The bells welcomed a life which was to be like them in fulness of
awakening power. Beyond the borders of the Rhine to the distant East
has the prophetic meaning of the sound been accomplished in word and in
deed.
A year and a half later, on the 22nd of August 1845, Prince William
was born. During the baptismal service little Elizabeth stood near her
mother’s chair, and followed the sacred proceedings with much interest,
asking suddenly, with a loud voice, “What is the black man doing with
the little brother?” The baptism over, she approached the assembled
group of town councillors on the tips of her toes. They were the only
people strange to her in the circle of relations and friends. She
looked up at them with a smile, and gave each of them her little hand
to kiss.
“It was my first drawing-room,” said the Queen, laughing, as this
incident was told her.
Princess Elizabeth soon developed into a very peculiar child. She was
of a passionate, unyielding, reserved character. Her education was
confided to her mother alone, who discussed everything with the Prince,
but, according to her arrangements, allowed no one to interfere. The
recollections of the Queen of Roumania reached back to her third year.
At that age the Princess of Wied took her to stay with her godmother,
Queen Elizabeth, at Berlin. There the imaginative little girl fondled
all the footstools, sofa-cushions, and bolsters with the greatest care,
pretending they were her children. One day she ran up quickly, took
hold of the feet of the Queen, which were resting on a footstool,
placed them roughly on the ground, and with the angry exclamation,
“You must not stand on my child!” she carried the footstool off. “Have
you children?” was her question to people she saw for the first time.
Those who answered in the negative ceased to interest her. From her
earliest childhood nothing seemed so sad to her as a house without
children. In order to quiet and control her a governess was appointed
for her in her fourth year, and she had regular lessons. She was so
lively that the necessity of sitting still was a trial to her. In her
fifth year she was to sit with her brother William to Professor Sohn
for her portrait. Severity and kindness were tried in vain to keep her
quiet. At last she made up her mind not to move again. Hardly, however,
had the little Princess sat motionless for two or three minutes when
she fell fainting from her chair. Only Fräulein Lavater, her mother’s
old governess, had a soothing influence over her. She told the young
Princess many beautiful fairy tales and stories, and so found the
right way of captivating the lively child. Fräulein Lavater[1] was a
lady of a very independent spirit, and possessed great patience with
clearness of perception. She was well versed in modern languages, and
could remember the contents of half a volume and criticise sharply.
During the life of the Prince of Wied she spent many months of the year
at Monrepos. After his death Fräulein Lavater went to live with the
Princess of Wied, where she ended her days as the beloved friend and
member of the household. The great peculiarities of character of the
Princess Elizabeth from earliest youth were pity, truthfulness, and
great independence. Already in her childish years at her mother’s side
she learnt to understand the troubles and misery of the poor people.
Her heart was so much touched by all the distress she saw that she
naturally gave everything away which she, in her childish mind, thought
she could spare. Her mother let her act thus, but gave her one day a
large piece of checked woollen stuff. The little Princess was beside
herself with joy. “Now I can give away all my dresses!” she exclaimed.
“Will you not rather carry the woollen stuff to the poor children?”
asked the Princess of Wied; “your white dresses would be of less use to
them than that coarse material.” “Yes,” said she, “that is true.” Then
she called her little brother, and the tiny couple went down from the
Castle to the town, carrying the beautiful gift to a house where many
children were the only riches of their parents.
[1] And grand-niece of the famous philosopher Lavater.
The first great sorrow came to Princess Elizabeth when her youngest
brother, Prince Otto, was born on the 22nd November 1850. For many
weeks she was not allowed to see her much-loved mother, who was hanging
between life and death. The little brother was a beautiful boy, but
their joy over his happy birth was soon to be turned into the deepest
anxiety. He was born with an organic disorder. No human art could
remedy or alleviate the evil. The Princess of Wied was paralysed
after his birth. In order to be near a clever doctor, the princely
family moved to Bonn in the spring of 1851. At this time Ernst Moritz
Arndt visited the Princess of Wied almost daily, and read to her his
patriotic verses. The little Elizabeth sat on his knee meanwhile
and listened, with flaming cheeks, to the inspired words, which
unconsciously found an echo in the warm childish heart. Sometimes the
venerable poet would place his hand in an attitude of blessing on her
head and explain to her the beautiful name she bore. Elizabeth means
“My God is rest;” and he may well have asked himself, “When will this
whirlwind ever find its rest?”
