The dominant quality in the Queen's character, it seemed to me, was her
strong common-sense. It enabled her to see things in their just
proportion, to avoid extremes, as a rule, in her estimate of persons, of
opinions, and events; to accept the inevitable without futile murmur or
resistance. Very early this quality must have been developed, and it
will account for that perfect self-possession on the announcement of her
accession and at her first Privy Council, which created surprise and
admiration in all who witnessed it. Those who read of it were often
incredulous, and stories of her agitation on these occasions have found
a place from time to time in newspapers and elsewhere. One of these,
which appeared in a respectable journal so late as November 1886, drew
from the Queen the following very suggestive remark in a letter to me:
"The Queen was _not_ overwhelmed on her accession--rather full of
courage, she may say. _She took things as they came, as she knew they
must be._" It was so with her through life. She met trial, difficulty,
or danger "with courage," and reconciled herself with a thoughtful
constant spirit, and without passionate remonstrance, to what she "knew
must be." What but this quality of mind, and her strong sense of the
claims of duty upon her as Sovereign, could have enabled her within a
few days after the loss, which for a long time took all sunshine out of
her life, to resume her active duties as Queen, and to continue them
unbrokenly through feeble health and the many domestic anxieties and
bereavements which during her long life pressed frequently and heavily
upon her? The Queen's historian will have much to tell in illustration
of her breadth of view, her prompt decision, and undaunted spirit in
times of political difficulty. At these times, the truly Royal spirit
within her answered to the call. A judgment enlightened by a vast
experience, and unwarped by prejudice, then came into play. Her sole
thought was for the good of her people, and to see that neither this,
nor the position of her Empire before the world, should be in anywise
impaired. To this end she brought into play the well-balanced judgment,
which begets and is alone entitled to the name of common-sense.
The same quality was equally conspicuous in her judgment of the affairs
of ordinary life. Of this I might have been able to give many examples,
had I not made it my rule never to make a memorandum of any remarks on
men and things that fell from Her Majesty at any of my interviews with
her. In her letters to me, acute and characteristic remarks like the
following frequently occurred: "The wisest and best people are sadly
weak and foolish about Great Marriages. The Queen cannot comprehend it."
With her experience of the private history of the many homes of both the
noble and the rich, who so able as she to judge how little of the true
happiness of life results from the gratification of such an ambition?
"Her sagacity in reading people and their ruling motives and weaknesses"
was remarkable. This was noted by Archbishop Benson, and it often broke
into remarks touched more with kindliness and humour than with sarcasm.
The Archbishop also remarks, truly, that the Queen "was shrewder and
fuller of knowledge than most men." "She had not much patience with
their follies and the pettiness of their desires." One recognises as
very characteristic a remark of hers which the Archbishop quotes: "I
cannot understand the world--cannot comprehend the frivolities and
littlenesses. It seems to me as if they were all a little mad."[12]
Here, too, may be noted the gentleness of her judgments, even in cases
where not to condemn would have been impossible. One was often reminded
that the axiom, _Tout comprendre c'est tout pardonner_, was habitually
present to her mind. If a kind construction could be put upon an action
rather than a severe one, she was prompt to seize it. But at the same
time her condemnation of falsehood, cant, party intrigue, egotistical
ambition, or proved unworthiness was swift and stern.
The time had been when Mr Disraeli's attacks on her friend Sir Robert
Peel had prepossessed her greatly against him. In one of my letters on
the subject of the Prince's _Life_, I must have had occasion to refer to
these attacks. This was her reply (7th of June 1870):--
"The Queen quite agrees with what Mr Martin says about Mr Disraeli's
conduct to Sir R. Peel. It was and is a great blot, and it is to her the
more extraordinary, as he seems a very kindhearted and courteous man.
But he was at that time very young, bitterly disappointed, not thought
much of, and probably urged on by others."
As the years went on Mr Disraeli won for himself a very high place in
Her Majesty's regard. In him she recognised the patriotic statesman,
free from all mean ambition, superior to the prejudices of party,
looking with keen sagacity beyond "the ignorant present," his every
thought directed to the weal, the safety, the expansion of the Empire.
She also found in him a man of generous instincts, on whom she could
depend for consideration and sympathy. Among the other qualities for
which she admired him were the constancy of his devotion to Lady
Beaconsfield, and the honour which he paid to her memory upon her death.
