The young Prince, Leopold, has also left the Court. He goes directly to Vienna, and it is thought he intends to offer his services to the Emperor. If proper encouragement be given, he will go entirely into the Austrian service. In this case, he will probably, when a war happens, find himself in opposition to his two brothers; a circumstance not much regarded in Germany, where brothers go into different services, with as little hesitation as into different regiments with us.
The strictest friendship has always subsisted between this young man and his sister, who has been crying almost without intermission since he went away.
His mother bears this with more composure, yet her uneasiness is easily perceived. Independent of the absence of her son, she is distressed at the idea of his going into a service, where he may be obliged to act in opposition to her brother, for whom I find she has the greatest affection, as well as the highest admiration.
I was not surprised to hear her speak of him as the greatest man alive; but she extends her eulogium to the qualities of his heart, in which she is not joined by the opinion of all the world.—She, however, dwells particularly on this, calling him the worthiest of men, the firmest friend, and the kindest of brothers:—and as she founds her opinion on her own experience alone, she has the greatest reason to think as she does; for, by every account, the King has always behaved with high regard and undeviating tenderness to her.
The departure of Prince Leopold has revived this Princess’s affliction for the untimely fate of two of her sons. One died in the Russian camp at the end of the campaign of 1769, in which he had served with great distinction as a volunteer; the other was killed in a skirmish towards the end of the last war; having received a shot in his throat, he died of the wound fifteen days after, much regretted by the army, who had formed a high idea of the rising merit of this gallant youth.
He wrote a letter to his mother in the morning of the day on which he died. In this letter he regrets, that he should be stopped so soon in the course of honour, and laments that he had not been killed in some memorable action, which would have saved his name from oblivion, or in achieving something worthy of the martial spirit of his family. He expresses satisfaction, however, that his memory would at least be dear to some friends, and that he was certain of living in his mother’s affections while she should exist. He then declares his gratitude to her for all her care and tenderness, and concludes with these expressions, which I translate as near as I can remember—I wished the Dutchess to repeat them; but it was with difficulty, and eyes overflowing, that she pronounced them once:—“My eyes grow dim—I can see no longer—happy to have employed their last light in expressing my duty to my mother.”