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CARMEN SYLVA.


[Illustration:

    _Woodbury Compy._

ELIZABETH,

QUEEN OF ROUMANIA.]




    THE LIFE OF
    Carmen Sylva
    (_QUEEN OF ROUMANIA_)


    Translated from the German
    BY
    BARONESS DEICHMANN


    _WITH
    FOUR PORTRAITS, VIEW, AND FACSIMILE OF HANDWRITING_


    LONDON
    KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, TRÜBNER, & CO.
    _LIMITED_
    1890

    [_All Rights reserved_]




    Ballantyne Press
    BALLANTYNE, HANSON AND CO.
    EDINBURGH AND LONDON




[Illustration]

TRANSLATOR’S NOTE.


The following pages are a translation of Baroness Stackelberg’s book,
“Aus dem Leben Carmen Sylva’s.”

Having known “Monrepos” from my childhood, and “Segenhaus” since it
was built, it was but a labour of love to me to render this account
of “Carmen Sylva,” and the distinguished family to which Her Majesty
belongs, in English.

I have also thought that many who do not read German might be
interested thus to become acquainted with so gifted a writer, so noble
a woman.

My thanks are due to Sir Edwin Arnold for kindly translating some of
the poems, as well as to Professor Max Müller for his advice regarding
the translation of the philosophical pages.

            HILDA DEICHMANN,
                _née_ de BUNSEN.

LONDON, 1890.




[Illustration]

INTRODUCTION.

    “Carmen, the song, Sylva, the forest wild,
    Forth comes the sylvan song, the woodland’s child!
    And had I not been born ’neath forest trees,
    I never should have heard such songs as these.
    I learned them from the birds, that sang aloft;
    And from the greenwood’s murmurs sweet and soft
    Up sprang with them the heart within my breast!
    Song and the forest lull my soul to rest.”


Carmen Sylva’s volume of beautiful poetry, entitled “My Rest,” begins
with the above poem. It explains the poetic reasons for the choice of
the name under which the royal writer conceals herself. The title, “My
Rest,” has to do with her early surroundings, for it means Monrepos,
the beautiful country seat of the Princess of Wied, which is situated
on a slope of the Westerwald, and in which the royal lady spent her
early years. In these three words, Monrepos, Carmen, and Sylva, lie
a part of the life, lie the germ and the motive-power of the poetic
genius of Princess Elizabeth of Wied.

On making the acquaintance of so gifted a person as the Queen of
Roumania, one involuntarily inquires what antecedents and what
experiences have helped to form so distinguished a character. What
was the home where she received her first impressions? What were her
ancestors? What qualities of heart and mind, what talents has she
inherited from them? All that we do and are depends on the impressions
which we unconsciously receive. Consequently we can only fully
comprehend the development of a character if we have learnt to know the
circumstances and the early surroundings amidst which its spiritual and
intellectual powers were gradually formed.




[Illustration]

CONTENTS.


    CHAP.                                    PAGE

       I. THE COUNTS AND PRINCES OF WIED        1

      II. THE PARENTS OF PRINCESS ELIZABETH    15

     III. CHILDHOOD                            22

      IV. YOUTH                                38

       V. TRAVELS                              65

      VI. BETROTHAL AND MARRIAGE              119

     VII. ARRIVAL IN ROUMANIA                 135

    VIII. MATERNAL JOY AND SORROW             150

      IX. QUIET LIFE                          183

       X. THE WAR AND ITS RESULTS             203

      XI. WORK FOR THE COUNTRY                231

     XII. CARMEN SYLVA                        240

    XIII. CONCLUSION                          274




[Illustration]

I.

The Counts and Princes of Wied.

    “From high mountains floweth
    Bright Wied to the Rhine;
    On the banks of it rises
    Princely castle so fine:
    And the old hero-race--
    Ne’er corrupted of ill--
    Noble flames constant rise
    From the roots of it still.”

                --ERNST MORITZ ARNDT.


For many generations we find in the family of the Counts, who later
became Princes of Wied, distinguished men and women. For centuries we
can find their trace, ever striving for what is noble and ideal, and
thus overcoming the monotony of daily life. Leaders of armies, high
prelates, and learned men have sprung from that family. Noble women
have influenced the rising generation by their educational powers.
Intellectual pre-eminence can almost be called a heritage in the
princely House of Wied.

In the year 1093 the Counts of Wied were already a mighty dynasty.
Their possessions on the right and left banks of the Rhine extended to
the heights of the Eifel and the Westerwald. The most ancient seat of
the Counts of Wied was the Castle of Ober-Altwied, to which the Castle
of Neider-Altwied was added later.

We find the earliest mention of the Rhenic branch of the dynasty of the
Counts of Wied in a document-of-foundation of the year 1093. Amongst
the witnesses stands the name of MEFFRID, COUNT OF WIED. His consort
Osterlindis was a near relative of Henry the Lion, and the mother of
the ARCHBISHOP ARNOLD OF COLOGNE. This energetic and highly-gifted
prince of the Church took a leading part in the election of a king at
Frankfort after the death of Conrad III. It was he who accompanied
Frederick Barbarossa to Aix and crowned him there.

THEODORICK, COUNT OF WIED, lived early in the thirteenth century.
He was renowned for his piety and wisdom as a statesman when he was
Archbishop of Treves. The Liebfrauen Church at Treves, that beautiful
monument of Gothic architecture, owes its origin to him.

In the year 1243 the male line became extinct in the person of COUNT
LOTHAR. The heritage of the Counts of Wied then fell to Bruno, Count
of Isenburg, who was married to the heiress of the House of Wied and
took the name. At the death of Count William in 1462 the inheritance
fell, in default of a male heir, to FREDERICK OF RUNKEL, of the House
of Leiningen-Westerburg. His mother was Anastasia of Isenburg-Wied, a
niece of Count William.

COUNT FREDERICK OF RUNKEL-WIED then became the founder of the now
flourishing dynasty of the Princes of Wied.

Amongst his descendants, let us first mention HERMAN OF WIED, Elector
and Archbishop of Cologne from 1515 to 1547. He was born on the 14th
January 1477, and was the fourth son of Count Frederick of Wied-Runkel
and the Countess Agnes of Virneburg: already in his sixth year he
received a benefice in the Chapter of the Cologne Cathedral. At fifteen
he became Canon of the Cathedral, and on the 15th of March 1515 he
was elected Archbishop of Cologne. He reigned during the time of the
most bitter religious strife. Although at first an implacable enemy
of the Reformation, he was soon overcome by the power of the Gospel.
Archbishop Herman declared himself a believer in the doctrines of
Luther, sent for Protestant preachers, and corresponded actively
with Luther and Melancthon. Martin Butzer, the Strasburg Reformer,
was invited by him to Bonn, to work out a plan for the ordering of
the doctrines of the Reformation. At Easter 1543 Archbishop Herman
dispensed the Holy Communion according to the rites of the Lutheran
Church. A few weeks later Melancthon came from Wittenburg, and
Pistorius from Hesse to confer with the Archbishop. His rivals and
enemies now denounced him to the Pope and to the Emperor. He, however,
declared calmly and decidedly that “at his age, and with one foot in
the grave, he had held it to be his Christian duty to study the Bible
and religious works himself, and to seek the advice of the learned.
He could by no means depart from the conclusions he had thus come to,
nor deny his convictions, which were of the greatest importance to his
salvation and that of all true seekers after God. Whether unjustifiable
machinations should succeed in dethroning him he would leave in God’s
hands. If the worst should befall him, he would close his life as he
was born, a simple Count of Wied, but he would never cease to be the
champion of the true faith.”

After this he was excommunicated by Paul III. In order to preserve
the country committed to his charge from the misery of war, which
must otherwise inevitably have arisen, Count Herman renounced the
Archbishopric. For thirty-one years he had gloriously fulfilled the
duties of his difficult office, and accomplished the arduous task with
true German conscientiousness and Christian piety. He now returned to
Altwied, the cradle of his race. In our days one can still see the
extensive ruins of the old Castle, which crown a rocky summit, standing
isolated in the valley of the Wiedbach, surrounded by mountains clothed
with mighty forests. On the 15th of August 1552 Count Herman died
there, and was buried in the neighbouring church of the village of
Niederbiber. The fatherly solicitude with which he had ruled those
committed to his care was treasured in the memory of the people for
many years. Up to the end of the sixteenth century the saying was
current among them:--

    “When we had noble Herman of Wied,
    God, gold and peace were ours indeed.”

FREDERICK, COUNT OF WIED, 1618-1698, increased the well-being of his
country under most difficult circumstances. The House of Wied had
become Protestant. Count Frederick made up his mind to found a city
of refuge for all Christians who were persecuted on account of their
religion. The town of Neuwied was founded in the year 1649 upon the
ruins of the village of Langendorf, which stood on the banks of the
Rhine, and was destroyed during the Thirty Years’ War. The toleration
displayed by the Count towards the most conflicting opinions was,
at that time of ruthless persecution, a bright example of Christian
charity.

His son FREDERICK WILLIAM, 1706-1737, built the Palace of Neuwied,
in which Princess Elizabeth was born. From the lofty windows of the
saloons, which are decorated in the style of Louis XV., the view
extends far over the flowing Rhine, and the many picturesquely situated
towns and villages, and the wide chains of mountains which encircle
the river on both sides. At sunset, when the last beams of the sun are
reflected in a hazy mist, it is a picture of magical beauty.

The park lies close behind the Palace. For a long way it stretches
along the Rhine to the mouth of the river Wied. Magnificent old trees
form shady avenues and groves. They are so arranged as to heighten the
effect of the beautiful landscape, which constantly develops new charms
in the ever-changing light.

FREDERICK ALEXANDER succeeded his father from 1737-1791. During
his reign Neuwied became an asylum for religious sects of the most
various views, who built churches and founded lasting congregations
there. Thither came the Moravians, Mennonites, Jews, Catholics,
members of reformed Churches, Lutherans, and the mystic sects of the
Inspirationists. Frederick Alexander took them all under his immediate
protection, and allowed them the free exercise of their religion.

In order to improve the condition of his country, he attracted foreign
manufacturers and artists. Thus an industrial population was gradually
formed at Neuwied, which has steadily increased. Frederick Alexander
founded institutions for the good of the community, encouraged mining,
built foundries, and interested himself in everything connected with
the prosperity of the town of Neuwied. Practical reforms were carried
out in the administration of the country and its agriculture. It was
Frederick Alexander who erected the country-house of Monrepos, that
“Paradise” of Queen Elizabeth, on a height of Westerwald.

On the 13th June 1784 the hereditary title of Prince of the Realm
was conferred on Frederick Alexander by Joseph II. Three years later
he celebrated the fiftieth anniversary of his accession. He and his
consort, Countess Caroline of Hachenburg, also lived to see the
celebration of their golden wedding, when they were surrounded by a
large circle of grandchildren. His simple monument in the churchyard of
Neuwied bears the inscription, “He was too great to be replaced, too
good to be forgotten; his good works are his best memorial.”

PRINCE FREDERICK CHARLES, the only son of Frederick Alexander,
married, in 1766, the Countess Marie Louise Wilhelmina of
Sayn-Wittgenstein-Berleburg, and she became the mother of seven
princes and three princesses. When Frederick Charles undertook the
government of the country it was not for its welfare. In his anxiety to
improve everything, he went so far as to destroy all that was good and
beautiful; his generosity was extravagant, and he soon became involved
in quarrels of all sorts. The Princes of Runkel and Berleburg, who were
sureties for the House of Wied, were obliged to appeal to the law and
to nominate a Curator.

But the storm of the French Revolution had gathered meanwhile, and
soon spread to Neuwied. The wave of emigration came and brought its
adventurers, and the Franko-Austrian war succeeded with its horrors.
The Princess and her children repeatedly had to flee from Neuwied. The
Prince had also left his home, and stood up for his lost rights in
Vienna until the government of his country was accorded to him once
more. A French emigrant accompanied him on his return, in whom he
placed the utmost confidence, but whose influence over him was most
pernicious. The Princess was obliged to leave the Castle, for the
citizens of Neuwied rebelled against their Prince. Violent measures
were resorted to, in consequence of which Prince Frederick Charles
gave up the government and went to Freiburg in Breisgau. Here he lived
in quiet retirement till his death in 1809.

Upon the abdication of the Prince a separation was arranged between
him and his wife. Whilst her son was still a minor and serving in the
Prussian army, Princess Marie Louise undertook the government of the
country. This Princess preserved her unusually beautiful and graceful
appearance to the last. Beloved by her people and children, she knew
how to combine a sense of her dignity with great modesty. Wherever
her services were required for the good of others she was ready to
help with her clear judgment. For two years she presided over the
affairs of the country with great circumspection and foresight. In
her leisure hours she took great delight in translating the works of
French, Italian, and English poets. She rendered Gellert’s odes into
French. Many of the hymns she composed are found in hymn-books of that
time, and she excelled in music, drawing, and miniature painting. She
corresponded diligently with Wieland, and Ernst Moritz Arndt was her
friend. Amidst the difficult circumstances of her life of trial, she
never lost her calmness and self-control, for her firm faith in the
love and mercy of God gave her strength to bear adversity and never to
despair. On the 13th of July 1804 she gave up the government of the
country to her son.

PRINCE AUGUSTUS was very simple in his tastes, just and active, a
true German who was impervious to French influence. When the Princes
of the south-west of Germany made a league under the protectorate of
Napoleon in 1860, Prince Augustus of Wied remained true to his country.
He refused to be incorporated in this alliance, which was hostile to
the interests of Germany. In consequence of this he was deprived of
his sovereignty and became subject to the House of Nassau. Later, when
the difficult task of altering the state of things in Germany fell to
the Congress of Vienna, it was decreed that the reigning Counts of the
Empire should lose their independence. Consequently this fate befell
the Princes of Wied also. A large part of their country came under
Prussian rule, whilst a small part was given over to the House of
Nassau.

Two brothers of Prince Augustus had fallen in the wars of independence,
when Prince Victor also, a youth of seventeen, was to join the army.
Before he left his mother the Princess Louise, that enthusiastic
patriot, took him once more to the Church at Niederbiber. Upon the
grave of Archbishop Herman, before the altar, she made him solemnly
swear “that he would dedicate his whole life to the German cause, and
not sheath his sword till the last enemy had left German soil.” He
faithfully kept his oath, and gave up his life for it. Prince Victor
fought against Napoleon in Germany and in Spain, where he died the
death of a hero when he had just attained the age of twenty-six. In
one of his last letters to his mother he writes:--“All my hopes and
desires are centred in our beloved Germany, the welfare of which is my
first and last object in all I undertake.” Ernst Moritz Arndt was his
best friend, and immortalised his memory in a patriotic poem. He also
published the Prince’s letters to his mother from Spain, and wrote an
introduction containing a sketch of the life of the Prince.

PRINCE MAXIMILIAN OF WIED, a younger brother of Prince Augustus, who
was born in 1782, took an honourable place in the learned world as a
traveller and natural philosopher. From his earliest youth he displayed
a strong bent for the study of natural history. Captain Hofmann, who
became famous for his antiquarian researches, was then at the Court of
Wied as a tutor to the princely children. Under his guidance Prince
Max, who was so eager for knowledge, was able to study with Professor
Blumenbach in Göttingen, and became distinguished in natural history.
During the wars of independence he saw much service with the Prussian
army, from which he received his discharge, according to his request,
after the peace of Paris.

Returned to Neuwied, he occupied himself with preparations for a
journey to Brazil which he had planned for many years. Accompanied
by the German naturalists Freisz and Sellow, he explored the central
provinces of Brazil from 1815 to 1817, diligently seeking for specimens
and collecting materials for his literary work. The first short account
of his journey appeared in the “Isis” of Oken, and “A Journey to Brazil
in the Years 1815-1817” followed later. The sketches of landscapes
and figures which Prince Max had drawn from nature on the spot were
beautifully etched on copperplate by his accomplished sister, Princess
Louise, and his brother, Prince Charles, and heightened the value of
this beautiful work. Some years after, the Prince published two other
books and a Natural History of Brazil.

No sooner had the latter appeared in print than the indefatigable
Prince started on a second scientific journey to America. This time
the United States and North America were his object, but he extended
his journey to the Rocky Mountains and the Upper Missouri. Amidst the
wilds of the primeval forests he made the minutest researches into the
conditions of nature in that country and the native tribes of Indians.
Surrounded by great dangers, he lived amongst the Mandam Indians, the
Monnitaris, the Arrihares, and other tribes. On his return home Prince
Max wrote an account of his journey through North America, which was
published by Hölzer in Coblentz between 1838 and 1841. It was in twelve
volumes, and included an atlas which contained thirty-one copperplates.
The drawings were made by the landscape-painter Bodmer, who had
accompanied the Prince on his journey. It is a magnificent work, of
great ethnographic importance. A museum was arranged for the rich
collections, which remained for a long time an ornament to the town of
Neuwied and a centre for the study of natural history. After the death
of Prince Herman they were sold to America, where they are still kept
together and bear the name of “The Prince Herman of Wied Collection.”

Until his death, in 1867, Prince Maximilian was an active member of
the Leopoldine Academy. His merit has been fully acknowledged. Many
learned societies elected him a member, and a beautiful creeper from
the primeval forests of Brazil is called _Neowedia Spezzoa_ after him.
He was always the centre of life and cheerfulness in the family, and,
in spite of his great intellectual powers, he was modest and retiring
in the social circle and good and kind to all until the last.

But we must also particularly mention the PRINCESS LOUISE here. She
lived only for ideal interests, and is one of the most beautiful
recollections of the childhood of the Princess Elizabeth. Her talents
for music and painting were extraordinary. She painted many pictures
which still adorn the Palace of Neuwied. Prince Augustus was also
very musical, and as music was cultivated seriously and with artistic
knowledge at the princely Court, its good influence was sure to be felt
by the inhabitants of Neuwied. Princess Louise had started a class for
singing, which performed admirably. She was also a poetess, and had
not forgotten how to make “rhymes” even in her ninety-third year. The
“Songs of Solitude” reveal a deeply religious and poetical mind.

Prince Augustus of Wied had married the Princess Sophia Augusta of
Solms-Braun-Fels on the 11th July 1812. Her eldest son was PRINCE
HERMAN, the father of the Queen of Roumania.




[Illustration]

II.

The Parents of Princess Elizabeth.


We have caused a long series of pictures from life to pass before
us, and yet we have learnt to know but a small proportion of the
distinguished men and women who belonged to the House of Wied. PRINCE
HERMAN, who was born in 1814, was also one of the most distinguished
men of his time. After he had finished his studies in Göttingen,
travelled in Germany and France, and served for some time in a regiment
of Guards in Berlin, he undertook the management of his numerous
estates. Of noble and aristocratic appearance, he was endowed with the
finest qualities of the heart and was distinguished by his modesty,
which virtue was ever to be found in the House of Wied. He was a man of
deep learning and culture, and of great intellectual power. Being of a
philosophic turn of mind which was of a speculative cast, the highest
object of his life was a ceaseless endeavour to attain to a knowledge
of the important questions which concern the physical and spiritual
condition of man. His mind was constantly fixed on the mysterious
problems of human nature. The results of his reflections are enshrined
in a work which was anonymously published in 1859 and bore the title
“The Unconscious Life of the Soul and the Manifestations of God.” Many
experiences which took place in his own house or with which he had come
in contact had convinced him of the reality and the efficiency of the
superhuman elements in man. He did not doubt the fact of the magnetic
powers of feeling, somnambulism, electric affinities, clairvoyance, &c.
In order to elucidate these facts, the Prince sought to establish a
theory which he himself only termed an hypothesis; that the essential
conditions of human nature should be a body, soul, and spirit; the soul
a personal and conscious principle, whilst the creative spirit is of
God, ever present and working within man--an unconscious principle. The
Prince named these “the three conditions of human nature,” and this
theory was the foundation of his views of life. His work, therefore,
has to do with the unconscious life of the soul. The spirit manifests
itself, the soul is acted upon by the spirit. What the spirit creates
awakes the consciousness in the soul. The unconscious life of the soul
is, therefore, a revelation of godly power. What Mesmer denominated
magnetic power is, according to the Prince, the power of God. It is
a creative and life-giving power, which can heal the infirmities of
the human body, restore organic life, and elevate spiritual life.
Consequently the Prince regarded the so-called magnetic power as
sacred, and magnetic healing as a religious work. We gather from this
that the Prince acknowledges that these revelations are of God, but
does not understand the idea in a dogmatic light. He does not regard
the workings of this power as a miracle in the ordinary sense of the
word, but as natural occurrences; still, he believes with Hamlet that
nature possesses more and higher powers “than are dreamt of in our
philosophy.”

As, according to the fundamental idea of his philosophy with regard to
the threefold nature of man, soul and spirit may indeed act together,
but at the same time they exist separate from one another, and, being
by no means identical, the Prince could not assent to the dicta of
the so-called Philosophers of Identity (_Identitats Philosophen_).
The latter assert the identity of nature and spirit; they look upon
the human mind as being evolved from the divine, and upon the soul as
being evolved from the mind; he therefore rejected the Pantheistic as
well as the philosophical systems of Schelling and Hegel, and classed
himself with those philosophers whom Schelling called _Reflections
menschen_, _i.e._, thinkers who, according to the ordinary view, retain
the contrast between the inner and the outer worlds, between internal
and external phenomena, between perceptions and things, thinking
and being, but who consider any knowledge going beyond this, and
endeavouring to overcome this contrast by comprehending the unity of
all things, to be impossible. His views were similar to those of Kant.
Prince Herman therefore felt himself specially attracted towards the
Königsberg philosopher, who in his critical works had so accurately and
carefully distinguished the intellectual or spiritual world from the
sensuous, the essence of things or the things-in-themselves from the
phenomena. Only with respect to the free will of man he felt unable
to follow the teaching of Kant, who, while declaring the essence
of man as well as of things in general to lie beyond the range of
knowledge, asserted the same with regard to that moral freedom which
(as the Prince thought) should reveal itself to us by means of moral
self-examination and become practically intelligible. Here Prince
Herman thought he perceived a contradiction which he set himself to
remove. With that object he wrote and published an essay entitled
“The Results of an Examination of Kant’s Doctrine of Free Will.” To
refute the objections he encountered, he defended his point of view in
a pamphlet published shortly before his death under the title “_Replik
und Duplik_.” It had been his endeavour to give an explanation of
human free will, and the objection had been made that his doctrine was
“Determinism.” That doctrine, briefly expressed, was as follows. Free
will, properly understood, consists in the liberty of will or choice,
that is, in the power of choosing one among several possibilities
or motives of action, which presupposes the power of reflection, of
consideration, or of doubt. If man were omniscient, he would not
have to reflect or to consider. Divine omniscience excludes free
will, whereas human ignorance includes free will. Because the greater
part of the conditions under which we act remains hidden to us, we
act without knowing our dependence, and imagine a limited number of
possibilities from among which we may choose. Consequently we cannot
help imagining ourselves to be free, and this necessary imagination,
the Prince thinks, is really freedom itself. The choice only is free,
not the effect. According to the Prince’s view, therefore, there are
no free causes. The notion of a free cause appears to him as an empty
phantom--“a cloud, which Polonius at one time takes for a camel, at
another for a weasel, and which yet remains nothing but vapour.”

With his usual modesty, Prince Herman never represents his views as
infallible, but regards them as material for the solution of the
difficult problems of the connection of man to the spiritual world. He
regarded opinions which differed from his own with the toleration of
a thoughtful man who honours all intellectual labour. In his personal
principles he was truly German. That the unity of Germany could only
be brought about by means of Prussia was his firm conviction. He hoped
that the German Princes would be brought to renounce their sovereignty
of their own free will, for the good of their country. He did not doubt
that sooner or later circumstances would induce them to do so. In the
Upper House Prince Herman represented Liberal opinions, but he soon
retired from public life in order to live entirely for his family and
his philosophic labours. He studied the historic works of Mommsen,
Häusser, and Ranke with peculiar interest. Besides which he had a
deep feeling for art, and was himself a painter of no mean merit. In
consequence of a bath which he had imprudently taken at the camp of
Kilish in 1835 the Prince contracted an illness which was a hindrance
to him for the rest of his life, and was the cause of his early death.

In 1842 Prince Herman married the youthful Princess Marie of Nassau.
She was eminently fitted to fulfil the duties which devolved upon her
in her position of princess, wife, and mother. Of dignified appearance,
she is distinguished by her personal beauty and her truly noble mind.
She is a woman of great power of will, of clear judgment, wonderful
devotion, and untiring energy; very severe in what she demands of
herself, whilst her kindness and indulgence towards all with whom
she comes in contact are unbounded. Having been much tried herself
by sorrow and suffering, the Princess feels a true sympathy for the
sufferings of others. To minister to the wants of the sick and poor,
and to comfort them with her personal sympathy, is her greatest
happiness. In the homes of the poor at Neuwied she is regarded as a
beneficent angel, and a blessing enters with her. She possesses the
happy gift of winning the love and sympathy of all classes of people.
The Princess is beloved and honoured by all, and her wonderful charm
delights all who approach her.




[Illustration]

III.

Childhood.


On Friday, the 9th of December 1843, as the bells of Neuwied were,
according to an ancient custom, ringing for prayer at twelve o’clock,
whilst the chimes of the neighbouring villages joined in, the first
child--a daughter--was born to the princely pair. After her godmothers,
Queen Elizabeth of Prussia, wife of Frederick William IV., and the
Grand Duchess Elizabeth of Prussia, then a bride of the Duke of Nassau,
she received in baptism the name of

    ELIZABETH.

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]

IV.

Youth.


The sojourn of the family in Monrepos was constantly lengthened because
of the increasing illness of the Prince of Wied. The surroundings
seemed eminently fitted for the residence of a man who was happiest in
the immediate circle of his own family, and who gladly gave himself up
to the study of theology and philosophy.

The Castle of Monrepos is built on the ridge of a hill amongst
mountains which belong to the Westerwald. The magnificent valley
of Neuwied lies at one’s feet, and the Rhine winds itself in great
circles through the historic ground where Romans, Teutons, Alemans,
and Franks fought for power and sovereignty. On the right bank of the
river extends the little town of Neuwied, with its beautiful Palace and
park opposite the houses of Weissenthurm. The shining Rhine increases
in width as it flows before our eyes. The slate-rocks and lines of
the fortress of Ehrenbreitstein are visible in a good light, as also
the houses and towers of Coblentz. Little villages are dotted about
the valley as though they were embedded in green woodland shade. First
comes Segendorf, then Niederbibra with its old church in Romanic style
on Roman foundations, farther on Oberbibra, on the height the ruins of
Braunsberg, &c. The little river Wied winds itself between these on its
way to the Rhine.

The horizon is bounded on all sides by many chains of mountains.
Towards the east are seen the heights of the Westerwald, to the south
those of the Taunus, then the Hunderücken. Where the mountain chains
seem to sink into one another they suggest the valley of the Moselle.
To the left tower the volcanic peaks of the Maifeld and Eifel. Historic
recollections are everywhere awakened. It is a landscape teeming with
life, beauty, and variety.

The most magnificent beech-woods adjoin the Castle. Their mighty
trees form halls of verdure with their crowns of foliage. They offer
refreshing shade on hot summer days, for the sunshine is caught up by
each leaf and sheds only a subdued light on the ground. Well-kept paths
lead you for miles through splendid woods and shady valleys. Near
the Castle, and easy of access, are beautiful views into the romantic
Friedrichsthal, with its green meadows, upon which the deer roam at
liberty, towards Altwied, which lies embedded in the Wiedbach valley,
with its picturesque ruins of the ancient castle, or to the distant
shooting-lodge now called the Maienhof.

The lower storey of Schloss Monrepos is like a vast hall, for the large
saloon takes up the whole width. From its many windows one looks from
one side into the wide valley of the Rhine surrounded by mountains;
from the others into the deep shades of the forests. It is about a
German mile from Neuwied, and can be reached by an easy carriage-road
by Irlich and Rodenbach, or by Heddesdorf and Segendorf. The long
light-coloured buildings of Schloss Monrepos are to be seen for a great
distance.

Here Princess Elizabeth was in her element. Here was the forest and
liberty! The greater the raging of the storm, the happier the young
enthusiast felt herself. Amid the wildest gusts of wind and rain
she hurried into the forests, and neither snow nor thunder growling
overhead could stop her. In the house the world seemed too narrow for
her, and she longed for the freedom of nature. Three magnificent St.
Bernard dogs sprang romping and bounding after her; foremost of all
Mentor, the favourite. When the storm broke mighty branches from the
trees and drove the dry leaves whirling before her the young Princess
was joyous, roaming through the pathless forests and listening to the
howling and whistling of the wind and the creaking of the branches.


STORM IN THE FOREST.

    There roars from the forest
      A symphony wild;
    The wind drives before it
      The tempest-clouds piled.

    With a crash the stems sunder,
      The tossing trees moan;
    The wind and the thunder
      Hold revel alone;

    ’Tis a joust which they play at,
      A contest of might
    Shall adjudge which is stronger
      To lash the waves white,

    To ravage the woodland:--
      But, ’midst their mad noises,
    I go with firm footstep
      And soul that rejoices.

    A ray beams upon me
      From heart to heart ranging;
    For me there is sunshine
      Unclouded, unchanging.

                --_Translated by Sir Edwin Arnold._

In the autumn, when the golden leaves lay thick on the ground, she
would wander for hours in the rustling foliage and listen to the sound
it made. It had a voice which spoke to her. Each ray of sunshine
which lighted up the forest or the long sweeps of country before her,
each blade of grass, light and air, birds and flowers, had a personal
meaning for her. She returned with her head full of poetic thoughts,
and wrote down what the forest, the storm, the sun, and the birds had
confided to her.

    “Thou forest-scent! Thou forest-song!
    Sounds, perfumes, freshly borne along,
        How sweet to me you are!
    How glad grow heart and ear for you!
    What joy you bring, and comfort too,
        Unto our little Star!”

                --_Translated by Sir Edwin Arnold._

With such strains of poetry Princess Elizabeth calmed her excited
fancy. But no one was to know that she secretly wrote these little
verses. It was a deep secret which she “hid from the books on the shelf
and even the air in the room.”

                                “So lived I in spirit,
    Lonely, my own hidden life, by none to be known of;
    Never a sound, nor cloud-picture, but brought to my fancy
    Matter for thought without end, and a keen-edged emotion.”

                --_Translated by Sir Edwin Arnold._

It is possible that many people would have different ideas as to the
freedom that should be accorded to a Princess’s daughter from those of
the wise mother, who, looking deeper, had discovered the right way of
calming this passionate and peculiar character. “We must let her go her
own way and not disturb the working within,” she wrote to a friend at
the time. The Prince met her great spirit of contradiction on the same
principle. When his daughter insisted on having her way he used to say,
“You cannot force people to their happiness, but must let them come to
a sense of it.”

From her sixteenth year Princess Elizabeth began to write her poems
regularly in a book. The gifted child, with her restless feelings,
thoughtful and penetrating in her judgment of the world around her, now
put all her ideas and emotions into the poems which she wrote almost
involuntarily, and which now became her journal. In her fear not to
be true, she never wrote them down first, and never altered what was
written, “because she had originally thought it out in those words.”

Till her thirtieth year she had no technical knowledge of the art of
writing poetry, and did not venture to learn it for fear of betraying
herself. A time came when she thought she must despise poetry and
turn it into ridicule. Then she threw all her power into the study of
music. She played wildly on the piano! But the more she played and the
louder she sang the less contented she seemed; for the inner fire which
consumed her was not quieted; the ideal which she had before her was
not reached. “The songs sounded so weak and small instead of sighing
and rushing.” Music put her into such a state of nervous excitement
that her mother forbade her to play the piano for two years. She now
took to pencil and colours, and tried to draw and to paint. But here
she did not find satisfaction, despaired of herself and of her powers,
and thought she could never attain that which she sought with such
fervent longing.

All who then knew Princess Elizabeth are still full of the impression
of her grace and charm. Of slight figure, high colour, a quantity of
dark-brown hair, which often defied restraint, and large blue eyes,
which looked as if she were always trying to listen to and find
out something in the depths of her own soul, without being really
beautiful, her appearance was particularly attractive, because of the
spiritual expression of her features. She was then called “the Princess
of the Wild Rose” by those around her.

At this time came the long visit of Princess Sophie of Nassau, a
younger sister of the Princess of Wied, and the Countess Thekla of
Solms-Laubach, a niece of the Prince. These two young girls lived for
a whole year at Neuwied and Monrepos like daughters of the house.
Princess Sophie was engaged to be married whilst under the protection
of the princely pair. Her marriage was celebrated at Biebrich in the
summer of 1857 with the Duke of Ostgothland, the present reigning King
of Sweden.

Tutors and governesses had now left the Castle. Pastor Harder, a
clergyman from Neuwied, came daily to Princess Elizabeth to lecture
upon logic, history, and Church history. Her intercourse with this
esteemed master was very precious to her, not only on account of the
teaching which she received, but also because she had the greatest
confidence in him. When she felt herself slighted or misunderstood, she
spoke of all that she otherwise anxiously concealed from every one with
Pastor Harder during their walks. His sermons went to her heart. In her
journals we find many notes and comments which were written down by the
Princess after these sermons.

In the autumn of 1858 the princely pair made a journey of three months’
duration through Switzerland and the north of Italy. Prince Otto was
well enough to be of the party. His interest and delight in all the
beauties of nature and art were endless. The sensible questions of this
boy of eight years soon turned the attention of the guides to him;
they addressed their explanations mostly to the little Prince, who
listened with glowing interest. He was quite overcome at the sight of
the Falls of the Rhine, and began to recite “Der Taucher;” he was also
enthusiastic for human greatness, and at Milan was enchanted by the
life of Carlo Borromeo.

Prince Otto was also very witty, and often saw the comic aspect of
things, and he noticed everything, despite his tender age. He was the
pet of all who knew him. When he felt pretty well joy reigned in the
house. “From his babyhood,” writes the Prince in one of his letters,
“we have seen him growing up, that is, dying a hundred deaths, which
he, being gifted with great vital power and richly endowed by nature,
always overcame but to begin a new life of pain and distress. If one
thinks of the poor child grown up to man’s estate and troubled with
that dreadful infirmity, which he till then bore without complaint and
accepted gladly as being sent from God, one’s heart could break from
sorrow.” His mother was not only his unwearying nurse, but his nearest
friend, who shared every thought with him, and with wonderful power and
resignation comforted him with thoughts of his release.

