:'. ; ! li'i! 1 ! ' V-.'.l ' h, i. i '. :' ; ■"■ It j iihlitl! IhlhlllP! 1 '' '.-i ■ QJortttU Inioeraitg Sltbrarg Stljara. SJeiu fork FROM THE BENNO LOEWY LIBRARY COLLECTED BY BENNO LOEWY 1854-1919 BEQUEATHED TO CORNELL UNIVERSITY Cornell University Library DD 205.H71H45 1912 My friendship with pri 1 B^..|I , ffinJi?| h j«i|||| 3 1924 028 543 050 The original of this book is in the Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924028543050 Prince Hohenlohe From a portrait taken near the close of his life My Friendship with Prince Hohenlohe By Baroness von Hedemann Illustrated G. P. Putnam's Sons New York and London Zbe fmfcfterbocfter press 1912 Li USe fmicliaAoclier gstese, Hew Borft CONTENTS I. Childhood and Youth of the Baroness A. von Hedemann II. Prince CloviszuHohenlohe-Schillings furst: (a) Love .... • 33 (b) Confidence . . 57 (c) Poetry .... . 81 (d) Alt-Aussee . • 93 (e) SCHILLINGSFURST . . 113 if) Mother-Love • 133 fe) Politics and Religion . . 167 ffl ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE Prince Hohenlohe . . . Frontispiece From a portrait taken near the close of his life Baroness von Hedemann in her Youth . 25 Prom a photograph Prince Chlodwig (Clovis) of Hohenlohe- Schhxingsfurst 33 A portrait of the Munich period PrinceClovisofHohenlohe-Schillingsfurst 75 President du Conseil des Ministres en Baviere (Reproduced from a privately printed edition of his poems that appeared in the seventies) Alt-Aussee, Showing the Hunting Lodge of the Prince 95 The Last Portrait of the Baroness von Hedemann 191 Fac-simile Letter .... at end Childhood and Youth of the Baroness A. von Hedemann Childhood and Youth of the Baroness A. Von Hedemann Do you know the Cossacks of the Don? My father is of their race — his name betrays him. In the sixteenth century they established up there by the Black Sea a kind of republic, whose head was called " Hetmann." Mazeppa, the much-sung Mazeppa, hero of a score of legends, was one of them; and his blood, his "spirit of the steppes," still throbs in the generations of the Hetmanns — the Hedemanns. Often even now, in these far-distant days of his dying race, there leaps forth in a member of the clan some wild, fantastic trait, some daemonic passion, some of the old longing for the Infinite. I, too, when I review my life, seem to myself 9 io My Friendship with such a creature of the steppes, riding on a foam-beflecked horse, my hair a-stream, into the Land of Romance. My mother's family does not seem so akin to me, though in it also there is adventure and romance. My grandmother, when a young girl, took the veil, and was carried off from the cloister by her lover. She climbed the wall of the garden, and threw herself down to him, who was awaiting her on horseback. My parents' marriage, on the other hand, began in a more dignified, orderly, Philistine manner. My father, Baron von Hedemann, a stately, slender man with a blonde beard and blue eyes, was a Commissioner of Woods, lived in Silesia, and was the youngest of four brothers and sisters. At the age of twenty- one, Destiny willed that at the funeral of the General Albert von Stephany, he should be one of the "Salute-of -Honour" party at the grave. On that spot he made the acquaintance of the fifteen-year-old daughter of the General — Prince Hohenlohe n my mother — whom he soon afterwards married. The first years of their union were very happy, but this happiness was too soon disturbed, for a sad fate hung over my family — of four children, three died a mournful death. My eldest sister had married the Count B. ; she died on the wedding-tour, and is buried in Vienna; after two years the Count married, my other sister, who took her own life in a violent attack of fever. My brother lived for a long time in America, and there shot himself. And I . . . Truly I began my life in the most singularly horrible circumstances. As the result of a fright — or so I remember the hearsay of my childhood — my mother became insane; she gave birth to me in a madhouse; and I never knew her until I was sixteen years old, and my father had long been divorced from her. Soon after his divorce my father married again, and as my presence was inconvenient to the bridal couple, I was taken to Augsburg to my uncle Schatzler. He was a rich man, and 12 My Friendship with had no children of his own; he and his wife were kind guardians of my youth. But only too soon I lost my good foster-mother. To finish my education I was sent to Gnadenfrei, to the Herrenhut Institute. Laughter, sun- shine, and merry pranks filled the years there — they are a sweet memory to me. And yet to that time belongs the event which turned my life into a tragedy, which determined my whole future, which was so all-abiding in its effects — though it was my first romance, my first love; and of first loves it is said that they come and go like shadow-plays! On alternate Sundays the families of von Prittwitz and von Seidlitz, who were known to one another, were wont to invite me to drink coffee with them. One of these afternoons, when I was at the von Prittwitz house, a young man arrived, tall, fair, with expressive blue eyes; and from the first moment my girlish heart was stirred. . . . It vf as a. coup de foudre! My eyes followed him spellbound, and though we spoke little with one another, Prince Hohenlohe 13 our hearts had met. He was Herr von Scheffer, at that time horse-trainer to the Duke of Mecklenburg; and from the hour of this first meeting he left no stone unturned to see me again. We were often together at the von Prittwitz abode, and when we schoolgirls took our customary walk to the churchyard, some happy chance always caused him to be strolling in the shady linden avenue. A look, a hand-clasp, some words in passing — and our young hearts overflowed with bliss. We walked on air. . . . Soon afterwards he asked my father for my hand. My father came over to Gnadenfrei and gave his consent to a betrothal, which was already irrevocable before he had thus kindly looked upon it. And yet it was foredoomed that we should be parted. Scheffer was, if not poor, yet of narrow means, and as my father's financial affairs soon fell on evil days, we were forced to resign ourselves to separation. I, at seventeen, with the world smiling 14 My Friendship with before me, was too young to suffer very deeply, though the image of my handsome young lover haunted me for many a day. Soon I left the Institute with the testimonial: "She is her own testimonial " ; and returned to my father's house, full of trust in the future. But there began for me a troubled period. I found an unkind stepmother at home, and many new brothers and sisters to whom I was expected to be a kind of governess. House- work, sewing, and lessons were exacted of me by my stepmother, but in my burning soul dwelt the Hedemann temperament of the steppes. To roam through forest and plain, through field and pasture, to ride my horse like the wind, to go shooting or hunting with my father, was more in my element than sit- ting at my seam. This dreary existence with my unsympathetic stepmother and her child- ren was happily interrupted by an invitation from my uncle, General von Hedemann, who lived with my great-uncle and godfather, Prince Hohenlohe 15 Alexander von Humboldt, at the castle of Tegel near Berlin. I entered a world of luxury, companionship, and culture, and there, for the first time, were my temperament, my longing for a stately way of life, and my thirst for knowledge, all satisfied at once. I left Tegel with my heart full of delightful memories, and soon went on a visit to my uncle Schatzler at Augsburg. For a long time I had silently yearned to see again the place where I had spent my childhood. All was unchanged : the same old coachman drove me from the station; the nurse who had brought me up received me with joyful tears, my foster- father and my cousin Adele could not take their eyes off me, and overwhelmed me with caresses. When the season of balls began, we young girls lived in an uninterrupted whirl of amusements. After one of these balls my uncle appeared triumphantly with the intel- ligence that he had two suitors for Adele's hand — namely, the banker Erzberger, and the Baron H. The Baron now became our fre- 1 6 My Friendship