“A sunny home
It is to me,
Where through the fields and forests free
O’er hill and dale I roam.
A sunny home
In love’s sweet reign,
Where sacrifice was ne’er a pain,
Or labour wearisome.
A sunny home
Where every shade
Is lighted by a ray that stayed
Of sun and joy to come.
A sunny home
It’s still to me,
When far away o’er land and sea
A stranger sad I roam.”
After her return to Bucharest, Princess Elizabeth began to illuminate
in water-colours in the style of a missal. These works of art were
quickly completed by her clever hands. On the 23rd of November she
writes in a letter from Bucharest--“Art in all its forms is but a
prayer. Consequently, when it is inspired, it brings peace and joy into
the hearts of others. Art places us on the Virful-cu-Dor (the Heights
of Longing), and whilst she shows us the world at our feet, still she
directs our longing gaze upwards. Then peace, perfect peace returns to
us.”
“_Bucharest, December 26, 1874._--To-morrow at eight o’clock the poor
receive their Christmas gifts. Wood and clothes are distributed to a
thousand poor people. Tuesday is a festival and day of rest, on which
I shall not say, ‘Oh, were I never born!’ For I am glad that I live,
and can have manifold experiences, and think and hope. I think life
is a blessing which has given me more than enough, for instance this
translating and this painting, which comes into my life as something
new and eventful. I think I must have taken some of the woodland soil
of my German home away with me, and unexpected streams well up from
under my feet. I am thankful to you, my earthly gods, for this, for
your endless love, earnestness, and wealth of thought have made me
the heiress of these your hardly-won treasures. If I have a good idea,
I ask myself, ‘From which of my parents does it come, to whom am I
beholden for it?’”
“_January 7, 1875._--I do not translate now, as I am writing so much
myself. As soon as I take up my pen, original thoughts flow into my
mind, and then it is difficult for me to transcribe the thoughts of
others. What we create ourselves is the most beautiful, translating
the most useful. I am always under the immediate impression of what
I am reading, and so the thoughts of Bernstein, and particularly a
description of the Atlantic cable, inspired my ‘Songs of the Sea.’
“Paul Keyse’s ‘Balder’ set me making verses of the same metre, which
are so pleasant to compose. I have arranged a Choral Society with
Lubitz, the new musician, with whom we sing in chorus. He is delighted
with the Roumanian songs, melodies, and words, and will arrange them as
a chorus. Our Choral Society makes good progress. Our working classes
are extending, and with them the interest for the good cause. Herr
Hoetsch has given us a house for the Infant School and the meetings of
our Society. Three times a week 160 to 170 women fetch their work from
thence. Enough flowers grow on my thorny path to refresh me.”
On the 7th of May the princely pair had moved up to Cotroceni. “The
nightingales are singing, and the damp earth has an agreeable scent.
It is absolutely still. The first thing I did was to set free thirty
nightingales which I had bought in the market for sixty francs. Perhaps
they will stay here. You should have seen how the poor little birds,
still quite stiff from their fetters, at first remained on my hand,
then slowly stretched their necks, and then it was but one beat of
their wings and they were free! I rejoiced each time! Here I shall set
to work again. What hinders me most is the want of interest of those
who know too little German and too little Roumanian to be able to help
me to understand. Perhaps I shall take drawing lessons from the new
directress of the Asyle, Madame Pinel, a scholar of Horace Vernet, and
thereby entice one young lady after the other. In this way I should
be able to found a school of drawing in the same manner as the Choral
Society by mixing with the scholars.”
On the 19th of July 1875 the Princess writes from Sinaia:--“How I
have longed for the forest! Yesterday I told it to the Pelesch, whose
rushing and foaming waterfall seemed to make moan, the leaves of the
beech trees whispered and trembled and the sunbeams came flying to
me. All promised me new songs, and said that if they were eternal and
unceasing my poetry must be so too.”
Finding it impossible to make a fixed residence in the uncomfortable
apartments which were all that the convent at Sinaia could offer, the
Prince began to build a castle of his own in the woods. At the place
which had been the favourite haunt of the little Princess Marie, the
foundation stone of Castle Pelesch was laid on the 22nd of August 1875.
The wishes of the Princess as to the spirit which should reign in this
new home are laid in the foundation-stone with the archives and the
coins. They are expressed as follows:--
“My thoughts they fall and flatter
Like leaves from off the trees;
They flutter, float, and scatter,
As in a dream one sees;
And then take shape in singing
And come to face of day,
Leaf-thoughts life’s storm is bringing
Down on my brow alway.
