“We are all there, you dear mother, with our love and our childish
longings, and have our arms tightly round you, so that you may lead
us, and we guide you. For in our weakness and dependence in you lies
our strength. The feeling that we love you makes you strong. You must
be strong, that we may not fall. Oh! my beloved mother, what strength
is there in love! It overcomes time and space. In love lies the idea
of eternity, and love alone can understand eternity, which we cannot
grasp. I feel that we seem to become more and more intimate, and that
is very natural. How anxiously I used to bar all the doors of my
heart! Now I open them all wide, very wide, and, of course, you are at
home everywhere! I feel more strongly than ever that if ever anything
should separate me from you I should become as dry and colourless as a
withered leaf in winter.”
Princess Elizabeth now felt stronger, and began her life with the
Grand Duchess again. She was, however, suddenly seized by a relapse
of the illness she had just had. It was a sad and anxious time for
the Princess of Wied, and these days of trial were almost more than
she could bear, for the Prince of Wied lay on his deathbed, and his
strength was slowly ebbing away. She writes:--“My child is ill at a
great distance from me, and, for the first time, I am not there to
nurse her. I know she is in God’s care, and nursed by loving and
faithful people. But that does not take the load of anxiety off my
heart.”
When the mild spring weather came, on the 1st of March the young
Princess was allowed to go out in the fresh air.
_To her Brother._
“ST. PETERSBURG, _2nd March 1864_.
“I have been wonderfully dissipated this winter! I was at a little ball
the Emperor gave before Christmas, and at a small dancing-party here
at the end of January. Next week is the Carnival, at which my presence
will be doubtful, and then everything, even the theatre, comes to an
end. Is it not really quite wonderful that I have not become frivolous
in all this whirl of society! And now I have been seventeen days in
bed, ‘_pour combler les plaisirs_;’ it really is an anxious matter.
“But now I must leave off this jesting tone and tell you that I really
like to be here, surrounded by the most touching affection and in the
society of many amiable and talented people. And then the music that I
can hear here!--this is the only thing for which I am for ever craving.
I do not care for the balls, and my good time comes in Lent; then
comes one concert after another--all splendid music. To crown it all,
Frau Schumann arrived yesterday. I have seen her already. She was in
Düsseldorf and Baden, and can tell me of all my dear friends. If Heaven
but grants me a little health, I can now pick up again what I have
missed, and blissfully breathe in music.
“This illness often seemed unbearable to me, because I never seemed
to get better. It was so difficult to be patient,--and then the
home-sickness! When I am well I can overcome it, but in illness I long
for mamma as a little child. It was rather a difficult ordeal, but it
must have been good for me, if only to teach me anew to be still. God
wished to see whether I had not forgotten this lesson. Alas! I had done
so, and that made it so hard to bear.”
It seemed as if Princess Elizabeth would now soon get strong. But
the news of her father’s death reached her in a few days. The Prince
of Wied had passed a winter of acute suffering at Baden. When
free from pain he had dictated an essay “On the Mystery of Human
Individualities.” He had written to his daughter for the last time
shortly before his death, and answered some questions she had made
about his book, “The Unconscious Life of the Soul.” His strength was
waning slowly, and on the 5th of March 1864 he had ceased to suffer.
The mortal remains were brought up to Monrepos, a large procession
following, and lie under the lime-trees, beside those of his son, who
died so early. The Princess of Wied wrote his epitaph in the following
words:--
“Made perfect through Suffering, and patient in Hope,
Of a fearless Spirit and strong in Faith,
His mind turned towards Heavenly things,
He searched for truth and a knowledge of God.
What he humbly sought in Life
He, being set free, has now found in the Light.”
