PART II.

Shortly after the visit to Düsseldorf her mother was requested to bring about a meeting between her daughter and the Prince of Roumania, Prince Charles of Hohenzollern. The Princess Elizabeth was very anxious to attend a concert to be given in Cologne in October, at which Clara Schumann was to take part. It was arranged that they should go to Cologne for the purpose, and that the meeting with the Prince, who was then in Paris, should take place there. They put up at the Hotel du Nord. Hours passed, and the Prince did not appear. The ladies went into the flower garden to dine. The dinner came to an end, and Princess Elizabeth had not noticed that she had been narrowly watched for a considerable time by a group of gentlemen. One of them stepped forward and introduced himself to her mother as the Prince of Roumania. Princess Elizabeth, ignorant of the fact that the meeting had been pre-arranged, stretched out both her hands to him with unfeigned pleasure, and said, “I am so glad that we have met here accidentally.” For several hours they remained together among the flowers, and in the Zoological Gardens, in animated conversation.

On her return to the hotel she exclaimed enthusiastically, “What a charming man he has become!” While she was dressing for the concert the Prince spoke to her mother, and asked her consent to the marriage. Princess Elizabeth, however, was only thinking of enjoying the music, and was beside herself with impatience on account of the delay caused by the Prince. When he left, the young Princess burst out of her room into the saloon, exclaiming, “But, mamma!” As if terrified she stopped at the threshold, when she saw the grave and agitated expression on the countenance of her mother, who ran forward, and threw her arms round her daughter’s neck, and said, “My child, the Prince of Roumania has asked your hand.” The astonishment of the daughter was great, but it became clear to her at once that, unconsciously to herself, her heart had been quite won by him.

When her mother asked her whether she would like to take time for consideration, she answered simply and decidedly, “Just let him come; I shall love him very much.” And when the Prince came and saluted her as his betrothed, she said to him in soft and winning tones, “It makes me so proud, and at the same time so humble.” That same night the Prince had to return to Paris. The entry in her diary on the 12th of October is, “I am engaged, and a happy bride.”[1] The public betrothal took place at Neuwied, on the 16th of October, and on the 15th of November they were married.

Princess Elizabeth had, previously to the appearance of Prince Charles as a suitor, rejected every proposal of marriage, but when, long before her engagement to him, her friends made plans for her, and wished that there might be a throne in store for her, she would jestingly reply, “The only throne that could have any attractions for me is the Roumanian, for there I should have something to do.” That this was no mere idle expression of a passing feeling is proved by her whole life and work in her new home. She has become in heart and life a Roumanian, and devoted herself with all her powers to the well being of her subjects. A wide and quite uncultivated field of work lay before her. The first thing to do was to make herself acquainted with it. She felt that for this purpose something more than crowded receptions was necessary, and she arranged to receive the ladies who were announced for presentation at Court singly. “It was too disagreeable,” she said, “to say what I did not really feel at receptions. In order to avoid a falsehood I took pains to feel the interest which I showed. Everyone needs sympathy. Now everybody interests me, and I find them all to be interesting. The receptions do not bore me any longer. On the contrary, I delight in them. One must do thoroughly whatever one does, if it is to succeed; one must be thorough if one would be anything.”

On the 8th of September, 1870, a daughter was born, who received the name of Maria at her baptism. The child was enthusiastically welcomed by the people, who said, “God bless the new citizen of Roumania! May she grow and prosper in the joy of her parents, and the welfare of her country!” Henceforth the infant daughter became the most important personage in Roumania.

The Princess Elizabeth studied the language with zeal, and acquired a perfect mastery of it. The Roumanians say, with a dash of pride, that she speaks it better than they do themselves, for she constructs her sentences with peculiar elegance.