And out from springs deep-hidden
With ever newer might
Rush waves of words unbidden
Brought from the gloom to light.
Brought into sight so slowly,
From caverns unbeheld,
Sought for with prayings lowly;
Distinct, and then dispelled.
A thought of light that glideth
Down from the heavenly hall,
Wherever it abideth
Maketh a sunbeam fall.
Of equal radiance, springing
From sunset or sunrise;
Of equal help for singing
Or praying, I comprise.
All thoughts which bright hopes nourish
In this our building--sown
Like spirit-seed to flourish
From its foundation-stone.”
--_Translated by Sir Edwin Arnold._
“The quiet valley of Sinaia has quite changed its character, and is
now like a colony in the back woods, with wooden huts and wigwams.
Twelve to fourteen languages are spoken on the place where the castle
is building. The overseer of the works is the Court sculptor, Martin
Stohr. His wood-carvings adorn the Castle and the Palace in Bucharest,
and remind one of the first period of the Renaissance by their
wonderful finish. Upon a great height among the gigantic forests, and
on soil belonging to the Prince, is a magnificent stone quarry which
furnishes all the stone required for the building of the castle. A
small railway leads up to it, and there the Italian workmen have taken
up their abode. The building of the line of railway through the Prahova
Valley was begun at the same time as that of the castle.”
But the footsteps of the Princess became weary and weak again, till
illness once more completely prostrated her. As she lay in bed for
months, unable to put her foot to the ground, the Princess, as has
already been mentioned, found courage to write down a complete account
of the life of her remarkable brother, Prince Otto. Princess Elizabeth
was content, in spite of her sufferings, and wrote to her mother on the
28th of November:--“You cannot fancy how grateful I am for the quiet
that this winter brings. I have so often said to God in the course of
the summer--‘I can no more’--that He has shown that my strength is at
an end, and that I must concentrate and recover my powers. No turbulent
wave swells into my boudoir, and the restlessness without only feeds
the world of thought in my quiet room.”
* * * * *
“_4th December._--This quiet is more than a blessing to me. During the
last year my mind and body have been craving for rest. Now I have
at last attained to it, and am very thankful. Why are there so many
commonplace people and so few that are interesting? They all keep a
firm hold on me, like so many leeches, and do not understand that quiet
peace is the ideal of life, the highest aim of the Epicureans.”
* * * * *
“_13th December._--I have finished another story, but it is a very sad
one. The pictures my fancy paints are seldom bright; indeed they never
were. My childish stories even were always sad and dreadful. I think
that laughter dwells outside, and not within me, and is but hung about
me like a bright garment. Or is it the wonderful brightness of your
nature and my father’s which is struggling within me, or is it life and
its sorrows? Are our sad experiences alone worth dwelling upon? Who can
tell?”
* * * * *
Prince Charles was ill, and Princess Elizabeth still unable to walk.
She longed for some of her family to visit her, but none of them could
come to her. This increased her melancholy state of mind. “And during
this long illness I tasted all the bitterness of life, the very depths
of hopelessness and despair which could abide in the heart of man.
But comfort is sent to all. I have my pen, which is given to me for
drawing, and poetry, and which make up to me for everything! It flies
ever quicker, for the stream of my thoughts flows continuously, and
the scene of my labours enlarges and increases with my anxiety for the
well-being of others.”
At last the Princess of Wied was expected. Her Highness arrived in May,
and stayed till August with her children in Cotroceni and Sinaia, to
the great delight of Princess Elizabeth, who had now quite recovered
her health. This meeting, which she had so long anxiously looked
forward to, found an echo in the following poem--
“Ye little blossoms, linger still!
Ye nightingales prolong your trill!
Thou sun a tempered radiance cast,
And, Zephyr, breathe a gentler blast!
She comes!
Ye grasses, don your diamond dew,
And let the sunbeams twinkle through!
Spread, fragrant odours, far and wide!
Thou restless brook, restrain thy tide!
She comes!
Beat not, my throbbing heart, so loud!
No envious tears my vision shroud!
Let the whole world lift up his voice
And with the spring, and me, rejoice!
She comes!”
After her mother had left, she writes to her in September:--“Sinaia
looks the same as of old, it is so full of merriment, of life and joy.