Princess Elizabeth had been passionately attached to her father, and
owed much of her intellectual progress to him. Her sorrow at his loss
was increased because she had not been able to be near him during his
last days. Still, no complaint passed her lips. She bore her sorrow
with great resignation and self-control, which made a deep and touching
impression on all about her. She wished to be strong in order to
support and comfort her mother, and this thought supported her--“We
will fill the desolate rooms with our love, and find our happiness in
each other.” She wrote to her: “As a tree that has been felled leaves
a light space in the forest, so a light remains after the death of a
great man!” And so her father, whom she had loved and admired with
all her heart, appeared to her as a bright example. She tried to
think and to act as he would have wished. She formed her opinions in
the large-hearted manner that her father had done, and with his able
and generous disposition towards all; never, therefore, immediately
condemning the opinions of others, but first sifting them thoroughly.
The following poem was written at this time:--
“They have carried him out, who was mine,
All so still!
And ’tis wrought--so I dare not repine--
By Thy will!
Must all the dear ones, then, on earth
That I have,
Like this whom I love so, go forth
To the grave?
Till I steal, in my heart’s agony,
All alone,
To the place where my dead treasures lie,
And make moan.”
--_Translated by Sir Edwin Arnold._
Soon after this, on the 20th of April, the Princess Louise of Wied
died. She had reached the age of ninety-two years, and was much loved
and mourned at Neuwied, on account of her charity to the poor.
The presence of her uncle, Prince Nicholas of Nassau, was a great
comfort to Princess Elizabeth in her sorrow; but he had to return
home, and she could not go with him, though she had a great longing to
be with her mother. The Grand Duchess Hélène intended to travel to
Germany in the spring, and wished to bring back the young girl to her
mother herself. So she had to wait patiently without murmuring.
Clara Schumann came to St. Petersburg early in March, and lived in
the Michailow Palace. As Rubinstein could not continue her musical
instruction, Princess Elizabeth took lessons of Clara Schumann, and
writes:--“And I gazed meanwhile into the beautiful and sad eyes,
and thought of all that this woman had suffered, and of the courage
with which she had battled her way through life.... It must be very
consoling to be old, for then a great feeling of repose comes over us,
for which I often long. Every day, I strive for internal peace, which
is so soothing, but I must obtain it by many storms and much strife....
Even my aunt said the other day, ‘One can see that you were not made
for life in the _grand monde_.’ I am only myself in solitude; the
bustle of the world makes me feel frightened and shy. You, my beloved
mother, are the only being that has as much patience with me as God
Himself, who is not surprised at anything I do or say, to whom I can
tell everything, and who always understands me. And I think you can
feel what great happiness still is mine, as I have such a mother!”
As Princess Elizabeth did not now join the large parties on account of
her mourning, the highest intellectual interests became the favourite
topics of the circle round the Grand Duchess Hélène. The famous member
of the Academy, Baer, Count Keyserlingk, Privy Councillor Brevern,
Henselt the musician, and many other of the learned and distinguished
men were in and out of the Palais Michel, to the great joy of the young
girl, who was so thirsty for knowledge.
The Grand Duchess Hélène had announced herself at Moscow for Easter.
Her niece was allowed to accompany her, and saw Eastern magnificence
and architecture for the first time there. On the 4th of May 1864
she writes from Moscow:--“We are in Moscow, that old patriotic
town, with its houses of one or two stories, green roofs, and four
hundred churches, which are all aglow with the brightest colours. The
dimensions of the streets are so enormous that one does not know where
the street ends and the open space begins. It is too curious! The town,
with its one-storied houses and their surrounding gardens, is quite
countrified, almost like a village, and yet it is beautiful. You only
see little houses, which are very gay, and still gayer churches. These
are bright blue, with light green roofs or domes, or red, green, and
blue, all brightly mixed. I think Moscow is only beautiful in bright
sunshine, when the hundreds of domes are glistening and throwing
their rays on the green roofs. In the Kremlin I saw the treasures of
the Church, as also the treasury and armoury in which all the crowns
are kept. I am most interested by the antiquity of these things and
their historical recollections. There is also kept the enormous silver
caldron in which the holy oil is prepared and consecrated. Every three
years it is made to simmer for three days and mixed with sweet-scented
herbs, whilst prayers are unceasingly offered; then it is consecrated
and blessed in the church, and is now called _le saint crême_. Forty
to fifty pots are then filled with it. This oil is much prized far
and near, as it is used for the consecration of churches, as well as
at births and deaths. The many and different ways in which people try
to make themselves holy touch me much; and even if we are inclined to
ask what is the use of this oil and holy water, we must admit that
it displays a childish craving to be purified, and a firm faith in
the power of prayer, which can consecrate everything. I find so much
cheerfulness and childish faith in the rites of the Greek Church,
and less superstition than in the Roman Catholic, but none of the
earnestness of ours. It strikes me, too, that our Church in her noblest
form--as I speak of the others in their noblest form--is eminently
suited to the German character. We have all a tendency to be absorbed
in thought, to muse on our own nature, and to seek to attain to a
knowledge of God through our own inmost hearts.”
