Part 24
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.