The Letters of Queen Victoria Volume Iii Part 105

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_. G.o.d bless and protect you. Ever your devoted and truly unhappy Niece and Child,

VICTORIA R.

_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,

VICTORIA R.

[Footnote 9: The d.u.c.h.ess 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.]

[Pageheading: BEREAVEMENT]

_Queen Victoria to the King of the Belgians._

WINDSOR CASTLE, _26th March 1861_.

MY DEAREST UNCLE,--Your sad little letter of the 21st reached me on Sat.u.r.day. 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 _Verhaltniss_, 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,

VICTORIA R.

[Pageheading: RENEWED GRIEF]

_Queen Victoria to the King of the Belgians._

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 _pa.s.sionately_ 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,

VICTORIA R.

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 d.u.c.h.ess Augusta Caroline Sophia, the parents of the d.u.c.h.ess 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 Konigsberg, 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 G.o.d that your recollections of that terrible moment are so peaceful, and that you may preserve an impression ... without any distressing addition."]

[Pageheading: FATHERLY ADVICE]

_The King of the Belgians to Queen Victoria._

LAEKEN, _1st April 1861_.

MY BELOVED VICTORIA,--Your dear letter of the 30th _moved me very much_. I can see everything, and it makes me shed tears of the sincerest sorrow.

The bereavement, the impossibility, they are what one feels most deeply and painfully, that nothing will bring back the beloved object, that there is a rupture with everything earthly that nothing can remedy. Your good, dear Mamma was without ostentation, sincerely religious, a great blessing, and the only solid support we can find.

Happy those whose faith cannot be shaken; they can bear the hardships of earthly life with fort.i.tude.

True it is that if we compare the sorrows of our earthly life with the hope of an eternal existence, though painfully felt, still they shrink as it were in appreciation.

You feel so _truly_, so _affectionately_, that even in that you must gratify the dear being we lost. When I think of poor Aunt Julia,[12]

she was so alone that I cannot help to pity her even in all the objects she valued and left behind; the affectionate care which is shown to everything connected with your dear Mamma could not have existed, and still she was a n.o.ble character, and with a warm, generous heart. In all your dear Mamma's letters there will everywhere be found traces of the affection which united us. From early childhood we were close allies; she recollected everything so well of that period which now, since the departure of the two sisters, is totally unknown to every one but me, which, you can imagine, is a most melancholy sensation. Time flies so fast that all dear recollections soon get isolated. Your stay at Osborne will do you good, though Spring, when fine, affects one very much, to think that the one that was beloved does not share in these pleasant sensations. You must try, however, not to shake your precious health too much. Your dear Mamma, who watched your looks so affectionately, would not approve of it....

Your devoted old Uncle,

LEOPOLD R.

[Footnote 12: Sister of King Leopold, and widow of the Grand Duke Constantine, who had lived in retirement at Geneva for many years, and died at Elfenau on the 15th of August 1860.]

_Queen Victoria to the King of the Belgians._