In the year 1871 a club for the poor was founded by her, and soon after a society for the translation of children’s books. “There are absolutely no Roumanian school books, nor any for the people,” she wrote to her mother; “I will provide these. I have already distributed my best French books among the young ladies, and also interested several gentlemen in the work. The poet Alexandri will criticise and correct: then they will be quickly and cheaply printed. The language will in this way become in some measure fixed, and the young people, who cannot speak their own language decently, will learn it quite splendidly.” Her ideas were eagerly received by the people, and interested them more even than politics. In 1871 the Prince and Princess made a journey through Moldavia to Jassy, in order to become acquainted with that part of their dominions. It was a triumphal progress all the way. Their reception everywhere was alike brilliant and hearty. At Jassy their time was filled up with receptions, visits to churches and schools, etc.

Their summers are passed in the Carpathian Mountains, 2,900 feet above the sea. Their first residence was an old monastery called Sinaia; now it is Castle Pelesch, which the Prince has built. Distinguished people of all sorts—_savans_, artists, musicians—are received in this retreat, and are often entertained there for weeks together. Society of this kind is the great enjoyment of the Prince and Princess. In order to encourage native industry, the Court wears the native national costume while resident in the mountains.

In the ladies of her Court the Princess takes a truly motherly interest. She loves particularly to gather young people around her. Several young women are invited to stay some weeks every year at Sinaia, in order to share in the working life of the Princess.

In 1874 time of severe trial came to Prince Charles and his wife. Their child, Princess Maria, who was as lovely and as marked in her individuality as her mother, took ill of diphtheria, and died in the lap of her English nurse. Her last words were in English: “All is finished.” Up to the very last the Princess could not believe that the end was so near; but when the certainty of the fact was realised with overwhelming force, she bowed her head with humble submission to the will of God. “God,” she said, “has loved my child more than I have, therefore He has taken her to Himself. Thank God that He ever gave her to me!”

To her mother she wrote:—

“I often say that a mother’s love is stronger than the grave, and I rejoice in my child’s blessedness. But that earth appears darker to me in consequence cannot be altered. It must be endured.”

Her poems furnish abundant evidence of her estimate of a mother’s love, and of her love and grief for the loss of her child.

When she first went to Roumania, no one suspected that Princess Elizabeth was a poetess. Once, when the poet Alexandri was in attendance in Bucharest, she said to him with deep blushes, “I wish to make a confession to you, but I have not the courage.” After a long pause, she said bashfully, with a soft voice, “I, too, write poems.” At Alexandri’s request, she showed him some of them. He saw at once that she had poetical gifts, and encouraged her to go forward. He sent her a thick volume of his manuscripts, and she began to translate popular Roumanian legends into German. In the work of translation she learnt practically much of the “art of poetry.” She had written poetry hitherto just as a bird sings. Rhymes and verses came more readily to her than prose. It was in her great sorrow for the death of her daughter that she betook herself to translation. She needed to occupy her mind by strenuous work. This she found in translation. She not only translated Roumanian works into German, but also the treasures of German literature into Roumanian. In this way she thought she could render the greatest service to her subjects. The effect of such work upon her mind she describes to her mother thus:—“When I am not actually asleep, neither my head nor hands rest for a second; otherwise it fares ill with me. Constant activity keeps the mind fresh, and sometimes only am I overcome when I remember my beloved one.”

She naturally felt a great longing to see her mother once more. It was arranged for them to meet at Cologne, and from thence to proceed to St. Leonards for a few weeks. She was much impressed by London. They paid a visit to Oxford, where they were Max Müller’s guests for two days. It was here that she presented to her mother a book in missal form, called “My Journey Through the World; containing Rhymes and Versicles Confided to the Heart of My Mother.” Charles Kingsley was present when she astonished her mother by handing this volume to her, and was much touched by one of the poems pointed out to him, of which the following is a rough but faithful rendering. It is called

ONLY ONE.

From need and misfortune preserve it secure; From sin keep its little heart, keep it aye pure; Lead Thou it Thyself all its journey below. One only I have, as Thou, Father, dost know.

