Chapter XIII: Conclusion 274 (5)

Princess Elizabeth has a motherly love and care for her ladies of honour, and leads quite a patriarchal family life with them. She is particularly fond of surrounding herself with young people. Young girls are constantly invited to spend some weeks at Sinaia, where they are allowed to share the laborious life of their mistress, who cannot bear to see any one sitting idle near her. Every one around the Princess must be in a state of constant activity. The pet name of “Whirlwind,” given to her in fun in her childhood, was also applied to her later by a relation. The Princess and her ladies write and read, make music, write poetry, work and paint together. She endeavours to awaken a love of nature in the minds of the young, and to enliven their walks with interesting conversations. The Princess is constant in her endeavours to awaken intellectual interests in her people, and hopes by this serious foundation to overcome the frivolous tone of society, and to train the mothers of the coming generation to a more ideal life. It is a lovely sight to see the Princess, in the becoming dress of the country, sitting under the trees with a circle of young girls around her, some of whom are closely pressed to her. The Princess either reads to them or discusses a charitable institution for the country, and sometimes a plan for a future poem. Then one sees beautiful brown eyes looking up at “Dòamna Elisabeta” with love and admiration. All freely express their thoughts and feelings. The Princess has been compared to the women of the Middle Ages, and called “Anne de Bretagne.” She is indeed a bright example of deep culture and feminine virtues to all women.

The little Princess Marie flourished and grew in this happy circle, and was a charming and peculiarly thoughtful child, as her mother had been. She was, as she is described in Carmen Sylva’s fairy tale, a “sunny child, full of grace and charm.” Happiness and love had been given to her as companions and playfellows. Joy and bliss, which no pen could describe or brush depict, then rained upon her. It was an endless May-day. “The mother watched her daughter’s happy games from a distance, and blessed the earth upon which her child was so radiantly happy.”

The happy time spent amid the solitudes of woods and mountains and in that fine air passed only too quickly. Life in the capital, with its many claims, had to be taken up again, but happiness remained. This feeling is expressed in the month of January 1872, in which the Princess writes to her mother:--“They talk of a costume ball: it amuses me immensely, for I have never seen anything of the sort, and think it must be like a charming fairy tale. We insist upon being young again, and having childish amusements! I am particularly pleased to be able to show that I am no Puritan, and can discuss ‘Chiffons,’ when something pretty is to be arranged. A great many people come to me for advice, as they know that Charles has treasures in the shape of old books and engravings. My quiet reading in the morning consoles me for the cutting up of the day. So I do not give my time to my correspondence, as I must prepare myself in order to help others with good advice, bad Roumanian, studies of costumes, and conversation.”

Meanwhile much illness and constant fever had by degrees so weakened the Princess that a change of air became necessary. In the middle of March she had to start alone for Italy without her husband or child, and attended only by her suite. In Rome she was to meet some relations. Thousands had called after her “Intorceti sanatose” (Return in good health) when she left her country. In May the Princess returned, blooming in recovered health. The Prince had travelled to meet her, and welcomed her on the Danube. “That was a romantic meeting,” she writes. “I was on the _Stephen_, Charles on the _Romania_, gay with flags and pennons. We flew towards one another in brilliant sunshine. Both of us were standing on deck watching to see when the other eagerly expected ship should appear. I saw the child two days later in Comana; she is indeed charming. You cannot imagine what a sweet and affectionate little being she is. If she embraces any one she says at once, ‘Make all happy,’ and kisses all present. She is easy to educate, for she is so unhappy when she has done something silly that one has to comfort her. As soon as her heart is appealed to, all obstinacy and contrariness disappear. She is also such a sensible and patient child, and her blue eyes have such a deep gaze. What thoughts dwell behind that high forehead, I wonder, which looks so promising? I think that the love and joy of a mother will remain the same as long as the world stands, and make up to one for all the trials and troubles of life. But earthly happiness must be very delicately handled: it is very easily shattered.”

The Princess of Wied no longer lived at Monrepos with Fräulein Lavater. The Prince of Wied and his bride had made their home there. Only ten minutes’ distance from there, and nearly on the same height, the Princess had had a house built for herself. It is surrounded by woods, and has a beautiful view on the Rhine, the mountains, towns, and villages. After the village of Segendorf, which lies at the foot of the hill, the house of the Princess was called Segen House. By means of the silent, all-pervading spirit of love that reigns there, and the loving and active sympathy of the Princess for all suffering and those who were in need of help, the house soon became a real “Segenhaus” (House of blessing) to all who cross its hospitable threshold. The current of intellectual life has also accompanied the Princess of Wied to her new home.

In the summer of 1873 Princess Elizabeth travelled thither with her little daughter. It was the first time since her marriage that she had seen her German home. The happiness of those weeks which she spent with her mother, her brother and sister-in-law, and the dear old friends in town and country, was unclouded. “Monrepos! Monrepos! the laughing, rustling, and sweet-scenting forest welcomes me, and happy faces peer at me through it. Yes, Monrepos was my Paradise!” She seemed to live through her childhood and youth again with their deep joys and sorrows, inward struggles and ultimate peace. Yes, happiness is not to be found in an eternally blue sky, but in infinitesimally small things out of which we shape our life ourselves.

THE HOME OF MY FATHERS.