"How touching," she writes to me (December 26, 1872), "is the account of
Lady Beaconsfield's funeral! _He_ is a _very fine_ example to set before
us in these days of _want_ of affection and devotion, and of belief in
what is true, unselfish, and chivalrous."
When in 1870 the land was deafened by the outcry about "Woman's Rights,"
which has not yet wholly subsided, the Queen writes to me (29th May):--
"The Queen is most anxious to enlist every one who can speak or write to
join in checking this mad, wicked folly of 'Woman's Rights,' with all
its attendant horrors, on which her poor feeble sex is bent, forgetting
every sense of womanly feeling and propriety. Lady ---- ought to get a
_good whipping_.
"It is a subject which makes the Queen so furious that she cannot
contain herself. God created men and women different--then let them
remain each in their own position. Tennyson has some beautiful lines on
the difference of men and women in _The Princess_.[13] Woman would
become the most hateful, heartless, and disgusting of human beings were
she allowed to unsex herself; and where would be the protection which
man was intended to give the weaker sex? The Queen is sure that Mrs
Martin agrees with her."
In regard to the prevailing extravagance and want of individuality in
dress, also, the Queen held strong opinions. Thus she writes to me
(January 14, 1875):--
"The Prince had the greatest possible dislike for extravagance in dress,
and, above all, for always _following_ in fashion. He liked people to be
_well_ and elegantly and neatly dressed, but abhorred in men as well as
in women anything loud, or fast, or startling. He would not have allowed
me or any of our daughters to appear in any dress or coiffure or bonnet
not becoming or proper, and he would have made us take it off. I never
bought a dress or bonnet without consulting him, and his taste was
always good. I remember so well, when my French coiffeur came from Paris
every year, and brought over things which were tried on, the Prince has
come in and said, '_Das traegst Du nicht!_' [That you shall not wear!]
The Queen and Princesses, he said, ought never to _follow_ foolish and
ugly fashions, only because they were new. This was entirely out of
place.
"What would he say now, when every one dresses so overmuch, and thinks
so much more about dress than they ever did before! He thought, and I
think the same, that people ought to adopt what is really becoming, but
not because it is the fashion, and especially what does not suit their
face and figure."
Wise words, no doubt; but how few are they, in all ranks of life, who
have the courage to be in what Falstaff calls "the rereward of the
fashion," however fantastic the fashion may be, and out of harmony with
their face and figure?
The Queen's passionate love for Scotland, with which her little books
have made the world familiar, her delight in the prospect of going to
Balmoral, her dejection at the thought of leaving it, constantly broke
out in her letters to me. Thus (28th June 1867) she writes from
Balmoral:--
"The Queen hopes Mr Martin will find a good place in the _Life_ for the
Prince's love and admiration for our beloved Scotland. Mr Martin
remembers his memorable words spoken not three weeks before his fatal
illness: 'England does not know what she owes to Scotland.' Beloved
country! The Queen's whole heart yearns to it more and more, and the
14th will be a sad day when she leaves it again."
Notwithstanding my love for my own native land, I found so much of
graver matter to deal with in the Prince's life that I fear I did not
gratify this phase of the Queen's feelings so fully as she desired.
Greatly as the Prince enjoyed his Scottish holidays, Scotland was not to
him what it was to the Queen, especially after his death. She was never
so well in health as there, and with health came fresh vigour of mind
and cheerfulness of spirits. She rejoiced, too, in the contrast of her
comparatively simple and genial life there with the life of state and
courtly convention which awaited her at Windsor, where, as she has told
me, even the measured tread of the sentinels under her windows was
irksome to her. The very splendour of Windsor Castle, that stateliest
and most richly endowed of palaces, weighed upon a spirit that yearned
for the freedom of life and movement, for which monarchs have ever
yearned, but must, perforce, school themselves to forego. Her Majesty's
feeling on this subject finds striking expression in the following
passage of a letter to me from Windsor Castle (November 8, 1869):--
"The departure from Scotland, that beloved and blessed land, 'the
birthplace of valour, the country of worth,' is very painful, and the
_Sehnsucht_ [yearning] for it, and proportionate chagrin on returning to
this gloomiest, saddest of places, very great.[14] It is not alone the
pure air, the quiet and beautiful scenery, which makes it so
delightful--it is the atmosphere of loving affection, and the hearty
attachment of the people around Balmoral, which warms the heart, and
does one good, and the absence of which, replaced by a cathedral church,
with all its bells and clergy, a garrison town, and a very gossiping
one, a Court with all its chilling formality, and the impossibility of
going among the poor here, who are in villages of a very bad
description, makes the change a dreadful one."