During their stay in Bonn an ever-extending circle of artists and
savants assembled at the house of the Prince of Wied, which increased
and remained intimate with them afterwards as well at Neuwied as at
Monrepos. Intellectual intercourse and exchange of thought was the
delight of the princely pair. They were so cultivated themselves
that they attracted men of art and science. We met, besides E. M.
Arndt, Bunsen, Neuhomm, Clemens Perthes, Jakob Berneys, and later
Lessing, Sohn, Anton Springe, &c. The present Crown Prince of
Germany, the Prince of Waldeck, and the Dukes Frederick and Christian
of Augustenburg, who were particular friends of the Crown Prince,
were then studying at Bonn. These young Princes came almost daily
to the Vinea Domini, the house inhabited by the Prince of Wied.
Notwithstanding her delicate state, the young Princess of Wied arranged
lectures and had evenings devoted to the study of Shakespeare and
acting. She and her friends gave lectures and translated and wrote
poetry. At Bonn, Princess Elizabeth saw the first Roumanians. They were
the brothers Sturdza, who visited the University there. From them she
learnt many a Roumanian word.
In the summer of this year came the departure of the Prince of Wied,
who made a journey to North America and Cuba in 1852-53 for the sake of
his health. His brother-in-law, Prince Nicolas of Nassau, accompanied
him. The interesting letters, full of ideal feelings, which he wrote
to his wife were published in Gelzer’s magazine. Dr. Gelzer says of
them:--“The Prince here describes the imposing impressions of the New
World with his brilliant wit, with the deep feeling of the historian
and philosopher, and with the independent thought of a great thinker.”
In May 1853 the Prince of Wied returned to Germany. Shortly before
his arrival he wrote to his wife:--“The advantages of this journey
are still of a doubtful nature, for one should be young and fresh
and well in order to find any satisfaction in travelling. But my
thoughts rest in the past; my future lies in the children and in the
happiness of those whom I love. The contentment that nature affords me
here is limited. The internal satisfaction that is impressed on the
surroundings of home is wanting. Whether my journey has been of any
definite use can only be judged with certainty hereafter. At any rate
it was a great change in the ordinary course of my life, and that is a
good effect.”
Meanwhile the health of the Princess of Wied had not improved.
Immediately on his return home the Prince decided to leave for Paris
with his whole family. He hoped that his wife would there find
relief from her sufferings by a particular manner of treatment. For
Princess Elizabeth this journey was a great event, and her happy
excitement increased when she was allowed to join in “les cours de
l’Abbé Gauthier” and learn with children. But the strange surroundings
and many people had quite distracted the child of ten. It seemed
impossible to surmount her timidity and shyness. She who was so ready
and quick at answering now stood aghast at the most simple question
which was addressed to her. As soon, however, as she felt herself once
more under the protection of her parents, the spell was broken, and she
became again the high-spirited girl whose thoughts never ceased to flow.
The princely children had received a doll’s theatre as a Christmas
present. One morning Baron Bibra, the Chamberlain and friend of the
Prince, found little Elizabeth busy with the dolls. With her brother
William and the dolls for an audience, she made the little marionettes
act a play. She had undertaken all the parts herself, and imitated the
different voices with so much talent, that her mother, in her fright at
these tastes in her little daughter, next day caused the theatre to be
taken away. She was afraid of awakening the demon of the stage in her.
In June 1854 the family of the Prince of Wied were able to return from
Paris to Monrepos. The Princess of Wied was quite restored to health,
and had returned with the gift of healing, as she had been healed. Many
of the sick and suffering came to her, to Neuwied and Monrepos. Her
gentle hand and her deep sympathy have, by this mysterious healing
power, always had a blessed influence over the sufferers.
The winter months were usually passed in Neuwied, and the summers at
Monrepos. Here it had been for many years the most ardent wish of
Princess Elizabeth to go to school with the village children. One
morning she rushed excitedly into the room of her much-occupied mother
and asked if she might accompany the children of the bailiff to school.
