PEMBROKE LODGE, April 19, 1878
I have just been sitting with my dearest husband; he has said precious words such as I did not expect ever to hear from him, for his mind is seldom, very seldom clear. We were holding one another's hands: "I hope I haven't given you much trouble." "How, dearest?" "In watching over me." Then by and by he said, "I have made mistakes, but in all I did my object was the public good." Again, "I have sometimes seemed cold to my friends--but it was not in my heart." He said he had enjoyed his life. I said, "I hope you enjoy it now." He said, "Yes, except that I am too much confined to my bed.... I'm very old--I'm eighty-five." He then talked of his birthday being in July. I told him it was in August, but our wedding-day was in July, and it would be thirty-seven years next July since we were married. He said, "Oh, I'm so glad we've passed it so happily together." I said I had not always been so good to him as I ought to have been. "Oh yes, you have, very good indeed." At another moment he said, "I'm quite ready to go now." Asked him where to? "To my grave, to my death." He also said, "Do you see me sometimes placing my hands in this way?" (he was clasping them together). "That always means devotion--that I am asking God to be good to me." His voice was much broken by tears as he said these things.
PEMBROKE LODGE, April 20, 1878
Mr. and Mrs. Gladstone to tea. Both most cordial and kind. Mr. Gladstone in his most agreeable mood. Eastern Question only slightly touched. Other subjects: increase of drunkenness; Northumberland election, which has raised his spirits, whether Albert Grey be returned or not; Life of Prince Albert, whom he admires heartily, but who according to him (and John) did not understand the British Constitution. Called Stockmar a "mischievous old prig." Said "Liberty is never safe," that even in this country an unworthy sovereign might endanger her even now. John sent down to say he wished to see them. I took them to him for a few minutes--happily he was clear in his mind--and said to Mr. Gladstone, "I'm sorry you are not in the Ministry," and kissed her affectionately, and was so cordial to both that they were greatly touched.
PEMBROKE LODGE, May 9, 1878
Great day. Nonconformist deputation presented address to John on the fiftieth anniversary of Repeal of the Corporation and Test Acts. Alas! that he could not see them. All cordial and friendly, and some with strikingly good countenances. Edmond Fitzmaurice happened to call, stayed, and spoke admirably. Lord Spencer also called just before they came to congratulate him, but I stupidly did not think of asking him to stay. Those of the deputation who spoke did so extremely well. It was a proud and a sad day. We had hoped some time ago that he might perhaps see the deputation for a moment in his room, but he was too ill for that to be possible.
Lord Russell died on May 28, 1878, at Pembroke Lodge.
Queen Victoria to Lady Russell
BALMORAL, May 30, 1878
DEAR LADY RUSSELL,--It was only yesterday afternoon I learnt through the papers that your dear husband had left this world of sorrows and trials peacefully, and full of years, the night before, or I would have telegraphed or written sooner! You will believe that I truly regret an old friend of forty years' standing, and whose personal kindness in trying and anxious times I shall ever remember. "Lord John," as I knew him best, was one of my first and most distinguished Ministers, and his departure recalls many eventful times. To you, dear Lady Russell, who were ever one of the most devoted of wives, this must be a terrible blow, though you must have for some time been prepared for it. But one is such trials and sorrows of late years that I most truly sympathize with you. Your dear and devoted daughter will, I know, be the greatest possible comfort to you, and I trust that your grandsons will grow up to be all that you could wish.
Believe me always, yours affectionately,
V. R. I.
Mr. John Bright to Lady Russell
June 1, 1878
DEAR LADY RUSSELL,--... What I particularly observed in the public life of Lord John--you once told me you liked his former name and title--was a moral tone, a conscientious feeling, something higher and better than is often found in the guiding principle of our most active statesmen, and for this I always admired and reverenced him. His family may learn from him, his country may and will cherish his memory. You alone can tell what you have lost....
Ever very sincerely yours,
JOHN BRIGHT
Lady Minto to Lady Russell
June 4, 1878
I have been thinking of you all day, and indeed through many hours of the night.... I rather wished to hear that the Abbey was to have been his resting place--but after all it matters little since his abiding place is in the pages of English history.... What none could thoroughly appreciate except those who lived in his intimacy was the perfect simplicity which made him the most easily amused of men, ready to pour out his stores of anecdote to old and young--to discuss opinions on a level with the most humble of interlocutors, and take pleasure in the commonest forms of pleasantness--a fine day, a bright flower. Nor do I think that the outside world understood from what depth of feeling the tears rose to his eyes when tales of noble conduct or any high sentiment touched some responsive chord--nor how much "poetic fire" lay under that calm, not cold manner.... I remember often going down to you when London was full of some political anger against him--when personalities and bitterness were rife--and returning from you with the feeling of having been in another world, so entire was the absence of such bitterness, so gentle and peaceful were the impressions I carried away.
Lady Russell went with her family early in July to St. Fillans, in Perthshire, for a few months of perfect quiet among the Scotch lakes and mountains. Queen Victoria's kindness in asking her to remain at Pembroke Lodge was a great comfort to her.
Lady Russell to Lady Charlotte Portal
PEMBROKE LODGE, June 30, 1878
Just a word with you, my own Lotty, before leaving home. Oh the blessing of being still able to call it home, darkened for ever as it is, for the multiplying memories with which it is thronged make it dearer as well as sadder every day of my life! Lotty, shall I ever believe that he has left me, quite left me, never to return? Will the fearful silence ever cease to startle me? Whenever I came in from a walk or a drive I used to know almost before I opened his door, by the sound of his voice, or of something, whether all was well with him, and now there is only that deadly silence. And yet, I often feel if I had but courage to go in, surely I must find him, surely he must be waiting for me and wanting me. But how foolish to talk of any one form of this unutterable blank, which meets me at every turn, intertwined with everything I say or do, and taking a new shape every moment, and the yearning and the aching which have been my portion for four years--the yearning for my other lost loved ones, for my dear, dear boys, seems more terrible than ever now that this too has come upon me.... I pass my husband's sitting-room window--there are the roses he loved so well, hanging over them in all their summer beauty, but he does not call me to give him one. I come in, and there on the walls of my room are pictures of the three, but not one of them answers me--silence, nothing but deadly silence! I know all is well, and I feel in my inmost heart that this last sorrow is a blessed one, saving us from far worse, and taking him to his rest, and I never for a moment forget what treasures beyond price are left to my old age still.