While, for the reason I have stated, Scotland took no prominent place in
my _Life_ of the Prince, I made the Queen such amends as I might by my
assistance in the preparation and passing through the press of the
profusely illustrated edition of the _Leaves from a Journal_,[15] in the
details of which Her Majesty took great interest. With her accustomed
courtesy the Queen acknowledged a service which was a pleasure to me
from the frequency with which it brought me into communication with her,
by presentation of a fine copy of the book, inscribed (January 11, 1869)
by her own hand, "To Theodore Martin, Esq., with the expression of
sincere gratitude for the pains he has taken with this illustrated
volume." And here I may say that I have not met in life a nature more
grateful than the Queen's for service done, however slight, or more
courteous in the acknowledgment of it. This perfect courtesy showed
itself in many ways. Thus, for example, if a letter remained without
answer for a day or two, the reply was sure to open with an apology for
the delay. If the delay extended to several days, then "the Queen is
shocked" at her own tardiness, although it was due to the urgent demand
of business of State, or to some other important claim on her attention.
Again, when she has been sitting at work, surrounded by despatch-boxes,
in the open air at Osborne, and I have come to make my adieu, taking off
my hat as I approached, she would desire me to replace it; and when I
deprecated doing so, "Put on your hat," she said with a peremptory
playfulness--"put on your hat, or I will not speak to you! I know you
suffer from neuralgia,"--though how she came to know it I could not
imagine.
The marriage of H.R.H. the Princess Louise, for whom my wife as well as
myself had a warm regard, was sure, as the Queen knew, to be a matter of
deep interest to us. No sooner was it arranged than Her Majesty wrote to
inform us. The announcement was followed by another letter (12th March
1871), in which she wrote, in anticipation of the official invitation to
the ceremony at St George's Chapel, Windsor, on the 21st: "The Queen is
anxious that Mr Martin should know that he is specially invited to
Princess Louise's marriage as _the Queen's personal friend_." The signal
honour thus done me was continued at all the subsequent marriages of the
Royal children.
The period between the short Administration of Mr Disraeli in 1868 and
his return to office in 1874 was one of great political agitation and
unrest, both at home and abroad. Problems that had not hitherto got
beyond academical discussion took a practical form under the impulse
given to reform by Mr Gladstone on his accession to power. Bills, among
others, were launched for the Abolition of the Irish Church, for
Compulsory Education, for the Establishment of the Ballot, for the
Abolition of University tests, and for Army Reform. These were all
measures novel and of a wide-reaching scope, upon which public opinion
was greatly divided, and on which the Queen, according to her method,
had to form an independent judgment. The state of affairs abroad, also,
demanded close attention. The plots and counterplots, not always
favourable to England, which came to a climax in the outbreak of the
Franco-German war, the attitude of America in regard to the Alabama
Claims, and of Russia in denouncing the clauses of the Treaty of Paris
which provided for the neutralisation of the Black Sea, all fell within
the same period, and in the policy to be maintained in regard to them
Her Majesty's Ministers looked for her advice and assistance.
Early in 1870 an extra pressure of work was thrown upon the Queen by the
death of General Grey, formerly secretary to Prince Albert, and
afterwards her own Private Secretary, on whose vigorous judgment and
political sagacity she had long been accustomed to rely. A passage in a
letter to me (29th March), the day before he died, shows how deeply she
felt his loss: "Alas! poor General Grey will hardly live through the
day! This is very, very sad, for in many, many ways he was most valuable
to the Queen, and a very devoted, zealous, and very able adviser and
friend.... It is too dreadful to think of his poor wife and children,
whom he quite doted on, and who are remarkably fine children. The poor
dear Duchess of St Albans, too, who was confined in the same house, and
very near the father she adored, was struck down. It is too, too sad!"
The double tragedy was indeed sad, and these words express what was felt
by all who knew General Grey and his beautiful daughter, and the great
love by which they were united.
Apart from all considerations of personal feeling, the loss of a friend
so long and intimately associated with the daily work of the Queen as
Sovereign must have been serious indeed.[16] The strain upon her mind,
great enough before, became inevitably greater, and it is not
surprising that in the course of 1871 her health, as she says in the
letter of 17th September of that year, above cited (p. 40), broke down.
