Chapter XIII: Conclusion 274 (7)

The Queen now made up her mind to give way to the entreaties of those around her, and to let her poems “Sappho” and “Hammerstein” be privately printed. In 1882 “The Enchantress” appeared, to which a statue of Carl Caner had inspired her. “My fundamental idea,” writes the Queen, “is that purity overcomes passion or the demon, but it costs her her life. It is death to fight against the forces of nature!” The poetess, with her rich fancy, has made the statue seem alive.

“Sits upon the splintered summit
Swathed in storm, beside a black gulf,
Heavenly beautiful, a woman.
Wonderful her body’s curves are
As she leans upon her hand,
Lightly swaying on the crag’s edge,
One knee rests across the other,
Balanced one limb back is folded:
In her hand she grasps a serpent,
Careless how the creature struggles,
Twines and bends and shoots its tongue forth,
Helpless that white grip to loosen,
Helpless to escape those fingers.
Red her hair is; like to flame-tongues
Ruddy ’mid the storm it swayeth,
Floats unto the clouds, and catches
The forked lightning as it falls,
Drawing through its threads the flashes
Which glide down that woman’s body,
And, beneath her, splits a pine tree
From the topmost bough to root.
And the eyes of that fair woman--
In the lurid light which blazes
Bright from stem to stem--do glitter
Green, beneath great brows of black.

* * * * *

Gladsome-looking, head high-lifted,
Up that crag a young man marches;
Strength and peace are on his visage,
In his blue eyes innocence.”

--_Translated by Sir Edwin Arnold._

He sings the song which has so often been set to music:--

“’Tis with me as the wild brook
By summer-rains swelled,
Which carries rocks, tree-trunks,
All headlong impelled.

’Tis with me as the tempest
Which knows not its mind,
But something must shatter,
Such might is behind!

’Tis with me as the gold sun
Whose beams are so bland;
Full fain I’d kiss Heaven,
And ocean, and land.

’Tis with me as with sweet songs
Which soft music spread,
And bring living echoes
From rocks that were dead.

’Tis with me as with high God
Who pardons above;
All life is so lovely,
I am love-sick for Love!”

--_Translated by Sir Edwin Arnold._

Dämona, the enchantress, is gifted with a beauty which kills and destroys. A youth beholds her suddenly as she appears on a lonely height, and falls desperately in love with her. Lightning flashes from her shining golden hair, but the idea of being loved by an innocent being charms her fancy. The hunter has tracked her to her winter palace of ice by the sea. She is overcome by his passionate love for her, and sinks into his arms. At that moment the icy building gives way and falls to pieces, and they are buried in the deep.

In “Jehovah” Carmen Sylva has endeavoured to represent the doubt, Does God exist or not? which is for ever struggling in the mind of man. Ahasuerus desires to trace all things to their origin. He regards eternal life as a curse. His vocation is accomplished if he can attain to knowledge.

“Show me the God who all has made,
And Him will I adore;
Show me the God who guides the sun,
And Him will I adore;
Show Him whose voice sounds like the storm,
Who mows the trees as they were grass,
And Him will I adore.”

He seeks God in art, in his own restless activity, in the passion of love, in the desire of possession, &c. But everywhere the answer comes, “God is not here.” At last he realises God in the eternal laws of nature. Then death comes and releases the believer.

“Jehovah” was translated into French verse in 1887 by Hélène Vacaresco, a youthful poetess.

“The Pilgrimage of Sorrow,” a cycle of fairy tales, also appeared in 1882. The poetic fancy of Carmen Sylva has here treated the question, “Whence and for what reason do sorrow and suffering come?” symbolically, and placed it in fairy tales. “To live is to suffer, but two faithful comforters remain at your side during the fight and help you to endure. They are termed Patience and Labour.” This is the leading idea of this poem. The royal lady possesses a wonderful power of representing the deepest feelings of the heart, which only those can do who have gone through all phases of suffering. She has a fellow-feeling for all who strive and struggle, and can realise and deeply sympathise with the sufferings of humanity.

When Queen Elizabeth began to write the “Fairy Tales of the Pelesch,” she wrote the following poem in her journal:--

“On every wave, in every flower
A shining fairy tale I see;
I gather them from stream and bower,
And tell them as they’re told to me.

From mossy banks and woodlands glancing,
They come like visions golden bright;
On every spray I watch them dancing,
And hear their whispers soft and light.

They come like sunbeams many-tinted,
But with what radiance, glowing, fair,
They’re on my memory imprinted
I never can in words declare.”

These “Fairy Tales” were published in 1883, entitled “From Carmen Sylva’s Kingdom,” and were given to the school children as a prize book in their Roumanian translation.

In the introduction the authoress addresses the people of her Roumanian kingdom in her character of mother of her country, and says to her children--

“Where crags the ancient forest crown,
Where mountain streams dance wild adown,
And countless blossoms spread,
And odours sweet are shed;
There lies the land--all glad and green--
Where I am Queen!

Where all that in old legends lies
Is read enshrined in tender eyes
Deep with the blue of truth,
And bright with loving youth;
There, soft as spring, that land is seen
Where I rule, Queen.

All the world over, in deep grove
Wherever ring bird-songs of love,
Where gathering mists veil all,
And splashes the waterfall,
’Mid those waved boughs my ways have been,
There I am Queen!

From shooting leaf and budding flower,
From each new beam of heavenly power,
In growing and beholding,
In being and enfolding,
The realm grows--(Children! when was such wealth seen?)
Where I am Queen!”