People stream in and out, and then I am quite well again. We make
voyages of discovery and start on climbing excursions every day. In
all states of life it is pleasanter to be the stronger one who can
impart to others some of his _trop plein_ than the weak one who goes
a-begging. What an enjoyment it is not to depend on others! For the
first time since many years I feel as if I were carried by the air when
I am walking, and yet I am no sylph. We now live in the house in the
wood from half-past eight in the morning till half-past seven in the
evening. It is quite ideal, like a nest amidst the green, and really a
little paradise, so cosy and so warm among the fir-trees.”
When autumn comes in, Bucharest becomes once more the centre of
ever-renewing duties. Then the Princess resumes her life of hard work.
She rises at five in the morning, and lighting her little lamp herself,
she works till eight in a room artistically adorned with paintings,
palms, and towering ferns. Thick carpets hush the sound of footsteps.
The walls are hung with deep-toned colours. Cosy little nooks and
corners to sit in are arranged under tropical plants. The silence
which surrounds the Princess is only broken by the murmur of the little
fountain and the chirping of the birds. In these early morning hours
the Princess works at her poetic creations, and gains strength for the
cares and duties of the day.
After breakfasting alone with the Prince, businesses and audiences
begin. The reception-rooms of Prince and Princess are often not empty
for nine or ten hours with but short interruptions. At a particular
hour the former ladies-in-waiting who have been married since then,
may see the Princess without being announced. Every Thursday a concert
takes place. Foreigners and natives are invited to take part on
these occasions. Some times Roumanian gentlemen read aloud either a
scientific French book or the works of modern Roumanian poets. Princess
Elizabeth wishes to be thoroughly well-informed, and every talent finds
a patroness in her. “I have arranged something very pleasant,” she
writes to her mother. “Twice a week I get Vacaresco to read ancient
Roumanian Chronicles to me. He is as well up in them as a professor,
and holds explanatory lectures between whiles, which are open to all.
Imagine my ideal room with its fountains and lamps and abatjours, the
pretty girls with their work under the spreading palms, and I, pen in
hand, noting down every new word. And then the curious past which is
unrolled before us, in a magnificent classical Latin style, or in the
primitive forms of the old books of the Bible. I hope to find subjects
to work up in poetry. I am also arranging an Academy of Painting.
There is to be much singing and more reading aloud. Everything that
approaches me must be at work. Nobody and nothing may rest.”
“It is a peculiarity of mine to like to be surrounded by many workers.
I do not at all like a _tête-à-tête_: it always wants three people to
make up a pleasant conversation. In a _tête-à-tête_ one usually touches
on one’s little miseries about which it is much better to be silent.
I always live with open doors, so that people may come to me at any
time. This is a slight alleviation to my childlessness. I only reserve
the first hours from five to eight for my own work. After that I let
any one disturb me, and begin with my household affairs and the menu.
Consequently I often have people from ten in the morning till seven at
night.”
“The Prince likes to find me at every free moment he has, and so I am
always at home. He must never notice that I am at work. When he calls
or I hear his footsteps, pen and paint brush are thrown away till he
does not want me any more. For as he has much work to do, and sees
many people, we must make use of and prize the quarters of an hour
which belong to us alone. If I were to hesitate for a moment the time
would be gone and could not be reclaimed. Also I think that I am first
a wife, then the mother of my country, and then a poetess. But, thank
God, the genius of poetry goes secretly with me to the audiences, to
the forests, and to the schools, to dinners too, &c. Anything and
everything gives occasion to endless studies, and I gather treasures in
my memory which has ever been a trusty companion to me.”
“In politics the Prince is my oracle, and I avoid discussing them with
any one else. He gives me lectures on political economy, finances,
railways, and the army--everything in fact which concerns him. He has
a very decided turn for organisation. All his talents are exactly the
contrary of mine. Demeter Stourdza said lately that he had never seen
two people so complete in one another, and yet we could not be more
different, said I. ‘Yes,’ he answered, ‘the ways differ, but the idea
is ever the same.’” (From letters of the Queen in May and June 1884.)
But the quiet life of the royal pair was soon interrupted by the
beginning of a devastating war. The development of the fatal Eastern
Question was to introduce a new epoch, which not only converted
Roumania into a theatre of war, but also induced her to take an active
part in it herself. This decision was crowned with many and brilliant
successes.
[Illustration]