The Princess of Wied did not hear the question, and nodded pleasantly
to the child. She took this sign for an acquiescence, and rushed to the
next farm, called the Hahnhof. Here she hears that the little girls of
Frau Schanz are already gone to school. She darts after them, manages
to catch them up, and enters the schoolroom with them whilst a singing
lesson was going on. The schoolmaster felt much flattered when he saw
the little Princess take her place before him on the bench and join in
the singing with all her might. But the little daughter of the bailiff,
already rather impressed with Court etiquette, did not think it proper
that a daughter of a Prince should sing so loud with the village
children. As soon as her voice sounded above those of the others her
little neighbour laid her hand over her mouth, endeavouring thus to
impress the Princess with the impropriety of her behaviour.
At the Castle, meanwhile, the disappearance of Princess Elizabeth
caused a great commotion. Footmen were sent out in all directions. They
searched the neighbouring birch forests and outlying villages in vain.
At last they found the little Princess at the summit of happiness in
the village school of Rodenbach. The lost madcap was brought back to
the Castle and shut up in her room as a punishment for the rest of the
day. A sad ending to a day begun with such rapture. “It was the only
stroke of genius of my childhood!” she remarked later when Queen. “I
was thoroughly ashamed of myself, and never ventured to speak of it.”
Princess Elizabeth had to be brought up with great perseverance and
earnestness. The danger was great that the extraordinary and powerful
disposition of the talented child might influence her in the wrong
direction. She took up everything passionately and impetuously, and
when at play with children of her own age was always overexcited.
Children that were strange to her, whether they were villagers or of
good family, felt her authority immediately and obeyed her without a
murmur. These little people were led by her into the wildest romps.
But Princess Elizabeth did not merely play for fun. She was quite
overpowered by the world of her imagination, and carried out the vivid
thoughts of her fancy--a strong impulse to command and a craving for
activity belonged to her natural disposition.
On Sunday, after breakfast, the three children of the Prince recited
poems of their own choosing to their parents. When nine years old
Princess Elizabeth declaimed Schiller’s “Battle with the Dragon.”
Although her powers of memory were so good that she could immediately
repeat a poem of four verses which the Prince had just read to her,
she could never learn Alexandrines; they had for her neither rhyme nor
chime, and were “a horror” to her. Later on she developed a taste for
Béranger and Molière. When nine and ten years old she wrote verses. At
twelve she tried to write a novel. As a girl of fourteen she arranged
dramas and tragedies, and the more horrors were enacted in them the
better was she pleased. Late of an evening and early in the morning
she made up the most beautiful stories; her fancy only painted tragic
horrors, and she lived in an atmosphere of powerful mental contrasts.
From the highest spirits she fell into the lowest, and felt an entire
want of self-confidence. Undue hilarity followed great depression
and melancholy. Then she became possessed with the idea that she was
disagreeable and unbearable to every one. “I could not help myself,”
she confesses; “I could not be gentle, and was so passionately
impulsive that I was heartily thankful to those who were patient with
me. It became better, however, when a safety-valve opened for me,--that
was writing poetry.”
Princess Elizabeth was often so overcome by her imagination that she
could not distinguish reality from the fictions of her fancy. Thus it
happened in her twelfth year that the sight of a wild cat that her
great-uncle Max brought home as a booty from the chase quite upset
her. On going to sleep she was vividly impressed with the description
of this terrible race of animals, which, bloodthirsty and cunning as
they are, spring upon their unsuspecting prey. Full of the terrible
impression of the day before, she wrapped herself in her little grey
cloak next morning in order to go to the schoolroom. Whilst going
upstairs she considered what she would do if she were now attacked by a
beast of prey. In a moment she seemed to see the wild beast before her,
tore off and threw away her cloak, and rushed up the stairs again. Her
maid was watching her and laughed. This restored her to consciousness,
and she resumed her walk to the schoolroom. To calm this unboundedly
impetuous nature, her mother took her with her wherever the sorrows
of this life could touch her nearly. She often stood at the side of
sick and dying beds. The trials of her tenderly-loved little brother
formed her character early, and made her acquainted with all the
sad sufferings which an afflicted body entails. The first death-bed
to which her mother led her was that of her grandmother, the Duchess
of Nassau. Her death made a lasting impression on the child, but the
sight of the corpse did not frighten her. Her thoughts carried her
beyond death, and only peaceful visions arose in the mind of the highly
imaginative child.
