THE CAPITAL OF ROUMANIA
Jonitza had not been a week in Bukurest when he began to wish himself
back in the country. At first there had been much to see, especially in
the fine shops on the beautiful street called Calea Vittoriei, which
extends from one end of the city to the other. On this street is also
the Royal Palace and most of the theaters.
Jonitza and his parents were staying with near relatives in one of
the many fine residential sections, where the big stone houses are
surrounded by beautiful gardens.
Although this section was no great distance from the business center,
they never walked to the latter but either drove or went in the big
touring car belonging to the family.
"People must be very happy in the 'City of Pleasure,'"--that is what
the word Bukurest means--Jonitza said to himself one day as he watched
the very lively crowds on the streets. He was standing at the time in
front of the splendid show windows of a jewelry store, waiting for
his mother who had gone inside. At first he had stared at the rich
gems through the glass but the interesting passing crowd had gradually
attracted him; the very fashionable ladies, some light, some dark,
talking so vivaciously, the priests with their long hair, and, most
of all, the numerous soldiers in the splendor and variety of their
uniforms.
"Jonitza," said his mother when she came out, "I am going to call on an
old-time friend, and as I know such visits bore you, I shall leave you
on the way to spend an hour at the National Museum. How will you like
that?"
"Very much, dear mother," Jonitza answered.
So the carriage took them to the big Museum building where Jonitza
alighted. Indoors he found much to interest him. He lingered before
the displays of magnificent royal jeweled collars and crowns, and the
specimens of Roumania's mineral wealth: gold, silver, copper, rock
salt, and others. There were drawings and paintings, too, to be looked
at. He stood long before one of the latter. It represented a Roumanian
boyard or nobleman of long ago, dressed in a long, loose, rich costume,
with several jeweled daggers in his embroidered belt. A crowd of
dependents surrounded him, some bowing low, some kissing his hand, some
trying to get him to listen to the tale that they had to tell.
Although Jonitza's mother was late in returning to the Museum, he had
still much to see when she did come. A richly dressed young woman, who
treated Jonitza like an old friend, was with her.
"It is still early," his mother remarked to his mystification. And
she gave some orders to the coachman who then drove them past the
"Institution of the Blind," the particular pride of Queen Elizabeth
(Carmen Sylva), past the University and schools of various kinds, past
a beautiful pure white marble statue of some _voivode_ or other, and on
to the extensive Garden of Cismegiu; then again to the Calea Vittoriei,
where the carriage stopped before the renowned restaurant of Capsa.
Here Jonitza's father, who evidently knew of their coming, was waiting
to escort them into a room with tiled glistening floor, lofty mirrors,
beautiful flowers, and exquisitely neat tables. The place was crowded
to overflowing, but above the hum of voices could be heard the
fascinating music of a Roumanian Gypsy band.
Hardly had they entered, than two fashionably dressed men joined their
party. After considerable banter, the conversation became so serious
that Jonitza did not understand all of it. Now and then he caught a
quotation that he had heard before, as, "Leave a Hungarian to guard
the thing that you value most," and "There is no fruit so bitter as
foreigners in the land."
Everything tasted very good, but Jonitza would have enjoyed it more had
some attention been paid to him. As it was, he was glad when the party
at last arose and while the rest of the company went to the theater, he
was sent in the carriage home alone.
At home, he found only servants and so went at once to the little room
that was his own during his stay at the capital.
Here he threw himself down for awhile in a big armchair and gave
himself up to thoughts that he had never had before, about Roumania's
past history, about the old-time ballads of _heiduks_ and chieftains
that he had heard in the mountains, and about what he had caught in
the conversation at the brilliant restaurant that night regarding
Roumania's future.
Even after he lay down on his bed he could not but wonder if Roumania
was yet to be a great nation, if Transylvania now belonging to Hungary,
if Bukovina now a part of Austria, and perhaps Bessarabia, though
claimed by Russia--all with a large Roumanian population, would not
be restored to her. Finally he fell into a restless sleep in which he
dreamed that he was already a man and fighting that those of his own
blood might be rescued from foreign governments who despised them and
tyrannized over them.