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THE STORY OF My UFE

MV FIRST PHOTOGRAPH AS QUEEN

ORDEAL

THE STORY OF My LIFE

NEW YORK

CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS

1935

Copyright, 1935, by

MARIE, DOWAGER QUEEN OF ROUMANIA

Printed in the United States of America

All rights reserved. No -part of this hook
may he reproduced in any form without
the permission of Charles Scribner's Sons

A

u

My way goes straight through not round about ,
nor must I fear my own strength. . . .

— Ludwig Reeg.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE

1. Roumania’s Neutrality 3

2. The Passing of Carmen Sylva ii

3. The Cares of Neutrality 20

4. The Decision for War 46

5. The First War Days 52

6. The German Invasion 60

7. I Lose Mircea 66

8. Evacuation in Sight 74

9. Flight to Jassy 83

10. At Headquarters 92

11. Difficulties, Military and Political 99

12. Disastrous Days ho

13. Disease, Disorder, and Intrigue 12 i

14. The Russian Revolution 142

15. The Typhus Terror 150

16. The Ghastliness of War 163

17. Springtime Hopes and Summer Fears 178

18. The Russian Debacle 193

vii

19. Work at the Front

213

Vlll

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE

20. Strenuous Days 233

21. Hoping Against Hope 256

22. The Agony or Despair 269

23. The Opening oe 1918 285

24. Betrayal 296

25. Our Infamous Peace 308

26. Defeated but Not Subdued 323

27. Days of Despair 341

28. Peaceful Interlude 352

29. The Turn of the Tide 362

30. Dire Tragedy: “Romania Mare” 386

ILLUSTRATIONS

My first photograph as Queen Frontispiece

My children were often with Aunty at Curtea de Arges 1 2

Uncle’s funeral at Curtea de Arges *3

With my Borzois at Sinaia 20

Nicky and Ileana 21

Facsimile of letter from the Tsar to Queen Marie 31

Facsimile of letter from Ion Bratianu to Queen Marie 37

Mircea ^8

Nicky in “Bambino” 68

The King and the Crown Prince on the front 69

General Averescu and Colonel Ballif 69

Facsimile of the Tsar’s answer to King Ferdinand’s and Queen Marie’s

telegram 146

My white Red Cross dress had become a symbol x58

March past of troops in a forest T59

My favourite thoroughbred, Grui Sanger 208

With General Grigorescu during the battle of Mara§esti 209

Rest in a maize-field, talking to one of our soldiers 214

Reading to a wounded officer in one of our Cotofanesti wards 214

The King and I amongst our troops near Oituzi 215

With General Averescu amongst the troops 215

Visiting poor hospitals on the front with Colonel Anderson 218

Ileana with friends at Deleni 218

As I looked at forty 2I9

ix

X

ILLUSTRATIONS

With the monks of Bogdana
My precious wooden house

The most tragic of pictures: The Tsar in his own garden guarded by
three Bolshevik soldiers

March past of our recruits

General Berthelot

On the balcony of the Bicaz House

How I rode in Roumanian dress

Mignon riding like our peasant women

The old “St. Nicolai” of Duran

Typical old peasant of the Bistrita Valley

Mignon and Symki’s daughter, Irene, in Roumanian dress

Colonel Boyle with a special protegee whose roof we repaired (observe
size of the house !)

Little old wooden church at Johan near Bicaz
With some of my humble friends
The King decorating some of our men
“The Saint of the Four Winds”

Carol and Ileana
One of my old witches
Ion Bratianu
King Ferdinand

PAGE

222

223

298

299
299

308
3°9

309
334

334

335

342

342

343

354

355

374

375
394

395

THE STORY OF My LIFE

Chapter I

ROUMANIA’S NEUTRALITY

The last chapter of an earlier volume of my reminiscences ended with
the day when my husband came to the throne, and when we stood side
by side in Parliament facing our people.

I described that hour in words written at the time, so as to lose
nothing of the intensity of emotion felt on that supreme occasion.

Many years, and years which count double, lie between then and
now, and so many events have weighted those years that to-day I
should never have been able to find words vibrant enough with which
to recapture that tremendous emotion.

I stood then on the brink of a new life ; enormous possibilities
opened out before me, but a thick veil hid the future from us. What
would it bring? Glory, honour, success, or tragedy and humiliation?
Which?

Roumania and I : a solemn hour. Had strength really come to me
as I imagined, should I be equal to my task, was the thrill I felt
shuddering through me in anticipation of what was coming, a good
omen? Roumania and I — what were we to mean to each other now that
I stood on my own feet, facing my own responsibilities? The old
King was no longer there to counsel, advise and admonish, to show
the way: now it depended upon us, we were to have the reins in our
hands. Should we be strong enough to take upon ourselves such a
heritage at an hour when the whole world was aflame? The future
alone could answer these questions.

In this later part of my life story I am going to try and tell what
came to me after that first great emotion ; how Fate treated us and in
what way I was to put to the test my English origin and the education
Mamma, and later Uncle and Auntie, had given me. It is not a very
long story: it only covers four years, but years which count double,
years overflowing with events and people, so overflowing that I approach

3

4

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

with a certain anxiety the self-imposed task of telling it all as it was.

This book will deviate somewhat in style from the earlier one,
as much of it will be quoted from the diary I kept ever since we entered
the war.

With a never flagging persistency at which I cannot help marvelling
to-day, I wrote everything down, almost from hour to hour. It all lies
here before me, an overwhelming accumulation of documents, each
page bearing its date and each day described with all the emotion of
the time, with its exaggerations, its fears and hopes : passionate pages
in which I read myself with all the ups and downs of my every mood.

The difficulty is selection. I must not lose the thread of my story.
Each page is so alive with the events of the day that they all seem to
need to be quoted, but I shall pick out those most character-revealing,
those which best express the stress of the times. I hope I shall succeed
in putting the story together in a way that will make good reading,
avoiding as much as possible those repetitions so natural to diaries.

But before I start upon this part of my tale, I must speak of the
two years of neutrality lived through before Roumania entered the
war, but of them, alas, I have no record written at the time.

A Liberal Government under Ion Bratianu was in power when the
old King died. According to correct traditions Bratianu, as Prime
Minister, tendered his and the Government’s resignation, which King
Ferdinand did not accept: so it was hand in hand with the Liberals
that the new reign began.

My husband and I decided to make as few changes as possible in the
royal household, so that the shock of passing from one regime to
another should not be too painfully felt. We respected our predecessor’s
old servants and faithful followers, even those who had made things
hard for us in the days of our youth.

