfort to her. I saw the corpse again this morning; he is unaltered, only changed in colour, and the hands are stiffened.
The funeral will be on Saturday; the King will lie in state till then. His wish was to be buried in Friedenskirche before the altar—and his heart at Charlottenburg in the Mausoleum. Of course all will be done that he wishes. His servants are in a dreadful state. They adored him, and nursed him day and night for three years with the most devoted attachment. The King and Queen stay at Sans Souci till after the funeral, and Fritz and I here at Potsdam.... Ever your most dutiful and devoted Daughter,
P.S.—The funeral will only take place on Monday, and the body will be embalmed to-morrow. To-morrow evening there will be prayers at the bedside, and the day after the lying in state.
Footnote 3: The palace at Potsdam, built by Frederick the Great, the usual residence of the King of Prussia.
Osborne, le 3 Janvier 1861.
Sire et cher Frère,—Les bons vœux que votre Majesté veut bien m'exprimer à l'occasion de la nouvelle année me sont bien chers, et je vous prie d'en accepter mes remercîments sincères, ainsi que l'expression des vœux que je forme pour le bonheur de votre Majesté, de l'Impératrice et de votre cher enfant; le Prince se joint à moi dans ces sentiments.
Votre Majesté a bien raison si elle regarde avec quelque inquiétude l'état agité de l'Europe, mais je partage aussi avec elle le ferme espoir, que le mal peut être beaucoup amoindri, tant que la France et l'Angleterre s'entendent, et j'y ajouterai, tant que cette entente a pour but désintéressé de préserver au monde la paix et à chaque nation ses droits et ses possessions, et d'adoucir des animosités, qui menacent de produire les plus graves calamités, des guerres civiles et des luttes de races. La bénédiction de Dieu ne manquera pas à l'accomplissement d'une tâche aussi grande et sacrée.
Je me réjouis avec votre Majesté des glorieux succès que nos armées alliées viennent d'obtenir en Chine, et de la belle paix que ces succès ont amenée. Elle sera féconde, je l'espère, en bienfaits pour nos deux pays aussi bien que pour ce peuple bizarre que nous avons forcé à entrer en relations avec le reste du monde.
Il nous a fait bien du plaisir de voir l'Impératrice et d'entendre depuis que son voyage en Angleterre lui a fait tant de bien.
Agréez l'assurance de la parfaite amitié avec laquelle je suis, Sire et mon Frère, de votre Majesté Impériale, la bonne Sœur,
Broadlands, 10th January 1861.
Viscount Palmerston presents his humble duty to your Majesty, and has many apologies to make for not having sooner answered your Majesty's previous communications. He is glad to be able to say that Lady Jocelyn's youngest boy, whose illness has been the cause of very great anxiety, is now in the course of gradual, but favourable recovery.
Viscount Palmerston returns to your Majesty the letter of the Emperor of the French, and your Majesty's excellent answer; it is to be hoped that he will profit by the sound advice which that answer contains.
Upon the subject of Italy your Majesty reminds Viscount Palmerston that he stated last summer that it would be better for the interests of England that Southern Italy should be a separate Monarchy, rather than that it should form part of an united Italy. Viscount Palmerston still retains that opinion; because a separate kingdom of the Two Sicilies would be more likely, in the event of war between England and France, to side, at least by its neutrality, with the strongest Naval Power, and it is to be hoped that such Power would be England. But then it would be necessary that the Two Sicilies as an independent and separate State should be well governed, and should have an enlightened Sovereign. This unfortunately has become hopeless and impossible under the Bourbon Dynasty, and no Englishman could wish to see a Murat or a Prince Napoleon on the Throne of Naples.4 The course of events since last summer seems to have finally decided the fate of Sicily and Naples, and there can be no doubt that for the interest of the people of Italy, and with a view to the general balance of Power in Europe, a united Italy is the best arrangement. The Italian Kingdom will never side with France from partiality to France, and the stronger that kingdom becomes the better able it will be to resist political coercion from France. The chief hold that France will have upon the policy of the Kingdom of Italy consists in the retention of Venetia by Austria.
Viscount Palmerston has heard no more from Lord John Russell about his wish eventually to go to the House of Lords, and it is probable that this wish often before expressed will, as upon former occasions, be allowed to sleep undisturbed....
Footnote 4: Prince Napoleon Murat, a son of Joachim Murat, King of Naples, 1808-1815, had returned to France from the United States in 1848; an attempt was now being made to form a Murat party in Southern Italy.
Windsor Castle, 19th January 1861.
