Part 15

“Astra,” a novel by Ditto and Idem (1886). The places described in this novel are in the immediate neighbourhood of Roumania. The habits of the people and the country are here described with great exactness and in a lively manner. Astra goes on a visit to her sister, who is married to a country gentleman of the province of Bukowina. Sandor becomes enamoured of the “Will o’ the Wisp,” his graceful sister-in-law. This leads to a conflict which ends tragically. Here also the epistolary form is chosen. While the _dramatis personæ_ let us see the innermost thoughts of their hearts, the development of their characters is clearly unfolded. Carmen Sylva gave the following answer to some ladies who had written to inquire if the unhappy being depicted in Astra had really lived, and whether the novel was based on truth.

“_21st July 1836._--A good novel must, according to my convictions, never be anything but an imaginary biography. You have only to put together the contrasts of which every life really consists. You would hardly believe of how many thousands of prisms a human being is made up. He is a regular kaleidoscope. As you turn him, he assumes a different aspect. The motive power of the experience and impressions is the principal thing. Words spring out of this of themselves.

“Astra is perhaps a vague recollection of a charming creature whom I always called my Will o’ the Wisp, and who to my eternal sorrow had the same fate as them all, though this is not in any way like the little Astra. Margot is the creation of my fellow-worker, Frau Mite Kremnitz, who had the death-scenes plainly before her mind, though every one was against it. As to Sandor, we are afraid that he really exists, though, of course, he is not quite the same. We may not be so indiscreet as to paint portraits, but the brain is too good a photographic plate not to take hold of what we have experienced and to reproduce it to a certain extent, whilst we are thinking that we are working from imagination alone.

“Our working together is certainly charming. What talks and what sharp encounters we have when we separate of an evening, and during the night a new solution has appeared to every one. This then must be the right one! Still we surprise one another in its execution. Our first book was called ‘From Two Worlds.’ Since ‘Astra’ we have written a novel, ‘It was a Mistake.’ It appeared in 1886, first in “Nord und Süd,” when we often took the pen out of each other’s hands and let the other write on.

“There is another book in print, ‘The Century,’ which is very good. It is a novel by Ditto and Idem, describing the time of the French War of 1870. We have already a new book on the brain which is to be called “Brother and Sister,” and to which we look forward with the joy of children, and whose tragical moments we dread already, before the first word is written, for we must pay dearly for it when we dive into the depths of the heart. We cannot do this without suffering great pain. And with what anxiety does one ask oneself at every line, ‘Is that true?’ As if one stood before a judge and bore a tremendous responsibility! For nothing can give authors more pleasure than that that which comes from the heart should touch the hearts of others. A book of 300 pages has already lain by for four years, because I have not the courage to bear all the trials which my characters have to suffer, and yet I cannot but write what I know to be true.”

“Mistaken”--tales of Ditto and Idem of which most of the circumstances were taken from life. Amongst other things the story of the funeral during the snowstorm is most touching. The pathetic and yet so simple a story of love and death, as well as the description of the terrible storm, are here recounted with marvellous artistic power.

“Seventeen Songs of the Artisans,” by J. E. Bowen, were translated into English, and appeared in the Prize Number of the _Independent_ in New York in 1887. There they will also appear as a small book.

“The Fishers of Iceland,” by Pierre Loti, translated into German by Carmen Sylva. From a letter of the Queen, 5th September 1887:--

“I should like to do all I can to bring the two nations together, and make use of everything and everybody for that purpose, for I have a sort of fixed idea that the Germanic and Latin races should complete one another. I am now doing something that is to further this object: I am translating the most beautiful book of modern times, ‘Les Pêcheurs d’Islande,’ by Pierre Loti, into German. This is quite a new sort of work, which gives me infinite pleasure. It seems to flow from my pen. I began it on the 26th of August, and hope to have finished it in five days, for I have already translated two hundred sheets, and have only one hundred more to do. It is so wonderfully beautiful that I rejoice or weep during my work, and enjoy every sentence. It is an epic poem in prose, simple, grand, and true. In translating I enjoy the pleasure of producing something, and feel no despair, only pleasure. How wonderfully beautiful this book is! I feel as if I had made great progress by reading Pierre Loti. A good book is better for one than the most severe criticisms, for one can see for oneself what is beautiful and what is badly written.

“The fishers of Iceland are a part of the people of the coast of Bretagne who have fished in the Arctic Seas for generations. This dangerous but remunerative business descends from father to son. It demands great sacrifices from the ranks of the Bretagne fishermen year by year. The heroes of the novel, as well as the other characters, are all types of people, strong and natural characters, which are not spoilt by the disturbing influences of civilisation. With the eyes of an artist Pierre Loti has observed the natural phenomena and the changing lights of those northern regions, and has represented them to us with the soul of an artist.”