The book contained poems from the time of her confirmation till her thirtieth year.

During the Russo-Turkish War in 1877 Roumania was drawn into the conflict. One of the results was that the independence of Roumania was declared. The principality became a kingdom, and Prince Charles and Princess Elizabeth were crowned King and Queen. During the war the Princess set a noble example of what her biographer describes as “the inborn deaconess-calling of every woman.” The throne-room was converted into a workroom, where, under her immediate superintendence, linen and bandages were prepared. Women of all ranks and nationalities went in and out, and vied with each other in providing things for the army in the field. Out of her own means the Princess furnished a barrack hospital of a hundred beds, which she looked after herself. She extended her activity to all the other hospitals also that were organised. She ministered to all the wounded that were brought from the battle-field. Day and night she sought to comfort and encourage them. To many a dying man she spoke the last words of consolation; many received from her hand the pain-deadening chloroform. She induced many to submit to have limbs amputated. The Roumanian soldier prefers death to amputation. “Better die than be a beggar man,” he says. To one young soldier she pointed out that he had a long life before him, and ought to submit to the operation. “For love of you, Regina,” he sighed. She exercised a great moral influence over the suffering. Among the people she was called “The mother of the wounded.” Her strength seemed to be doubled in times of danger, when the claims upon her services were the greatest. She was always collected, and never lost her presence of mind, whatever agitation and despondency prevailed around her. When, in her anxiety about her husband and the army, she could only sleep for two or three hours, she would seek to divert her mind with music and poetry half the night, and at four in the morning she would walk up and down, and mentally arrange the work of the ensuing day. During the war she founded a sisterhood, defraying the expenses out of her own pocket. At first there were only two sisters, but in 1884 the number had increased to twenty. In hospitals and private houses they give their services for five francs a day, and are much in demand. Rich people often pay more, and thus the sisters can attend to the poor gratuitously. Other useful societies owe their origin to the Queen. As might have been expected, the moral and physical strain of the war time severely tried her. She has been subject to repeated attacks of fever. At the beginning of 1883 she had a dangerous illness, which excited the fears and sympathies of the whole Roumanian people. Her patience, gentleness, and consideration for all around her were very touching. She was saved by means of a successful operation. The King took her to Italy, and from thence to Neuwied. When they returned to Roumania, Castle Pelesch was near completion. In October, 1883, it was solemnly dedicated, in presence of all the high officials of the nation.

It is not many years ago since her poems became widely known. The Queen herself would never have thought of publishing them, had not numberless copies passed into various hands. Then she thought that “if they are worth the tiresome labour of copying, so are they of being printed.”

One of her most important volumes of poetry, if not the most important, of which a new edition has lately appeared, is called after the seat of her family, which has several times been mentioned in the course of this sketch, “Meine Ruh” (Mon Repos). It contains ballads and lyrical poems.

Some of the deepest questions that can occupy the human mind have been treated by her in other volumes.

Still in middle age, she carries forward her beneficent work, and we may hope in due time (far distant may the day be!) that the public may have the opportunity of reading the completed story of her life, which has been so well told in the volume from which we have derived all our information concerning her. The Baroness von Stachelberg is hardly guilty of any exaggeration when she says that “as woman, as Princess, as Queen, Carmen Sylva is one of the noblest and most remarkable of her sex.”

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Bride means a betrothed one. German women cease to be brides when they marry.

“SHE COULDN’T BOIL A POTATO;”

OR,

THE IGNORANT HOUSEKEEPER, AND HOW SHE ACQUIRED KNOWLEDGE.

BY DORA HOPE.

Ella was, unfortunately for herself, very timid at nights; and even when at home had always been ready to imagine burglars and alarms of fire; and Kate had often laughed at her, and asked what she would do if, in her nightly searches round her bedroom, she should find a burglar under the bed, or hidden amongst the dresses secreted in her wardrobe.