The Queen has received Lord John Russell's letter enclosing his correspondence with Lord Clarendon.5 She has kept the latter in order to show it to Lord Palmerston this evening, not knowing whether he has seen it already. She must say that Lord Clarendon's arguments are very conclusive. Has it ever occurred to Lord John Russell that, if Lord Clarendon were to go to Berlin carrying the highest compliment the Queen has to bestow, viz. the Order of the Garter to the new King of Prussia, and from thence to Vienna empty-handed to the Emperor of Austria for the purpose of giving good advice, the Emperor might look upon it as an offensive public proceeding towards him?
Footnote 5: Lord Clarendon was appointed to represent the Queen at the Coronation of the King of Prussia.
Piccadilly, 27th January 1861.
Viscount Palmerston presents his humble duty to your Majesty....
Viscount Palmerston saw Lord Malmesbury on Friday before the Cabinet. They both came up in the same train though not in the same carriage, and Lord Malmesbury came to Viscount Palmerston's in Piccadilly at three o'clock.
He said that he was charged by Lord Derby and Mr Disraeli with a message similar to that which he had conveyed last year, namely, that if Mr Gladstone were to propose a democratic Budget making a great transfer of burthens from indirect to direct Taxation, and if, the Cabinet refusing its concurrence, Mr Gladstone were to retire, the Conservative Party would give the Government substantial support except in the case of the Government wishing to take an active part in war against Austria. That this did not of course mean an abstinence from usual attacks and criticisms in debate, but that no step would in such case be taken to produce a change of Government. In fact, said Lord Malmesbury, neither the Conservative leaders nor the Party wish at present to come into office, and have no intention of taking any step to turn the present Government out. Mr Bright had indeed proposed to Mr Disraeli to join together with the Radical Party, the Conservatives, for the purpose of turning out the present Government; and especially to get rid of Viscount Palmerston and Lord John Russell. Mr Bright said he would in that case give the Conservative Government a two years' existence, and by the end of that time the country, it might be hoped, would be prepared for a good and real Reform Bill, and then a proper Government might be formed.
This proposal, which it must be owned was not very tempting, Lord Malmesbury said had been declined. He also said that Count Persigny, on returning from one of his trips to Paris, had brought a similar proposal from Mr Cobden for a co-operation of Radicals and Conservatives to overthrow the present Government; but that also had been declined. Viscount Palmerston requested Lord Malmesbury to convey his thanks to Lord Derby and Mr Disraeli for the handsome communication which they had thus made to him, and to assure them that he fully appreciated the honourable and patriotic motives by which it had been prompted....
Windsor Castle, 29th January 1861.
My beloved Uncle,—I write to you on a sad anniversary —already seventeen years ago, that it pleased God to take dearest Papa away from us all! He, who ought to have lived for twenty years longer at least!...
We hear from Berlin that the poor King is much angegriffen, and very irritable, but that my letter announcing to him that I would give him the Garter had given him so much pleasure that he had been seen to smile for the first time since the 2nd of January.
I think you will be gratified by the little extract from a letter from our dear friend the Queen, about Vicky, which I venture to send you—as well as by the following extract from Vicky's own letter to me, written on her wedding day, in which she says:—"Every time our dear wedding day returns I feel so happy and thankful—and live every moment of that blessed and never-to-be-forgotten day over again in thought. I love to dwell on every minute of that day; not a hope has been disappointed, not an expectation that has not been realised, and much more—that few can say—and I am thankful as I ought to be."
These two extracts are very gratifying to our hearts.
I must now wish you good-bye. With Albert's affectionate love, ever your devoted Niece,
94 Piccadilly, 10th February 1861.
My dear Phipps,—In the box which I sent to the Queen on Friday morning, giving a short account of the Debate on Thursday, I placed a separate paper submitting for her approvalDR GOODFORD that Dr Goodford, Headmaster of Eton, might be recommended to the Fellows to be elected to the office of Provost now vacant; and I mentioned that the matter was rather pressing. I have had no answer as yet, and the election is fixed for to-morrow.
The election is on the same footing as that of a bishop who is nominally elected by the Chapter of the Diocese, but who is named for being so elected by the Crown. The Crown recommends the person to be named Provost, and the Fellows as a matter of course elect him. But the election must be made within a stated period—I believe fifteen days after the vacancy has happened; and if the Crown does not within that period recommend, the Fellows proceed to make their own choice.