The Queen has translated this book with the same feelings as though it were her own creation. The descriptions of nature, the storm on the sea, the simple life of a fisherman, each separate picture in miniature is rendered word for word in the short and precise style of Pierre Loti. The touching story reads like a German poem. Carmen Sylva has artistically accomplished the task of giving the individuality of the author with a breath of his feelings in another language.

_To Augustus Bungert._

“I am always being preached at to keep quiet and cool while I am at work, but this is of no use--the fury is there! The next day I look upon what is finished so coldly, and as if it were the greatest horror, whilst I cannot take my eyes off when I am at work. If only each work were not a piece of one’s life, as Daudet so beautifully describes it in ‘L’homme a la cervelle d’or,’ in the ‘Lettres de mon moulin.’”

* * * * *

Two fairy tales are in preparation, “The Labours of the Pelesch,” a sort of allegory; “The Strange Adventures of the Gipsy Didica;” and “Songs of the Artisans.”

From letters of the Queen to Augustus Bungert, 18th February 1888:--

“‘The Songs of the Artisans’ are a splendid work for me. I have the idea, and call the whole story ‘Waldvogel’s Songs,’ while the fairy tale of Prince Waldvogel, which I have had in my head for years, appears at the same time, as if he had sung all the songs. It must be brought down to modern times, or I shall not be up to the Artisans. It will be called ‘Love Songs of the Artisans in Wood and Field.’ One hundred and thirty songs are already composed, and there are about twenty more to arrange. But the electric current is broken sometimes, and I do not so easily find it again. If I can keep to my work, one thought leads to another, and I cannot write them down as fast as they come. But the object of laying by what is written is that what is not good is eradicated later. But I should be able to talk over all these things, for I have no judgment as to what is good or bad. What is gone is gone! When I have painted something I turn its face to the wall so as not to see it again. I never open what is once printed, but go on, and on.

“This winter I have also made a plot for a tragedy, ‘Meister Manole.’ But I want a quiet time to write it in. I have also a long poem, ‘Nemesis,’ in my head, and the beginning of four novels. But what appears to me the best does not strike others so. It is lucky that amongst ten persons each one thinks a different poem the best.

“As to the great poem which I have still to write, I often have the feeling that it will come one day, but not by doing nothing. A day of rest is nearly a misfortune to me. I have at once the feeling of being unable to work. It is quite childish! I feel as if I were drifting into the sea, into infinite space in deepest melancholy, and could not find any firm footing! Just try how you feel when you have not written anything for two days. Certainly I have not yet composed a Nausikaa, and cannot rest on my laurels, but am constantly incited by the feeling of not having done anything yet.”

Most of the works of the Queen are already translated into various languages, or are being translated. Many of her poems have also been set to music.

Augustus Bungert, the poet and composer of Tetralogy, the World of Homer, Nausikaa, the Return of Odysseus, &c., has edited the finest poems from “The Witch,” “My Rest,” and “Songs of the Artisans,” and called them “Poems of a Queen;” as well as “My Rhine,” “Dramas in Songs,” “Kalafat,” &c. Hallström, Reinecke, Gounod, and Madame Augusta Holmès in Paris have arranged Carmen Sylva’s poems as songs.

Before the year comes to an end the ever-restlessly working imagination of the royal poetess will have created new works which we are unable to mention here.

XIII.

Conclusion.

In conclusion, let us allow the last years of the life of the Queen to unroll themselves before us.

Her strength had been overtaxed by the physical and moral strain imposed upon her during the time of war, and constantly recurring attacks of fever had weakened her. Early in the year 1882 the Queen was attacked by severe illness.

For many weeks the royal lady was hanging between life and death. The whole nation was full of anxiety and sympathy, and the love of her people and the popularity her Majesty enjoyed was displayed in a touching manner during this time. Poor women even, who had to work hard for their daily bread, gave their little savings to the Church in order to have a prayer said for the preservation of their beloved “Muma Regina.” The Queen bore her dreadful sufferings heroically, and her patience, gentleness, and solicitude for her attendants were beautiful to witness. She always had a comforting and hopeful word for the King, who scarcely left her bedside. The life of the Queen was saved by a successful operation, and six weeks after she was once more standing at her easel and illuminating on parchment.

But though restored to health, her Majesty was more than ever subject to the pernicious influence of the climate, and the attacks of fever returned in shorter intervals. Only a change of air could be of any avail, but circumstances prevented the Queen leaving the country. At last, in the spring of 1883, the King could accompany his consort to Italy. In Sestri Ponente, on the Mediterranean, the Queen soon so far recovered that she could travel to Neuwied and Segenhaus to complete her cure there. The Dowager Princess of Wied had been seriously ill at the same time. With what deep feelings mother and daughter met at last can easily be imagined!

