III.
Childhood.
On Friday, the 9th of December 1843, as the bells of Neuwied were, according to an ancient custom, ringing for prayer at twelve o’clock, whilst the chimes of the neighbouring villages joined in, the first child—a daughter—was born to the princely pair. After her godmothers, Queen Elizabeth of Prussia, wife of Frederick William IV., and the Grand Duchess Elizabeth of Prussia, then a bride of the Duke of Nassau, she received in baptism the name of
Elizabeth.
The bells welcomed a life which was to be like them in fulness of awakening power. Beyond the borders of the Rhine to the distant East has the prophetic meaning of the sound been accomplished in word and in deed.
A year and a half later, on the 22nd of August 1845, Prince William was born. During the baptismal service little Elizabeth stood near her mother’s chair, and followed the sacred proceedings with much interest, asking suddenly, with a loud voice, “What is the black man doing with the little brother?” The baptism over, she approached the assembled group of town councillors on the tips of her toes. They were the only people strange to her in the circle of relations and friends. She looked up at them with a smile, and gave each of them her little hand to kiss.
“It was my first drawing-room,” said the Queen, laughing, as this incident was told her.
Princess Elizabeth soon developed into a very peculiar child. She was of a passionate, unyielding, reserved character. Her education was confided to her mother alone, who discussed everything with the Prince, but, according to her arrangements, allowed no one to interfere. The recollections of the Queen of Roumania reached back to her third year. At that age the Princess of Wied took her to stay with her godmother, Queen Elizabeth, at Berlin. There the imaginative little girl fondled all the footstools, sofa-cushions, and bolsters with the greatest care, pretending they were her children. One day she ran up quickly, took hold of the feet of the Queen, which were resting on a footstool, placed them roughly on the ground, and with the angry exclamation, “You must not stand on my child!” she carried the footstool off. “Have you children?” was her question to people she saw for the first time. Those who answered in the negative ceased to interest her. From her earliest childhood nothing seemed so sad to her as a house without children. In order to quiet and control her a governess was appointed for her in her fourth year, and she had regular lessons. She was so lively that the necessity of sitting still was a trial to her. In her fifth year she was to sit with her brother William to Professor Sohn for her portrait. Severity and kindness were tried in vain to keep her quiet. At last she made up her mind not to move again. Hardly, however, had the little Princess sat motionless for two or three minutes when she fell fainting from her chair. Only Fräulein Lavater, her mother’s old governess, had a soothing influence over her. She told the young Princess many beautiful fairy tales and stories, and so found the right way of captivating the lively child. Fräulein Lavater[1] was a lady of a very independent spirit, and possessed great patience with clearness of perception. She was well versed in modern languages, and could remember the contents of half a volume and criticise sharply. During the life of the Prince of Wied she spent many months of the year at Monrepos. After his death Fräulein Lavater went to live with the Princess of Wied, where she ended her days as the beloved friend and member of the household. The great peculiarities of character of the Princess Elizabeth from earliest youth were pity, truthfulness, and great independence. Already in her childish years at her mother’s side she learnt to understand the troubles and misery of the poor people. Her heart was so much touched by all the distress she saw that she naturally gave everything away which she, in her childish mind, thought she could spare. Her mother let her act thus, but gave her one day a large piece of checked woollen stuff. The little Princess was beside herself with joy. “Now I can give away all my dresses!” she exclaimed. “Will you not rather carry the woollen stuff to the poor children?” asked the Princess of Wied; “your white dresses would be of less use to them than that coarse material.” “Yes,” said she, “that is true.” Then she called her little brother, and the tiny couple went down from the Castle to the town, carrying the beautiful gift to a house where many children were the only riches of their parents.