MY COMRADES.
“We dwelt together, where flows the Rhine,
The forest and I and these songs of mine,
In the days when my life was young.
And we whispered low to the silver stream,
When its ripples were kissed by the moon’s pure beam,
What we fancied and dreamed and sung.
But a fateful hour there dawned for me,
When I sought, afar from my comrades three,
In the glittering east a home:
Farewell, I cried, I am sad at heart,
Ye friends of my childhood, for we must part;
Will none of you with me come?
Then the Rhine and the forest shook each his head—
Too old to wander, are we, they said,
Although we have held thee dear.
But lo! when I reached this eastern land,
The rhymes came round me, a merry band,
For my songs had followed me here!”
Here in Sinaia Princess Elizabeth came into direct communication with the people, winning hearts and showering blessings everywhere. In order to encourage native industry she made up her mind to wear the Roumanian national costume during their summer residence in the Carpathians. All the ladies of the Court soon followed her example, and carried out the wish of their sovereign. One could imagine oneself transported into the middle of a fairy tale whilst a troop of lovely ladies, in glittering garments which glow with bright colours, suddenly appear on a hill-side or beside a mountain stream under mighty beech and fir-trees. There are dainty embroideries in gold and silver, golden head-dresses and long flowing veils which are picturesquely bound round the head and neck. The whole of this oriental costume has its charms enhanced by the lively southern temperament of the Roumanian ladies.
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.”