I saw much of her, in connection with my work, at this time, and on one
occasion she said: "I wonder what my ladies think of my want of
courtesy. Sometimes I drive out with them for a couple of hours, and all
the time do not exchange a word with them. I am so taken up with
thinking what answers to make to the despatches and letters of the day."
The position of a sovereign in regard to foreign policy must often be
rendered embarrassing by the ties of relationship or personal
friendship. The Queen must have felt this on the outbreak of the
Franco-German war. With Germany she had the closest family ties, and she
saw with satisfaction that, with the progress of the war, German unity,
which she knew had been the cherished dream of the Prince Consort, and
which she herself felt would tend in the long-run to the peace of
Europe, became a fact. On the other hand, she had formed a warm
personal regard for Napoleon III., and also for his Empress,
remembering how much they both loved our country, and how loyally he
had, on several occasions, behaved to England when his support was of
importance. While, therefore, maintaining politically an attitude of
perfect neutrality, the Queen's kind heart gave to the fallen sovereigns
a sympathetic welcome when they came to England. On the 3rd of December
1870 she wrote to me from Windsor Castle:--
"The Queen has seen the poor Empress, who shows great dignity and great
gentleness.... The Queen is pleased to say she was cheered at the
station on arriving. There is a great and kind feeling here for those
who are in misfortune and sorrow, especially among the working people,
and that is not the case in many other countries."
Again, when the Emperor came to Windsor Castle in the following March,
the Queen wrote (31st March):--
"The visit of the Emperor Napoleon--his _first_ return to Windsor since
his triumphal visit here in 1855--was very trying. He was very much
moved, but he behaved beautifully and with all the peculiar charm of
simple, unaffected graciousness which he possesses in a wonderful
degree. He spoke readily of the present and the past...."
The Queen's interest in the Emperor did not diminish during the brief
span of life which was left to him. On the 8th of January 1873 she
writes: "We are all so grieved for the poor Emperor Napoleon, whose
state, the Queen fears, is very critical. She is sure the country is
full of sympathy." Again, on the 15th, she writes: "The Queen is much
pleased with Mr Martin's observations on the poor Emperor Napoleon,
whose sudden death she truly grieves at, and she is proud to see the
sympathy and feeling shown by the nation.... Did Mr Martin go to the
lying-in-state at Chiselhurst yesterday?"
This I was unable to do, and I expressed my regret to the Queen, and
mentioned that I should go down for the funeral. This was Her Majesty's
answer:--
"OSBORNE, _22nd January 1873_.
"The Queen sends Mr Martin the copies of two letters that will
interest him.[17] The Empress Augusta's especially is very generous
and kind. The Queen thanks Mr Martin for his last letters, and is
very sorry he could not have the last look, which she so very deeply
regrets not having had herself. As soon as she returns to Windsor,
she will go to the poor Empress...."
I had written to the Queen a full account of the funeral. To this she
refers: "The reception on Thursday must have been most affecting. The
dear boy is said to behave so well. The Queen sends on the copy of a
letter which gives a touching trait of him. The Dean of Westminster
[Stanley] the other day said it would be such a good thing, if the poor
Emperor's great charm of manner, great amiability and kindness, and
wonderful power of attracting people--in short, _fascination_--which the
Queen herself felt very strongly, could be generally known; but he did
not exactly know _how_. The Queen said she thought it might be possible
to do it in Mr Martin's _Life of the Prince_; for the visits to Boulogne
of the Prince _alone_ in 1854, of the Emperor and Empress to Windsor in
1855, and of ourselves to Paris in the same year are full of the
greatest interest, and the Queen has a very full account of them in her
Journal, which she thinks of having extracted, and she feels Mr Martin
would be pleased to pay a tribute to one whose reverse of fortune and
great misfortunes were borne with such dignity and patience, and without
any bitterness towards others."
The Queen placed in my hands a manuscript copy of her Journal of these
visits. The attractive qualities of the Emperor were so fully
illustrated by the copious extracts of which I made use in the Prince's
_Life_, that it required no commentary or eulogium of mine to show them
in relief. The complete Journal of these visits was printed for the
Queen in 1881. It is a historical document, which will be of permanent
interest. In sending me a copy on the 10th of October of that year, the
Queen writes:--
"The little account of the two French visits in 1855 has delighted those
of the Queen's children and friends--only two of the latter, as yet--to
whom she has given it. But she finds a great omission on her part, and
that is, of _all_ the names of all those who accompanied us to Paris.