King Ferdinand was the kindest of souls and was always ready
to listen to feminine pleadings when I tried to prevent any unkindness
or even justified retaliation. I was never for revenge: I would rather
make a friend of my enemy. Power in itself wields almost unfair
privileges and these according to my conceptions, must never be mis-
used, especially not on the side of harshness or anything which could
in the least resemble spite. I would much rather heap coals of fire

ROUMANIA’S NEUTRALITY

5

on my enemy’s head than do him a bad turn ; I am afraid I am not one
of those who are in favour of “an eye for an eye.” It is so sad to
become suddenly “the past,” and I did everything I could not to
accentuate “the new master” attitude, so irresistible to many.

I am perfectly aware that it has been proclaimed in every way that
I swayed King Ferdinand’s will, and that, being inordinately ambitious,
I liked to rule and dominate. This has been declared both in praise and
disparagement, and generally I smiled, “for things are not as they
seem.”

Going deep down into my own conscience, honestly, I cannot recog-
nize in myself any deliberate intention or desire to dominate. I cer-
tainly felt a certain irritation at the indecision of others : woman-like I
jumped to conclusions, and always seemed to have my wits about me,
feeling extraordinarily alert and ready to grasp any situation. Having
an open and receptive mind, I was easy to talk to and to get on with,
so people were not afraid of me. I never shunned an argument, debate
did not alarm me, difficult encounters put me on my mettle : at all hours
of the day I felt almost electrically alive.

This my husband knew, and he knew also that my arguments were
generally incisive and to the point; I was always ready for any fray,
so little by little he had adopted the habit of turning to me when per-
plexed. He often found in me a safe adviser and one who, for a
woman, could be strangely impersonal.

King Ferdinand was of a retiring disposition, not fond of asserting
himself ; he was also somewhat slow when he had to make up his mind,
whilst there was no hesitancy in my nature. Difficulties only seemed to
redouble my energy, and there was a healthy buoyancy about me, sus-
tained by an uncrushable sense of humour which could ease the tensest
atmosphere, and these peculiarities of his life-companion were useful
to one who was seldom in high spirits. Owing to having been too long
subjugated and oppressed, King Ferdinand needed to be continually
stimulated and upheld; my attitude gave him courage and hope. In the
hour of doubt he found in me a steel-like assurance which he did
not find in himself. Hand in hand we were strongest; life did not
appal me, for I had about me something of the joyful warrior who
never shuns a fight.

It was not my husband’s way to recognize me openly as a collabora-

6

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

tor, he was not light-hearted enough. Besides, as a German, he was a
staunch upholder of the Salic law, and to admit a woman would have
been against his dearest traditions. But he depended upon me, I was the
joyful companion, occasionally unruly, but one who would never let
him down. Besides, our task as well as our goal were the same, and we
both lived for the same ideal — the good of our country. This made us
patient with each other and tolerant towards mutual imperfections.

That I was gradually forced into taking my part in events was not
a case of petty personal ambition or a selfish desire to put myself for-
ward, but we were living in difficult times, work was strenuous, all
hands and brains were needed, all men were called upon to give their
best, and in my own impulsive, uncalculating way I had much to give.
So when there was need, I quite simply stepped in: not because I
wanted to monopolize undue rights, but because it all came in the
day’s work, by sheer force of necessity. It was a logical consequence
of the situation and of those obliged to meet it as best they could, each
man bravely doing his share.

With me nothing was ever calculated; on the contrary, I was
dangerously rash and took almost deadly risks. I never prepared safe
retreats for myself. I was always ready to stand or fall by my con-
victions. There was nothing of the wily diplomat about me, but much
of the brave soldier. I am, and always was, moved by an irresistible
instinct to give, without ever pausing to consider whether my over-
quick actions were wise or not, or if they would lay me open to un-
favourable criticism or to being misunderstood.

Spontaneous generosity is the key to my being; I am obliged to
say this of myself because it best explains my every action and my
attitude all through King Ferdinand’s reign.

But now enough about myself.

The new King’s task was a particularly difficult one, especially in all
that concerned foreign politics. Convinced that he must stick to neu-
trality as long as possible, he was nevertheless being continually coerced
by both belligerent parties, threatened and tempted by turns. Endless
offers were held out, but under each lay a steel-clad fist ever ready
either to strike or grasp.

But above all, there was that cruel conflict between duty, conscience

ROUMANIANS NEUTRALITY

7

and heart. Quite naturally his sympathies drew him towards the
country of his birth. Besides, there was also the enormous belief in the
invincibility of the German army: as it had been with his uncle, he
simply could not conceive of its defeat. It can therefore easily be
imagined how torn in two he was, and with what anxiety his people
watched him, wondering how he would live up to the promise he had
made when he came to the throne of “becoming a good Roumanian.”

My part was particularly delicate. Although my instinctive sym-
pathies lay elsewhere, I felt deeply the conflict of soul he was enduring.
Besides, I too had many a tie with Germany, not easily broken. It was
pain whichever way we turned, and yet I knew the pulse of the country,
knew that the cruel sacrifice would finally be asked of him, and it was
my duty to lead him gradually up to accepting the inevitable. I alone
could do this, but it had to be done with tremendous tact. I had to be
something of a “soul doctor,” to prepare him little by little, to strengthen
his will, to uphold his spirit, to smooth the way, but this was only
possible by being on guard continually, ever watchful and prepared for
every danger.

I cannot explain exactly how it was done, but during these difficult
two years Prince Stirbey was an invaluable help. He kept me informed
of every fluctuation of public opinion, of every move or effort on the
enemy’s side : he kept, so to say, outward guard, whilst I stood by the
King day by day, almost hour by hour. All my love and understanding
of his character, of his upright, duty-loving, but also timid, nature,
was necessary so as to help him overcome the nightmare he had before
him. He had to be convinced that there was no other way, that it was
Fate, merciless Fate. But at the same time his soul had to be saved
from despair.

The immense trust and belief he had in me and in my sane judgment
in spite of the disparity of our two characters, was of course my great-
est asset. From the beginning, even when I was young and foolish,
he always instinctively turned for help to my strong will and never-
flagging self-confidence.

I have had more than one difficult task in life, but this, of all, was
perhaps the most excruciatingly delicate.

An added difficulty was that although nine-tenths of the country
were for the Allies, there remained a small fraction which believed

8

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

that our salvation lay on the side of the Central Powers, and amongst
these were some of my husband’s most trusted friends, headed by Peter
Carp, for whom both he and I had a special sympathy.

These were, of course, the channels through which contrary propa-
ganda was brought to him, and I was quite aware of what I was up
against.