--_Translated by Sir Edwin Arnold._

“Through the Centuries” is the name of the second volume of “From Carmen Sylva’s Kingdom” (1887). They are fairy tales and ballads told in prose, and taken from the Roumanian national poetry. “They are history, legends, ballads, and novels (but all true ones) together,” writes the Queen. “It begins with the fall of Decebal, and ends with the taking of Widdin.”

Heroes and heroic deeds are here brought before us in disconnected tales. We read of the fall of the Datian Prince Decebal, of times when the Roman influence was also felt in Roumania, which still lives among the Roumanian people in songs and traditions. We gaze into the Middle Ages and hear of Stephen the Great, as well as the Legend of Manole, the architect of the Cathedral of Curtea de Arges, which is told with such marvellous simplicity, and others. We meet with figures of heroic women, such as the Mother of Stephen the Great, Decebal’s daughter, Andrada, Fausta, Neaga. The ballads also describe later episodes, which, being on elevating or touching subjects, have been taken up by the people.

“When I let all my characters die,” writes the Queen, “I am only like nature, in which everything ends with death. There is nothing in this world which has any other ending than death. It is such a peaceful feeling when they have ceased to struggle, and the poor soul is at rest. Decebal’s end is as historically true as most histories.

“The third volume will contain legends of birds or flowers, amongst which ‘Jochen Spatz’ belongs to Roumania. I was asked to write a page in the album which is dedicated to the memory of Fritz Reuter, and sent this fairy tale of the people.”

Later the royal lady composed a highly poetical libretto for the opera. It treats of an episode in the life of the Roumanian people, and is called Neaga. The Swedish composer Hallström has set it to music. The subject of the poem, “A Prayer,” was also taken from life, having occurred to a priest.

The Queen writes French poetry with ease. In the spring of 1883 the “Félibres,” an alliance of authors and learned men in the South of France which had in view the resuscitation of Provence and its poetry, induced the Queen to answer in the same strain. The royal pair were spending a few weeks at Sestri Ponente at that time. Thither the Félibres de Lar sent her Majesty a sonnet in the old language of Provence, containing the poetic invitation to visit them in the sunny land of the Troubadours. Without much reflection Queen Elizabeth answered them in the following poem, which we give here as a proof of the wide range of her talent:--

RÉPONSE DE S. M. LA REINE ELISABETH DE ROUMANIE AU CAPISCOL.

MONSIEUR J. B. GANT, POUR LES FÉLIBRES DE LAR.

“De gracieux noms suis appelée,
Venir ne puis,
Par tems et devoir enchaînée,
Oiseau ne suis.

Si, comme la pensée moult radieuse,
Ailes j’avais,
A votre source mystérieuse
Je renaîtrais.

Je baignerais dans l’harmonie
De la chanson,
Cherchant des froideurs de la vie
La guérison.

Au grand soleil qui vous innonde
De son amour,
Oyez--je volerais une onde,
Beau troubadour.

Je cueillerais de vos pensées
La fraîche fleur,
Vos harpes au cœur accordées
Me diraient: Sœur!

Le Mistral même s’est fait caresse!
Venir ne puis
A votre source enchanteresse;
Oiseau ne suis!”

ELISABETH.

SESTRI PONENTE, _le 11 Avril 1883_.

We will also mention the two newest works of Carmen Sylva that were published at Christmas 1883. First we will tell of a little book of novelettes, termed “Etchings.” It contains sketches and pictures from life, which bear the technical titles of the work of the artist, such as Engravings, Chalk Drawings, Wood Engravings, &c. “In my eyes,” says the royal lady, “novelettes are for the poet what studies of heads are for the artist, and the aphorisms are the slight sketches in the sketch-book.” Almost at the same time the large collection of poems termed ‘My Rest’ appeared.

Amongst them are poetic idylls reverting to the twelve months of the year. A collection of poems belong to each of these, some of which are written in the form of epic poems or romances, others in lyric, epigrammatic, or didactic form. Most of the ballads are taken from life. In these forms the poetic genius and intellectual power of Carmen Sylva appear to their greatest advantage, and we find many cheerful songs in this rich collection. “The Post,” a Roumanian picture, vivid with life and colour, is particularly charming. It runs thus:--

“Swift, swift as the wind drives the great Russian Czar,
But we of Roumania are swifter by far--
Eight horses we harness for every day speed,
But I’ve driven a team of a dozen at need.
Then over the bridges we hurry along,
Through village and hamlet, with shouting and song,
With a hip-hip-hurrah! swiftly onwards we go,
The birds fly above and our horses below.

When the sun burns at noon and the dust whirls on high,
Like the leaves of the forest, grown withered and dry,
We hasten along, never slacking the rein--
The wild mountain riders come down to the plain.
Their hair and their cloaks flutter free in the wind--
The sheep and the buffaloes gallop behind,
And hip-hip-hurrah! boys, with horse and with man,
Like the tempest we pass--let him follow who can.

When winter is here and the storm-sprite’s abroad,
Swift glideth the sledge o’er the snow-covered road--
Great drifts hide the inn and the sign-post from sight,
’Tis an ocean of snow lying waveless and white.
The wolves and the ravens’ wild greetings we hear
As we pass the ravine, and the precipice drear,
With a hip-hip-hurrah! From the road though we stray,
No matter, the horses will find out the way.