On the 12th of March 1860 Professor Busch of Bonn had tried an
operation, which had succeeded as far as circumstances would allow,
but only brought renewed sufferings to the heroic boy. He was bound
to his couch of suffering, but his wonderful gentleness and amiability
and gloriously quiet mind never deserted him. The body of the boy was
lacerated; but the mind, with its marvellous powers, remained. None of
the sufferings of illness had been able to dull his clear judgment. His
mind, which was even here ennobled and brought to wonderful perfection,
held intercourse with those about him, as if the poor body did not
concern it.


_From a Letter of the Prince of Wied._

“A very touching and cordial friendship had existed between the
children ever since their childhood. It was therefore a great sorrow
to them when they had to separate from their eldest brother in 1879.
His parents had sent Prince William to Basle, where he studied at the
college and lived with Professor Gelzer as a child of the house, but
amidst very different surroundings from those to which he had been
accustomed.”

       *       *       *       *       *

On the 29th of January Princess Elizabeth writes to her brother at
Basle:--“My studies are now making great progress, and I have as many
tasks as I can get through. Forty pages of Schlosser in a week, forty
of Macaulay, twice arithmetic, and twice geometry. More history and
literature instead of Latin and Italian, natural philosophy and Church
history, and, last not least, religion with mamma. For all these things
I have only two hours daily for preparation, of which one is taken
up with the tasks set me by mamma. I do not learn from the Catechism
usually employed. Mamma has made a Catechism of her own for me, and in
the following manner:--During the lesson she has a note-book in her
hand with more than a hundred questions in it. She puts these questions
to me, and we talk them over together; then she writes one of the
questions into my book, and I write an answer which takes up four to
six pages before the next lesson. I am sure you can understand what I
feel in having entered into the year in which I have to bind myself
with a promise before the altar to become a responsible member of human
society. I think of it with real apprehension, for I am not yet ripe
for it. Pray think of me sometimes.”

“_Monrepos, May 26th, 1860._--Those were wonderful days when Professor
Gelzer was here. I cannot tell you how interesting they were. At last
I shall become jealous of you, who have him always about you! What
conversations those were after tea, more interesting than all those of
the rest of the year put together! I was always wishing that my head
were a wax tablet, that all he had said might remain engraven upon it.”

In the summer of 1860 Princess Elizabeth was confirmed. The Princess of
Wied had already in the winter begun to prepare her child for this, and
had spoken with the Prince about all the articles of belief. Forgetting
her own sorrows, the faithful mother had often written down in the
night, beside the bed of suffering of her beloved son, Prince Otto, the
questions and comments which her daughter was to work out next morning.
When the young girl felt particularly interested in writing these
essays, it often happened that, having begun in prose, she, almost
unwillingly, finished in beautiful verse. Kirchenrath Dilthey gave her
religious instruction the last two months before her confirmation.
This was done in the open air, whilst walking to and fro with her in
the beautiful avenue of beeches. The sacred ceremony was performed
at Monrepos, and, for the purpose, the gallery was converted into a
chapel. All the sponsors of the Princess and the nearest relations of
the Houses of Wied and Nassau, as also the Empress of Germany, then
Princess of Prussia, had assembled in Monrepos for the occasion.

Her poetic journal of that time reveals a soul longing for God. In a
poem of the 15th July, shortly before her confirmation therefore, she
writes:--

    “Praise ye the Lord who in mightiness wrought ye,
      Praise Him who safely with blessings hath brought ye,
    Praise Him, thou earth! and thou star of the sky!
      Let what hath being the Lord glorify!

    I will give thanks to Him, Father of Life,
      I in His way will walk, faithful in strife;
    I for His light will seek, guiding us all,
      Him I will love, for without Him I fall.”

                --_Translated by Sir Edwin Arnold._

In September 1860 she writes in her journal, “Only the deepest and
most absorbing thoughts give us clearness. Only a purely objective
reflection can bring us knowledge. To delight in undefined feelings and
dally with the images of poetry, draws our soul to the dust and hinders
the stirrings of godly power.”

Now came days and years full of sorrow. Her father was always ill,
her mother occupied in absorbing duties, the sufferings of her little
brother meanwhile increasing. During the long agony of this beloved
son, when the Princess had to give herself entirely up to nursing
him, Princess Elizabeth passed many hours in her father’s study. That
a man like the Prince of Wied, in whose mind and mode of thought,
mysticism and naturalism, romantic and rationalistic ideas were united
in a peculiar manner, should have a great influence over the mental
progress of his daughter, was very natural. Sometimes she was allowed
to work with him, to copy out for him, to read to him. Then the Prince
would ask many questions of the child, which had been raised through
reading his book “On the Unconscious Life of the Soul.” He wished
to see if she understood what he had written, and was happy in the
impression made on the mind and heart of his daughter. If she could
catch his train of thought he often said, “So now it is clear! then so
it can remain.”

Still it was but a quiet house for so lively a girl. “The bird has
outgrown its cage,” said the anxious mother. So it was settled to
accept the invitation of the Queen of Prussia, and to let Princess
Elizabeth travel to Berlin with Fraülein Lavater. We hear from a letter
to her brother what she thought of this plan.

“_Neuwied, 24th December 1860._--Oh! it is hard, very hard! the first
absence from home, the first separation from mamma. You can realise
what it is, and can understand that it is not easy, and particularly
in this case. The Princess says that she will replace mamma. But a
mother’s love cannot be replaced even by the warmest and noblest heart!
Still I know she will be all to me that she can be, and that is very
much. I well know what it means to be constantly in the society of
distinguished and clever people. But I also know what it is to take a
position which does not in reality belong to you, and to assume the
right tone and the right manner there! Oh! shall I be at all able to do
it? You can imagine in what an anxious state of tension I am, and how
all my thoughts are centred in that one point.”

Such a child of nature as this daughter of a princely house had never
appeared in Berlin before. They were not a little astonished at her.

“And I had taken the greatest pains to remain within the bounds of
etiquette in the drawing-room, and to make conversation in a sensible
manner.”

She felt most at home in the family of the Princess Hohenzollern,[2]
who was spending the winter at Berlin. When, looking back to this time
in later years, as Princess of Roumania, she wrote: “Had I only had
an idea of all this, when I so enthusiastically admired the mother at
Berlin. Or did I have a presentiment when I made friends with no one
there but with Marie, and was nowhere so happy as in her family.” She
also then shared in the studies of Princess Marie of Hohenzollern, now
Countess of Flanders. The lectures which Professor Haagen held for them
in the Museum were of particularly lively and lasting interest to her.

    [2] Mother of the present King of Roumania.

It was here in Berlin that Princess Elizabeth met Prince Charles of
Hohenzollern[3] for the first time. They say that as she was, according
to her habit, rapidly jumping downstairs, she slipped on the last
step, and that Prince Charles was able to prevent her from falling by
catching her in his arms.

    [3] Present King of Roumania.


_From a letter of Prince Herman to his Daughter at Berlin._


    “NEUWIED, _23rd February 1861_.

“It appears to me that you have seen and experienced much that is
interesting if you review the variety of pictures which have passed
before you during these last days. You can only learn an easy and
versatile intercourse with people by constantly meeting different
ones, for each has to be taken in a different way, according to his
peculiarities. Goethe regards it as a proof of dulness, not cleverness,
if one is bored in the society of others. He declares that we can learn
from the most commonplace people, were it only not to be like them!
You are a recruit in aristocratic ranks, and not the slightest failing
must be detected in you. At Court you must learn the balancing step
so that you may not lose your balance and fall downstairs, or morally
stumble and upset. In youth all this is learnt in play, whereas it is
a martyrdom to elderly people. But where one is gifted, as you are,
with an endless source of internal happiness, all disagreeables which
one experiences are but as a fleeting shadow over the sunshine of life.
Since you went away joy has departed from this house! The gay little
bird has flown, and is now fluttering from flower to flower. Sometimes
it pricks itself with their thorns, but it flies on, careless of what
is behind it. Still it avoids the thorns in future. Now, good-bye; may
God bless you, you dear little runaway.”

       *       *       *       *       *

Notwithstanding all the kindness and amiability with which Queen
Augusta and the Royal Family surrounded the charming girl, and the
treasures of art of all kinds that Berlin offered to her, she longed to
be back in her father’s house, in the quiet sick-room, in the freedom
of the Forest and near the mighty Rhine. In her journal of this time
are mainly poems which are full of these longings. The wild-rose could
not feel at home in the large town, and on her return she fell into
the arms of her mother with sobs of joy.

Prince William had already been for two years at Basle. During this
whole time he had not come to Neuwied or seen any of his family.
Princess Elizabeth thanks him for the letter she had received in
Berlin, and writes as follows on her return to Neuwied:--

“_Neuwied, 29th March 1861._--Your letter was, in many respects,
a great pleasure to me. It gave me the feeling that we understand
one another and do not lose the thread of each other’s lives
notwithstanding the separation, which seems to me now very long and
hard to bear. Yet we shall meet again this year. Just fancy! We
shall meet again, and shall both be much changed, I should think?
The same and yet much altered. I think we have developed and become
more serious. A new life has sprung up in us, and each will meet the
other conscious of his own peculiarities. We were children till now,
and lived together and near one another without a thought of anything
higher. We parted with heavy hearts, but we had no higher interests
in common. Now we shall meet as a young man and woman! Serious
thoughts have awakened in us, and we feel that the gay and careless
life has ended, and a life of duty has begun. We have both become
more serious--not sad, that is quite another thing--and have both had
varied experiences this winter. I have realised that I must become
quite different to what I am, notwithstanding my firm will and true
faith, and that all trouble and care bestowed upon me only led to fresh
difficulties. Those are sad experiences which rob one of one’s courage,
especially if one is a weak girl. And I did lose courage, particularly
when all in the house were ill again.

“Then came the journey to Berlin, and my stay there! Certainly these
six weeks were not easy, often very difficult. Yet it was a wonderful
time. Rich in all sorts of experiences. They were all very kind and
amiable, every one helped me in my embarrassment, and understood that
I must be homesick, and yet I felt lonely, dreadfully lonely! It is
really a painful feeling which takes possession of one when one is away
from home. A boy must feel it less, for he likes to see new places and
to try his wings and see if they are strong. But a girl cannot stand
alone. Often I was very cheerful. I was almost always the merriest of
the girls, but when I had been the gayest, home-sickness overcame me
most, for I then felt the void to be greater! Still it was very good
for me. I have now realised what duties I have to perform, and have
returned with the resolve to accomplish them unflinchingly--those are
my reflections about Berlin!”

Soon after this, in the year 1861, Professor Busch came to Neuwied for
a consultation. His decision was most affecting. Not only did the state
of the little Prince seem hopeless, but the health of the Prince of
Wied gave rise to the greatest anxiety. Neither could recover; it was
only a question of time.


_Princess Elizabeth to her Brother at Basle._

    “MONREPOS, _13th June 1861_.

“It is not at all easy to keep physically and mentally fresh and
bright, and yet it is my duty! It is my duty towards myself that I may
not flag, and it is a duty towards our invalids to try and enliven
them; it is also my duty towards mamma that everything may not weigh
upon her. I have much that refreshes me now. My white pony, which I
love and which loves me, and which I ride every day. I always say that
it suits me particularly, for when it is fresh it kicks and often jumps
with its four legs off the ground at once. It is a mad little thing!
It has many names, ‘Schimmel, Selim, Minsmuns, Herr Consistorialrath,
Garibaldi’--this reminds me of a real Garibaldi in Italy. I am sure you
are glad Italy is free. But the death of Cavour is dreadful. It came
upon us like a thunderclap. One cannot understand how the machine is
to remain in motion without him, as no one appears so considerate, so
clever, or so powerful as he. I think that even his enemies must admit
what a wonderful man he was!

We live in a remarkable time, which must interest us. And yet it
interests me more when Pastor Harder tells me of past history than as
now of the years 1815-1820. My studies are a great refreshment to me.”

       *       *       *       *       *

In June the family moved up to Monrepos. Prince Otto’s sufferings
increased from month to month. For nearly a year he bore the acutest
pain, fully realising that he must die soon. His mother had tried to
make his approaching death easy by telling of the Redeemer and heavenly
happiness. With all the powers of his loving nature and noble mind,
this boy constantly endeavoured to prevent others suffering from his
illness. “Till his last day he was unceasingly trying to improve his
heart and mind.”

On the 17th of October 1861 Princess Elizabeth writes to Prince
William at Basle:--“You should soon write to Ottoli, and send him your
photograph if possible. What comes from you has ever a peculiar charm
for him. All that you do and say is right in his eyes. We often say
something against you in fun, just to see the eagerness with which he
defends you. You are his ideal. We are for ever talking of you. We can
never tire of this subject, for only now that you are absent we have
discovered how we love you. Otto’s love to us is deeper and stronger
than ever, such as I have never experienced in any one in good health.
There is a marvellous charm in those great serious eyes which appear
to triumph over the miseries of the body. I know that you have lived
through all this time with us, and share the heavy burden as well as
the rich blessing. It is a wonderful experience! All seems so trivial
now. All that people say and do seems so small and of so little
importance when God Himself speaks to us.”

“_Monrepos, 7th November 1861._--This time of trial binds us closer to
one another. It is remarkable that I love every one more than I did
before. I love God more, and this makes my love to other people deeper.
My heart seems so enlarged that it longs to enfold the whole world.
You see that I must now keep all these feelings to myself in order to
be outwardly calm, and, should all this boil within me, quietly and
steadily fulfil all my duties.”

On the 18th of October 1861 we find a little poem written in the
Princess’s journal, “The Sick-room” is its title:--

    “Only sorrow, thou thinkest, we find in the place
      Where the sick lie in pain.
    Ah, no; there is often of sorrow no trace;
      True peace there doth reign.”

_“Monrepos, 14th December 1861._--God is now leading me by a way which
I had not expected. The whole year, now soon to end, has been a sad one!

“But this Christmas is to be particularly celebrated, as it is the last
which we shall have together! You cannot fancy how anxious papa makes
us now. He is very weak and coughs almost incessantly. Pastor Harder
remarked lately how good and gentle he was, as if he were for ever
taking leave of us. The idea is so dreadful that I am always trying to
get rid of it. I long to hold him in every glance and each embrace, for
I love him as never before!

“I am with him from nine till one of a morning now. He gives me lessons
in painting, which are an indescribable pleasure to me. My playing is
also a great resource to him. Do you realise what a pleasure this is,
though a melancholy pleasure! You really must feel and experience it
with me. So my life now belongs entirely to my father. I am always
about him, or occupied with him, reading, painting, playing, or walking
up and down. All trivialities disappear before the imposing thought of
having to minister to two dying people with the self-sacrificing power
of love.”

“_31st of December._--We do not know how early or how late papa and
Otto may be taken from us, but we will be prepared that we may be able
to sustain mamma with the strength of our youth, that she may really
lean upon us, and that, after her dreadful trials, we may smooth and
enlarge the way before her, that she may rest at last! Let us now
wrestle and strive and pray with all our might, that we may give back
to her all she did for us. I long to help mamma to bear the heavy
burden, and I should love to give myself up to her entirely with
all that I am and all that I have, and yet I cannot do it! I cannot
measure her sorrow, but I hope that what I can and should do will be
put into my heart, and then we will all be thankful for this time of
trial! You can do this at a distance as well as here. Distance makes no
difference, and God will show it you. You must ripen to manhood early,
and be firm, energetic, and true. Then you will be very much to me, and
the dream of my childhood that we should be all in all to one another
will be fulfilled!

    “YOUR LITTLE SISTER.”

In January 1862 the Prince of Wied became so dangerously ill that he
could not leave his bed. Princess Elizabeth nursed her father, whose
sufferings were added to by increasing deafness. The mother sat day and
night by the couch of her courageous son, who was so strong in faith,
and saw her child slowly dying, under the most dreadful sufferings.
Prince Otto had an ardent wish to see his beloved brother William once
more. A telegram was sent to Basle. But the answer was that the Prince
had the measles and could not travel. At first the Princess did not
dare to communicate this answer to Prince Otto. But in the night he
asked again after his brother, and had to learn the truth. He cried
out: “My William! My William, is he to be taken from me too?” After
that he was quiet and said, “If it is not to be, it is well.” And then
he kept repeating, “Send him my blessing.”

On the 16th February 1862 Prince Otto was released from his life of
suffering. “More than we can bear is not sent to us” he had often said,
“and when we can bear no longer, the end comes and we are blessed in
Heaven.” He died in full consciousness. An expression of rest and peace
came over the beautiful countenance. The mouth had a sweet smile.
Only the deep mark on the high forehead showed that he had obtained
this peace through great suffering and strife. “Thank God, and God be
praised for ever” were the words uttered by the agonised mother over
the little body. “And God be praised” was the prayer repeated after her
by the father, the brother and sister and friends and relations far
and near. By all indeed who had loved and admired the gifted child.
Kirchenrath Dilthey, from Neuwied, who had confirmed and married the
Princess of Wied, and had confirmed Princess Elizabeth, undertook the
ceremony of blessing the body, and preached from the following words in
the Book of Wisdom iv. 13, 14: “He being made perfect in a short time,
fulfilled a long time: for his soul pleased the Lord, therefore hasted
He to take him away from among the wicked.”


_Extract from a letter from the Prince of Wied._

“According to his wish, Prince Otto was buried on a hill not far from
Monrepos, under the shade of high lime trees. His memory will be
glorified in our recollections, and this holy memory, this communion
with the dead, is all that remains to us. An incorruptible legacy,
which makes us rich, notwithstanding our endless loss.”

       *       *       *       *       *

The grief of the family at the death of this son was so deep that
it was ever present and endless. It was not till fourteen years
afterwards that Princess Elizabeth could try to write down the sad
experience of this time. The Princess of Wied has not yet been able to
read this little book which, written with the most touching simplicity,
is privately printed, and bears the title, “Life of my brother, Otto
Nicholas of Wied.”




[Illustration]

V.

Travels.


The Palace at Neuwied now became lonely and dreary. Immediately
after the funeral of Prince Otto, the princely pair had left for
Baden-Baden with Princess Elizabeth. They did not return till the
summer, and, as usual, went to live on the heights of Monrepos. The
landscape lay stretched out before them in the full glory of summer;
the birds chirped and sang in the beech-woods; on the hills, under
the lime-trees, everything was awakened to new life, and pointed to
a future where sorrows and partings are no more. Many months passed
before a monument could be placed over the grave. But Princess
Elizabeth took care that it was not without its adornment. Every
morning before six she mounted the hill, and with the flowers which
were sent from Neuwied to Monrepos every evening, she transformed the
resting-place of her brother into a carpet of flowers. Often she knelt
for hours under the dome formed by the limes in order to arrange the
leaves and flowers very artistically. The silence about her was only
disturbed by the hum of the bees and the solemn sound of the church
bells, which reached her on the height from the valley below. For
eleven years Prince Otto had been the centre of all love and care.
After this season of sorrow and suffering it was necessary again to
recover strength to begin life afresh by means of active work.

With all the powers of her eager nature Princess Elizabeth now threw
herself into teaching. At that time a Baroness Bibra was living at a
farm near, with her two little nieces. A lame boy, Rudolf Wackernagel,
had been taken in at the Castle on account of his weak health. With
these three children the young Princess had arranged a school. She
displayed so much patience, perseverance, and talent for imparting
knowledge, that her mother watched her work with quiet contentment. She
brought the little Wackernagel on so well that he took a good place in
the College at Basle. Her time was fully occupied. She gave lessons for
three hours; for three hours she was allowed to read to her father and
rejoice in his presence; for four or five hours she practised on the
piano. This irresistible craving for occupation, which was to set free
her inner feelings and lighten her sorrow for her brother, seemed too
great a mental strain for so young a creature. But Princess Elizabeth
bore up against it with great cheerfulness, and writes to her brother:--

“_Monrepos, 29th January 1862._--I am so happy because the child loves
me and likes to be with me. A short time ago I said that I had a
vocation for teaching, and would willingly become a governess, and now
this duty thrusts itself suddenly and unexpectedly upon me, with the
anxious question, ‘Are you capable of teaching and training a child?
Are you sufficiently in sympathy with him to understand his nature,
and yet to treat him consistently?’ I regard this new duty in a very
serious light, and take great pains with the lessons, which are a great
pleasure to me, for the little boy is so very lively and intelligent.”

“_Monrepos, 10th August 1862._--Generally ‘Rudi’ is very eager to
learn, and when he is not I make a cross face; then he gets red and
his thoughts are concentrated again. It is naturally my greatest wish
to fulfil this arduous and yet to me so dear a duty in such a manner
that I may build a good and firm foundation for coming years, for
I know only too well how much harm can be done if the elements are
badly taught. Oh! condition of a governess. You never found such a
representative before. Respect comes of itself, learning goes like
bread and butter, and the whole world is a bagpipe. Who can plague
themselves for ever? It is good to be merry sometimes. All goes
successfully; love is there too, and so one lives in Elysium. Joy,
lovely spark of the gods--but here I remember the musical _fête_ at
Cologne. How heavenly it was! You cannot have the least idea of it! To
hear the Ninth Symphony of Beethoven with a chorus at the end--

    ‘Spark from the fire that gods have fed,
      Joy--thou Elysian child divine,
    Fire-drunk, our airy footsteps tread,
      O Holy One! thy holy shrine.’

Words cannot convey it, and I cannot describe it to you. Child of
man, it was divine! When I think of it I seem to be lost in endless
space, for melodies and harmonies rush upon me, which can make the most
unfeeling tremble and raise the soul to God. I should like to fall
on my knees and give thanks that some of us human beings have been
chosen to divine God. Yes, we may often appear wretched and miserable,
and might almost be ashamed to belong to that worm, mankind; still,
there are moments in this life when we may feel ourselves great and
blissfully exclaim, ‘Heavenly Father, we draw nigh to Thee; we are Thy
children!’ Good-bye now, thou child of God, thou man, who, with the
full strength of his youth, must be answerable for his actions, and is
also to endeavour to attain to the god-head. Oh! be strong, feel the
divine spark tremble within you, and strive to follow the flame with
the full power of heavenly inspiration!--I remain firm at your side,
with my warmest love,

    “YOUR LITTLE SISTER.”

The state of health of the Prince of Wied necessitated another sojourn
in Baden-Baden. There the winter of 1862-1863 was passed. In order to
introduce Princess Elizabeth to society their house was opened to a
larger circle.


_To her Brother._


    “BADEN, _23rd November 1862_.

“We are now going to keep open house on Mondays; not regular soirees
by invitations, which are always stiff, but we have once for all told
the people we know that we are at home on Monday evenings from eight
o’clock, so that whoever likes may come. I think that will be charming!
At mamma’s side, and as daughter of the house, I shall learn how to
associate with people, to entertain them, and to be amiable. I am
looking forward to it very much.”

       *       *       *       *       *

Princess Elizabeth’s first ball was at the Court of Carlsruhe, but she
found no real pleasure in such amusements. Her beloved friend, Marie
von Bibra, lay on her deathbed. “My heart seemed torn! My brother
had died within the year; my friend was struggling with death. And
then people were surprised at my being serious and philosophising.”
At that time she drove twice a week to the Grand Duchess of Baden at
Carlsruhe, to take lessons on the piano from Kalliwoda, and she learned
flower-painting from Frau Schoedter. During this time in Baden-Baden
there must have been a question of marriages for the Princess, for
there is a poem in her journal which ends with these verses:--

    A maiden wise would liever
      Live free for evermore,
    Since, once herself to promise
      Brings pain and peril sore.

    Only the love that’s deepest
      Gives gladness, gives content;
    When true love does not touch her
      Her looks aside are bent.

    And happy is that maiden
      At home, unterrified;
    With glances shy she gazes
      On the great world outside.

                BADEN, _23rd December 1862_.

  _Translated by Sir Edwin Arnold._

On the 20th of February 1863 Marie von Bibra had died, “quietly and
gently as she had lived.” Elizabeth wrote many poems at that time
entitled “On Sorrow,” her tears flowing fast the while.


_To her Brother._

    “BADEN, _21st March 1863_.

“It certainly is a good thing that we first learnt to know the serious
side of life, for now we do not long for or expect anything of it, but
only think of that which we have to do. I, for my part, expect much
sorrow and many tears; they came to me early, and it probably will
continue to be so. One loved one after the other is taken away. Each
year demands its sacrifice! At how many graves shall I have to stand
till I am old? I do not think that I shall die early. I feel much power
in me and an intense longing for work. I only wish to fill my little
place, to accomplish my humble duties, so that, when I die, I may not
feel that I have lived in vain. The feeling of having work to do is so
pleasant to me; I do not think I could be happy without it. To have
stern duties which occupy one from morning till night is the greatest
happiness.

“At my Confirmation I felt so strong that no struggle seemed too hard.
I thought I could do everything. Since then I have done nothing, and
have only had to suffer, which I did not at all expect. I have become
much quieter now. I can sit still and think of the dear departed ones,
whilst I never could rest for a moment before. Happily I have not much
time for thinking. When I have taught for three hours and practised
four hours, I have to entertain papa and mamma in the evening. We read
after tea. Lately we read ‘Fiesco.’ Now I am reading ‘Tasso’ aloud,
but I do not think it so beautiful as ‘Iphigenia.’ The language is
beautiful--quite Goethe.”

       *       *       *       *       *

Professor Geltzer with his family and Prince William were expected on
a visit to the princely family at Baden-Baden, and Princess Elizabeth
writes to her brother:--

“_Baden, 10th April 1863._--Ten people who love one another together!
What love will glow from every eye! Pray, dear, try to get them all to
come. Mamma and I are talking about it all day. I am quite confused
with joy! Only three more days and then we shall be together and all
in all to each other. Oh! with my whole heart and with the deepest
love I will hang about you, my pride, my joy, the support on which I
will lean, when you are morally strong and firm. Only realise how I
love you, so passionately, and yet my love is so deep and still in the
holiest corner of my heart. Yes, there you are enshrined, my brother
and my friend. The stronger and firmer you are, the deeper is my love.

    “YOUR LITTLE SISTER.”

When they returned to Monrepos in the spring, Marie’s gentle words
could no longer quiet the restless spirit, and the want of this
faithful friend lay heavy on the life and soul of the young Princess.
The arrival of the Grand Duchess Hélène of Russia, who came to Monrepos
on a visit this summer, seemed to her like a ray of sunshine. She was
a near relation of the Princess of Wied, and sister of the Duchess
Pauline of Nassau, the much-honoured stepmother of the Princess. The
Grand Duchess was much attracted by the simple and natural manner of
the Princess Elizabeth; she was also pleased with her thorough learning
and her original thoughts. It was a wish of the Grand Duchess to take
the charming girl with her on her travels, to which her parents did not
object. Elizabeth rejoiced at the news, for a great love and admiration
for her distinguished aunt had taken her heart by storm, and she was
more than happy to see the world under the auspices of this remarkable
woman.

So she travelled with the Grand Duchess Hélène to the Lake of Geneva
in the autumn of 1863, where they lived in Ouchy, at the Hôtel
Beaurivage. These were happy weeks; it was the first _dolce far niente_
which the Princess had known, the first time that she was among utter
strangers. Wherever the Grand Duchess settled, she was soon surrounded
by a circle of interesting people. Our young Princess was quite carried
away by this talented society, the magnificence of nature around her,
and the excursions on the blue lake and in the surrounding valleys.
Intense in her joys as in her sorrows, she felt herself, as she then
said, “like a bird freed from its cage.”

On the 21st of October 1863 she writes to her mother from
Beaurivage:--“I never thought that one could enjoy such a long time
without a cloud to hide the sunshine for one day. I wish I could return
with my pockets full of sunshine and warm you up. I am daily thrown
with distinguished people--as if I did not have that at home too!--but
their talent shows itself in a different manner, and I pay more
attention to it. There is no stiffness in our society, but it is always
aristocratic. The witty sayings of cultivated people are so pleasant
to hear. I love my aunt more every day; I am happy to be near her, and
when she is in the room I only think of her! And, do you know, I like
to be grateful; it is a warm feeling.”

Princess Elizabeth had always exercised an irresistible fascination
on all that came near her by the grace and charm of her mind. But her
young niece became so beloved and so necessary to the Grand Duchess
that she entreated her parents to allow her to accompany her to St.
Petersburg for the winter. The Princess of Wied answered, “All the
sacrifices which it costs her parents to be separated from so beloved a
daughter must disappear before the advantages which such a time would
offer our child.” A short stay was made at Wiesbaden on the way to St.
Petersburg in order to take leave of her parents. Princess Elizabeth
was not to see her father again! It was a separation for life! As the
Prince was gazing after her, when she was gone, he remarked to his
wife, “There she goes, in her simplicity, and I am quite sure she
will return to us as simple as she leaves us.” These words were to
be entirely realised. Professor Knauss sketched a portrait of her at
Berlin; then they went north without stopping.

St. Petersburg as a town did not make a great impression on her.
“The similarity and uniformity of the masses of houses destroy the
proportions,” she writes to her mother. The agreeable young Princess
was cordially welcomed by the Emperor Alexander II. and the whole
Imperial family: “_Tout le monde est sous son charme_,” the Grand
Duchess Alexandra Josephanna wrote to the Princess of Wied. She had
found her nearest relations in the family of Prince Peter of Oldenburg,
for his wife, Princess Thérèse, who was a Princess of Nassau, was
her mother’s sister. She met the young Princesses of Oldenburg and
Leuchtenberg almost daily. Yet with all this, an extraordinary shyness
had taken hold of Princess Elizabeth. An expression of painful
embarrassment overspread her expressive features. The unconstrained
manner which had so delighted every one at Ouchy had disappeared. She
felt strange in her new and brilliant surroundings. The grandeur of
life at St. Petersburg, with its ceaseless dinners, balls, and other
entertainments, tired and seemed to dazzle her. Her imagination was
much excited by all these new impressions, but her nerves suffered
under them. To calm this restless spirit, the Grand Duchess had
arranged a regular plan for the day, and had instituted Shakespeare
evenings with the Princesses of Oldenburg and Leuchtenberg, at which
the parts were divided and read in the original English.

At that time the Grand Duchess Hélène wrote to the Princess of
Wied:--“Elizabeth makes a sympathetic impression on all at St.
Petersburg. Her open and cheerful glance refreshes those that are worn
and weary, and youth becomes more joyous in her company. Her day is
filled up with music, reading, the study of Russian, and the time she
spends with me. I have also entreated her always to have a good book
in reading. To heighten her interest and get her to work herself, I
advised her to write out parts and make comments upon it for you. Be
it here or in another centre of the great world, we must remember that
we deteriorate, if we do not try to get away from the frivolity that
surrounds us by serious thinking and reading.”

Let us hear Princess Elizabeth describe her life in the Northern
capital in her own words:--


_To her Brother._

    “ST. PETERSBURG, _2nd December 1863_.

“After one has seen London and Paris, St. Petersburg does not make
a great impression upon one. Palaces never impress me, and we also
have carpets and silk furniture. Still, there are great dimensions
in everything here, and that is agreeable. The only palace which I
think pleasant to live in is the one I inhabit. I spend almost all my
time in two dear rooms. Either in the library, where I read Ranke’s
English History and the _South German Newspaper_ till eleven o’clock
every morning, or I am in my bedroom, which is hardly larger than
our rooms in Monrepos. As I have a dressing-room next door, this is
really my little sanctum and boudoir, in which I keep all my pictures
and keepsakes. Next to this room is another, in which there is one of
Erard’s grand pianos and a harmonium. There I practise for two hours
every day. On Mondays and Thursdays I am in the Museum from one to
three, and have drawing-lessons from models. On Tuesdays, Thursdays,
and Saturdays, from half-past twelve to half-past one, I learn Russian.
On Sundays (but that will be altered) I have a music-lesson from--you
will see I am a most fortunate being--from Rubinstein! Dinner is at
six. The evenings vary much. On Mondays is the Opera. On Tuesdays,
Eugenia von Leuchtenberg (a cousin of Uncle Oscar’s), Thecla (Princess
of Oldenburg), and some other girls and I meet, and we read Shakespeare
(a family Shakespeare naturally), each taking a character. Yesterday
we read ‘King Lear.’ That is magnificent! To-day I went to a school to
hear a most interesting lecture on Chateaubriand. I spend many evenings
with my aunt, and often I have one lady or another to tea with me.
Sometimes there is a concert on a Thursday. Oh! it really is wonderful
how these people play! Lately I heard a piece from ‘Orpheus’ by Glück,
and the Symphony in A Minor by Mendelssohn. I was in such raptures
that I did not seem to belong to this world. Interesting people often
come to dinner, but never more than three or four. You can fancy how
pleasant it is. The other day the old natural historian, Baer, came--a
very distinguished and amiable German. My heart seemed to beat loud
when he spoke of Holstein and Prussia. I get quite excited when I think
of it, for, you must know, I silently glow for Schleswig-Holstein here.
My aunt is very good to me, and I am daily becoming more attached to
Fräulein Rahden. She is quite a mother to me, and that is what I long
for more and more, and often so deeply. Still, I am really happy here.
I rest myself, and am really very well. I usually go to bed at midnight
and get up at cock-crow, but that only takes place after eight o’clock.”

       *       *       *       *       *

At the beginning of this time, Anton Rubinstein had undertaken her
musical education. When the Princess was expecting him, a great
excitement took possession of her, which almost took away her breath.
She looked up to her master with such veneration that she lost all
courage in the consciousness of her own small talent. She says about
Rubinstein’s playing:--“It was as if the piano disappeared under his
power; then again as if it were the music of the spheres, or a lovely
fairy tale. His playing has a delicacy and a poetry which are really
fascinating. His genius is displayed in the fact that the power and
brilliancy of his playing seem but accessories, or are so grand that
one is cowed before them as by a wonder of nature, and yet would like
to sing in the intensity of joy. I never heard anything like it. His
playing has a magic spell which seems to me like the bloom on a grape
or the dew on the flowers. They render them twice as beautiful.”

Of all the enjoyments which were offered to her in St. Petersburg, the
most deep and lasting impression was made upon her by the performance
of the Court singers. She was quite overcome by the artistic rendering,
and the wonderful harmony of their songs, in the celebrated concerts
led by Livow, as well as during the service in the chapel of the Winter
Palace.