What gave me the courage of my convictions it is not easy to say.
I think two things above all upheld me — my unshakable belief in Eng-
land, and the completeness with which' I had espoused the national
ideal of unity of all the Roumanians, that age-old dream and ambition
dear to every Roumanian heart. It had become my goal, as well as my
people’s.

The Central Powers, quite rightly, saw in me the kernel of resistance
to their propaganda. I was the greatest danger to their cause and
became, therefore, the chief object of their attacks either open or covert.

When receiving a German or an Austrian I felt how they had pre-
pared all their batteries and how when they crossed the threshold of my
room, they knew themselves to be face to face with their most dangerous
opponent. This, of course, put me on my mettle, and steeled my nerves
for the most difficult encounters.

One of these encounters remains most vividly imprinted upon my
memory, and it took place towards the end of 1915. It was an inter-
view with Count Ottokar Czernin, then Austro-Hungarian Minister
in Bucarest.

Count Czernin had been a personal friend of the Archduke Franz
Ferdinand, who in his day had been considered friendly to Roumania,
and this was one of the chief reasons why Czernin had been chosen to
go to Roumania at this crisis. Besides, he was a pleasant man, tall,
fair, aristocratic-looking, with agreeable manners, although occasionally
supercilious and displaying a certain arrogance not always easy to
stand.

He had probably been warned that I was the chief enemy, and I can
well imagine that it had been impressed upon him how important it
was that I should be won or coerced over to their side by fair means
or foul.

Czernin was not unsympathetic to me, for I always got on well with

ROUMANIA’S NEUTRALITY

9

Austrians ; their manners were pleasant and easy. Besides, I had been
good friends with his younger brother, Otto, so although on my guard,
I had no feeling against him, whilst I frankly disliked Herr von dem
Busche, his German colleague.

Whenever I met Czernin he went out of his way to make himself
agreeable, and I soon noticed that he was doing all he could to attract
my sympathy, using all his personal charm, of which he had plenty
when he dropped his arrogant attitude ; only once were we to face each
other as man to man, and this was to be a real crossing of swords.

He asked for an audience, and I received him alone, inviting him
to a cup of tea in my own private room. At first he was nothing but
the refined and agreeable homme du monde, eager to please a lady,
talking only upon indifferent topics. Gradually, however, he led up
to the burning subject, and suddenly there we were, up against each
other, with a clash of arms.

A harrowing scene ensued, during which Czernin used all his bat-
teries. He began by declaring that the fate of Roumania lay in my
hands. It was no good protesting or trying to persuade him that the
contrary was the case; with me alone — this he knew for certain — lay
the last word; Roumania would act according to my decree. It was
well known that the King listened to my advice, it would be according
to my judgment that he would act. He, Czernin, was my friend and
admirer: therefore he had come to me at this supreme hour to open
my eyes before it was too late.

Now was the moment for Roumania to ally herself with the Central
Powers, whilst their troops were everywhere victorious. Had I con-
sidered what a fearful responsibility I was taking upon myself by
pushing Roumania towards the side of the Allies ? Perhaps I counted
upon Austria-Hungary falling to pieces? This might come about one
day, but not now, and this was the very last chance Roumania would
be given to come in on the winning side. If to-day I would put in my
word so that Roumania would go with them I should ever afterwards
be blessed by my people, whilst, if I turned down his appeal I should
be handing Roumania over to everlasting perdition.

It was the supreme moment : to-morrow would be too late. It all lay
with me, and how could I dare to take upon myself the overwhelming
responsibility of siding with the Allies now that their situation was

IO

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

becoming daily more precarious ? He used every argument in his power
to persuade me that Roumania must throw in her lot with the Austrians
and Germans. He pleaded, he threatened and flattered, he warned and
coerced, he tortured me in every possible way, making me go through
hell. He made promises, dangled victory and triumph before my eyes,
he played the adviser, the accuser, the tempter; he conjured up a
brilliant future before me, in which I was to play a predominant part,
declaring that, if I would do this, the thing that I ought to do, I should
become the greatest figure in Roumanian history.

Yes, he pleaded well, he played upon my every nerve, my every
emotion till finally he even made me weep, but I could only shake my
head sadly.

“You torture me,” I said, “you tear my heart and loyalty to pieces.
You say that it is my word which can be decisive. I do not know if
this is true, but I do know that I cannot act otherwise than as I am
doing. Nothing can shake me. I share Roumania’s great dream, and
I believe in the dictum that England always wins -the last battle. It
is no good trying to shake my convictions ; I have no ill-feeling for
anyone, I consider no man my foe, but all the same I should die of
grief if Roumania were to go to war against England. . . .”

And thereupon we parted, not enemies, but both of us deeply
distressed.

Herr von dem Busche, on the contrary, was never able to gain my
sympathy. He failed entirely as a psychologist.

He too had been told that I was the one who must be won over,
and asked to see me in private. After having entertained me upon
several subjects, rather in the style of a very patronizing schoolmaster,
he casually put his hand into his pocket and pulled from it a packet of
dumdum bullets :

“Would Your Majesty like to see the sort of bullets the English use
against the Germans?”

I simply got up and turned my back upon him ; it was not with that
sort of story that he could win me over to his side.

Chapter II

THE PASSING OF CARMEN SYLVA

I always look upon it as one of the great mercies of Fate that dear
old Carmen Sylva died before Roumania entered the war. It would
have been terrible for her and also for us had she lived to see this cruel
day, and it would have made King Ferdinand’s task doubly difficult.
But she was mercifully called to rest in the early spring of 1915, a
little more than a year after King Carol’s death.

We were granted over twelve months in which we were still allowed
to show old Aunty all our love and affection. Both my husband and I
considered it our pride and our duty to treat her with every honour,
and to surround her with everything her heart could desire.

Accustomed during a long life of abnegation to be dominated and
overruled by her strong-willed lord and master, her newly gained
independence somewhat bewildered her. With the death of her husband,
she found herself the possessor of a considerable fortune, she, who had
never had any money of her own. The marvellous miracle had suddenly
come to pass and her hands were full : at last she was able to give
according to the generosity of her heart.

But like a child stepping suddenly from a dark passage into dazzling
sunlight, this unexpected abundance somewhat perplexed her. As so
often happens in life, both fortune and freedom had come too late;
to-day she had no use for her sudden liberty. Her impetus was gone,
her eyes dim, her hands tired, and although still occasionally vivid, her
imagination had broken wings. So she clung to us, the younger
generation, allowing us to plan and think for her, and we were gentle
masters, making all things easy for her weary soul.