The rain falls in torrents--the stream, grown a flood,
Has shattered the bridge on our passage that stood.
The waters have risen--are rising yet more--
’Tis foolhardy daring to swim to the shore.
Ten pieces of gold and I’ll venture my neck--
The carriage is floating--the box-seat’s the deck;
But hip-hip-hurrah! boys, so loud are our cheers,
That the water flows back, for our shouting it fears.

A jest to the lad and a kiss to the lass
We throw, while they linger to watch as we pass;
His laugh still resounds and her cheek is still red,
When already our bells jingle far on ahead.
Right well does our team know their silvery chime,
And we scarce slacken speed as the mountain we climb.
Then hip-hip-hurrah! boys, nay! slowly, beware,
For steep’s the descent, we must make it with care.

How sweetly the peal from the convent rings out,
The nuns scatter flowers around and about,
Black-stoled and black-wimpled, they bloom like the rose,
Their eyes ev’n have veils, that too often they close,
Of long silken lashes, now raised with a smile--
A cordial the long, weary way to beguile:
But hip-hip-hurrah! we have passed from their ken,
While they wish us good speed over hill, vale, and fen.

At midnight, the streets of the town to the tread
Of our horses resound--all the sky’s glowing red,
For crowds gather round us with torches alight,
And pine-boughs all blazing, to stare at the sight.
A crack of the whip and a cheer and a song,
Through a circle of fire, we clatter along;
And hip-hip-hurrah! through the glow and the glare,
Through flowers and folk, e’er a halt we declare.

’Twas when I was driving my king that I broke
Both my legs at one fall--why, a saint ’twould provoke!
But when in three weeks he returned o’er the plain,
Thank the Lord! I was sound in the saddle again.
‘What, it’s you back again!’ was his greeting to me.
‘Yes, sire,’ I replied, ‘for Roumanians are we,
And hip-hip-hurrah! a postillion as well.
Seven lives are my birthright, I’ve often heard tell.’

Even if I were dead, I could never lie still--
I should hasten afield over valley and hill.
I’d take the eight reins and the whip in my hand,
And scarce in the saddle I’d fly through the land.
No dull, droning chant and procession for me,
I’d turn in my coffin such doings to see;
And hip-hip-hurrah! from the bier and its gloom
I’d leap to the saddle and drive to my tomb.”

And also this poem--

BETRAYED.

“A rock had chosen a pine for his bride,
In his rugged arms he bore her,
And vowed, as he cradled her early growth,
For ever he’d keep and adore her.

She was his; who should tear her away from his side?
So deep her roots had she driven;
She clasped him firmly with loving embrace,
That his stony heart was riven.

But the west wind rose, and with angry breath,
He cried ‘Let her go, she is mine!’
So the stormy blast and the love-lorn rock
Strove each with each for the pine.

Till, poised for a moment, as if in doubt,
The pine fell trembling over,
And tore herself loose from the rock’s caress,
And took the storm for her lover.

But little recked he of the pine laid low
As he blustered in mirth down the valley,
Through rocks and forests cleaving his way
With many another to dally.

She clutched with powerless arms at space,
But might not arrest her ruin;
Headlong she fell and abandoned lay
Far from the place she grew in.

And the rock, forlorn, gazed down the abyss
Where she lay at the foot of the mountain,
While, swollen with tears, from his stony side,
Burst forth a perennial fountain.

It shall pour down his side, a ceaseless flood,
In search of the pine for ages;
Time healeth not the gaping wound
Nor the depth of his woe assuages.

And a thousand trees crowd round his crest,
Waving their maiden tresses;
In vain! he careth for none of these,
Still true to his lost caresses.”

We have only been able to give a few leaves from the forest of Carmen Sylva’s songs. We will now close the picture of the surprising creative power of our authoress with the last verses of her poem “Carmen.” She here addresses her readers and says--

“And all which here I have been singing
It is your very own!
From your deep heart its music bringing,
To sad chords of your sorrows ringing,
Winning for you the crown!

Yours were the thoughts for ever ranging,
You made the folk-tales true!
In this earth-day of chance and changing,
Of lives unfolding, deaths estranging,
Look, Soul! there, too, are you!

Perchance, when Death shall bring sad leisure,
And these pale lips are dumb,
Then you my words may better measure,
And in my true love take new pleasure;
Then will my meaning come!”

--_Translated by Sir Edwin Arnold._

In the second edition “My Rest” appeared in small single volumes, _i.e._--1. “Heights and Depths;” 2. “Worldly Wisdom;” 3. “Mother and Child;” 4. “Ballads and Romances.”

“My Rhine” was new poetry. Under this title Carmen Sylva brought out in 1884 a poetical description of the towns and castles of her native Rhine. Artistic illustrations and etchings of the landscapes adorn each poem.

“It Knocks.” “Between whiles I have written a little novel of 100 pages,” writes the Queen, “because a poor boy came to beg me to give his father some editing to do. They were so badly off, he said, and he wished to surprise his parents with a manuscript of mine. I think it is the best thing I have written, all the more as it is quite true, and I have only created the framework. If one is not too discreet, real life offers more than the creatures of one’s imagination.

“I do not think it makes a difference in the work if the _donnée_ is true or not. All is true which is true inwardly, for all has happened, and the novelist has only to disentangle the thread and show why it has happened. It is tremendously hard work for body and mind.”

“My Book.” An Egyptian picture-book with drawings from Egypt round the borders, and facsimile poems of Carmen Sylva (1885).

