g 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 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 five
o'clock and then had some dinner, and I felt so sick and faint and
unwell, that Fritz sent me here to bed. At one 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 Sans Souci 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
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 ten.
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 not longer of any use in this world.