Christmas-time brought unexpected happiness. Prince Nicholas of Nassau
had arrived. He also lived in the Palais Michel as the guest of his
aunt, the Grand Duchess Hélène. Part of her German home seemed to have
arrived in St. Petersburg with the appearance of this beloved uncle,
and in the daily intercourse with him, for he had often spent months in
the house of her parents from her childhood upward.

[Illustration:

    _Woodbury Compy._

ELIZABETH,

PRINCESS OF WIED.]

She was proud of her German home on the German river. Because of these
patriotic feelings she was always called “_la petite Allemagne_” in
Ouchy by the octogenarian Count Kisseleff. In St. Petersburg also she
openly and freely confessed her love for her Fatherland. Many a playful
battle did she engage in with the young Grand Dukes. “For, you know,”
she wrote to her mother, “my heart only glows for Germany!”

On the 25th of December 1863 she writes to her parents:--“When I thank
you for the signs of your love, I really go much deeper and thank you
for something else: something so high, so true, and so holy, that I
cannot whisper it even, though it makes me so unboundedly happy. This
beautiful feeling is that we love one another so much, so very much,
that one can breathe peace to the other through his peace, joy through
his joy.... It is the blessing of my life that God sends me so much
love. My sympathies are ever widening, and my heart does not seem able
to contain the fulness of the sunbeams! I can never requite you, but
may perhaps impart my feelings to others, if God wills!”

The unwholesome climate of St. Petersburg and the over-straining of
her nerves soon showed themselves to have a detrimental effect on the
health of the till then so blooming Princess. She could take but little
part in the festivities of Christmas-time, and on the 1st of January
1864 she became alarmingly ill of a nervous gastric fever. The Grand
Duchess surrounded her with motherly love and care. The Grand Duchess
Catherine and the lady-in-waiting, Baroness Edith von Rahden, nursed
and watched her unceasingly. But weeks went by, and she still lay in
bed. It was the first illness she had ever had. Till now, when she
had reached her twentieth year, she had never tasted any medicine.
As soon as she was released from pain and could occupy herself, she
became absorbed in the book of “The Unconscious Life of the Soul,”
which her father had sent her as a Christmas present. She writes from
her bed:--“There is such great humility in the preface, combined with
the power of assurance. Then I recognised my father in the first three
pages by his manner of demonstrating his arguments. What a different
sort of reading it is when the language is as familiar to us as our
own, when we see the idea before us which we have absorbed as the very
breath of our life! I am glad that papa has sent me the book just now.
As I read, I see his face before me, and seem to be really talking to
him.”

On the 16th of January 1864 she wrote to her father:--“How often a
feeling of pride comes over me that I have my father’s writings in my
hands, and then a glow of happiness, because every word has come from
your pen and from your inmost heart! For your soul was prepared by the
wonderful experiences of fifty years, and the mind could communicate to
her unhindered, and tell her what it will about itself and its nature.
It is such a beautiful idea, that the indwelling Spirit of God educates
the soul and gives to it as much as it requires. Not a word more. It
makes one very humble, and awakes in one a longing to keep the soul
so pure (by withstanding its natural earthly temptations), that God
may find it worthy of having many things revealed to it! But how is it
with the mind and the soul of Christ? That is the mystery of His godly
and yet human nature; His soul must have been so pure, so much above
earthly things, that God could tell it all things.

“I am getting on well now, and enjoy these quiet days in which I can
collect my thoughts. I think they will keep me out of the stream of
society, for they see that it tires me. There will be between forty
and fifty balls before the Carnival, when they will rush about for a
week--the so-called ‘_folles journées_.’ But do not be anxious. That is
not in my line. It is very odd, but I read ninety pages of philosophy
yesterday, and felt so rested, that all were surprised to see me look
so well. But if only two or three ladies begin to gossip about all the
noise and bustle going on, I fall to pieces like a withered leaf. To
my joy, I notice what a strong constitution I have, for real thinking
refreshes me, while excitement of the nerves makes me ill. Yes, my
beloved ones, I feel every day how wonderfully you have educated me,
and what you have given me for life--a great treasure, the hoard of the
Nibelungen, which also lies in the Rhine; but I know the spot, and draw
from it every day.

    YOUR CHILD.”

On the 18th of January 1864 she writes:--“I am becoming so
philosophical now, so quiet and sensible, that it is a real pleasure.
If only it remains thus! I really do not know why I should be so
anxious, that I see the dark side of everything, and am convinced that
everything must go wrong. And all goes right--and without my troubling.”

On the 20th of January:--“You cannot think what a sense of repose has
come over me, and a power of work and concentration at the same time,
which I have not had since last year. I can control my thoughts much
better and keep them on the same track. But the book is too beautiful,
and I absorb it. It has come to my quiet room and my peaceful heart at
the right time. Here it can influence me strongly, and no one hinders
it.”

On the 25th of January, for her mother’s birthday:--

“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.”

We find the following poem on the death of this beloved friend:--

    “Draw you nearer,
    Let weeping cease;
    In her chamber
    All is peace.

    Angels hovered
    Softly o’er her;
    In the night
    Away they bore her.

    Death o’er her senses
    Did softly creep;
    Saved her a parting,
    Wrapped her in sleep.

    Flowers of beauty
    Wreathe her around;
    Drowsily chiming
    The sweet bells sound.

    Draw you nearer,
    Let weeping cease;
    In her chamber
    All is peace.”

From Carlsbad the Grand Duchess travelled with her great niece to the
great Exhibition at Paris. There Princess Elizabeth had arrived unwell;
she suffered from a bad throat and momentary deafness. Consequently
she could not enjoy the great sights with her usual freshness. The
reception at the Tuileries, visits to the Exhibition, to the Louvre
and the neighbouring castles, seemed like a dream to her. Under the
impression of this deafness, and inclining as ever to melancholy
thoughts, she writes to her mother--“I have often thought in these
last days that one can well do without occupation in old age. Then we
can sit in our arm-chair, lost in thoughts, quite still, and without
prejudice. One can think sweetly of the dead, and tell those around one
of our past life as a curiosity. I fancy it very beautiful. I would not
change now, for I would taste of life with all it brings, and hope to
toil and endeavour. But all the time I shall look forward to the peace
of old age.”

The suffering state of the Grand Duchess Hélène necessitated another
sojourn in Ragaz, but she would not let her niece leave her side. It
was the end of September before they arrived, and few visitors were
there. This quiet they found very refreshing after the noisy bustle and
moral tension of Paris. The young Princess became quite herself again.
Her restless mind immediately undertook new work.

“Last night,” she writes on the 22nd September 1867, “I was telling
Fräulein von Rahden so much about our lost little brother (Prince
Otto) that she exclaimed--‘His life must be written. It will be a
great blessing for all who read it.’ She told me to write as fully as
possible, and said that what was written in the greatest simplicity
must, if it comes from the heart, find an echo in the hearts of others.
I have wished to do this for years, and felt that I ought to do it, and
found it too difficult. I really think that the moment has come now. I
should like to add a detailed memoir to our archives.

“I have just come from the little church, in which I heard a beautiful
sermon. Pfarrer Steiger preached from Jer. ix. 24, ‘For in these things
I delight, saith the Lord.’ It was full of enthusiasm, and suitable to
my state of mind, which was rather sad, as many memories awake here in
Ragaz. And then this good man brought God’s healing, conquering, and
inspiring love so near to us that I nearly wept for joy. It was too
beautiful. I seemed to hear Maria Sulzer’s voice saying to me, ‘Lay
yourself in the arms of God.’ I have already thought of writing prayers
for our church, but I am not sufficiently advanced. Perhaps I shall be
able to do so when I am writing Otto’s Memoirs.”

“_Ragaz, 30th September._--Thinking of our little services, I have
written the enclosed prayers. Perhaps you can use them. I have also
begun Otto’s Memoirs, and have written to Nana (Prince Otto’s English
nurse) and begged her to give me details of his earliest childhood, ‘If
with all your hearts ye truly seek Me, ye shall ever surely find Me,
saith the Lord.’ I should like to inscribe this text on every page. I
should like to seek and find Him. I have never really loved Him. Frau
Arnemann says: ‘God is drawing me to Him through all that I love, and
whom He has taken to Himself.’ How gladly I will let myself be drawn!
This winter I shall stay at home, and look forward to it much. I have
my hands full of business too, for when I have finished my translation
of Carlyle I have a new plan. Frau Arnemann always wished me to write a
book for children. Only I cannot think of anything suitable. I can only
write about what I have lived through and felt.”

After many fine days, during which walks of three or four hours were
undertaken, a sudden and lasting fall of snow had induced the Grand
Duchess to leave Ragaz. Princess Elizabeth now returned home. She spent
the winter quietly and happily with her mother at Monrepos. “I look
back upon this time with particular pleasure,” she writes; “I think of
the dreamy hours spent in the little room, of the endless conversations
on deep subjects with Fräulein Lavater, and of the evenings when our
spinning wheels hummed and my brother read aloud to us.” In the summer
of 1868 she travelled to Sweden on a visit to her royal relations. She
calls Sweden the land of poetry; and the magnificence of nature there,
and the beautiful legends which are attached to every stone, inspired
her fancy. She liked to be in the north, and delighted in Stockholm.
The magnificent town is enthroned like a queen of the waters on her
islands between the lake and the sea. It is surrounded by many oaks of
a hundred years’ growth, which are the masts and pennons of the ships,
and historical treasures of all sorts. “We made a wonderful expedition
to the Malarsee. The Duke of Ostgothland, the present King Oscar II.,
had taken a ship, and we glided on the shining sea between a hundred
emerald isles to the curious old castle of Grypsholm. What added
immensely to the charm of our voyage were the songs of the Swedish
officers, whom my uncle invited for our amusement. These gentlemen
sing nearly the whole day, and songs varied according to the places we
passed. Their voices were as clear as bells, whispering mysteriously
or sounding loud in the uncontrollable joy of youth. My uncle had the
tombs of the kings in the Riddersholmskirche open for us to see. Each
dynasty has a separate vault. I laid my hand upon the coffins of Gustav
Adolph and Karl XII., but could not help shuddering before these open
graves. The drive through the country to Helsingborg was very fine. We
passed more than a hundred seas. The red wooden houses and the castles
built of red tiles are picturesquely situated between the huge blocks
of stone of volcanic origin with which the whole country is strewn.
These blocks are covered with beech and fir trees. We spent a night in
Toncoping, and wandered through the bright wooden town, by the shining
Wettersee, at five in the morning.”

With the facility peculiar to her, Princess Elizabeth learnt Swedish,
and could soon read “Tegner’s Frithjofsage” and the beautiful poems of
Runeberg in the original. The Princess of Wied had spent three months
in Sweden with her daughter. On the way back they visited Copenhagen
and Friedrichsborg, and stayed some days with their relations at
Arolsen. There Princess Elizabeth was a peculiar favourite of her
cousins of Waldeck, and her appearance at Arolsen gave the signal to
endless rejoicings.

Princess Elizabeth had scarcely returned to Monrepos with her mother
when the Grand Duchess Hélène called her niece to her side at
Heidelberg. In November of 1868 she spent three most enjoyable weeks
there. The recollections of this time were so deep and lasting that
Princess Elizabeth, then Princess of Roumania, mentions it nine years
after with such life and freshness as if years and great changes had
not come over her meanwhile. We will here give that part of a letter
written from Bucharest in May 1877:--

“How beautiful it must now be in Heidelberg! Have I not spent almost
the happiest three weeks of my life there with my aunt and so many
distinguished people. A gathering of great thinkers, Kirchhoff,
Friedreich, Bluntschli, Treitschke, Gervinus, and Helmholtz in one
drawing-room! Besides which Joachim with his heavenly violin, and Frau
Joachim with her voice like a mountain torrent. An evening for the
gods! and then those walks with Fräulein von Rahden, those dreams in
the ruins. How they seemed to teem with life and flitting forms, with
banquets and fair women. Indeed those were visions worthy of the gods!
Of course we were often wet through, but I think the rain belongs
to Heidelberg as the dew to flowers. You should read the ‘Trompeter’
together, that suits there, ‘Frau Aventiure,’ and ‘Gaudeamus.’ One must
become as jolly as the students, drink wine and lounge, in order to be
in the right spirit for Heidelberg: then it is a magic circle, a land
of dreams, such as weary wayfarers may long for. You breathe so freely
in the warm damp air.”

With these bright impressions the year 1868 closed. The next year was
to be one of great importance for Princess Elizabeth. But although her
immediate future shaped itself in an unexpected manner, it found her
prepared for it as to an object towards which the genius of her life
was tending. We have interwoven many extracts of Princess Elizabeth’s
letters in the course of our narrative, because a natural and unsought
for likeness of her is thus developed. Her words are a picture of her
inner and outer life according to the impression made upon her mind at
the time. She describes the effects of what she experienced more than
the causes, but these effects are not problematic states of mind, but
strong and lasting impressions, which take root in a nature rich in
refined feelings, and increase its wealth. And there is one theme which
traverses this inner life and shows itself even there, where it is not
openly mentioned--an all pervading principle, which has the strength
to avoid and to overcome the two dangers which beset the life of a
daughter of a Prince. One danger is that she may give herself up to the
enjoyment of her exalted rank; the other that intellectual pursuits are
undertaken in a dilettanti spirit and become superficial. There is only
one safeguard to these two dangers, and that is duty and labour. The
duty of a Prince is to rule--that is the highest form of education. Now
we read in the letters of Princess Elizabeth even there, where she does
not say so in so many words: “I wish to have a profession.” She meant
the profession of a teacher, and she received one of a Princess and a
Queen!




[Illustration]

VI.

Betrothal and Marriage.


On the 2nd of January 1869 we read in the Journal of Princess
Elizabeth: “A song of thanksgiving only for the past warm and happy
year. I have no wish for the coming one but that the work of my hands
may be blessed. It is nine years since I wrote the first words in my
book. I have noted the days of my youth in it, sometimes with a heart
full of sacred feelings, sometimes in bright happiness, often in
sadness and sorrow. My early years have been rich--rich in love, in
sunshine, and many trials. I have always been saved from one thing, and
that is, to be bereft of all joy. This weight has never fallen on my
heart, and so I am still young and strong, and look forward to middle
age with joy and pleasure. If only Heaven will continue to grant me the
power of writing poetry, I will guard and keep it as a sacred shrine.
I do nothing to cultivate the gift, in order not to become vain. I only
beg that it may live on for me and in me, and pray for the freshness of
youth, which is necessary for writing a poem from one’s heart. Adieu
you beautiful year, and may the New Year look in kindly upon my room
and my heart. ‘Tout ou rien’ shall be my motto.”

Prince William of Wied had meanwhile served his year at Coblentz in
the regiment of Queen Augusta, and studied at the University of Bonn
for a year and a half. On the 30th of March 1869 the coming of age of
the young Prince was celebrated at Neuwied with great festivities.
In August of the same year he was betrothed to Princess Marie of
the Netherlands, daughter of His Royal Highness Prince Frederick
of the Netherlands and Princess Louise of Prussia, a sister of the
German Emperor. Still Princess Elizabeth would hear of no proposal of
marriage. Her highest ambition was her wish to be a schoolmistress; she
thought of founding a school, and giving up her time and strength to
teaching. Her mother had let her have her way, and had already secretly
planned and arranged everything. The Princess of Wied insisted on one
point, however, which was, that Princess Elizabeth should follow a
strict course of study and pass her examination as a teacher before her
plan could be practically carried out. Princess Elizabeth’s restless
spirit had calmed down in this prospect. Her mother remarked to
Fräulein Lavater: “You will see that she will marry now; it would have
been too soon before.” As the Princess of Wied was spending a few weeks
at Bonn with her daughter in the spring of this year, she received an
invitation from the Prince of Hohenzollern to visit him at Düsseldorf.
She guessed at the deep meaning of this amiable invitation, but
Princess Elizabeth was quite unconscious of it, and was only looking
forward to seeing her beloved Princess of Hohenzollern, and Princess
Marie, with whom she had corresponded intimately since she had been so
much with them at Berlin. The princely parents now wished to become
better acquainted with the young Princess of Wied, for their son, the
Prince of Roumania, was thinking of uniting himself to her in marriage.

Prince Charles I. of Roumania, the second son of Prince Anthony of
Hohenzollern and the Princess of Baden, was born on the 20th of April
1839, and educated in Dresden at the Blochmann Institute. He wished to
follow a military career, and entered the Prussian army, with which he
went through the Danish campaign of 1864. In the year 1866 the young
lieutenant of Dragoon Guards, who was then only seven and twenty, was
called to the throne of Roumania by the unanimous voice of the nation.
The King of Prussia, as head of the family, not objecting, and sure of
the concurrence of Napoleon III., whose influence was then predominant
in the lands of the Danube, Prince Charles became the reigning Prince
of Roumania. The country entrusted to him had already visibly improved
as well in spiritual as in temporal matters during his short reign.
But the low state of social conditions required reform. A Princess was
wanted to help in this great work whose life and example would do much
to ensure success.

The Prince’s choice fell on the Princess Elizabeth, whose acquaintance
he had made at Berlin, and whom he had learnt to know more intimately
through her letters to his sister. From the time of the Prince’s
nomination to the Roumanian throne Princess Elizabeth had displayed
a great interest in him. Her active nature was sympathetic to the
thorough seriousness and energy with which Prince Charles had
undertaken and carried through his arduous task. The affairs of
Roumania were not strange to her either, for one of her French
governesses had lived there for some time, and told her a great deal
about it. Once, long before the betrothal, when Elizabeth’s friends
had besieged her with all sorts of plans, and wished to see her on a
throne, she had answered in fun: “The only throne which could attract
me is the Roumanian, for there would be much for me to do.”

A short time after the visit to Düsseldorf, the Princess of Wied
was asked to arrange a personal meeting between her daughter and
Prince Charles. To have such a meeting in Monrepos seemed too public,
and consequently it suited Her Serene Highness’s view exactly when
Princess Elizabeth expressed a great wish to attend a concert which
Clara Schumann and Stockhausen were to give at Cologne in October. The
Princess of Wied consequently arranged to go to Cologne, and there
receive Prince Charles, who was then at Paris. They alighted at the
Hotel du Nord. The hours passed, and the Prince had not appeared. So
the two ladies drove with their suite to the Botanical Gardens to
dine. The meal was over, and Princess Elizabeth had not noticed that
they had for some time been closely observed by a group of gentlemen.
Two of these then advanced to the Princess of Wied, and the Prince of
Roumania was introduced to her. Elizabeth, who knew nothing of his
intentions, or of the previous arrangement, reached out both hands
to him with undisguised satisfaction, saying: “How glad I am that we
should thus meet here by chance.” They remained together many hours
in the Botanical and Zoological Gardens, engaged in deep conversation.
Returned to the hotel, Princess Elizabeth exclaimed enthusiastically:
“What a delightful man the Prince has become!”

Whilst she was dressing for the concert, the Prince had an interview
with her mother, and asked for her sanction to the marriage. Princess
Elizabeth meanwhile was only thinking of the musical treat which was
awaiting her, and was much vexed at the Prince remaining so long. When
he at last left, she rushed from her room to the salon, saying in a
reproachful tone: “But, mamma.” But the young girl remained transfixed
on the doorstep, for she saw the earnest and deeply moved expression
of her mother’s countenance, who advanced towards her, embracing her
tenderly, and said: “The Prince of Roumania has made you an offer of
marriage, my child.”

The surprise of her daughter was great, but after these few words it
became clear to her that the Prince had, unconsciously to herself, won
her whole heart. When her mother repeated the question, if she did not
wish to have time to consider, she answered simply and decidedly: “No;
he had better come at once--I know I shall love him much.” And when
the Prince came and greeted her as his bride, she said to him with her
soft and sympathetic voice: “It makes me both proud and humble at
the same time.” The same night the Prince had to return to Paris. But
Princess Elizabeth wrote in her Journal of the 12th of October: “I am
betrothed and a blissfully happy bride.”

Four days later, on the 16th of October, Prince Charles arrived at
Neuwied, accompanied by five Roumanian gentlemen, to celebrate his
betrothal publicly. Everything had been so suddenly and unexpectedly
settled that none of the many members of the family of Wied could be
present on the occasion. The Princess of Wied, Prince William, and some
intimate friends of their family, were the only guests, excepting the
Roumanian suite.

Simply, and without any particular ceremony, the betrothal was
celebrated by an exchange of rings. There was a state dinner in the
evening. Towards the close of it, the Princess of Wied arose, and
though struggling with repressed emotion, spoke the following words in
a clear and firm voice: “Let us drink to the health of the future pair,
who are to-day the object of our united best wishes! Every betrothal
is certainly a day of rejoicing. But the betrothal of to-day is more.
A Prince, called to the accomplishment of a high and arduous mission,
has chosen a bride who, whilst remaining faithfully at his side, will
take part in the fulfilment of this great duty. They have made a holy
covenant between themselves, in which they have promised to devote
their strength and love to the happiness of a people which, if rightly
and wisely led, is called to a great and happy future. And we will
herewith also express our warmest and most sincere good wishes for the
fulfilment of this our hope.”

After Prince William had brought out a toast to the union of the two
princely houses, and the Prince of Roumania had expressed his thanks
for the good wishes of all present, he added: “This day is the happiest
of my life, for it has allowed me to find a bride who will stand by
me in loving devotion during the fulfilment of the high mission which
a whole nation has entrusted to me.” On the day of his betrothal the
Prince had said to his bride: “You will have a noble duty in life. You
can comfort when I am too severe, and can gently pray for all.” One of
the relations wrote to the Princess of Wied: “We can congratulate the
bridegroom on taking home a bride who will be a help and a blessing for
his country. It would be difficult to find such another: I rejoice that
Elizabeth’s sphere is not to be contracted into the small household
circle of the woman. Her character will enlarge and expand in the large
circle of interest which awaits her.”

The Princess of Wied now travelled with the bride to Baden-Baden, to
introduce her to the King and Queen of Prussia, as head of the house
of Hohenzollern, then to the Weinburg by Siegmaringen, whither Prince
Charles had preceded her, and conducted their future daughter-in-law
to the Prince and Princess of Hohenzollern. Prince Charles gave to his
bride, amongst other things, an album for her Journal of Poems, and
wrote on the first page: “Weinburg, 26th October 1869. Love is returned
by love. Meet your people with the same love and confidence that you
have shown to me, and then it will not be one heart alone which beats
for you, but millions of hearts will unite with that one, and I shall
deem myself happy, for you will not belong to me alone. A whole nation
has a right to you. An entire people looks up to you with confidence,
and will return your love by its devotion.”

Prince Charles announced his engagement in the following words to
the Roumanian nation: “When I accepted a throne which the love and
confidence of a whole nation entrusted to me, I understood that the
uppermost thought in the unanimous election of a foreign Prince must be
to establish a lasting dynasty in Roumania. To-day I have the happiness
to announce to my people a guarantee for law and order, of which it
stands in such need, whilst I inform the nation that I am betrothed to
Princess Elizabeth of Wied, who was born on the 29th of December 1843.”
This very important event called out much enthusiasm in the whole
country. Bucharest and Jassy were illuminated, and a _Te Deum_ held in
the cathedrals. Addresses of congratulations poured in from all sides.
From the plains of the Danube to the vine-clad banks of the Rhine the
electric wire endlessly repeated the winged words--“God save Carol
I., ruler of the Roumanians.” “God save the Princess Elizabeth his
bride.” A month later, on the 15th of November, the wedding was to be
celebrated with much pomp and etiquette.

The Queen of Prussia had announced herself. A few days previously we
read in the Journal--

“_Monrepos, 12th November 1869._--My lines have fallen on pleasant
places--a fair inheritance is mine.”

On the 13th of November Prince Charles arrived in Neuwied, and
was received with great enthusiasm. Guests streamed in from
all sides. On the 14th of November the family of the Prince
of Hohenzollern-Siegmaringen arrived, also the Count and
Countess of Flanders, the reigning Prince of Waldeck, the Grand
Duchess of Baden, Princess William of Baden, Prince Waldemar of
Schleswig-Holstein-Augustenburg, the Princess and Counts of
Solms-Braunfels, Laubach, and Rödelheim, with their consorts. The Queen
of Prussia arrived on the wedding day. The Emperors of France and
Germany were represented by their ambassadors, M. d’Oubril and Count
Moosburg. The princely party were attended by numerous suites of German
and Roumanian ladies and gentlemen.

On the 15th of November the sun arose in great splendour over Neuwied.
It shone upon an animated picture. The palace and every single house
in the town was decorated with flags and garlands. The neighbourhood
of the palace, the garden, and the extensive park had been filled with
groups of people since daybreak. They had come to see the bride once
more. It is a peculiarity in the nature of the German people that
they share the joys and sorrows of their Princes, and regard their
concerns as their own. This hereditary affection between the Princess
of Wied and the inhabitants of Neuwied has not disappeared, but has
been faithfully preserved, and remained mutual. Consequently they felt
that day as if a great family event were being celebrated in their
midst. They were all heartily interested on this occasion. Was it not
in honour of their beloved Princess Elizabeth, who was as well known
in the houses of the poor and distressed as in those whom God had
blessed with earthly treasures? Forty young ladies of Neuwied presented
Princess Elizabeth with a beautiful carpet which they had worked.
The local newspaper conveyed the congratulations of the citizens in
expressive verses. All the members of the community rejoiced.

At half-past five the marriage procession started, and proceeded to
a saloon which had been arranged as a Catholic chapel. The priest
delivered a short address, rings were exchanged, and the young pair
received the blessing of the Church upon their knees. After this the
stately procession proceeded down the grand staircase in the same order
as it came to a hall below, which Prince William had tastefully and
richly arranged as a Protestant chapel. The vast hall swam in a sea
of light. On the right and left of it galleries had been arranged,
which had already for some time been filled by the officials and
inhabitants of Neuwied and the neighbourhood, who had been invited to
the ceremony. In the depth of the chapel a small wing had been built
out to contain the altar on this occasion, upon which a simple cross
was placed. Music sounded at the entrance of the young pair. Thereupon
Pfarrer Lohmann turned to the betrothed and spoke touching words to
them, which deeply moved all present. He had chosen his text from Ruth
i. 16, 17: “Whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I
will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God. Where
thou diest, I will die, and there will I be buried.” The important
“Yes” was spoken by the Princess in unfaltering tone. Her experience
in the home of her parents had taught her that a family becomes more
closely bound together by sorrow and trial. But she had sealed her
promise with a happy heart. “I am wholly thine, wherever thy way may
lead me.” “Only they who have experienced such a thrilling moment can
understand how overpowering and how blessed it is, and how joyfully the
sacrifice is made.” (From the Wedding Discourse.) The august young pair
made the sacred promise on their knees, exchanged rings, and received
a blessing. The thunder of cannons announced that the marriage of the
Princess of Wied and the Prince of Roumania was concluded.

After the sacred ceremony a reception was held at the palace to receive
the congratulations of all, and a state dinner was served at six. The
Queen of Prussia had brought out the first toast to the newly married
pair, and salutes from the cannons, German and Roumanian National
Hymns, and speeches, &c., animated the banquet. Meanwhile a general
illumination lighted up the streets of Neuwied. To the most distant
suburbs the houses were decked with flags and garlands, draperies and
transparencies.

The youthful pair then drove through the town, amidst the hearty cheers
of the people, and accompanied by their august guests. The cheers that
welcomed them were not official. They sounded like greetings of joy and
blessing. And not only the town of Neuwied, but the whole principality,
shared in the enthusiasm of that festive day. Hearty cheers for the
princely pair resounded from all sides, and seventy-four places in the
principality of Wied had sent in addresses of congratulations on that
day.

The Prince of Roumania and his bride were afterwards conducted to
Monrepos, where they spent the remaining time, which the Princess was
to pass in her old home. The following day the young pair gave a family
dinner party. The municipality and the leading citizens had arranged
a brilliant ball for that evening in their honour. On the second day
the princely family gave a concert in the new concert hall, where Otto
von Konigslaw performed with the famous Quartette of Cologne, and the
band of the Queen of Prussia’s Regiment assisted. After the concert a
magnificent display of fireworks took place in front of the castle.
And so the people of Neuwied saw the Princess whom they had so fondly
named “Our Elizabeth” for the last time in her own home. And she has
remained “Our Elizabeth” to them till the present day, and is received
in the same enthusiastic manner when she returns amongst them.

The young pair had started on their journey to Roumania on the 18th
of November. With happy confidence Princess Elizabeth followed the
husband of her choice. No political reasons, but a true union of their
hearts, had united them. Stern duties awaited them in the unknown land.
But they encountered them unflinchingly and zealously. A poem which
was published five years after in her first work, styled “Roumanian
Poetry,” shows that in her new home she thought of her own country with
unaltered affection.

With the words of this song we will close the history of the life of
Princess Elizabeth in the home of her parents.

    “Thou Land of Vines! thou leafy shore!
      Thou rippling, silver river!
    Thy glitter’s gone, thy song is o’er,
      Parted we are for ever!

    Oft, oft my tearful eyes I close,
      And hear thee warbling, welling;
    On thy bright breast the vessel goes,
      The breeze its sails is swelling.

    That I the loveliest German home
      Once had my happy lot in,
    Constrains that, till to death I come,
      It ne’er can be forgotten!”

                --_Translated by Sir Edwin Arnold._




[Illustration]

VII.

Arrival in Roumania.


Hardly three years had gone by since, in May 1866, Prince Charles had
undertaken the government of Roumania. Germany was then in a state
of excitement, the relations between Prussia and Austria being much
strained. Every day a declaration of war was imminent. Under these
circumstances the newly elected Prince of Roumania could only proceed
in disguise and incognito through the territory of the enemy. No one on
board the ship which had brought him down the Danube could have guessed
that their fellow-traveller, a modest and reserved young man, was the
scion of the house of Hohenzollern who had the courage to carry the
great mission of his house to the distant East. When the ship anchored
at Turnu Severin, the first town of Roumania, triumphal arches were
seen erected close to the banks of the river, men in gold-embroidered
uniforms, troops drawn up on parade, and a countless crowd of people.
All were awaiting the arrival of the ship in joyful expectation.

Prince Carol I. had been on board the ship. The endless cheers, the
rolling of drums and the braying of trumpets, were in his honour, as
he left the ship with his two companions and landed on Roumanian soil
for the first time. It was a historical moment of great importance. As
a thank-offering for the brilliant reception which he had received at
Turnu Severin, and as a memorial of that day, the Prince has built a
church there at his own expense.

Full of confidence in the future of Roumania, and inspired by an
earnest determination to exert a powerful influence on the fortunes of
the country committed to his charge, Prince Carol made his solemn entry
into Bucharest on the 22nd of May 1866. After taking the kingly oath
to the constitution laid before him by the chambers, the young Prince
addressed the assembled parliament in the following short but weighty
speech:--“In setting foot on the soil of this country I have become a
Roumanian. I know that great duties are required of me, but I hope to
fulfil them. I bring to my new country a true heart, loyal intentions,
a strong determination to uphold the right, a boundless devotion, and
that unswerving respect for the law which I have inherited from my
ancestors. A citizen to-day, to-morrow, if need be, a soldier, I shall
share with you from henceforth both good and evil days alike. Trust me
as I trust you. God only knows what the future has in store for our
country. In the meantime let us be unweary in the fulfilment of our
duties, and Providence, which has guided your chosen sovereign thus far
and cleared all difficulties from my path, will surely not leave her
work unaccomplished.”

Extraordinary difficulties met him at once in the beginning of his
reign. Russia regarded him with an unfriendly eye, Austria treated him
as an enemy, and Turkey found fault with all he did. Added to this the
lax discipline of the army, the untrustworthiness of the officials, low
finances, persecution of the Jews, and a crisis in the ministry! The
ruler of this land, thus shattered by the strife of parties, had need
of a firm will and unshaken confidence in the success of his enterprise
if he would restore it to order. But Prince Charles had undertaken
the position with a true sense of his heavy responsibilities. In a
very short time he realised the grave difficulties of the task. Every
affair of State or question of law, and even the practical affairs
of the country, were submitted to his careful judgment. Restlessly
active himself, he demanded much work and great perseverance from his
ministers. In order to understand the wants of the people and the
faults of the administration, Prince Charles constantly travelled
through the length and breadth of his country. With a discerning glance
he sought to find those men from amongst his subjects who combined a
knowledge of the affairs of their country with true patriotism. He
could consequently be assured of their help when he called them to his
side as councillors.

In order to unite Roumania with the rest of Europe new roads of
communication were opened, the teaching in church and school improved,
and the reforms in the army begun on a large scale. Prince Charles
steadily pursued his plans of reform, though his endeavours were
misconstrued by those who wished him ill, and he had often to face the
greatest difficulties because many of his ideas did not succeed at
once. He well knew that many years must go by before Roumania could be
radically improved, and that his reforms must be progressive and slow.
He awaited a time of lasting success with the wisdom and perseverance
of a true statesman. He might well say: “I stand here alone at this
distant post as sentry facing the East. And as a captain on a stormy
sea must stand by his ship by night and day, so must I keep watch and
ward.”

True to his oath, he identified himself with his people from the moment
that he undertook the government of the Danubian principalities. He had
done this with a high sense of duty and the conscientiousness of a true
German.

At the side of this man of lofty character, who had already made his
mark in the world, Princess Elizabeth was to enter her new home. On the
18th of November the young princely pair had left Neuwied. They stopped
at Pesth in order to visit the Emperor of Austria, and continued their
journey on the 21st amid the enthusiastic cheers of the Roumanians
settled at Pesth. A special train brought their Highnesses to Bazias,
where the Austrian steamer _Franz Josef_ awaited them. The banner of
Roumania waved at the high mast, the sailors manned the oars, and the
_Franz Josef_ steamed between the craggy rocks of the Danube towards
Roumania.

