On the same day Olga, my principal attendant, an Austrian who had always shown me an invaluable and long-standing devotion, was also arrested. She was afterwards released. But I understood the significance of this—the order had come from the highest authority to alienate everyone who cared for me. I will describe what followed.
My French maid, whose care of me was so disinterested, was interned. If my faithful Olga had not come out of prison, and if I had not had the means to keep her, I should have been completely isolated.
But, shortly after this, I really did not know how to supply my daily needs. My last jewels had been sold. I was now as poor as the poor souls who implored my charity.
What should I decide to do, what should I attempt? If I appealed to my daughter I knew that I should be up against the Duke of Holstein. He was absolutely pitiless. All this happened in July, 1917.
Providence now threw in my way an honourable man, a Swiss professor, who was terribly distressed at my fate.
He generously offered to help me to reach Silesia, where my daughter was in residence at one of her castles. This castle is not far from Breslau. I therefore left Munich, with Olga, in the hope of seeing my child and obtaining from her some temporary shelter.
But when I reached my journey's end I tried in vain to be received, listened to, and assisted by Dora.
I was therefore stranded in a little village in the Silesian mountains, where my last few marks soon disappeared.
The count had tried to send me the wherewithal to exist. Without any warning, the German postal authorities retained the money and returned his letters.
The little inn where I had taken refuge was kept by kindly folk who were, however, unable to let me stop unless I could pay. I saw myself faced with the most extreme misery. The innkeeper seemed frightened of me. He told me that he had been ordered to render an account of my doings to the police, and that I was kept well under observation, although I might not be aware that this was the case.