“The nightingale’s song of yearning
Is blent with the streamlet’s sigh;
Above and around the gables
The swallows circling fly.

And they sing of the passing races
That have lived and loved there of yore,
How they vanished away in their season,
Yet the line is renewed as before.

The seed of their spirit’s sowing
Still blooms, though the years decay;
The earth cannot hide or consume it,
Nor the storm cannot sweep it away.

The strength of the house is quickened
With the glow of ancestral fires;
The child from the father inherits,
And the ancient spirit inspires.

* * * * *

The Rhine oft rises in greeting
Around my city’s wall,
And twineth his arms about her,
For he loves her best of all.”

With justified maternal pride the mother could gaze on her fair-haired and only little daughter, who became again here the centre of all love and care. On the journey between Mayence and Neuwied the child had repeatedly asked, “Is that mamma’s Rhine?” But the little Princess Marie had, notwithstanding her tender age, an irresistible longing for the country in which she had first seen the light. She was constantly craving to be back again in her distant home, and became nearly ill from home sickness. During the whole journey she kept repeating--“Home, home, let us go home!” When the Roumanian students came to meet them at the station at Vienna, she called out to them in Roumanian, “I am going home to Bucharest with eight horses.”

On the return of the Princess to Roumania, they once more took up their abode in the romantic old monastery of Sinaia. Typhus and scarlet fever were raging in Bucharest. The Princess writes full of anxiety--“Bucharest is in such an unhealthy state that I shall return to it with fear and trembling. Typhus fever and angina reign there supreme. Diphtheria has carried off many of the children. They die in a few hours. I often become as unsettled and melancholy as a dark day in the autumn. Then an interesting person or piece of news comes in, and one brightens up like the dew in the sunshine.”

“_22nd November._--It is four years to-day since I arrived in Turnu Severin. Now I see the world here in a different light. The tranquillity which habit brings has come over me, instead of all my fear and trembling. And I feel safer here, and more in my right place, than anywhere else in the world.”

_To her Brother._

“BUCHAREST, 1873.

“People now often come to me to discuss their own affairs and seek for advice, comfort, and help. This makes me very happy, and as I wrote to some one lately: I am beginning to grow to my ideal, which is to become the confidential adviser of the Roumanian State, house, and family. This is a very grateful office, and only in this manner can I become really happy in my intercourse with so many people.

“Yes, my life here is very rich and full. I could not have imagined or wished it otherwise! It had to be attained by great sacrifices, and my endeavour is to make it worthy of them.”

* * * * *

“_24th November 1873._--Itty now begins to say such pretty little things. Seeing the bust of her father lately, she exclaimed--‘Oh, look how Jack Frost has fallen on papa.’ She has made great progress in Roumanian this autumn, and sings three Roumanian songs, also a German ditty. All the games of the Kindergarten go very well already.”

“_24th March 1874._--Itty has not forgotten any part of her stay in ‘Segenhaus’--no place and no name; and likes to talk of it all. She is a little Will-o’-the-Wisp, in all corners at once, which is a great trial for Mentor, the favourite dog. She makes him nervous, and he struggles to free himself from her embraces. He is not demonstrative, and likes to be left in peace. It is too funny to see them!”

“_February 1874._--Diphtheria and scarlet fever are raging in Bucharest. A great many children die. When we mothers meet we ask each other, ‘Are your children still well?’”

The little Princess also had a slight attack of diphtheria, which was soon overcome by speedy remedies. In the course of the winter she asked her mother--“Will the frost come down from the little stars where God lives and make Itty cold?” On Palm Sunday, the 5th of April, she was seized with scarlet fever of very serious symptoms. Diphtheria was soon added to it, and the danger increased every hour. It was impossible to persuade the child to allow herself to be put into her crib. “Oh! no, no!” she sobbed; “if I lie down, I shall go to sleep and never wake again.” During the night of Maunday Thursday, whilst burning with fever, the sweet child repeatedly called out--“I will drive to Sinaia and drink of the water of the Pelesch.” When a cooling drink was offered to her she shook her little head and said--“All is finished!” It was on Maunday Thursday, the 9th of April; the child lay on the lap of its English nurse. Her mother knelt before her, holding her little hands. After violent attacks of suffocation, she breathed once more--then a great silence followed--no breath stirred again.

Till the last moment the Princess had not realised that the bright life of her child was nearing its close. But when all was still, and she grasped the dreadful certainty, she bent with humble resignation before the holy will of God. She herself closed the loved blue eyes of her precious child, then rose quite calm and collected, and thanked the doctors for their faithful care. No words of complaint passed her lips! Her strength remained firm till they placed the body of the child in its little bed.

The tender care of the Prince for his beloved wife was very touching. He was utterly prostrated by the unexpected blow, and earnestly sought for comfort and composure. “God loved my child more than ever I did, and so He has taken it to Himself!” exclaimed the poor mother with wonderful calmness. When the little body was placed in the coffin, and it had been closed over her, the Princess put her hand on it and spoke as in prayer--“God bless my child.” The Prince himself helped to bear the coffin to the staircase of the palace. A troop of young girls from the Asyle Hélène opened the procession, singing the funeral hymn with hushed voices. In their white dresses, long white veils, and wreaths of white flowers, they seemed spirits of light preceding the sunny child to its last resting-place. Not four years had passed since the little Princess had been baptized in the Church of Cotroceni, and now the little coffin stood on the same place covered with flowers. Multitudes of people from the town and the country joined the procession.