Thus they reached Alt-Orsova. The Czerna, or Black River, here joins
its waves to those of the Danube, and forms the boundary between
Austria and Roumania. The sentries of the frontier saluted, and the
inhabitants of the few slate-roofed houses shouted “Hurrah!” A rocky
island, with a half ruined fortress of New Orsova, stands further down
the Danube. The garrison presented arms, and three times the flag with
a half moon was lowered as a sign of greeting. Opposite New Orsova lies
Verzerova, the frontier town of Roumania. The so-called “borderers” had
arranged themselves in a long line along the shore. They were dressed
in long grey cloaks, and wore sandals, whilst their garments were
fastened together with leathern girdles and straps. On the column of
Trajan the Datians are represented in the same costume. The rolling of
drums, the braying of trumpets, and endless cheers greeted the ship,
which was then proceeding at slow speed. The princely pair stood on
deck and greeted the boundary of their country and their first subjects.

The Danube here winds its way through an immense wilderness. High and
almost perpendicular rocks enclose the mighty bed of the river, which
has many windings, and becomes narrower as it proceeds. Hardly has the
_Franz Josef_ passed the most dangerous of the eddies when the “Iron
Gateway” is reached. The banks of the river are opener here, and not so
much shut in by the rocks, but the roaring of the foaming waves tell
of a dangerously rocky bed which here stretches to the whole breadth
of the Danube for a long way. By degrees the country becomes less
desolate, the mountains more distant. Rich fields and vineyards abound,
and stately groups of houses, with glistening church towers rising
above them, become visible.

It is Turnu Severin. The town, with its harbour, looks very pretty
as the ship approaches. The ships that lie at anchor are bright with
flags. Roumania’s vessels of war, _Romania_ and _Stephen Cel Mar_, are
among them. The steep banks of the river were crowded with people.
Endless cheers resounded as the _Franz Josef_ neared the land. The
soldiers on board the _Stephen Cel Mar_ saluted, whilst the troops
drawn up on shore presented arms. Cannons roared, and the solemn tones
of the Roumanian National Hymn were heard. On the 22nd of November
(the birthday of her lost brother) Princess Elizabeth, leaning on the
arm of her husband, first set foot on Roumanian soil. She was received
by well-dressed ladies carrying bouquets, the Prime Minister, Prince
Ghica, and the Prefect and officials of the town. The national offering
of bread and salt was presented on a silver salver decorated with
flowers, and the keys of the town were presented to the young Princess.
Amidst the cheering of the people and the tolling of bells the Prince
and Princess drove to the church. Here a _Te Deum_ was first sung,
and then priests and people on their knees invoked the blessing of the
Almighty on the sovereign pair.

According to an ancient custom of the Greek Church, a book of the
gospels and the cross richly ornamented with jewels was brought to
them to kiss after the service. Then followed a great reception at the
Town Hall, at which the officials of neighbouring districts appeared
in their picturesque national costumes. After this the princely pair
returned to the ship, whilst the enthusiastic people rushed after the
carriage, which was covered with flowers. Citizens and people waving
their caps in the air shouted “Hurrah!” and “Se treasca marüle Cor!”
(Long life to your Highnesses!)

After this the Roumanian steamers accompanied the _Franz Josef_.
Deputations waited at every village they passed, and a reception was
everywhere accorded them. Sometimes their progress was hindered by a
thick fog. Then the _Romania_ and the _Stephen Cel Mar_ neared the
_Franz Josef_, and the bands they had on board played lively airs till
the rays of the sun dispersed the mists and they could proceed on their
way. They reached Giurgevo, the capital of the district Vlaska. Here
the princely pair landed, greeted again by the sound of the National
Anthem and the enthusiastic cheering of the crowd. Under a richly
decorated triumphal arch the officials of the district of Vlaska
did homage to the Princess, and the town of Giurgevo besought her
graciously to accept a cart of Roumanian soil as her own. A carriage
drawn by eight horses, which were ridden by postillions in national
costume, here awaited their Highnesses. Peasants in their richest
dress rode on either side of the carriage. Each one carried a fir-tree
decorated with gilded apples and glittering chains of gold tinsel. This
is the emblem of a Roumanian wedding which must never be wanting at
such ceremonies. According to Roumanian custom the princely carriage
with its picturesque suite was taken at a gallop through the streets
towards the station, pursued by the crowd, who were cheering excitedly.
At the station there was another official reception, at which the Pacha
of Rustschuk had also appeared.

A special train was in readiness. It was the first railway that
had been built on Roumanian territory, the first time that the
Prince proceeded by rail from Giurgevo to Bucharest. They were now
travelling through the great plain of Wallachia. The inhabitants of
the neighbourhood had assembled along the route and at the stations to
welcome the sovereign pair.

In an intense heat as of summer, at one o’clock on the afternoon of
the 25th of November, the train neared the capital of Roumania. The
station is built upon a little height to the south of the town, from
whence there is a view over a landscape of oriental beauty. Bucharest
is spread over undulating valleys on two sides of the Dimbovitza,
and one looks down upon a multitude of bright-coloured houses. The
lead-covered domes of the three hundred and sixty churches shine among
the groups of trees as if they were of silver. Upon a hill in the
centre of the town stands the white Metropolia, which towers above all.
On the day of the public entry many bright flags waved from its bright
towers. Amidst the green gardens rise the palaces of the “Boyards,”
with their roofs of lead, galleries, arched passages, staircases, and
small columns, a curious mixture of Byzantine style and Turkish form.
The more distant houses seem to disappear in a haze of blue. The dark
chain of the Carpathians arises in the background, abruptly ending
with the snow-capped peaks of the Bucegi. Those who first look down
upon this oriental world must necessarily be struck by its curious
and fantastic appearance. Princess Elizabeth, with her enthusiastic,
artistic nature, “was quite enchanted at the gorgeous colouring of the
picture which here met her view.”

In the great hall of the station the infantry and National Guard had
been drawn up with their regimental band and flags. All the Ministers
and Prefects were present at the reception. Cantacuzeno, the Mayor
of Bucharest, greeted their Highnesses in the name of the town with
the usual bread and salt. A deputation of ladies of the aristocracy
presented the Princess with a nosegay in a golden handle studded with
diamonds. The representatives of the Guilds, with their emblems and
flags, as well as numerous bearers of fir-trees glittering with gold,
were waiting outside the station. The military formed a line to the
town. The multitudes of Roumanians who, attired in their Sunday best,
crowded the streets, houses, and balconies, in order to welcome the
young Princess on her entry, were not to be numbered.

Amidst the thundering of the cannons, the pealing of the bells of all
the churches, the strains of the National Anthem, and whilst the troops
were presenting arms, and the crowds cheering enthusiastically, the
procession, which was opened by the bearers of the fir-trees, wound
its way up to the Metropolia. The clergy, assembled in large numbers,
received the princely pair at the door of the church. At their head was
the much-respected Metropolitan of Bucharest, the Primate of Roumania.
His garment of cloth of gold surrounded him in stiff folds. Upon his
head was a mitre glittering with precious stones, and he bore the
bishop’s staff, encircled by a serpent, in his hand. The Metropolitan
of Jassy stood beside him, and in a large half circle round were the
bishops of the different dioceses--magnificent figures with flowing
beards and garments of gold brocade. Further off many clergy of lower
rank had been placed.

Through a large entrance hall erected for this ceremony their
Highnesses entered the centre of the church, under whose huge dome two
magnificently carved thrones had been prepared for them. The _Te Deum_
had been sung by the choir of priests, then the Metropolitan read the
Gospel for the day in solemn tones, and in an unbroken stillness the
congregation listened to the words of Holy Writ.

A song of praise resounded once more, and then Prince Charles descended
the steps of the throne with his bride, and proceeding to the high
altar, knelt before the Metropolitans, who offered them the Cross and
the Book of the Gospels to kiss. The high wax candles, and the eternal
lamps before the pictures of the saints, could only shed a soft light
through the immense church. But the sun stole through the small stone
windows and magically lighted up this interesting and pompous scene,
during which the young German princely pair was surrounded by the pomp
and magnificence of the oriental priesthood and initiated into its
mysteries.

The ceremony in the church was ended. Opposite to the entrance to the
church steps led up to a large platform which had been erected. Two
thrones were placed there under a rich daïs of purple. Forty young
couples had received their marriage outfit from Prince Charles in
honour of the occasion, and were to be married on that day. In the
Green Hall, on both sides of the way that their Highnesses must pass,
stood the brown-eyed maidens in bridal array, their masses of black
hair covered with hanging golden threads, which are the badge of the
Wallachian bride. The princely pair were conducted to their thrones by
a long procession formed by the clergy, the ministers and ladies in
waiting, cavaliers, senators, deputations, the diplomatic corps, &c.
Here the marriage contract was brought to them on a red velvet cushion,
and was confirmed by their signature. In a clear voice, which could be
heard at a distance, Prince Charles then made a short speech to his
subjects, after which the pealing of bells and the thunder of cannon
announced to the Roumanian people that the Mayor of Bucharest had
inscribed the marriage in the registers of the town.

Martial music now resounded, and a procession of carriages was
arranged, which moved slowly towards the castle amidst the joyous
cheers of the crowd. Of endless variety were the types of the assembled
multitude. The national costumes, which the people of Roumania have
preserved intact, were gorgeous in colour and brilliancy. The fine
type of the women, with their glittering bodices, their wulinks or
aprons adorned with bright embroidery and little plates of metal, their
veils and sandals, made up a fine picture. Then the men with their
round fur caps over their black eyes, their bronzed faces surrounded
with dark curls, a jacket of sheep’s skin embroidered with flowers and
geometrical figures over their shoulders, and a long garment beneath,
the adornment of which was primitive. Amongst these picturesque groups
were Wallachian Jews in furs, and beggars in rags and tatters.

All these made up a peculiarly picturesque scene, and all eyes were
riveted on the graceful presence of their young Princess.

In the throne room of the palace a deputation of the ladies of
Bucharest presented the Princess with an offering from the town. It
consisted of a costly diadem of pearls and diamonds, and a beautifully
and artistically embroidered national costume. This was the close of
the official reception.

When the twilight was fading into darkness the houses of Bucharest
were illuminated with many colours. There was a gala representation at
the theatre. Allegoric groups with reference to the princely pair were
arranged on the stage, and an “Oda da Elisabeta” had been composed for
the occasion. So ended this festive day, which had been enhanced by the
most beautiful weather, and during which everything had gone off to
perfection.

When Princess Elizabeth was leaving her old home they had called after
her--“May your entrance into Roumania also be an entrance into the
hearts of your people.” This prophetic hope has been amply fulfilled.
By her simplicity and her amiable manners, as well as by her winning
voice and charming appearance, Princess Elizabeth took all hearts
by storm on her arrival in Roumania. The expectant people felt at
once that this was a Princess who could understand and relieve their
distress. And they were not mistaken in their judgment, for Princess
Elizabeth has become a mother to her country in the fullest sense of
the word.




[Illustration]

VIII.

Maternal Joy and Sorrow.


The Princess had begun her new life in her new home with illness.
Only her wonderful energy had enabled her to bear the fatigues of her
public reception whilst labouring under great physical discomfort. On
the third day after her public entrance the Princess was attacked by
the measles, though fortunately only slightly, and the illness was not
of long duration. After the great excitement of the last weeks the
enforced quiet could only be desirable. How happy the Princess felt in
her new surroundings a little poem shows which she inscribed in her
Journal on the 12th of December 1869:--

    “From a gladsome month a jubilee song
      Soars up to the skies above,
    Like the lark’s song saying, so clear and strong,
      ‘What a beautiful world to love!’”

After her recovery the first expedition the Princess made was to
Cotroceni, which is situated on a height at ten minutes’ distance from
Bucharest. It is an old monastery, surrounded by a thickly wooded park,
which the Prince had arranged as a country house for the summer. Not
far off, beyond the green trees, the shining domes of the Asyle Hélène,
an educational establishment for young orphan girls, are seen. From
this height the view of Bucharest is also very fine. This is nearer to
the town than the station, and the coming and going in the wood-paved
streets can be distinctly perceived. Women in their dazzlingly white
linen and embroidered garments are seen busily painting their cottages
white and their windows red and blue. These cottages are roofed with
wooden tiles, and lie scattered between the gorgeous palaces of the
Boyards. Under the willows and alders on the banks of the Dimbovitza
lie magnificent buffaloes, idly resting, and half lost to view in the
deep mud and the green foliage. Only their expressive faces with their
immense horns are still visible. Carriages drawn by eight and sometimes
twelve little horses rush by at full gallop. A boy guides them with one
hand. His fiery glances and his fur cap placed on one side of his head
lead one to gather that he is not of a sort to stop at any danger.
Carmen Sylva has drawn a lively picture of these characteristics of the
Roumanian coachman in her poem called “The Post.” Here artistic ideas
meet one at every turn, for amidst such surroundings everything groups
itself into a picture, especially during the oriental sunsets, the
glowing colours of which blend harmoniously.

Now the life of duty which her exalted station imposed upon her began
for the Princess--“It is only in Roumania that something remains to be
done,” she had exclaimed in fun. And now she stood face to face with
her coveted sphere. A large field of labour, till now uncultivated, lay
before her. The first thing was to become acquainted with the soil and
its resources. In this the large Court receptions could not help her.
Consequently Princess Elizabeth had arranged that each lady who wished
to pay her respects at Court was to be separately received by her.
Being exceptionally free from prejudice, she now learnt to understand
the true worth of people, and to realise what they thought and felt.
“It was too disagreeable to me,” she said, “to have to say things
during the State receptions which I did not really mean. In order not
to be false, I endeavoured to feel the interest which I expressed.
Every human being is in want of sympathy. And now every one interests
me, and I find them all interesting. Consequently I do not now find
the audiences tiresome; on the contrary, I look forward to them. The
smallest thing I do must be done with my whole heart if it is to
succeed, and the least thing I am will require all my power if I am to
be anything.”

The beginning of the year 1870 brought with it many tears. There were
many conflicts and confusions in the Administration. The Franco-German
War having been declared, her brother, Prince William of Wied, had
responded to the call of his country, and received an officer’s
commission in the general staff of the army corps. His mother, his
bride, and his sister trembled for his life. But he passed through
the field of battle unscathed, and was decorated with the iron cross
as a reward of his valour. On the 7th of September Princess Elizabeth
received a letter from Prince William, written from Sedan, with the
news of victory. At noon on the following day, the 8th of September,
twenty-one salvos of artillery announced to the inhabitants of
Bucharest that a daughter was born to their princely house. A few hours
later the Metropolitan appeared in full dress. He held the sacred Ikon
over the mother and the child in its cradle, blessed them with holy
water, and repeated the customary prayers.

The new-born Princess was baptized into the orthodox Greek Church, and
received the name of “Marie.” The news of the event was received with
great joy through the country--“God bless the new citizen of Roumania,
and may she grow up to be the joy of her parents and a blessing to her
country.” This was the devout wish of many thousands of people. The
tiny Princess became forthwith almost the most important personage in
the whole of Roumania. Every one was interested in her welfare, and she
seemed to belong to all, for she was born in the country.

Princess Elizabeth was intensely devoted to her beloved child. She was
filled with the sacred feeling of happy motherhood. The radiant eyes of
her child changed the face of the world to her. She had a still deeper
sympathy for the sorrows of others, and their happiness became but a
reflection of her own. As a recollection of this time she wrote in her
Journal at a later date the following poem, entitled


MOTHER.

    “The sweetest name this earth around,
    The sweetest word in all speech found,
              Is ‘Mother!’
    Yes; none so deep and tender seems,
    Comes quicklier, with such fond thoughts teems,
              As ‘Mother!’

    And most of all, its music shows,
    Lisped from a baby’s lips of rose,
              ‘Ah, Mother!’
    Laughed from a baby’s lightsome eye,
    Babbled from heart of infancy,
              ‘My Mother!’

    Yes; she to whom the dear name’s said
    Has all her life great goodlihead
                As ‘Mother!’
    But whoso had it, and has lost,
    Sees earthly happiness quite crossed--
                Sad Mother!”

                --_Translated by Sir Edwin Arnold._

There is also another poem with the title--


MY OLD AND NEW HOME.

    “Full many a grave in Monrepos
    O’er which the forest boughs are tost,
    Argues the grief that rends my heart
    For those whom I have loved and lost.

    But Monrepos proclaimed me his,
    My lord’s, till soul and body part;
    Divinely sent he came, and I
    Became the chosen of his heart.

    All this thou silent grove with me
    In solemn sympathy hast seen;
    The rest was shrouded from thy gaze,
    For many a league lay stretched between.

    In distant land new scenes surround,
    Alternatives of joy and care;
    My baby’s voice there strikes my ear,
    Hope, love and sorrow, all are there.”

When the little Princess, who called herself “Itty,” first called her
“mother,” the Princess wrote--


A WORD.

    “Let every tongue proclaim it,
    And waft it every gale,
    My child has lisped out “mother!”
    Ye birds chirp forth the tale.

    Beside myself with gladness,
    I can scarce my joy believe;
    My heart leaps up within me,
    And laughs from morn till eve.

    My native tongue I thank thee
    For such a word divine;
    For ever and for ever
    A mother’s name is mine!”

But whilst this treasure of the princely house flourished and grew in
its nurseries, there was much trouble in the country. The Strousberg
railway affairs became a great difficulty to the Prince. He employed
every means in his power to arrange the matter according to the best
interests of Roumania. A crisis in the ministry necessitated a change
of Cabinet. A revolution broke out in Bucharest. The Prince would have
resigned, but his steadfast calmness impressed the passionate and
excitable people of Roumania; the stormy political waves were gradually
subdued, and the work for the country proceeded quietly once more.

Meanwhile Princess Elizabeth diligently studied the Roumanian language.
Her knowledge of Latin and Italian were a good foundation for the
idiom of the country, and she soon overcame all difficulties. She is
now entirely mistress of the Roumanian language, and the Roumanians
proudly declare that their Queen speaks it better than themselves,
as she forms her sentences with peculiar exactness. In the year 1871
the first society for the relief of the poor was founded by Princess
Elizabeth, and soon after a society for the translation of children’s
books. “There are absolutely no Roumanian books for the schools and
the people,” Princess Elizabeth wrote to her mother. “I will undertake
this. I have already divided my best French children’s books amongst
the young ladies, and have gained the interest of some gentlemen. The
poet Alexandri will criticise and correct the translations, which are
then to be quickly and cheaply printed. In this manner the language
itself will become more fixed, and the young people, who do not speak
their own language correctly, will learn it to perfection. It is
curious how zealously the people take up this idea. They regard it as a
safeguard against the revolutionary ideas of the young people, who now
discuss nothing but politics. Politics excite the people here to such
an extent that men, women, and even children have no other interests.
General Florescu is the most eager in furthering my plans, and thinks
that if I interest more people in this movement it would have a good
influence on society. Private theatricals and concerts also awake more
noble ambitions. Societies for relieving the poor, for translating and
teaching, everything is arranging itself by degrees.”

In April 1871 the Prince travelled with his consort through Moldavia
to Jassy, that she might also learn to know this part of her country.
The journey resembled a triumphal procession, and their reception was
brilliant and hearty everywhere. At all the greater places deputations
and petitions were received, the customary bread and salt presented,
and a _Te Deum_ heard in the church. The Princess writes--“It is
impossible to imagine such enthusiasm and the cheers given by
thousands. Our time in Jassy was filled up with audiences, visits to
churches and schools, expeditions to the neighbouring monasteries, &c.
Joyful enthusiasm prevailed among all the people.”

On her return the Princess wrote to her mother--“How shall I describe
to you the magnificent country through which we drove, our eight horses
with postillions cracking their whips and shouting, the three or four
hundred peasants who accompanied _ventre à terra_, their mantles of
white goat’s hair streaming in the wind, and their high, white fur caps
on their heads! What shall I say about the nice people in Moldavia, and
of the proud feeling it was to hear on every railway line, on every
bridge and highroad, that my husband had had it made, and then to
gallop onward! And then returning here, after thousands had greeted us,
again to clasp the best beloved amongst all those thousands, healthy
and blooming, in my arms!” Does not untold happiness resound in these
words? And now the Princess of Wied was soon expected, a pleasure which
Princess Elizabeth and her husband were eagerly looking forward to. In
July 1871 the wedding of Prince William of Wied had been celebrated
at the Hague. A few weeks later the Princess of Wied first visited
her children at Bucharest, and held her first grandchild in her arms.
Bright happiness filled their hearts and their home.

For the health of the little Princess it became desirable to spend
the summer with her in mountain and forest air. It is the only remedy
against the attacks of fever to which every one is subjected soon or
later in the Roumanian plains. From this time the Prince resided in
the Carpathians in the summer. There in the valley of the Prahova, two
thousand nine hundred feet high, upon a precipitous rocky mountain,
stands the monastery of Sinaia. A Prince Cantacuzéne had built and
named it after the Temple on Mount Sinai. It had been used till then
as a Hospice for the many caravans of ox-carts which, laden with
maize, proceed day and night almost uninterruptedly over the mountain
paths to Transylvania. The peaks of the Carpathians tower in fantastic
forms behind the monastery. Carmen Sylva has enriched them with poetic
legends in her poems. First comes Virful-cu-Dor (the Heights of
Longing), then Furnica, Piatre Arsa, the two Jipi which arise like the
teeth of a giant. The deafening waterfall Urlatoare (the Howling One)
rushes down to the Prahova valley, and the Omul and Caraiman, eight
thousand nine hundred feet in height, stand dark and threatening with
their mighty rocks.

[Illustration:

    _Woodbury Compy._

CASTLE PELESCH.]

These are all names which we have learnt to know and love through
the “little book” from Carmen Sylva’s “Kingdom.” Huge mountains
crowned with verdure stretch into the plain. Their feet are clothed
with forests of beech and oak, whilst their heights are covered with
fir-trees. From the monastery you attain the deep solitude of a forest
which is here as beautiful as a dream. Gigantic old trees rear their
branches to heaven. If one falls, oppressed with the weight of years,
it is allowed to remain there till, covered with creepers and moss,
it completes the woodland scenery, and young trees grow out of the
mouldering trunk. Ferns and orchids of endless varieties and unusual
height delight the friend of nature. In this magnificent vegetation
every foot of land is covered with multitudes of botanic species, one
might say the history of the forest. The most beautiful flowers of
the Alps, Edelweiss and Almenrausch, are found on the heights of the
foremost mountains. Not far from the monastery the Pelesch casts itself
down from Bucegi to the valley below in a foaming waterfall, “wildly
escaping from its bounds as if it would take the world by storm.” Its
seething waves flow down endlessly, and the river winds hither and
thither, and has often devastated the country in its course. It is a
beautiful and ever varying picture of steep mountains, shady valleys,
and running brooks.

The white walls of the monastery welcome the wanderer from afar. The
one-storied building is of very humble dimensions, and surrounds the
square court of the monastery, which is devoid of any ornament, and in
the centre of which a church stands. The inhabited part is ornamented
with wooden arcades, and old Byzantine paintings still adorn the
outside walls. Thirty monks, types of the eastern clergy, here enjoy
in peaceful repose the blessings of this pious institution. Half of
this humble habitation had been allotted to the Prince. Lightly built
additions in fir wood had been made to the principal building in order
to make it at all habitable. If the banner of Roumania had not waved
over the entrance, and sentries paced up and down the verandahs, one
could easier imagine that an artist had made his home here than that
this was the residence of a Prince. We can scarcely conceive with
what simplicity and content the princely pair here bore the greatest
discomfort for many years. The Princess, for instance, heard the
ticking of the clock in the neighbouring cell of an old monk in her
dressing-room. The monks dined in the refectory; the Prince in a
passage which had been arranged as a dining-room. At first provisions
arrived from Kronstadt only twice in the week. But no deprivations
seemed worth mentioning here, for in Sinaia as in Monrepos was forest
air and liberty in which the Princess delighted.

Higher up in the valley, under the shade of high trees, the Prince had
built a shooting-box, and surrounded it with a simple garden. Under its
roof the Princess arranged a tiny room very artistically. One gazes
through coloured windows upon the groups of fir trees of a hundred
years’ growth. A simple desk covered with cloth, a pair of chairs, and
a low table laden with books, paint brushes, and colours are all its
furniture. It is the sanctum of the Princess, to which she retires when
the stream of visitors who unceasingly come out to Sinaia have fatigued
her. Here she can write, paint, and compose poetry undisturbed.

Scientific men, musicians, and painters are constantly invited to
Sinaia, and are often for weeks the guests of the princely pair. Here
they lead an ideal life. Intercourse with distinguished people, be
they artists or learned or otherwise clever men, is the great delight
of the Prince and Princess. They love to gaze, as it were, into the
workshop whence thought has sprung, and have a deep regard for the
earnestness of labour in art or science. Gaiety and cheerfulness reign
in these circles. Often the Princess will read to the assembled company
at breakfast a poem she has just completed, that treats of their
conversations or the events of the day, with youthful cheerfulness.
By noon the winged words have already been set to music by one of the
musicians, and presented to the Princess as a duet, trio, or quartette,
according to the voices of those present. In the evening these new
compositions are performed, and the young people end the day with
dances and games.

Long walks and climbing parties are undertaken during the fine weather.
Accompanied by the sound of the waves of the restless Pelesch, one
climbs along grassy walks into the steep beech woods. In a convenient
costume for mountaineering, the Princess, hat in hand, leads the way
for the joyous company. She feels at home in the woods or in the
mountains: they are her kingdom, and there her fancy is free. The
following poem was composed on the 12th of September 1873, under the
trees near the shooting-box:--


MY COMRADES.

    “We dwelt together, where flows the Rhine,
    The forest and I and these songs of mine,
    In the days when my life was young.
    And we whispered low to the silver stream,
    When its ripples were kissed by the moon’s pure beam,
    What we fancied and dreamed and sung.

    But a fateful hour there dawned for me,
    When I sought, afar from my comrades three,
    In the glittering east a home:
    Farewell, I cried, I am sad at heart,
    Ye friends of my childhood, for we must part;
    Will none of you with me come?

    Then the Rhine and the forest shook each his head--
    Too old to wander, are we, they said,
    Although we have held thee dear.
    But lo! when I reached this eastern land,
    The rhymes came round me, a merry band,
    For my songs had followed me here!”

Here in Sinaia Princess Elizabeth came into direct communication with
the people, winning hearts and showering blessings everywhere. In order
to encourage native industry she made up her mind to wear the Roumanian
national costume during their summer residence in the Carpathians. All
the ladies of the Court soon followed her example, and carried out the
wish of their sovereign. One could imagine oneself transported into the
middle of a fairy tale whilst a troop of lovely ladies, in glittering
garments which glow with bright colours, suddenly appear on a hill-side
or beside a mountain stream under mighty beech and fir-trees. There
are dainty embroideries in gold and silver, golden head-dresses and
long flowing veils which are picturesquely bound round the head and
neck. The whole of this oriental costume has its charms enhanced by the
lively southern temperament of the Roumanian ladies.

Princess Elizabeth has a motherly love and care for her ladies of
honour, and leads quite a patriarchal family life with them. She is
particularly fond of surrounding herself with young people. Young girls
are constantly invited to spend some weeks at Sinaia, where they are
allowed to share the laborious life of their mistress, who cannot bear
to see any one sitting idle near her. Every one around the Princess
must be in a state of constant activity. The pet name of “Whirlwind,”
given to her in fun in her childhood, was also applied to her later by
a relation. The Princess and her ladies write and read, make music,
write poetry, work and paint together. She endeavours to awaken a love
of nature in the minds of the young, and to enliven their walks with
interesting conversations. The Princess is constant in her endeavours
to awaken intellectual interests in her people, and hopes by this
serious foundation to overcome the frivolous tone of society, and to
train the mothers of the coming generation to a more ideal life. It
is a lovely sight to see the Princess, in the becoming dress of the
country, sitting under the trees with a circle of young girls around
her, some of whom are closely pressed to her. The Princess either reads
to them or discusses a charitable institution for the country, and
sometimes a plan for a future poem. Then one sees beautiful brown eyes
looking up at “Dòamna Elisabeta” with love and admiration. All freely
express their thoughts and feelings. The Princess has been compared to
the women of the Middle Ages, and called “Anne de Bretagne.” She is
indeed a bright example of deep culture and feminine virtues to all
women.

The little Princess Marie flourished and grew in this happy circle,
and was a charming and peculiarly thoughtful child, as her mother had
been. She was, as she is described in Carmen Sylva’s fairy tale, a
“sunny child, full of grace and charm.” Happiness and love had been
given to her as companions and playfellows. Joy and bliss, which no
pen could describe or brush depict, then rained upon her. It was an
endless May-day. “The mother watched her daughter’s happy games from a
distance, and blessed the earth upon which her child was so radiantly
happy.”

The happy time spent amid the solitudes of woods and mountains and
in that fine air passed only too quickly. Life in the capital, with
its many claims, had to be taken up again, but happiness remained.
This feeling is expressed in the month of January 1872, in which the
Princess writes to her mother:--“They talk of a costume ball: it amuses
me immensely, for I have never seen anything of the sort, and think it
must be like a charming fairy tale. We insist upon being young again,
and having childish amusements! I am particularly pleased to be able to
show that I am no Puritan, and can discuss ‘Chiffons,’ when something
pretty is to be arranged. A great many people come to me for advice,
as they know that Charles has treasures in the shape of old books
and engravings. My quiet reading in the morning consoles me for the
cutting up of the day. So I do not give my time to my correspondence,
as I must prepare myself in order to help others with good advice, bad
Roumanian, studies of costumes, and conversation.”

Meanwhile much illness and constant fever had by degrees so weakened
the Princess that a change of air became necessary. In the middle of
March she had to start alone for Italy without her husband or child,
and attended only by her suite. In Rome she was to meet some relations.
Thousands had called after her “Intorceti sanatose” (Return in good
health) when she left her country. In May the Princess returned,
blooming in recovered health. The Prince had travelled to meet her, and
welcomed her on the Danube. “That was a romantic meeting,” she writes.
“I was on the _Stephen_, Charles on the _Romania_, gay with flags and
pennons. We flew towards one another in brilliant sunshine. Both of us
were standing on deck watching to see when the other eagerly expected
ship should appear. I saw the child two days later in Comana; she is
indeed charming. You cannot imagine what a sweet and affectionate
little being she is. If she embraces any one she says at once, ‘Make
all happy,’ and kisses all present. She is easy to educate, for she
is so unhappy when she has done something silly that one has to
comfort her. As soon as her heart is appealed to, all obstinacy and
contrariness disappear. She is also such a sensible and patient child,
and her blue eyes have such a deep gaze. What thoughts dwell behind
that high forehead, I wonder, which looks so promising? I think that
the love and joy of a mother will remain the same as long as the world
stands, and make up to one for all the trials and troubles of life. But
earthly happiness must be very delicately handled: it is very easily
shattered.”

The Princess of Wied no longer lived at Monrepos with Fräulein Lavater.
The Prince of Wied and his bride had made their home there. Only ten
minutes’ distance from there, and nearly on the same height, the
Princess had had a house built for herself. It is surrounded by woods,
and has a beautiful view on the Rhine, the mountains, towns, and
villages. After the village of Segendorf, which lies at the foot of the
hill, the house of the Princess was called Segen House. By means of the
silent, all-pervading spirit of love that reigns there, and the loving
and active sympathy of the Princess for all suffering and those who
were in need of help, the house soon became a real “Segenhaus” (House
of blessing) to all who cross its hospitable threshold. The current of
intellectual life has also accompanied the Princess of Wied to her new
home.

In the summer of 1873 Princess Elizabeth travelled thither with her
little daughter. It was the first time since her marriage that she had
seen her German home. The happiness of those weeks which she spent with
her mother, her brother and sister-in-law, and the dear old friends in
town and country, was unclouded. “Monrepos! Monrepos! the laughing,
rustling, and sweet-scenting forest welcomes me, and happy faces peer
at me through it. Yes, Monrepos was my Paradise!” She seemed to live
through her childhood and youth again with their deep joys and sorrows,
inward struggles and ultimate peace. Yes, happiness is not to be found
in an eternally blue sky, but in infinitesimally small things out of
which we shape our life ourselves.


THE HOME OF MY FATHERS.

    “The nightingale’s song of yearning
    Is blent with the streamlet’s sigh;
    Above and around the gables
    The swallows circling fly.

    And they sing of the passing races
    That have lived and loved there of yore,
    How they vanished away in their season,
    Yet the line is renewed as before.

    The seed of their spirit’s sowing
    Still blooms, though the years decay;
    The earth cannot hide or consume it,
    Nor the storm cannot sweep it away.

    The strength of the house is quickened
    With the glow of ancestral fires;
    The child from the father inherits,
    And the ancient spirit inspires.

           *       *       *       *       *

    The Rhine oft rises in greeting
    Around my city’s wall,
    And twineth his arms about her,
    For he loves her best of all.”

With justified maternal pride the mother could gaze on her fair-haired
and only little daughter, who became again here the centre of all love
and care. On the journey between Mayence and Neuwied the child had
repeatedly asked, “Is that mamma’s Rhine?” But the little Princess
Marie had, notwithstanding her tender age, an irresistible longing for
the country in which she had first seen the light. She was constantly
craving to be back again in her distant home, and became nearly ill
from home sickness. During the whole journey she kept repeating--“Home,
home, let us go home!” When the Roumanian students came to meet them at
the station at Vienna, she called out to them in Roumanian, “I am going
home to Bucharest with eight horses.”

On the return of the Princess to Roumania, they once more took up
their abode in the romantic old monastery of Sinaia. Typhus and
scarlet fever were raging in Bucharest. The Princess writes full of
anxiety--“Bucharest is in such an unhealthy state that I shall return
to it with fear and trembling. Typhus fever and angina reign there
supreme. Diphtheria has carried off many of the children. They die in a
few hours. I often become as unsettled and melancholy as a dark day in
the autumn. Then an interesting person or piece of news comes in, and
one brightens up like the dew in the sunshine.”

“_22nd November._--It is four years to-day since I arrived in
Turnu Severin. Now I see the world here in a different light. The
tranquillity which habit brings has come over me, instead of all my
fear and trembling. And I feel safer here, and more in my right place,
than anywhere else in the world.”


_To her Brother._

    “BUCHAREST, 1873.

“People now often come to me to discuss their own affairs and seek for
advice, comfort, and help. This makes me very happy, and as I wrote to
some one lately: I am beginning to grow to my ideal, which is to become
the confidential adviser of the Roumanian State, house, and family.
This is a very grateful office, and only in this manner can I become
really happy in my intercourse with so many people.