After her return from a most interesting excursion to the monastery of
St. Sergius, Princess Elizabeth says in a letter to her mother:--“The
monastery is wide, low, and massive, like all Byzantine churches, and
partly gloomy, or too bright for our taste. Everything in the Byzantine
churches is bright and cheerful, and the religion is also a cheerful
one. It is the religion of the Resurrection. Good Friday is hardly kept
at all, whereas Easter is kept for a week. They are naturally cheerful,
and even the monks look bright and uncultivated. They differ entirely
from the hollow-cheeked ascetic monks of the West, nor have their
monasteries the same influence as our monasteries.”
Princess Elizabeth was quite delighted with the expedition to Moscow.
She was charmed with the palace of the Grand Duchess, with the
large garden adjoining, and the daily life was more like that of a
family party. Everything reminded her of Monrepos. She felt herself
unrestrained, at home; her health was restored, and she fully enjoyed
every pleasure. Attended by the ladies-in-waiting, she was sent by the
Grand Duchess to visit the many charitable institutions, and behaved
with so much assurance that it appeared as if she were in the habit
of inspecting and examining. On getting into the train on her return
journey she exclaimed, “Those were happy days,” as she gazed back at
the old city of the Czars.
The time of her stay at St. Petersburg was coming to an end. For her
future life it was to be a time of great importance. She had become
accustomed to life at a great Court, had learnt to know the rites and
ceremonies of the Greek Church, and her social and intellectual sphere
had widened during her stay with the Grand Duchess Hélène. In a letter
which she wrote as reigning Princess of Roumania six years later she
dwells upon this as follows:--“I feel every day what a blessing my
intercourse with my aunt and her circle of friends was for my whole
life. In my present position it is of untold value to me.”
Early in June the Grand Duchess brought her niece back to Germany. The
Princess of Wied awaited her daughter at Leipsic. What a sorrowful
meeting it was! And the return to the desolate Monrepos was hardly to
be borne. Her deep sorrow for the loss of her father, which she had had
to keep back, now broke out with all its power. Wherever she looked she
seemed to see him, and she thought she could not live without him. She
longed for his words of teaching, which had brought her to think for
herself; for the old habits, which always had him for their object and
centre.
_To her Brother._
“MONREPOS, _20th August 1864_.
“Alas! you will not receive this letter on your birthday. But it was
quite impossible for me to write to you, as papa’s grave was being
finished. Yesterday the stone was put up on his favourite place. Both
are quite beautiful. When the wall of papa’s grave was finished, I
filled it up myself, and during all those days mamma and I were there
from early morning to evening. I helped to carry the stones and to
shovel the earth, so that my arms are quite tired to-day. The stone,
which marks his favourite view, bears the inscription--
‘On all the hill-tops
Is rest,
In all the tree-tops
Thou perceivest
Hardly a breath;
The birds are silent in the wood.
Wait but a little; soon
Thou, too, wilt be at rest.’
It is of grey marble, and surrounded by great pieces of rock. We built
up these rocks very artistically yesterday. I worked till I was nearly
dead. We planted ivy between the rock, and a heavy rain came to the
help of the young plants in the night, so that they are fresh and
green.”