Upon the slope of a hill between the Asyle Hélène and the park of Cotroceni lies the little grave, hidden in a wood, near the Church of Elisabeta Dòamna. A low mound with a simple stone marks the place where the princely pair had laid to rest their little daughter who was so passionately loved! On the stone is engraved the consoling words of St. Luke viii. 53: “WEEP NOT, FOR SHE IS NOT DEAD, BUT SLEEPETH.” Trees, firs and pines, as well as all sorts of roses and flowers, surround this little sanctum, which is entrusted to the care and protection of the orphan child of the Asyle Hélène. Beside it stands the simple seat as a resting-place.

The sorrow of the parents for the loss of their only child can never be lightened, and will only end with their last breath. But the hope of a heavenly life beyond the grave is the comfort of these bereaved ones!

For many months hundreds of people made pilgrimages to this spot, for the whole country mourned with the afflicted parents. During her short life the little Princess Marie had become the idol of the people, and the Roumanians had looked up to her with pride as being their own possession! All who were allowed to approach the bereaved parents during this time of bitter sorrow were much impressed by their unselfish resignation to the mysterious will of God. When the Princess was given to understand this, she answered--“Dites à leur tous, que je tâche de suivre l’example de ma mère. Je l’ai vue souffrir! Elle était plus forte que moi!”

On the 12th of April 1874, after the death of her child, Princess Elizabeth wrote to her mother:--“God has drawn my child to Himself in His love! May He eternally be praised for the great happiness which was mine! I would rather become a weeping rock like Niobe than never have been a mother! Yes, it is too much joy for one little human heart! My child is so happy, my love is stronger than the grave, and I can rejoice in its joy! There is so much to say about the little one, because she already had such marked characteristics, and was so independent, original, and charming. Still she is mine for all eternity! I have not lost the high dignity of a mother because my child is separated from me. The great happiness which I enjoy is not too dearly bought with this great sorrow! The pain is a thousand times outweighed by the joy, for it was joy without a pang, and now it is joyful pain!

“The chill frost came in the night, the night,
And my flower all withered lies.
His icy touch was so light, so light,
But it closed her fair blue eyes.

Ah me! is it thus that my joys depart,
While stricken and mute I stand.
O frost, let the fire that burns at my heart
Be quenched by thy cold, wet hand.

_May 1, 1874._

“Yes, God has given me much, very much. Such a father, such a mother, such a brother, such a husband, and such a child. Too much indeed! and though He removes them from my sight He does not take away His heavenly gifts, for they dwell for ever in my memory. I feel that after such great blessings I have no right to complain, and even to-day the joy is so great in retrospection that the sorrow cannot crush me. I often say that a mother’s love is deeper than the grave, and I rejoice in the bliss of my child. But that the world cannot be otherwise than dark and gloomy to me is not to be altered, and must be borne.

“Wherefore give to poor weak women--
To Earth-Mothers--babes from Heaven,
God, O God?
Fairy boons, seen but to vanish
Like a light-ray, like an air-waft!
Must then that which was one’s Soul’s soul,
Be so reft away, and leave us,
Leave us, struck in Life’s mid fulness
Deathly-sorrowful, and faltering?

Wherefore mad’st Thou us so humble,
So in lowliest clay entangled,
God, O God?
That we, with our own dear children
No more to consort are worthy?
So that, from our arms unskilful
Thou dost them withdraw, O Father?
When our sad frail hearts were breaking?

Formerly ’twas sunshine round us,
Days of peace, and long rejoicing,
God, O God!
Now is mortal silence o’er us,
Now is icy hush of heart!
As when storms have wrought their direst,
Mastless, anchorless the barque drifts,
So on Death’s grey waves we welter,
And we still must live, O Father!

--_Translated by Sir Edwin Arnold._

“The people here regard it as a great happiness to die on Thursday in holy week, for on that day, they say, Heaven is open, and one flies in. Consequently they regard me as a happy mother, to whom God has granted that for which they ever pray, which is that if He sees fit to take a child, it may die on this Thursday. What a curious coincidence! Even this brings us nearer to the people, for they regard us as so richly blessed. The whole country shows us the greatest sympathy. Our little grave is always covered with wreaths and flowers which are placed there by unknown hands. The girls from the Asyle come singly to the grave in the early morning, say their prayer, bring a little flower, and see that the lamp is still burning. It is a great help to me that I came into a country where so much is done in memory of the dead. Consequently that which lies nearest my heart is all arranged for me. ‘Dimbovitza apa dulce! Cine o bea nu se mai due!’

“Dimbovitza! Magic river,
Silver shining, memory haunted,
He who drinks thy crystal waters
Ne’er can quit thy shores enchanted.

Dimbovitza! all too deeply
Drank I of thy flowing river;
For my love, my inmost being
There, meseems, have sunk for ever.

Dimbovitza! Dimbovitza!
All my soul hast thou in keeping,
Since beneath thy banks of verdure
Lies my dearest treasure sleeping.”

