Footnote 1: Sister of King Louis Philippe.
Queen Victoria to Lord John Russell.2
DEATH OF MADAME ADÉLAÏDE
Windsor Castle, 3rd January 1848.
The Queen sends Lord John Russell a letter from her Uncle, the King of the Belgians, which will show how dreadful a blow Mme. Adélaïde's death will be to the King of the French and Royal Family. The Queen's first thought was to write to the King, which she would not have done without first mentioning it to Lord John; but upon reflection she thought it quickest and best to write at once to her cousin Clémentine (Princess Augustus of Saxe-Coburg), to convey in her name to the King her sincere sympathy at this melancholy event. The King of the Belgians' letter has, however, brought back to the Queen her first thought of writing to the King, and she wishes to know what Lord John thinks of it. The Queen thinks it as undignified as unfeeling to carry on political coolness at moments like these, when her own feelings of sympathy are so strong and so sincere. The Queen would certainly under other circumstances have instantly written to the King. On the other hand, her first letter to her cousin (the King's daughter) may be sufficient, as it conveys a direct message; and there may be people who will construe this into a political act, but the Queen thinks that this risk should rather be run than that she should appear unfeeling and forgetful of former kindness and intimacy.
The Queen would be glad to have Lord John's opinion on this subject as soon as possible.
Footnote 2: This letter is headed "Reproduction—Substance of a letter to Lord John Russell, written from recollection."
The Queen of the Belgians to Queen Victoria.
Laeken, 3rd January 1848.
My dearly beloved Victoria,—I thank you most sincerely for your kind last letter, and all your good wishes for the New Year. Alas! the year ended and began in a most painful and heartrending way for us. The loss of my good, excellent, beloved Aunt is an immense misfortune for us all, and the most dreadful blow for my poor Father. We are all broken-hearted by this, at last unexpected event. Some years we were uneasy about my poor Aunt's health, and of late I had been particularly alarmed by what I heard of her increasing weakness; but I was very far from believing that her end was so near. I was only anxious for the winter. At least her end was peaceful. She went to sleep and did not wake more. She died without a struggle; the horror of death, and the still greater pang of the last farewell, of the last leave-taking of her beloved brother, was spared her. I thank God for this proof of His mercy, and hope He will keep up my Father under such a heavy affliction. To him the loss is irretrievable. My Aunt lived but for him; one may almost say that her affection alone had kept her alive these last years, and a devotion like hers—that devotion of all instants—so complete, so full of self-denial—cannot, will never, be replaced. A heart like hers, so true, so noble, so warm, so loving, so devoted, is rarely seen. To us also, independently of my Father, the loss is a dreadful one. My Aunt was a second mother for us; we loved her and looked up to her in this way, and certainly few mothers do for their children what she did for us, or loved them better. We are overwhelmed with grief by the sudden disappearance of a being so dear and so necessary to us all, and we go to-morrow to Paris, to mourn with the remainder of the family, and offer my poor Father the only consolation he can feel at this cruel moment, that of being surrounded by all those he loves. I have still so much to do previous to our melancholy journey that I cannot say more to-day. I am sure you will excuse me. I shall, God willing, write in a more proper way the next time. In the meanwhile I thank God that you are unberufen all well, and, in sorrow or in joy, I am equally, my beloved Victoria, from the bottom of my heart, yours most devotedly,