Liebe verehrte Gräfin Bertha,
How infinitely hard it is for me to send you these lines, for they are
to tell you that the report which you read in the papers is true.
Alas, you cannot believe, dear Countess, what unspeakable grief we
all, and I especially, feel at the tidings of the sudden death of our
dear, good, generous-hearted brother. His heart has ceased to beat!
Poor Adolf died, as we learn through the office of the Imperial
Chancery, suddenly, on the 30th of October, in consequence of some
physical injury apparently caused by terrible seasickness; his dear
body was buried at sea. So runs the fatal telegram which reached
Berlin from New York on the 6th of November and was transmitted to us
on the following day. I cannot tell you, dear Countess, what we felt
and suffered at this report; and even now I am not able to realize and
believe the frightful fact. I do not know why the God of infinite
goodness summons my dearest-beloved twin brother, now in the full
bloom of his youth, just as he was on the point of attaining the goal
of his desires! O God, how infinitely painful for us who are left
bereaved! I know, dear Countess, what grief will fill your heart at
these tidings. You too loved my good brother so dearly. Ah, if he had
listened to me, he would have remained in Europe and gone to Italy,
and later to London. I had all but brought it about. You may perhaps
remember, in his letters, how inconsolably he wrote that people did
not want him to be happy. One who has no firm faith, and does not
assure himself that whatever God does is well done, could not but
despair at this so unspeakably sad event. If we might only call our
dear Adolf back, if only he could be with us again! The last token of
life that my father received from him was from Southampton. On the
23d, I believe, the ship went on from there; on the 28th it reached
New York, but without our dear brother—we have not even his beloved
body; that thought, that it is in the depths of the sea, is terrible!
Three days before the ship arrived, our dear brother departed. I
cannot write any more to-day, forgive me, honored Countess. This very
week we expect details from the captain and the ship’s surgeon;
perhaps also a message of farewell from dear, good-hearted Adolf. My
mother has just received your letter; she will certainly write you. I
should have been glad to write you, but I did not know your address.
So good-by for to-day. Try to be submissive to the blow, as we try;
and may God, who is all-powerful, who inflicts wounds and heals them,
grant you strength to endure the grief for him who is lost.
I kiss your hands, dear and honored Countess, and, with cordial
greetings to your mother, I remain, in sincere and faithful
attachment,
Your mourning friend,
Wilhelm Prinz Sayn-Wittgenstein
Then came the promised letter from the old princess:
My dear Countess,
Alas, if I could only tell you that the news which has shocked you,
that our dearly beloved Adolf perished on his sea trip, was not true!
No, my dear Countess, God called away the dear, beloved, angelic son.
Why did he have to leave us? That question we keep asking, and for all
answer can only say, that for three years and more it had been his
most ardent wish to devote himself to art; that in numberless letters
he has said again and again, “If you want to see me once more happy,
contented, and well, as I was ten years ago, then grant my request and
let me go to America.” The prince could never make up his mind to
grant his wish; only after he was fully persuaded that he would be
miserable here, did he at last yield and grant him the desired
permission.
I feel that you, my dear Countess, will mourn for our dear son with
us, and preserve an affectionate remembrance of him; for your letters
to the dear departed have told me that you loved him from your heart.
It would have been a great consolation to me if my beloved Adolf had
been able to have you with him in his journey to that distant land—yet
how terrible for you, if it had been so! Ah, I thank God for having
made the last weeks of my dear child’s life happy through your
friendship; he went away with such joyful anticipations—he believed
that he should see his home and family again, and bring you to his
home, dear Countess,—alas, it was not to be; we must lose him for this
short hand-breadth of life which God still lets us live; but we shall
find him again there, where is no more pain, no more disappointment,
no more parting!
I shall always be glad to hear that you are happy, and I assure you of
my sincere sympathy as
Your devoted
Amalie Fürstin Sayn-Wittgenstein