Shortly before the child had been taken ill, the Princess had suffered much from her eyes, and could now hardly occupy herself at all. It was a great affliction to her to whom work was life! During these sad, dark days she framed the sweet expressions of her child in verses which one cannot read without emotion. The following poem is on the poetical desire of the little Princess to kiss the sunbeams:--

“On the earth, in the shimmer
Of shining sunbeams
Which in golden light gleams
Paint the colours that glimmer,
How often, my child,
In those halcyon days
Hast thou lain, and smiled,
Kissing the rays.

Didst draw them to thee
With thy fingers in sport,
Or came they unsought
Thy playmates to be?
I ne’er could divine,
But methinks at thy birth
Thou wast sent on a sunbeam
To me and the earth.”

And now the sunbeams have kissed the lovely child and taken her away with them. It seems as if all earthly hopes and all earthly joy had been buried with her. A deep sorrow and an unutterable longing stole into the heart of the Princess, which only a mother can really understand, and which can only end with life. On the 25th of April the following poem was found in the Journal--

LONGING.

“I long to feel thy little arm’s embrace,
Thy little silver-sounding voice to hear,
I long for thy warm kisses on my face,
And for thy bird-like carol, blithe and clear.

I long for every childish, loving word,
And for thy little footsteps, fairy light,
That hither, thither moved and ever stirred
My heart with them to gladness infinite.

And for thy hair I long--that halo blest
Hanging in golden glory round thy brow.
My child, can aught such longing lull to rest?
Nay, heaven’s bliss alone can end it now!”

IX.

Quiet Life.

“In work, in constant and unwearied labour, we must look for comfort in sorrow,” says Carmen Sylva, in her tale, “The Pilgrimage of Sorrow.” This has been truly carried out in her life. Whilst composing those sorrowful poems in which her unutterable longing for her lost child is expressed in such touching words, the Princess could become quite cheerful for a few moments in the recollection of her lost happiness as a mother. But her health had suffered much from all she had gone through. The doctors urged a water cure in Franzensbad. Prince Charles escorted his consort thither in the summer of 1874. In Franzensbad her pen became more than ever her best friend, and her intellectual labours brought her comfort and strength.

At first no one in Roumania guessed that Princess Elizabeth was a poetess. When the Roumanian poet Alexandri once waited upon her at Bucharest, the Princess said, whilst blushing deeply--“I should like to make a confession to you, but I have not the courage.” After much hesitation the Princess whispered shyly--“I also write poetry.” At Alexandri’s request she let him see some of her poems. He recognised her poetic talent at once, and encouraged her to go on with what was but a reflection of her thoughts and feelings. When a time of deep sorrow came to the Princess, Alexandri wrote many poems for her. He then sent her a thick volume of his poems to Franzensbad, and she began to translate the legends of the people of Roumania into German. “In Franzensbad,” writes the Princess, “the greatest change took place in my powers of writing poetry. Till then I had not known that poetry was an art, or that it could be learnt, if one were not a poet by nature. To learn to make verses seemed to me as if one would teach a bird to sing. Verses and rhymes flowed more easily from my pen than prose. I was afraid that if I were to bind myself to rules and regulations I should forfeit the power of writing verse as a punishment for my arrogance and conceit. But in the unutterable woe of the spring of 1874 writing poetry brought me no relief. Only consecutive hard work could soothe me. And so I took to translating. Alexandri’s ‘Rows of Pearls’ attracted me the most, because Kotzebue in his translation had completely changed the metre and altered much. Then I suddenly realised that I did not understand the very elements of the art of poetry. I was hampered for words and rhymes. This had never happened to me, and my work was very unsatisfactory. I wanted to ask a hundred questions at every word, and did not know of whom.”

Thereupon Wilhelm von Kotzebue also came to Franzensbad. He had long held a diplomatic post in Moldavia, and was well known to the literary world as a writer. He had also translated the national songs which Alexandri had collected into German. The Princess now discussed her translations with him. Kotzebue, an earnest and noble man, showed and explained to the Princess her faults in the construction of her verses. Now she had to work by rule and submit to certain laws--“But in that hour in which a man like Kotzebue thought it worth his while to criticise my work, I began to believe in my talent.” “I did not venture,” said the Princess, “to show him an original poem, but only my first translations of Roumanian poetry. They were very full of faults and clumsy, because I knew nothing of the science of poetry then, though I was thirty years old. I altered the ‘Rows of Pearls’ four times, and once more before it was printed. I never learnt so much as whilst I was translating. Even for many years after this I regarded my talent as a misfortune, for I thought it was not suited for my vocation. Like a child stealing sweetmeats, I always threw away my pen when some one came into my room.”

“Is it not wonderful?” the Princess writes to her mother. “If heaven takes my loved ones from me with one hand, it sheds the noblest and highest treasures upon me with the other, and in what more loving and attractive manner could I serve my country than in now translating the literary treasures of my German Fatherland into Roumanian! When I am not asleep my hands and my head do not rest for a moment, for I break down utterly otherwise. But constant activity keeps my mind fresh, and it is only at times that some sweet recollection overpowers me.

“O think not, since my heart is stricken,
All vanished are the joys that quicken!
There yet remains a boundless store--
Though, bereavèd, I may never
Hear a mother’s name for ever,
Thou’rt still ‘my mother’ as before.”

A great longing to see her beloved mother again took possession of the Princess. The Princess of Wied had been prevented by illness from being with her daughter during her time of deepest sorrow. When they had last met, the happy childish voice of the little Princess Marie had been heard above the others. Now they could only meet in sobs and tears! The princely pair were to join the Princess of Wied at Cologne, and then to remain some weeks with her at St. Leonard’s on the English coast.