“From Two Worlds.” A novel by Carmen Sylva, written in joint authorship with Frau Mite Kemnitz, _née_ Bardeleben, and brought out in 1885 under the pseudonym of “Ditto” and “Idem.” In the form of letters and journals a love story is here developed between two persons of different social standing. The young Princess Ulrike von Grosreichenstein takes a fancy to a Professor of History in Greifswald, whose principal work she has read. She writes to him of her passionate admiration. The correspondence leads to a personal meeting and deep love. Thereupon follows a scene, a love match, a terrible catastrophe, and at last the noble family, so proud of its descent, is conciliated to the unalterable facts. It is not the description of real life, but the different manner of thinking and looking at things, in which the interest of “In Two Worlds” is centred. The letters of Princess Ulrike are by “Ditto” (Carmen Sylva), while “Idem” (Mite Kremnitz) originated the Professor.

“Astra,” a novel by Ditto and Idem (1886). The places described in this novel are in the immediate neighbourhood of Roumania. The habits of the people and the country are here described with great exactness and in a lively manner. Astra goes on a visit to her sister, who is married to a country gentleman of the province of Bukowina. Sandor becomes enamoured of the “Will o’ the Wisp,” his graceful sister-in-law. This leads to a conflict which ends tragically. Here also the epistolary form is chosen. While the _dramatis personæ_ let us see the innermost thoughts of their hearts, the development of their characters is clearly unfolded. Carmen Sylva gave the following answer to some ladies who had written to inquire if the unhappy being depicted in Astra had really lived, and whether the novel was based on truth.

“_21st July 1836._--A good novel must, according to my convictions, never be anything but an imaginary biography. You have only to put together the contrasts of which every life really consists. You would hardly believe of how many thousands of prisms a human being is made up. He is a regular kaleidoscope. As you turn him, he assumes a different aspect. The motive power of the experience and impressions is the principal thing. Words spring out of this of themselves.

“Astra is perhaps a vague recollection of a charming creature whom I always called my Will o’ the Wisp, and who to my eternal sorrow had the same fate as them all, though this is not in any way like the little Astra. Margot is the creation of my fellow-worker, Frau Mite Kremnitz, who had the death-scenes plainly before her mind, though every one was against it. As to Sandor, we are afraid that he really exists, though, of course, he is not quite the same. We may not be so indiscreet as to paint portraits, but the brain is too good a photographic plate not to take hold of what we have experienced and to reproduce it to a certain extent, whilst we are thinking that we are working from imagination alone.

“Our working together is certainly charming. What talks and what sharp encounters we have when we separate of an evening, and during the night a new solution has appeared to every one. This then must be the right one! Still we surprise one another in its execution. Our first book was called ‘From Two Worlds.’ Since ‘Astra’ we have written a novel, ‘It was a Mistake.’ It appeared in 1886, first in “Nord und Süd,” when we often took the pen out of each other’s hands and let the other write on.

“There is another book in print, ‘The Century,’ which is very good. It is a novel by Ditto and Idem, describing the time of the French War of 1870. We have already a new book on the brain which is to be called “Brother and Sister,” and to which we look forward with the joy of children, and whose tragical moments we dread already, before the first word is written, for we must pay dearly for it when we dive into the depths of the heart. We cannot do this without suffering great pain. And with what anxiety does one ask oneself at every line, ‘Is that true?’ As if one stood before a judge and bore a tremendous responsibility! For nothing can give authors more pleasure than that that which comes from the heart should touch the hearts of others. A book of 300 pages has already lain by for four years, because I have not the courage to bear all the trials which my characters have to suffer, and yet I cannot but write what I know to be true.”

“Mistaken”--tales of Ditto and Idem of which most of the circumstances were taken from life. Amongst other things the story of the funeral during the snowstorm is most touching. The pathetic and yet so simple a story of love and death, as well as the description of the terrible storm, are here recounted with marvellous artistic power.

“Seventeen Songs of the Artisans,” by J. E. Bowen, were translated into English, and appeared in the Prize Number of the _Independent_ in New York in 1887. There they will also appear as a small book.

“The Fishers of Iceland,” by Pierre Loti, translated into German by Carmen Sylva. From a letter of the Queen, 5th September 1887:--

“I should like to do all I can to bring the two nations together, and make use of everything and everybody for that purpose, for I have a sort of fixed idea that the Germanic and Latin races should complete one another. I am now doing something that is to further this object: I am translating the most beautiful book of modern times, ‘Les Pêcheurs d’Islande,’ by Pierre Loti, into German. This is quite a new sort of work, which gives me infinite pleasure. It seems to flow from my pen. I began it on the 26th of August, and hope to have finished it in five days, for I have already translated two hundred sheets, and have only one hundred more to do. It is so wonderfully beautiful that I rejoice or weep during my work, and enjoy every sentence. It is an epic poem in prose, simple, grand, and true. In translating I enjoy the pleasure of producing something, and feel no despair, only pleasure. How wonderfully beautiful this book is! I feel as if I had made great progress by reading Pierre Loti. A good book is better for one than the most severe criticisms, for one can see for oneself what is beautiful and what is badly written.

“The fishers of Iceland are a part of the people of the coast of Bretagne who have fished in the Arctic Seas for generations. This dangerous but remunerative business descends from father to son. It demands great sacrifices from the ranks of the Bretagne fishermen year by year. The heroes of the novel, as well as the other characters, are all types of people, strong and natural characters, which are not spoilt by the disturbing influences of civilisation. With the eyes of an artist Pierre Loti has observed the natural phenomena and the changing lights of those northern regions, and has represented them to us with the soul of an artist.”