The election is fixed for to-morrow, and it would not, I think, be desirable to let the Royal prerogative drop on this occasion. The persons who have been named as candidates are Dr Goodford, Headmaster, and with regard to him it is to be said that the office has generally been given to the Headmaster, and that, as far as the Provost has any function connected with improvements in the arrangement of the school, there is an advantage in his having been conversant with the details of the existing system. Dr Goodford is qualified for the office by his degree.
The next candidate is Mr Coleridge, once a master in the school, but he is not qualified by a sufficient degree, and there was a prejudice against him on account of his Puseyite tendencies.
The third is Dr Chapman, late Bishop of Colombo, qualified by his degree, but having no peculiar claims or other recommendations for the office.
The fourth is Mr Birch, formerly tutor to the Prince of Wales, scarcely of sufficient calibre for the office, and not qualified by a sufficient degree.
Between Dr Goodford and Dr Chapman I think the preference should be given to Dr Goodford, and the more especially because Dr Chapman is supposed to entertain theological opinions similar to those of Mr Coleridge, his brother-in-law.
If the Queen should approve of Dr Goodford being recommended, perhaps she would have the goodness to sign the document sent in the accompanying box, and if it is returned by the earliest opportunity it is just possible that I may be able to send it to Windsor in time for the election to-morrow.6 Yours sincerely,
Footnote 6: Dr Goodford was elected, and remained Provost till his death in 1884.
10th February 1861.
The Queen has received Lord John Russell's letter enclosing the draft of one to General Garibaldi, which she now returns. She had much doubt about its being altogether safe for the Government to get into correspondence, however unofficial, with the General, and thinks that it would be better for Lord John not to write to him. Lord Palmerston, who was here this afternoon on other business, has undertaken to explain the reasons in detail to Lord John—in which he fully concurs.
Chesham Place, 11th February 1861.
Lord John Russell presents his humble duty to your Majesty; he earnestly entreats your Majesty to consider whether any step ought to be omitted by which the peace of Europe may be preserved.
General Garibaldi is generally esteemed by Italians; even Count Ludolf speaks of him in the highest terms of praise. General Garibaldi has lost his country, and is full of resentment at Count Cavour for selling it. He respects and admires England for her disinterested conduct.
But it is evident the French Emperor is again exciting the Hungarian party. The Garibaldian legion is told to hold itself in readiness, and the Pays and Patrie are instructed to praise the Legion. They are being assembled in Genoa and Piedmont.
There is little chance of Garibaldi's refusing to take part in this expedition, and if he does proceed to the Dalmatian or Istrian coast, his name will have an immense effect.
It does not seem reasonable to throw away any chance of saving the Austrian Empire and the peace of Europe.
Lord John Russell will wait till Monday next to learn definitively your Majesty's pleasure.
The proposed letter appears to him to give some hope of preventing great misfortunes. In this belief it is Lord John Russell's duty to endeavour to prevent the frightful war which is impending.
Kossuth is fabricating paper to the extent of from 140 to 300,000,000 of florins to furnish the sinews of insurrection. In the month of March Hungary will be in a blaze. But if Italy, Germany, and France keep away, the fire may burn out of itself.
11th February 1861.
Viscount Palmerston presents his humble duty to your Majesty, and in returning Lord John's letter begs to submit, that as Lord John is so anxious to send it, and seems so strongly of opinion that it is an effort which might be successful in dissuading Garibaldi from attempting to create disturbances in the Austrian territory by going thither with a band of adventurers, it may be best to let the letter go, though it might perhaps be improved by pointing more directly to the nature of the expedition which it advises Garibaldi not to undertake.
There may be inconveniences which may arise from the letter, but they might be dealt with; on the other hand, if Garibaldi undertakes his expedition, it would be a matter of regret if it could be thought or said that a step which might have prevented the mischief had been omitted.
Buckingham Palace, 12th February 1861.
The Queen has received Lord John Russell's reiterated request for her sanction to his writing to General Garibaldi. She still entertains the same objections to the step, as implying a recognition of the General's position as a European Power as enabling him to allow the impression to prevail, that he is in communication with the British Government and acts under its inspiration, as possibly leading to a prolonged and embarrassing correspondence, and as implying for the future that when the disapprobation of the Government is not expressed (as in the present instance), it gives its consent to his aggressive schemes. The Queen will not prevent, however, Lord John from taking a step which he considers gives a chance of averting a great European calamity. Should Lord John therefore adhere to his opinion, she asks him to let her see the letter again, upon the precise wording of which so much depends.
Buckingham Palace, 12th February 1861.
