PART II.
Shortly after the visit to Düsseldorf her mother was requested to bring about a meeting between her daughter and the Prince of Roumania, Prince Charles of Hohenzollern. The Princess Elizabeth was very anxious to attend a concert to be given in Cologne in October, at which Clara Schumann was to take part. It was arranged that they should go to Cologne for the purpose, and that the meeting with the Prince, who was then in Paris, should take place there. They put up at the Hotel du Nord. Hours passed, and the Prince did not appear. The ladies went into the flower garden to dine. The dinner came to an end, and Princess Elizabeth had not noticed that she had been narrowly watched for a considerable time by a group of gentlemen. One of them stepped forward and introduced himself to her mother as the Prince of Roumania. Princess Elizabeth, ignorant of the fact that the meeting had been pre-arranged, stretched out both her hands to him with unfeigned pleasure, and said, “I am so glad that we have met here accidentally.” For several hours they remained together among the flowers, and in the Zoological Gardens, in animated conversation.
On her return to the hotel she exclaimed enthusiastically, “What a charming man he has become!” While she was dressing for the concert the Prince spoke to her mother, and asked her consent to the marriage. Princess Elizabeth, however, was only thinking of enjoying the music, and was beside herself with impatience on account of the delay caused by the Prince. When he left, the young Princess burst out of her room into the saloon, exclaiming, “But, mamma!” As if terrified she stopped at the threshold, when she saw the grave and agitated expression on the countenance of her mother, who ran forward, and threw her arms round her daughter’s neck, and said, “My child, the Prince of Roumania has asked your hand.” The astonishment of the daughter was great, but it became clear to her at once that, unconsciously to herself, her heart had been quite won by him.
When her mother asked her whether she would like to take time for consideration, she answered simply and decidedly, “Just let him come; I shall love him very much.” And when the Prince came and saluted her as his betrothed, she said to him in soft and winning tones, “It makes me so proud, and at the same time so humble.” That same night the Prince had to return to Paris. The entry in her diary on the 12th of October is, “I am engaged, and a happy bride.”[1] The public betrothal took place at Neuwied, on the 16th of October, and on the 15th of November they were married.
Princess Elizabeth had, previously to the appearance of Prince Charles as a suitor, rejected every proposal of marriage, but when, long before her engagement to him, her friends made plans for her, and wished that there might be a throne in store for her, she would jestingly reply, “The only throne that could have any attractions for me is the Roumanian, for there I should have something to do.” That this was no mere idle expression of a passing feeling is proved by her whole life and work in her new home. She has become in heart and life a Roumanian, and devoted herself with all her powers to the well being of her subjects. A wide and quite uncultivated field of work lay before her. The first thing to do was to make herself acquainted with it. She felt that for this purpose something more than crowded receptions was necessary, and she arranged to receive the ladies who were announced for presentation at Court singly. “It was too disagreeable,” she said, “to say what I did not really feel at receptions. In order to avoid a falsehood I took pains to feel the interest which I showed. Everyone needs sympathy. Now everybody interests me, and I find them all to be interesting. The receptions do not bore me any longer. On the contrary, I delight in them. One must do thoroughly whatever one does, if it is to succeed; one must be thorough if one would be anything.”
On the 8th of September, 1870, a daughter was born, who received the name of Maria at her baptism. The child was enthusiastically welcomed by the people, who said, “God bless the new citizen of Roumania! May she grow and prosper in the joy of her parents, and the welfare of her country!” Henceforth the infant daughter became the most important personage in Roumania.
The Princess Elizabeth studied the language with zeal, and acquired a perfect mastery of it. The Roumanians say, with a dash of pride, that she speaks it better than they do themselves, for she constructs her sentences with peculiar elegance.
“WAKING WOODS.”
In the year 1871 a club for the poor was founded by her, and soon after a society for the translation of children’s books. “There are absolutely no Roumanian school books, nor any for the people,” she wrote to her mother; “I will provide these. I have already distributed my best French books among the young ladies, and also interested several gentlemen in the work. The poet Alexandri will criticise and correct: then they will be quickly and cheaply printed. The language will in this way become in some measure fixed, and the young people, who cannot speak their own language decently, will learn it quite splendidly.” Her ideas were eagerly received by the people, and interested them more even than politics. In 1871 the Prince and Princess made a journey through Moldavia to Jassy, in order to become acquainted with that part of their dominions. It was a triumphal progress all the way. Their reception everywhere was alike brilliant and hearty. At Jassy their time was filled up with receptions, visits to churches and schools, etc.
Their summers are passed in the Carpathian Mountains, 2,900 feet above the sea. Their first residence was an old monastery called Sinaia; now it is Castle Pelesch, which the Prince has built. Distinguished people of all sorts—savans, artists, musicians—are received in this retreat, and are often entertained there for weeks together. Society of this kind is the great enjoyment of the Prince and Princess. In order to encourage native industry, the Court wears the native national costume while resident in the mountains.
In the ladies of her Court the Princess takes a truly motherly interest. She loves particularly to gather young people around her. Several young women are invited to stay some weeks every year at Sinaia, in order to share in the working life of the Princess.
In 1874 time of severe trial came to Prince Charles and his wife. Their child, Princess Maria, who was as lovely and as marked in her individuality as her mother, took ill of diphtheria, and died in the lap of her English nurse. Her last words were in English: “All is finished.” Up to the very last the Princess could not believe that the end was so near; but when the certainty of the fact was realised with overwhelming force, she bowed her head with humble submission to the will of God. “God,” she said, “has loved my child more than I have, therefore He has taken her to Himself. Thank God that He ever gave her to me!”
To her mother she wrote:—
“I often say that a mother’s love is stronger than the grave, and I rejoice in my child’s blessedness. But that earth appears darker to me in consequence cannot be altered. It must be endured.”
Her poems furnish abundant evidence of her estimate of a mother’s love, and of her love and grief for the loss of her child.
When she first went to Roumania, no one suspected that Princess Elizabeth was a poetess. Once, when the poet Alexandri was in attendance in Bucharest, she said to him with deep blushes, “I wish to make a confession to you, but I have not the courage.” After a long pause, she said bashfully, with a soft voice, “I, too, write poems.” At Alexandri’s request, she showed him some of them. He saw at once that she had poetical gifts, and encouraged her to go forward. He sent her a thick volume of his manuscripts, and she began to translate popular Roumanian legends into German. In the work of translation she learnt practically much of the “art of poetry.” She had written poetry hitherto just as a bird sings. Rhymes and verses came more readily to her than prose. It was in her great sorrow for the death of her daughter that she betook herself to translation. She needed to occupy her mind by strenuous work. This she found in translation. She not only translated Roumanian works into German, but also the treasures of German literature into Roumanian. In this way she thought she could render the greatest service to her subjects. The effect of such work upon her mind she describes to her mother thus:—“When I am not actually asleep, neither my head nor hands rest for a second; otherwise it fares ill with me. Constant activity keeps the mind fresh, and sometimes only am I overcome when I remember my beloved one.”
She naturally felt a great longing to see her mother once more. It was arranged for them to meet at Cologne, and from thence to proceed to St. Leonards for a few weeks. She was much impressed by London. They paid a visit to Oxford, where they were Max Müller’s guests for two days. It was here that she presented to her mother a book in missal form, called “My Journey Through the World; containing Rhymes and Versicles Confided to the Heart of My Mother.” Charles Kingsley was present when she astonished her mother by handing this volume to her, and was much touched by one of the poems pointed out to him, of which the following is a rough but faithful rendering. It is called