I in particular was keen to demonstrate to her, as well as to others
who for many years had been onlookers, that the trouble we had had
together was not of my making. The moment power passed into my
hands and the ordering about fell to my share, all quite naturally

u

12

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

became peace and good-will ; no more intrigues and never a harsh or
ungracious word, only kindness and harmony, and pleasant under-
standing.

Even the “Chief Inquisitor” laid down her weapons, and true to my
principles, I did not pay her back in kind ; it was hard enough for her
to have to kiss her victim’s hand. So far as I was concerned, she as
much as anyone else had her right to her corner “beneath the face of
the sun.”

Before leaving Aunty for ever I want to paint a last picture of her
such as she would like to be remembered, for she often spoke of herself
as I am now going to describe her.

She is at Curtea de Arges, in the big hall of the Episcopal Palace,
where she had taken up her residence for several months “to be as near
as possible to her husband’s grave.”

She is seated in a carved arm-chair near a large fire which burns
upon an open hearth. Beyond the window lies the beautiful church,
all white, golden, turquoise and green, the sanctuary chosen by King
Carol for his last resting place.

Smothered in yards and yards of black crape, Queen Elisabeth is an
imposing figure, quite the classical widow, adapting herself to this new
part with the thoroughness always found in her different incarnations
all through life.

Her teeth are still magnificent, her back unbent, her eyes, though
deeply sunken and almost blind, still compelling and piercingly blue;
her hand still holds the tatting shuttle, and whilst with graceful gestures
she moves it hither and thither, she continues to talk and talk, endlessly
relating those many things already told too often and too often listened
to by those who have shared her life. She tells of her hopes, of her
ideals, of her illusions and disillusionments with that never-flagging
desire to share her thoughts with anyone who is ready to listen.

Her language is as coloured, high-flown and poetical as ever ; nothing
damps her enthusiasm, and she is as ready as in her youth to build
castles in the air, quite indifferent if they are shattered against the
sceptical indifference of her listeners. When the walls crumble, she
bravely begins to build anew, and their towers mount higher and
higher, as is the way with buildings existing only in imagination, and
which need neither brick nor mortar,

MY CHILDREN WERE OFTEN WITH AUNTY AT CURTEA DE ARGES

UNCLE S FUNERAL AT CURTEA DE ARGES

THE PASSING OF CARMEN SYLVA

13

On the other side of the hearth, in a chair, twin to her own, sits the
Bishop of Curtea de Arges. He, too, is a voluminous and imposing
figure draped in black, his beard lies like frost upon his cassock; with
folded hands he reverently listens to everything the Queen has to say,
from time to time nodding his head as though in approval, whilst the
flames send sudden bursts of light over his handsome old face.

His expression is a mixture of respect and non-comprehension, for
indeed it is not easy to understand Carmen Sylva’s flights of thought.
But she does not particularly expect to be understood, she only needs
an audience, someone to occupy the seat on the other side of the fire,
and the handsome, white-bearded bishop, with the cross on his breast
fits beautifully into her widowed atmosphere.

The world is still a stage to the Poet Queen, and the sable-clad priest,
enlightened or otherwise, is precisely the one touch needed to complete
a perfect picture.

My children were often with Aunty at Curtea de Arges, especially
Elisabetta, who was always the great favourite.

To the very last day of her life, the old Queen never ceased planning
all the good she meant to do, still the valiant defender and upholder of
the outcast, the desolate, the forsaken. It was much the same as it had
been the first time we had met so many years ago at Segenhaus, when
Carmen Sylva was suddenly revealed to me with her weird following
of blind, lame, deaf and dumb and those poor of spirit. For as she
used to say herself : “We really change very little all through the days
of our life. . .

Carmen Sylva died of inflammation of the lungs caught because of
her too-great liking for fresh air and draughts.

I was with her during the last night of her life. She died at dawn,
one hand in mine, the other clasping the bony fingers of the very old
maid with whom she had breasted the many storms of life.

We buried Aunty beside her life-companion at Curtea de Arges in
the lovely white, golden and turquoise-coloured church she had so
lovingly gazed at whilst seated by her hearth opposite the portly white-
bearded bishop with the cross on his breast.

We had faithfully remembered her wishes, so often expressed in her
moments of enthusiasm. Georges Enescu had transcribed for orchestra

14

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

a certain Haydn quartet particularly loved by her, and she had always
desired that it be played at her funeral : “Mein letztes Quartette.”

We considered it our sacred duty to carry out everything as she had
wished it, nor did we allow ourselves the luxury of many tears, for
Aunty had always impressed upon us that we must consider her death
as a day of rejoicing, a day of deliverance, the casting off of the irk-
some chains of the flesh so as to enter lightly into a land of light and
song.

Her funeral was very much a repetition of Uncle’s funeral a year
and a quarter before, except that being a Protestant, the church cere-
monies were less complicated. At Uncle’s funeral we had spent count-
less hours at Roumanian and Catholic prayers, as both the Orthodox
and the Catholic Churches claimed the honour and the right of burying
the old monarch.

Having died at Sinaia, he had to be brought back solemnly to his
capital, Sinaia skies crying over him as he was driven for the last time
away from the mountain home which had been his pride and joy. At
Bucarest he lay for several days in state, whilst his people passed in
thousands before his bier, so as to have a last look at the old sovereign
who had led them wisely for over forty years.

Finally he was brought to Curtea de Arges, and as on the way from
Sinaia to Bucarest, enormous crowds assembled at every station to
pay him the last honours, whilst the priests of each parish chanted
prayers over his coffin upon which, on the tricolour flag, lay his austere
crown of steel. Unlike the day at Sinaia, this was a wonderful October
morning, and I particularly remember the beauty of the Curtea de
Arges church, standing in brilliant sunshine against a superb wooded
background of russet, golden and scarlet leaves, and in the distance a
faint line of smoke-blue hills.

We, the women of the family, stood on the church platform awaiting
the funeral procession, the solemn strains of music heralding the
approach long before anything could be seen. There appeared first all
the flags of every regiment in the country, a grand parade of sacred
tattered banners, followed by an endless file of priests in gorgeous
vestments grouped according to colour, red, violet, golden, blue, green,
silver; many uniforms, many soldiers, crowds of white-shirted peasants.
But no foreign princes or deputations followed his coffin, for the whole

THE PASSING OF CARMEN SYLVA

15

world being at war, the princes of every country were scattered about
fighting on the different battle-fields of Europe. So old King Carol’s
was purely a national funeral and Roumania greatly mourned its wise
and venerable King.