The Queen has translated this book with the same feelings as though it were her own creation. The descriptions of nature, the storm on the sea, the simple life of a fisherman, each separate picture in miniature is rendered word for word in the short and precise style of Pierre Loti. The touching story reads like a German poem. Carmen Sylva has artistically accomplished the task of giving the individuality of the author with a breath of his feelings in another language.

_To Augustus Bungert._

“I am always being preached at to keep quiet and cool while I am at work, but this is of no use--the fury is there! The next day I look upon what is finished so coldly, and as if it were the greatest horror, whilst I cannot take my eyes off when I am at work. If only each work were not a piece of one’s life, as Daudet so beautifully describes it in ‘L’homme a la cervelle d’or,’ in the ‘Lettres de mon moulin.’”

* * * * *

Two fairy tales are in preparation, “The Labours of the Pelesch,” a sort of allegory; “The Strange Adventures of the Gipsy Didica;” and “Songs of the Artisans.”

From letters of the Queen to Augustus Bungert, 18th February 1888:--

“‘The Songs of the Artisans’ are a splendid work for me. I have the idea, and call the whole story ‘Waldvogel’s Songs,’ while the fairy tale of Prince Waldvogel, which I have had in my head for years, appears at the same time, as if he had sung all the songs. It must be brought down to modern times, or I shall not be up to the Artisans. It will be called ‘Love Songs of the Artisans in Wood and Field.’ One hundred and thirty songs are already composed, and there are about twenty more to arrange. But the electric current is broken sometimes, and I do not so easily find it again. If I can keep to my work, one thought leads to another, and I cannot write them down as fast as they come. But the object of laying by what is written is that what is not good is eradicated later. But I should be able to talk over all these things, for I have no judgment as to what is good or bad. What is gone is gone! When I have painted something I turn its face to the wall so as not to see it again. I never open what is once printed, but go on, and on.

“This winter I have also made a plot for a tragedy, ‘Meister Manole.’ But I want a quiet time to write it in. I have also a long poem, ‘Nemesis,’ in my head, and the beginning of four novels. But what appears to me the best does not strike others so. It is lucky that amongst ten persons each one thinks a different poem the best.

_Woodbury Compy._

QUEEN ELIZABETH,

IN ROUMANIAN COSTUME.]

“As to the great poem which I have still to write, I often have the feeling that it will come one day, but not by doing nothing. A day of rest is nearly a misfortune to me. I have at once the feeling of being unable to work. It is quite childish! I feel as if I were drifting into the sea, into infinite space in deepest melancholy, and could not find any firm footing! Just try how you feel when you have not written anything for two days. Certainly I have not yet composed a Nausikaa, and cannot rest on my laurels, but am constantly incited by the feeling of not having done anything yet.”

Most of the works of the Queen are already translated into various languages, or are being translated. Many of her poems have also been set to music.

Augustus Bungert, the poet and composer of Tetralogy, the World of Homer, Nausikaa, the Return of Odysseus, &c., has edited the finest poems from “The Witch,” “My Rest,” and “Songs of the Artisans,” and called them “Poems of a Queen;” as well as “My Rhine,” “Dramas in Songs,” “Kalafat,” &c. Hallström, Reinecke, Gounod, and Madame Augusta Holmès in Paris have arranged Carmen Sylva’s poems as songs.

Before the year comes to an end the ever-restlessly working imagination of the royal poetess will have created new works which we are unable to mention here.

XIII.

Conclusion.

In conclusion, let us allow the last years of the life of the Queen to unroll themselves before us.

Her strength had been overtaxed by the physical and moral strain imposed upon her during the time of war, and constantly recurring attacks of fever had weakened her. Early in the year 1882 the Queen was attacked by severe illness.

For many weeks the royal lady was hanging between life and death. The whole nation was full of anxiety and sympathy, and the love of her people and the popularity her Majesty enjoyed was displayed in a touching manner during this time. Poor women even, who had to work hard for their daily bread, gave their little savings to the Church in order to have a prayer said for the preservation of their beloved “Muma Regina.” The Queen bore her dreadful sufferings heroically, and her patience, gentleness, and solicitude for her attendants were beautiful to witness. She always had a comforting and hopeful word for the King, who scarcely left her bedside. The life of the Queen was saved by a successful operation, and six weeks after she was once more standing at her easel and illuminating on parchment.

But though restored to health, her Majesty was more than ever subject to the pernicious influence of the climate, and the attacks of fever returned in shorter intervals. Only a change of air could be of any avail, but circumstances prevented the Queen leaving the country. At last, in the spring of 1883, the King could accompany his consort to Italy. In Sestri Ponente, on the Mediterranean, the Queen soon so far recovered that she could travel to Neuwied and Segenhaus to complete her cure there. The Dowager Princess of Wied had been seriously ill at the same time. With what deep feelings mother and daughter met at last can easily be imagined!

