Our stay in Bonn was, as I have already pointed out, enriched by the intercourse into which we were thrown with many clever and interesting people, some of whom became true and trusted friends. Thus it happened that in a peculiarly dark and trying hour, we found in Clement Perthes the best and wisest counsellor, an unfailing source of help and comfort. It was to his special care that my father had confided us all, when he set out on that ill-advised journey in pursuit of health, from which he was only to return far more seriously ill than before. The doctors counted on the complete change, on the pleasurable excitement of travel, above all on his withdrawal from depressing surroundings, on his being for a time removed from the sad spectacle of daily suffering in his own household, as the best means of insuring his complete recovery. It was a well-meant, and carefully debated plan; but like many another issue of mere human wisdom, was not justified by events. However, after long deliberation and with many misgivings, my father was prevailed on to agree to the separation from wife and children for a whole year, setting out for America, accompanied by his young brother-in-law, Nicholas of Nassau. Brave as everyone struggled to be at parting, it was a most frightful wrench, and I remember seeing the tears stream from my mother’s eyes, directly she fancied herself unobserved. From that moment, it was on Perthes that devolved the task of cheering the anxious hearts and raising the sinking spirits of those who had stayed behind. And well and wisely did he set to work. Not merely with his practical good sense and strong understanding, but above all according to the dictates of his good heart and warm human sympathies, did he fulfil the mission confided to him, and his kindness and tact, more even than his cleverness and knowledge, have the first claim on our gratitude.

There was something exhilarating in the good humour that pervaded the whole person of Clement Perthes, a youthful, almost boyish love of mischief and fun, that was not belied by the expression of his eyes, narrow and obliquely set in the head, giving him somewhat of a Japanese cast of countenance. This fantastic appearance was increased by the strange fold or wrinkle beneath the eyes, deepening as he laughed and joked, while another line above the eyebrows seemed to impart a softer, almost feminine touch to the face, that was, however, neutralised by the determined expression of the thin lips. Everything seemed to furnish him with matter for a jest, and he used to call me the “hundred-and-first,” insisting upon it that out of a hundred other little girls of my age, not one could be found who was the least like myself.

His children were our dearest playfellows. There were four sons and only one daughter, all of them good and amiable like their mother and himself,

but all of them dying young, to the unspeakable grief of the poor parents. It was hard indeed for them, to see their darlings go from them to the grave so young, but for these, for the children themselves, must they not afterwards often have blessed heaven in their hearts, that they should have been spared the misery inevitable to a longer sojourn on earth! The sons came often to us, and shared my brother’s games, but he could not join them at their studies, as they were so much older than himself and naturally much more advanced. A little companion was found, the son of Professor Dorner, to learn Latin with him, but he also was older and had the start, my brother being only just seven, rather young perhaps for such serious studies. It is true that Otto was able to begin Greek when he was seven, but then he was altogether exceptional, having a love of study, in addition to his excellent abilities. Besides the sister of the young Perthes, I had another favourite companion in a daughter of Professor Sell, a young girl so versed in the Rhineland folk-lore, she had an unfailing supply of the most delightful tales and legends, all of which were instantly turned into impromptu plays, and acted by us with the greatest spirit and zest.

