King Frederick William IV remained in ill health, but in February 1858, Victoria, Princess, who had recently married William’s son Frederick, wrote to her mother, Queen Victoria, “At Bellevue we saw the King and Queen. If I had not known that the King had been ill, I should certainly never have guessed it. He was down at the foot of the stairs and almost screamed with delight as he spoke. He was extremely kind – and seemed so pleased to see us; he asked after Papa [Prince Albert] immediately, and after you, dearest Mama. I did not perceive any hesitation in his speech or any words that he could not find.”1
In March, Queen Victoria responded, “The poor dear King! How I do pity him! This illness is a loss to you, for he would have been so kind to you. I am sure, made quite a pet of you. I wish the Queen would not prevent you seeing him; it can surely do him no harm, and nothing seems to do him real good.”2
Two years later, the Princess Royal wrote, “I saw the King again for the first time in Sanssouci last Sunday – he was being wheeled about in a bath chair on the terrace, and I stood at the window of the Queen’s sitting room. I could only see him in profile; he seemed bent double, he had his cap very much in his face, so I could not see much of him, but he did not appear to look ill or altered, only very red in the face. When I saw him last (in August last year) he was very pale. The gentlemen say his face is always much flushed and heated in the afternoon. Poor man, I could not look at him without emotion; to live always on the brink of the grave, and to be such a miserable wreck is a hard fate.”3
Two months later, she wrote, “Perhaps the baron will have told you that we saw the King the other day. I never saw so lamentable an object – Fritz and I were quite overcome, a human ruin – he is nothing else now – he was lying in his bath chair his left hand and arm which he has quite lost the use of as well as both his legs tied up in cloths – he did not recognise Fritz and me I think, at least he showed no sign of having done so, he can neither speak nor look at anyone as he has lost the power of directing his eyes – he can only look up – and towards the right = he held my hand for a long while but without seeming to know it – you never saw anything so sad.”4
After three and a half years of being incapable of ruling, William died on 2 January 1861.
The Princess Royal wrote, “What we have long expected has come at last! […] I have seen death for the first time! It has made an impression on me that I shall never, never forget as long as I live – and I feel so ill, so confused and upset by all that I have gone through in the last 48 hours, that you must forgive me if I write incoherently and unclearly. But to go back to Monday evening (it seems to me a year now). […] About half past one we heard a knock at the door and my wardrobe mad brought up a telegram saying that the King was given up, and a note from the Prince Regent, saying he was going up immediately. We got up in the greatest hurry, and dressed-I hardly know how; I put on just what I found, and had no time to do my hair or anything. After we had hurried on our clothes, we went downstairs and out, for there was no time to get a carriage, or a footman or anything-it was a splendid night, but 12 degrees of cold (Réaumur). I thought I was in a dream, finding myself alone in the street with Fritz at 2 o’clock at night. We went to the Prince Regent’s, and then with them in their carriages to the railway station-we four all alone in the train.
We arrived at Sanssouci and went directly into the room where the King lay – the stillness of death was in the room – only the light of the fire and of a dim lamp. We approached the bed and stood there at the foot of it, not daring to look at one another, or to say a word. The Queen was sitting in an armchair at the head of the bed, her arm underneath the King’s head, and her head on the same pillow on which he lay – with her other hand she continually wiped the perspiration from his forehead. You might have heard a pin drop – no sound was heard, but the crackling of the fire and the death rattle – that dreadful sound which goes to one’s heart and which tells plainly that life is ebbing. This rattling in the throat lasted about an hour longer, and then the King lay motionless.
The doctors bent their heads low to hear whether he still breathed, and we stood, not even daring to sit down, watching the death struggle. Every now and then the King breathed very fast and loud, but never unclosed his eyes; he was very red in the face, and the cold perspiration pouring from his forehead. I never spent such an awful time, and to see the poor Queen sitting there quite rent my heart – 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 struck, and we were still standing there -one member of the Royal Family came in after the other and remained motionless in the room, sobs only breaking the stillness. Oh, it is dreadful to see a person die! All the thoughts and feelings that crowded on my mind in those hours I cannot describe; they impressed me more than anything in my whole past lifetime! The light of the morning dawned, and the lamps were taken away. Oh, how sad for the first morning in the year!
We all went into the next room, for I assure you, anxiety, watching, standing and crying had quite worn us out. The Princess fell asleep on a chair, I on a sofa, and the rest walked up and down the room, asking one another, ‘How long will it last?’ Towards the middle of the day Marianne and I went into the room alone, as we wished to stay there; we came up and kissed the Queen’s hand and knelt down and kissed the King’s; it was quite warm still. We stood about and waited till 5 o’clock and then had some dinner, and I felt so sick and faint and unwell, that Fritz sent me here to bed.
At 1 o’clock this morning I got up and dressed and heard that the King had not many minutes more to live, but by the time I had got the carriage I heard all was over. I drove to Sanssouci and saw the King and Queen. May God bless and preserve them, and may theirs be a long and happy and blessed reign. Then I went into the room where the King lay, and I could hardly bring myself to go away again. There was so much of comfort in looking there at that quiet, peaceful form at rest at last after all he had suffered – gone home at last from this world of suffering – so peaceful and quiet he looked like a sleeping child – every moment I expected to see him move or breathe – his mouth and eyes closed and such a sweet and happy expression – both his hands were on the coverlid. I kissed them both for the last time; they were quite cold then.
Fritz and I stood looking at him for some time. I could hardly bring myself to believe that this was really death, that which I had so often shuddered at and felt afraid of; there was nothing there dreadful or appalling—only a heavenly calm and peace. I felt it did me so much good and was such a comfort. ‘Death, where is thy sting? Grave, where is thy Victory?’ He was a just and good man and had a heart overflowing with love and kindness, and he has gone to his rest after a long trial which he bore with so much patience! I am not afraid of death now, and when I feel inclined to be so, I shall think of that solemn and comforting sight, and that death is only a change for the better. We went home and to bed, and this morning went there at 10. I sat some time with the poor Queen, who is so calm and resigned and touching in her grief. She does not cry, but she looks heartbroken. She said to me, ‘I am no longer of any use in this world. I have no longer any vocation, any duties to perform. I only lived for him.’
Then she was so kind to me, kinder than she has ever been yet, and said I was like her own child and a comfort to her. I saw the corpse again this morning; he is unaltered, only changed in colour, and the hands are stiffened. The funeral will be on Saturday, the King will lie in State till then, his wish was to be buried in the Friedenskirche before the altar — and his heart at Charlottenburg in the Mausoleum.”5
Ernst II, Duke of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha, later wrote about him, “Commands and counter-commands frequently alternated in his decisions, and to his own torment, he was aware of this lack of certainty and firmness; he sought to intoxicate and deceive himself, as it were, with reasoning and arguments. He achieved a certain virtuosity in this, so that he ultimately believed even his strongest fictions without question. With this passionately agitated inner life, only the deep longing for inner peace with God could grant him a relative point of repose.”6
- Dearest Child edited by Roger Fulford p.36
- Dearest Child edited by Roger Fulford p.68
- Dearest Child edited by Roger Fulford p.252
- Dearest Child edited by Roger Fulford p.262
- Dearest Child edited by Roger Fulford p.296-299
- Preußens Herrscher: von den ersten Hohenzollern bis Wilhelm II. edited by Frank-Lothar Kroll p.241
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