Queen Elizabeth spent nine weeks at the Segenhaus, where her native air restored her youthful freshness and activity, and she could give herself up entirely to the happiness of being again surrounded by her nearest relations. These were, according to her expression, days that had wings and were without a cloud. During her presence the little castle on the heights of the Westerwald became a second Belriguardo. One imagined oneself transported back to the time of the Medicis. Here distinguished relations, artists and learned men, went in and out, and often remained for days and weeks at Monrepos and Segenhaus. Alexandri, the Roumanian poet, brought his new drama to read and discuss with the Queen. Hallström, the Swedish composer, wished to lay before her Majesty that part of the opera “Neaga” which he had finished composing. The artist, Augustus Becker, came from Düsseldorf with his Roumanian sketches, after which he was going to paint a large picture by the King’s order. Karl Cauer, from Kreuznach, had made a bust of the Queen, and wished to compare it with the original. In the studio at Monrepos, Prince William and the Dutch artist, Bisschop, were painting a portrait of the Queen. On his way back to Oxford, Professor Max Müller remained at the Segenhaus for some days. Intercourse with this man of deep thought and learning elevates one into the refined and intellectual atmosphere in which he lives and thinks.

The Musical Festival of the Rhenish Provinces was to be held at Cologne during this year. The Queen wished to be present at it. Since that important day in which she and Prince Charles of Roumania had been betrothed, she had not again seen the beautiful town on the Rhine. Now the great creations of sound resounded in her ears, and the recollections of past days were mightily awakened. The words of the following song are so fresh, that it is as if, after sixteen years of married life, bridal affection were still new to her heart.

“This is Apollo’s feast day,
But Eros strikes the lyre;
Though harmony must rule the hour,
Let Love my lay inspire.

For I, Apollo’s pilgrim,
To Love must turn aside;
The flowing melodies recall
The bridegroom and the bride.

When, Köln, thy walls embrace me,
To thee my thoughts incline;
Fain would I kneel and worship
As in some holy shrine.

I see thee clad in splendour,
And music fills thy halls;
But a maiden tremor frights me,
And the thought of my troth recalls.

O Köln, the free and lovely,
Where summer zephyrs play,
Was it the spell of thy music
That drove me so far away?

O Köln, the Rhine’s fair city,
My life is entwined in thee!
I came to list to thy minstrels,
And thou broughtest my King to me!”

Wonderfully beautiful were their wanderings through the beechwoods, the mild summer evenings spent on the balcony of the castle, with its view over the landscape glowing in the rich colours of sunset. Every bright idea was turned into a poem or a song, and every deep thought was put down in writing. The hours during which the Queen, either in the castle or under the forest trees, read her poetry aloud to us, will ever dwell in our memory. She is a perfect mistress of the art of reading aloud, and the sweet tones of her melodious voice heightened the effect of the dramatic situations and the deep feelings which she so graphically describes. Those who had the high privilege of sharing the great interest of these weeks can understand the charm which the so richly endowed nature of the Queen exercises on all who are permitted to come near her. This time spent in the Segenhaus was living poetry!

When Queen Elizabeth returned to her country and settled at Sinaia for the hot summer months, the royal pair lived in the romantic old monastery for the last time. The building of Castle Pelesch was nearing its completion, and a railway now formed a communication between Bucharest and Sinaia. Life and activity now reigned in the once quiet valley of Prahova, for, following the example of their King, the Roumanian nobles built themselves fine country houses on the slopes of hills and in the shade of the forest. By degrees the little town of Sinaia arose, whose arrangements now meet all the requirements of a modern watering-place.

The royal castle, which is built in the style of German renaissance, arises, surrounded by the forest, in a gorge at the foot of the Caraiman mountain. This many-sided building, with its arched galleries and balconies, is surmounted by numerous gables, towers, and turrets. The inner building and arrangements of the castle are also very practical, and the perfect artistic taste which reigns is visible in every nook and cranny. Nothing is overdone, though all is carried out in quite magnificent style. The walls of the grand staircase are richly painted, and the panels of the inner apartments are sumptuously adorned with bronzes and gobelin tapestry.

All the windows of this large building are enriched with painted glass, through which alone the light of day penetrates into the wonderful harmony of these apartments. The glass paintings in the music room represent scenes from Roumanian legends which have been immortalised by the poet Alexandri. On the walls are paintings representing Carmen Sylva’s “Cycle of Fairy Tales,” whilst scenes from the Life of a Knight adorn the dining-hall. The smoking-room in the principal tower, arranged in old German style, is very cosy. But the greatest success is the Queen’s studio, from the covered balconies of which one gazes into the deep forests which cover the mountains. The poetical impression of the castle is heightened when, with the twilight, electric light radiates from the inside of the beautiful building, and lights up its lofty chambers from outside, whilst the crystal drops of the little lamps follow the lines of the architecture and make them bright. This castle also is a poem which the royal pair have carried out together in sweet concord.

“I, King Charles, have raised here
To the people that trusted and held me dear,
A kingdom amid the tumults of war:
In the time of peace my home, my star.”

On the 7th of October 1883 Castle Pelesch was solemnly consecrated in the presence of the highest officials of the country.

After the documents which the Queen had painted had been signed, the Metropolitan blessed the water brought to him whilst the choir sang. Then the procession started and passed through the courtyard, thickly strewn with the branches of fir, from which the scent of the forest was wafted at every tread to the castle. The keys were solemnly handed over to the King before the beautifully carved hall door.

His Majesty threw it open, and the Metropolitan first crossed the threshold of the house. Followed by the royal pair and the long procession of guests, and accompanied by songs of praise and prayer, he walked through all the rooms. Whilst scattering drops of holy water about them, he consecrated the house and prayed for the blessing of God.