Nor was that special form of amusement confined to our school-room and our play hours; amateur theatricals of a more ambitious kind were a constant source of entertainment at the Vinea Domini, and afforded an opportunity for the display of some rather remarkable talent. In the first place there was my mother herself, an admirable performer, and at the same time the most severe, most merciless of stage-managers. She would think nothing of having a scene rehearsed sixty times, till it went to her satisfaction. She was admirably seconded by the bevy of charming young girls that gathered round her—her own younger sisters, her niece of Solms-Laubach, the daughter of an intimate friend, the diplomatist, Heinrich von Arnim, and the two sisters von Preen, of whom the one was her own and the other her step-mother’s lady-in-waiting. All these thronged, happy and light-hearted, round my mother, vying with one another in the effort to win her approbation. Sometimes there were most amusing scenes, that were not played on the mimic stage, as for instance that which I myself witnessed, of my cousin and Else Arnim sitting on the floor, one on each side of my mother’s chair, disputing till they cried, as to which of them loved her best! And my mother cried too, with laughter! But whatever her own mood, well or ill herself, she never relaxed her efforts to provide wholesome and interesting entertainment for all these young people, and in everything she undertook Perthes was the most efficient auxiliary, as well as the surest adviser in any dilemma. Himself a professor at the university and resident in Bonn for many years, he was well acquainted with every section of society, and none could have been more competent than he, to advise her as to the selection of the elements from which her own circle should be composed. It was her desire to admit to her house every one possessing any claim to personal distinction, above all to pre-eminence in the world of science, of letters and art. Among the younger men, those who were at that time studying at the university, how many there were who have since played a conspicuous part in the drama of European history! For the moment they were content to display their talents in the little theatre of the Vinea Domini. The drawing-room was divided, the one-half being converted into a stage, while in the other sat an audience composed in great part of scholars of note, all the learned dons and doctors of the university,—no mean tribunal certainly to sit in judgment on the performance. The actors had, however, little to fear even if judged by the most exacting standard, the histrionic ability of some of these young people being of a very high order, and they were well drilled in their parts, and the rehearsals superintended by the mistress of the house, until everything reached an unwonted pitch of perfection. In the pretty comedy of the “King’s Lieutenant” the leading part was played by George Bunsen in a style that left no room for criticism. Years after I saw the famous actor, Haase, as Thorane, but I cannot see that the professional comedian in any way excelled the amateur in the part. That of Goethe, the youthful Goethe, in the same play, was taken by Prince Reuss, who looked the sixteen-year-old poet to the life, and the parents were impersonated by Prince Frederick William of Prussia as Privy-Councillor Goethe and FrÄulein von Preen as the majestic Privy-Councilloress. The future Emperor Frederick was just a little stiff in his acting, hence the staid part of the elderly man had been given him, but all played delightfully, the younger FrÄulein von Preen also making a most successful entrance as the girl who runs in with her market basket on her arm. Some evenings only charades were represented, and on others tableaux vivants, in both of which the commanding officer of the Hussars, Count Oriola, a remarkably handsome man, was generally the most striking figure. I remember how splendid he looked as a brigand-chief, with one of my young aunts, afterwards Princess Waldeck, as his wife. He had married one of the daughters of Bettina von Arnim, but it is in some cases little more than a name or the vague outline of some person seen in my mother’s drawing-room that I can call to mind. It may even appear surprising, that I should remember so much, as I was only eight years old at the time I speak of, but my recollections do in truth go much further back, as the following incident will show:

It concerns the departure of my little brother’s wet-nurse, which took place when I could not have been more than two years and a half old. She was so unhappy at leaving, and wept so bitterly while being shown the big pile of house-linen which my mother gave her as a present, I thought I would find something better to console her, and rushing off to the nursery, I returned with one of my dearest possessions, a little doll’s tea-kettle, which I tried to thrust into her hand. I can see distinctly her look of amazement, as she smiled through her tears, and hear the tone of my mother’s voice, saying,--“But what good can that be to her?” I felt as if I had had a bucket of cold water thrown over me, and I turned away with my treasure, disappointed and mortified at the fruitlessness of my good intentions. So I kept my poor little tea-kettle, and in course of time my own child played with it, as with many of my dolls and other playthings, with such affection had they been preserved. I may surely claim to have ever shown fidelity to the past, and as for my memory, I might liken it to lava, on which every impression from without, stamping itself at white-heat, is indelibly engraven for all time.

How well I remember the melancholy Christmas we spent that year in Bonn without my father, his absence taking all the joy out of the festival, in spite of my mother’s efforts to prevent the happiness of others being dimmed by her own sadness. It was the very moment when the American mail was due, and on Christmas Eve we waited and waited, everyone hoping that at least the amount of gladness a letter could give might still be hers. And the last post did bring the expected missives, the well-known thin, pale blue envelopes, which FrÄulein von Preen quickly tied on with red ribbons to the Christmas-tree. But at the sight of the handwriting my mother fairly broke down, and it was some time before she had recovered her composure sufficiently to collect, as was her habit, the whole household, children, friends, and the old servants round her, to listen with rapt attention to the interesting description of scenes in the New World which those pages contained.

Simple as it might at first sight appear, there is perhaps nothing so difficult as clearly to convey by words a picture of any human existence. Difficult enough it must be in any case, oneself to gain a clear conception of the real person, but how much more so to make the written portrait a true likeness. So indomitable was my mother’s courage, so thoroughly did the natural elasticity of her temperament enable her to rise superior to every trial, many of her acquaintance might well see in her only the charming, clever and accomplished woman, the life and soul of the brilliant society she loved to gather round her, and which her own personality seemed so happily fitted to lead and dominate. But there was another, sadder side to her existence, no less real for being revealed alone to the members of her family and more intimate friends.