* * * * *
Since the death of her husband, the Princess of Wied had spent summer
and winter at Monrepos. Here she had arranged a very cosy room for her
daughter, who soon loved it on account of its quiet and retirement.
Photographs and engravings from great masters and portraits of those
dearest to her adorned the walls. From the windows she gazed upon the
wide valley, encircled by its mountains, the shining Rhine, and many
towns and villages. On leaving her room she gazed into the depths of
the mighty forest of beech-trees, which resounded with the song of
birds. She spread crumbs and seeds before her door and window, and
flocks of feathered guests assembled around her. Lost in thought, she
watched the happy, careless ways of the birds, and lived in the world
her fancy created, becoming quite apathetic after the terrible shocks
she had lately gone through. Her anxious mother gladly allowed Princess
Elizabeth to accompany the Grand Duchess to Ouchy in the autumn.
A great change came over her there. She writes: “Unknown to me, a
different spirit came over me and aroused me from my melancholy, into
which, however, I relapsed all the deeper afterwards.”
From the autumn of 1864 to the New Year a young Swiss girl spent many
months at Monrepos. Maria von Sulzer was a very amiable girl, and
the depth of her mind and her ideal tenderness had soon won her the
heart of the young Princess. They were like two sisters together, and
shared all their interests. The intercourse with her young friend
had put fresh life into Princess Elizabeth. A stay at Arolsen varied
the winter. There, after the birth of five daughters, the princely
house of Waldeck had welcomed their first son. Princess Elizabeth had
the pleasure of carrying her little cousin, the hereditary Prince of
Waldeck, at his baptism.
_To her Brother._
“MONREPOS, _10th March 1865_.
“The Castle of Neuwied is so melancholy that I do not like to look at
it any more. Each closed window reminds me of some one that is dead. It
will be a good thing when it again echoes with youthful steps and the
voices of children who know nothing of the old sorrows and sufferings,
and think that their little feet are the first to tread the ground, and
that it never was otherwise than they know it. If only the old walls
could tell their histories! Your children shall once listen astonished
when Aunt Elsa tells them how she lived there--laughed and wept; and
that she once was just as small and had just the same thoughts as
they, or perhaps different ones, but they were very beautiful. How she
thought that a maiden was something very wonderful till she became one
herself, and yet remained exactly what she was before!
“Uncle Max told me of his youth yesterday, and how six horses were
often brought round to the door. He and his brothers swung themselves
upon them, and they galloped away laughing and cheering. Then he gave
a melancholy look at the desolate house, and tears came into his eyes.
Our youth was different, more serious and sadder; but then our manhood
and womanhood will be different, rich and blessed and full of power and
love.”
_To her Brother._
“MONREPOS, _18th November 1865_.
“For I must confess to you that I am, like papa, a most sociable
person, and know nothing more charming than an agreeable salon where,
besides, good music is being performed. My greatest wish is once to
possess so much money that I can always have a circle of artists and
savants about me, and make it as pleasant as possible for them in my
house. I should not pretend to be clever myself, for I cannot do that
at all, but only try to bring out the good qualities of every one,
which makes all feel happy.”
* * * * *
Meanwhile the widowed Princess of Wied made use of her practical
talents by attending to the affairs of her son, who had not yet
attained his majority. Prince William had left the College at Basle,
and was now to start on a journey to the East (1865-1866). His mother
had asked the Crown Prince of Prussia to recommend a military gentleman
to her to accompany the Prince on his travels. He named his friend and
playfellow, General Mischke, who was then a captain. The architect,
Professor Kachel, who afterwards became Director of the Schools of Art
in Carlsruhe, was the Prince’s scientific companion. Accompanied by
these two gentlemen the Prince travelled through Italy to Egypt. There
he met Prince Anton of Hohenzollern, and they proceeded together on
their journey through Syria and Palestine, Constantinople and Greece.
In Athens, however, they received orders to join the army, and hurried
back to Germany, where the Prince of Wied was attached to the staff of
the Crown Prince. The war with Austria was soon over, but Prince Anton
of Hohenzollern was not to see his country again. He died of his wounds
soon after the battle of Königgratz.
