It was Hartmann, too, who constantly urged me to write.  With all due regard for science, he said he could not admit its right to prison poesy when the latter showed so strong an impulse towards expression.  I secretly admitted the truth of his remark, but whenever I yielded to the impulse to write I felt as if I were being disloyal to the mistress to whom I had devoted all my physical and mental powers.

The conflict which for a long time stirred my whole soul began.  I could say much more of the first years I spent at Wildbad, but up to the fifth season they bore too much resemblance to one another to be described in detail.

A more brilliant summer than that of 1860 the quiet valley of the Enz will hardly witness again, for during that season the invalid widow of the Czar Nicholas of Russia came to the springs with a numerous suite, and her presence attracted many other crowned heads—­the King of Prussia, afterwards the Emperor William I, her royal brother; her beautiful daughter, Queen Olga of Wurtemberg, who, when she walked through the grounds with her greyhound, called to mind the haughty Artemis; the Queen of Bavaria—­But I will not enumerate all the royal personages who visited the Czarina, and whose presence gave the little town in the Black Forest an atmosphere of life and brilliancy.  Not a day passed without affording some special feast for the eyes.

The Czarina admired beauty, and therefore among her attendants were many, ladies who possessed unusual attractions.  When they were seated in a group on the steps of the hotel the picture was one never to be forgotten.  A still more striking spectacle was afforded by a voyage made on the Enz by the ladies of the Czarina’s court, attired in airy summer dresses and adorned with a lavish abundance of flowers.  From the shore gentlemen flung them blossoms as they were borne swiftly down the mountain stream.  I, too, had obtained some roses, intended especially for Princess Marie von Leuchtenberg, of whom the Czarina’s physician, Dr. Karel, whose acquaintance we made at the Burckhardts, had told so many charming anecdotes that we could not help admiring her.

We also met a very beautiful Countess Keller, one of the Czarina’s attendants, and I can still see distinctly the brilliant scene of her departure.

Wildbad was not then connected with the rest of the world by the railroad.  The countess sat in an open victoria amid the countless gifts of flowers which had been lavished upon her as farewell presents.  Count Wilhorsky, in the name of the Czarina, offered an exquisitely beautiful bouquet.  As she received it, she exclaimed, “Think of me at nine o’clock,” and the latter, with his hand on his heart, answered with a low bow, “Why, Countess, we shall think of you all day long.”

At the same instant the postillion raised his long whip, the four bays started, a group of ladies and gentlemen, headed by the master of ceremonies, waved their handkerchiefs, and it seemed as if Flora herself was setting forth to bless the earth with flowers.