A WATCHER BY THE DEAD.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XVI, Issue 5394, 1 March 1879, Page 7

A WATCHER BY THE DEAD.

The following is a translation of an article from the Darmstiuller Zextung, bearing this title, and. dated "Darmstadt, Christmas Long, long before daybreak on one of those gloomy December days of last week, an officer made his way hurriedly along the empty, silent streets of the capital. He was in full uniform, but its pomp and splendour were shrouded in a thick covering of crape, for be was afoot thus early to do duty by the bier of the beloved Princess. Desolate were the streets, as of a city of the dead ; desolate 33 though tenanted only by the dead was the lordly palace to which he bent his steps. The sentinels at the great gate stood motionless, despite the severe cold, as if they feared to disturb the repose of death. Here, where the inhabitants of the capital used to see all astir with the busy, cheerful life inseparable from the residence of a reigning I prince; here, where in days but recently gone by children, blooming and beautiful, the country's pride and tne joy of their princely parents, gave animation to house and garden, all was silent aud void ; a deadlv blast had swept oirer the tilt now so happy home. The country's young idolised mother had closed her beautiful eyes, closed them I for evermore, after doing and enduring nobly, after tasting the bitteruess of great earthly sorrow. Mauy long and woful days, many nights of even greater anguish, had she watched, trembled, and pryaed by the couch I of a husband sick unto death and of five children beloved past telling. The sweet, youngest bud in the fair wreath of princely children had been torn from her bleeding I heart, and tears—scalding tears—for the I sweet little May-blossom, which she had herself put to its last sleep under chapleta of I llowers, flowed fast, as she folded her hands iu gratitude when the peril of death ha 1 I passed over the heads of her husband and her other children. "Thus do we learn humility she said, with quivering lip, to a lady who stood beside her. "God has called I for one life, and has given me back fivo foi it; how, then, should lmonrn ?" And, now, I when with fear and trembling, joy seemeii about to enter once more into that heavilystricken home, again the dark pinions of the I Angel of Death were heard upon the air, I and he bore away the truest of wives, the I most loving of mothers, a sacrifice to duty fulfilled with the noblest forgetfulness otself. I These were the thoughts with which the I solitary wayfarer went upon his sorrowful way, and crossed the threshold of the chamber of death. With light step and whispered words the watch-rrs by the dead [ whom he relieved withdrew. Overwhelmed by the majesty of death, which met him here in its most sombre form, I the newcomer bent his bead and contiuued I Jong in silent prayer. The Princess lay on a bier in the great hall on tho ground floor, where she had so often sat surrounded by a | radiant circle of guests. What of her was earthly, cased in a triple cerement, was I covered with a pall of black velvet, which, however, was almost hid from view beneath a I mass of flowers and palms. Upon the head of I the coffin stool a little, simple crucifix of I perfect artistic workmanship. Six torches on pedestals, hung with black, stood round the bier, shedding but a feeble glimmer I through the hall, scarcely brighter, indeed, than the scanty light of the dawning winter I day. From the wall opposite the coffin the youthful image of her husband, painted in j happier times, looked sadly down upon the I loved one lost. Directly opposite hung the I picture which the Hessian Division had had I painted for their much loved leader, in remembrance of the glorious day of Gravelotte —a picture of battle and of the wild I mi-'ce of slaughter in the silent chamber of I death. He who now watched by the coffin I had played a part in the conflict of the memorable day which the picture was meant to perpetuate, and he knew bow deeply it I was interwoven with the life of the Princess I who lay there in her long last sleep. Her dear husband had gone to the campaign with his faithful Hessians ; she knew his precious life to be in hourly danger ; but her own sorrows and cares were not her first thought. Helpful, comforting, encouraging, she gave at all times to those who were left behind a I brilliant example of cheerful and devoted courage ; and when the wounded and sick came back from the battle-fields in everincreasing numbers, she it was who everywhere took the lead with noblest self-abne-gation and practical good sense. By the I beds of the sick and dying she stood like a comforting angel, and the love of the Hejsian I peopled twined the fairest of all diadems, the aureole of the heroine, round her princely brows. This grateful love, not only of those who borearms, but of thecitizenandartisanas well, for which these things laid the foundation, was