with quent guest and the companion of our walks, and before the season ended, he . . . begged for my hand. I was to give him my answer at our next ball. But the poor fellow, riding by our carriage, was thrown from his horse and broke his leg, so that he could not attend on the fateful evening. I had scarcely known how I should answer him. My heart had not spoken. . . . But a strange thing happened: at that ball the banker Erzberger, too, asked for my hand. . . . I examined my heart; but in it dwelt the man who had first awakened it — young Schef- fer. Perplexed, frightened by the sudden demand for a decision, I went back to my father. He, weighing the noble birth of the Baron against the wealth of the banker, hesi- tated; then Erzberger himself appeared upon the scene, and wooed me with such love and devotion that my father gladly decided in his favour, little as the noble could rejoice in the bourgeois son-in-law. I cried, raved, said "No" to-day, and "Yes" to-morrow — my Prince Hohenlohe 17 youthful passion still possessed my heart. But at last I scolded myself out of romantic nonsense, looked at life as it was, weighed calmly all the prospects before me, and ended by saying: "Yes." The wedding was fixed for July 25. As I stepped into the church, a thorn ran into my foot and made it bleed. "A bad omen!" thought I ; and truly, in this union with a man twenty-four years older than myself, more thorns than roses were to grow in my path. There was a whole abyss of difference between our two natures. Even the birth of my first son altered nothing in my inward life, happy as I was to be a mother and utterly as I devo- ted myself to the child, who was like a ray of light amid my gloomy days. Two more child- ren followed in quick succession; but still my inward life was empty. Then came the tem- pest into my soul — tearing down the old, making place for the new. It lifted me on its pinions, and bore me away — into the real life. 1 8 My Friendship with Fate willed it that Scheffer, my first love, should again enter the tranquil orbit of my existence. He was sent as Oberleutnant to Augsburg. Thus did higher powers bring us together; and what had long been destined came to pass. In the small provincial town people soon began to whisper about our relation to one another; it even came to an "explanation" between Scheffer and his commanding officer, General Hohenhausen, who required from him a promise to break with me. My husband was naturally the last to hear the gossip, and even then, despite the proofs against me, he would have taken no steps towards divorce if he had not been as weak as he was magnanimous. But, influenced by his relatives, who pursued me with relentless hatred, he instituted pro- ceedings. I was declared guilty, and was, of course, obliged to leave Augsburg. I went to Munich, where Scheffer's family were desirous to receive me; but I preferred, with the protec- Prince Hohenlohe 19 tion promised me, to take up my existence under another roof. My husband's family were not, however, satisfied with having disgraced me. After the divorce, they contrived to induce the lawyer who in the proceedings had advocated my interests alone, to compose a pamphlet against me and Scheffer, for which they paid him £750. The aim of this production, which was a mass of infamous calumnies, was utterly to annihilate me, to close all doors against me. But it failed in that aim. Precisely this per- secution by my connections it was which led me back to happiness and to my former posi- tion in society. I came — thanks to the pam- phlet — to know the man who saved me from moral and material ruin, and to whom for more than thirty years, and up to the day of his death, I was a faithful and devoted friend and confidant. This was the Prince Chlodwig (Clovis) zu Hohenlohe-Schillingsfurst, with whom I hence- forth came into intimate relation. The world 20 My Friendship with Prince Hohenlohe — the great world, I mean — has till now known next to nothing of our friendship, although our intimacy was never any secret to a small circle, or to the Prince's family. Now, when so many, many years have passed by, when my life has lost all resem- blance to a tossing stream, or to the foam- flecked steed of Mazeppa, I can survey calmly those bygone joys and sorrows. I have strength, at this distance, to speak of them. . . . The pamphlet I have alluded to was not only circulated in society by my kind connec- tions, but for certain reasons reached the cabinets of the Imperial Council and the Embassies, and in this way came under the Prince's notice. Prince Clovis zu Hohenlohe- Schillingsfurst (a) Love 21 II Prince Clovis zu Hohenlohe-Schillingsfurst (a) LOVE " Whenever I am long parted from you, I miss you, as one misses the flowers in autumn, the sun and the warm, inspiring airs of spring. I droop, and grow bitter and sullen." (Prom a letter of the Prince von Hohenlohe to the Baroness von Hedemann, October 29, 1873.) "Tell me, my dear fellow, what about this Frau Erzberger, of whose beauty the whole town is talking, and who is so shamefully persecuted by enmity and calumny? " It was Prince Clovis von Hohenlohe who thus spoke to Friedrich von Bodenstedt, dur- ing a visit to the poet's house. "Will your Highness step out on my bal- cony? " said Bodenstedt. "Up in the window of the house opposite stands the loveliest woman in Munich, with her brown hair that 23 24 My Friendship with must reach to her ankles, and hier wonderful forget-me-not eyes." The Prince looked silently across, and became very grave. "Do you know the lady, my dear Boden- stedt?" "I have made her acquaintance, Highness, and I have found a beautiful soul in the fairest of bodies. Her life is a romance. But I hardly know whether to you " "Yes, yes!" cried the Prince impatiently. "Tell me!" "She was born Baroness von Hedemann, and is the niece of a relative of Alexander von Humboldt, with whom she stayed for a long time at Tegel. That sphere of luxury and culture exactly suited her temperament and her inquiring mind. She has often told me of the walks in the Castle Park, when Alexander von Humboldt would suddenly break off in some profound speculation, catch her by her hanging plaits, and say, 'What damage these twin serpents will do some day ! ' BARONESS VON HEDEMANN IN HER YOUTH From a photograph Prince Hohenlohe 27 "Now, Highness, imagine a richly talented and passionate nature transplanted by a mariage de convenance with a much older man into absolutely Philistine surroundings. An utterly commonplace mother-in-law, ugly, envious sisters-in-law, interminable conversa- tions about pickled cucumbers and jam — all combine to drive this young creature to des- pair. The husband, of kind but feeble char- acter, had neither any understanding of his gifted wife nor the strength of mind to protect her against his family. Even on the wedding journey to Switzerland, the abyss that lay between the two natures was perceptible. For he, though a good and loving husband, showed no comprehension of his young wife's ideas or likings, and in the very earliest weeks of their life together she had already with- drawn into her former world of fancies, to him unknown. "The estrangement between them widened when they returned to Augsburg, and had at first to live upon her mother-in-law's estate. 