As she had always been thus ready to take alarm on the smallest provocation, it is not to be wondered at that the old gardener’s mysterious warning filled her with anxiety; the more so that, in spite of all her efforts to persuade him, he resolutely refused to say anything more, and she was left in a state of hopeless bewilderment as to what his strange hints could mean.

The only thing she could do was to be specially watchful, and she determined that, in spite of her fears, she would sit up at night till the servants had gone to bed, and make sure that everything was properly secured.

It was very evident that they did not like it, and they did their utmost to compel her to go to bed first, by sitting up till very late themselves. But Ella had a determination of character which caused her, when once she was sure it was her duty to do anything, to persist in carrying out her intention in spite of all obstacles, and the servants’ objection to her sitting up last at night made her only the more determined to do so.

One night they had tried her patience sorely by lingering about, but when they had at last departed, Ella went her usual round, and found they had carelessly left a side door unfastened.

Having locked the door she went up to bed, and, in spite of feeling nervous and uneasy, she soon fell asleep, but only to be awakened a short time after by a stealthy sound in the room below.

She sat up and listened; it was true at last—there was certainly someone getting into the house.

What should she do? Should she cry for help, or follow her first instinct to bury her head under the bed-clothes? But her better judgment prevailed; and remembering that her aunt was often restless in the night, and that it was probably only nurse who had gone downstairs to get something for her, she slipped on her dressing-gown and the warm slippers Kate had provided her with, and crept quietly out of the room and down the stairs.

Her heart beat so fast that, to her ears, it drowned all other sounds, and it seemed to her almost that it must alarm the thieves. When she reached the hall she found her fears verified: a light gleamed under the dining-room door, and she heard voices whispering inside.

She thought of calling the dogs, but dared not risk alarming her aunt; so at last, summoning up all her resolution, she opened the door, and to her amazement found the table laid for supper, and a party seated round it, consisting of the two servants and two men.

The men instantly disappeared through the open window, without waiting to see who had interrupted them, leaving Ella alone with the two angry but frightened servants. The cellarette, which Ella was sure she had locked before going to bed, was standing open, and the contents were on the table. The cook’s face was flushed, and she had evidently been drinking a good deal.

Ella was so startled that she was quite silent for a few minutes, and the cook recovering herself first, began pouring out a torrent of abuse; when, to Ella’s intense relief, the door again opened, and Nurse entered, while at the same moment two dark figures appeared, clambering in through the open window. Annie, the housemaid, thinking them the same two who had just escaped, rushed towards them, but to her dismay found herself seized by a stalwart policeman, and old Mr. Dudley came to Ella’s side, begging her not to be frightened.

With this reinforcement Ella felt herself victorious, and soon regained her self-possession sufficiently to consider what was to be done. The policeman assured her that she had a perfect right to turn the two maids out at once, but her own good sense, even without Nurse’s advice, showed her that it would be wrong to turn out two young women late at night, however badly they might have behaved. Accordingly, acting on Mr. Dudley’s advice, she told them to go to their bedroom at once, and prepare to leave first thing in the morning.

Mr. Dudley accounted for his unexpected appearance by explaining to Ella that he had been sitting up late reading, and on looking out of his window before going to bed, he had noticed the two men lurking about, and having several times suspected that something was wrong, he had gone for a policeman, hoping to be in time to catch the thieves.

To Ella’s great relief Mrs. Wilson was at last convinced that the servants were untrustworthy, and made no objection when she heard that they had both left the house, with their boxes, immediately after breakfast next morning.

A respectable charwoman, recommended by Mrs. Mobberly, was engaged to do the work temporarily; and Ella, very much dismayed at such an unexpected responsibility, had to consider what steps must be taken to engage new servants.