It was the most beautiful time of roses. She hurried away to the
garden, and returned laden with them into the chamber of death. She
changed her grandmother’s death-bed into a flower-garden, she adorned
the room and covered the corpse with sweet-scented flowers, thus taking
from the lifeless form and its surroundings that dread appearance
which impresses us so strangely when we enter the chamber of death.
She regarded death in a poetical light, for her mother had always
represented leaving this world as the greatest happiness to her. A
consciousness of death runs through her life, for she has been called
upon to go from one death-bed to another.
Brought up by her mother in the fear of God and in piety, it was a
great event to her when she was, in her twelfth year, first allowed
to go to church. From that time Sundays and holy days became bright
spots in her young life. With a mind full of religious enthusiasm she
followed the services, and the explanations of Holy Writ touched her
deeply. She thought over what she had heard for many days, and often
wrote down the sermon.
For six years Fräulein Jossé had been the governess of Princess
Elizabeth. She had fulfilled the duties of her difficult profession
with great faithfulness and unselfishness. When she left Neuwied no
governess came again into the Prince’s household. From this time
(1858-1860) a tutor supervised the studies of the Princess. When Herr
Sauerwein came to the Castle for the first time, the Princess of
Wied received him with the words, “You will have a little _esprit de
contradiction_ as a scholar; she does not believe in any authority. Her
first words are ‘Why?’ and ‘Is it true?’” But master and scholar soon
understood one another. Herr Sauerwein was a man of great learning,
and a second Mezzofanti in languages. Princess Elizabeth was quite
delighted at this, for she was passionately fond of learning foreign
languages, and mastered them easily. Her tutor had lived for a long
time in England, and was an enthusiastic admirer of that country, its
history and laws. He gave all his lessons in English, and English
history was the favourite study. Even Latin and Italian were translated
into English. The Princess read Ovid with Herr Sauerwein, Horace, and
a part of Cicero both in English and Italian, and diligently learnt
arithmetic and geometry. Princess Elizabeth studied physical science
in the house of Baron Bibra with his daughter Marie. She was her
only playfellow and dearest friend, and her gentle manner had a good
influence over the passionate nature of the Princess.
A Parisian lady taught the Princess French. Of an evening after tea
she read with her; mostly the old chronicles and memoirs, Froissart,
Joinville, Philippe de Comines, St. Simon, &c., and also the dramas
of Molière, Racine, and Corneille. The Princess of Wied now began to
read the most beautiful of the dramas of the German classical authors
to her daughter, also Schiller’s “Thirty Years’ War,” and they read
and re-read “Nathan the Wise” of Lessing. Princess Elizabeth studied
Decker’s “Universal History” by herself in one summer, as also the
historical works of Gibbon. Her wonderful memory helped her, too, in
this, and she understood the reality of what she read. When fifteen
years old she studied three newspapers daily and displayed a great
interest in politics. Her greatest joy was to write essays, and she
ever delighted in fairy tales and national songs. “For a little fairy
tale,” she says, “I was capable of throwing aside the finest historical
work, and even the comparisons of grammar which I studied with such
passionate interest.” Once the “Wide Wide World,” by Mrs. Wetherall,
fell into her hands. She read it over and over again, hiding it
meanwhile under her translations of Ovid, that no one might know what
so absorbed and excited her. She was not allowed to look into a novel
till her nineteenth year. Then she was permitted to read out “Ivanhoe”
and “Soll und haben” of Freitag after tea. Everything was avoided which
could further excite the workings of her restless imagination. The
spirit of duty and labour, of love and piety, which reigned in this
princely house had, unknown to herself, exercised its strong spell over
her. Much that is so beautifully and harmoniously developed in the
character of the Princess Elizabeth is owing to the noble example of
her parents and the refined atmosphere of her home.
[Illustration]