During the months of February and March 1866 Princess Elizabeth was at
Wiesbaden, on a visit to her uncle, the Duke of Nassau. Here she took
singing lessons and learnt to play the zither, and was very happy. In
May the Princess of Wied visited her relations at Braunfels, Laubach,
and Schlitz, with Princess Elizabeth. The young Princess was charmed
with the fine castles surrounded by the fresh green of the woods. She
often said--“The mediatised Princes have the best of and lead the
happiest lives. I should never wish for more than a castle in a wood,
where I could do much good, and receive the friends I love. That is the
most enviable fate.”
In the autumn of 1866 Princess Elizabeth again accompanied the Grand
Duchess Hélène on her travels, and this time they went to Ragaz, and
whilst there they saw much of General von Moltke, then at the height of
his glorious career. He joined in their games of bowls in the morning,
and various _jeux d’esprit_ of an evening, with the utmost amiability
and simplicity, and Princess Elizabeth became much attached to this
so eminent and distinguished man. Whilst discussing the political
situation they spoke of Prince Charles of Hohenzollern, who had been
chosen as Sovereign Prince of Roumania shortly before the outbreak of
the war between Prussia and Austria. A few years before this General
von Moltke had made a scientific journey through Silesia with the Crown
Prince and Prince Charles. “That young Prince of Hohenzollern will make
his mark and become talked about” were then the prophetic words of the
Field-Marshal.
The Grand Duchess had finished her cure. They were to leave Ragaz in a
few days. Princess Elizabeth was to return to Monrepos, but a letter
from her mother changed her plans. Her favourite cousin, Catherine
of Oldenburg, had died at Venice. The sufferings of her mother,
Princess Thérèse, increased after the death of her lovely daughter,
and the doctors urged a sojourn in the south of Italy upon her. She
besought her sister, the Princess of Wied, to allow Princess Elizabeth,
for whom she had conceived a great affection in St. Petersburg, to
accompany her. Although it was hard for the young Princess to extend
the separation from her mother for many months, her resolution was
soon taken. She hoped to find scope for her energies in this family
circle. In September 1866 they travelled to Rome, where they remained
a short time, and to Naples. At first Princess Thérèse had taken an
apartment in an hotel for many months. But though they kept away from
all society, it was noisy and uncomfortable on account of the traffic
in the crowded streets. Princess Elizabeth, who was accustomed to a
quiet room and quiet hours, felt it particularly. Her cousins too were
always surrounding her, and did not leave her a moment’s peace. “I gave
myself up to melancholy reflections,” she writes to her mother. But all
changed for the better when they took a villa on the Pausilipp. Here
she took up her regular occupations, and writes: “I have work, much
work; for those that seek it, find it. The beauties of nature and the
mild air constantly renew my strength.” She now gave her cousin, Thesa
of Oldenburg, lessons in German, English, and arithmetic, and says:
“My intentions are good and true, and a blessing may perhaps rest upon
them. Nor shall I be melancholy any more, when I am in the treadmill of
regular work.” Her poems written at this time are mostly grave and full
of religious thoughts, but sometimes the brightness of youth overpowers
her, and cheerful, happy songs flow from her pen.
_To her Mother._
“NAPLES, SANTA BRIGITTA, _19th January 1867_.
“Yesterday we moved here. The sirocco has been blowing for some days,
and the wild waves of the sea are foaming. The seagulls are skimming
between the spray, which is thrown up to a great height, and last night
the storm shook our house. The clouds are low, and cover the peaks
of Vesuvius, while wind and rain beat through our windows and make
weird music. The sea is green and grey, the white foam shines like
phosphorus. It is just what I like. I should love to go out alone in
the storm to let it rage about me, to sing a wild song to the waves,
which nobody listens to or hears, and which remains my own, though I
sing it loudly. Then I should come home as quiet as a lamb, and listen
to the storm no more. Now the bank of clouds is rolled away, and a rosy
light spreads itself quietly over the foaming, angry sea. It spreads
itself further and further from the horizon to our feet, soothing and
shining, and brings happy thoughts to my heart. If that would learn
to be still it could also command the storm, and in its depths it is
still. For through all, my quiet home is the anchor which holds me
fast, the haven which receives me when my sails are rent. Man belongs
to nature, and is her greatest and completest work, and therefore we
love and have confidence in men, even when they are passionate and
excited.”