To begin with, Mrs. Mobberly advised her to mention the matter to the tradespeople, who often hear of good servants, and at the same time she would herself go for Ella to a registry office in the town, which she knew to be thoroughly respectable. At the same time she gave Ella a very solemn warning against ever going to any registry office about which she knew nothing, as some so-called offices are places to be scrupulously avoided, both by mistresses and servants.

The result of this vigorous action was that Ella was besieged and overwhelmed by the number of applicants for the situations. Mrs. Wilson’s was a well-known place, where the work was easy, and the rule in most respects very light; and in addition to the respectable and pleasant-looking young women who came, Ella had to run the gauntlet of incompetent girls, impudent girls, girls who amazed her with the elegance of their attire, and others who disgusted her with their dirty slovenliness, not to mention all the middle-aged women in search of a comfortable home, and mothers anxious to secure a good place for their young daughters.

A good many of them were so evidently unsuitable that Ella soon disposed of them, and easily reduced the number to three or four applicants, who, however, all seemed equally suitable, and she felt so incapable of deciding between these, that she dismissed them all for the present, promising to write to each of the selected number the next day.

So far the task, though rather overwhelming for so inexperienced a housekeeper, had been comparatively simple, for Ella had been coached up beforehand, both by her aunt and Mrs. Mobberly, as to the most important questions to ask each applicant:—what had been her last situation, and why she left it; what wages she asked, where her home was, whether she belonged to any church, and whether she would be obliging and willing to undertake the rather miscellaneous duties, which included feeding the various animals, and occasionally helping to water or weed the garden, in addition to waiting on Mrs. Wilson, and the usual house-work. Ella was especially advised to explain the varied nature of their duties to any likely applicants, that there might be no misunderstanding about it afterwards. But the task of finally selecting the two best was rather more than Ella felt equal to; so, as usual, she consulted Mrs. Mobberly, who, feeling that Mrs. Wilson was not likely ever to be very robust again, and that it would therefore not be wise to have only young girls in the house, when Nurse should have left, advised Ella, if her aunt consented, to engage as cook a middle-aged widow, in whose son (a sailor) Mrs. Wilson took great interest, and whom she had known for several years as a respectable woman.

“I liked her very much directly I saw her,” said Ella, “but I was afraid she would not be so active and brisk about her work as a younger woman.”

“Very likely not, but with such a small household she can easily manage all she will have to do; and even if you should occasionally be obliged to have a charwoman for extra cleaning, it would be quite worth your while to do it, for the sake of the comfort of having an experienced woman in the house, whom you could depend upon to take care of your aunt, and who would know what to do in case of sudden illness.”

Then having, from Ella’s description, decided which of the young girls seemed most likely to suit, Mrs. Mobberly directed her to write to the girl who was still at her situation, and tell her to ask her mistress if she would kindly appoint a time when it would be convenient for Ella to call upon her about the girl’s character.

“Some ladies prefer to write direct to the mistress about a time to call,” Mrs. Mobberly explained, “but I always think if the girl is still in the situation it saves her mistress trouble if she can take a message.”

Ella felt very nervous at this part of her task, but carefully concealed her feelings from her aunt, from whom she knew she would get no sympathy, but only sarcastic remarks as to how, in her young days, people were more plainspoken, and called nervousness and shyness by their proper names of conceit and affectation.

Ella found the visit, when the time came, less alarming than she had expected, though in some respects less satisfactory; for she had never doubted but that the mistress’s report would at once decide her either for or against the maid, which did not prove to be the case. She told Ella the girl was honest, and sober, and knew her work well, but that on the other hand she was disobliging and pert in her manners.

These serious drawbacks would, of course, have decided Ella against her, but that being naturally a shrewd observer, she could not help being struck by the lady’s imperious manner, and very unpleasant, dictatorial way of speaking, which so disagreeably impressed her that she made up her mind there was probably a good deal of excuse for the girl, and resolved, if Mrs. Mobberly consented, to give her a trial.

