Overwhelmed by the majesty of death, which met him here in its most sombre form, the new comer bent his head and continued long in silent prayer. The Princess lay on a bier in the great hall on the ground-floor, where she had so often sat surrounded by a radiant circle of guests. What of her was earthly, cased in a triple cerement, was covered with a pall of black velvet, which, however, was almost hid from view beneath a mass of flowers and palms. Upon the head of the coffin stood a little, simple crucifix of perfect artistic workmanship. Six torches on pedestals, hung with black, stood round the bier, shedding but a feeble glimmer through the hall, scarcely brighter, indeed, than the scanty light of the dawning winter day. From the wall opposite the coffin the youthful image of her husband, painted in happier times, looked sadly down upon the loved one lost. Directly opposite hung the picture which the Hessian Division had had painted for their much-loved leader, in remembrance of the glorious day of Gravelotte—a picture of battle and of the wild mêlée of slaughter in the silent chamber of death. He who now watched by the coffin had played a part in the conflict of the memorable day which the picture was meant to perpetuate, and he knew how deeply it was interwoven with the life of the Princess who lay there in her long last sleep. Her dear husband had gone to the campaign with his faithful Hessians; she knew his precious life to be in hourly danger; but her own sorrows and cares were not her first thought. Helpful, comforting, encouraging, she gave at all times to those who were left behind a brilliant example of cheerful and devoted courage; and when the wounded and sick came back from the battlefields in ever-increasing numbers, she it was who everywhere took the lead with noblest self-abnegation and practical good sense. By the beds of the sick and dying she stood like a comforting angel, and the love of the Hessian people twined the fairest of all diadems, the aureole of the heroine, round her princely brows.
This grateful love, not only of those who bore arms, but of the citizen and artisan as well, for which these things laid the foundation, was now sincerely and unconstrainedly busy beside the bier of the princely sleeper. Servants came, with loads of wreaths and bouquets, and arranged them upon the coffin. But it was not the official tributes of flowers from Court and noble, from the deputations of regiments far and near, which were laid as a mournful homage at the feet of the dead mistress, that touched most deeply the heart of him who stood there on guard. No, the tear that stole down unbidden, the little trivial gift of the poor and humble who lived far away from Court favor, had a greater value in his eyes. It was still quite early morning when, with the first glimmer of day, came an old peasant woman from the Odenwald. Advancing timidly, she laid, with a murmured prayer, a little wreath of rosemary, with a couple of small white flowers, perhaps the only ornament of her poor little room at home, as a token of grateful affection down upon the velvet pall. Then, thinking herself unnoticed, she took a rosebud from one of the splendid wreaths, and hid it under the old woollen dress. Who could interfere to balk the impulse of genuine affection, that longed to carry off some slight memorial with it? And now the little flower is lying between the leaves of the old Bible, and in days to come the matron, when she turns the leaves of the sacred volume, will tell her daughters and granddaughters of the noble lady, too early snatched away from her people—of her, who never forgot the poorest and the humblest of them all.
Anon appeared the bearer of one of the proudest names in Hesse, who was attached to the personal service of the Princess. The official, stalwart bearing of the courier was left outside, and, weeping hot, unhidden tears, he lingered long by the bier. To what a lofty soul, to what goodness of heart, was he saying here a bitter farewell! He was followed by two little girls, poorly but cleanly dressed, and they, too, brought their tribute of gratitude—two little bunches of violets. Shyly, almost frightened, and yet with childish curiosity, they drew slowly nearer. They thought of another winter day, some years ago. Hungry, chilled to the heart, they were sitting in an empty attic; their parents were dead, and they ate among strangers bread that was hard and grudgingly given, when that great lady appeared who was now sleeping here under the flowers. From her, whose heart was ever yearning to the orphan’s cry, they heard again, for the first time, gentle, loving words; by her provision was quickly made for their more kindly treatment, and gratitude was rooted firmly and forever in their young souls.
A deputation from the Court Theatre laid upon the coffin a wreath intertwined with pale pink streamers. Art, too, had come to mourn for her noblest patroness, who had been ever ready with her fine, cultivated intelligence to advance whatever was great and good. A servant brought a beautiful cross, of dark foliage with white flowers. It was the gift of the Grand Duke’s mother, anxious to testify by an outward sign her love for her dead daughter. In ever-growing numbers came the mourners, all visibly oppressed by the weight of the calamity which had fallen upon the country. Countless were the gifts of love, of gratitude, of respect, which, now beautiful and costly, now slight and simple, arched ever higher and higher the hill of flowers above the coffin. The ladies of the neighboring towns sent cushions of dark violets, with chaplets of white flowers. Two ladies deeply veiled brought branches of palm, from the dark green of which gleamed a white scroll—a poetic farewell word of deep feeling:
A hurricane, charged with destruction,
O palm, swept o’er thee. The squall
Crashed through thy leaves, and tore from thee
The tenderest, sweetest of all.
The clouds clear’d away in the distance,
The tempest seem’d over and past,
When forth from the firmament darted
A lightning-bolt, fiery and fast.
It struck thee, O noble one, struck thee!
It crush’d thee, and now thou art gone!
Farewell! To our death-day thine image
Still, still in our hearts shall live on.
There was a second poem, enclosed in a heart-shaped framework of leaves, which gave expression to the grief of a devoted soul for the high-hearted lady.
But now the hour was come for another to take the post of honor by the bier of the Princess. Silently and sadly the two men saluted. He that left took away with him a deep and elevating impression of the general love and respect paid by the people of Hesse to their too-early departed Princess, and the remembrance of that silent watch by the dead will remain in his memory forever. And he who now entered on that honorable duty could chronicle proofs of genuine grief, of true reverence and love, not fewer nor less touching. Whosoever is thus bewept has secured the best and fairest memorial in the hearts of her own people for all time—“The remembrance of the just abideth in blessing.”
Nothing could show better than this touching narrative, how deep and how widespread was the grief for the death of the Princess throughout the country which had so recently hailed her as its Sovereign. Not less deep and universal was the sorrow with which the sad intelligence was received in her native land. She had long been dear to all hearts there; for the fame of her many admirable qualities as daughter, sister, wife, and mother had penetrated into every household. The news that her life was in peril had awakened the deepest sympathy; and when the anniversary of the death of the father she loved so well brought the tidings of her own death, there were few homes on which it did not cast a shadow as for the loss of one that was personally dear. The journals teemed with expressions of the national grief, each vying with the other in paying affectionate tribute to the worth of one whose name had long been familiar and cherished on the lips of her countrymen and countrywomen, and in assurances of sympathy to the Queen, and the loving hearts of her kindred, on whom this great calamity had fallen.