She here sends the list, and would ask how it could be added, and sends
one of the copies for him to look at and see how it could best be
done,--whether as a leaf at the end of the book, or as a note like the
dinner-list at Windsor, and include the Emperor and Empress's suite who
came with them to Windsor."
The reply was to send a printed slip with the list of the names to be
inserted at the end of the volume. With the exception of Lady Ponsonby,
then Miss Bulteel (Maid of Honour), not one of the numerous persons
named in the list is now alive. She is, therefore, the sole survivor of
the Queen's suite who was present on the occasion of the Queen's
reception at the Opera House in Paris, of which the very graphic
description is given in the _Quarterly Review_ article of April last,
already referred to.[18] It is a very welcome addition to the Queen's
own very modest account of what must have been a remarkably brilliant
and memorable scene, but of which the most she records is, that her
"reception was very hearty," that _God save the Queen_ was sung
splendidly, and that "there could not have been more enthusiasm in
England."
In the midst of the public cares and perplexities of the time, the Queen
had to face, at the end of 1871, a deeper anxiety than all other in the
dangerous illness of the Prince of Wales. To place herself by his
bedside, to cheer and to encourage, and never to surrender hope, however
dread the symptoms, was characteristic of her strong, loving nature and
brave spirit. Her conduct at that trying time drew her people nearer to
her, and their sympathy bound her to them by a very tender tie. Through
her kindness I was kept informed by telegram of the progress of the
Prince through the extremes of danger to convalescence. Among the
letters which the Queen wrote to me from Osborne after her return there
with the Prince from Sandringham, the following passage occurs:--
"OSBORNE, _Feb. 13, 1872_.
"Two new sad and shocking events have overclouded the joyful return
of the dear Prince of Wales: the one which, contrasting as it did
with the Queen's own case, made her feel it most keenly--viz., the
death of her dear niece[19] from scarlet fever, a terrible blow to
her dear sister, who is so delicate herself; the other, the horrible
assassination of poor Lord Mayo, a noble and most loyal subject, and
most admirable Viceroy, which has shocked the Queen dreadfully! It
is awful, and _how_ could it happen? Some dreadful neglect, surely.
"The dear Prince of Wales, though quite himself, bears great traces
of his fearful 'death-illness.' He seems like new-born, pleased at
every tree and flower, ... and gazing on them with a sort of
'Wehmuth' which is quite touching...."
Fortunately for the recovery of the Prince of Wales, the treatment of
typhus was now better understood than it had been but a few years
before. "Ah!" the Queen said to me soon after this time, "had _my_
Prince had the same treatment as the Prince of Wales, he might not have
died!"--one of those sad, vain imaginings of "what might have been,"
common to us all, but on which the Queen was too wise to allow her mind
to dwell.
The Queen had long ceased to have reason to complain of want of
appreciation on the part of the people. On the contrary, it was
enthusiastically shown whenever she was seen in public, and most
impressively when she went in January 1872 to the thanksgiving service
in St Paul's for the recovery of the Prince of Wales. Her letters are
full of expressions of satisfaction at these demonstrations of public
feeling. Thus she writes, for example, to me on the 10th of April 1872:
"There never was a greater success or a greater exhibition of
spontaneous loyalty than the Queen's visit to the East End the other
day;" and a few days later (23rd April) she calls my attention to a
similar display "at two very pretty military events which took place at
Parkhurst last Thursday, and here [Osborne] yesterday, on the occasion
of giving new colours to the 79th Cameron Highlanders," and of her
acceptance from them of the old colours. "Their former chaplain," she
adds, with her usual love of detail, "who has been fourteen years with
them, and in Lucknow, came on purpose to bless the colours, which he did
extremely well and touchingly. It is a splendid regiment."
The great change in the public mind, which resulted in the fall of Mr
Gladstone's Ministry at the beginning of 1874, took the Queen somewhat
by surprise. "The result of the elections," she writes to me (10th
February 1874), "is astounding. What an important turn the elections
have taken! It shows that the country is not _Radical_. What a triumph,
too, Mr Disraeli has obtained, and what a good sign this large
Conservative majority is of the state of the country, which really
required (as formerly) a strong Conservative party!"
