An Observer in the Near East

by William Le Queux

I had asked for audience not without some misgiving, for His Majesty the King was lying very ill, and the Queen—the “Carmen Sylva” of European literary fame—was at his bedside always, administering to her sick husband’s wants, nursing him, and reading aloud to him for hours each day. For weeks she had given audience to no one, therefore it was a pleasant surprise when Madame Maurojeni told me that the Queen was going to make an exception in my case.

I was chatting with Madame Bengesco, and suddenly turned to find Her Majesty—a tall, fine figure en décolletée, a sweet smile of welcome upon her face—standing before me. She wore a very handsome gown of pale dove-grey crêpe-de-chine, but no jewellery save a single gold bracelet and one or two very fine rings.

“So you have come to see our country, Mr. N——?” Her Majesty exclaimed in English, smiling pleasantly, after I had made my obeisance, and she had shaken hands with me. “Come, let us sit over in that corner. It is more cosy.” And she conducted me to a luxurious little corner of the salon, while the lady-in-waiting retired.

I began by thanking Her Majesty for giving me audience at such a time of anxiety.

“I have just left the King to come to you,” she answered. “He is very much better, I am thankful to say, and yesterday took a little nourishment. Ah yes, it has been a most anxious time for me. You will forgive me if I am a little tired, won’t you? When I heard you were in Bucharest I determined to meet you. I have heard of you, long ago, you know! Now, tell me, what brings you to Roumania?”

I explained that my confidential mission was to inquire into the future of the Balkans, whereupon she interrupted me with that sweet laugh that is one of her characteristics, saying—

“Ah, you must never include us in the Balkan States, recollect! We Roumanians speak another language; the Danube separates us from the Balkans, and we have nothing in common with the races on the other side of the river. The reason why we are not taking part in this year’s Exhibition at your Earl’s Court is because they have called it ‘The Balkan Exhibition.’”

I laughingly promised to be very careful on the point in future. As she sat before me, the handsome, thoughtful countenance, the white hair brushed straight back, and the soft and very becoming head-dress, Her Majesty was surely the most picturesque, the most interesting, and perhaps the most accomplished and intelligent of the Queens of Europe.

I told her of my journey through Northern Albania, in which she was deeply interested, and asked me lots of questions. Then I explained how I was on my way to Constantinople and through Macedonia, whereupon she made a quick gesture with her hands, and exclaimed—

“Then you are studying Macedonia! Ah, what a very difficult task you have! We have Roumanians in Macedonia, as you know—and, poor people, they are being treated very badly. What the outcome of it all is to be, who can tell? There are so many conflicting peoples, so many conflicting interests, so much jealousy among the Powers.”