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.

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.

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.”

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:—

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.

It was here in Berlin that Princess Elizabeth met Prince Charles of Hohenzollern3 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.

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:—

“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.”