28 My Friendship with Outwardly, the monotonous provincial vegeta- tion; inwardly, the secret yearning for a life full of difficulties and dangers . . . such was her existence in her gilded cage. Then there suddenly appeared the Fairy Prince, a young officer whom she had known and loved in her schoolgirl days. The rest your Highness can easily imagine: passionate love, scandal and divorce!" In my modest abode at 15 Karlstrasse, I was living miserably with the child which Scheffer's love had given me. For days at a time I ate nothing but bread and coffee; little did I dream that my life was being observed with compassionate sympathy from a house opposite. I was no longer living with Scheffer. Not that our love had waned — ah no! Our beautiful boy Hermann had but strengthened our mutual attachment, and we had striven with all our might for a legal union. Alas! there was no happy issue for our plans, for we were confronted by countless hindrances, and above all by the inflexible severity of the' Prince Hohenlohe 29 Church. According to her morality, we might by no means marry, and all steps taken by Scheffer — even his attempt to force the Dean's consent at the pistol's mouth — were entirely fruitless. One day — how amazed I was — a messenger brought me a bouquet. With the next morn- ing arrived a similar floral greeting — and so for many days, always anonymous and mysterious, until at last I found, in the heart of a' lily, a note with the humble petition of an admirer to be permitted to make my acquaintance. Half -curious, half -indignant, I knew not what to answer, and kept silence. But while I was still puzzling over this mystery and my best way of encountering it, there came a ring at the door. A gentleman entered. I felt at once that it was my unknown flower-giver. I saw before me a man not tall, but very pleas- ant to see, with an attractive face, wonderful eyes, and a noble bearing. I was captivated by the soft sweet tone of his voice. "Gracious lady, forgive my intrusion. I 30 My Friendship with am the Count L., and have been impelled to write to you. I have heard so much about you that the overpowering desire to make your acquaintance has silenced my reasoning fac- ulty. But if my presence is displeasing to you I am ready to withdraw." He did not withdraw; and he came again. He became my frequent guest; whenever his occupations permitted, we spent whole even- ings in delightful conversation at my small abode in the Karlstrasse. Ah, if the walls of that long-ago, cosy little room could speak! They would tell the world of a charming talker who could enhance each favourite theme, and who, by his spell, drew forth the confidences of a chastened and persecuted woman. Almost unconsciously, I gradually told him of my whole girlhood and wifehood. I described to him the childish years at my Uncle Schatz- ler's, the sweet, happy days that I lived through there. I told him of my school life; I broke off when my love for Scheffer began. It was painful to me to confide my passion to Prince Hohenlohe 31 this man, but he urged me on. "I will and must know all about you" — and so I con- tinued my tale. "Ah, you can scarcely imagine my growing despair when, despite my husband's goodness and his love for me, I found so little under- standing of my spiritual and mental needs. A chance meeting with Oberleutnant Scheffer, to whom I had once been engaged, awakened me from the state of apathy in which I had been living for years, and I entered upon a new road of unrest, torment and bliss. Scheffer was received everywhere in Augsburg society, and came to call on us. "My peace was over. I felt my first deep love kindle into new ardour, but I was honest enough to confess this feeling to my husband — for, to my distress, he had begged Scheffer to repeat his visit. My husband, however, appeared neither to understand nor to be troubled by my struggle. The pleasant young officer was extremely sympathetic to him, and he frequently invited him to dine or play cards. 32 . My Friendship with "Our mutual passion increased with every day, yet we hardly knew one happy or un- troubled hour. There were moments when, after the intoxication of love, a reaction came to me, when I was tortured by pangs of con- science and could think of nothing but the kindness of my husband, whose one innocent crime was — not to be suited to my nature. "In such moments of remorse I would fling myself sobbing on a sofa, and fervently pray God to set me free from my consuming pas- sion. A thousand times I resolved to break off; but as soon as Scheffer appeared in his beauty and his youth, as soon as his arms went round me, my good resolutions were forgotten, and the spell of love possessed me with its wild electric magic. "Let us leave the ensuing sad events in the slumber of the past," I begged my friend, Count L., in a quivering voice. "The parting from my husband, from my dearly-loved child- ren, was heart-rending, and has left a never- ealing wound. PRINCE CHLODWIG (CLOVIS) OF HOH EN LOH E-SCH ILL1NGSFU RST A portrait of the Munich period Prince Hohenlohe 35 "Drearily did my lonely days go by as, alone in my little abode at Munich, I looked the desperate truth in the face. At this very time my father, who lived in Silesia, fell ill, and I was summoned to his deathbed. With tears he begged my forgiveness for having thrust me into a loveless union, but at the same moment he exacted from me a promise to break with Scheffer, since our marriage was plainly impossible. "Since then, I have never seen Scheffer again. "Poverty and grief would assuredly have killed me if my kind friend and cousin, Ida Hahn-Hahn, had not lovingly espoused my cause. She wished to rouse me from my despair, and proposed that I should accom- pany her on her intended trip to the East. I caught at this distraction as a drowning man catches at a straw, entrusted my child to the care of Scheffer's parents, and we set off together for Jaffa, Jerusalem, Nazareth, Mount Carmel. . . . The sight of all these 36 My Friendship with holy places made no impression on me from the religious point of view, but their historic and picturesque sides enchanted me. This glorious life lasted for some months. My grief, my torment, was almost lulled to sleep, until one day it awoke again in Munich. . . . Then you came, Count, and declared yourself my 'true friend.'" And my "true friend" brought many a cheerful hour into my lonely life. He became the focus of all my thoughts. In spite of his frequent journeys, in the midst of his busy life he found leisure to think of my amusement, of my reading. "At last," says his first letter, "at last I have a free evening to look forward to ! Unless you arrange otherwise, I shall come to-day as early as possible, perhaps about seven. In the meantime, I send the promised novel, and hope you won't cry too much over it." "I am an indulgent father-confessor," he said one evening, as we sat together at the tea- Prince Hohenlohe 37 table. "Tell me — is it true that, a short time ago, you applied to King Ludwig to save you from your distressed condition? " At this reminiscence my eyes filled with tears. "Yes, I, proud woman as I am, was obliged to beg for a loan, and from the King himself! When, after the divorce, I came for the first time to Munich, I met King Ludwig in the Arcade. Whether it was I myself, or my chestnut plaits, I know not, but the King looked round after me and smiled good- naturedly. After that I often saw him go by my window, and if he happened to look up, the same smile would play about his mouth, and a kindly nod soon followed. "Opposite to me lived Piloty, who had begged me to sit for the arm in one of his pictures. When I was returning one day from his studio, King Ludwig came along, and, incredible as it may appear, he addressed me, quite simply. After that he visited me from time to time — merely, as he said, for the pleasure of talking with me. 38 My Friendship with "Soon afterwards I left Munich and went to Augsburg, for my longing for my children left me no peace. Like an outlaw, I lived for some time in Goggingen, near Augsburg. I must tell you that after the birth of my son, my husband had withdrawn my allowance, and that, penniless except for the meagre sup- port which the Scheffers afforded me, and the help of my faithful nursemaid, I was dragging out a penurious and isolated existence. It was my nurse, too, who now and then contrived to procure me an hour or two's intercourse with my children. Indeed, my poverty was so great that the blacksmith with whom I lodged took pity on me and gave me three florins (gulden) for my return to Munich. "The thought of King Ludwig fortunately occurred to me, and I betook myself to the Castle. "'So the King has not been forgotten?' Those were the friendly words with which he greeted me as I stood, confused and nervous, Prince Hohenlohe 39 in the presence of His Majesty, unable to utter a syllable. '"But why did you so suddenly fly from Munich, my child — and what means that shadow on your face? ' "Then I told him of my desperate plight, and of all my anguish of mind. '"What I have here, is yours,' said King Ludwig, with a good-natured smile, and took from his bureau two