Aunty’s funeral was very much a repetition of Uncle’s, with less
military display, but with the same honours.

I for one, sincerely mourned for the fine old lady whom we had
laid to rest. She had been a great personality, and with her a whole
epoch went to the grave. She was a unique figure — Carmen Sylva : the
Poet Queen.

Her absurdly magnificent romanticism, her grand amiability, her
large, generous heart and wide-sweeping gestures of welcome, which
made me declare that she felt like Mother Earth embracing humanity.
Her everlasting illusions and exaggerations, her never-to-be-damped
enthusiasms which, like volcanic eruptions, would shoot sky-high when
least expected. Her splendid belief in the impossible, her stupendous
faculty for seeing things as they were not, her melodious voice con-
tinually relating all her manifold emotions with that superb and dis-
concerting disregard of her audience, which so often filled me with
acute dismay.

Aunty, large, elemental like a river in flood, pacing her rooms with
restless tread; her contempt for prosaic measures, her unconscious
magnifying and distorting of everyday events, her winged imagination
and complete want of taste; her sense of fun and yet lack of humour.
Her kindly intelligence, her ardent impulse for charity and good-will
towards all men, but her passions that were too strong, her resentments
too primitive and virile to make forgiveness one of her chief virtues.

Intense, vibrant, exaltee, exaggerated both in love and resentment, a
mighty nature, with a small curiously childish side, which often made
her almost pathetically human, whilst she considered herself “ein
Ubermensch,” a dreamer of dreams, an ardent matchmaker, over-con-
fident, over-credulous, easily deceived, kind, charitable, altruistic, but
with something almost animal about her when her depths were sounded
and her passions roused.

Although because of our very different tastes and conceptions of
things, I was never very intimate with her nor a member of her “inner
circle,” I think that few understood Aunty as well as I did. I was of

i6

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

her caste, I had the same difficulties to face, in the same milieu, with the
same people : I had to make the same sacrifices, like her I had to crush
all personal desire, and to advance upon the same thorny road.

We were vastly different, our sense of values was not the same, but
there was a bigness about our two natures, a fine indifference to
exteriors and strict conventionalities which was a link strongly felt at
those moments when masks were laid aside and only essentials counted ;
I understood her when others could not and there were times when I
felt a flaming desire to defend her against the non-comprehension of
those about her. Her bigness was misunderstood : just at the moments
when she was most absurd, she was often most sublime.

Before I leave her once and for all, I cannot resist recalling certain
memories of her because she is indeed a figure our modern world
knows no more, La grande Romantique, and at the same time some-
thing of the schwarmerische Backfisch, too fond of Vergissmeinnicht.

“Oh! darling, come quickly, I have something to show you!” and
tripping over her too long robes, over-decorated with tasteless trim-
mings, she pushes me before her into a wee, dark little corner, turns
up the light, and I find myself in a queer little alcove all hung with lace.
Lace dangles from the ceiling, there is lace on the walls, lace on the
tables, couches and chairs, lace, lace, everywhere lace, good, bad,
precious, tawdry, lace of every kind, of every sort of thread.

“Mein Spitzenparadies !” says Aunty, and there is a rapt expression
of enchantment on her face.

And into this absurd retreat, all dripping with lace, the enthusiastic
Queen would gather a numerous company of enormously stout ladies,
all crushed up together with an artificial pink light pouring down on
their heads.

Aunty had an irrational predilection quite out of keeping with her
size, for tiny corners, a sort of throw-back to her childhood, I suppose,
and into these nooks she liked to crush all those then specially in favour,
no matter what their size, shape, age or disparity. On chairs, cushions,
couches, even on the floor they were gathered, as close up as possible,
and they all had to be tense, eager, expectant, and enthusiastic about
the topic of the day, be it Aunty’s latest poetry, her latest tatting pattern,
the last page painted for her Bible, the marvellous voice of the porter’s

THE PASSING OF CARMEN SYLVA

1 7

son, or the incredible literary talent of her maid’s niece. Everything
was in the superlative, a stupendous discovery, a God-given miracle
suddenly fallen from heaven down upon earth.

Aunty also talked to the Archangels, especially with Raphael, and
towards the end of her life all the wise words she spoke and all the
advice she gave us were, we were told, direct messages from this
luminous being who had, with the aid of a very dark-eyed lady, whom
none but Carmen Sylva trusted, special charge over Aunty and the
welfare of Roumania.

And while her golden voice raved about this or that, the draperies of
the Spitzenparadies swung and billowed about the heads and shoulders
of the stout ladies who, boxed up together in an uncomfortable and
unhygienic proximity listened in awed silence to all the Queen had
to say.

Yet in spite of this, Aunty always sang of the beauty of solitude and
of the awesome stillness and grandeur of mountain, forest and plain.
Great indeed is a poet’s imaginative faculty !

“Oh ! children, just listen, I have had such a marvellous inspiration !”
(This was after the old King’s death and Aunty had taken hold of
both my husband’s and my hands.) “Just listen. I have discovered
such a wonderful woman!”

“Who is it, Aunty?”

“Oh ! it’s a pedagogue, a woman of extraordinary talent, marvellously
suited to educate children.”

“Where did you meet her, Aunty?”

“I haven’t met her, I have neither seen nor heard her, but Madame

C told me about her; she is a treasure I must not lose, I must

secure this rare person to run my Curtea de Arges orphanage !”

Nando looked blank, but Aunty continued eagerly: “Yes, yes, you
know the orphanage I mean to build at Curtea de Arges?”

“Oh! yes of course, the town gave you a piece of ground?”

“Yes, they have promised to give me the ground, only I have not
got it yet.”

“And the money for building, Aunty?”

“Oh, the money! Why worry about the money? You know I never

i8

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

worried about money — money can always be found somewhere ; where
there is a will there is a way !”

I noticed that my husband was getting a little nervous, for he knew
something of the way in which Uncle had occasionally become uncom-
fortably entangled in Aunty’s charities, and he hazarded somewhat
timidly: “Is it not rather early to engage a schoolmistress before the
school exists?”

“Oh, no, not at all, I could not think of losing this remarkable
woman, although there is just one little complication because the hus-
band does not want his wife to give up the post she occupies, so I’ve
decided that I shall also pay him a monthly salary ; it is quite simple
and I’m so glad Madame C told me about this unique woman.”

Such was Aunty when enthusiasm moved her. She truly imagined
she was making an excellent and advantageous bargain, and yet she
had not even ever seen the lady in question !