When the King had brought out a toast to Roumania at the banquet which followed, he added these words--“Confident in the possession of the love of my people, I have here erected a house of my own. It shall stand as a lasting proof of the firm footing which my dynasty has attained in this country. The Roumanian people are to see herein a monument of the unlimited confidence with which I look forward to the future of our beloved fatherland.”

In the name of the Roumanian nation Alexandri brought out the congratulations of the people with the verse with which in ancient times the peasants had celebrated the entrance into the new home of their princes and nobles.

“As many stones and beams,
So many treasures and conquests.
As many grains of sand,
So many happy days.
The sun shall warm it,
And the winds strengthen it.”

“May the blessing of God and the love of the people forever dwell within the walls of this house.”

The blessing of the poet has come true! The progress made by the State, which is developing in all respects, and is full of life and power, are remarkable. The King has appointed a sum from his privy purse for a Lexicon of the Academy, which is to be a standard of the language to be employed in writing. In thousands of schools the lectures in Roumanian are held free of charge. The King has also founded a Geographical Society. A longing for culture, for the furthering of the national interest, has taken hold of all classes of the Roumanian people. A net of railways overspreads the country, an active commerce binds Roumania to the rest of Europe, and a mighty army stands in readiness to protect the native hearth. At the glorious storming of the Grivitza fort of Plevna the youthful army first showed its powers.

On the 11th of September 1877 the Roumanians had, exposed to a heavy artillery fire, three times endeavoured in vain to take the fortifications of Grivitza. They were always thrown back by the courageous stand their enemies made. The battlefield was covered with the dead and wounded. Then Prince Carol galloped up to his troops, shouting, “Forward to victory, my children.” Inspired by the presence and the voice of their heroic leader, the brave men of the second battalion of Chasseurs again stormed the Turkish bulwarks, and before the evening came on the Roumanian flag waved on the fort of Grivitza! Nearly all the officers, and half of the men, had bought the victory with their life.

In the East the number seven is a sacred number. Therefore the seventh anniversary of this memorable day, the 11th of September 1884, was to be celebrated with peculiar solemnity at Sinaia.

The bells of the monastery chapel were tolling. Round about the courtyard of the monastery stood the second battalion of Chasseurs eagerly awaiting the arrival of the royal pair, who were descending from the castle to the cloister attended by a large suite. The flag of Roumania, adorned with its star, and torn to shreds in the battles, was lowered upon the entrance of the royal pair, who now entered the church. Within resounded a solemn mass for the fallen and a song of praise for the victory won. Without, in the court of the monastery, the military band played the poem written by Th. Körner, and composed by Hummel--“Father I call to Thee.” On undertaking the government the King had chosen this as the prayer of the army, and since then it is regularly played on great occasions.

At the close of the service the troops defiled before the King. Then they marched in a long procession through the splendid beech and fir woods to a height which commanded a view over the whole valley. There the camp of tents was erected. Before a triumphal arch the Mayor presented the Queen with a bouquet of roses in the name of the battalion of Chasseurs, and to the sound of the National Hymn the royal pair proceeded to the middle of the camp. Here stood two tents, one arranged for the royal banquet, the other for the soldiers. The royal tent was decorated with the innate taste of the Roumanians for the beautiful. From the outside only green branches and ferns were to be seen, amidst which the entwined initials of the royal pair appeared. Within, the tent was ornamented with some of the Queen’s mottoes which related to a soldier’s life and heroic deeds, and which the officers had translated into Roumanian. There were also verses by the poet Alexandri, who had written them when the people were under arms. Amongst them appeared the names of the Roumanians who had fallen whilst storming the fort of Grivitza. Martial music was played during the repast, and a crowd of people in the beautiful costume of the country surrounded the tents. At a given signal the joyous strains ceased, and the soldiers stood before the tent of their King.

Amidst perfect silence, and in a voice which was heard from far, the King harangued his Chasseurs as to the meaning and the fame of this ever-memorable day, and ended with the words--

“Hold fast the sacred tradition of 1877, so as always to be worthy of the great distinctions which you owe to your brave brothers in arms. I raise my glass to drink to the health of the army, and to the memory of the fallen heroes of Grivitza.” Enthusiastic hurrahs and the braying of trumpets awoke the echoes of the hills. Then the King rose again to wreathe the flag in the name of the Queen, and said--“This garland of flowers the Queen dedicates to the flag torn with bullets and blackened with the smoke of the powder, around which the remnants of the battalion crowded in the hour of danger and pressed on to victory!”

The banquet had ended. The King surrounded by his soldiers, and the Queen by children, went from tent to tent, giving all a kind word or a smile. Then gipsy music suddenly resounded, and as if by magic the crowd arranged itself hand in hand for the famous dance of the Hora, this celebrated national dance of the Roumanians. The royal pair placed themselves in the middle of the circle formed by soldiers, peasants, and ladies and gentlemen. It was soon extended to such a length that a second circle of dancing children formed itself round the Queen. At first the Hora moved slowly and with stately grace, but when the gipsies sang the Kindia, when the violins, pipes, mandolins, and tambourines sounded louder and quicker, the circle was broken, and the people flew up and down in long rows. They surged to the right and to the left, backwards and forwards, without pausing, and with breathless speed. They were all in the highest spirits, but their joy was kept within bounds. There was no disorder, and only joyous sounds resounded in the hills.