thousand florins (gulden). "Now I was saved. I instantly returned with my little son Hermann to Goggingen, paid my debts, and hoped to remain there for a long time near my children. But it was not to be. My presence near Augsburg, my easy circumstances, awakened my husband's appre- hensions, and he sent our former house- physician, Durochez, to discover the source of my income. "I had no reason for concealing it from him, and informed my husband, through this chan- nel, that in my need I had turned to King Ludwig, and owed my salvation to his kindly 40 My Friendship with support. On the same afternoon, Dr. Du- rochez brought me three thousand florins (gulden) from Erzberger, with a message of profound regret for my distressed condition. ' The thought that the mother of his children had applied for a stranger's help had given him great pain.' Nevertheless he urgently begged me to return to Munich, 'otherwise the family here would unceasingly persecute me.' "Then, as in all his other dealings, my hus- band allowed himself to be swayed by two contrary feelings. On the one hand, he was bitterly remorseful for having left me without material help ; on the other, he went in dread of his people. Ever since then my allowance has been punctually paid. . . . But my maternal heart was heavy still, for now I had to live far away from my dear children." In the summer of 1863 I was invited by friends to Salzburg. It was their reception- day, and we were assembled in the drawing- room; guests were coming and going. Prince Hohenlohe 41 "Prince Chlodwig von Hohenlohe-Schil- lingsfurst," announced the servant at the door. Through the curtain came my friend — came Count L., with a lady on his arm, who was introduced as his wife. I gazed at him speechless. As soon as he came near me I managed to whisper, "It is you, my friend, my father- confessor? Why that mask, that incognito, for me? You are the famous Hohenlohe?" "Later," he said quickly. "I will tell you all later!" "When you receive this letter I shall be already in Munich, whence I depart in a few minutes. I implore you, do let me have a word, to my house, saying when I may come to see you. "Your unchangingly faithful "C. H." This note I received immediately after my return from Salzburg. Since I had known 42 My Friendship with "Count L." for the Prince von Hohenlohe, my almost regained tranquillity had been a thing of the past. Whither was such an acquaint- anceship, which already threatened to develop dangerously, likely to lead me? A faint hope of beginning a new life with the Count L. had gradually grown up in my heart. As a friend and confidant he had become so necessary to me that I contemplated with horror the void that a breach with him would create. The feeling which attracted me to this fascinating talker had nothing in common with the glow- ing passion which had bound me in the past to Scheffer; that had slumbered with time, and had left with me only the memory of a dream of love, in which I seemed to play rather the part of onlooker than heroine. It had been but a fairy-tale: I, a little, inexperienced "Princess Rosebud," Scheffer, a handsome young Prince who had awakened me from sleep and transplanted me to a strange, unknown world! But now I saw things very differently. Circumstances had matured me Prince Hohenlohe 43 quickly. Humiliation, need, grief, pangs of conscience, and above all an ever-growing longing for my forsaken children, had ploughed deep furrows in my heart. Bitter conflict raged in my spirit. Prince von Hohenlohe could not be to me what I had dared to hope for from Count L., and I regarded the future with terror ... for an inward voice relentlessly reiterated: "If you fall now, you are lost for ever." But then, other tormenting reflections occurred to me. My wings were broken ; like a wounded bird I must drag them after me in the dust ; morally I was already dead. What hope was there of lifting myself from the abyss to my former lofty station? What prospect of ever coming safely to port? All ways were closed to me. Was I to stand henceforth as a pariah by the roadside? to enjoy not one of those delights for which my heart so yearned? Youth, beauty, and high birth had destined me to play a leading part in the world, to take glory and admiration as my due — and now, what 44 My Friendship with fate loomed before me? In drear monotony to pine, or ... or what? "You can fall no lower," whispered the voice in my long, sleepless nights. "Take the hand that offers ; he is a noble friend, he gives you love, friendship, and will give you con- sideration and pride of place once more. . . ." "I shall expect you to-morrow between 5 and 7 o'clock. "Alex, von H." That was the end of my striving. He came. All struggles, all scruples van- ished as soon as he looked in my face with his charming smile, his clear blue eyes. The same trustfulness with which he had inspired me at our earliest meeting now worked its spell on me again. I felt that my whole future exist- ence would be decided to-day. Something extraordinarily serious must have looked from my countenance, for Prince von Hohenlohe caught my hand, drew me down to a seat, and Prince Hohenlohe 45 said softly, "Do not take away your hand, dear friend ; do not be angry with me. I had known much of your life before I learnt it from you; and when I heard through Friedrich von Bodenstedt how deeply your connections had made you suffer, there sprang up in me the desire to stand by you, who stood so alone and were so persecuted. The thought of offering you my aid under my own name was painful to me — hence the little diplomatic deception. Perhaps I ought to have contented myself with the first visit, but I was gradually carried away by the magic of your soul and your beauty. . . . You possess all the 1 qualities which I most highly prize in a woman, which I have ever sought, and many times had imagined I had found — feminine grace and masculine understanding. Especially did your hatred of deception and your instinctive love of truth delight me. I am very honest with myself, and I try to be equally so with others. And thus I will make you no vain promises. I cannot, I may not, offer you more than my 46 My Friendship with arm to lean on and trust to for protection through all your life." The Prince stopped for an instant ; then, in tones of deep emotion, "Break with all else, Alex; be my true friend, and I will cherish you for ever. Be mine ; life without you now seems empty and desolate to me, for in you I find the one for whom my heart and soul is longing. Do not withdraw from me your con- fidence; it has become as necessary to me as are my active part in the higher interests of mankind, and the sphere of my political activity." There lay such truth in his words, and such energy in his glowing eyes, that my soul aban- doned all the conflict of the recent days. In that hour my whole life was altered. My friend lifted me from my critical situation to the level of his own; he became my refuge, my protection; and his love brought me not only the desired joy, but also the respect of all the world around me. As the repudiated wife of the banker Erzberger I was an outlaw; as Prince Hohenlohe 47 the friend of Prince von Hohenlohe I was courted, especially by those who had formerly turned from me. The very individuals who had pursued me with relentless hatred, such as the fabricator of the pamphlet, and my people- in-law, now made attempts to approach me; for each hoped to obtain through me some favour from the Prince. Their attempts were naturally unavailing. The paltry so-called "great world," which had so lately thrust me from its midst, would now have been proud and honoured to take me to its arms, if it could have known that in the years to come, the Prince — Bavarian Minister, President of the Ministry, Representative in the Reichs- tag, Lord-Lieutenant of Alsace-Lorraine, and Chancellor of the Empire — never took a single political step, never delivered a speech, with- out having asked me, the once-disdained, for my counsel. But I kept silence — and kept it purposely. "I dislike writing, and write very seldom," he had said, on taking leave of me after our 48 My Friendship with first decisive interview; "yet I am going to ask you, whenever