The Princess writes to the Princess of Wied from Franzensbad on the 19th of July:--“It is good to fill one’s mind with great impressions. One returns full of thought. I am looking forward to England like a child. I know what it will be to sit on the shore with you and listen to the sound of the waves. To see London is also a great attraction.”

“Looking back on this time,” the Princess writes, “it was a great refreshment to disappear in that vast London. We had never seen Max Müller till then, but had been often in communication with him, and we telegraphed to him that we were coming to Oxford. He received us at the station, and invited us to stay at his house. The two days spent in the peaceful atmosphere of his home, in that charming family circle which had not then been broken, soothed and cheered me. This happiness could not weigh upon the unhappy; it could but do one good and allay the storm. It was the happiness of a wise man. We also made the acquaintance of Jane Stanley. I had then finished a little book in the form of a missal for my mother, which I called ‘My Journey through the World’--all sorts of verses and rhymes, dedicated to my mother. Charles Kingsley was present when I surprised my mother with this present. I showed him the poem--

MY ONLY ONE.

“O let no evil betide her,
No sin her pure heart enthrall;
My God, with Thine own hand guide her--
Thou knowest she is my all.

His shining blue eyes filled with tears, and sobs heaved in his breast. My mother wept for sorrow and joy, and only I was tearless. This little book contained poems written from the time of my confirmation to my thirtieth year, of which my mother had seen hardly any, for they had, except on very exceptional occasions, been hidden from those nearest and dearest to me.”

Amongst them were the two following poems written in English:--

SERVE THE LORD WITH GLADNESS.

“Through Life’s deep shadow, grief and pain,
Where none by me beloved remain,
I ever heard the echoing strain,
O serve the Lord with gladness.

In sorrow and in anguish cast,
When hope and joy away were passed,
It oft came sounding in the blast,
O serve the Lord with gladness.

But now I know the joy that stays,
The ever bright and sunny rays,
And soft and low I sing the praise,
O serve the Lord with gladness.”

_March 3, 1868._

MY SUNNY HOME.

“A sunny home
It is to me,
Where through the fields and forests free
O’er hill and dale I roam.

A sunny home
In love’s sweet reign,
Where sacrifice was ne’er a pain,
Or labour wearisome.

A sunny home
Where every shade
Is lighted by a ray that stayed
Of sun and joy to come.

A sunny home
It’s still to me,
When far away o’er land and sea
A stranger sad I roam.”

After her return to Bucharest, Princess Elizabeth began to illuminate in water-colours in the style of a missal. These works of art were quickly completed by her clever hands. On the 23rd of November she writes in a letter from Bucharest--“Art in all its forms is but a prayer. Consequently, when it is inspired, it brings peace and joy into the hearts of others. Art places us on the Virful-cu-Dor (the Heights of Longing), and whilst she shows us the world at our feet, still she directs our longing gaze upwards. Then peace, perfect peace returns to us.”

“_Bucharest, December 26, 1874._--To-morrow at eight o’clock the poor receive their Christmas gifts. Wood and clothes are distributed to a thousand poor people. Tuesday is a festival and day of rest, on which I shall not say, ‘Oh, were I never born!’ For I am glad that I live, and can have manifold experiences, and think and hope. I think life is a blessing which has given me more than enough, for instance this translating and this painting, which comes into my life as something new and eventful. I think I must have taken some of the woodland soil of my German home away with me, and unexpected streams well up from under my feet. I am thankful to you, my earthly gods, for this, for your endless love, earnestness, and wealth of thought have made me the heiress of these your hardly-won treasures. If I have a good idea, I ask myself, ‘From which of my parents does it come, to whom am I beholden for it?’”

“_January 7, 1875._--I do not translate now, as I am writing so much myself. As soon as I take up my pen, original thoughts flow into my mind, and then it is difficult for me to transcribe the thoughts of others. What we create ourselves is the most beautiful, translating the most useful. I am always under the immediate impression of what I am reading, and so the thoughts of Bernstein, and particularly a description of the Atlantic cable, inspired my ‘Songs of the Sea.’

“Paul Keyse’s ‘Balder’ set me making verses of the same metre, which are so pleasant to compose. I have arranged a Choral Society with Lubitz, the new musician, with whom we sing in chorus. He is delighted with the Roumanian songs, melodies, and words, and will arrange them as a chorus. Our Choral Society makes good progress. Our working classes are extending, and with them the interest for the good cause. Herr Hoetsch has given us a house for the Infant School and the meetings of our Society. Three times a week 160 to 170 women fetch their work from thence. Enough flowers grow on my thorny path to refresh me.”

On the 7th of May the princely pair had moved up to Cotroceni. “The nightingales are singing, and the damp earth has an agreeable scent. It is absolutely still. The first thing I did was to set free thirty nightingales which I had bought in the market for sixty francs. Perhaps they will stay here. You should have seen how the poor little birds, still quite stiff from their fetters, at first remained on my hand, then slowly stretched their necks, and then it was but one beat of their wings and they were free! I rejoiced each time! Here I shall set to work again. What hinders me most is the want of interest of those who know too little German and too little Roumanian to be able to help me to understand. Perhaps I shall take drawing lessons from the new directress of the Asyle, Madame Pinel, a scholar of Horace Vernet, and thereby entice one young lady after the other. In this way I should be able to found a school of drawing in the same manner as the Choral Society by mixing with the scholars.”