“Yes, my life here is very rich and full. I could not have imagined or
wished it otherwise! It had to be attained by great sacrifices, and my
endeavour is to make it worthy of them.”

       *       *       *       *       *

“_24th November 1873._--Itty now begins to say such pretty little
things. Seeing the bust of her father lately, she exclaimed--‘Oh, look
how Jack Frost has fallen on papa.’ She has made great progress in
Roumanian this autumn, and sings three Roumanian songs, also a German
ditty. All the games of the Kindergarten go very well already.”

“_24th March 1874._--Itty has not forgotten any part of her stay in
‘Segenhaus’--no place and no name; and likes to talk of it all. She is
a little Will-o’-the-Wisp, in all corners at once, which is a great
trial for Mentor, the favourite dog. She makes him nervous, and he
struggles to free himself from her embraces. He is not demonstrative,
and likes to be left in peace. It is too funny to see them!”

“_February 1874._--Diphtheria and scarlet fever are raging in
Bucharest. A great many children die. When we mothers meet we ask each
other, ‘Are your children still well?’”

The little Princess also had a slight attack of diphtheria, which was
soon overcome by speedy remedies. In the course of the winter she asked
her mother--“Will the frost come down from the little stars where God
lives and make Itty cold?” On Palm Sunday, the 5th of April, she was
seized with scarlet fever of very serious symptoms. Diphtheria was soon
added to it, and the danger increased every hour. It was impossible
to persuade the child to allow herself to be put into her crib. “Oh!
no, no!” she sobbed; “if I lie down, I shall go to sleep and never
wake again.” During the night of Maunday Thursday, whilst burning
with fever, the sweet child repeatedly called out--“I will drive to
Sinaia and drink of the water of the Pelesch.” When a cooling drink was
offered to her she shook her little head and said--“All is finished!”
It was on Maunday Thursday, the 9th of April; the child lay on the
lap of its English nurse. Her mother knelt before her, holding her
little hands. After violent attacks of suffocation, she breathed once
more--then a great silence followed--no breath stirred again.

Till the last moment the Princess had not realised that the bright life
of her child was nearing its close. But when all was still, and she
grasped the dreadful certainty, she bent with humble resignation before
the holy will of God. She herself closed the loved blue eyes of her
precious child, then rose quite calm and collected, and thanked the
doctors for their faithful care. No words of complaint passed her lips!
Her strength remained firm till they placed the body of the child in
its little bed.

The tender care of the Prince for his beloved wife was very touching.
He was utterly prostrated by the unexpected blow, and earnestly sought
for comfort and composure. “God loved my child more than ever I did,
and so He has taken it to Himself!” exclaimed the poor mother with
wonderful calmness. When the little body was placed in the coffin, and
it had been closed over her, the Princess put her hand on it and spoke
as in prayer--“God bless my child.” The Prince himself helped to bear
the coffin to the staircase of the palace. A troop of young girls from
the Asyle Hélène opened the procession, singing the funeral hymn with
hushed voices. In their white dresses, long white veils, and wreaths of
white flowers, they seemed spirits of light preceding the sunny child
to its last resting-place. Not four years had passed since the little
Princess had been baptized in the Church of Cotroceni, and now the
little coffin stood on the same place covered with flowers. Multitudes
of people from the town and the country joined the procession.

Upon the slope of a hill between the Asyle Hélène and the park of
Cotroceni lies the little grave, hidden in a wood, near the Church of
Elisabeta Dòamna. A low mound with a simple stone marks the place where
the princely pair had laid to rest their little daughter who was so
passionately loved! On the stone is engraved the consoling words of St.
Luke viii. 53: “WEEP NOT, FOR SHE IS NOT DEAD, BUT SLEEPETH.” Trees,
firs and pines, as well as all sorts of roses and flowers, surround
this little sanctum, which is entrusted to the care and protection of
the orphan child of the Asyle Hélène. Beside it stands the simple seat
as a resting-place.

The sorrow of the parents for the loss of their only child can never be
lightened, and will only end with their last breath. But the hope of a
heavenly life beyond the grave is the comfort of these bereaved ones!

For many months hundreds of people made pilgrimages to this spot,
for the whole country mourned with the afflicted parents. During
her short life the little Princess Marie had become the idol of the
people, and the Roumanians had looked up to her with pride as being
their own possession! All who were allowed to approach the bereaved
parents during this time of bitter sorrow were much impressed by their
unselfish resignation to the mysterious will of God. When the Princess
was given to understand this, she answered--“Dites à leur tous, que je
tâche de suivre l’example de ma mère. Je l’ai vue souffrir! Elle était
plus forte que moi!”

On the 12th of April 1874, after the death of her child, Princess
Elizabeth wrote to her mother:--“God has drawn my child to Himself in
His love! May He eternally be praised for the great happiness which
was mine! I would rather become a weeping rock like Niobe than never
have been a mother! Yes, it is too much joy for one little human
heart! My child is so happy, my love is stronger than the grave, and
I can rejoice in its joy! There is so much to say about the little
one, because she already had such marked characteristics, and was
so independent, original, and charming. Still she is mine for all
eternity! I have not lost the high dignity of a mother because my
child is separated from me. The great happiness which I enjoy is not
too dearly bought with this great sorrow! The pain is a thousand times
outweighed by the joy, for it was joy without a pang, and now it is
joyful pain!

    “The chill frost came in the night, the night,
      And my flower all withered lies.
    His icy touch was so light, so light,
      But it closed her fair blue eyes.

    Ah me! is it thus that my joys depart,
    While stricken and mute I stand.
    O frost, let the fire that burns at my heart
    Be quenched by thy cold, wet hand.

                _May 1, 1874._

“Yes, God has given me much, very much. Such a father, such a mother,
such a brother, such a husband, and such a child. Too much indeed! and
though He removes them from my sight He does not take away His heavenly
gifts, for they dwell for ever in my memory. I feel that after such
great blessings I have no right to complain, and even to-day the joy
is so great in retrospection that the sorrow cannot crush me. I often
say that a mother’s love is deeper than the grave, and I rejoice in the
bliss of my child. But that the world cannot be otherwise than dark and
gloomy to me is not to be altered, and must be borne.

    “Wherefore give to poor weak women--
    To Earth-Mothers--babes from Heaven,
              God, O God?
    Fairy boons, seen but to vanish
    Like a light-ray, like an air-waft!
    Must then that which was one’s Soul’s soul,
    Be so reft away, and leave us,
    Leave us, struck in Life’s mid fulness
    Deathly-sorrowful, and faltering?

    Wherefore mad’st Thou us so humble,
    So in lowliest clay entangled,
              God, O God?
    That we, with our own dear children
    No more to consort are worthy?
    So that, from our arms unskilful
    Thou dost them withdraw, O Father?
    When our sad frail hearts were breaking?

    Formerly ’twas sunshine round us,
    Days of peace, and long rejoicing,
              God, O God!
    Now is mortal silence o’er us,
    Now is icy hush of heart!
    As when storms have wrought their direst,
    Mastless, anchorless the barque drifts,
    So on Death’s grey waves we welter,
    And we still must live, O Father!

                --_Translated by Sir Edwin Arnold._

“The people here regard it as a great happiness to die on Thursday in
holy week, for on that day, they say, Heaven is open, and one flies in.
Consequently they regard me as a happy mother, to whom God has granted
that for which they ever pray, which is that if He sees fit to take a
child, it may die on this Thursday. What a curious coincidence! Even
this brings us nearer to the people, for they regard us as so richly
blessed. The whole country shows us the greatest sympathy. Our little
grave is always covered with wreaths and flowers which are placed
there by unknown hands. The girls from the Asyle come singly to the
grave in the early morning, say their prayer, bring a little flower,
and see that the lamp is still burning. It is a great help to me that
I came into a country where so much is done in memory of the dead.
Consequently that which lies nearest my heart is all arranged for me.
‘Dimbovitza apa dulce! Cine o bea nu se mai due!’

    “Dimbovitza! Magic river,
    Silver shining, memory haunted,
    He who drinks thy crystal waters
    Ne’er can quit thy shores enchanted.

    Dimbovitza! all too deeply
    Drank I of thy flowing river;
    For my love, my inmost being
    There, meseems, have sunk for ever.

    Dimbovitza! Dimbovitza!
    All my soul hast thou in keeping,
    Since beneath thy banks of verdure
    Lies my dearest treasure sleeping.”

Shortly before the child had been taken ill, the Princess had suffered
much from her eyes, and could now hardly occupy herself at all. It was
a great affliction to her to whom work was life! During these sad, dark
days she framed the sweet expressions of her child in verses which one
cannot read without emotion. The following poem is on the poetical
desire of the little Princess to kiss the sunbeams:--

    “On the earth, in the shimmer
    Of shining sunbeams
    Which in golden light gleams
    Paint the colours that glimmer,
    How often, my child,
    In those halcyon days
    Hast thou lain, and smiled,
    Kissing the rays.

    Didst draw them to thee
    With thy fingers in sport,
    Or came they unsought
    Thy playmates to be?
    I ne’er could divine,
    But methinks at thy birth
    Thou wast sent on a sunbeam
    To me and the earth.”

And now the sunbeams have kissed the lovely child and taken her away
with them. It seems as if all earthly hopes and all earthly joy
had been buried with her. A deep sorrow and an unutterable longing
stole into the heart of the Princess, which only a mother can really
understand, and which can only end with life. On the 25th of April the
following poem was found in the Journal--


LONGING.

    “I long to feel thy little arm’s embrace,
      Thy little silver-sounding voice to hear,
    I long for thy warm kisses on my face,
      And for thy bird-like carol, blithe and clear.

    I long for every childish, loving word,
      And for thy little footsteps, fairy light,
    That hither, thither moved and ever stirred
      My heart with them to gladness infinite.

    And for thy hair I long--that halo blest
      Hanging in golden glory round thy brow.
    My child, can aught such longing lull to rest?
      Nay, heaven’s bliss alone can end it now!”




[Illustration]

IX.

Quiet Life.


“In work, in constant and unwearied labour, we must look for comfort in
sorrow,” says Carmen Sylva, in her tale, “The Pilgrimage of Sorrow.”
This has been truly carried out in her life. Whilst composing those
sorrowful poems in which her unutterable longing for her lost child
is expressed in such touching words, the Princess could become quite
cheerful for a few moments in the recollection of her lost happiness
as a mother. But her health had suffered much from all she had gone
through. The doctors urged a water cure in Franzensbad. Prince Charles
escorted his consort thither in the summer of 1874. In Franzensbad her
pen became more than ever her best friend, and her intellectual labours
brought her comfort and strength.

At first no one in Roumania guessed that Princess Elizabeth was a
poetess. When the Roumanian poet Alexandri once waited upon her at
Bucharest, the Princess said, whilst blushing deeply--“I should like
to make a confession to you, but I have not the courage.” After much
hesitation the Princess whispered shyly--“I also write poetry.” At
Alexandri’s request she let him see some of her poems. He recognised
her poetic talent at once, and encouraged her to go on with what was
but a reflection of her thoughts and feelings. When a time of deep
sorrow came to the Princess, Alexandri wrote many poems for her. He
then sent her a thick volume of his poems to Franzensbad, and she began
to translate the legends of the people of Roumania into German. “In
Franzensbad,” writes the Princess, “the greatest change took place in
my powers of writing poetry. Till then I had not known that poetry was
an art, or that it could be learnt, if one were not a poet by nature.
To learn to make verses seemed to me as if one would teach a bird to
sing. Verses and rhymes flowed more easily from my pen than prose.
I was afraid that if I were to bind myself to rules and regulations
I should forfeit the power of writing verse as a punishment for my
arrogance and conceit. But in the unutterable woe of the spring of
1874 writing poetry brought me no relief. Only consecutive hard work
could soothe me. And so I took to translating. Alexandri’s ‘Rows of
Pearls’ attracted me the most, because Kotzebue in his translation had
completely changed the metre and altered much. Then I suddenly realised
that I did not understand the very elements of the art of poetry. I was
hampered for words and rhymes. This had never happened to me, and my
work was very unsatisfactory. I wanted to ask a hundred questions at
every word, and did not know of whom.”

Thereupon Wilhelm von Kotzebue also came to Franzensbad. He had long
held a diplomatic post in Moldavia, and was well known to the literary
world as a writer. He had also translated the national songs which
Alexandri had collected into German. The Princess now discussed her
translations with him. Kotzebue, an earnest and noble man, showed
and explained to the Princess her faults in the construction of her
verses. Now she had to work by rule and submit to certain laws--“But
in that hour in which a man like Kotzebue thought it worth his while
to criticise my work, I began to believe in my talent.” “I did not
venture,” said the Princess, “to show him an original poem, but only my
first translations of Roumanian poetry. They were very full of faults
and clumsy, because I knew nothing of the science of poetry then,
though I was thirty years old. I altered the ‘Rows of Pearls’ four
times, and once more before it was printed. I never learnt so much as
whilst I was translating. Even for many years after this I regarded
my talent as a misfortune, for I thought it was not suited for my
vocation. Like a child stealing sweetmeats, I always threw away my pen
when some one came into my room.”

“Is it not wonderful?” the Princess writes to her mother. “If heaven
takes my loved ones from me with one hand, it sheds the noblest and
highest treasures upon me with the other, and in what more loving and
attractive manner could I serve my country than in now translating the
literary treasures of my German Fatherland into Roumanian! When I am
not asleep my hands and my head do not rest for a moment, for I break
down utterly otherwise. But constant activity keeps my mind fresh, and
it is only at times that some sweet recollection overpowers me.

    “O think not, since my heart is stricken,
    All vanished are the joys that quicken!
      There yet remains a boundless store--
    Though, bereavèd, I may never
    Hear a mother’s name for ever,
      Thou’rt still ‘my mother’ as before.”

A great longing to see her beloved mother again took possession of the
Princess. The Princess of Wied had been prevented by illness from being
with her daughter during her time of deepest sorrow. When they had last
met, the happy childish voice of the little Princess Marie had been
heard above the others. Now they could only meet in sobs and tears! The
princely pair were to join the Princess of Wied at Cologne, and then to
remain some weeks with her at St. Leonard’s on the English coast.

The Princess writes to the Princess of Wied from Franzensbad on the
19th of July:--“It is good to fill one’s mind with great impressions.
One returns full of thought. I am looking forward to England like a
child. I know what it will be to sit on the shore with you and listen
to the sound of the waves. To see London is also a great attraction.”

“Looking back on this time,” the Princess writes, “it was a great
refreshment to disappear in that vast London. We had never seen Max
Müller till then, but had been often in communication with him, and we
telegraphed to him that we were coming to Oxford. He received us at
the station, and invited us to stay at his house. The two days spent
in the peaceful atmosphere of his home, in that charming family circle
which had not then been broken, soothed and cheered me. This happiness
could not weigh upon the unhappy; it could but do one good and allay
the storm. It was the happiness of a wise man. We also made the
acquaintance of Jane Stanley. I had then finished a little book in the
form of a missal for my mother, which I called ‘My Journey through the
World’--all sorts of verses and rhymes, dedicated to my mother. Charles
Kingsley was present when I surprised my mother with this present. I
showed him the poem--


MY ONLY ONE.

    “O let no evil betide her,
    No sin her pure heart enthrall;
    My God, with Thine own hand guide her--
    Thou knowest she is my all.

His shining blue eyes filled with tears, and sobs heaved in his breast.
My mother wept for sorrow and joy, and only I was tearless. This little
book contained poems written from the time of my confirmation to my
thirtieth year, of which my mother had seen hardly any, for they had,
except on very exceptional occasions, been hidden from those nearest
and dearest to me.”

Amongst them were the two following poems written in English:--


SERVE THE LORD WITH GLADNESS.

    “Through Life’s deep shadow, grief and pain,
    Where none by me beloved remain,
    I ever heard the echoing strain,
    O serve the Lord with gladness.

    In sorrow and in anguish cast,
    When hope and joy away were passed,
    It oft came sounding in the blast,
    O serve the Lord with gladness.

    But now I know the joy that stays,
    The ever bright and sunny rays,
    And soft and low I sing the praise,
    O serve the Lord with gladness.”

                _March 3, 1868._


MY SUNNY HOME.

    “A sunny home
    It is to me,
    Where through the fields and forests free
    O’er hill and dale I roam.

    A sunny home
    In love’s sweet reign,
    Where sacrifice was ne’er a pain,
    Or labour wearisome.

    A sunny home
    Where every shade
    Is lighted by a ray that stayed
    Of sun and joy to come.

    A sunny home
    It’s still to me,
    When far away o’er land and sea
    A stranger sad I roam.”

After her return to Bucharest, Princess Elizabeth began to illuminate
in water-colours in the style of a missal. These works of art were
quickly completed by her clever hands. On the 23rd of November she
writes in a letter from Bucharest--“Art in all its forms is but a
prayer. Consequently, when it is inspired, it brings peace and joy into
the hearts of others. Art places us on the Virful-cu-Dor (the Heights
of Longing), and whilst she shows us the world at our feet, still she
directs our longing gaze upwards. Then peace, perfect peace returns to
us.”

“_Bucharest, December 26, 1874._--To-morrow at eight o’clock the poor
receive their Christmas gifts. Wood and clothes are distributed to a
thousand poor people. Tuesday is a festival and day of rest, on which
I shall not say, ‘Oh, were I never born!’ For I am glad that I live,
and can have manifold experiences, and think and hope. I think life
is a blessing which has given me more than enough, for instance this
translating and this painting, which comes into my life as something
new and eventful. I think I must have taken some of the woodland soil
of my German home away with me, and unexpected streams well up from
under my feet. I am thankful to you, my earthly gods, for this, for
your endless love, earnestness, and wealth of thought have made me
the heiress of these your hardly-won treasures. If I have a good idea,
I ask myself, ‘From which of my parents does it come, to whom am I
beholden for it?’”

“_January 7, 1875._--I do not translate now, as I am writing so much
myself. As soon as I take up my pen, original thoughts flow into my
mind, and then it is difficult for me to transcribe the thoughts of
others. What we create ourselves is the most beautiful, translating
the most useful. I am always under the immediate impression of what
I am reading, and so the thoughts of Bernstein, and particularly a
description of the Atlantic cable, inspired my ‘Songs of the Sea.’

“Paul Keyse’s ‘Balder’ set me making verses of the same metre, which
are so pleasant to compose. I have arranged a Choral Society with
Lubitz, the new musician, with whom we sing in chorus. He is delighted
with the Roumanian songs, melodies, and words, and will arrange them as
a chorus. Our Choral Society makes good progress. Our working classes
are extending, and with them the interest for the good cause. Herr
Hoetsch has given us a house for the Infant School and the meetings of
our Society. Three times a week 160 to 170 women fetch their work from
thence. Enough flowers grow on my thorny path to refresh me.”

On the 7th of May the princely pair had moved up to Cotroceni. “The
nightingales are singing, and the damp earth has an agreeable scent.
It is absolutely still. The first thing I did was to set free thirty
nightingales which I had bought in the market for sixty francs. Perhaps
they will stay here. You should have seen how the poor little birds,
still quite stiff from their fetters, at first remained on my hand,
then slowly stretched their necks, and then it was but one beat of
their wings and they were free! I rejoiced each time! Here I shall set
to work again. What hinders me most is the want of interest of those
who know too little German and too little Roumanian to be able to help
me to understand. Perhaps I shall take drawing lessons from the new
directress of the Asyle, Madame Pinel, a scholar of Horace Vernet, and
thereby entice one young lady after the other. In this way I should
be able to found a school of drawing in the same manner as the Choral
Society by mixing with the scholars.”

On the 19th of July 1875 the Princess writes from Sinaia:--“How I
have longed for the forest! Yesterday I told it to the Pelesch, whose
rushing and foaming waterfall seemed to make moan, the leaves of the
beech trees whispered and trembled and the sunbeams came flying to
me. All promised me new songs, and said that if they were eternal and
unceasing my poetry must be so too.”

Finding it impossible to make a fixed residence in the uncomfortable
apartments which were all that the convent at Sinaia could offer, the
Prince began to build a castle of his own in the woods. At the place
which had been the favourite haunt of the little Princess Marie, the
foundation stone of Castle Pelesch was laid on the 22nd of August 1875.
The wishes of the Princess as to the spirit which should reign in this
new home are laid in the foundation-stone with the archives and the
coins. They are expressed as follows:--

    “My thoughts they fall and flatter
      Like leaves from off the trees;
    They flutter, float, and scatter,
      As in a dream one sees;

    And then take shape in singing
      And come to face of day,
    Leaf-thoughts life’s storm is bringing
      Down on my brow alway.

    And out from springs deep-hidden
      With ever newer might
    Rush waves of words unbidden
      Brought from the gloom to light.

    Brought into sight so slowly,
      From caverns unbeheld,
    Sought for with prayings lowly;
      Distinct, and then dispelled.

    A thought of light that glideth
      Down from the heavenly hall,
    Wherever it abideth
      Maketh a sunbeam fall.

    Of equal radiance, springing
      From sunset or sunrise;
    Of equal help for singing
      Or praying, I comprise.

    All thoughts which bright hopes nourish
      In this our building--sown
    Like spirit-seed to flourish
      From its foundation-stone.”

                --_Translated by Sir Edwin Arnold._

“The quiet valley of Sinaia has quite changed its character, and is
now like a colony in the back woods, with wooden huts and wigwams.
Twelve to fourteen languages are spoken on the place where the castle
is building. The overseer of the works is the Court sculptor, Martin
Stohr. His wood-carvings adorn the Castle and the Palace in Bucharest,
and remind one of the first period of the Renaissance by their
wonderful finish. Upon a great height among the gigantic forests, and
on soil belonging to the Prince, is a magnificent stone quarry which
furnishes all the stone required for the building of the castle. A
small railway leads up to it, and there the Italian workmen have taken
up their abode. The building of the line of railway through the Prahova
Valley was begun at the same time as that of the castle.”

But the footsteps of the Princess became weary and weak again, till
illness once more completely prostrated her. As she lay in bed for
months, unable to put her foot to the ground, the Princess, as has
already been mentioned, found courage to write down a complete account
of the life of her remarkable brother, Prince Otto. Princess Elizabeth
was content, in spite of her sufferings, and wrote to her mother on the
28th of November:--“You cannot fancy how grateful I am for the quiet
that this winter brings. I have so often said to God in the course of
the summer--‘I can no more’--that He has shown that my strength is at
an end, and that I must concentrate and recover my powers. No turbulent
wave swells into my boudoir, and the restlessness without only feeds
the world of thought in my quiet room.”

       *       *       *       *       *

“_4th December._--This quiet is more than a blessing to me. During the
last year my mind and body have been craving for rest. Now I have
at last attained to it, and am very thankful. Why are there so many
commonplace people and so few that are interesting? They all keep a
firm hold on me, like so many leeches, and do not understand that quiet
peace is the ideal of life, the highest aim of the Epicureans.”

       *       *       *       *       *

“_13th December._--I have finished another story, but it is a very sad
one. The pictures my fancy paints are seldom bright; indeed they never
were. My childish stories even were always sad and dreadful. I think
that laughter dwells outside, and not within me, and is but hung about
me like a bright garment. Or is it the wonderful brightness of your
nature and my father’s which is struggling within me, or is it life and
its sorrows? Are our sad experiences alone worth dwelling upon? Who can
tell?”

       *       *       *       *       *

Prince Charles was ill, and Princess Elizabeth still unable to walk.
She longed for some of her family to visit her, but none of them could
come to her. This increased her melancholy state of mind. “And during
this long illness I tasted all the bitterness of life, the very depths
of hopelessness and despair which could abide in the heart of man.
But comfort is sent to all. I have my pen, which is given to me for
drawing, and poetry, and which make up to me for everything! It flies
ever quicker, for the stream of my thoughts flows continuously, and
the scene of my labours enlarges and increases with my anxiety for the
well-being of others.”

At last the Princess of Wied was expected. Her Highness arrived in May,
and stayed till August with her children in Cotroceni and Sinaia, to
the great delight of Princess Elizabeth, who had now quite recovered
her health. This meeting, which she had so long anxiously looked
forward to, found an echo in the following poem--

    “Ye little blossoms, linger still!
    Ye nightingales prolong your trill!
    Thou sun a tempered radiance cast,
    And, Zephyr, breathe a gentler blast!
            She comes!

    Ye grasses, don your diamond dew,
    And let the sunbeams twinkle through!
    Spread, fragrant odours, far and wide!
    Thou restless brook, restrain thy tide!
            She comes!

    Beat not, my throbbing heart, so loud!
    No envious tears my vision shroud!
    Let the whole world lift up his voice
    And with the spring, and me, rejoice!
            She comes!”

After her mother had left, she writes to her in September:--“Sinaia
looks the same as of old, it is so full of merriment, of life and joy.
People stream in and out, and then I am quite well again. We make
voyages of discovery and start on climbing excursions every day. In
all states of life it is pleasanter to be the stronger one who can
impart to others some of his _trop plein_ than the weak one who goes
a-begging. What an enjoyment it is not to depend on others! For the
first time since many years I feel as if I were carried by the air when
I am walking, and yet I am no sylph. We now live in the house in the
wood from half-past eight in the morning till half-past seven in the
evening. It is quite ideal, like a nest amidst the green, and really a
little paradise, so cosy and so warm among the fir-trees.”

When autumn comes in, Bucharest becomes once more the centre of
ever-renewing duties. Then the Princess resumes her life of hard work.
She rises at five in the morning, and lighting her little lamp herself,
she works till eight in a room artistically adorned with paintings,
palms, and towering ferns. Thick carpets hush the sound of footsteps.
The walls are hung with deep-toned colours. Cosy little nooks and
corners to sit in are arranged under tropical plants. The silence
which surrounds the Princess is only broken by the murmur of the little
fountain and the chirping of the birds. In these early morning hours
the Princess works at her poetic creations, and gains strength for the
cares and duties of the day.

After breakfasting alone with the Prince, businesses and audiences
begin. The reception-rooms of Prince and Princess are often not empty
for nine or ten hours with but short interruptions. At a particular
hour the former ladies-in-waiting who have been married since then,
may see the Princess without being announced. Every Thursday a concert
takes place. Foreigners and natives are invited to take part on
these occasions. Some times Roumanian gentlemen read aloud either a
scientific French book or the works of modern Roumanian poets. Princess
Elizabeth wishes to be thoroughly well-informed, and every talent finds
a patroness in her. “I have arranged something very pleasant,” she
writes to her mother. “Twice a week I get Vacaresco to read ancient
Roumanian Chronicles to me. He is as well up in them as a professor,
and holds explanatory lectures between whiles, which are open to all.
Imagine my ideal room with its fountains and lamps and abatjours, the
pretty girls with their work under the spreading palms, and I, pen in
hand, noting down every new word. And then the curious past which is
unrolled before us, in a magnificent classical Latin style, or in the
primitive forms of the old books of the Bible. I hope to find subjects
to work up in poetry. I am also arranging an Academy of Painting.
There is to be much singing and more reading aloud. Everything that
approaches me must be at work. Nobody and nothing may rest.”

“It is a peculiarity of mine to like to be surrounded by many workers.
I do not at all like a _tête-à-tête_: it always wants three people to
make up a pleasant conversation. In a _tête-à-tête_ one usually touches
on one’s little miseries about which it is much better to be silent.
I always live with open doors, so that people may come to me at any
time. This is a slight alleviation to my childlessness. I only reserve
the first hours from five to eight for my own work. After that I let
any one disturb me, and begin with my household affairs and the menu.
Consequently I often have people from ten in the morning till seven at
night.”

“The Prince likes to find me at every free moment he has, and so I am
always at home. He must never notice that I am at work. When he calls
or I hear his footsteps, pen and paint brush are thrown away till he
does not want me any more. For as he has much work to do, and sees
many people, we must make use of and prize the quarters of an hour
which belong to us alone. If I were to hesitate for a moment the time
would be gone and could not be reclaimed. Also I think that I am first
a wife, then the mother of my country, and then a poetess. But, thank
God, the genius of poetry goes secretly with me to the audiences, to
the forests, and to the schools, to dinners too, &c. Anything and
everything gives occasion to endless studies, and I gather treasures in
my memory which has ever been a trusty companion to me.”

“In politics the Prince is my oracle, and I avoid discussing them with
any one else. He gives me lectures on political economy, finances,
railways, and the army--everything in fact which concerns him. He has
a very decided turn for organisation. All his talents are exactly the
contrary of mine. Demeter Stourdza said lately that he had never seen
two people so complete in one another, and yet we could not be more
different, said I. ‘Yes,’ he answered, ‘the ways differ, but the idea
is ever the same.’” (From letters of the Queen in May and June 1884.)

But the quiet life of the royal pair was soon interrupted by the
beginning of a devastating war. The development of the fatal Eastern
Question was to introduce a new epoch, which not only converted
Roumania into a theatre of war, but also induced her to take an active
part in it herself. This decision was crowned with many and brilliant
successes.




[Illustration]

X.

The War and its Results.


Threatening clouds had arisen on the political horizon. The condition
of the Christian inhabitants of the tributary Turkish provinces had
become untenable. Servia and Montenegro had declared war with Turkey.
The rebellion had broken out in Bosnia, in Herzegovina, and in
Bulgaria. Russia had taken up the case in a warlike spirit which drove
her irresistibly forward. To free the Slavonic brothers from the yoke
of Turkey was the long desired object of Panslavistic thought. The
Emperor Alexander II. held it to be his sacred duty to go to the help
of the oppressed Christians who were one with him in name and in faith.
The decision of Russia to settle the Eastern Question by force of arms
decided the point. On the 13th of November 1876 the Emperor commanded
that six army corps in the south of Russia should be put in motion,
and he placed them under the command of his brother, the Grand Duke
Nicholas. On the 24th of April 1877 the Russian troops had crossed the
Pruth and were marching through Roumania.

On the 26th of April 1877 Prince Charles of Roumania opened the
extraordinary session of parliament in a solemn speech. He said--“War
is broken out: our efforts in regard to Turkey and the guaranteeing
powers that our neutrality should be accorded to us as our right have
been without success. We have borne many sacrifices for the upholding
of this neutrality, and it is required as a duty from us even by
foreign cabinets. The Porte has refused even to lay our requests before
the conference now assembled in Constantinople. Under these conditions
Roumania, no longer supported by other powers, must in future depend
upon its own exertions. It is our duty to prevent this land from
becoming the theatre of war at any price, and to make any sacrifices
required for this object. Such a war would reduce our towns and
villages to ashes, our people would be massacred, and our riches, the
fruits of the labours of a peace of twenty years, would be scattered by
this war, which we did not wish for, and which has not been declared by
any fault of ours.”

A few days later, on the 7th of May, the Prince had to address the
assembled Senate in the following words--

“Notwithstanding all our efforts to the contrary, the war that has
broken out between our two powerful neighbours has already led to
disastrous results in the part of our country that lies by the Danube.
Without a single bullet having fallen on our territory, our towns and
villages are beginning to be ruined and deserted, for the Ottoman
monitors, regardless of all international law, forced themselves into
our harbours and burned and destroyed the ships that lay at anchor
there, regardless of the flag under which they sailed. Unprotected
towns, as Braila, and particularly Reni, have been bombarded. Olteniza,
where not the smallest division of the Russian army is to be found,
shared the same fate. Marauding bands of Bashi-Bazouks have disturbed
the peace of the country in various places, have crossed the Danube,
and have burnt the ships lying at anchor in the river Jiul in the
harbour of Beket, and destroyed the dwellings of the people.”

Nothing more remained to be done but for Roumania to get rid of
the enemy by main force. On the 8th of May the Turks had opened a
bombardment on Kalafat from Widdin. Their cannon balls fell into the
Danube, and their firing was answered by the Roumanian forts. Thus
fell the first Roumanian shot against the Turks. The cannon had spoken,
and had settled the question. “Now the bands that connected us with
Turkey are broken,” said the Roumanians, “and may they be eternally
severed. The time of our guardianship by foreign powers and the times
of our servitude is over. Roumania is and will remain a free and
independent state.”

The declaration of the independence of Roumania was solemnly announced
to the people on the 22nd of May 1877. “From the day on which I
set foot on this ground I became a Roumanian,” said the Prince to
his subjects. “From the day on which I ascended this throne which
has become famous by many great and glorious Princes, the ideas of
those Princes have become the dominant idea of my reign--namely, the
resurrection of Roumania and the fulfilment of her mission in the
mouths of the Danube.” Prince Charles had already signed a convention
with Russia, and a Russo-Roumanian alliance followed soon after.

The war was now in full swing! On the 27th of May a cannonade had taken
place between Kalafat and Widdin. The battery of Carol I., with which
were the Prince and his suite, and the officers of the staff, fired the
first shot. After the second shot, all the Turkish batteries began
to open fire, and a lively cannonade was continued on both sides. The
first bombshell flew over the battery of Carol I., and burst quite
close to where the Prince was standing, but without doing him any harm.
“Charles has brought me the bombshell which burst at his side,” writes
the Princess. “They told me that he stood on the ramparts surrounded
by shot and shell. Some of the people crossed themselves, and Greciano
fell on his knees, for he thought his Prince was wounded. But Charles
waved his cap and cried ‘Hurrah! Bravo! Je suis habitué à cette
musique-là!’ Then a loud hurrah! resounded from all the batteries,
and was taken up by the whole camp, from whence it extended to the
town, and all the military bands began to play the National Anthem.
It must have been a thrilling moment! Three bombshells burst later in
the battery where Charles stood. In Craiova they wished to unharness
the horses and drag the carriage themselves, and threw wreaths and
bouquets, doves, and even small loaves of bread into his carriage.”
Carmen Sylva’s enthusiastic poem, entitled “Kalafat,” was written in
honour of this memorable day.


KALAFAT.

    “Downward the Danube floweth broad,
      So strength-assured, so peaceable;
    Fast in her arms the land she holds,
    And to her soft heart closely folds
      Those marches she must cover well.

    Widdin and Kalafat stand there
      Backed in the golden evening gleam,
    And quiet broodeth over all--
    Lo! thunders peal and lightnings fall!
      The firm earth shakes, smoke veils the stream!

    See, hissing in the golden flood,
      And shrilly whistling through the air,
    Flung from black fiery cannon-mouth
    Brotherly greetings hustle forth!
      The dreadful shells fly here and there!