* * * * *
“_20th January._--As we woke to-day upon our hill, the sun shone upon
the sea, which is like a sheet of glass. The doors and windows are wide
open, and the soft air of May pervades me and our rooms, and brings in
happy and cheerful thoughts. It has wakened all my pleasure in life
and power of work. When I raise my head the mighty Vesuvius is spread
before me, and its peaks lost in the clouds. To the left I look down to
the town, which shines below me in the sun. The sea spreads itself to
my right, with the sharp points of the Island of Capri. For the first
time Naples appears to me magically beautiful, for the first time I can
gaze undisturbed upon the grand beauty of nature here. Peace, which I
have not felt for a long time, steals into my heart. I feel as if I
could swing myself into the light air as if I had a hundred wings which
drew me to the sun, as if new life came to me. It is worth battling
with the storm to feel such heavenly peace. Even the waves of the sea
are hushed as though they feared to break the stillness. Everything
seems to me to call, ‘Peace, Peace.’ It is too beautiful for words,
and the joy is too deep; it is like a song of thanksgiving, a golden
dream from which we would not wake. My little cousin walks up and
down in the next room and hums a tune. The beautiful world has had a
good influence upon her also, for the clouds which lay upon her brow
have vanished. I should like to write nothing more than the perpetual
refrain, Peace has returned. A fly is buzzing at my window as though it
were midsummer, and a bird is chirping in the distance. I allow nature
to charm me and to caress me like her spoiled child. Do not fear my
becoming dreamy and idle: I am only dreaming with you. The instant the
pen leaves my hand the cares of daily life surround me with a thousand
claims, which have all to be satisfied. I may not dream long, so grant
me these few moments. I only draw myself up like a wave before it
rushes onwards and gathers strength for the work which I have taken in
hand. I never forget for a moment that I have two hours’ lessons to
give to this spoilt child the day after to-morrow. I am quite prepared
for it. I feel that though she may learn more from any schoolmaster
than from me, I can perhaps influence her mode of thought by these
lessons, which will be of more use to her than the deepest learning. I
try to teach her, what you taught, to love people for whom you have no
sympathy. If I do not marry, I shall pass my examination as a teacher.
To that I have made up my mind. Tell Pastor Harder that I have never
lost sight of this object, though I am driven hither and thither. For I
must accomplish this, which has been in my mind for years. And though
I sometimes feel that I am presumptuous and arrogant, I usually think
the contrary. ‘Your vocation is what calls you’ is all that I have
remembered of Brentano’s fairy tales, and what calls me is teaching.
I wait in patience. If I have understood it wrongly, it will be made
clear to me. Here I have that lot assigned to me. I teach for ten hours
a week, and am present at all the lessons given. Tell the Pastor that I
am constantly repeating his good maxims, and hope to prove myself his
worthy scholar.”
We see that Princess Elizabeth is ambitious in the best sense of the
word. “Thus she is impelled to teach, for in teaching lies great power.”
“_Naples, 5th February 1867._--Aunt Thekla has died, and Uncle Max
has died. It is worth while to have lived as he did, and he does
not die unmourned. Indeed it was a beautiful death, which one might
wish to have after so rich a life. I pray God that I may die mourned
after a life of labour, even though I should have no children and
grandchildren. The life of Uncle Max was rich and full of interest. I
think it was beautiful.”
“_Naples, 3rd April 1867._--Sometimes I feel so old, but not
sorrowful--no! quite the contrary. I should like to be much, much
older, to have the duties and the rights of an old maid. I often feel
as if I had had a mist before my eyes lately. The happiness to have
spent time and strength where they are most needed is too great. I am
not at all afraid of that dreadful word ‘old maid.’ I share it with
many whom I have often envied for their strong though quiet influence.
