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.