Exercising the same powers of attraction alike on young and old, and in her own person combining the keenest interest in every intellectual problem with a remarkable capacity for entering into any form of innocent mirth, the young mistress of the Vinea Domini was able to control and blend the different elements of her little society, to a harmony complete and pleasing to all. Representative men in science and art, in literature and politics, met there to discuss topics of gravest import; every talent found welcome recognition. What pretty water-colour sketches were made by the young Prince Reuss, whose long and eventful diplomatic career none yet foresaw! When, later on, I came across the drawings he had made of us children, I had a surprise similar to that told in a preceding chapter, to see the melancholy expression I wore, but was assured by my mother that I did indeed often look thus. I struggled so perpetually to appear cheerful, I could hardly believe that anyone could have seen me looking sad; we keep count of the efforts we make, but cannot judge of the results we achieve. Of the Shakespeare readings, and lectures upon Shakespeare, given by Professor LÖbell at our house, I can only speak from hearsay, for I was not present, but all the hearers pronounced them admirable, and I was sorry to be excluded, my curiosity being stimulated by the passages my mother had read to me from some of the plays, and I had wept bitterly over the pathetic scenes concerning poor little Prince Arthur. I was, however, sometimes allowed to make one of the party in the excursions down the Rhine, and I listened, now with delight to the melodious part-songs, now wondering, and storing up in my mind fragments of the animated discourse—on every subject, it seemed to me, of highest interest in heaven or earth—with which the boat’s joyous passengers filled up the intervals of their singing. To draw others into conversation and lead them to impart their deepest thoughts, was one of my mother’s special gifts. Young as she was, her mind had been early matured by sorrow, and she could associate herself as easily with the aims and aspirations of artists and scholars as with the plans of statesmen and politicians. The speculative curiosity of men of science ever had a peculiar fascination for her, and she was no less receptive for schemes of benevolence and philanthropy. All phases of contemporary thought, all shades of opinion, were represented in her drawing-room, together with the harmless mirth, the love of amusement of the junior portion of the assembly. Never, however, in their moments of most reckless high spirits, did any of these young folk overstep the bounds of the strictest decorum and good taste. Had there been any such danger, a word, a look from my mother—nay, the mere presence of my grandmother, in her quiet stately dignity, would have sufficed to call the offender to order. The power can scarcely be over-rated, which well-bred and high-minded women may exercise over their surroundings. Nor had it yet been admitted as a possibility in good society, for young men to allow themselves to take the liberties of which in a modern drawing-room, they are too often guilty towards their hostesses. Once, on a lovely summer’s night, two or three scions of princely houses among the students took it into their heads to serenade my mother from the river; but when next day, to their timid enquiry how she had liked the music, they received the chilling reply that she had certainly heard a noise, but thought it must be some drunken people returning home, their crestfallen looks showed that they would not venture to repeat the experiment.

In this light then, of the woman of varied interests and far-reaching influence did my mother appear to the world at large. It was reserved for her intimates, for her children and attendants, to see her in the hours of despondency, racked with pain, and tortured still more by the gravest fears for the safety of her distant husband and of the child whose life seemed ever but to hang upon a thread. To those who knew of her sleepless nights, of her own bodily sufferings, and anxiety on behalf of others, she might well appear rather under the aspect of a martyr, bowed down by a load of physical and mental anguish, that must in time wear out her powers of resistance. She believed herself constantly to be at the point of death, and those around her often shared her fears.—“Let yourself cry, you have only too good reason for your tears!” was all our good old doctor could find to say to her by way of comfort, one day when he surprised her sobbing in despair.

In every emergency, whether he were called upon for practical advice, or simply to cheer and console when the cloud of sorrow seemed well-nigh overpowering, Perthes proved himself, as my father had foreseen, the kindest and most invaluable of friends. Even friendship, however, was powerless to soften the blow, when after the long separation, the months of weary waiting and intense anxiety, the travellers returned, for it but to become evident to my mother at the first glance at my father’s pale face and wasted form, that the good results hoped for from the voyage were far from being realised. It seemed indeed at first sight to have only done him harm, for he was thinner than ever, with hollow cheeks and sunken eyes, suffering moreover from temporary surdity, after-effect of an acute attack of inflammation of the ear, by which he had been laid up at New Orleans. To him the shock, the disappointment can have been no less severe, to find poor little Otto’s condition so much worse, whilst my mother’s state of health seemed also well nigh past hope. It was a melancholy return home. As the travellers approached the porch, towards which my mother’s chair had been wheeled to meet them, the shouts of welcome sent up by the men-servants assembled on the steps, the waving of their plumed caps in the air at their master’s approach, all this semblance of rejoicing died away in a general feeling of consternation, in the mute exchange of glances of dismay, in the unspoken dread of that which should come next.

Had we but known then, in that darkest, saddest hour, that help was already at hand, standing there ready to cross the threshold, when the need should be greatest!