now sincerely and nnconstrainedly busy I ' beside the bisr of the princely sleeper. ■ Servants came with loads of wreaths and bouquets, and arranged them upon the coffin. [■ But it was not the official tributes of flowers from Court and noble, from the deputations I of regiments far and near, which were laid as a mournful homage at the feet of the dea-1 mistress that touched most deeply the heart of him who stood there on guard. No, the tear that stole down unbidden, the little trivial gift of the poor and bumble who lived far away from Court favour, had a greater I < value in his eyes. It was still quite early morning when, with the first glimmer of the I day, came an old peasant woman from the Odenwald. Advancing timidly, sha laid, with a murmured prayer, a little wreath of I rosemary, with a couple of small, white flowers, perhaps the only ornament of her poor little room at home, as a token of grateful affection, down upon the velvet pall. Then, thinking herself unnoticed, she took a rosebud from one of the splendid wreaths, | and hid it under her old woollen dress. Who could interfere to balk the impulse of genuine affection that longed to carry off some slight memorial with it ? And now the little flower is lyiDg between the leaves of the old Bible, and in days to come the matron, when she turns the leaves of the eacred volume, will tell her daughters and granddaughters of the noble lady too early snatched away from her people—of her who never forgot the poorest and humblest of them all. Anon appeared the bearer of one of the I proudest names in Hesae, who was attached I to the personal service of the Princess. The 1 official, stalwart bearing of the courtier was left outside, and, weeping hot, unbidden teir.-:, he lingered by the bier. To what a lofty soul, to what goodness o£ heart, was he saying here a bitter farewell ! He wa3 followed by two little girls, poorly but I cleanly dressed, and they, too, brought their I tribute of gratitude—two little bunches of I violets. Shyly, almost frightened, and yet with childish curiosity, they drew slowly nearer. They thought of another winter day, some years aeo. Hungry, chilled to the heart, they were sitting in an empty attic ; their parents were dead, and they ate I among strangers bread that was hard and grudgingly given, when the great lady appeared who was now sleeping here under the flowers. From her, whose heart was ever yearning to the orphan's cry, they heard again, for the first time, gentle, iiiving words; by her provision was quickly made for their more kindly treatment, and gratitude was rooted firmly and for ever in their young souls. A deputation from the Court Theatre laid upon the coffin a wreath intertwined with pale pink streamers. Art, too, had come to monrn for her noblest patroness, who had beea ever ready with her fine cul- I tivated intelligence to advance whatever was . great and good. A servant brought a I beautiful cross of dark foliage with white flowers. It was the gift of the Grand Duke's Bother, anxious to testify by an outward sign her love for her dead daughter. In ever-growing numbers camo the mourners, all visibly oppressed by the weight of the calamity which had fallen upon the country. Countless were the gifts of love, of gratitude, °f respect, which, now beautiful and costly, now Blight and simple, arched ever higher and higher the hill of flowers above the coffin. The ladies of the neighbouring towns sent cushions of dark violets, with chaplets of white flowers. Two ladies deeply veiled brought branches of palm, from the dark green of which gleamed a white scroll —a poetic farewell word of deep feeling : — A hurricane, charged with destruction, Oh ! pilrc, swept o'er theo. The squall C'rufU'd wild through thy leaves, and lore from thee The tcndereS'., sweetest, of all. Tbe clouds cleared away in tbe distance. The tempest seemed over and past, W hen forth from the firmament darted ■A. lightning b ill, fi u r f and fast. It struck thee, oil! notile oae, struck thee ! It crush'd tnee. and now thou art gone ! farewell! To our death-day thine image Still, still in our hearts shall live on. There was a second poem, enclosed in a heart-shaped frame-work of leaves, "which gave expression to the grief of a devoted soul for the high-hearted lady. But now the hour was come for another to take the post of honour by the bier of the ■Princess. Silently and sadly the two men toluted. He that left took away with him a deep and elevating impression of the general ove and respect paid by the people of Hesße ° their too early departed Princess, and th< emembrance of that silent watch by tht

dead will remain in bis memory for ever. And he who now entered on that honourable duty could chronicle proofs of genuine grief, of true reverence and love, not fewer nor less touching. "Whosoever is thus bewept I has secured the best and faireßt memorial iu the heartfl of her own people for all time— "The remombrance of the just abideth in blessing."