And here is a last quaint little picture of the white-haired Poet Queen :

We are at Sinaia and it is Elisabetta’s eleventh birthday and Aunty
has had a wonderful idea! There has been a lot of mysterious whisper-
ing with her old maid, and Aunty’s smiles are full of promise. She
orders the open victoria with her four little Norwegian ponies so as to
drive in full state from her house to ours; the day is beautifully sunny
and Aunty is*all dressed in white. Pitter-patter go the horses’ hoofs on
the hard road, and hurriedly the guard turns out with a clatter of guns
and a flourish of bugles ; Aunty graciously bows to the soldiers, and
with a wide sweep, carriage and four draw up before our front door.

Eager servants, the scamper of children’s feet. “Hurry up! Lisa-
betta, where are you? Here’s Aunty, quick, Lisabetta, quick!”

Aunty descends from her carriage, her smile is a beaming light, her
arms are outstretched in that welcoming gesture we all know so well,
and suddenly we see that Aunty’s white dress is decorated over and
over with silk butterflies of many colours and of every size. Butterflies !

Elisabetta comes running down the stairs and close on her heels
comes also Mignon, both of them in their best birthday attire. Carol
has already received Aunty on the threshold.

“Well, my darlings, look at Aunty !”

Shyly the children stare at the delighted old lady in her flowing white
robe and streaming lace veil, and there she stands, one bewildering mass

THE PASSING OF CARMEN SYLVA

19

of coloured silk butterflies, her sweeping gown and veil all covered with
them !

“Now my sweet pets, you must pluck the butterflies off Aunty and
pin them all over your own dresses : it will look so pretty, so charming,
isn’t it a perfect idea!”

And Elisabetta, with compressed lips, heroically trying to overcome
her shyness, approaches Aunty with diffidence : and, although she would
much rather sink into the ground, because Elisabetta at eleven sees the
world with much more rational eyes than Carmen Sylva at seventy,
dutifully begins to detach those absurd butterflies and to transfer them
to her own dress. She hates doing this, it makes her feel a fool : besides,
this abnormal form of decoration quite spoils the look of her nice white
dress. But Aunty is in such a state of excited delight that it would have
been like disappointing a child not to pretend at least to be as pleased
as she is.

Luckily little Mignon is genuinely enchanted, and manages to stick
butterflies even into the thick strands of her fair hair. She floats hither
and thither, herself a butterfly, responding as she should to Aunty’s
idea of a treat. But Elisabetta watches her sister with a certain con-
tempt and wishes that Aunty had not such funny ideas : she feels utterly
miserable stuck over and over with those silly, gaudy insects so entirely
out of keeping with the dignity of her eleven years. But years mean
nothing to Carmen Sylva! She certainly does not see the world
“through a glass darkly” but sees all things according to the light of her
poetical imagination. Blessed be her memory !

Chapter III

THE CARES OF NEUTRALITY

Our life during those two years of neutrality was somewhat hectic.
Events were crowding in upon us with a torrent of contradictory news
from all sides, and as is the way with humans, each man believed, or
tried to believe, that which was most dear to his heart.

I was still in touch with Mamma in Germany and with Ducky in
Russia. Not yet being at war, my aid was asked from all parts for
transmitting letters, for helping prisoners, for searching for those who
had disappeared, and so on. My days were over-full, but I had efficient
help.

When I became Queen there was so much work to do that one single
lady-in-waiting could no longer suffice, so I chose three more — Madame
Irene Procopiu, Madame Simone Lahovary, whom we called “Simky,”
and Madame Constance Cincu — whilst Madame Helene Mavrodi, who
had been with me for several years, became Grande Maitresse.

I also asked that my husband should detach one of his A.D.C.s for
my personal service. I had to go about a great deal and needed a trust-
worthy follower, and times being war-like, I preferred to have an
officer rather than a civilian, and it was thus that it became an accepted
privilege that I should have my own A.D.C.

I chose Colonel Ballif, a somewhat austere and unbending, but
entirely competent and reliable cavalry officer, and this was indeed an
excellent choice, as the coming years were to prove.

The only member of the family who came to see us during these two
years of neutrality was my brother-in-law, Prince Ernie Hohenlohe,
Sandra’s husband, who was on his way to Constantinople, where he
was to take the Ambassador’s place for a while.

Ernie was our first direct contact with the German belligerent side.
I was hungry for news of everybody and everything at Coburg, and
yet it was a difficult encounter, as Ernie sensed which way the tide was

20

WITH MY BORZOIS AT SINAIA

*/"

NICKY AND ILEANA

21

THE CARES OF NEUTRALITY

turning, and I well knew that his contact with Nando was not without
danger. Ernie represented too evidently that German atmosphere dear
and familiar to my husband, and it was but natural that Ernie should
profit by his visit to further German interests; besides, Ernie was a
very sympathetic German agent.

Nando and I could not indulge in real summer holidays. The children
were at Sinaia, but we had to spend most of our time at Cotroceni, and
town was not pleasant during the great heat. I remember vividly the
relief it was to get up to Sinaia occasionally, and how much we then
enjoyed the wonderful mountain air and the children’s company.

Mircea had become such a delightful little fellow. He and Ileana
adored each other, but he was not an easy child to manage, and often
perplexed Woodfield, his English nurse, whom the children called
“Nini.” She was at her wits’ end to know what to do with the unruly,
stubborn little man, but Ileana had a wonderful influence over him;
both Ileana and Mignon had exceedingly motherly natures.

Although it was necessary that I should remain with the King as
much as possible, I was, all the same, asked to travel about through
different parts of the country to distribute amongst the poor a large
sum of money given by the King when he came to the throne. I was
very glad and very proud that I was the one chosen for this work,
especially as I was eager to get into close contact with my subjects.

Amongst our Liberal ministers there was one, Alecco Constantinescu,
a man of outstanding capability, who had instituted an excellent
organization for looking after the families of those who were called
(because of threatening times) to do military service beyond their usual
time ; and it was with the aid of this organization that the money was
to be distributed.

Constantinescu was a buoyant personality. Small, portly, jovial and
sly, he was eminently efficient, and self-assured to an infectious degree.
To Alecco Constantinescu all things seemed possible, also those not
usually considered absolutely correct. With a knowing wink of his eye
he was always ready to smooth out any complications. By his enemies
he was accused of more than one misdeed, but from a practical point
of view his qualities far outweighed his faults, as he had a masterful
way of overcoming difficulties and finding solutions to the most com-
plicated situations. Nothing appalled this rotund gentleman, who was

22

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

also a priceless appeaser of conflicts and an admirable negotiator
between troublesome opponents. Fie was a delightful and amusing
travelling companion, and a splendid organizer ; he loved his ease, good
food and good cheer and had a glorious way of ignoring the unpleasant
sides of life.