My dearest Uncle,—Many, many thanks for your dear letter of the 8th. Here we have cold again since the day before yesterday, and last night seven degrees of frost. On Sunday we celebrated, with feelings of deep gratitude and love, the twenty-first anniversary of our blessed marriage, a day which had brought us, and I may say the world at large, such incalculable blessings! Very few can say with me that their husband at the end of twenty-one years is not only full of the friendship, kindness, and affection which a truly happy marriage brings with it, but the same tender love of the very first days of our marriage!
We missed dear Mamma and three of our children,7 but had six dear ones round us—and assembled in the evening those of our Household still remaining who were with us then!...
In Parliament things go on quietly enough, and every one hopes for a short session....
Hoping that these lines will find you well, believe me ever, your devoted Niece,
Footnote 7: The Duchess of Kent was at Frogmore; the Princess Royal, now Crown Princess of Prussia, was at Potsdam; the Prince of Wales had just entered upon his first term at Cambridge; and Prince Alfred had joined his ship, the Euryalus, at Plymouth.
Downing Street, 13th February 1861.
Viscount Palmerston presents his humble duty to your Majesty, and begs to state that the Cabinet at its meeting this afternoon were of opinion that Lord John Russell's proposed letter to Garibaldi, as altered by Lord John, might do good, and could scarcely be attended with any material inconvenience, and that therefore it might go.8
Footnote 8: It accordingly was sent in the following form:—
General,—You did me the honour, some time ago, to write me a letter, thanking me for a speech I made in Parliament.
I was not insensible to the value of that compliment. My present purpose however is not compliment.
I wish you seriously to reconsider your declaration that you propose to begin a war in the Spring.
It seems to me that no individual, however distinguished, has a right to determine for his country the momentous question of peace or war with a foreign State.
Italy, represented by a free Parliament, is about to assemble and declare her own sentiments and wishes.
It is surely for the King and the Parliament together to decide on questions which may involve all Europe in bloodshed.
I cannot believe that you will be the man to give the signal of dissension in Italy. I remain, General, your obedient Servant,
The reply received was as follows:—
Caprera, 4th March 1861.
Noble Lord,—Italy owes you much gratitude. You, however, judge me somewhat harshly; giving credence to rumours which attribute to me projects that are not known to any one.
I hope to make war again for my country. But I desire that you, deserving as you are of my esteem and attachment, should believe that I will not undertake anything which may injure or be in contradiction with the rights of the King and Parliament of Italy.
I do not love war, Minister, but, in the present condition of my country, it appears most difficult to constitute her in a normal manner, without war.
I am sure that Italy is able to make her war of liberation even this year. The person who directs does not feel the same certainty, and I leave it to you to weigh his motives. I, if I am not called upon by events, shall continue in my retreat, and I will, in every way, endeavour to gain your good-will, and that of the generous nation to whom my country owes so much, etc., etc., etc. I am your devoted Servant,
Buckingham Palace, 22nd February 1861.
The Queen is very glad to see that the Government is seriously taking up the question of iron-sided ships, and looks forward to the result of Lord Palmerston's conference with the Duke of Somerset. The number wanted appears large, but the Queen must add that she does not consider one ship a sufficient preponderance over the French Navy for this country. Twenty-seven to twenty-six would give that number.
Frogmore, 16th March 1861.
My dearly beloved Uncle,—On this, the most dreadful day of my life, does your poor broken-hearted child write one line of love and devotion. She is gone!9 That precious, dearly beloved tender Mother—whom I never was parted from but for a few months—without whom I can't imagine life—has been taken from us! It is too dreadful! But she is at peace—at rest—her fearful sufferings at an end! It was quite painless—though there was very distressing, heartrending breathing to witness. I held her dear, dear hand in mine to the very last, which I am truly thankful for! But the watching that precious life going out was fearful! Alas! she never knew me! But she was spared the pang of parting! How this will grieve and distress you! You who are now doubly precious to us. Good Alice was with us all through, and deeply afflicted, and wishes to say everything kind to you. Bertie and Lenchen are now here—all much grieved, and have seen her sleeping peacefully and eternally! Dearest Albert is dreadfully overcome—and well he may, for she adored him! I feel so truly verwaist. God bless and protect you. Ever your devoted and truly unhappy Niece and Child,
P.S.—The devotion of dearest Mamma's ladies and maids is not to be described. Their love and their devotion were too touching. There we all were round her—the poor, good, old Clark, who is so devoted to us all. Ever again, your devoted Child,
Footnote 9: The Duchess of Kent died on the 16th of March. She had had a surgical operation in the arm, on account of an abscess, a short time before, but till the 15th the medical reports had been encouraging. On that day the Queen went to Frogmore, and was with her mother at the time of her death.