you feel you want to talk with me, to brighten my lonely hours with a letter." Soon afterwards I received the following undated letter, written during one of his journeys, from Lindau: "As you already know that I dislike writing, and write rarely and briefly, you will, my indulgent and kind-hearted friend, forgive this belated answer (without even an apology) to your last letter. "That you should have put faith in my vague words is worthy of you, and the proof of a noble disposition. Only those who are themselves deceptive see deception where none exists. Nothing is more attractive, more enchanting in a woman than truthfulness, and alas! nothing is more unusual. I believe that you are one of the exceptions. And through that, you become for me a magnet from whom I cannot escape, do what I will. Prince Hohenlohe 49 "I await the moment of my return to M. with great impatience, but unfortunately several weeks must elapse before I can come. In the meantime, keep me in kindly remem- brance. "C. H." Thenceforth the inner life of the Prince took a turn which will first be made fully clear by my revelations. In the Memoirs r (vol. i., p. 64 et seq.) the editor refers to the lack of material for a presentation of the Prince's life and work in the years 1850-66. And he explains the fact thus: The Prince, he says, did not at that time keep a consecutive Diary. And his letters to the Princess Amalie, in which before his marriage he was wont to express his intimate feelings, then took (since he was happily wedded) quite naturally a different character, and confined themselves to mere statements of the occurrences and activities of the day. z Denkwurdigkeiten. 50 My Friendship with That is true enough ; nevertheless, the causes of this silence seem to me to be of quite a different sort. Prince Clovis belonged, from his youth to his latest years, to that rare type of statesman who, together with his diplomatic and political abilities, possesses a deeply sensitive soul. On one side, reason, cold calculation ; on the other, the profound need to live in close communion with a sympathetic nature — these two anti- thetic tendencies were with him united into exquisite harmony. The desire to share his emotions and sensations with a "sister soul" was in him, as in all the most sensitive and poetical natures, deeply marked. And with poets he had this, too, in common, that he would have only a woman as his confidant. At first it had been his sister Amalie, a beauti- ful and dreamy character, who thus attracted him ; with her he could romance in the moon- light ; to her he made his first confidences in his budding love for the Princess Marie zu Sayn- Wittgenstein. Before and during the first Prince Hohenlohe 51 years of his marriage (1847) Prince Clovis was greatly dependent on such intercourse. "I see more and more," he writes to the Princess Amalie on November 16, 1846, "what a whole world of confidence and trust is opening before me, and that it will be a safe harbour and refuge in all the vexations and fatalities of life." As a newly-wedded husband he was deeply in love ; he read and made music with his young bride; the great joy was to have a woman by his side, to be "no more that sad thing, a bachelor" (as he had written in his Journal for August 16, 1843), no more "alone" in his longing for an idyllic life. The burden of his anxieties would never again drive him down- ward in an attempt to escape from dejection and ennui. Four years go by; the princely couple travel to Russia; Princess Elizabeth, his youngest sister, goes to stay with her brother at Werki; it is she who now dwells with the Prince in his world of dreams. In the evenings, when he 52 My Friendship with returns from the supervision of his estates, or from the chase, she is always at his disposal, and feels herself blest indeed to be his spiritual companion, proud that he should confide his meditations to her. 1 And so Chlodwig von Hohenlohe had found once more a kindred spirit, and hence felt no need to inscribe his feelings in journals or letters. Soon afterwards, in 1853, ensued the return of the Prince and Princess to Schillingsfurst; then began his journeys to Rome, Berlin, London, Vienna, his parliamentary career — until the beginning of the 'sixties he seems to have lived in a whirl of feverish activity; there are no warm outpourings to his sisters; only dry statements of facts appear in the Diary; it is as if he purposely avoided making any references to his intimate or his domestic life. . . . The editor of the Memoirs 1 remarks on this, but does not investigate the reasons: "The Prince's Journal gives no picture of 1 Memoirs (Denkwiirdigkeiten), vol. i., p. 70. *, vol. i., p. 147. Prince Hohenlohe 53 the active and happy family life of the lord of Schillingsfurst which, during this period ( 1 853-1 866), was steadily developing; there were six children, all born before the year 1862." Possibly the following statements may lead to some conclusions about the Prince's private life, which has hitherto been enveloped in a veil of mystery. Prince Clovis, in 1863, had reached his forty- fourth year; Princess Amalie, the confidant of his young days, had in 1857, against the desire of her family, married the Court painter, Richard Lauchert, and had thereby become estranged from her kindred. Whether the Prince, by his union with the Princess, had realised his youthful dream of "the shady by-path near the main road of life" must remain an open question. Beyond doubt the Princess Marie von Hohenlohe was the high- minded woman of whom Prince Clovis had once said: "Every day draws us nearer together, and that in no common degree, but 54 My Friendship with Prince Hohenlohe in such close and intimate communion that our eyes mutually radiate joy." . . . Their life together preserved the friendly character which it had assumed in the first days of union : "it was the most rational, the clearest, fairest life that can fall to a mortal's share," as he wrote to the Princess Amalie on March 5, 1847. Yes, it was rational and clear . . . perhaps too rational, too clear, for the Prince was a blend of reason, mystical dreaming, and poetry. (b) Confidence 55 (6) CONFIDENCE The love of truth, which he mentioned in his letter from Lindau, was the basis of our long mutual happiness. Boundless trust, without which lasting love and mutual esteem are impossible, drew us ever closer and closer till his death parted us. Innumerable exam- ples of this blind confidence rise in my memory ; I shall give only two, connected with episodes in my life between the 'seventies and 'eighties. One has to do with my long acquaintance with the Swiss poet, Heinrich Leuthold. I must now take the opportunity of demol- ishing a legend, much spread about in Munich at that time by a Bavarian writer. It repre- sented me as a capricious, eccentric mondaine, and designated my great affection for Leut- 57 58 My Friendship with hold as a mere fancy (marotte). According to the writer, from the day my door opened to the ailing poet, I had ceased to exist for the gay company that hitherto had freely fre- quented my house. I was seen at no balls, theatres, promenades; but often, on a fine morning, I might be beheld rattling through the streets in my carriage, with Leuthold seated beside me. He, too, it was related, was lost to his former friends, and if any of them chanced to meet him out-of-doors, there was no end to the astonishment over his healthy looks, his bright eyes, his happy smile. . . . The gossiping folk of Munich had a new story about it every day; nevertheless, when it was seen with what tender and devoted care I nursed the sick man, people began gradually to shake their heads, and say "they didn't know what to think." The good folk could not get us to" rhyme together," as it were — he, the aging, almost dying poet, and I, the blooming, youthful woman. Malicious tongues talked now of Prince Hohenlohe 59 mutual love, now of a caprice on my part. Calumny even went so far as to spread abroad a rumour that my relatives had forced me to leave Leuthold, and, under medical advice, had sent me to the South in order to put an end to the connection. How far all this fantastic nonsense was from the truth I shall now show. In the beginning of