Queen Elizabeth spent nine weeks at the Segenhaus, where her native air restored her youthful freshness and activity, and she could give herself up entirely to the happiness of being again surrounded by her nearest relations. These were, according to her expression, days that had wings and were without a cloud. During her presence the little castle on the heights of the Westerwald became a second Belriguardo. One imagined oneself transported back to the time of the Medicis. Here distinguished relations, artists and learned men, went in and out, and often remained for days and weeks at Monrepos and Segenhaus. Alexandri, the Roumanian poet, brought his new drama to read and discuss with the Queen. Hallström, the Swedish composer, wished to lay before her Majesty that part of the opera “Neaga” which he had finished composing. The artist, Augustus Becker, came from Düsseldorf with his Roumanian sketches, after which he was going to paint a large picture by the King’s order. Karl Cauer, from Kreuznach, had made a bust of the Queen, and wished to compare it with the original. In the studio at Monrepos, Prince William and the Dutch artist, Bisschop, were painting a portrait of the Queen. On his way back to Oxford, Professor Max Müller remained at the Segenhaus for some days. Intercourse with this man of deep thought and learning elevates one into the refined and intellectual atmosphere in which he lives and thinks.

The Musical Festival of the Rhenish Provinces was to be held at Cologne during this year. The Queen wished to be present at it. Since that important day in which she and Prince Charles of Roumania had been betrothed, she had not again seen the beautiful town on the Rhine. Now the great creations of sound resounded in her ears, and the recollections of past days were mightily awakened. The words of the following song are so fresh, that it is as if, after sixteen years of married life, bridal affection were still new to her heart.

“This is Apollo’s feast day, But Eros strikes the lyre; Though harmony must rule the hour, Let Love my lay inspire.

For I, Apollo’s pilgrim, To Love must turn aside; The flowing melodies recall The bridegroom and the bride.

When, Köln, thy walls embrace me, To thee my thoughts incline; Fain would I kneel and worship As in some holy shrine.

I see thee clad in splendour, And music fills thy halls; But a maiden tremor frights me, And the thought of my troth recalls.

O Köln, the free and lovely, Where summer zephyrs play, Was it the spell of thy music That drove me so far away?

O Köln, the Rhine’s fair city, My life is entwined in thee! I came to list to thy minstrels, And thou broughtest my King to me!”

Wonderfully beautiful were their wanderings through the beechwoods, the mild summer evenings spent on the balcony of the castle, with its view over the landscape glowing in the rich colours of sunset. Every bright idea was turned into a poem or a song, and every deep thought was put down in writing. The hours during which the Queen, either in the castle or under the forest trees, read her poetry aloud to us, will ever dwell in our memory. She is a perfect mistress of the art of reading aloud, and the sweet tones of her melodious voice heightened the effect of the dramatic situations and the deep feelings which she so graphically describes. Those who had the high privilege of sharing the great interest of these weeks can understand the charm which the so richly endowed nature of the Queen exercises on all who are permitted to come near her. This time spent in the Segenhaus was living poetry!

When Queen Elizabeth returned to her country and settled at Sinaia for the hot summer months, the royal pair lived in the romantic old monastery for the last time. The building of Castle Pelesch was nearing its completion, and a railway now formed a communication between Bucharest and Sinaia. Life and activity now reigned in the once quiet valley of Prahova, for, following the example of their King, the Roumanian nobles built themselves fine country houses on the slopes of hills and in the shade of the forest. By degrees the little town of Sinaia arose, whose arrangements now meet all the requirements of a modern watering-place.

The royal castle, which is built in the style of German renaissance, arises, surrounded by the forest, in a gorge at the foot of the Caraiman mountain. This many-sided building, with its arched galleries and balconies, is surmounted by numerous gables, towers, and turrets. The inner building and arrangements of the castle are also very practical, and the perfect artistic taste which reigns is visible in every nook and cranny. Nothing is overdone, though all is carried out in quite magnificent style. The walls of the grand staircase are richly painted, and the panels of the inner apartments are sumptuously adorned with bronzes and gobelin tapestry.

All the windows of this large building are enriched with painted glass, through which alone the light of day penetrates into the wonderful harmony of these apartments. The glass paintings in the music room represent scenes from Roumanian legends which have been immortalised by the poet Alexandri. On the walls are paintings representing Carmen Sylva’s “Cycle of Fairy Tales,” whilst scenes from the Life of a Knight adorn the dining-hall. The smoking-room in the principal tower, arranged in old German style, is very cosy. But the greatest success is the Queen’s studio, from the covered balconies of which one gazes into the deep forests which cover the mountains. The poetical impression of the castle is heightened when, with the twilight, electric light radiates from the inside of the beautiful building, and lights up its lofty chambers from outside, whilst the crystal drops of the little lamps follow the lines of the architecture and make them bright. This castle also is a poem which the royal pair have carried out together in sweet concord.

