“In the small garden of the Hotel du Nord, where the beautiful towers of the cathedral threw their shadows upon us, I poured eager questions into his ears without even casting a glance at his refined and regular features, and he patiently answered every one of my inquiries. He told me about his difficult task, and about the exotic country that had become his own, his wide plains and savage mountains, its white-clad peasantry, frugal, grave, and endowed with weird powers of untaught eloquence and poetry. He spoke long and well, while I listened breathlessly, rapt in astonishment and delight. He described the great masters of the land, those boyards, cultivated yet barbarous in mind and customs, whose souls were alive with the blended charm of the Byzantine influence, and the hot blood of old Latin descent. I envied the young sovereign who had taken up a sceptre whose maintenance required as firm a grasp as a sword, and I said to him, openly: ‘You are a happy man.’
“‘And the concert?’ asked my mother as we went up to our rooms. ‘You were so impatient to go to the concert before we met the prince.’
“‘The concert?’ I repeated in utter amazement. ‘I had forgotten all about the concert! Oh, mother, you can’t guess how deeply interesting, how thrilling is the conversation of the prince of Roumania, and how I envy him his beautiful task! Just imagine, he rules a nation quite new to the world, but, at the same time, ancient in blood and history; and he has to understand them and to make them happy. A splendid mission, indeed!’
“‘Well, my child, that task, that mission, might be yours also. The prince of Roumania wants to marry you. He has come here with the sole purpose of meeting you. This is no chance encounter, as you believe. You have but one word to say.’
“I remained perfectly bewildered for a few seconds; then, as if urged on by the resistless impulse of my destiny, I answered:
“‘Yes, I will marry him. I will help him and follow him to that wonderful land.’
“Half an hour afterward the prince of Hohenzollern came up to our private sitting room. He kissed my hand as he entered, and my lips trembled timidly for one moment on his bowed forehead. Then he knew that he was my accepted future husband. This time he did all the talking himself; I was abashed and silent, but still intent on his every word. Not one syllable of love, not one stray compliment, was uttered during those hours whose meaning has since thrown a light over my whole existence. Ours was no love marriage, but it was a union based on self-devotion, duty, and a fervent desire to do our best toward each other and toward the nation that I already loved. That very evening the prince went back to Roumania; he was to return in three weeks, and then take me back with him as his wife.”
Helene Vacaresco who, as I have said, has been a lady in waiting to Queen Elizabeth for many years, and is her authorized biographer, commenting upon her usefulness and devotion to her subjects, says:
“From the moment of her arrival in her new country to this hour, her life has been a constant effort, a constant labour of love on behalf of her people. Patiently and without ceasing she listens to the throbbing of their veins, to the wants and aspirations of a race she has tried so hard to understand that she has almost become a Roumanian herself.
“When she reached the banks of the Danube, when before her dazzled sight white-clad peasants made their appearance, wearing carved silver knives in their belts and big peacock feathers on their high fur caps; when in brilliant costumes the women rushed forth to meet her, veils thin as the mountain mists floating around their proud features, and distaffs trembling on their bosoms; when the gayly attired village beauties danced the national dances before her to the sound of the rude violin; when disheveled and ragged tziganes played tunes a thousand years old, yet fresh with the eternal youth of innocence, then Elizabeth believed her own life would be like an eternal pastorale. And at once she gave her heart to the rustic crowds whose welcome was showered upon her, who blessed her winning smile and her ready curiosity to learn more about them and their village homes. No one will ever know or appreciate the whole extent of the labour that from morning to eve made her stoop toward the soil from which she drew the secrets of the race, or raise her head to the sky whence faith and inspiration descended upon her sacred toil.”