the 'seventies, Leuthold was living in my vicinity, and had, for eight years, made attempt after attempt to make my acquaintance; but as if I had had a presenti- ment of the tragic result of our friendship, I had always repulsed these advances. At last he got his way by the following trick. One evening, talking lightly at a merry party of artists and writers, he let fall in the presence of a close friend of mine some insult- ing remarks on my person. When I heard of it, I begged Leuthold to come to my friend's, the Baroness von Gratz, and there over- whelmed him with angry reproaches, asking him by what right he had permitted himself 60 My Friendship with to compromise in such a manner a woman who had never done him any sort of harm. "Ah, Frau Baronin," he answered with a good-humoured smile — to one whose blood was boiling against the detestable creature! — "it was the only way, you see, to approach you, for I knew quite well that my words would be retailed to you, and that you would call me to account." "You poets have a very singular method of attaining your ends," I thought, but I could no longer be angry with the pleading eyes in that pallid face. That very afternoon we made it up, and from thence dates our friend- ship. The poet prolonged his first visit till evening, and read to us fragments of his epic Penthesilea, as well as other poems; moreover, he was so strangely impressive a personality that I seemed to be gazing enchanted into a world unknown. At first he seemed to draw fresh hope and joy from our intercourse, as is shown by the few poems that belong to that period. Thus Prince Hohenlohe 61 an infinite happiness seems to inform Des Meeres und der Liebe Wellen (Sea-waves and Love- waves), 1870; and in the Lenzlied (Spring Song) we feel the blossoming of a new April in his heart — "Timid hopes, and sweet illusions, Gently stir within my soul; Wild, long-hidden, dear delusions, Seem to break from my control; Is 't a tear, so softly flowing? Is 't a song that strives to say . . ."« But the poor fellow felt often the pain as well as the joy of love, for the distance between us was too great: I, in the very flower of my youth, courted and adored; he, a poor poet in broken health — and he wrote thus of us both: "It is thy lot in gleam and glow Of happiness to move; z ',,308^ $offen, ffi^eS 5Bd't)tten> ©djroeUt bie <3eele mir gelinb; StongeS, lattgbcrbolf neg ©eljnen Soft ftdj, £luellen ricfcln Hnb, ®odj id) weijj nidjt, ob eg £jjranen, £)bet ob eg fiieber finb " 2 „®g ift ®ritt Sog in ©tang unb ®uft ®eg ©lucfeg ®id» 311 baben. 62 My Friendship with My life is in the grave below, Thine in the skies above." ("Farewell in 1871.")' Moreover, my relations with Prince von Hohenlohe, to say nothing of my maternal duties, enjoined upon me a certain reserve towards Leuthold, which, alas! only height- ened his passion. In the letters which he wrote me at that time he overwhelmed me with the whole fiery out- flow of his love, and also with the whole hatred of his soul for the Catholic clergy who fre- quented my house. His fury against the Catholic Church was so extreme that, dining with me on one occasion, he brought on him- self a violent haemorrhage by his hot argu- ments about the Mother of God. Painful as the incident was to me, I could not avoid harbouring my stricken friend, and nursing him until he was completely restored. But 1 9ftein Seben Itegt in gittfteraiS, ®u bift ein $ittb ber©omte." („ Sebewoljl 1871. ") Prince Hohenlohe 63 unfortunately the poor poet was then resolute in refusing to leave my house, and this not only created much gossip in Munich, but was extremely disagreeable to the Prince, though he had no cause for jealousy of the unhappy Leuthold, who was already a wreck. How- ever, I found myself in the event obliged to seek another place of abode. Leuthold still remained some time in my old dwelling, and would stray sadly through the desolate rooms, uttering his sorrow in mournful lyrics; as in his poem Erinnerungen {Memories). "But in vain is all my calling, And I listen too in vain — Echo only gives me answer . . ."' Shortly afterwards, by the Prince's wish, I took a room for him in the Heustrasse, where he stayed until the period of his terrible men- *,,... bodj utnfottft, " fo Ijeijit e8 in feinetn ©ebidjt ,,6tin= nerungen, " , , ift aU' mein 9tuf en, untfonft ift oil' tnein fiauf djen, nur bai @djo tont tntr tingg. " 64 My Friendship with tal decay. . . . With that decay, his physical state grew steadily worse and worse. When I recall those bygone days, I ask myself mournfully whether the poet's hopeless love for me did not contribute to bring about, or accelerate, his tragic end. Any other feel- ing than a pitying and admiring friendship I could not give the broken man, but despite his condition, certain emotions still smouldered in him, which I, of course, could not gratify; and this set a gnawing jealousy in his heart which caused him infinite suffering. Two letters from the years 1876 and 1877 express admiration for Prince von Hohenlohe, together with his grief at being obliged to re- nounce me, since my love belonged to another — "I believe now in electric fluids and magnet- ism; the Prince impresses me with his intel- lectual eyes. But all the more does it make me feel my inevitable fate close round me like an iron band; I have the sensation of a nerve laid bare. But I am fair enough to set Hohen- lohe above myself. Prince Hohenlohe 65 "My face is one on which 'Luck' has never cast its rays, and it has no longer any attrac- tion. ..." And the letter ends with this cry: "I carry in me a song that was begun — but just as it was most sweetly sounding, it broke off in a shrill dissonance. Now it is too late. ... I shall not find its close — I have missed the song of my life." How much he honoured the Prince may be seen by the poem To the Prince Chlodwig von Hohenlohe, on his birthday, March 31, 1876, which he sent with a laurel- wreath — "To the Prince Chlodwig von Hohenlohe " I feel right well, the while this crown I twine Of laurel round the brow so garlanded, How deep thy country's gratitude, and mine; How poor, how vain this offering, how dead, How all unworthy of the man who checks, Gazing into the face of times to-be, The pages of their history, and decks The times that are with leaves from this same tree."' x ,,^m ben gtfrften (Sljlobtmg oon fSoIjenfolje. ,, 3d} fuljle tief, inbetn id) biefett Stattj SSon fiorbeer um ben ruljtngefvonten ©djeitel 66 My Friendship with I received the second letter during my stay with the Prince in Paris; in it the poet's grief and jealousy sound still more strongly. Munich, June 13, 1877. "Dear Alex, "Every day I have intended to answer your letter, but I could not through inward agitation. All my friends think that you have given me up, but I believe inviolably in your affection for me, and in your fidelity. To myself I seem a martyr, and I live like an anchorite — lonely and forsaken, while you are yielding yourself to another in love. " I had no idea how terribly this involuntary abnegation on my part would affect my state of mind. You talk of material sacrifices made by you; I count them as small compared with the agony of soul which I feel at your giving ®ir roinbe, bem ©anfgefutjl beg SSaterlanbg tlnb eignem ®range folg, roie arm unb cttcl SBBic ungenfigettb btefc SMd'tterjier ®em groften SRann ift, ber tm 2lngefid)te ®er grojjen Beit, felbft ftefjenb fiber il)r, ®ie Starter fdireibt in8 »u* ber 2Bdtgefd)i(i>te. " Prince Hohenlohe 67 your incomparable charms exclusively to another. But still I trust in your word, and hope that I shall again caress and kiss your fair and generous hand. "What made you speak of the ideas of your son Hermann, as if I had quite forgotten you; and how can you doubt my silence? Since your departure, I have never spoken your name to a stranger; only once did one of my friends put a question concerning you. I was silent, but the tears came into my eyes; he apologised, and did not press for an answer. "Day and night I think of you alone, and never, never has a man loved you as I have loved you; I only fear that I may go crazy before I see you again. The silly verse is always surging in my ears — "You dear, sweet, loving heart, Forgive me my deep smart." 