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The groom is never surprised if I come an hour too late. I fancy he knows what I have gone through: brambles, branches, and agony. SOMMERBERG, July, 1874. I have just returned from a delightful visit to the Prince and Princess Metternich. It was very hot the day I left here, and the sun poured down on the broad, white roads which lead from Sommerberg to the station.
Their Sunday evenings are the rendezvous of clever people; the men are particularly entertaining Mr. Blaine, Mr. Bayard, and other shining lights. She is musical, and sings with pleasure. She has a luscious mezzo-soprano. She sang "Robin Adair" on one of these occasions with so much conviction that it seemed as though she was routing Robin from his first sleep. SOMMERBERG, July, 1874.
SOMMERBERG, August, 1874. DEAR M., Prince Emil Wittgenstein and his wife have a pretty villa at Walhuf, directly on the Rhine, and they invited Helen and me to dine and spend the night there. Prince Wittgenstein promised to show us some wonderful manifestations from spiritland.
Surrounded by a cavalcade of young fellows, he rode in procession to the town hall, the parsonage, and so on, where they all got a drink of beer. Then under the seven lindens of the neighbouring Sommerberg, the Grass King was stripped of his green casing; the crown was handed to the Mayor, and the branches were stuck in the flax fields in order to make the flax grow tall.
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