“I, King Charles, have raised here To the people that trusted and held me dear, A kingdom amid the tumults of war: In the time of peace my home, my star.”

On the 7th of October 1883 Castle Pelesch was solemnly consecrated in the presence of the highest officials of the country.

After the documents which the Queen had painted had been signed, the Metropolitan blessed the water brought to him whilst the choir sang. Then the procession started and passed through the courtyard, thickly strewn with the branches of fir, from which the scent of the forest was wafted at every tread to the castle. The keys were solemnly handed over to the King before the beautifully carved hall door.

His Majesty threw it open, and the Metropolitan first crossed the threshold of the house. Followed by the royal pair and the long procession of guests, and accompanied by songs of praise and prayer, he walked through all the rooms. Whilst scattering drops of holy water about them, he consecrated the house and prayed for the blessing of God.

When the King had brought out a toast to Roumania at the banquet which followed, he added these words--“Confident in the possession of the love of my people, I have here erected a house of my own. It shall stand as a lasting proof of the firm footing which my dynasty has attained in this country. The Roumanian people are to see herein a monument of the unlimited confidence with which I look forward to the future of our beloved fatherland.”

In the name of the Roumanian nation Alexandri brought out the congratulations of the people with the verse with which in ancient times the peasants had celebrated the entrance into the new home of their princes and nobles.

“As many stones and beams, So many treasures and conquests. As many grains of sand, So many happy days. The sun shall warm it, And the winds strengthen it.”

“May the blessing of God and the love of the people forever dwell within the walls of this house.”

The blessing of the poet has come true! The progress made by the State, which is developing in all respects, and is full of life and power, are remarkable. The King has appointed a sum from his privy purse for a Lexicon of the Academy, which is to be a standard of the language to be employed in writing. In thousands of schools the lectures in Roumanian are held free of charge. The King has also founded a Geographical Society. A longing for culture, for the furthering of the national interest, has taken hold of all classes of the Roumanian people. A net of railways overspreads the country, an active commerce binds Roumania to the rest of Europe, and a mighty army stands in readiness to protect the native hearth. At the glorious storming of the Grivitza fort of Plevna the youthful army first showed its powers.

On the 11th of September 1877 the Roumanians had, exposed to a heavy artillery fire, three times endeavoured in vain to take the fortifications of Grivitza. They were always thrown back by the courageous stand their enemies made. The battlefield was covered with the dead and wounded. Then Prince Carol galloped up to his troops, shouting, “Forward to victory, my children.” Inspired by the presence and the voice of their heroic leader, the brave men of the second battalion of Chasseurs again stormed the Turkish bulwarks, and before the evening came on the Roumanian flag waved on the fort of Grivitza! Nearly all the officers, and half of the men, had bought the victory with their life.

In the East the number seven is a sacred number. Therefore the seventh anniversary of this memorable day, the 11th of September 1884, was to be celebrated with peculiar solemnity at Sinaia.

The bells of the monastery chapel were tolling. Round about the courtyard of the monastery stood the second battalion of Chasseurs eagerly awaiting the arrival of the royal pair, who were descending from the castle to the cloister attended by a large suite. The flag of Roumania, adorned with its star, and torn to shreds in the battles, was lowered upon the entrance of the royal pair, who now entered the church. Within resounded a solemn mass for the fallen and a song of praise for the victory won. Without, in the court of the monastery, the military band played the poem written by Th. Körner, and composed by Hummel--“Father I call to Thee.” On undertaking the government the King had chosen this as the prayer of the army, and since then it is regularly played on great occasions.

At the close of the service the troops defiled before the King. Then they marched in a long procession through the splendid beech and fir woods to a height which commanded a view over the whole valley. There the camp of tents was erected. Before a triumphal arch the Mayor presented the Queen with a bouquet of roses in the name of the battalion of Chasseurs, and to the sound of the National Hymn the royal pair proceeded to the middle of the camp. Here stood two tents, one arranged for the royal banquet, the other for the soldiers. The royal tent was decorated with the innate taste of the Roumanians for the beautiful. From the outside only green branches and ferns were to be seen, amidst which the entwined initials of the royal pair appeared. Within, the tent was ornamented with some of the Queen’s mottoes which related to a soldier’s life and heroic deeds, and which the officers had translated into Roumanian. There were also verses by the poet Alexandri, who had written them when the people were under arms. Amongst them appeared the names of the Roumanians who had fallen whilst storming the fort of Grivitza. Martial music was played during the repast, and a crowd of people in the beautiful costume of the country surrounded the tents. At a given signal the joyous strains ceased, and the soldiers stood before the tent of their King.

Amidst perfect silence, and in a voice which was heard from far, the King harangued his Chasseurs as to the meaning and the fame of this ever-memorable day, and ended with the words--