’Tis the father who holds his young son in his arm,
And close in his mantle has wrapt him up warm.’
At first she did not know her children, and she continued to utter such incoherent rhapsodies as were both shocking and pathetic. The shrieks, faintings, tears, and hysterics of every woman who either had really weak nerves, or who wished to display her feelings, completed the horror of the scene. I wished to escape. Lord Carysfort and Prince Radziwill offered me their carriages, but I refused one, and there was a mistake about the other. At last the contagion of the scene spread to me. I wept violently, and remember no more than that I was wrapped up by Mr. Ridley and Mr. Caulfield, who both showed infinite good nature, in a large cloak, and put into a carriage; that Mr. Ridley accompanied me home, where Mr. Kinnaird and he remained with me till a few minutes past twelve, that I might not be left to begin the new century a prey to melancholy reflections.
With this entry, closing the year 1800, the journal kept in Germany breaks abruptly off, and all of it which should follow has been looked for in vain. From one or two letters which will be found in a later part of this volume, I gather that the writer was brought, during her later stay at Berlin, into some nearer personal intercourse with the Queen of Prussia than a mere formal presentation at Court would imply; and might have something more to say of one who at a later day awakened so deep an interest, and in whom the touchstone of sorrow and adversity brought out so many noble qualities, probably at this time unknown and unguessed of by herself or by others. The only document which I have, immediately relating to the remaining period of my Mother’s sojourn in Germany (some four months, I believe), is the letter which follows.
TO MRS. ELLIOT,
DRESDEN.
Berlin, Feb., 1801.
We are all living here in a very contracted circle, as we are shut out by politics from the chief part of the houses of strangers, and the Berliners themselves are more polite and flattering than hospitable. I do not know whether the Carnival has been here what is comparatively called very brilliant; but certainly, after having witnessed the varied, tumultuous, and luxurious dissipation of London, it appears ‘weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable.’ I sacrificed to it neither my health nor my time; went everywhere very late, returned very early, and lived in constant astonishment at having heard so much of an opera much inferior to ours, and a masquerade where no one appeared in character, and where bon ton commanded you to appear in deep mourning.
I have no news, except that the Princess Dolgorouki endeavours to put herself forward on the canvas by every possible means, and appeared at Krudener’s fête ‘with her very nose in an attitude’—that Miss Bishopswerder’s match still hangs, neither on nor off—that the Russians are triumphant beyond all ideas of triumph; but are a little embarrassed whether they shall make the ‘husband of the Archduchess’ (he goes by no other name) King of Poland, or Elector of Hanover. If Mr. Elliot will decide this for me, I will impart the opinion to Krudener.