On the 19th of July 1875 the Princess writes from Sinaia:--“How I have longed for the forest! Yesterday I told it to the Pelesch, whose rushing and foaming waterfall seemed to make moan, the leaves of the beech trees whispered and trembled and the sunbeams came flying to me. All promised me new songs, and said that if they were eternal and unceasing my poetry must be so too.”

Finding it impossible to make a fixed residence in the uncomfortable apartments which were all that the convent at Sinaia could offer, the Prince began to build a castle of his own in the woods. At the place which had been the favourite haunt of the little Princess Marie, the foundation stone of Castle Pelesch was laid on the 22nd of August 1875. The wishes of the Princess as to the spirit which should reign in this new home are laid in the foundation-stone with the archives and the coins. They are expressed as follows:--

“My thoughts they fall and flatter
Like leaves from off the trees;
They flutter, float, and scatter,
As in a dream one sees;

And then take shape in singing
And come to face of day,
Leaf-thoughts life’s storm is bringing
Down on my brow alway.

And out from springs deep-hidden
With ever newer might
Rush waves of words unbidden
Brought from the gloom to light.

Brought into sight so slowly,
From caverns unbeheld,
Sought for with prayings lowly;
Distinct, and then dispelled.

A thought of light that glideth
Down from the heavenly hall,
Wherever it abideth
Maketh a sunbeam fall.

Of equal radiance, springing
From sunset or sunrise;
Of equal help for singing
Or praying, I comprise.

All thoughts which bright hopes nourish
In this our building--sown
Like spirit-seed to flourish
From its foundation-stone.”

--_Translated by Sir Edwin Arnold._

“The quiet valley of Sinaia has quite changed its character, and is now like a colony in the back woods, with wooden huts and wigwams. Twelve to fourteen languages are spoken on the place where the castle is building. The overseer of the works is the Court sculptor, Martin Stohr. His wood-carvings adorn the Castle and the Palace in Bucharest, and remind one of the first period of the Renaissance by their wonderful finish. Upon a great height among the gigantic forests, and on soil belonging to the Prince, is a magnificent stone quarry which furnishes all the stone required for the building of the castle. A small railway leads up to it, and there the Italian workmen have taken up their abode. The building of the line of railway through the Prahova Valley was begun at the same time as that of the castle.”

But the footsteps of the Princess became weary and weak again, till illness once more completely prostrated her. As she lay in bed for months, unable to put her foot to the ground, the Princess, as has already been mentioned, found courage to write down a complete account of the life of her remarkable brother, Prince Otto. Princess Elizabeth was content, in spite of her sufferings, and wrote to her mother on the 28th of November:--“You cannot fancy how grateful I am for the quiet that this winter brings. I have so often said to God in the course of the summer--‘I can no more’--that He has shown that my strength is at an end, and that I must concentrate and recover my powers. No turbulent wave swells into my boudoir, and the restlessness without only feeds the world of thought in my quiet room.”

* * * * *

“_4th December._--This quiet is more than a blessing to me. During the last year my mind and body have been craving for rest. Now I have at last attained to it, and am very thankful. Why are there so many commonplace people and so few that are interesting? They all keep a firm hold on me, like so many leeches, and do not understand that quiet peace is the ideal of life, the highest aim of the Epicureans.”

* * * * *

“_13th December._--I have finished another story, but it is a very sad one. The pictures my fancy paints are seldom bright; indeed they never were. My childish stories even were always sad and dreadful. I think that laughter dwells outside, and not within me, and is but hung about me like a bright garment. Or is it the wonderful brightness of your nature and my father’s which is struggling within me, or is it life and its sorrows? Are our sad experiences alone worth dwelling upon? Who can tell?”

* * * * *

Prince Charles was ill, and Princess Elizabeth still unable to walk. She longed for some of her family to visit her, but none of them could come to her. This increased her melancholy state of mind. “And during this long illness I tasted all the bitterness of life, the very depths of hopelessness and despair which could abide in the heart of man. But comfort is sent to all. I have my pen, which is given to me for drawing, and poetry, and which make up to me for everything! It flies ever quicker, for the stream of my thoughts flows continuously, and the scene of my labours enlarges and increases with my anxiety for the well-being of others.”

At last the Princess of Wied was expected. Her Highness arrived in May, and stayed till August with her children in Cotroceni and Sinaia, to the great delight of Princess Elizabeth, who had now quite recovered her health. This meeting, which she had so long anxiously looked forward to, found an echo in the following poem--

“Ye little blossoms, linger still!
Ye nightingales prolong your trill!
Thou sun a tempered radiance cast,
And, Zephyr, breathe a gentler blast!
She comes!

Ye grasses, don your diamond dew,
And let the sunbeams twinkle through!
Spread, fragrant odours, far and wide!
Thou restless brook, restrain thy tide!
She comes!

Beat not, my throbbing heart, so loud!
No envious tears my vision shroud!
Let the whole world lift up his voice
And with the spring, and me, rejoice!
She comes!”

