“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.