At sunset the royal pair returned to the castle. A thousand voices cheered them as they descended the height, and sounded on and on when their figures had long been lost in the gloom of the forest. Soon the braying of trumpets was heard in the still side valley of the Prahova, where the beautiful castle of the King stands near the foaming Pelesch. One torch after another appeared in the dark fir woods. Then the procession of torches came up the sides of the hill and stood before the castle, which, being at this moment illuminated with Bengal lights, shone like a fairy palace in the dark night, the royal pair appearing in the glorious light. The military bands sounded grand amongst those mighty mountains. The performance of the battle prayer was the close of this patriotic fête. The torch-bearers gradually disappeared into the shades of the forest. Deep silence surrounded the castle, and broad shadows overspread the forest and mountains. Night stretched her dreamy wings, over the landscape which had so lately been peopled by a gay throng.

A few weeks later the royal pair left their castle in the Carpathians and travelled to Sigmaringen. Prince Charles Anthony of Hohenzollern and his consort, born a Princess of Baden, the parents of the King of Roumania, celebrated their golden wedding there on the 21st of October. All their children and grandchildren surrounded the venerable pair. The Emperor William heightened the brilliancy of this extraordinary festivity by his presence, to which nearly all the Princes of Germany had assembled themselves in the castle of the Hohenzollern. Numerous deputations brought artistically executed congratulatory addresses, presents, and poems. They were all tokens of sincere and grateful veneration, for the whole of Germany had taken a lively interest in the happiness of the princely pair.

But to this joy soon succeeded the sorrow at the death of Prince Charles Anthony of Hohenzollern. After much suffering a sort of apoplectic fit had seized him. His condition became worse, his weakness increased, and he lost consciousness. Surrounded by his children and the faithful partner of his life, he passed away on the 2nd of June 1885, without a struggle. During the sad days when the Prince was slowly dying, the Queen of Roumania had been “a true angel of consolation,” as she expressed it, to her mother-in-law, the now widowed Princess Josephine. Queen Elizabeth had watched and prayed with her at the deathbed of the Prince during the first night, and had undertaken for her the numerous labours of love which in such days have such claims on heart and time.

It was a historic moment when, on the morning of the 6th of June, the mourning procession, headed by the then Crown Prince of the German Empire, started from the castle to the tomb of their ancestors, in which the mortal remains of the last reigning Prince of Hohenzollern-Sigmaringen were laid to rest. He belonged to the most distinguished and meritorious men of his time, whose influence the grateful German Fatherland will not forget.

But not alone the family lost a beloved centre in the noble German Prince. The Emperor William bewailed in him the trusted friend of many years, who had stood faithfully at his side in times of difficulty and danger. Prince Charles Anthony had made the first step towards the union of Germany. Having realised with great political insight during the occurrences of 1848 that the position of the little states was untenable, he willingly renounced the sovereignty of his Hohenzollern lands. He handed his principality over to the head of the Prussian branch of his house, and forthwith, as the first German subject, worked with great unselfishness and conscientiousness to help on the power and greatness of Germany. Prussia’s territory now extended to the south of Germany. As a memento of this deed, Frederick William IV. founded the Order of Hohenzollern, with the inscription, “Vom Fels zum Meer” (From the Rock to the Sea).

The Roumanians also bewailed the loss of this noble Prince. They knew that he had followed the development of the country with the interest of a statesman, for its fate remains closely bound up in the family of Hohenzollern. Roumania is an hereditary constitutional monarchy. In the year 1866 the naturalisation of the Sigmaringen branch of the Hohenzollerns was carried out, and the question of the succession legally settled. Prince Leopold, the then hereditary Prince, stood nearest to the throne, and his second son Ferdinand was the heir-apparent of King Charles.

In 1886 this circumstance assumed a political significance. During a visit of the present Prince Leopold and his two sons, Ferdinand and Charles, a weighty affair of State was transacted. The King had nominated Prince Leopold of Hohenzollern chief of the 3rd Regiment of Grenadiers, which Prince Ferdinand now entered as a lieutenant. After his nomination had been read out in the presence of the Queen, all the Ministers, the Presidents of the Senate and Chamber of Deputies, as well as all the generals and officers, the King addressed the assembly. Touching on the entrance of Prince Ferdinand into the Roumanian army, he added--

“This is an honour for him of which I am assured he will prove himself worthy. For us it is a great cause for rejoicing and a surety for the future which the country will understand, for as a member of my family he might one day be called upon to protect my kingdom and to carry on our traditions. It is therefore a weighty moment which now unites us here, and in later times we shall often remember that the 26th of November has a deep meaning. I and my successor, to-day and in the future, will place our entire confidence in the army and rest on its sure foundations.”

Loud hurrahs often interrupted the royal speech, and the touching and important ceremony was brought to a close by the march-past of the troops, during which the Prince of Hohenzollern led his regiment, and Prince Ferdinand with deep emotion took his place in its ranks near the flag.

What feelings throbbed through the heart of the royal lady at this moment, which brought so vividly before her the bitterness of her sorrow, all she thus had to resign, and how many disappointed hopes! This great sorrow had been her constant companion during the last eighteen years--“It has added the battle with itself to the battle with life.”

“_3rd March 1886._--And yet I shall never say I would rather not have lived, for my life is rich and full, and though the waves do not cease to beat, they are mighty waves on a deep sea, and the wind which whistles round my cables makes them a harp and sings songs to the world. No; life is still beautiful though it may be stormy.”

What was deeply enshrined in her heart has found an expression in songs and pictures. The Queen has quite lately raised a monument of her lost child which will outlive many a human life, for she has entrusted it to the sacred keeping of the Church.