This lady not only agreed, but warmly commended Ella for being observant, and added that she was sure servants had often a great deal to put up with from unjust and unreasonable mistresses, who would goad them into speaking rudely by their overbearing manners, or make it almost impossible for them to get their work done properly by constantly calling them off from it to attend to other things; and then, having the poor girls’ characters entirely in their hands, ruin their chances by blaming them for faults which they themselves had caused.

Thus encouraged, Ella sent for the girl again, told her the whole truth about the interview with her mistress, and asked how she came to have a character of that sort; to which the girl replied at once, with a straightforward manner which convinced Ella she was speaking the truth, that she had stayed longer at the place than any other servant she knew of, and that they all had the same character given them on leaving, the fact being that the mistress kept nagging at them all day long, and spoke in such a disagreeable way to them that she tried their tempers almost beyond endurance, and she was afraid that sometimes it was true, they were driven into answering her rudely.

So the matter was arranged, and very shortly afterwards the household settled down again into quietness and peace, with Mrs. Moore, the good widow, in charge of the house in general and the kitchen in particular, and Sarah, the “pert and disobliging” girl, to act under her supervision, as house and parlour maid. The very first day of their arrival, Ella, prompted, of course, by her aunt, explained to them both the rules of the house; that all windows and doors must be fastened by ten o’clock every night, that they must ask permission before inviting visitors to the kitchen, though leave would always be gladly given for suitable friends and at suitable times; and the same applied to going out. There were a few other matters Mrs. Wilson was particular about; that breakages or accidents of any sort should be reported to her at once, and not left to be found out accidentally; and that as good wages were given, there should be no perquisites of any sort.

Mrs. Wilson had a very great objection to clandestine “followers,” but saw no reason why servants should not be as openly engaged to be married as their young mistresses; so as soon as she found that the new maid, Sarah, had a “young man,” whom she ascertained to be a thoroughly respectable young mechanic, she told her she might invite him to the house once a fortnight, and to begin with, he might come to tea and go to church with her the following Sunday, but she must invariably come straight home after church, as Mrs. Wilson greatly disapproved of young women being out after church time: “If they must have a walk,” she said, “they could go before church, but all girls were better at home late in the evening.”

Mrs. Moore turned out to be a great help among the poultry, and relieved Ella’s mind greatly by her knowledge and cleverness with them. Almost her first work among them was to “set” two of the hens. She showed Ella how to make their nests in a secluded corner where the other fowls would not disturb them, and to arrange them so that they could not steal each other’s eggs. Then she selected the eggs, refusing the extra large ones that Ella suggested, and taking only well-formed, medium-sized ones.

“It is rather early in the year yet, miss, so we won’t give them too many eggs. It is better to get all out of a small sitting, than a few out of a large one. They are good-sized hens, though, so I think we will give them eight eggs each.”

The nests were made of hay, from which the longest stalks had been removed; and all round the nests Mrs. Moore scattered a thick layer of ashes.

When all was ready she brought one of the hens and put her near the nest. Directly the hen saw the eggs she went straight to them, and with a contented chuckle settled herself on them, carefully arranging them with her beak and legs. The other hen was not quite so quick, and preferred taking a survey of the premises first, but after a time she also settled herself, and they were left for their three weeks’ solitary confinement.

Every morning they were turned out to take their daily meal, and to dust their feathers with the dry sand and ashes provided for them at one corner of the run. In their anxiety about their precious eggs they would sometimes have omitted this duty, but Mrs. Moore was firm, and explained to Ella that it would be bad both for the hens and the eggs if they never left their nests.

Ella soon took a great interest in the hens, and became quite clever in lifting them from their nests (when gentle persuasion had not the desired effect), and after a little practice learnt to accomplish it without either pulling out the whole nest or jerking an egg or two out with the hen.

(_To be continued._)

MERLE’S CRUSADE.

BY ROSA NOUCHETTE CAREY, Author of “Aunt Diana,” “For Lilias,” etc.