My daughters and I thoroughly enjoyed these small journeys, during
which we came to many places seldom visited. We were everywhere
most enthusiastically received and these many wanderings amongst my
people were precious to me. I came to distant villages not often reached,
and into contact with a great part of the population living far away
from high roads.

In those days all things were emotional. Knowing that most cer-
tainly a terrible struggle and terrible suffering would be ours in the
near future, I was really like the mother of an enormous family, fore-
seeing overwhelming events of which they were still mercifully igno-
rant. It gave a special quality to those visits and established a
sentimental link between us which coming struggles were greatly to
strengthen.

This same quality of febrile emotion ran also through the difficult
days I shared with the King.

Our country had become almost painfully precious to us, its future
was our constant preoccupation, and as time advanced we became more
and more aware that our neutrality could not be everlasting.

Personally I loathed neutrality; it was like walking on eggs, and
entirely out of keeping with my character. I detested having to be
eternally secretive and diplomatic, I always hated all pretence and shilly-
shallying. Neutrality obliged us to be careful of every word we said,
of every opinion we expressed. We were no one’s declared enemy, but
certainly we were no one’s friend.

War is cruel, hideous, awful, but it promotes heroism, whilst neu-
trality demoralizes a country. The way it is tempted, flattered, coerced
and pandered to from every side fosters a people’s greed and awakens
its lower appetites.

At the end of January, 1915, King Ferdinand wrote a personal letter
to the German Emperor, in which he explained the cruel situation in
which he found himself and how, in spite of his own personal feelings

THE CARES OF NEUTRALITY

23

and sympathies, he was before all else one with his people, who were
clamouring for the liberation of the Roumanians living beneath Hun-
garian sway. He said that if there was a general upheaval he would
be unable to prevent Roumania’s stepping in to claim what she con-
sidered her rights ; that notwithstanding his old loyalties, he was first
and foremost King of his country, and bound by oath to serve it
through every sacrifice. He also warned the Emperor that if Italy
broke her neutrality towards Germany, it would probably be impossible
to prevent Roumania from doing the same.

The Kaiser paid little heed to his cousin’s letter, and adopted a high-
handed manner towards us, little conducive to encourage good feelings.

As far as was possible, I kept in close contact with the Allies, and
both the King and Bratianu were continually calling upon my aid when
there was specially delicate work to do.

The Emperor of Russia and the King of England being both of
them my first cousins, it was easy for me to keep in touch with them
unofficially, and of course I was ready to serve my country in every
way. Being entirely trusted by both the King and his Prime Minister,
I was more initiated into State affairs and secrets than is usual for
queens. I was considered a valuable asset and therefore expected to do
my share.

In March, 1915, General Arthur Paget, accompanied by Captain
Carr Glynn, came on a mission to our part of the world, and we
received them at Cotroceni. To me it was a great relief to be able at
last to speak to an Englishman, and I explained our difficult situation
and also gave him a letter for King George, of which I here give a
copy, it being descriptive of our anxieties at the time.

COTROCENI.

March 1 y.h, 1915.

My dear George,

General Paget’s return to England gives me a safe occasion for sending
a letter. He assured me that you would be pleased to hear from me, so
I am only too glad to write, although these cruel times have taught me to
weigh every word and to be as careful as possible even when my heart is
bursting with the longing to say all that I really feel and think.

We are all going through anxious times, and it is terrible to contemplate
how much suffering there is everywhere !

Being neutral I get news from all sides, and each side, of course is dead-

24

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

sure of victory and does all it can to persuade us that for them, defeat is
unthinkable. We have to sit still and watch whilst conflicting passions rage
over our country, promises and threats being dangled over our heads.

Dear Uncle Carol’s death came at a very hard moment for us — leaving
us a tremendous responsibility at a time when the Fate of our country lay
in the balance.

You know what his politics were, and perhaps you have heard that the
last months of his life were saddened by a feeling of conflict between
himself and his people, because Roumanian sympathies were French and
always will be French, consequently to-day also English and Russian, but
above all furiously anti-Hungarian, as for years Hungary has been con-
sidered our national foe, which means that we are also against Austria
and Germany.

Even before Uncle’s death, the country began to worship in me one
whom they considered the supreme supporter of their national dream,
Transylvania; and when we came to the throne my popularity was very
great. This put me in a particularly delicate position ; it is flattering, but
I must not allow it to turn my head, for what is more odious than a woman
who makes politics “on her own hook.”

It is quite clear that public feeling is turning more and more towards
the side where my heart really is. No German success or victory shakes
Roumania’s allegiance, nor can make her believe that any but the Entente
can win. We have now pulled through the autumn and winter, guard-
ing our neutrality and carefully watching events. Italy pretends to be
our friend and to consider herself our elder sister, but Bulgaria, who of
course plays a great part as far as we are concerned, hates us.

It was both a joy and a relief to me to be able to talk to General
Paget and Captain Carr Glynn, as I could for once allow myself to speak
more openly, and they can also tell you many things I cannot put down
in writing.

We are well aware that the position of our country down here is of
importance to both sides, but we also know that whatever way we move
we are staking our whole future, even perhaps our very existence. Our
Government is most grateful to yours for its kindly disposition towards us.
I for one am of course delighted to see England at last take some interest
in Roumania.

Nando is placed in a cruel position, and I assure you it is terrible to
watch his suffering, as all his affections, convictions, and traditions are,
of course, on the other side. But above all, he is a man of duty and I
know that nothing will count for him in the end but the good of his
country : but, of course, he cannot launch himself into an adventure, cut-
ting himself adrift from the old moorings, unless he can absolutely count
upon the new. Russia could become a big bully if England and France

THE CARES OF NEUTRALITY

25

do not countersign her promises. We know something of Russian ways
and do not desire to throw ourselves into her huge arms without a safer
guarantee than her momentary affection. Of course the Dardanelles ques-
tion and that of our Black Sea Port is of paramount interest to us.

I well explained to your envoys our point of view and our needs, whilst
in turn they explained England’s side of the question. This has made
me feel happier, but I am, nevertheless, full of anxiety, but I pray that
in the end we shall be together !

As before mentioned, my position is delicate and all my tact is needed,
my own sympathies and feelings must be kept well in hand, the country
must be my sole consideration.

Up to the present Germany has always been a better friend to Rou-
mania than England ; may God help and allow us to choose the right way.

All I can say is that it did my heart good to talk to English people,
it was a moment of intense relief amidst many cares.