1 I am very unhappy, and feel quite ill. I eat only once a day, and then very little. Every- ^©u Iiebe«, f%8, gutcS §erj SSergib tnir meinen tiefcn ©djmerg. " 68 My Friendship with thing is costly, and I seem to need more money than I thought I did. "Life without you is nothing but misery; I must see you soon again, or I die. "Your unhappy "Heinrich." Deep compassion for my "sick Achilles" (as the Prince called him) filled my heart, and I would willingly have softened my friend's grief by my presence — but how could I, at the first call, forsake the man to whom love and duty had bound me for ever? Nevertheless, if the Prince and I could have foreseen that poor Leuthold's words, "I fear that I shall go crazy before I see you again," were not the result of exaggerated poetic fantasy, I should have returned, with his consent, to Munich. But I can still hear him say: " My lovely child, men do n't go mad or die for love;" and so I spent some weeks longer in Paris. Then sud- denly came the frightful news from my son Hermann: Leuthold had become insane. Instantly I hastened to Munich, but alas! Prince Hohenlohe 69 too late. I found my poor friend in a strait- jacket. My presence had a tranquillising effect; he would sit beside me for hours like a helpless child, listening to my consoling words ; sometimes lucid moments came to his shat- tered brain, and so I took him out of the asylum, believing in the possibility of his restoration. But unfortunately the improve- ment did not last long; the periods of lucidity became rarer and rarer, the attacks of delirium more frequent, and at last he had to be taken to the cantonal asylum of Burgholzli, near Zurich, his home. In August 1877 I accompanied my sick friend to Switzerland. Ah, that was a sorrow- ful journey! I shudder when I recall it; and to-day, after all these years, I ask myself how I found the strength to bear such sorrow. I then heard constantly from the asylum doctor and T. Bachtold, who were very kind in keeping me informed. I also, about a year later, went to see my friend, in company with his daughter Rita; but his condition had 70 My Friendship with become very much worse. For some time his life had been in less danger, but despite the hope which the doctor expressed in a letter of 1879, I was drawn irresistibly back to the poor poet. "Do go and see your sick Achilles," said the Prince, when Dr. Laufer again depicted Leuthold's state in blackest colours. On June 30, 1879, I arrived at Burgholzli. The poor fellow knew me at once, but he had forgotten my name. He cried like a child, and continu- ally repeated: "Now that I have seen you again, I am glad to die." And indeed, when I reached Munich next day, I found a telegram awaiting me, to tell me of his death. During all these years I had not concealed the smallest circumstance about Leuthold's relations with me from my friend Hohenlohe. He knew of the poet's love, read his letters, was aware of the material help I gave the unhappy man, and never did the least suspi- cion enter into his mind. The good folk of Prince Hohenlohe 71 Munich alone found pasture for gossip in our friendly relations. And now a second proof of the unbounded confidence of my friend. A distinguished man in my circle had con- ceived a burning passion for me, against my will and entirely without response on my side. With all the force of my soul and strength I strove against this consuming love in a man who did not in any way attract me. But he pursued me by all possible and impossible means. It came to my having to use force to defend myself; and yet social exigencies for- bade me to close my door to him. He con- stantly visited me, nor could I avoid him in other places, and if I did turn the cold shoulder he would seize a pen and overwhelm me with declarations of his love. An almost insanely disordered imagination pervaded his letters. I shall cite only one — "I must write to you once more, and I will force you to hear me. I ask you this: If you 72 My Friendship with do not love me, why do you come to me in dreams every night and whisper such strangely maddening things in my ear? Do you know the story of the vampire who creeps about in the night and draws the life-blood of the living? So your image is gradually draining my life-blood, and usurping every motion of my brain. Aye: defend yourself, struggle and fight with me — but then let your weary head rest on my shoulder. Oh, I know not with what cords you hold me; if you slacken them, I shall sink into the grave; if you draw them close, I am a lost man. You cannot possibly tear yourself away from me for ever with two or three words — you dare not; I must speak to you once again. And if your spiritual tyrant, l to whom you pay such slavish obedi- ence, exacts an eternal separation, I ask you whether it is not against nature to drag through all your life a chain devised by subtly calculating men. Curses on the hours in which my rest has been destroyed by your presence; 1 My confessor. Prince Hohenlohe 73 curses on the moment in which I ceased to be able to carry out my duties, and drank from that maddening source which I have learnt to know in your eyes " — and so forth. Finally, I hit upon a certain means of put- ting an end to this persecution, though it was a grief to me to ruin the man only because he had committed the crime of burdening me with his love. I handed all his letters over to my con- fessor, Father Obercamp. Prince Hohenlohe was in Paris during this episode. He could not protect me from a dis- tance, and I did not like to disturb him with a written account; but immediately on his return I considered it my duty to tell him all. I had no reason to repent my truthfulness; in his generous soul I found only indulgence and understanding. "Your confession the other day is still run- ning in my head. I am really proud that you felt it your duty to tell me. It shows that you cannot bear to tell me an untruth. Yet there 74 My Friendship with is little object in lying to me; still less is there any reason for hiding anything from me. I am a good, indulgent father-confessor, know- ing human nature as I do, and particularly feminine nature; I make allowances for it, especially when it is so beautiful an one as that of my dear Alex. "Your true friend." * Sometimes I think that my dear comrade of those radiant days decked me out with quali- ties which were only a reflection from his own soul — or does a woman who gazes upward in adoration at the beloved man really find blossoming in her with all sorts of slumbering, fair emotions, which from tiny buds soon break into splendid flowers? The Prince always admired and loved in me, besides my hatred of lying, the surrender of my "Ego"; though, according to my feeling, such a "sacrifice" was merely the outcome of natural impulse. It was the infinite goodness of his heart which often caused me to conceal from him sorrow, 1 From Aussee, 1883. PRINCE CLOVIS OF HOH EN LOH E-SCH I LLI NGSFURST PRESIDENT DU CONSEIL DES MINISTRES EN BAVIERE (Reproduced from a privately printed edition of his poems that appeared in the seventies) Prince Hohenlohe 77 anxiety, or physical suffering; especially at the times that we were separated, or that he was spending heavy hours immersed in politi- cal affairs. "Why," I would say to myself, "should I trouble his busy life with my rela- tively trivial feminine worries? My friend belongs first and foremost to the public. Shall I, who should bestrew his strenuous path with fragrant roses, and irradiate it with light and joy — shall / darken his scanty hours of leisure?" But as if a mysterious telepathy existed between us, his tender heart always divined my little secrets; to one of these the beginning of the following letter refers — it came from Schillingsf urst at the end of the 'sixties — "If I were only sure that all was well with you ! But I always fear the contrary and get anxious, particularly as I know that you do go through such times as that in the beginning of October, without my hearing anything about it." 78 My Friendship with Prince Hohenlohe Another time, when I had reproached myself for having told him about an operation which had been performed on me, he says: "You do n't say how you are going on. I hope that you