After her mother had left, she writes to her in September:--“Sinaia looks the same as of old, it is so full of merriment, of life and joy. People stream in and out, and then I am quite well again. We make voyages of discovery and start on climbing excursions every day. In all states of life it is pleasanter to be the stronger one who can impart to others some of his _trop plein_ than the weak one who goes a-begging. What an enjoyment it is not to depend on others! For the first time since many years I feel as if I were carried by the air when I am walking, and yet I am no sylph. We now live in the house in the wood from half-past eight in the morning till half-past seven in the evening. It is quite ideal, like a nest amidst the green, and really a little paradise, so cosy and so warm among the fir-trees.”

When autumn comes in, Bucharest becomes once more the centre of ever-renewing duties. Then the Princess resumes her life of hard work. She rises at five in the morning, and lighting her little lamp herself, she works till eight in a room artistically adorned with paintings, palms, and towering ferns. Thick carpets hush the sound of footsteps. The walls are hung with deep-toned colours. Cosy little nooks and corners to sit in are arranged under tropical plants. The silence which surrounds the Princess is only broken by the murmur of the little fountain and the chirping of the birds. In these early morning hours the Princess works at her poetic creations, and gains strength for the cares and duties of the day.

After breakfasting alone with the Prince, businesses and audiences begin. The reception-rooms of Prince and Princess are often not empty for nine or ten hours with but short interruptions. At a particular hour the former ladies-in-waiting who have been married since then, may see the Princess without being announced. Every Thursday a concert takes place. Foreigners and natives are invited to take part on these occasions. Some times Roumanian gentlemen read aloud either a scientific French book or the works of modern Roumanian poets. Princess Elizabeth wishes to be thoroughly well-informed, and every talent finds a patroness in her. “I have arranged something very pleasant,” she writes to her mother. “Twice a week I get Vacaresco to read ancient Roumanian Chronicles to me. He is as well up in them as a professor, and holds explanatory lectures between whiles, which are open to all. Imagine my ideal room with its fountains and lamps and abatjours, the pretty girls with their work under the spreading palms, and I, pen in hand, noting down every new word. And then the curious past which is unrolled before us, in a magnificent classical Latin style, or in the primitive forms of the old books of the Bible. I hope to find subjects to work up in poetry. I am also arranging an Academy of Painting. There is to be much singing and more reading aloud. Everything that approaches me must be at work. Nobody and nothing may rest.”

“It is a peculiarity of mine to like to be surrounded by many workers. I do not at all like a _tête-à-tête_: it always wants three people to make up a pleasant conversation. In a _tête-à-tête_ one usually touches on one’s little miseries about which it is much better to be silent. I always live with open doors, so that people may come to me at any time. This is a slight alleviation to my childlessness. I only reserve the first hours from five to eight for my own work. After that I let any one disturb me, and begin with my household affairs and the menu. Consequently I often have people from ten in the morning till seven at night.”

“The Prince likes to find me at every free moment he has, and so I am always at home. He must never notice that I am at work. When he calls or I hear his footsteps, pen and paint brush are thrown away till he does not want me any more. For as he has much work to do, and sees many people, we must make use of and prize the quarters of an hour which belong to us alone. If I were to hesitate for a moment the time would be gone and could not be reclaimed. Also I think that I am first a wife, then the mother of my country, and then a poetess. But, thank God, the genius of poetry goes secretly with me to the audiences, to the forests, and to the schools, to dinners too, &c. Anything and everything gives occasion to endless studies, and I gather treasures in my memory which has ever been a trusty companion to me.”

“In politics the Prince is my oracle, and I avoid discussing them with any one else. He gives me lectures on political economy, finances, railways, and the army--everything in fact which concerns him. He has a very decided turn for organisation. All his talents are exactly the contrary of mine. Demeter Stourdza said lately that he had never seen two people so complete in one another, and yet we could not be more different, said I. ‘Yes,’ he answered, ‘the ways differ, but the idea is ever the same.’” (From letters of the Queen in May and June 1884.)

But the quiet life of the royal pair was soon interrupted by the beginning of a devastating war. The development of the fatal Eastern Question was to introduce a new epoch, which not only converted Roumania into a theatre of war, but also induced her to take an active part in it herself. This decision was crowned with many and brilliant successes.

X.

The War and its Results.

Threatening clouds had arisen on the political horizon. The condition of the Christian inhabitants of the tributary Turkish provinces had become untenable. Servia and Montenegro had declared war with Turkey. The rebellion had broken out in Bosnia, in Herzegovina, and in Bulgaria. Russia had taken up the case in a warlike spirit which drove her irresistibly forward. To free the Slavonic brothers from the yoke of Turkey was the long desired object of Panslavistic thought. The Emperor Alexander II. held it to be his sacred duty to go to the help of the oppressed Christians who were one with him in name and in faith. The decision of Russia to settle the Eastern Question by force of arms decided the point. On the 13th of November 1876 the Emperor commanded that six army corps in the south of Russia should be put in motion, and he placed them under the command of his brother, the Grand Duke Nicholas. On the 24th of April 1877 the Russian troops had crossed the Pruth and were marching through Roumania.