    High on the topmost parapet
      There stands Prince Karl so tranquilly.
    Men! Gaze straight in the eyes of death,
    Your leader nothing pondereth
      Of dangers which around him be.

    He looks with earnest countenance
      Afield, and asks if Fortune’s hand
    Will help him storm with footmen brave
    Widdin, and bridge blue Danube’s wave
      For passage of his hero band.

    But ah! One pace in front of him
      A crash, a sparkling, splintering shock!
    Startled they see, where that bomb came,
    Their Prince amid a sea of flame
      Erect, alone, firm as the rock.

    One soldier wildly signs the cross,
      Another sinks upon his knees--
    ‘Our Prince is hurt, O cruel fate!
    The only helmsman of the State.’
      Lamentingly so clamour these.

    But he, his war-cap waving high
      Clear and alert, from manly breast
    Cries out--‘The music suits me so;
    This is my tune, this air I know!
      Hurrah! Now have I of life’s best.’

    And Danube heard the martial voice,
      Her deep heart thrilled, she knew its tone;
    Her waves, as they went limpid by,
    Responded in serene reply
      To Hohenzollern’s noble son.”

                --_Translated by Sir Edwin Arnold._

The Emperor Alexander of Russia had arrived on a visit to the princely
pair at Bucharest, on the 25th of June, accompanied by the Grand
Dukes, the Chancellor, the Ministers of War, Ignatieff, and other high
personages, all coming from Plojest. “It was certainly one of the most
interesting days for Roumania,” the Princess writes in a letter, “and
I enjoyed it very much in the feeling that I am helping to act a piece
of history. The reception of the Emperor was enthusiastic, and we were
literally buried under the quantities of roses thrown. From one balcony
roses and golden tinsel were scattered together. I have never seen
anything more beautiful, and shall not forget the picture.” The Prince
writes--“I am proud of Elizabeth, who does the honours charmingly. The
Emperor, the Grand Dukes, and all the Russians are charmed with her,
and say that she reminds them of the Grand Duchess Hélène.”

This visit of the Emperor, immediately after the declaration of the
independence of Roumania, was an event of great importance. By his
appearance in Bucharest his Majesty had sanctioned the political
position of the country at that time. After the repulse of the first
Russian attacks on Plevna, the Roumanian divisions, under the command
of the Prince, crossed the Danube and joined the Russian army. As soon
as it was settled that Roumania was to take an active part in the war,
Princess Elizabeth made all the arrangements required to mitigate the
horrors of it.

In thus undertaking the office of a sister of charity, the Princess
demonstrated that this was the vocation of every woman at such a time,
and her example was cheerfully followed by the Roumanian ladies in the
most unselfish and self-sacrificing manner. The vast throne-room had
been transformed into a centre of loving service. At the command of the
Princess, and with her active help, linen and bandages were prepared.
In the halls where the official receptions were usually held, and
where hundreds of people danced to the sound of Strauss’ Waltzes, the
wheels of the sewing-machines were now in ceaseless motion. Women of
all ranks and nationalities went in and out, vieing with each other
to supply the troops, now actively engaged with the enemy, with all
sorts of necessaries. Many poor peasant women also came to the Princess
saying--“Your Highness has supplied us with wood and work for years,
and now we will work for a week for the Red Cross without wages.”

The Princess had to accept their services in order not to hurt their
feelings. At her own expense the Princess reared a hospital for one
hundred beds in the park at Cotroceni, which was to be under her
own supervision--“As she wished to nurse her children herself.” The
Princess also worked unceasingly in all the other hospitals which she
had organised. She awaited and received every train which brought
in the wounded from the field of battle, and nursed and tended
them unwearyingly, without giving herself a thought. Day and night
the Princess was at work, refreshing the weary and comforting and
encouraging the sick. She helped to bind up the wounds herself, and
did not even recoil from those at sight of which even men could not
help shuddering. How many of the dying received the last words of
comfort from her lips! Many of them would only take chloroform from her
hands, and she alone could persuade many of the wounded to undergo the
necessary amputations. The pride of the Roumanian soldier rebelled
against going through life like a cripple, without a leg or an arm. “I
would rather die than look like a beggar!” exclaimed a young soldier
in despair whose leg was to be taken off. But the Princess came to
his bedside and besought him to remember that a long life might still
lie before him, and to let the operation take place. “For your sake,
Regina, it shall be done!” he murmured. Obstacles that none could
surmount were overcome by a kind word from the beloved Princess. She
exercised a great moral power over the poor sufferers.

“What a satisfaction it must be to your Serene Highness,” wrote a lady
of the Court to the Princess of Wied, “to know how our beloved Princess
is fulfilling her duty as mother to her country. Your beloved daughter
goes from one bedside to another, and has a word of comfort for each
and all of the sick and wounded, encouraging the down-hearted and
praising and thanking all that had distinguished themselves by their
bravery. She has such a wonderful power over them that she wins a smile
from all, even those that are suffering acutely or sorrowing over a
lost limb.”

And with what enthusiasm the soldiers looked up to their Princess!
What an expression of joy shone in the wan features of the sufferers
when she came near them! And when they were restored to health, the
grateful sons of the soil told of the good Dòamna Elisabeta in their
humble homes in the valleys and mountains of the Carpathians. Since
that time the people call the Princess “Muma Ranitilor,” the Mother of
the Wounded. At this time of danger, when the greatest demands were
made upon her powers, the strength of this exalted woman seemed to be
doubled. Thus she again displayed her innate administrative talent.
Quiet and self-composed when others were passionate and despairing, the
Princess never lost her presence of mind, but was able to direct and
control even the most perplexing affairs. Being unable to sleep for
more than two or three hours, because of her dreadful anxiety as to the
fate of the Prince and the army, Princess Elizabeth often made music
and wrote poetry half the night for her relaxation. At four in the
morning she was often wandering up and down and ordering in her mind
her heavy work for the day.

Many battles had been fought, and much blood had been shed on the
field. The heroic army of Roumania had borne off new victories when
Rahova and Grivitza were taken. Prince Charles undertook the command
of a Russo-Roumanian army which was drawn up around Plevna. His troops
fought with the courage of lions, notwithstanding the dreadful losses
they sustained, and performed prodigies of valour when Prince Charles,
shouting “May God help us!” led them wherever the battle was at its
fiercest. Plevna had fallen, and Osman Pasha surrendered. On the 10th
of December 1877 the Prince of Roumania entered into Plevna amidst the
indescribable enthusiasm of his troops. At seven o’clock in the evening
he proceeded to Poradim to report to the Emperor on the results of that
wonderful day.

The Prince had been brave and courageous as a soldier, but cautious
and wary as the commander of an army. As a strategist he had often
been in a position to show that he knew how to lead his troops. The
people regarded him with the greatest enthusiasm as the champion of
their freedom. Immeasurable sacrifices had been bought, and a time of
great anxiety had been passed through; but the Roumanians thought of
the future, and comforted themselves with what history has so often
demonstrated, “that the freedom of a country is only to be dearly
bought on fields of battle.” The independence of Roumania had now been
acknowledged by all European States. All classes of the people were
proudly conscious that their freedom and independence had been bravely
won.

The occupation of Widdin had been the crowning act of the Roumanian
army. After that had been accomplished they left the fields of
Bulgaria, where so many of their comrades had found a grave, and
returned to their hearths and homes.

The strength of the Princess had lasted as long as it was so urgently
required. But when peace was assured, the misery lessened, and the last
occupants of the hospital had left, her Highness broke down completely.
Only in strengthening mountain air could she hope to restore her
shattered health. So the Court was again removed to the old monastery
of the Carpathians in Sinaia.

During her stay there the Princess received a very touching proof of
the gratitude of her people.

It was on a Sunday. The excursion train had brought over more than
one thousand people to Sinaia, of which the greater number streamed
to see the new castle which was building, to the forest and the
valley of the Pelesch. Suddenly a woman clothed in black advanced to
meet the Princess. She seemed to wish to offer her something which
she held in her outstretched hand. Princess Elizabeth, who imagined
it was a petition, was going to accept it in the usual way. But
with that dignity which distinguishes the Roumanian people the woman
stepped back, saying, “Oh, no; I do not want anything. I am the widow
of a tradesman, and have no daughter to whom I can leave the family
jewellery which we have treasured for many generations. But you are
the mother of the poor and the wounded, and have done us so much good.
I know of no one worthier than you to wear the precious treasure,
and I pray you to accept it, for I would offer it to you.” Upon this
she handed a gold bracelet of ancient Roman coins to the Princess.
Surprised and deeply touched, the royal lady received this tribute
of the love of her people with the warmest thanks--that bracelet is
regarded as one of the most treasured ornaments of the Princess, for
the love and gratitude of their people is the brightest jewels of their
rulers.

After some time the health of the Princess Elizabeth was so far
restored that she could risk being present at the fêtes of victory.

The streets of Bucharest were gaily decorated on the 20th of October
1878, for Prince Charles, the hero of the people, was to enter the
capital at the head of his victorious army. Garlands of flowers were
hung from one house to another. A figure of Victory stood on the high
triumphal arch, the so well deserved laurel wreath in her right hand.
It was a lovely autumnal day, and from early morning the streets were
filled with crowds of people eager to welcome the troops. Bands of
music marched at the head of the procession, followed by a detachment
of slightly wounded soldiers. Behind them fifty-six cannons rattled
on, each bearing the name of the place where it had been captured. And
then Prince Charles himself appeared. Who shall describe the shouts
and acclamations which greeted him, and who count the wreaths which
were thrown at his approach! His look was firm and yet gentle, and on
that day he must have realised that his labours had not been in vain.
The hearty welcome accorded to him showed more than all the flags and
garlands that he had become the idol of his people.

The troops followed their commander who had led them to victory with
songs and cheers. Princess Elizabeth appeared in their midst in an open
carriage, before which countless flowers were thrown by her grateful
people. And what the soldiers sang was a war-song composed by their
Princess. It had inspired them in the midst of many battles, and the
following translation will give an idea of it:--


THE WATCH BY THE DANUBE.

    “Oh! doubt not and fear not, my Fatherland,
      My sword shall protect thee and shield thee,
    Though the cannon-roar of the hostile band
      Should summon thy sons to yield thee.
    Press onward to battle, for freedom’s our aim,
    King Carol is with us, he leads us to fame!

    The Danube she loves us, she bears us along
      To the battlefield’s daring and danger,
    And the billows they murmur, ‘Ye heroes, be strong,
      And drive out the Mussulman stranger.’
    Press onward to battle, for freedom’s our aim,
    King Carol is with us, he leads us to fame!

    Then doubt not, and fear not, my Fatherland,
      For my strong right arm shall save thee;
    I’ll first cross my brow, and then, sword in hand,
      I’ll shatter the chains that enslave thee.
    Press onward to battle, for freedom’s our aim,
    King Carol will lead us to vict’ry and fame.”

The 20th of October was a great day for free Roumania. The Princess
writes:--“What a year has ended! At first I had sufficient courage to
sustain all, and inspired all with my confidence. It was a difficult
position for a woman alone, I can assure you. I forgot my anxiety in
the amount of work I had to get through. Let us thank God that Charles
has returned, for now I can creep back slowly into my nutshell, and
return to my flowers, my birds, my books, and my papers. I think it is
an anomaly and a misfortune when a woman is induced by circumstances
to take part in public life. But there were many bright spots in this
difficult time. God will surely help us, and a lasting peace will take
away the anxiety which is gnawing at our hearts, and this important
time will belong to the future, in which sorrow and suffering is
modified, and the great results that are won thereby will be brought
out into strong relief. Charles is truly wonderful! I often compare
him to William the Silent or to King Charles on his sea voyage. The
bitterest experiences only make him colder and calmer. He shrugs his
shoulders and forgives every ingratitude. That all misunderstand him in
no way disconcerts him. When he is dead they will lament and call him
‘a wise Prince.’”

When the war was over, the wives of all the officers of the Roumanian
army presented the “Mother of their Country” with a marble statue. In
this the Princess is represented in the costume of a Sister of Charity
as she kneels before a wounded soldier, reaching him a refreshing
draught. The recollection of what the Princess accomplished during this
war, by giving up herself and all her strength to the work, and by her
wonderful talent for organisation, will dwell with many feelings of
deep gratitude in the hearts of her people, and one generation will
tell another of her noble and self-sacrificing deeds.

In 1879 Princess Elizabeth had been in Scheveningen with her mother,
and had returned strengthened and refreshed to her country. In the next
year (1880) the princely pair went to Segenhaus and Amsterdam together.
Many relations also came to visit them at Bucharest and Sinaia, amongst
others Prince William of Wied, and Prince Leopold of Hohenzollern, with
his two sons, Ferdinand and Charles. In September 1881 the Princess
of Hohenzollern (mother of Prince Charles of Roumania) travelled to
Roumania for the first time, and was received with great joy by the
people. “It is too delightful,” writes the Princess, “to have such an
angel of a mother in her. She is always surrounded by an atmosphere
of harmony and tenderness which is quite fascinating. The monks in
Sinaia, when she arrived there, were very anxious to know which place
should be given to her at table, and when they were told ‘the place of
honour,’ they joyfully exclaimed--‘That is what King Solomon did when
his mother came to him; he seated her on his throne, knelt down before
her and kissed her hand. Our King Charles does the same, whom may God
bless and preserve to a long life!’ Is this not prettier than many a
village tale!” On the 12th of December 1880 the Princess continues--“A
very touching scene was enacted lately. The Ministers came to thank
us for having settled the question of succession. Bratiano read his
speech with tears in his eyes, after which I gave him my hand, and he
said--‘Etre brave dans un moment d’enthousiasme c’est beau, mais être
brave à froid c’est de l’héroisme!’”

On the 24th of March 1881 Roumania was declared a kingdom by Act of
Parliament. Demeter Stourdza, the Minister for Foreign Affairs, wrote
to the Princess of Wied--“A happy fate indeed guides Roumania, for the
most complicated affairs turn out to be for her good. This so constant
shining of our lucky star quite frightens me. A sense of duty, a love
of duty, and a strict performance of one’s duty, must keep it bright,
and prevent it from fading before us. On the 22nd of May the whole
country is to do homage to its sovereign, and a kingly crown, with a
battle-axe which has been made out of a cannon taken at Plevna, are to
be presented to the Prince, as a symbol of the great events of the war
and his newly-acquired position.” Prince Leopold of Hohenzollern had
come to Bucharest with his two sons, Ferdinand and Charles, to take
part in this festive occasion.

The evening before the day of this ceremonial salvoes of artillery had
been fired. Multitudes of people streamed into the town to see the
coronation, forming a motley crowd. The two crowns had been taken to
the cathedral with much pomp and ceremony. There they were received
by the metropolitans, bishops, and minor clergy, who were chanting
solemnly, and placed on tables draped with red before the sacred
images. At the close of a short service these insignia of royalty were
respectfully kissed by the minister and the clergy. They were then
covered with the glorious monuments of the siege of Plevna. These
were four flags of the Roumanian army which were torn to shreds and
decorated with the highest orders of the country. These emblems of
royalty remained in the Metropolia all night, whilst a guard of honour
kept watch around them.

Early in the morning of the 22nd of May 1881, the little girls from the
Asyle Hélène, adorned with flowers, advanced in long rows through the
park of Cotroceni and sang a morning hymn before the castle. It seemed
a happy omen to the Queen that the first words of love which reached
her on this memorable day resounded from her little favourites as she
awoke. At eight o’clock in the morning already the houses and tiers of
seats erected in the town were filled with people, who crowded every
available space on the somewhat long way to the cathedral, and were all
anxious to see the sights.

According to the programme the procession to the coronation was to
be short. It started at eleven o’clock, and was opened by a regiment
of Dorobanzes, whose bands were playing. They formed the Landwehr of
Roumania, and were the most popular of the troops, being all tried
and experienced men, richly adorned with orders and medals. On their
heads they wear the traditional fur cap of the warrior Michel, which is
adorned with the feathers of turkeys, herons, and pheasants. These were
followed by a company of gendarmes and a squadron of hussars, and then
came the standard-bearers of all the colours of the army, with a golden
Roman eagle surmounting them. Enthusiastic cheering and the waving of
hats and handkerchiefs greeted the King as he appears mounted on his
charger and surrounded by his brilliant staff. The energy of a firm
character appears in his strongly marked features.

After this came the State carriage of the Queen. It was harnessed à la
Daumont, and drawn by eight black horses, their harness adorned with
feathers, and ridden by jockeys who wore the colours of the country. A
large basket of flowers stood on the box of the carriage, as well as
on the seat behind, and on the steps. Four footmen in State liveries
marched on each side of the carriage, and in front were two outriders
whose horses bore feathers of three colours. The slight form of the
Queen, clad in magnificent coronation robes, appeared poetic as that of
a fairy in this carriage draped with red and filled to overflowing with
flowers. Beside her sat the hereditary Prince of Hohenzollern, and the
two young Princes opposite. At sight of her the hundreds of thousands
of spectators burst into loud shouts of joy, which were carried on like
echoes from balcony to balcony. Branches of fir, the symbols of respect
and hospitality, and flowers sparkling with golden powder, were thrown
to the Queen from the windows, and white doves adorned with flowers
were set free by their owners, and fluttered over the Queen, who was
radiant with beauty and grace. Many of these reached their destination,
the beautiful carriage, to which they clung like messengers of peace.

All the magnificence and the sumptuous furnishings of this romantic
procession was concentrated at the foot of the Metropolitan Hill,
from whence the royal pair, followed by their suites, proceeded on
foot along the avenue, where a scarlet carpet was laid to the church.
The representatives of three thousand country parishes, with their
pennons, had arranged themselves in closely packed rows on each side
of the carriage. Dressed in their original national costume, these
made a brilliant background to the imposing picture. A large stand in
the shape of a horse-shoe had been erected in front of the principal
entrance to the church, which had long before the arrival of their
Majesties been filled with the nobility and gentry of Roumania. In
the middle of this stand stood the royal tent, to which a carpeted
staircase led.

The royal pair, with the Prince of Hohenzollern, had taken their
places. Then the religious ceremony began, and was celebrated with all
the pomp of the orthodox Greek Church. During the singing four generals
carried the two crowns from the interior of the church to the royal
tent, where they were consecrated, and their Majesties received the
holy water. The close of this solemn occasion was the signing of the
document which Demeter Bratiano laid before their Majesties. Afterwards
the deed was signed by Prince Leopold of Hohenzollern, and the Minister
Bratiano, who acted as witnesses of the weighty affair of state which
had just been concluded. Thundering salvoes of artillery announced that
this historic ceremony was concluded. The return of their Majesties
was like a triumphal procession. Quantities of flowers were showered
upon them, and the waving of handkerchiefs reminded one of a swarm of
butterflies, which seemed to follow the procession. Endless rows of
carriages containing the guests and the diplomatic corps followed the
principal actors in the scene, all returning to the Palace at about
three o’clock.

Many groups of peasant women from Plojest and Campulung had stationed
themselves amongst the people who crowded into the open space before
the grand entrance to the Palace. They are the cream of the district
of the Carpathians. On this occasion they insisted on being noticed
by the Queen, for it was widely known that her Majesty delighted in
the national costume of the country, and the women were proud to show
themselves to her in their richest dress, the ornaments of which
sparkled in the sun like thousands of little plates of glass.

Half an hour later the immense procession bearing the two crowns to
the Palace advanced in almost unending length. The veterans of 1848
and those that had been wounded in the last war marched first, whilst
the ten thousand members of the deputations of the peasants formed the
rearguard. The doors of the vast throne-room had been opened wide,
and sixty standard-bearers, with the flags and banners of the army,
were ranged around it. The sounds of the triumphal march were heard
from afar, and the crowns, borne by four generals, and accompanied by
a solemn procession of the chief officers of State, were placed at
the foot of the throne. At half-past two the royal pair appeared, and
were solemnly conducted to the throne by the Senate and the Members
of Parliament. On their left stood Prince Leopold of Hohenzollern; on
their right, his sons. Prince Demeter Ghica addressed their Majesties,
and presented the iron crown to the King, whilst Rossetti, the
President of the Houses of Parliament, advanced towards the Queen, and
kneeling before her, offered her a golden crown, with the following
words--“In your Majesty the nation sees itself most gloriously
represented.” Then the King began an eloquent speech whilst lifting
up the crown and bearing it aloft over his people as though he were
blessing them. He spoke of the steady progress of Roumania and of her
brave army, and closed with the words--“The love and confidence of
the nation, whose happiness and increasing power is my all absorbing
thought and that of the Queen, was and ever will be our most precious
diadem.” At these words from their King, the vast concourse assembled
gave vent to their feelings of love and enthusiasm by an irresistible
outburst of shouts of applause.

The deputations of peasants now passed before the throne. These honest
men were visibly affected, and many among them wiped a tear from his
eye with his rough hand. Most of them threw themselves at the feet of
their Majesties, and did homage to them, kissing the steps of their
throne. With touching simplicity and much difficulty others threw
addresses of congratulation out of their pockets, coat-sleeves, and
pocket-books, depositing them at the feet of the royal pair; whilst
others brought branches of fir-trees which they had gathered in their
native mountains and anxiously preserved during their long journey.
Later in the day, the whole concourse of the country people were
encamped before the town, where a banquet with music awaited them, the
enjoyment of which was heightened by the presence and affable manners
of the King. There was a brilliant illumination in the evening. The
peasants were enchanted “to see the sun at night,” as they expressed
themselves! And the Court with its guests found it difficult to wend
its way through the elated crowds.

Notwithstanding her delicate health the Queen had borne the fatigues
of that day tolerably. She says--“We spoke with eight hundred people
on that day, from eleven o’clock till half-past four, and at half-past
eight we were again ‘sous les armes!’ Then came a procession of
torches, and a drive round the town to see the illuminations. At
last I could not bow any more, but only wave with my handkerchief.
Fortunately they had stopped the cheering, as I could stand it no
longer. This enormous and now silent crowd, which greeted us and
nodded and waved in the most demonstrative manner, and the stamping
of those feet and hoofs which one did not see, made a most weird and
charming impression. Yes, from morning to night, the 22nd of May was
a beautiful day!” Seldom has a day been marked with so much fervour
and unaffected devotion as this day on which the people of Roumania
came in such crowds to do homage to their King! This day has become
a day of national rejoicing for the Roumanians. On the 22nd of May
1866 Prince Charles of Roumania first entered Bucharest. Eleven years
later, on the 22nd of May 1877, Roumania was declared independent. And
on the 22nd of May 1881 the first King of Roumania was crowned. These
three historically important events make clear to us in a few words the
gradual development of this young kingdom.

Thus Roumania had not alone gained her independence by means of the
war and its brilliant results, but had been incorporated as a kingdom
amongst the European States. A strictly constitutional monarch is
the emblem of the banner which Prince Charles upholds at his distant
post. The object of his life is to strengthen his country within and
without, and to further its political and social development. Future
generations only will be able to understand and acknowledge to its full
extent all that he has done for Roumania.




[Illustration]

XI.

Work for the Country.


In the second half of this century, royal ladies have realised that
their duty consisted in actively promoting all works of charity and
encouraging them by their influence, as well as furthering the social
and educational welfare of their people. And that this practical
knowledge which can adapt itself to circumstances can be combined with
ideal interests and high endeavours, is demonstrated by the noble and
beautiful example of Queen Elizabeth of Roumania. It is the highest joy
of artistic natures to see one of their own conceptions carried out and
to find it flourish and expand. In this the educator is to be compared
to the artist, for character is formed by the educational artist. A
longing desire to educate others had possessed Queen Elizabeth from
earliest youth. When we see her making the education of children one
of her first objects, we know that it is prompted by true and heartfelt
feelings.

The Queen follows the course of studies and the development of the
pupils in the Asyle Hélène, the orphanage already alluded to, with
peculiar interest. The well-known Doctor Davela had founded and endowed
this institution with his private means, and conducted it personally
for many years aided by his excellent wife. Both died too soon. They
bequeathed their care for the orphans as a legacy to the Queen. Four
hundred and sixty young girls are now educated there from their fifth
to their twentieth year. There they are taught all sciences, the
arts, foreign languages, needlework, book-keeping, &c., and remain
in the institution till they have passed their final examination as
governesses or otherwise. The good name of this institution is so
widely known that young men look for a wife from the Asyle Hélène,
as they know she will be capable. Many merchants, clergymen, and
schoolmasters come to the Principals of the College and ask them as a
favour to recommend a young girl to them whom they consider fit for
their mode of life. A meeting is arranged, and if the young people suit
one another, they are usually married in the Chapel of the Asyle.
If the pupils marry clergymen or schoolmasters, most of them become
teachers in their new home, and are capable of earning three hundred
francs a month.

The Queen does not often visit the institutions--“And then only to
encourage and help them.” “For I find,” she says, “that we do well to
let those act who understand the matter better than we do. The Grand
Duchess Hélène, who is my example, displayed her interest in such
things by caring for every detail rather than by visiting them.” The
royal lady is present at all the examinations in the girls’ school,
as well as at the School of Music. She awards the prizes with her own
hands, and increases their value by kind and considerate words which
delight both teachers and scholars.

The Queen founded a School of Embroidery, “The Scola Elisabeta Doamna,”
at her own expense. At this institution seventy of the poorest peasant
girls receive free instruction in reading and writing, and especially
in the national embroidery. Very beautiful patterns, mostly Byzantine,
are collected and used to decorate the national costumes. The peasant
girls often copy the patterns on ancient ecclesiastical robes, or
imitate a natural flower with a needle and thread. Certain styles of
embroidery are hereditary and peculiar to each district. Thus many
and original combinations are formed, and the eye is attracted by
their ever-varying colour and form. All Roumanian women, whether high
or lowly, have an inborn and highly cultivated eye for colour. They
execute minute and difficult patterns most tastefully upon the peculiar
linen woven in the country.

The first society for the help of the poor which the Queen arranged was
the “Société Elisabeth.” It distributes yearly thirty thousand francs’
worth of fuel to the poor. This society, to which about one hundred
ladies belong, arranges two to four balls every winter, which take
place in the Opera House with a Tombala. These balls are honoured by
the presence of the King and Queen and the members of the aristocracy.
All the ladies wear the Roumanian costume on these evenings, in order
that the peasant women may earn a good sum in winter by the sale of
their embroideries. Under the patronage of the Queen societies of the
same description have sprung up in many parts of the country.

Not only does the large charitable association “Société de
bienfaisance” owe its origin to the Queen, but her Majesty has also
started the German “Frauenverein” in Roumania. “The Albina” gives work
to poor women who can only do rough sewing. Ten years ago this idea
was started by six poor women thus finding employment--now a thousand
can get work there. A hundred and thirty of these have already bought
sewing-machines, and the numbers increase daily. Now (1888) they
furnish thirty thousand tents for the army, and sew all trousers,
shirts, cravats, sheets, and sacks for the soldiers, as well as for
the prisons and hospitals. When wood is distributed to the poor by the
Société Elisabeth, these women are considered first. A fourth society
is called “Concordia,” and its object is to encourage all branches of
native industry in the country, amongst which weaving is especially
furthered. Although hemp grows wild in Roumania, all material for the
linen used by the army and the public institutions had till then been
brought from foreign countries. New Schools of Weaving are instituted,
and the looms that have been idle for years have been improved and put
in motion. In order to carry out these plans for the benefit of the
country, the Queen had written a letter to the Ministers, which was
published in the newspapers. In this letter she sought their help in
encouraging weaving in the country, and guaranteeing that the State
would undertake the goods produced. This object could only be attained
if the requirements of the army, the hospitals, and prisons could be
produced and manufactured in the country.

As we have already mentioned whilst describing the “Société Albina,”
its efforts have been crowned with success. On the tableland of
Cotroceni, not far from the Asyle Hélène, lie the huge barracks in
which Queen Elizabeth nursed the wounded during the war. The new School
of Weaving is established there for the present. At first only forty
looms could be employed, but Parliament has voted two hundred thousand
francs for the building of a new School for Weaving. The building
required is to be erected on the great piece of land before the
barracks which King Charles had presented to the orphanage. “We shall
then use the barracks for the manufacture of silk,” writes the Queen,
“for which the land has been planted with mulberry trees. So one school
after another will be erected around us, following my motto, ‘Industry
in the home,’ and will, please God, open out new sources of wealth to
our country.”

To the “Concordia” is added the Society of the “Fornica,” which buys
Roumanian work only, such as embroidery, and the stuffs that are woven
and spun, and sells them again in a bazaar held for the purpose. The
peasant women bring the shirts they have sewn, and their strips of
embroidery, and bless their Queen for having brought such honour to
their national costume. Branches of this institution have sprung up in
many towns. They embroider a great deal in the mountains, as they have
less hard work in the fields there. In the plains, the women can only
embroider in the winter, as they must guide the oxen in the plough in
summer. In the workshop of the little mountain town of Campo Lungo four
hundred women are employed.

In imitation of the German kitchens for the people, the Queen has
arranged soup kitchens in many parts of the town, where the poor
children from the Schools of Embroidery receive their daily dinners
from her.

During the war the Queen also started a Home for Nursing Sisters at
her own expense. She began with two sisters, of whom she sent one to
the Deaconesses of Bethany at Berlin to be taught. The Deaconesses
of Bucharest wear a dark grey costume, with a white veil and apron,
which are picturesquely arranged. A black cross on a lilac ribbon
is worn round the neck. “Now there are more than twenty of them at
Bucharest, and they increase in numbers, and are much thought of. Many
of them lately passed their examinations, and received certificates
for practising simple surgery. They nurse in hospitals and private
houses for five francs a day, and are often sent for in the town. The
rich often give more than is asked, which enables the sisters to visit
the poor free of charge, and to bring them food and medicine. Now five
thousand francs have been voted for the School of Embroidery, and
twenty thousand for the Home for the Sisters. We hope to build a house
of our own with our savings, with a little hospital beside it, and to
have something over for aged and infirm sisters. I shall add to this a
School for Monthly Nurses, as so many women die in their confinement.”

Queen Elizabeth belongs to those highly favoured ladies who, though
surrounded by the pomp and state of royalty, can sympathise with the
sorrows of the poor and suffering, and combine with this a lofty ideal
of the intellectual duties of life. The Queen does not weary of helping
where help is required. None appeal to her in vain if they are really
in need. Where poverty is to be relieved, or cares to be lightened, the
Queen’s practical mind ever finds the right means and the best manner
of doing it. Her constant endeavour is to promote the cultivation and
industry of the country, and to awake a feeling of self-confidence in
the nation. To work for others is the source of her own happiness. The
following poem will show how anxious the Queen is to fulfil her duties
towards the country.


THE PEOPLE’S MOTHER.

    “If millions call thee their mother, and borrow
      Of thee some comfort in grief and care,
    E’en though thou too hast known pain and sorrow,
      Yet never, never must thou despair.

    Thou must stand firm and thy heart must fail not,
      While breakers roar through the tempest wild,
    Calm words of faith on thy lips, that pale not,
      And on thy forehead hope’s radiance mild.

    Thou must behold, with a gaze undaunted,
      The dark abyss, that no mists conceal,
    Thy head upraised, thy foot firmly planted,
      Thy hand aye open to help and heal.

    All thoughts of self must be banished ever,
      Thy people’s life must thine own life be.
    The voice of passion--oh! heed it never,
      Thou may’st lead millions to rise with thee.

    If anguish conquer, or sin enslave them,
      If poor and lowly or nobly born--
    All are thy children, forgive and save them,
      The sick, the sinful, the weak and worn.

    Let then thy bounty, unchecked, unending,
      Flow forth, a blessing o’er all the land,
    Like dews from Heaven on earth descending,
      Refresh thy people with heart and hand.”




[Illustration]

XII.

Carmen Sylva.


The poetical talents of Queen Elizabeth, which she was so anxious to
hide from public view, have proved beneficial to her vocation as mother
of her country. A critic might perhaps object to the absence of strict
rules in her poetry, but we rejoice to find such originality in thought
and feeling. The royal lady writes of what she has thought and felt in
a vivid and life-like manner. A desire to communicate her feelings to
others induces her to write poetry. She says,--“When a thought takes
possession of me, it is not that I will, but I must put it into words,
and insert it in a poem, or it leaves me no peace. How often have I
bitterly bewailed my poetic talent, and rebelled against Providence for
placing such a burden upon my shoulders; and now I know that it is my
greatest happiness, and a blessing to me which can also give pleasure
to others. My greatest wish is to write in such a manner that all may
think they have written it themselves. I do not wish to be anything
more than the voice which clothes the truth in acceptable forms and
takes all its harshness from it. Thus I can ease many a heart of its
burden, and what happiness it is to show the beauties of truth, to
realise and represent the beautiful.

    “‘Like an eagle the poet, as bold and as free,
    And warm as the glow of the sunshine must be;
    Like the sensitive plant he must tremble and quake,
    Now wild as a torrent, now calm as a lake.’

“The outer forms of what one writes have only to do with what one has
learnt. The ideas have to be lived through, and can only be based on
the past experiences which formed one’s character. This is my comfort
when I tremble lest my talent should come to an end. It is not at an
end, for I yet live and learn. How often I have struggled against
writing anything down for weeks and months. But it holds me as a spell
till it is written down. Then I forget it, and so utterly and entirely
that I often do not even recognise my own thoughts. After all, writing
is only a discharge of electricity. But the battery cannot be properly
replenished when the body is weakened. Every carefully finished work is
a step upon which one can set one’s foot firmly and safely in order to
rise higher. This can only be, of course, if one’s whole powers, one’s
best self is put into the work. As one cannot give to one’s labour more
than one has, every intellectual power we have attained to should tell
in our work and make itself felt. People have said that sorrow made me
a poetess. But that is not so. Poetry is quite independent of the outer
world, of sickness or trial. I never know what I shall write a week
hence. I like to be surprised. But when an idea takes hold of me, I do
not get rid of it even for years until it is written down. I have never
had time, and if all my ideas were not clear in my head before I take
up my pen, they would never see the light.”

[Illustration:

    _Woodbury Compy._

CARMEN SYLVA.]

The Princess has called the little volume in which she has rendered the
treasures of National Roumanian poetry in German “Roumanian Poetry,”
and has thus introduced it to her Fatherland. A collection of the poems
of O. Alecsandri, Bolintenu, Candianu, Popescu, Cretzanu, Eminescu,
Konaki, Negruzzi, Scherbanescu, and Torceanu are here rendered in their
own metre, and treated in a manner which brings out the characteristics
of each poet.

