If there is a war then, and Louis is away, what shall I do? This is my constant dread and apprehension. As long as he comes home safe again—that is all I shall think of. Please God to spare me that fearful anxiety, which weighs on me now already; for he, having only a brigade, could not keep out of danger, like Fritz in Schleswig.
I put my trust wholly in the Almighty, who has watched over and blessed our life so richly thus far—so much, much more than I ever deserved, or can deserve; and He will not forsake us in the hour of need, I am sure.
These dangerous times make one very serious and anxious; the comfort of faith and trust in God, who does all well and for the best, is the only support. Life is but a pilgrimage—a little more or a little less sorrow falls to one’s lot; but the anticipation of evil is almost as great a suffering as the evil itself, and mine always was an anxious nature, so I cannot banish the thoughts which all the dreadful chances of war force upon one.
May 7th.
* * * I am so sorry for poor Louise and Beatrice, and whooping-cough is a nasty thing, though I wish we could complain of that as our sufferings here. Anxiety, worry without end!
Uncle Alexander returned from Vienna two days ago. The Emperor, Uncle Alexander Mensdorff, all frantic at being forced into war, but fearing now no more being able to prevent it. Cannot the other three Powers interfere and step between at this dangerous crisis—proposing a Congress, or any thing, so as to avert this calamity?
Henry, who was here on six weeks’ leave, as he and Uncle Louis were to have gone to Russia (which now, of course, they won’t do), had suddenly to return to Bonn, as his regiment is made mobil. Uncle Alexander receives the command of the 8th Armee-corps, which I suppose and hope will be stationed somewhere near here, as Louis is in that, and is to go. He means to go to Berlin this afternoon for a day to see Fritz, and tell him how circumstances now force him to draw his sword against the Prussians in the service of his own country. The whole thing is dreadful, and the prospect of being left alone here at such a moment (for all our people, nearly, will accompany Louis) is dreadful! If I were only over my troubles I should not be so anxious, so nervous and unhappy, as I must say the anticipation of all these dreadful things makes me. Could I follow in the distance! But now that is impossible, and I have not a single older married person near me. When dear Louis goes, of course Westerweller goes too. I still pray and hope that there be no war; even if all the troops are assembled, I hope that the other Powers will interfere, and not look on whilst these brothers cut each others throats. It is such an unnatural, monstrous war!
The death of Lord and Lady Rivers is dreadful for their children, but how blessed for themselves! I hope Lady Caroline [Barrington] will pass by here, which will be a great pleasure to me, though she says she can but stop two days, as you wish her to be home by the 15th.
May 18th.
* * * How glad I am to hear that Lord Clarendon is still hopeful! Here as yet, though there is no distinct reason for it, save the repugnance of all to this civil war, all still hope to avoid the war. Every day we have occasion to hear how the Prussians detest this war—army and all—and there are constant rows, with the Landwehr in particular. Men of forty, who have families and homes to look after, are taken away with their sons; and those who have horses are also taken, with their horses: so that the wife and children sit at home, unable to do any thing for their land. It is ruining numbers, and murmurs get louder and louder. A revolution must break out if this continues. * * * I do pray most fervently that the King will listen to the just advice, in no way derogatory to his dignity, of placing the hated question of the Duchies before the Confederation; but I fear he won’t. If he would only listen to that advice and disarm, all Germany would do it at once—only too gladly—forgetting all the losses in the happiness of peace restored. Forgive my stupid letter, but we live really so in the midst of these affairs, on which our existence will turn, that I can think of nothing else.