On the 26th of April 1877 Prince Charles of Roumania opened the extraordinary session of parliament in a solemn speech. He said--“War is broken out: our efforts in regard to Turkey and the guaranteeing powers that our neutrality should be accorded to us as our right have been without success. We have borne many sacrifices for the upholding of this neutrality, and it is required as a duty from us even by foreign cabinets. The Porte has refused even to lay our requests before the conference now assembled in Constantinople. Under these conditions Roumania, no longer supported by other powers, must in future depend upon its own exertions. It is our duty to prevent this land from becoming the theatre of war at any price, and to make any sacrifices required for this object. Such a war would reduce our towns and villages to ashes, our people would be massacred, and our riches, the fruits of the labours of a peace of twenty years, would be scattered by this war, which we did not wish for, and which has not been declared by any fault of ours.”

A few days later, on the 7th of May, the Prince had to address the assembled Senate in the following words--

“Notwithstanding all our efforts to the contrary, the war that has broken out between our two powerful neighbours has already led to disastrous results in the part of our country that lies by the Danube. Without a single bullet having fallen on our territory, our towns and villages are beginning to be ruined and deserted, for the Ottoman monitors, regardless of all international law, forced themselves into our harbours and burned and destroyed the ships that lay at anchor there, regardless of the flag under which they sailed. Unprotected towns, as Braila, and particularly Reni, have been bombarded. Olteniza, where not the smallest division of the Russian army is to be found, shared the same fate. Marauding bands of Bashi-Bazouks have disturbed the peace of the country in various places, have crossed the Danube, and have burnt the ships lying at anchor in the river Jiul in the harbour of Beket, and destroyed the dwellings of the people.”

Nothing more remained to be done but for Roumania to get rid of the enemy by main force. On the 8th of May the Turks had opened a bombardment on Kalafat from Widdin. Their cannon balls fell into the Danube, and their firing was answered by the Roumanian forts. Thus fell the first Roumanian shot against the Turks. The cannon had spoken, and had settled the question. “Now the bands that connected us with Turkey are broken,” said the Roumanians, “and may they be eternally severed. The time of our guardianship by foreign powers and the times of our servitude is over. Roumania is and will remain a free and independent state.”

The declaration of the independence of Roumania was solemnly announced to the people on the 22nd of May 1877. “From the day on which I set foot on this ground I became a Roumanian,” said the Prince to his subjects. “From the day on which I ascended this throne which has become famous by many great and glorious Princes, the ideas of those Princes have become the dominant idea of my reign--namely, the resurrection of Roumania and the fulfilment of her mission in the mouths of the Danube.” Prince Charles had already signed a convention with Russia, and a Russo-Roumanian alliance followed soon after.

The war was now in full swing! On the 27th of May a cannonade had taken place between Kalafat and Widdin. The battery of Carol I., with which were the Prince and his suite, and the officers of the staff, fired the first shot. After the second shot, all the Turkish batteries began to open fire, and a lively cannonade was continued on both sides. The first bombshell flew over the battery of Carol I., and burst quite close to where the Prince was standing, but without doing him any harm. “Charles has brought me the bombshell which burst at his side,” writes the Princess. “They told me that he stood on the ramparts surrounded by shot and shell. Some of the people crossed themselves, and Greciano fell on his knees, for he thought his Prince was wounded. But Charles waved his cap and cried ‘Hurrah! Bravo! Je suis habitué à cette musique-là!’ Then a loud hurrah! resounded from all the batteries, and was taken up by the whole camp, from whence it extended to the town, and all the military bands began to play the National Anthem. It must have been a thrilling moment! Three bombshells burst later in the battery where Charles stood. In Craiova they wished to unharness the horses and drag the carriage themselves, and threw wreaths and bouquets, doves, and even small loaves of bread into his carriage.” Carmen Sylva’s enthusiastic poem, entitled “Kalafat,” was written in honour of this memorable day.

KALAFAT.

“Downward the Danube floweth broad,
So strength-assured, so peaceable;
Fast in her arms the land she holds,
And to her soft heart closely folds
Those marches she must cover well.

Widdin and Kalafat stand there
Backed in the golden evening gleam,
And quiet broodeth over all--
Lo! thunders peal and lightnings fall!
The firm earth shakes, smoke veils the stream!

See, hissing in the golden flood,
And shrilly whistling through the air,
Flung from black fiery cannon-mouth
Brotherly greetings hustle forth!
The dreadful shells fly here and there!

High on the topmost parapet
There stands Prince Karl so tranquilly.
Men! Gaze straight in the eyes of death,
Your leader nothing pondereth
Of dangers which around him be.

He looks with earnest countenance
Afield, and asks if Fortune’s hand
Will help him storm with footmen brave
Widdin, and bridge blue Danube’s wave
For passage of his hero band.

But ah! One pace in front of him
A crash, a sparkling, splintering shock!
Startled they see, where that bomb came,
Their Prince amid a sea of flame
Erect, alone, firm as the rock.

One soldier wildly signs the cross,
Another sinks upon his knees--
‘Our Prince is hurt, O cruel fate!
The only helmsman of the State.’
Lamentingly so clamour these.

But he, his war-cap waving high
Clear and alert, from manly breast
Cries out--‘The music suits me so;
This is my tune, this air I know!
Hurrah! Now have I of life’s best.’

And Danube heard the martial voice,
Her deep heart thrilled, she knew its tone;
Her waves, as they went limpid by,
Responded in serene reply
To Hohenzollern’s noble son.”

--_Translated by Sir Edwin Arnold._