are better, and that your suffering was at least partly the effect of the chloroform. It makes me so miserable to know that you are unwell, and to be able to do nothing for you. Indeed you are not egotistic. That reproach, which you make yourself in your letter, is unjust. I know no one who is so self-sacri- ficing as you are. It is one of the many qualities which I prize and revere in you, and for which I gratefully kiss your hands. "Your faithful friend." (c) Poetry 79 (c) POETRY My friend's mind never rested. His thoughts were ever busy with the future, and the development of his plans; but in the mean- time he longed for repose, for respite from active life, for the bliss of a tranquillising love. And he seemed to find all that in me. "You are my oasis," he said so often. " My heart sings when I see you; you give me light, the dreams of youth — you are my fairest world, my peace on earth." And in his enthusiasm he would improvise thus — "You ask me why, though erst so cold, I now breathe warmth and joy; You ask me why, though erst so old, I laugh like any boy. " You are my spring, my sunlight clear, Your eyes have wanned me through — 81 82 My Friendship with Broken the ice about me, dear, Brought back my boyhood too." 1 "With your forget-me-not eyes you can charm back the spring into my soul; often, beautiful Alex, I look up to you as to a goddess who in her glory has erringly descended to me, poor mortal, because she gazed compassion- ately on the urgent weariness of my life and thought she would like to brighten my arid path with her golden rays. See how you revive in the old politician the bygone days of poetic fantasy! "Once again spring-sun is beaming In the streets all gay and bright; And my heart is set a-dreaming, Heart so long denied the light. \,®u fragft, roaruut id}, fonft fo fait, Sfom roarm Bon SBorten uberquelle: ©u fragft roarum id), fonft fo alt, 9»id) nun fo jugenblidj erb,eHe ? ,,®u bift mcin Sen?, tnetn ©onnenltdjt, ®ein ©lid* tft'S, ber mid) roarm burd&bringt, 3)er meineg ^er^cnS 6i8 gerbrictyt, ®er mtr bie Sugeub roieberbrtngt. " Prince Hohenlohe 83 " Like the trees now gladly breaking Into April beauty — see! Budding, whispering, awaking, So my youth awakes in me; " So to-day, in poet-fashion, I go rhyming, chiming these — *T is the spring, the vernal passion, Budding, like the old-young trees." 1 By the Prince's diaries and letters we see that in his hours of rest he often yielded himself to an almost extravagant mood of self-analysis and nature-worship. He loved Nature as he loved Art, and had the power to embody his mysticism and high imaginings in artistic forms. I , , SBieber fd^eint bic grufjlinggfonne 3n bie <3ttaj?en IjeH herein; Sftid) burdjbringet grfiljlingSWonne, SBct betn lang entbeljrten ©djein. ,,38ie bie 35aume bei ber neuen grilfjlmgStud'rme etfe ,98omte' — , Sonne' Ijeut gereimt, @o ucrgletdj e§ neuem Slctfc ®a8 au§ altem SBaume Eeimt. " 84 My Friendship with In his youth the Rhine had inspired him. 41 With all my philosophy," he wrote, "I should feel unhappy if I had not Nature — the silver moonbeams mirrored in the Rhine, and the dusky hills, and the stately Ehrenbreitstein." 1 Or, brooding in his loneliness at Schillings- furst, he looks out of the window and dreams — "Ah, how it tranquillises! That wonderful fair moonlight, spread over the distant valleys and hills! It is all so quiet and peaceful and warm; spring zephyrs play up here amid the peaks. ..." And the young Prince, who had just become master of SchilHngsfurst by the death of his brother Philipp Ernst, finds comfort in the thought that "this old home is not standing deserted and dead in the beauti- ful night, but belongs to a 'spoilt poet,' who gazes out into the moonlight now and again." 2 Indeed, his poetic bent could even conquer his passion for the chase. Once, on a chamois- hunt, when his guests were eagerly pursuing the prey, he forgot the object of the day's 1 Denkwurdigkeiten, L, 17. * Ibid, i., 36. Prince Hohenlohe 85 amusement, and, in reciting poems to his sister let the driven chamois pass him unhurt ! And at the end of the expedition he was enthralled by a tiny bird, which, frightened by the report of the guns, had sought refuge with him. * The Prince often spoke to me of this inci- dent, already familiar through the Princess Elizabeth's letters. It had been a great joke with the party, for to the other sportsmen it seemed simply incredible that a "gun" could let himself be put off by a small bird! He was a poet in the full sense of the word, for verse was not to him a mere pastime, but a genuine need ; he sang because his soul impelled him. Did he wish to impart some of his joy in his own optimism, he instinctively clothed his thought in axiomatic garb : once he thought of embodying it in a novel. "The compre- hension of grief, and the power of analysing it, will always save me from being wholly oppres- sed by it, for that man alone is truly miserable who cannot weep for sorrow." And, poet- 1 Denkwiirdigkeiten, i., 151, 86 My Friendship with fashion, he turned this reflection into verse, making a gasel out of it — " In the sky, dark clouds are heaping, On the stem, sweet flowers are sleeping, And the waves are flowing dully, And a stillness strange is creeping O'er the pasture-lands so thirsty. Ah, like such storm-warnings stealing In the sultry days of summer, Are the hours when, dimly feeling All its need, the heart imploreth Tears, quick tears, for sorrow's healing!" 1 That was how he sang as a boy of twenty- three, and in old age his nature remained unchanged: at sixty-three he cheated his grief at the death of his loved daughter, Stephanie, *,, SBolfen auf bent $tntmel fteigen, SBIiiten roelfen an ben Stoetgen, Unb bie SBellen fliejien langfam, Unb eg fenft fid) bangeS ©djroetgen Stuf bie burftenben ©efilbe. Sid), rote bie ©etoitterjeidjen 3n ben fd)tt>t![en ©omntertagen, Senen fiebengftunben gletdjen, ®a bag $erg, alt unb oerfjdrtet, Sljranen wunfdjt, umgu ertoeidjen!" Prince Hohenlohe 87 by putting it into a sonnet, which he read to me some weeks afterwards in Paris, with tears in his voice — "Covered with flowers, they bore thee to thy rest. And flower-scents were all about thy bier 1 — Ah, 1;hou wert like an April blossom blest, And like the sunbeams in the summer, dear. For when thou cam'st came joy and youthful zest, And every heart awoke, as the bright clear First green awakes in April-time — and best Of all, young birds sing out for men to hear. All now is gone that made our joy and pride: Sweet eyes are closed, their light is out for aye, Soft lips will never, never smile again. When with their flowers they stood thy grave beside, I was as one unseeing. . . . Take to-day, Darling, my wreath, women from tears of pain." 1 z ,,Wan Ijat in SBIutnen ®id) gur Sftulj getrogen, (Sin 35lutent)audj gteljt fiber ®eine ©ruft. ®u ttmrft ja fclbft mic Seng unb gruljlinggbuft, SEBic ©onnenfdjein on bli'ttenreidjen £agen. llnb wenn ®u famft, gog greube, gog SBeljogen 3n jebeS §erg, roie wenn ber grfiljlinggluft Sag junge ©run gu neuem fieben ruft llnb fanft im §ain bie -Kaditigallen fd)Iage«. %un ift ba&Jn, toaS un§ fo &ocb beglutft, gg brad) be« SlugeS ftrablcnb fetter ©long, ®oS Ijeitre Sadjeln Seiner Sippen fdjttmnb. 88 My Friendship with His was the true poet's soul, which decks a dear child's fresh-made grave with a wreath twined of tear-drops. And, despite his years, he was ever young at heart. What he said of his friend, A. von Binzer, applies much better to himself, for he was the fortunate one who knew how to keep the happy mind of youth far into old age. Here is the poem, which he wrote in my album — "To keep the heart of youth undimmed within, Though time has bleached the hair to chilly grey— This is what all desire, yet few can win, For only to the blessed shows that way. And some will mock the hours with laughter thin, And some will dully creep through day-by-day, But whether in the breast be calm or din, Each heart must surely turn to ice, men say. Yet when I saw thee, all my fearing died — For the world's strife had left thy head unbowed; Thou, of thy strength, hadst flung old age aside, And he who in such conflict holds him proud, 3H§ fie mit S3lumen ®einen @org flcfd^mudft ©tonb i(fy gel&'jjmt bor @