Part 5

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.

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.”