Work is what I must and will have, and then all can say of me, ‘That
is a happy girl.’ The time is soon over. It has gone by quickly, very
quickly. God knows that I had the wish to do some good, to accomplish
something, and have some influence. I see no results, but that I
did not expect. Perhaps a little trace may be left behind. I am not
so proud as to think that I can carry all before me like a mountain
torrent. Perhaps I am but a little drop, but if Heaven has let me fall
on the right place, I can joyfully become absorbed by the sunbeams!”
In May 1867 Princess Elizabeth was overjoyed to return to Monrepos.
“She returned to her quiet home in the forest and became a child once
more.” But it was not for long. The amiable niece had become necessary
to the Grand Duchess Hélène, and she was constantly enticing her away
from home. In August we find her again in Carlsbad with her aunt. The
Grand Duchess was very unwell, and Princess Elizabeth had to receive
the ladies and gentlemen who came to pay their respects. She writes as
follows about her impressions and the people who frequented there:--
“_Carlsbad, 2nd August 1867._--I have in these last days made the
acquaintance of some people with whom I am so enchanted that I am
constantly wishing you were here. First comes Frau Arnemann, a
Norwegian lady, with bright black eyes, which fascinate one. She
has always been with artists, and her life has been rich but sad.
Her impressions of people are quite extraordinarily correct, and I
have often seen astonishing proofs of her clairvoyance. She is quite
magnetic. Frau Arnemann introduced the painter Piloty to us, a very
amiable and refined person. We go into raptures over Italy together.
Then we have got to know the great singer, Frau Unger-Sabatier, who is
here with her pupil and niece, Fräulein Regan. Frau Unger-Sabatier is
a perfect artist, wise and clear-headed, with the sacred fire and yet
not too much of the fervour of the dilettanti. Her great pleasure is to
train young singers. Her niece, Fräulein Regan, is twenty-three. Her
voice is like a flute, and she sings to wonderful perfection. She is
also a very cultivated girl, who speaks French and Italian not only
well but beautifully, and understands and renders the songs perfectly.
I feel myself drawn to her as to a magnet.”
Her intercourse with Edith von Rahden was also a great pleasure to the
Princess. She says of her: “Edith has become more mild and gentle than
ever, and esteems every one, irrespective of their position towards
herself.” “I know how to be grateful for every happy hour, and what
greater happiness is there than to be treated as a friend by a woman
of experience.” Later the Princess Elizabeth writes to her mother: “If
ever I made up my mind to a marriage, I should like to have a settled
home, a house on my own property, and not to begin a wandering life,
which never takes firm root anywhere. I do not now seek my vocation
where it seems difficult and troublesome, and have no other wish than
to live quietly and work where I can.”
Among the gentlemen who were about the Grand Duchess at that time
was Walujeff, a Russian Minister, Tolstoi, Rouher, Piloty, Count
Keyserlingk, the Curator of the University of Dorpat, and the Privy
Councillor Von Brevern, “who is of a refined and very sensitive nature.
His kindness brings thoughts to me which I should scarcely like to
mention.”
Meanwhile Maria von Sulzer had married her cousin, and had come
to Monrepos in the summer in a very suffering state. There her
strength declined visibly. Feeling that her death was near, she had
a great longing to return home. Shortly afterwards the Princess of
Wied received news of her death. We read in the journal of Princess
Elizabeth of the 4th of September:--“Maria Sulzer has died. Death is
but an old friend to me, a serious friend, and yet kind, if one knows
how to meet him. Heaven sends me countless blessings every day. Indeed
I cannot repine. For my life is rich and full, which I constantly
repeat to myself. And if all the loved ones were to be taken, it would
still be blessed a thousandfold, for still all are mine. Even if the
flowers fade, we do not forget that they once bloomed, and that we
enjoyed their sweet perfume. Indeed my heart bleeds, but still I am
abundantly blessed.”