Windsor Castle, 26th March 1861.
My dearest Uncle,—Your sad little letter of the 21st reached me on Saturday. On Sunday I took leave of those dearly beloved remains—a dreadful moment; I had never been near a coffin before, but dreadful and heartrending as it was, it was so beautifully arranged that it would have pleased her, and most probably she looked down and blessed us—as we poor sorrowing mortals knelt around, overwhelmed with grief! It was covered with wreaths, and the carpet strewed with sweet, white flowers. I and our daughters did not go yesterday—it would have been far too much for me—and Albert when he returned, with tearful eyes told me it was well I did not go—so affecting had been the sight—so universal the sympathy.
Poor little Arthur went too. I and my girls prayed at home together, and dwelt on her happiness and peace.
But oh! dearest Uncle—the loss—the truth of it—which I cannot, do not realise even when I go (as I do daily) to Frogmore—the blank becomes daily worse!
The constant intercourse of forty-one, years cannot cease without the total want of power of real enjoyment of anything. A sort of cloud which hangs over you, and seems to oppress everything—and a positive weakness in the powers of reflection and mental exertion. The doctors tell me I must not attempt to force this. Long conversation, loud talking, the talking of many people together, I can't bear yet. It must come very gradually....
I try to be, and very often am, quite resigned—but dearest Uncle, this is a life sorrow. On all festive or mournful occasions, on all family events, her love and sympathy will be so fearfully wanting. Then again, except Albert (who I very often don't see but very little in the day), I have no human being except our children, and that is not the same Verhältniss, to open myself to; and besides, a woman requires woman's society and sympathy sometimes, as men do men's. All this, beloved Uncle, will show you that, without dwelling constantly upon it, or moping or becoming morbid, though the blank and the loss to me, in my isolated position especially, is such a dreadful, and such an irreparable one, the worst trials are yet to come. My poor birthday, I can hardly think of it! Strange it is how often little trifles, insignificant in themselves, upset one more even than greater things....
But the general sympathy for me, and approval of the manner in which I have shown my grief, as well as the affection and respect for dearest Mamma's memory in the country, is quite wonderful and most touching. Ever your devoted Niece,
Buckingham Palace, 30th March 1861.
My dearly beloved Uncle,—It is a comfort for me to write to you, and I think you may like to hear from your poor motherless child. It is to-day a fortnight already, and it seems but yesterday—all is before me, and at the same time all, all seems quite impossible. The blank—the desolation—the fearful and awful Sehnsucht und Wehmuth come back with redoubled force, and the weeping, which day after day is my welcome friend, is my greatest relief.
We have an immense deal to do—and everything is in the greatest order; but to open her drawers and presses, and to look at all her dear jewels and trinkets in order to identify everything, and relieve her really excellent servants from all responsibility and anxiety, is like a sacrilege, and I feel as if my heart was being torn asunder! So many recollections of my childhood are brought back to me, and these dumb souvenirs which she wore and used, and which so painfully survive what we so dearly and passionately loved, touch chords in one's heart and soul, which are most painful and yet pleasing too. We have found many most interesting and valuable letters—the existence of which I was not aware of—and which, I think, must have come back with poor Papa's letters, viz. letters from my poor father asking for dearest Mamma's hand—and sending a letter from you, encouraging him to ask her. And many others—very precious letters—from dear Grandmamma; Albert has also found at Clarence House, where he went to-day, many of dear Grandpapa's.10 ...
Frogmore we mean to keep just as dear Mamma left it—and keep it cheerful and pretty as it still is. I go there constantly; I feel so accustomed to go down the hill, and so attracted to it, for I fancy she must be there.
Was poor dear Grandpapa's death-bed such a sad one? You speak of its distressing impressions.11 ...
She watches over us now, you may be sure! Ever your devoted, sorrowing Child and Niece,
Albert is so kind, and does all with such tenderness and feeling. Vicky goes on Tuesday, and we on Wednesday, to Osborne, where I think the air and quiet will do me good.
Footnote 10: Duke Francis Frederick of Saxe-Coburg-Saalfeld, and Duchess Augusta Caroline Sophia, the parents of the Duchess of Kent and King Leopold.
Footnote 11: In a recent letter King Leopold had said that he was not quite sixteen years old when his father died (1806), and the elder son, Ernest, being alarmingly ill at Königsberg, he was himself called upon to be the support of his mother. "The recollections of that death-bed," he adds, "are fresh in my memory, as if it had been yesterday. I thank God that your recollections of that terrible moment are so peaceful, and that you may preserve an impression ... without any distressing addition."