“I did not think of publishing my translations of Roumanian poetry
when I wrote them. It was Frau Mite Kremnitz who took them from me by
force years after. They appeared in a paper under the pseudonym of E.
Wedi, and later, in 1878, also in the magazine of Foreign Literature.
Still I cannot get over the dreadful feeling of being dragged before
the world even under the disguise of E. Wedi. That is the only thing
that spoils my pleasure.”

A ballad, “Virful cu Dor” (The Heights of Longing), was set to music
in 1876, and was performed on the stage of the National Theatre at
Bucharest, and afterwards at various other places. The Queen wrote to
her mother from Sinaia in September 1875:--

“I have written a libretto from the old legend of “Virful cu Dor,” for
which Lubitz has composed the music. It is a little ballad, which is
very effective with its choruses, solos, and duets, and it could be
represented with _tableaux vivants_ as well. It gives the songs of the
Spirits of the Mists in the third canto--the rushing of wind announces
the coming of Spring. The trees and the brooks awake from their
slumbers. Yesterday we finished arranging the “Song of the Wind” for
a bass voice, and it is so poetical that the poem is placed in a new
light. I write the words out for you, as they are a poem by themselves.
I have given the most beautiful ideas to my friend the West Wind--

    “‘Come forth, all ye blossoms!
      Start, seeds from the land;
    Ye songs of birds, waken,
      I, Spring, am at hand!

    My touch on the fir boughs,
      My kiss in the air,
    Makes odours of Heaven
      Spread sweet everywhere.

    And the fragrance and splendour
      Of meadow and grove
    I give for a bride-wreath
      In free gift to Love.

    Come forth, then, blue violets!
      Spring calleth on you,
    Wake, leaflets and flowerets,
      For Love’s coming too!’”

                --_Translated by Sir Edwin Arnold._

Whilst still a Princess, Carmen Sylva had written a French comedy,
“Revenans et Revenus,” for the society of Bucharest. She also put
down many very deep and often very philosophical aphorisms in French
at that time. These were not intended for publication at first. When
the Queen was induced to put these pages in the hands of Herr Ulbach
she hesitated at first. But he kept looking up at her whilst he was
reading and repeated--“Oh! mais c’est très fort, mais c’est vraiment
très fort, celá!” and begged for a copy. Later they were published at
Paris with the title “Pensées d’une Reine,” with an introduction by
Ulbach. In the spring of 1888 a new, improved, and enlarged edition was
published there, to which the Academy accorded a prize. This consists
of a gold, a silver, and a bronze coin which bear the title of the work
thus crowned, “Les Pensées d’une Reine,” with the date of 1888. They
contain rich treasures of deep thought, as for instance--

“Les comètes et les grands hommes laissent une trainée de lumière dans
laquelle s’agite une foule d’atômes.”

“Beaucoup de gens ne critiquent que pour ne pas paraître ignorans. Ils
ignorent que l’indulgence est la marque de la plus haute culture.”

“La souffrance est une lourde charrue, conduite par une main de fer.
Plus le sol est ingrat et rebelle, plus elle le déchire, plus il est
riche, plus elle s’enfonce.”

“La nuit tout est de feu, les étoiles, les pensées et les larmes.”

On an occasion in Bucharest during which there was a display of
fireworks, this aphorism suddenly appeared in letters of flame, to the
great surprise of the Queen.

In years of deep sorrow the first chapters of “The Pilgrimage of
Sorrow,” “Sappho,” “Hammerstein,” “Over the Waters,” and “Shipwreck”
appeared. The four last mentioned poems were published together, and
called “Storms.” Carmen Sylva dedicates this work “To the unseen
heroism of women,” with the following poem--

    “Unto you--who have courage and patience for woe,
      Whose souls by earth’s fire are annealed;
    Whose hearts the fierce furnace of passion aglow
      Hath sanctified, purified, steeled.

    Unto you--who in tempest of misery caught
      Lift heads with an unabashed daring;
    Unto you, who in solemn sereness of thought
      The burdens of life are bearing!

    Unto you--who like sunbeams, that palpitate, bring
      Brightness and warmth--and those only!
    Chief givers of grace and of gladdening
      To the earth, else so frozen and lonely.

    Unto you--who with brave lips set firm in a smile
      Over mountains of trouble have wended;
    Who, cheered by no clarions of glory erewhile,
      Have in glorious battles contended.

    Battles, where no hand the bright laurel twines,
      But where tears fall, bitter and hidden--
    To you--to the undeclared heroines,
      This ‘Book of the Women’ is bidden.”

                --_Translated by Sir Edwin Arnold._

“I was much hurried whilst writing ‘Hammerstein’ and ‘Sappho,’ for I
always thought that death would overtake me before their completion.
I wrote ‘Sappho’ because I was angry with Grillparzer, for I thought
that a noble and elevated feeling should act upon so grand a character
as that of Sappho. Instead of making a noble and elevated character out
of this struggling and suffering woman, the poet thought he had a right
to desecrate her. It seemed to me unworthy of her to throw herself into
the sea because she had been deceived. It was more natural and poetical
to sacrifice herself for her child. It is characteristic of me that I
cannot regard what is termed ‘Love’ as the motive power of all actions.

“Sappho lived in Sicily, surrounded by young girls, to whom she taught
the art of poetry. I have amused myself in making portraits of my maids
of honour.”

Carmen Sylva read the poem, in which she had depicted the sad trials of
the life of Sappho, to the young friends around her.

    “Will ye the last of love-melodies hearken,
    Which from the lips of the poetess flowed at the end of her singing?
    Sappho her voice uplifted, and softly the music resounded,
    Whilst round about stood listening intent her lovely companions.

          ‘Of the power I sing, world-mastering,
              Which beauty to beauty enchains;
            Whereto the gods bow, and the earth in her swing--
              To which all that is born pertains.

          I sing of the might that in flowers leaps to light,
            What wakes the still seed from its rest;
          Which glows on the cheek of the maiden bright,
            And burns in her lover’s breast.

          To that god sing I so, who with echoing bow
            Sweet endless confusion brings;
          Who conquers all hearts, for their weal or their woe,
            Who startles--and stabs--and stings.’”

                --_Translated by Sir Edwin Arnold._

Laïs, the daughter of Sappho, loves Memnon, the man to whom Sappho has
given her heart. This tragic circumstance hastens her end. The death of
her daughter puts an end to Sappho’s love to Memnon. By moonshine she
wanders to the sea, and raising her lyre high above her head, breaks
it, and throws the pieces into the foaming waters. Memnon calls to her--

    “‘Break not thy lyre, for much is yet thine own,
      Thy tuneful art and the undying love
        That I have vowed thee.’

    ‘Peace,’ answered Sappho, ‘peace between us lies,
      For aye the shadow of my slumbering child,
        Who died for love of Memnon.’”

Sappho leaves Sicily. In Lesbos, where Memnon reigns, she intends to
throw herself into the sea.

    ‘All unseen then she climbed the rock, that rose from the ocean,
    There she uplifted her voice in song as though she would send him
    One farewell yet, the last e’er from earth she departed.
    Softly at first she sang, then the cadence uprising,
    Swelled like breakers afar, till slowly it sank into silence.

        “Weep thou not, because the gods have sent thee,
        And my fate, my life here ended lie.
        All that words could tell, my songs declare,
        All that could be borne, ’twas mine to bear;
        Thanks be to the gods--the end is nigh!

        Weep thou not! this life is dust and folly,
        Let me pass into the eternal light!
        All that once was mine has fled from me;
        Let me grasp the perfect whole and see
        Thus at last its radiance infinite.

        Weep thou not! whene’er my songs thou singest,
        Shall my spirit fly with thine to meet.
        Links of harmony join soul to soul!
        Now, where ocean’s billows softly roll,
        Tired of life, I’ll sink to slumber sweet.”

The poetic narrative ends with this poem.

The story of Hammerstein lies in Germany, in the Middle Ages, during
the war between Henry IV. and his son Henry.

Since her earliest youth the Queen had carried about with her the idea
of a poem about Hammerstein. “Many hours,” she writes, “have I spent
dreaming amongst the ruins and gazing over the Rhine. Then I seem to
hear the old Kaiser knocking at the door, and see the gloomy Count
who cursed his beautiful daughters.” Some lovely songs, such as the
following, for instance, are interwoven in the narrative:--

    “Through the forest there fluttered a song
      Upborne upon airy gay wings;
    As the breeze lisps the beech-leaves among,
      So softly it came to my strings,
    And the harp told the green Rhine again;
    So the trees and the birds knew the strain,
      And the river’s low whisperings.

    Through the forest came wandering Love--
      There was budding and blooming at this--
    The birds woke to music the grove,
      And the flowers and the springs felt his kiss;
    And they sang it and sighed it to Rhine,
    So the trees knew, and so the sunshine,
      And the wavelets that whisper and hiss.

    Through the forest a tempest did roar,
      Song and Love in its fury it caught,
    And both to the far sea it bore,
      Then an end to all blossoms was brought!
    And silently dreaming glides Rhine,
    Strings are hushed, and the little birds pine,
      And twitter of joys come to nought.”

                --_Translated by Sir Edwin Arnold._

“To publish my own writings,” says the Queen, “would never have entered
into my head, had they not passed from one to another and been copied
endlessly. So I came to the conclusion at last that if they are worth
such tedious work as copying, they were worthy of being printed.
Whether my writings are praised or criticised in the world is of as
little moment to me as if it did not concern myself. But when I read my
poems to others, I am pleased if they produce the impression I desire.
This is also a very safe criterion as to their truth and clearness. I
should be delighted if my poems were sung without any one knowing whose
composition they are.”

The Queen now made up her mind to give way to the entreaties of
those around her, and to let her poems “Sappho” and “Hammerstein” be
privately printed. In 1882 “The Enchantress” appeared, to which a
statue of Carl Caner had inspired her. “My fundamental idea,” writes
the Queen, “is that purity overcomes passion or the demon, but it costs
her her life. It is death to fight against the forces of nature!” The
poetess, with her rich fancy, has made the statue seem alive.

    “Sits upon the splintered summit
    Swathed in storm, beside a black gulf,
    Heavenly beautiful, a woman.
    Wonderful her body’s curves are
    As she leans upon her hand,
    Lightly swaying on the crag’s edge,
    One knee rests across the other,
    Balanced one limb back is folded:
    In her hand she grasps a serpent,
    Careless how the creature struggles,
    Twines and bends and shoots its tongue forth,
    Helpless that white grip to loosen,
    Helpless to escape those fingers.
    Red her hair is; like to flame-tongues
    Ruddy ’mid the storm it swayeth,
    Floats unto the clouds, and catches
    The forked lightning as it falls,
    Drawing through its threads the flashes
    Which glide down that woman’s body,
    And, beneath her, splits a pine tree
    From the topmost bough to root.
    And the eyes of that fair woman--
    In the lurid light which blazes
    Bright from stem to stem--do glitter
    Green, beneath great brows of black.

           *       *       *       *       *

    Gladsome-looking, head high-lifted,
    Up that crag a young man marches;
    Strength and peace are on his visage,
    In his blue eyes innocence.”

                --_Translated by Sir Edwin Arnold._

He sings the song which has so often been set to music:--

    “’Tis with me as the wild brook
      By summer-rains swelled,
    Which carries rocks, tree-trunks,
      All headlong impelled.

    ’Tis with me as the tempest
      Which knows not its mind,
    But something must shatter,
      Such might is behind!

    ’Tis with me as the gold sun
      Whose beams are so bland;
    Full fain I’d kiss Heaven,
      And ocean, and land.

    ’Tis with me as with sweet songs
      Which soft music spread,
    And bring living echoes
      From rocks that were dead.

    ’Tis with me as with high God
      Who pardons above;
    All life is so lovely,
      I am love-sick for Love!”

                --_Translated by Sir Edwin Arnold._

Dämona, the enchantress, is gifted with a beauty which kills and
destroys. A youth beholds her suddenly as she appears on a lonely
height, and falls desperately in love with her. Lightning flashes from
her shining golden hair, but the idea of being loved by an innocent
being charms her fancy. The hunter has tracked her to her winter palace
of ice by the sea. She is overcome by his passionate love for her, and
sinks into his arms. At that moment the icy building gives way and
falls to pieces, and they are buried in the deep.

In “Jehovah” Carmen Sylva has endeavoured to represent the doubt, Does
God exist or not? which is for ever struggling in the mind of man.
Ahasuerus desires to trace all things to their origin. He regards
eternal life as a curse. His vocation is accomplished if he can attain
to knowledge.

    “Show me the God who all has made,
        And Him will I adore;
    Show me the God who guides the sun,
        And Him will I adore;
    Show Him whose voice sounds like the storm,
    Who mows the trees as they were grass,
        And Him will I adore.”

He seeks God in art, in his own restless activity, in the passion of
love, in the desire of possession, &c. But everywhere the answer comes,
“God is not here.” At last he realises God in the eternal laws of
nature. Then death comes and releases the believer.

“Jehovah” was translated into French verse in 1887 by Hélène Vacaresco,
a youthful poetess.

“The Pilgrimage of Sorrow,” a cycle of fairy tales, also appeared
in 1882. The poetic fancy of Carmen Sylva has here treated the
question, “Whence and for what reason do sorrow and suffering come?”
symbolically, and placed it in fairy tales. “To live is to suffer,
but two faithful comforters remain at your side during the fight and
help you to endure. They are termed Patience and Labour.” This is
the leading idea of this poem. The royal lady possesses a wonderful
power of representing the deepest feelings of the heart, which only
those can do who have gone through all phases of suffering. She has a
fellow-feeling for all who strive and struggle, and can realise and
deeply sympathise with the sufferings of humanity.

When Queen Elizabeth began to write the “Fairy Tales of the Pelesch,”
she wrote the following poem in her journal:--

    “On every wave, in every flower
      A shining fairy tale I see;
    I gather them from stream and bower,
      And tell them as they’re told to me.

    From mossy banks and woodlands glancing,
      They come like visions golden bright;
    On every spray I watch them dancing,
      And hear their whispers soft and light.

    They come like sunbeams many-tinted,
      But with what radiance, glowing, fair,
    They’re on my memory imprinted
      I never can in words declare.”

These “Fairy Tales” were published in 1883, entitled “From Carmen
Sylva’s Kingdom,” and were given to the school children as a prize book
in their Roumanian translation.

In the introduction the authoress addresses the people of her Roumanian
kingdom in her character of mother of her country, and says to her
children--

    “Where crags the ancient forest crown,
    Where mountain streams dance wild adown,
        And countless blossoms spread,
        And odours sweet are shed;
    There lies the land--all glad and green--
        Where I am Queen!

    Where all that in old legends lies
    Is read enshrined in tender eyes
        Deep with the blue of truth,
        And bright with loving youth;
    There, soft as spring, that land is seen
        Where I rule, Queen.

    All the world over, in deep grove
    Wherever ring bird-songs of love,
        Where gathering mists veil all,
        And splashes the waterfall,
    ’Mid those waved boughs my ways have been,
        There I am Queen!

    From shooting leaf and budding flower,
    From each new beam of heavenly power,
        In growing and beholding,
        In being and enfolding,
    The realm grows--(Children! when was such wealth seen?)
        Where I am Queen!”

                --_Translated by Sir Edwin Arnold._

“Through the Centuries” is the name of the second volume of “From
Carmen Sylva’s Kingdom” (1887). They are fairy tales and ballads told
in prose, and taken from the Roumanian national poetry. “They are
history, legends, ballads, and novels (but all true ones) together,”
writes the Queen. “It begins with the fall of Decebal, and ends with
the taking of Widdin.”

Heroes and heroic deeds are here brought before us in disconnected
tales. We read of the fall of the Datian Prince Decebal, of times when
the Roman influence was also felt in Roumania, which still lives among
the Roumanian people in songs and traditions. We gaze into the Middle
Ages and hear of Stephen the Great, as well as the Legend of Manole,
the architect of the Cathedral of Curtea de Arges, which is told with
such marvellous simplicity, and others. We meet with figures of heroic
women, such as the Mother of Stephen the Great, Decebal’s daughter,
Andrada, Fausta, Neaga. The ballads also describe later episodes,
which, being on elevating or touching subjects, have been taken up by
the people.

“When I let all my characters die,” writes the Queen, “I am only like
nature, in which everything ends with death. There is nothing in this
world which has any other ending than death. It is such a peaceful
feeling when they have ceased to struggle, and the poor soul is at
rest. Decebal’s end is as historically true as most histories.

“The third volume will contain legends of birds or flowers, amongst
which ‘Jochen Spatz’ belongs to Roumania. I was asked to write a page
in the album which is dedicated to the memory of Fritz Reuter, and sent
this fairy tale of the people.”

Later the royal lady composed a highly poetical libretto for the opera.
It treats of an episode in the life of the Roumanian people, and is
called Neaga. The Swedish composer Hallström has set it to music. The
subject of the poem, “A Prayer,” was also taken from life, having
occurred to a priest.

The Queen writes French poetry with ease. In the spring of 1883
the “Félibres,” an alliance of authors and learned men in the South
of France which had in view the resuscitation of Provence and its
poetry, induced the Queen to answer in the same strain. The royal pair
were spending a few weeks at Sestri Ponente at that time. Thither
the Félibres de Lar sent her Majesty a sonnet in the old language of
Provence, containing the poetic invitation to visit them in the sunny
land of the Troubadours. Without much reflection Queen Elizabeth
answered them in the following poem, which we give here as a proof of
the wide range of her talent:--


RÉPONSE DE S. M. LA REINE ELISABETH DE ROUMANIE AU CAPISCOL.

MONSIEUR J. B. GANT, POUR LES FÉLIBRES DE LAR.

    “De gracieux noms suis appelée,
    Venir ne puis,
    Par tems et devoir enchaînée,
    Oiseau ne suis.

    Si, comme la pensée moult radieuse,
    Ailes j’avais,
    A votre source mystérieuse
    Je renaîtrais.

    Je baignerais dans l’harmonie
    De la chanson,
    Cherchant des froideurs de la vie
    La guérison.

    Au grand soleil qui vous innonde
    De son amour,
    Oyez--je volerais une onde,
    Beau troubadour.

    Je cueillerais de vos pensées
    La fraîche fleur,
    Vos harpes au cœur accordées
    Me diraient: Sœur!

    Le Mistral même s’est fait caresse!
    Venir ne puis
    A votre source enchanteresse;
    Oiseau ne suis!”

                ELISABETH.

  SESTRI PONENTE, _le 11 Avril 1883_.

We will also mention the two newest works of Carmen Sylva that were
published at Christmas 1883. First we will tell of a little book of
novelettes, termed “Etchings.” It contains sketches and pictures from
life, which bear the technical titles of the work of the artist, such
as Engravings, Chalk Drawings, Wood Engravings, &c. “In my eyes,” says
the royal lady, “novelettes are for the poet what studies of heads
are for the artist, and the aphorisms are the slight sketches in the
sketch-book.” Almost at the same time the large collection of poems
termed ‘My Rest’ appeared.

Amongst them are poetic idylls reverting to the twelve months of the
year. A collection of poems belong to each of these, some of which
are written in the form of epic poems or romances, others in lyric,
epigrammatic, or didactic form. Most of the ballads are taken from
life. In these forms the poetic genius and intellectual power of Carmen
Sylva appear to their greatest advantage, and we find many cheerful
songs in this rich collection. “The Post,” a Roumanian picture, vivid
with life and colour, is particularly charming. It runs thus:--

    “Swift, swift as the wind drives the great Russian Czar,
    But we of Roumania are swifter by far--
    Eight horses we harness for every day speed,
    But I’ve driven a team of a dozen at need.
    Then over the bridges we hurry along,
    Through village and hamlet, with shouting and song,
    With a hip-hip-hurrah! swiftly onwards we go,
    The birds fly above and our horses below.

    When the sun burns at noon and the dust whirls on high,
    Like the leaves of the forest, grown withered and dry,
    We hasten along, never slacking the rein--
    The wild mountain riders come down to the plain.
    Their hair and their cloaks flutter free in the wind--
    The sheep and the buffaloes gallop behind,
    And hip-hip-hurrah! boys, with horse and with man,
    Like the tempest we pass--let him follow who can.

    When winter is here and the storm-sprite’s abroad,
    Swift glideth the sledge o’er the snow-covered road--
    Great drifts hide the inn and the sign-post from sight,
    ’Tis an ocean of snow lying waveless and white.
    The wolves and the ravens’ wild greetings we hear
    As we pass the ravine, and the precipice drear,
    With a hip-hip-hurrah! From the road though we stray,
    No matter, the horses will find out the way.

    The rain falls in torrents--the stream, grown a flood,
    Has shattered the bridge on our passage that stood.
    The waters have risen--are rising yet more--
    ’Tis foolhardy daring to swim to the shore.
    Ten pieces of gold and I’ll venture my neck--
    The carriage is floating--the box-seat’s the deck;
    But hip-hip-hurrah! boys, so loud are our cheers,
    That the water flows back, for our shouting it fears.

    A jest to the lad and a kiss to the lass
    We throw, while they linger to watch as we pass;
    His laugh still resounds and her cheek is still red,
    When already our bells jingle far on ahead.
    Right well does our team know their silvery chime,
    And we scarce slacken speed as the mountain we climb.
    Then hip-hip-hurrah! boys, nay! slowly, beware,
    For steep’s the descent, we must make it with care.

    How sweetly the peal from the convent rings out,
    The nuns scatter flowers around and about,
    Black-stoled and black-wimpled, they bloom like the rose,
    Their eyes ev’n have veils, that too often they close,
    Of long silken lashes, now raised with a smile--
    A cordial the long, weary way to beguile:
    But hip-hip-hurrah! we have passed from their ken,
    While they wish us good speed over hill, vale, and fen.

    At midnight, the streets of the town to the tread
    Of our horses resound--all the sky’s glowing red,
    For crowds gather round us with torches alight,
    And pine-boughs all blazing, to stare at the sight.
    A crack of the whip and a cheer and a song,
    Through a circle of fire, we clatter along;
    And hip-hip-hurrah! through the glow and the glare,
    Through flowers and folk, e’er a halt we declare.

    ’Twas when I was driving my king that I broke
    Both my legs at one fall--why, a saint ’twould provoke!
    But when in three weeks he returned o’er the plain,
    Thank the Lord! I was sound in the saddle again.
    ‘What, it’s you back again!’ was his greeting to me.
    ‘Yes, sire,’ I replied, ‘for Roumanians are we,
    And hip-hip-hurrah! a postillion as well.
    Seven lives are my birthright, I’ve often heard tell.’

    Even if I were dead, I could never lie still--
    I should hasten afield over valley and hill.
    I’d take the eight reins and the whip in my hand,
    And scarce in the saddle I’d fly through the land.
    No dull, droning chant and procession for me,
    I’d turn in my coffin such doings to see;
    And hip-hip-hurrah! from the bier and its gloom
    I’d leap to the saddle and drive to my tomb.”

And also this poem--


BETRAYED.

    “A rock had chosen a pine for his bride,
      In his rugged arms he bore her,
    And vowed, as he cradled her early growth,
      For ever he’d keep and adore her.

    She was his; who should tear her away from his side?
      So deep her roots had she driven;
    She clasped him firmly with loving embrace,
      That his stony heart was riven.

    But the west wind rose, and with angry breath,
      He cried ‘Let her go, she is mine!’
    So the stormy blast and the love-lorn rock
      Strove each with each for the pine.

    Till, poised for a moment, as if in doubt,
      The pine fell trembling over,
    And tore herself loose from the rock’s caress,
      And took the storm for her lover.

    But little recked he of the pine laid low
      As he blustered in mirth down the valley,
    Through rocks and forests cleaving his way
      With many another to dally.

    She clutched with powerless arms at space,
      But might not arrest her ruin;
    Headlong she fell and abandoned lay
      Far from the place she grew in.

    And the rock, forlorn, gazed down the abyss
      Where she lay at the foot of the mountain,
    While, swollen with tears, from his stony side,
      Burst forth a perennial fountain.

    It shall pour down his side, a ceaseless flood,
      In search of the pine for ages;
    Time healeth not the gaping wound
      Nor the depth of his woe assuages.

    And a thousand trees crowd round his crest,
      Waving their maiden tresses;
    In vain! he careth for none of these,
      Still true to his lost caresses.”

We have only been able to give a few leaves from the forest of Carmen
Sylva’s songs. We will now close the picture of the surprising creative
power of our authoress with the last verses of her poem “Carmen.” She
here addresses her readers and says--

    “And all which here I have been singing
        It is your very own!
    From your deep heart its music bringing,
    To sad chords of your sorrows ringing,
        Winning for you the crown!

    Yours were the thoughts for ever ranging,
        You made the folk-tales true!
    In this earth-day of chance and changing,
    Of lives unfolding, deaths estranging,
        Look, Soul! there, too, are you!

    Perchance, when Death shall bring sad leisure,
        And these pale lips are dumb,
    Then you my words may better measure,
    And in my true love take new pleasure;
        Then will my meaning come!”

                --_Translated by Sir Edwin Arnold._

In the second edition “My Rest” appeared in small single volumes,
_i.e._--1. “Heights and Depths;” 2. “Worldly Wisdom;” 3. “Mother and
Child;” 4. “Ballads and Romances.”

“My Rhine” was new poetry. Under this title Carmen Sylva brought out
in 1884 a poetical description of the towns and castles of her native
Rhine. Artistic illustrations and etchings of the landscapes adorn each
poem.

“It Knocks.” “Between whiles I have written a little novel of 100
pages,” writes the Queen, “because a poor boy came to beg me to give
his father some editing to do. They were so badly off, he said, and he
wished to surprise his parents with a manuscript of mine. I think it is
the best thing I have written, all the more as it is quite true, and I
have only created the framework. If one is not too discreet, real life
offers more than the creatures of one’s imagination.

“I do not think it makes a difference in the work if the _donnée_ is
true or not. All is true which is true inwardly, for all has happened,
and the novelist has only to disentangle the thread and show why it has
happened. It is tremendously hard work for body and mind.”

“My Book.” An Egyptian picture-book with drawings from Egypt round the
borders, and facsimile poems of Carmen Sylva (1885).

“From Two Worlds.” A novel by Carmen Sylva, written in joint
authorship with Frau Mite Kemnitz, _née_ Bardeleben, and brought
out in 1885 under the pseudonym of “Ditto” and “Idem.” In the form
of letters and journals a love story is here developed between two
persons of different social standing. The young Princess Ulrike von
Grosreichenstein takes a fancy to a Professor of History in Greifswald,
whose principal work she has read. She writes to him of her passionate
admiration. The correspondence leads to a personal meeting and deep
love. Thereupon follows a scene, a love match, a terrible catastrophe,
and at last the noble family, so proud of its descent, is conciliated
to the unalterable facts. It is not the description of real life, but
the different manner of thinking and looking at things, in which the
interest of “In Two Worlds” is centred. The letters of Princess Ulrike
are by “Ditto” (Carmen Sylva), while “Idem” (Mite Kremnitz) originated
the Professor.

“Astra,” a novel by Ditto and Idem (1886). The places described in this
novel are in the immediate neighbourhood of Roumania. The habits of the
people and the country are here described with great exactness and in a
lively manner. Astra goes on a visit to her sister, who is married to a
country gentleman of the province of Bukowina. Sandor becomes enamoured
of the “Will o’ the Wisp,” his graceful sister-in-law. This leads to
a conflict which ends tragically. Here also the epistolary form is
chosen. While the _dramatis personæ_ let us see the innermost thoughts
of their hearts, the development of their characters is clearly
unfolded. Carmen Sylva gave the following answer to some ladies who had
written to inquire if the unhappy being depicted in Astra had really
lived, and whether the novel was based on truth.

“_21st July 1836._--A good novel must, according to my convictions,
never be anything but an imaginary biography. You have only to put
together the contrasts of which every life really consists. You would
hardly believe of how many thousands of prisms a human being is made
up. He is a regular kaleidoscope. As you turn him, he assumes a
different aspect. The motive power of the experience and impressions is
the principal thing. Words spring out of this of themselves.

“Astra is perhaps a vague recollection of a charming creature whom I
always called my Will o’ the Wisp, and who to my eternal sorrow had the
same fate as them all, though this is not in any way like the little
Astra. Margot is the creation of my fellow-worker, Frau Mite Kremnitz,
who had the death-scenes plainly before her mind, though every one was
against it. As to Sandor, we are afraid that he really exists, though,
of course, he is not quite the same. We may not be so indiscreet as to
paint portraits, but the brain is too good a photographic plate not to
take hold of what we have experienced and to reproduce it to a certain
extent, whilst we are thinking that we are working from imagination
alone.

“Our working together is certainly charming. What talks and what sharp
encounters we have when we separate of an evening, and during the night
a new solution has appeared to every one. This then must be the right
one! Still we surprise one another in its execution. Our first book
was called ‘From Two Worlds.’ Since ‘Astra’ we have written a novel,
‘It was a Mistake.’ It appeared in 1886, first in “Nord und Süd,” when
we often took the pen out of each other’s hands and let the other write
on.

“There is another book in print, ‘The Century,’ which is very good.
It is a novel by Ditto and Idem, describing the time of the French
War of 1870. We have already a new book on the brain which is to be
called “Brother and Sister,” and to which we look forward with the
joy of children, and whose tragical moments we dread already, before
the first word is written, for we must pay dearly for it when we dive
into the depths of the heart. We cannot do this without suffering
great pain. And with what anxiety does one ask oneself at every line,
‘Is that true?’ As if one stood before a judge and bore a tremendous
responsibility! For nothing can give authors more pleasure than that
that which comes from the heart should touch the hearts of others. A
book of 300 pages has already lain by for four years, because I have
not the courage to bear all the trials which my characters have to
suffer, and yet I cannot but write what I know to be true.”

“Mistaken”--tales of Ditto and Idem of which most of the circumstances
were taken from life. Amongst other things the story of the funeral
during the snowstorm is most touching. The pathetic and yet so simple
a story of love and death, as well as the description of the terrible
storm, are here recounted with marvellous artistic power.

“Seventeen Songs of the Artisans,” by J. E. Bowen, were translated into
English, and appeared in the Prize Number of the _Independent_ in New
York in 1887. There they will also appear as a small book.

“The Fishers of Iceland,” by Pierre Loti, translated into German by
Carmen Sylva. From a letter of the Queen, 5th September 1887:--

“I should like to do all I can to bring the two nations together, and
make use of everything and everybody for that purpose, for I have a
sort of fixed idea that the Germanic and Latin races should complete
one another. I am now doing something that is to further this object: I
am translating the most beautiful book of modern times, ‘Les Pêcheurs
d’Islande,’ by Pierre Loti, into German. This is quite a new sort of
work, which gives me infinite pleasure. It seems to flow from my pen.
I began it on the 26th of August, and hope to have finished it in
five days, for I have already translated two hundred sheets, and have
only one hundred more to do. It is so wonderfully beautiful that I
rejoice or weep during my work, and enjoy every sentence. It is an epic
poem in prose, simple, grand, and true. In translating I enjoy the
pleasure of producing something, and feel no despair, only pleasure.
How wonderfully beautiful this book is! I feel as if I had made great
progress by reading Pierre Loti. A good book is better for one than the
most severe criticisms, for one can see for oneself what is beautiful
and what is badly written.

“The fishers of Iceland are a part of the people of the coast of
Bretagne who have fished in the Arctic Seas for generations. This
dangerous but remunerative business descends from father to son. It
demands great sacrifices from the ranks of the Bretagne fishermen year
by year. The heroes of the novel, as well as the other characters,
are all types of people, strong and natural characters, which are not
spoilt by the disturbing influences of civilisation. With the eyes
of an artist Pierre Loti has observed the natural phenomena and the
changing lights of those northern regions, and has represented them to
us with the soul of an artist.”

The Queen has translated this book with the same feelings as though
it were her own creation. The descriptions of nature, the storm on
the sea, the simple life of a fisherman, each separate picture in
miniature is rendered word for word in the short and precise style of
Pierre Loti. The touching story reads like a German poem. Carmen Sylva
has artistically accomplished the task of giving the individuality of
the author with a breath of his feelings in another language.


_To Augustus Bungert._

“I am always being preached at to keep quiet and cool while I am at
work, but this is of no use--the fury is there! The next day I look
upon what is finished so coldly, and as if it were the greatest horror,
whilst I cannot take my eyes off when I am at work. If only each work
were not a piece of one’s life, as Daudet so beautifully describes it
in ‘L’homme a la cervelle d’or,’ in the ‘Lettres de mon moulin.’”

       *       *       *       *       *

Two fairy tales are in preparation, “The Labours of the Pelesch,” a
sort of allegory; “The Strange Adventures of the Gipsy Didica;” and
“Songs of the Artisans.”

From letters of the Queen to Augustus Bungert, 18th February 1888:--

“‘The Songs of the Artisans’ are a splendid work for me. I have the
idea, and call the whole story ‘Waldvogel’s Songs,’ while the fairy
tale of Prince Waldvogel, which I have had in my head for years,
appears at the same time, as if he had sung all the songs. It must be
brought down to modern times, or I shall not be up to the Artisans.
It will be called ‘Love Songs of the Artisans in Wood and Field.’ One
hundred and thirty songs are already composed, and there are about
twenty more to arrange. But the electric current is broken sometimes,
and I do not so easily find it again. If I can keep to my work, one
thought leads to another, and I cannot write them down as fast as they
come. But the object of laying by what is written is that what is not
good is eradicated later. But I should be able to talk over all these
things, for I have no judgment as to what is good or bad. What is gone
is gone! When I have painted something I turn its face to the wall so
as not to see it again. I never open what is once printed, but go on,
and on.

“This winter I have also made a plot for a tragedy, ‘Meister Manole.’
But I want a quiet time to write it in. I have also a long poem,
‘Nemesis,’ in my head, and the beginning of four novels. But what
appears to me the best does not strike others so. It is lucky that
amongst ten persons each one thinks a different poem the best.

[Illustration:

    _Woodbury Compy._

QUEEN ELIZABETH,

IN ROUMANIAN COSTUME.]

