“Naples, Santa Brigitta, 19th January 1867.
“Yesterday we moved here. The sirocco has been blowing for some days, and the wild waves of the sea are foaming. The seagulls are skimming between the spray, which is thrown up to a great height, and last night the storm shook our house. The clouds are low, and cover the peaks of Vesuvius, while wind and rain beat through our windows and make weird music. The sea is green and grey, the white foam shines like phosphorus. It is just what I like. I should love to go out alone in the storm to let it rage about me, to sing a wild song to the waves, which nobody listens to or hears, and which remains my own, though I sing it loudly. Then I should come home as quiet as a lamb, and listen to the storm no more. Now the bank of clouds is rolled away, and a rosy light spreads itself quietly over the foaming, angry sea. It spreads itself further and further from the horizon to our feet, soothing and shining, and brings happy thoughts to my heart. If that would learn to be still it could also command the storm, and in its depths it is still. For through all, my quiet home is the anchor which holds me fast, the haven which receives me when my sails are rent. Man belongs to nature, and is her greatest and completest work, and therefore we love and have confidence in men, even when they are passionate and excited.”
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“20th January.—As we woke to-day upon our hill, the sun shone upon the sea, which is like a sheet of glass. The doors and windows are wide open, and the soft air of May pervades me and our rooms, and brings in happy and cheerful thoughts. It has wakened all my pleasure in life and power of work. When I raise my head the mighty Vesuvius is spread before me, and its peaks lost in the clouds. To the left I look down to the town, which shines below me in the sun. The sea spreads itself to my right, with the sharp points of the Island of Capri. For the first time Naples appears to me magically beautiful, for the first time I can gaze undisturbed upon the grand beauty of nature here. Peace, which I have not felt for a long time, steals into my heart. I feel as if I could swing myself into the light air as if I had a hundred wings which drew me to the sun, as if new life came to me. It is worth battling with the storm to feel such heavenly peace. Even the waves of the sea are hushed as though they feared to break the stillness. Everything seems to me to call, ‘Peace, Peace.’ It is too beautiful for words, and the joy is too deep; it is like a song of thanksgiving, a golden dream from which we would not wake. My little cousin walks up and down in the next room and hums a tune. The beautiful world has had a good influence upon her also, for the clouds which lay upon her brow have vanished. I should like to write nothing more than the perpetual refrain, Peace has returned. A fly is buzzing at my window as though it were midsummer, and a bird is chirping in the distance. I allow nature to charm me and to caress me like her spoiled child. Do not fear my becoming dreamy and idle: I am only dreaming with you. The instant the pen leaves my hand the cares of daily life surround me with a thousand claims, which have all to be satisfied. I may not dream long, so grant me these few moments. I only draw myself up like a wave before it rushes onwards and gathers strength for the work which I have taken in hand. I never forget for a moment that I have two hours’ lessons to give to this spoilt child the day after to-morrow. I am quite prepared for it. I feel that though she may learn more from any schoolmaster than from me, I can perhaps influence her mode of thought by these lessons, which will be of more use to her than the deepest learning. I try to teach her, what you taught, to love people for whom you have no sympathy. If I do not marry, I shall pass my examination as a teacher. To that I have made up my mind. Tell Pastor Harder that I have never lost sight of this object, though I am driven hither and thither. For I must accomplish this, which has been in my mind for years. And though I sometimes feel that I am presumptuous and arrogant, I usually think the contrary. ‘Your vocation is what calls you’ is all that I have remembered of Brentano’s fairy tales, and what calls me is teaching. I wait in patience. If I have understood it wrongly, it will be made clear to me. Here I have that lot assigned to me. I teach for ten hours a week, and am present at all the lessons given. Tell the Pastor that I am constantly repeating his good maxims, and hope to prove myself his worthy scholar.”
We see that Princess Elizabeth is ambitious in the best sense of the word. “Thus she is impelled to teach, for in teaching lies great power.”
“Naples, 5th February 1867.—Aunt Thekla has died, and Uncle Max has died. It is worth while to have lived as he did, and he does not die unmourned. Indeed it was a beautiful death, which one might wish to have after so rich a life. I pray God that I may die mourned after a life of labour, even though I should have no children and grandchildren. The life of Uncle Max was rich and full of interest. I think it was beautiful.”
“Naples, 3rd April 1867.—Sometimes I feel so old, but not sorrowful—no! quite the contrary. I should like to be much, much older, to have the duties and the rights of an old maid. I often feel as if I had had a mist before my eyes lately. The happiness to have spent time and strength where they are most needed is too great. I am not at all afraid of that dreadful word ‘old maid.’ I share it with many whom I have often envied for their strong though quiet influence. Work is what I must and will have, and then all can say of me, ‘That is a happy girl.’ The time is soon over. It has gone by quickly, very quickly. God knows that I had the wish to do some good, to accomplish something, and have some influence. I see no results, but that I did not expect. Perhaps a little trace may be left behind. I am not so proud as to think that I can carry all before me like a mountain torrent. Perhaps I am but a little drop, but if Heaven has let me fall on the right place, I can joyfully become absorbed by the sunbeams!”
In May 1867 Princess Elizabeth was overjoyed to return to Monrepos. “She returned to her quiet home in the forest and became a child once more.” But it was not for long. The amiable niece had become necessary to the Grand Duchess Hélène, and she was constantly enticing her away from home. In August we find her again in Carlsbad with her aunt. The Grand Duchess was very unwell, and Princess Elizabeth had to receive the ladies and gentlemen who came to pay their respects. She writes as follows about her impressions and the people who frequented there:—
“Carlsbad, 2nd August 1867.—I have in these last days made the acquaintance of some people with whom I am so enchanted that I am constantly wishing you were here. First comes Frau Arnemann, a Norwegian lady, with bright black eyes, which fascinate one. She has always been with artists, and her life has been rich but sad. Her impressions of people are quite extraordinarily correct, and I have often seen astonishing proofs of her clairvoyance. She is quite magnetic. Frau Arnemann introduced the painter Piloty to us, a very amiable and refined person. We go into raptures over Italy together. Then we have got to know the great singer, Frau Unger-Sabatier, who is here with her pupil and niece, Fräulein Regan. Frau Unger-Sabatier is a perfect artist, wise and clear-headed, with the sacred fire and yet not too much of the fervour of the dilettanti. Her great pleasure is to train young singers. Her niece, Fräulein Regan, is twenty-three. Her voice is like a flute, and she sings to wonderful perfection. She is also a very cultivated girl, who speaks French and Italian not only well but beautifully, and understands and renders the songs perfectly. I feel myself drawn to her as to a magnet.”
Her intercourse with Edith von Rahden was also a great pleasure to the Princess. She says of her: “Edith has become more mild and gentle than ever, and esteems every one, irrespective of their position towards herself.” “I know how to be grateful for every happy hour, and what greater happiness is there than to be treated as a friend by a woman of experience.” Later the Princess Elizabeth writes to her mother: “If ever I made up my mind to a marriage, I should like to have a settled home, a house on my own property, and not to begin a wandering life, which never takes firm root anywhere. I do not now seek my vocation where it seems difficult and troublesome, and have no other wish than to live quietly and work where I can.”