“4th December.—This quiet is more than a blessing to me. During the last year my mind and body have been craving for rest. Now I have at last attained to it, and am very thankful. Why are there so many commonplace people and so few that are interesting? They all keep a firm hold on me, like so many leeches, and do not understand that quiet peace is the ideal of life, the highest aim of the Epicureans.”
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“13th December.—I have finished another story, but it is a very sad one. The pictures my fancy paints are seldom bright; indeed they never were. My childish stories even were always sad and dreadful. I think that laughter dwells outside, and not within me, and is but hung about me like a bright garment. Or is it the wonderful brightness of your nature and my father’s which is struggling within me, or is it life and its sorrows? Are our sad experiences alone worth dwelling upon? Who can tell?”
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Prince Charles was ill, and Princess Elizabeth still unable to walk. She longed for some of her family to visit her, but none of them could come to her. This increased her melancholy state of mind. “And during this long illness I tasted all the bitterness of life, the very depths of hopelessness and despair which could abide in the heart of man. But comfort is sent to all. I have my pen, which is given to me for drawing, and poetry, and which make up to me for everything! It flies ever quicker, for the stream of my thoughts flows continuously, and the scene of my labours enlarges and increases with my anxiety for the well-being of others.”
At last the Princess of Wied was expected. Her Highness arrived in May, and stayed till August with her children in Cotroceni and Sinaia, to the great delight of Princess Elizabeth, who had now quite recovered her health. This meeting, which she had so long anxiously looked forward to, found an echo in the following poem—
“Ye little blossoms, linger still!
Ye nightingales prolong your trill!
Thou sun a tempered radiance cast,
And, Zephyr, breathe a gentler blast!
She comes!
Ye grasses, don your diamond dew,
And let the sunbeams twinkle through!
Spread, fragrant odours, far and wide!
Thou restless brook, restrain thy tide!
She comes!
Beat not, my throbbing heart, so loud!
No envious tears my vision shroud!
Let the whole world lift up his voice
And with the spring, and me, rejoice!
She comes!”