“As to the great poem which I have still to write, I often have the
feeling that it will come one day, but not by doing nothing. A
day of rest is nearly a misfortune to me. I have at once the feeling
of being unable to work. It is quite childish! I feel as if I were
drifting into the sea, into infinite space in deepest melancholy, and
could not find any firm footing! Just try how you feel when you have
not written anything for two days. Certainly I have not yet composed a
Nausikaa, and cannot rest on my laurels, but am constantly incited by
the feeling of not having done anything yet.”

Most of the works of the Queen are already translated into various
languages, or are being translated. Many of her poems have also been
set to music.

Augustus Bungert, the poet and composer of Tetralogy, the World of
Homer, Nausikaa, the Return of Odysseus, &c., has edited the finest
poems from “The Witch,” “My Rest,” and “Songs of the Artisans,” and
called them “Poems of a Queen;” as well as “My Rhine,” “Dramas in
Songs,” “Kalafat,” &c. Hallström, Reinecke, Gounod, and Madame Augusta
Holmès in Paris have arranged Carmen Sylva’s poems as songs.

Before the year comes to an end the ever-restlessly working imagination
of the royal poetess will have created new works which we are unable to
mention here.




[Illustration]

XIII.

Conclusion.


In conclusion, let us allow the last years of the life of the Queen to
unroll themselves before us.

Her strength had been overtaxed by the physical and moral strain
imposed upon her during the time of war, and constantly recurring
attacks of fever had weakened her. Early in the year 1882 the Queen was
attacked by severe illness.

For many weeks the royal lady was hanging between life and death.
The whole nation was full of anxiety and sympathy, and the love of
her people and the popularity her Majesty enjoyed was displayed in a
touching manner during this time. Poor women even, who had to work hard
for their daily bread, gave their little savings to the Church in order
to have a prayer said for the preservation of their beloved “Muma
Regina.” The Queen bore her dreadful sufferings heroically, and her
patience, gentleness, and solicitude for her attendants were beautiful
to witness. She always had a comforting and hopeful word for the King,
who scarcely left her bedside. The life of the Queen was saved by a
successful operation, and six weeks after she was once more standing at
her easel and illuminating on parchment.

But though restored to health, her Majesty was more than ever subject
to the pernicious influence of the climate, and the attacks of fever
returned in shorter intervals. Only a change of air could be of any
avail, but circumstances prevented the Queen leaving the country. At
last, in the spring of 1883, the King could accompany his consort to
Italy. In Sestri Ponente, on the Mediterranean, the Queen soon so far
recovered that she could travel to Neuwied and Segenhaus to complete
her cure there. The Dowager Princess of Wied had been seriously ill at
the same time. With what deep feelings mother and daughter met at last
can easily be imagined!

Queen Elizabeth spent nine weeks at the Segenhaus, where her native
air restored her youthful freshness and activity, and she could give
herself up entirely to the happiness of being again surrounded by her
nearest relations. These were, according to her expression, days that
had wings and were without a cloud. During her presence the little
castle on the heights of the Westerwald became a second Belriguardo.
One imagined oneself transported back to the time of the Medicis. Here
distinguished relations, artists and learned men, went in and out, and
often remained for days and weeks at Monrepos and Segenhaus. Alexandri,
the Roumanian poet, brought his new drama to read and discuss with
the Queen. Hallström, the Swedish composer, wished to lay before her
Majesty that part of the opera “Neaga” which he had finished composing.
The artist, Augustus Becker, came from Düsseldorf with his Roumanian
sketches, after which he was going to paint a large picture by the
King’s order. Karl Cauer, from Kreuznach, had made a bust of the Queen,
and wished to compare it with the original. In the studio at Monrepos,
Prince William and the Dutch artist, Bisschop, were painting a portrait
of the Queen. On his way back to Oxford, Professor Max Müller remained
at the Segenhaus for some days. Intercourse with this man of deep
thought and learning elevates one into the refined and intellectual
atmosphere in which he lives and thinks.

The Musical Festival of the Rhenish Provinces was to be held at
Cologne during this year. The Queen wished to be present at it. Since
that important day in which she and Prince Charles of Roumania had
been betrothed, she had not again seen the beautiful town on the
Rhine. Now the great creations of sound resounded in her ears, and the
recollections of past days were mightily awakened. The words of the
following song are so fresh, that it is as if, after sixteen years of
married life, bridal affection were still new to her heart.

    “This is Apollo’s feast day,
      But Eros strikes the lyre;
    Though harmony must rule the hour,
      Let Love my lay inspire.

    For I, Apollo’s pilgrim,
      To Love must turn aside;
    The flowing melodies recall
      The bridegroom and the bride.

    When, Köln, thy walls embrace me,
      To thee my thoughts incline;
    Fain would I kneel and worship
      As in some holy shrine.

    I see thee clad in splendour,
      And music fills thy halls;
    But a maiden tremor frights me,
      And the thought of my troth recalls.

    O Köln, the free and lovely,
      Where summer zephyrs play,
    Was it the spell of thy music
      That drove me so far away?

    O Köln, the Rhine’s fair city,
      My life is entwined in thee!
    I came to list to thy minstrels,
      And thou broughtest my King to me!”

Wonderfully beautiful were their wanderings through the beechwoods, the
mild summer evenings spent on the balcony of the castle, with its view
over the landscape glowing in the rich colours of sunset. Every bright
idea was turned into a poem or a song, and every deep thought was put
down in writing. The hours during which the Queen, either in the castle
or under the forest trees, read her poetry aloud to us, will ever dwell
in our memory. She is a perfect mistress of the art of reading aloud,
and the sweet tones of her melodious voice heightened the effect of
the dramatic situations and the deep feelings which she so graphically
describes. Those who had the high privilege of sharing the great
interest of these weeks can understand the charm which the so richly
endowed nature of the Queen exercises on all who are permitted to come
near her. This time spent in the Segenhaus was living poetry!

When Queen Elizabeth returned to her country and settled at Sinaia
for the hot summer months, the royal pair lived in the romantic old
monastery for the last time. The building of Castle Pelesch was
nearing its completion, and a railway now formed a communication
between Bucharest and Sinaia. Life and activity now reigned in the once
quiet valley of Prahova, for, following the example of their King, the
Roumanian nobles built themselves fine country houses on the slopes of
hills and in the shade of the forest. By degrees the little town of
Sinaia arose, whose arrangements now meet all the requirements of a
modern watering-place.

The royal castle, which is built in the style of German renaissance,
arises, surrounded by the forest, in a gorge at the foot of the
Caraiman mountain. This many-sided building, with its arched galleries
and balconies, is surmounted by numerous gables, towers, and turrets.
The inner building and arrangements of the castle are also very
practical, and the perfect artistic taste which reigns is visible in
every nook and cranny. Nothing is overdone, though all is carried out
in quite magnificent style. The walls of the grand staircase are richly
painted, and the panels of the inner apartments are sumptuously adorned
with bronzes and gobelin tapestry.

All the windows of this large building are enriched with painted glass,
through which alone the light of day penetrates into the wonderful
harmony of these apartments. The glass paintings in the music room
represent scenes from Roumanian legends which have been immortalised
by the poet Alexandri. On the walls are paintings representing Carmen
Sylva’s “Cycle of Fairy Tales,” whilst scenes from the Life of a
Knight adorn the dining-hall. The smoking-room in the principal tower,
arranged in old German style, is very cosy. But the greatest success is
the Queen’s studio, from the covered balconies of which one gazes into
the deep forests which cover the mountains. The poetical impression
of the castle is heightened when, with the twilight, electric light
radiates from the inside of the beautiful building, and lights up its
lofty chambers from outside, whilst the crystal drops of the little
lamps follow the lines of the architecture and make them bright. This
castle also is a poem which the royal pair have carried out together in
sweet concord.

    “I, King Charles, have raised here
    To the people that trusted and held me dear,
    A kingdom amid the tumults of war:
    In the time of peace my home, my star.”

On the 7th of October 1883 Castle Pelesch was solemnly consecrated in
the presence of the highest officials of the country.

After the documents which the Queen had painted had been signed, the
Metropolitan blessed the water brought to him whilst the choir sang.
Then the procession started and passed through the courtyard, thickly
strewn with the branches of fir, from which the scent of the forest was
wafted at every tread to the castle. The keys were solemnly handed over
to the King before the beautifully carved hall door.

His Majesty threw it open, and the Metropolitan first crossed the
threshold of the house. Followed by the royal pair and the long
procession of guests, and accompanied by songs of praise and prayer,
he walked through all the rooms. Whilst scattering drops of holy water
about them, he consecrated the house and prayed for the blessing of God.

When the King had brought out a toast to Roumania at the banquet which
followed, he added these words--“Confident in the possession of the
love of my people, I have here erected a house of my own. It shall
stand as a lasting proof of the firm footing which my dynasty has
attained in this country. The Roumanian people are to see herein a
monument of the unlimited confidence with which I look forward to the
future of our beloved fatherland.”

In the name of the Roumanian nation Alexandri brought out the
congratulations of the people with the verse with which in ancient
times the peasants had celebrated the entrance into the new home of
their princes and nobles.

    “As many stones and beams,
    So many treasures and conquests.
    As many grains of sand,
    So many happy days.
    The sun shall warm it,
    And the winds strengthen it.”

“May the blessing of God and the love of the people forever dwell
within the walls of this house.”

The blessing of the poet has come true! The progress made by the State,
which is developing in all respects, and is full of life and power, are
remarkable. The King has appointed a sum from his privy purse for a
Lexicon of the Academy, which is to be a standard of the language to be
employed in writing. In thousands of schools the lectures in Roumanian
are held free of charge. The King has also founded a Geographical
Society. A longing for culture, for the furthering of the national
interest, has taken hold of all classes of the Roumanian people. A net
of railways overspreads the country, an active commerce binds Roumania
to the rest of Europe, and a mighty army stands in readiness to protect
the native hearth. At the glorious storming of the Grivitza fort of
Plevna the youthful army first showed its powers.

On the 11th of September 1877 the Roumanians had, exposed to a
heavy artillery fire, three times endeavoured in vain to take the
fortifications of Grivitza. They were always thrown back by the
courageous stand their enemies made. The battlefield was covered with
the dead and wounded. Then Prince Carol galloped up to his troops,
shouting, “Forward to victory, my children.” Inspired by the presence
and the voice of their heroic leader, the brave men of the second
battalion of Chasseurs again stormed the Turkish bulwarks, and before
the evening came on the Roumanian flag waved on the fort of Grivitza!
Nearly all the officers, and half of the men, had bought the victory
with their life.

In the East the number seven is a sacred number. Therefore the seventh
anniversary of this memorable day, the 11th of September 1884, was to
be celebrated with peculiar solemnity at Sinaia.

The bells of the monastery chapel were tolling. Round about the
courtyard of the monastery stood the second battalion of Chasseurs
eagerly awaiting the arrival of the royal pair, who were descending
from the castle to the cloister attended by a large suite. The flag of
Roumania, adorned with its star, and torn to shreds in the battles,
was lowered upon the entrance of the royal pair, who now entered the
church. Within resounded a solemn mass for the fallen and a song of
praise for the victory won. Without, in the court of the monastery,
the military band played the poem written by Th. Körner, and composed
by Hummel--“Father I call to Thee.” On undertaking the government the
King had chosen this as the prayer of the army, and since then it is
regularly played on great occasions.

At the close of the service the troops defiled before the King. Then
they marched in a long procession through the splendid beech and
fir woods to a height which commanded a view over the whole valley.
There the camp of tents was erected. Before a triumphal arch the
Mayor presented the Queen with a bouquet of roses in the name of the
battalion of Chasseurs, and to the sound of the National Hymn the royal
pair proceeded to the middle of the camp. Here stood two tents, one
arranged for the royal banquet, the other for the soldiers. The royal
tent was decorated with the innate taste of the Roumanians for the
beautiful. From the outside only green branches and ferns were to be
seen, amidst which the entwined initials of the royal pair appeared.
Within, the tent was ornamented with some of the Queen’s mottoes
which related to a soldier’s life and heroic deeds, and which the
officers had translated into Roumanian. There were also verses by the
poet Alexandri, who had written them when the people were under arms.
Amongst them appeared the names of the Roumanians who had fallen whilst
storming the fort of Grivitza. Martial music was played during the
repast, and a crowd of people in the beautiful costume of the country
surrounded the tents. At a given signal the joyous strains ceased, and
the soldiers stood before the tent of their King.

Amidst perfect silence, and in a voice which was heard from far, the
King harangued his Chasseurs as to the meaning and the fame of this
ever-memorable day, and ended with the words--

“Hold fast the sacred tradition of 1877, so as always to be worthy of
the great distinctions which you owe to your brave brothers in arms. I
raise my glass to drink to the health of the army, and to the memory of
the fallen heroes of Grivitza.” Enthusiastic hurrahs and the braying
of trumpets awoke the echoes of the hills. Then the King rose again to
wreathe the flag in the name of the Queen, and said--“This garland of
flowers the Queen dedicates to the flag torn with bullets and blackened
with the smoke of the powder, around which the remnants of the
battalion crowded in the hour of danger and pressed on to victory!”

The banquet had ended. The King surrounded by his soldiers, and the
Queen by children, went from tent to tent, giving all a kind word or
a smile. Then gipsy music suddenly resounded, and as if by magic the
crowd arranged itself hand in hand for the famous dance of the Hora,
this celebrated national dance of the Roumanians. The royal pair placed
themselves in the middle of the circle formed by soldiers, peasants,
and ladies and gentlemen. It was soon extended to such a length that
a second circle of dancing children formed itself round the Queen.
At first the Hora moved slowly and with stately grace, but when the
gipsies sang the Kindia, when the violins, pipes, mandolins, and
tambourines sounded louder and quicker, the circle was broken, and the
people flew up and down in long rows. They surged to the right and to
the left, backwards and forwards, without pausing, and with breathless
speed. They were all in the highest spirits, but their joy was kept
within bounds. There was no disorder, and only joyous sounds resounded
in the hills.

At sunset the royal pair returned to the castle. A thousand voices
cheered them as they descended the height, and sounded on and on when
their figures had long been lost in the gloom of the forest. Soon the
braying of trumpets was heard in the still side valley of the Prahova,
where the beautiful castle of the King stands near the foaming Pelesch.
One torch after another appeared in the dark fir woods. Then the
procession of torches came up the sides of the hill and stood before
the castle, which, being at this moment illuminated with Bengal lights,
shone like a fairy palace in the dark night, the royal pair appearing
in the glorious light. The military bands sounded grand amongst those
mighty mountains. The performance of the battle prayer was the close
of this patriotic fête. The torch-bearers gradually disappeared into
the shades of the forest. Deep silence surrounded the castle, and broad
shadows overspread the forest and mountains. Night stretched her dreamy
wings, over the landscape which had so lately been peopled by a gay
throng.

A few weeks later the royal pair left their castle in the Carpathians
and travelled to Sigmaringen. Prince Charles Anthony of Hohenzollern
and his consort, born a Princess of Baden, the parents of the King
of Roumania, celebrated their golden wedding there on the 21st
of October. All their children and grandchildren surrounded the
venerable pair. The Emperor William heightened the brilliancy of
this extraordinary festivity by his presence, to which nearly all
the Princes of Germany had assembled themselves in the castle of the
Hohenzollern. Numerous deputations brought artistically executed
congratulatory addresses, presents, and poems. They were all tokens of
sincere and grateful veneration, for the whole of Germany had taken a
lively interest in the happiness of the princely pair.

But to this joy soon succeeded the sorrow at the death of Prince
Charles Anthony of Hohenzollern. After much suffering a sort of
apoplectic fit had seized him. His condition became worse, his weakness
increased, and he lost consciousness. Surrounded by his children
and the faithful partner of his life, he passed away on the 2nd of
June 1885, without a struggle. During the sad days when the Prince
was slowly dying, the Queen of Roumania had been “a true angel of
consolation,” as she expressed it, to her mother-in-law, the now
widowed Princess Josephine. Queen Elizabeth had watched and prayed
with her at the deathbed of the Prince during the first night, and had
undertaken for her the numerous labours of love which in such days
have such claims on heart and time.

It was a historic moment when, on the morning of the 6th of June,
the mourning procession, headed by the then Crown Prince of the
German Empire, started from the castle to the tomb of their
ancestors, in which the mortal remains of the last reigning Prince of
Hohenzollern-Sigmaringen were laid to rest. He belonged to the most
distinguished and meritorious men of his time, whose influence the
grateful German Fatherland will not forget.

But not alone the family lost a beloved centre in the noble German
Prince. The Emperor William bewailed in him the trusted friend of many
years, who had stood faithfully at his side in times of difficulty and
danger. Prince Charles Anthony had made the first step towards the
union of Germany. Having realised with great political insight during
the occurrences of 1848 that the position of the little states was
untenable, he willingly renounced the sovereignty of his Hohenzollern
lands. He handed his principality over to the head of the Prussian
branch of his house, and forthwith, as the first German subject, worked
with great unselfishness and conscientiousness to help on the power and
greatness of Germany. Prussia’s territory now extended to the south of
Germany. As a memento of this deed, Frederick William IV. founded the
Order of Hohenzollern, with the inscription, “Vom Fels zum Meer” (From
the Rock to the Sea).

The Roumanians also bewailed the loss of this noble Prince. They
knew that he had followed the development of the country with the
interest of a statesman, for its fate remains closely bound up in
the family of Hohenzollern. Roumania is an hereditary constitutional
monarchy. In the year 1866 the naturalisation of the Sigmaringen
branch of the Hohenzollerns was carried out, and the question of the
succession legally settled. Prince Leopold, the then hereditary Prince,
stood nearest to the throne, and his second son Ferdinand was the
heir-apparent of King Charles.

In 1886 this circumstance assumed a political significance. During
a visit of the present Prince Leopold and his two sons, Ferdinand
and Charles, a weighty affair of State was transacted. The King had
nominated Prince Leopold of Hohenzollern chief of the 3rd Regiment of
Grenadiers, which Prince Ferdinand now entered as a lieutenant. After
his nomination had been read out in the presence of the Queen, all
the Ministers, the Presidents of the Senate and Chamber of Deputies,
as well as all the generals and officers, the King addressed the
assembly. Touching on the entrance of Prince Ferdinand into the
Roumanian army, he added--

“This is an honour for him of which I am assured he will prove himself
worthy. For us it is a great cause for rejoicing and a surety for the
future which the country will understand, for as a member of my family
he might one day be called upon to protect my kingdom and to carry
on our traditions. It is therefore a weighty moment which now unites
us here, and in later times we shall often remember that the 26th of
November has a deep meaning. I and my successor, to-day and in the
future, will place our entire confidence in the army and rest on its
sure foundations.”

Loud hurrahs often interrupted the royal speech, and the touching and
important ceremony was brought to a close by the march-past of the
troops, during which the Prince of Hohenzollern led his regiment, and
Prince Ferdinand with deep emotion took his place in its ranks near the
flag.

What feelings throbbed through the heart of the royal lady at this
moment, which brought so vividly before her the bitterness of her
sorrow, all she thus had to resign, and how many disappointed hopes!
This great sorrow had been her constant companion during the last
eighteen years--“It has added the battle with itself to the battle with
life.”

“_3rd March 1886._--And yet I shall never say I would rather not have
lived, for my life is rich and full, and though the waves do not cease
to beat, they are mighty waves on a deep sea, and the wind which
whistles round my cables makes them a harp and sings songs to the
world. No; life is still beautiful though it may be stormy.”

What was deeply enshrined in her heart has found an expression in songs
and pictures. The Queen has quite lately raised a monument of her lost
child which will outlive many a human life, for she has entrusted it to
the sacred keeping of the Church.

During the government of King Charles not only the political and
commercial life of the country was renewed, but he had regarded it
as his duty to save the treasures of art and the ancient buildings
of the country from destruction. One of the finest monuments of the
Middle Ages, and a marvel of classical Byzantine, architecture, is the
Cathedral of Curtea de Arges. Through the influence of the weather,
fire, and neglect it had fallen into decay. King Charles sent for the
famous Lecomte de Nouy, a scholar of Viollet-le-Duc, to Roumania,
in order to restore the church according to the intentions of its
founder, as gloriously as it stood nearly four hundred years ago.

On the 5th of March 1886 Queen Elizabeth writes to her mother:--“I
have undertaken a great work for the Church of Curtea de Arges. I am
inscribing the gospels on enormous sheets of vellum, from which they
are then to be read every Thursday as a recollection of that Thursday
on which I heard them read beside the coffin of my child. It will be a
fine work, and I shall write this book with my own hands, so that it
will be the best monument to little Marie. I will paint a dedication
for its consecration according to the customs of the Middle Ages.

“The binding will be executed by Telge in Berlin in cloisonnet after my
designs. I have just painted a background with a scarlet border. Gold
letters with red in them are to appear on this blue background, and on
the scarlet edge Moorish ornaments in gold with blue. You can imagine
how rich this will be.

“On the first page are four episodes in the life of Marie, and four
from the Passion of Christ, on which the words ‘Betrayed’ might stand:
‘Gethsemane, the Kiss of Judas, the Betrayal, and the Purple Robe.’
In the middle is the Resurrection, that is the Noli me tangere of
Fiesole, Christ and the Magdalene. On the other side of the page is
my dedication surrounded by angels’ heads. In the midst my child’s
portrait. She is represented as tolling the Easter bell. To the left
Otto; to the right Hermann, Marie, and Franzi; in the middle below
Stéphanie; on the right Marie Bibra; to the left Marie Sulzer. Their
names and the dates of their death are inscribed at the side.

“The dedication is as follows:--

  ‘I have made this book of the Twelve[4] Gospels of the Passion
  of our Lord and Saviour Christ Jesus for the Holy Church and
  Episcopacy of Curtea de Arges, and consecrated it to God as a
  monument to my only and deeply loved child Marie, who passed to
  life eternal on Thursday in Holy Week, and at whose deathbed I then
  heard the consoling words of God.

    [4] In the Greek Churches of Roumania the Passion of our Lord
        is read every Maunday Thursday. It is there called the
        twelve gospels, as the words of the four evangelists are
        interrupted twelve times with song and prayer.

‘CASTLE PELESCH, _27th Aug.-8th Sept. 1886_.’

“Round the pages I have only painted butterflies, symbols of eternity
and resurrection, and three times the song of Easter week:--

    ‘Christos a înviat din morti
    Cu Moarte prim Moarte calcând
    Si delor din mormônturi
    Viata daruindule.

    ‘Christ is risen from the dead,
    Having overcome death through death,
    And given life
    To those in the grave.’”

“_18th February 1888._--The Book of the Gospels of Curtea de Arges
takes much strength and time. It contains fifty large sheets of
parchment, and will want fifty more. When I am working at it my pen is
thrown aside. It is as if my fancy could only work in one direction
at a time. Of course I work at it twelve to thirteen hours a day, and
finish a page in three days.”

“Et dire que ce travail machinal me survivra peut-être seul, quand tout
ce que j’ai écrit sera démodé et mes grandes pensées éteintes!”

In the middle of October 1886 the renovated basilica was to be
consecrated, and the King and Queen were to arrive in Curtea de
Arges on that day. The little market town lies in Wallachia, to the
north-west of Pitesci, and was the seat of the Wallachian Princes from
the thirteenth to the fifteenth centuries. The cathedral stands on a
height outside the little town. It is said to have been built between
1517 and 1527 by the architect Manole. According to the legend, Manole
buried his young wife alive in the foundations of the building, to
break the spell which caused the work of the day to fall to pieces in
the night. Art critics say that this church is unique of its kind. The
Greek cross was chosen for the plan of foundation of the basilica, with
a wide dome. The whole building is painted green, gold, and blue. The
arches of the windows and their frames, and the numberless garlands
in stone which entwine around them, are covered with numerous and
ever-varying ornamental sculptures. The effect of these is enhanced
by a gold ground and light tints. As symbolic ornaments, little doves
carved in stone with bells in their beaks hover over these garlands.
The most beautiful harmony of colour and form pervades the whole of
this artistically perfect creation. Some steps lead up to the Moorish
entrance, the ante-hall of which is supported by twelve pillars. Not
far from the principal entrance stands the baptistery.

When the King and Queen arrived, the road from Pitesci to Curtea de
Arges was decked with numberless triumphal arches, but the greatest
ornament were the people, who enthusiastically greeted their
Majesties, and whose beautiful national costumes harmonised in a
wonderful manner with the architecture.

From a telegram from the Minister Stourdza to the Dowager Princess of
Wied:--

“We have in consecrating the Episcopal Church of Arges taken part
in a beautiful and ideal fête which nothing could further enhance.
Surrounded by an indescribably beautiful landscape, which shone in a
glorious light and magnificent autumn tints, the fête was intensified
by religious, artistic, and poetical feelings, as well as by the
recollection of the past, a sense of the present, and a firm faith in
the future. The King and Queen were the centre of interest, to whom
a crowd of all classes from all parts of the kingdom (above 20,000
people) brought a magnificent ovation.

“The speech of the King from the portal of the church found an echo
in the hearts of all present. The book of the Gospels written by the
Queen and now consecrated was demanded by the people, and kissed
with touching devotion. This day is a day of great importance and
wide-spreading influence. We were consecrating a splendid Temple of
Peace to the God of Heaven whilst dreadful disorders surrounded us. All
the clergy, from Archbishop to Priest, came to the King to thank him
warmly for the protection which he had accorded to the church, and for
the beacon light which the Roumanian Church had, through the influence
of King Charles, become in the East.”

On the 30th of October 1886 Queen Elizabeth writes to her mother:--“The
church is simply like one of the Arabian Nights, with its magnificent
background of mountains, which are as high as Caraiman. I have rarely
seen such harmony of colour. I said to Lecomte--‘N’avez-vous pas trop
souffert pendant ces douze ans, pour vous réjouir aujourd’hui?’ ‘J’ai
travaillé pour un idéal et maintenant que Votre Majesté est contente,
je tâcherai de ne plus souffrir.’ I was quite overpowered when I
entered the church, as also when I saw my book carried out and kissed,
and the Gospel read out of it.

“Those were wonderful moments! During the communion all the little
bells which the stone doves carry in their beaks began to tinkle in a
light breeze, and the church echoed during Charles’ speech as though
it were giving answer. More than 15,000 people had assembled, mostly
peasants in their costumes. They rejoiced because I was dressed as they
were. In the afternoon they brought me an ovation. When I went to fetch
my Book of the Gospels I found the church full of the common people.
The Bishop carried it out and placed himself before the door of the
church with it. I turned over the pages for the people, who kissed my
shoulders, arms, and hands, and crossing themselves, blessed me and
kissed the book. Women, children, and soldiers all crowded around us
in the wonderful church door. Add to this the sunset, which tinted the
distant mountains violet and pink, the nearer hills golden. Next year
the railway will run to Curtea de Arges, so that you can be there from
Bucharest in three hours. Then of course the posting will come to an
end, and all the peasants will no more accompany us with their horses,
which is so charming.”

       *       *       *       *       *

Troublous times for the old as well as for the new home of Queen
Elizabeth now followed. The King and Queen of Roumania had also hurried
to Berlin for the Emperor William’s ninetieth birthday, the 22nd of
March 1887. The assembled people cheered heartily and enthusiastically
when the carriage drove up to the Palace which brought the King and
Queen of Roumania to offer their congratulations. It was in honour of
the son of Hohenzollern, who had founded a kingdom in the East with a
strong hand. It was also in honour of Carmen Sylva, the royal poetess.

Not a year had passed when in the early morning of the 9th of March
1888, the Emperor William had passed from his eventful life to life
eternal, strong in his simple faith. Victorious in battle and moderate
in victory, the founder of the German Empire, the ideal of a German
Emperor, his death became an event in the history of the world.

It was not God’s will that the Emperor Frederick III. should reign
long and gloriously. With a courage which effaced all the glories of
his victories on fields of battle, he patiently bore the tortures of
his illness till the last moment when he departed this life! Germany
does not forget her hero, round whose brow a double laurel-wreath is
bound--that of the warrior and the uncomplaining sufferer of cruel
anguish!

The royal Roumanian pair had again come to Berlin for the funeral
of the Emperor. Circumstances did not allow of their doing the last
honours to the Emperor Frederick. But all the reasonings of statesmen
had to retire to the background when, in the course of the summer, a
change of air became a necessity for their Majesties, repeated attacks
of fever having utterly weakened them. In August 1888 King Carol
went to take the waters of Gräfenberg for a short time, whilst Queen
Elizabeth was sent to Westerland-on-Sylt on the North Sea.

Not as Queen of Roumania, but as “Carmen Sylva,” was she
enthusiastically received on her journey to Sylt as soon as she was on
German soil. She has sung her songs and told her tales to the German
Fatherland, and now the German people crowded around her and thanked
her with hearty cheers!

In beautiful sunshine, her carriage hung with garlands, and
enthusiastically greeted by the crowd, Carmen Sylva arrived at the
station of Westerland, which was gaily decorated with triumphal arches.
The Queen had taken the Villa Roth, near the Downs, for herself and her
suite. She desired her tent to be erected at the most southern point
of the neutral shore, for there was the principal playground of the
children, and she, the children’s friend, wished to be in the midst of
them and their merry games.

The next day she writes to her mother--“The crowd of children
surrounded me already. There are children from Berlin and Westphalia,
Saxony and Styria, from all parts of Germany. They have built me a
fortress, and I tell them fairy tales whilst they sit crowded around
me on the sand. I am like the ratcatcher of Hameln--all children run
after me.” And so it continues, day after day, for three weeks.

It was a lovely picture when, on each morning, the children hurried
down to the shore to ornament the sand-hill on which the Queen was to
take her place with flowers, to throw flowers on her lap and bestrew
her path with them. She sat there like a fairy queen, encircled by the
children. Whichever way she turned, her eyes rested on the eager eyes
of children and their joyful faces. A little fair-haired child held
her parasol over her whilst she read to them, or told of the hills and
rivers of Roumania which she had turned into living pictures in her
fairy tales. The deep stillness of the children listening with eager
attention, was only broken by the sound of the waves or the calls of
the sea-gulls which were poised overhead.

When the royal lady ascended the steep steps which led from the shore
of an evening, she walked alone, only accompanied by the crowd of
children, who carried after her the numberless floral offerings which
had been showered upon her in her seat on the sand or in her tent
in the course of the day. Then the Queen often followed the little
path that led to the cemetery, that “Home of the Homeless.” Here she
decorated with her choicest flowers those graves on whose cross only
the words “Stranded hither” were engraved, with the date. After her
departure from Sylt, the Queen had a slab of granite placed opposite
the entrance with a few verses which point to the Home above, where all
names shall stand in the Book of Life.

Her departure from Westerland on the 18th of September was quite
touching. Queen Elizabeth had won all hearts during her stay there.
Many hundreds of people had assembled at the station to get a last
sight of her. The road which led to her garlanded carriage was bestrewn
with leaves and flowers, whilst grown up people and children stood on
each side. With grateful looks they offered her the last flowers, and
the Queen could only advance one step at a time, as there were so many
to take leave of. Weeping children pressed to her and weeping women
kissed her hands. Enthusiastic cheers for the royal poetess resounded
as the train left the station, and did not cease till it had entirely
disappeared.

The people of Sylt have a superstition that if a wreath is thrown into
the sea whilst one is thinking of loved ones who are absent, they will
return one day if the waves carry it back to the shore. When the Queen
was removed from their sight the children had committed their wreaths
to the foam-crowned waves, and had dried their tears and shouted for
joy when the flowers were thrown up on the shore in safety!

       *       *       *       *       *

We will end our account of the royal poetess by reminding our English
readers that the Prince of Wales paid a visit to Sinaia in October
1888. His Royal Highness was delighted with the beauty of the place
and with the arrangements made, in the Queen’s happiest vein, for his
entertainment. Among these may be mentioned an elaborate series of
_tableaux vivants_, prepared and executed, under the Queen’s personal
supervision, by members of her Majesty’s household, and representing
the thirteen letters contained in Prince of Wales. The scenes were
mostly from Shakespeare, the last of all giving a vivid rendering of
the Tavern Scene from “Henry IV.,” in which Falstaff recounts his
exploits to the future victor of Agincourt.

       *       *       *       *       *

We have learnt to know Carmen Sylva’s old and new home, and have
followed her through happy and sorrowful days. We have seen that
she has inherited her rich treasures of heart and mind from noble
ancestors. Her enthusiastic love of nature and her interest in all its
phenomena does not belie her descent from the princely family of Wied.
She has a decided gift for music, painting, and poetry, with a leaning
towards philosophical thought, as also an unbiassed judgment and great
modesty, notwithstanding the richness of her creative fancy.

We have also gathered that the Queen has qualities which she not only
expresses in her poetry, but that an ideal is carried out in her life.
By means of this all-pervading and elevating power which her Majesty
possesses, and with which she influences others, this idea has been
developed in her labours as a Princess and as a Queen. As a woman, as
a Princess, and as a Queen, she is to be reckoned amongst the noblest
and most distinguished of her sex. “For not in what we experience, but
in our manner of understanding and realising it, lies the deep meaning
of human life and what it brings to us. Not many and various events
constitute its richness, for in the midst of them it can be empty and
vain, and, though outwardly monotonous, it can yet be perpetually
changing and abundantly blest. The better we understand this, the more
will life itself be our educator and schoolmaster, whose influence
over us will be stronger than any other. Well does Goethe say as the
conclusion of his deepest and most magnificent conception--

    “All things transitory
    But as symbols are sent.”


THE END.


PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE, HANSON AND CO.

EDINBURGH AND LONDON.


[Illustration:

    In life’s deep sorrow, grief and pain,
    Where None to me belov’d remain,
    I ever heard the thrilling strain:
    Oh! serve the Lord with gladness!

    In shaking storms and anguish past,
    When hope and joy away were cast,
    It oft came sounding thro’ the blast:
    Oh! serve the Lord with gladness!

    But now I know the joy that stays,
    The ever bright and sunny rays,
    And soft and low I sing the praise:
    Oh! serve the Lord with gladness!

                Monrepos, Feb. 1867
]




Transcriber’s Notes


Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a
predominant preference was found in this book; otherwise they were not
changed.

Simple typographical errors and occasional unbalanced quotation marks
were corrected.

Ambiguous hyphens at the ends of lines were retained.

The illustrations at the beginning of each chapter are decorative
headpieces.