Amid the turmoil of the elections which led to this important result a
domestic incident took place--the Confirmation of the Princess Beatrice,
which was communicated to me in the following letter (January 13,
1874):--
"The Queen cannot resist sending the lines which Mlle. Norele wrote on
her sweet Beatrice at her Confirmation. She did so look like a lily, so
very young, so gentle and good. The Queen can only pray God that this
flower of the flock, which she really is (for the Queen may truly say
she has never given the Queen one moment's cause of displeasure), may
never leave her, but be the prop, comfort, and companion of her widowed
mother to old age! She is the Queen's Benjamin."
The prayer, we know, was granted. Mlle. Norele's graceful lines form a
worthy pendant to the charming picture presented in this letter. I give
them with my own translation, as it pleased the Queen at the time:--
"Seule, au pied de l'autel, | "Alone, at the Altar's foot,
Nous l'avons contemplee, | Thus was she seen,
Au bonheur immortel, | Humbly adoring, mute,
Comme un ange, appelee. | With looks serene.
|
De son front la candeur | Awe touch'd us, and we felt
Imprimait le respect, | How pure that sight,
Et toute sa blancheur | Fair lily! as she knelt,
Du lis avait l'aspect. | Robed all in white.
|
Son ame calme et pure | Within that holy spot,
Semblait en ce saint lieu | Her soul did seem
Oublier la nature, | To soar, all earth forgot,
Et monter vers son Dieu. | To the Supreme.
|
Seigneur, benis sa foi, | Bless, Lord, the vow she pays,
Garde-lui ton amour, | Make her Thy care,
Que sa vie sous ta loi | So blest be all her days,
Ressemble a ce beau jour!" | Like this, and fair!"
In the spring of 1874 the Queen suffered a great loss in the death of
her devoted and most trusted friend, M. Silvain van de Weyer.
On the 24th of April she writes:--
"The Queen has felt much regret at poor Livingstone's fate, and we are
now very anxious, alas! again about dear M. Van de Weyer.[20] She
herself is very much overdone and overworked, and her nerves
overstrained. Never did so many things come together as this winter and
spring. On the 18th of May she hopes, _D.V._, to get off to the North
for a month, and then really to get rest."
Among the many deaths of relatives and friends which the Queen had to
mourn within the last few years, no one was more deeply felt than that
of her half-sister on 23rd September 1872. "Divided in age by eleven
years, and separated by long and unavoidable absences, yet the
affection of the Queen for the companion of her early childhood never
failed, and the connection of the Princess as sister and aunt of the
Royal Family of England was maintained with a fidelity which was never
interrupted, either on the part of the Princess herself or of her
illustrious relatives." A memorial volume of the Princess's Letters to
the Queen was printed in 1874 by Her Majesty, of which I had the honour
to receive an early copy. A more beautiful picture of sisterly devotion
it would be hard to find than is presented in this volume. From the
brief introduction, in which the hand of Dean Stanley may be recognised,
I have taken the words above cited. The letters themselves give the
impression of a highly refined, intellectual, and sympathetic nature,
which must have made the Princess very dear to those who knew her. The
opinion of the volume which I expressed in thanking Her Majesty for the
gift was acknowledged in the following letter, the closing words of
which are especially noteworthy:--
"BALMORAL, _Nov. 19, 1874_.
"The Queen is greatly gratified by Mr Martin's opinion of the
letters of her darling sister. _She_ felt proud of them, but
still she could not know what others might feel, but all who
have seen them admire them much! No one who did not know her
intimately _could_ know what she was, for she was so modest and
unobtrusive--not outwardly expansive, and she did not easily take to
people whom she did not find sympathetic. But she was a remarkable,
noble-minded, kind, good, and single-minded person, whose loss to
the Queen, though we lived so much apart, is daily more keenly felt.
The Prince had the greatest respect and admiration for her, and said
she would have been worthy of a crown. But, oh! _how unenviable is
that!_"
How the Princess loved and was beloved by the Queen may be seen from a
passage, quoted at the end of the volume above referred to, in a letter
found among the papers of the Princess, and marked to be given to the
Queen after her death:--
"I can never thank you enough for all you have done for me, for your
great love and tender affection. These feelings cannot die; they
must and will live on with my soul--till we meet again, never more
to be separated,--and now you will not forget
"Your only own loving sister,
"FEODORA."