I hope that in spite of hard times, you and May keep well, and that
both of you will have a kind thought for me and my struggling little
country at a moment so all-important for us. Forgive the length of this
letter.

Your affectionate cousin,

Missy.

King George sent me a very kind answer to this letter which
encouraged me to write to him again and more fully.

It was Bratianu who begged me to write this second missive as he
rightly believed that a personal letter from me to the King of England
would receive more attentive hearing than any other.

This rather long and ponderous letter was as follows :

Cotroceni.

May 9/22,1915.

My dear George,

Your letter received some time ago was a great pleasure to me, espe-
cially as it is a great consolation in present troublous times to be in touch
with you and beloved old England.

Your declaration that England is ready to protect smaller countries
gives me the courage to come and worry you with questions of vital
importance to us and I therefore beg you to read this letter with patience
and sympathy even if it is long, and if it may seem strange to you that
I should, myself, be so keenly insistent. But I love my adopted country,
sharing its hopes and fears in a way rulers of larger states can hardly
conceive,

26

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

For many years I have longed that Roumania should get into closer
touch with England and now that this has really come about I should
like as clearly as possible to plead our cause even at the risk of trying
your patience.

The frontiers of the Danube to the Theiss, as well as that of the Pruth
in Bucovina, are essential conditions for Roumania’s security and develop-
ment.

I do not know if you are aware that, by an understanding come to last
September, Russia in return for Roumania’s promise of neutrality agreed
that Roumania had the right to occupy, whenever she considered it ad-
vantageous, not only Transylvania, but also other parts of Austria-
Hungary inhabited by Roumanians, as it is well known that Arad is the
centre of Roumania’s political interests in Hungary but Arad is not in
Transylvania. On the other hand the Banat of Temesvar, because of its
geographical character and because of its population composed of Rou-
manians, Serbians and Germans, undoubtedly constitutes a definite region
of its own.

The Roumanians are in greater number than the Germans, and the
Germans in greater number than the Serbs. It is therefore neither a
caprice nor a sudden pretension on the part of Roumania if she claims
this land, but a justified insistence that a previously concluded under-
standing should be carried out. It must also be clearly understood that,
if to-day we insist upon this demand, it is because we are well aware
that military intervention is much more weighty and will demand much
greater sacrifices than those anticipated last September.

The Allies have already reaped a great advantage by our attitude, for
Russia not only had no Roumanian aggression to fear but was also able
to send ammunition to the Serbians, whilst Turkey sees her defence of
the Dardanelles made precarious, as Germany was not able to send her
ammunition through our country. It would therefore be ungracious and
misplaced to begin at this late hour to wrangle about our claims.

Besides, any Serbian expansion on the left side of the Danube would
for ethnical reasons, inevitably be followed by Roumania demanding lands
on the right side, as the valley of Timoe is thickly populated by 300,000
Roumanians. (I am afraid all these geographical explanations must be
Chinese to you, but the places can be found on a map!)

We well understand the importance of the defence of Belgrade, but
that difficulty is less real, as the Serbians possess Semlin which is a guar-
antee for the complete defence of their capital.

A tete de pont Serbe on the left side of the Danube would certainly
be a cause of continual irritation between both countries, whilst if it
became once and for all an accepted thing that the Danube is a natural

THE CARES OF NEUTRALITY 27

and insurmountable barrier, the two countries could mutually develop on
their own lines, peacefully, without interfering with each other.

Added to these afore-mentioned reasons, there are also economic con-
siderations such as that the Maros, the Theiss and the Danube form a
line of communication of the greatest importance to countries and regions
exclusively inhabited by Roumanians. I would particularly like you to
understand that it is not caprice or obstinacy on our part, which makes
us so intransigent in this question, but because we are conscious of its
capital importance for us.

It is the same as regards the Pruth and Bucovina, where that river
forms our only frontier against Russia since she took Bessarabia away
from us, and if we have had to resign ourselves to this loss, it is never-
theless the most elementary instinct of self-preservation which prevents
our being able to admit that our enormous neighbour should poach on the
other side of the river.

The Bucovina as far as the Dniester was torn from Moldavia, of which
it had from all times been a principal part, by Austria in 1 777; it should
therefore quite naturally fall to our share if Austria is dismembered.

So as not to wound the Russian amour propre, we give up discussing
our claims to our richest part of this province which lies between the
Pruth and the Dniester ; but it would be illogical to admit that for so-called
principles of nationality, Russia should cross the Pruth to possess a popu-
lation of less than 200,000 Ruthenians, whilst we should be losing 1,500,000
Roumanians ! The town of Cernowitz, which is declared not to be in-
habited by Roumanians because it has been overrun by Jews and Germans,
is nevertheless one of our chief centres of “Roumanisme.”

Our geographical and military situation is such that we should be an
important factor towards helping to end this terrible war which seems
to have taken on the character of a lutte d’usure, but before Roumania
can decide to break her neutrality and cast in her lot with the Allies,
it isn’t unnatural that she should wish to assure for herself conditions
in keeping with the sacrifices expected of her and which she is ready
to make.

It would be dangerous to allow Russia alone to settle the Roumanian
question. In the actual circumstances the consequence of such a policy
could be fatal.

Roumania must not be accused of wanting to coerce the Great Powers
or to inflict upon them her point of view, but small as well as big
countries have a right to defend their most vital interests, and for the
small it is often a question of this very existence. It cannot be denied
that a small piece of Bucovina, assuring her frontiers, has a greater
importance for the future of a country the size of Roumania than for
the development of an enormous empire like Russia. What has but small

28

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

importance for the Russian Government, might become on our side a fatal
concession! For us, it is a question of necessity, dictated by the instinct of
self-preservation, whilst for them it is purely a question of caprice born
of a feeling of amour propre.

Forgive the tiresome length of all this; it must have been trying to
read, but in the actual crisis through which Roumania is passing, I felt
it my duty to lay the question before you so that you should uphold our
interests in the measure you may find possible. It is all I can do for my
country and you will, I am sure, understand the spirit which moved me
when I took up my pen to write to you personally.

I have great confidence in England’s sense of justice. May God not
forsake us, our whole future is at stake. I feel confident, and yet I tremble,
for it is terrible responsibility to throw one’s very existence into this
formidable venture.

God bless you and reward you for any help you can give us.

Your loving cousin,

Missy.

It really needed all my love for my country to induce me to write
such a lengthy letter to my cousin, a very dear cousin no doubt, but
who could not be expected to have any particular interest in the Timoe,
Theiss, Pruth or Dniester.

What lent a certain humour to the situation (for I can always see
the humorous side) was that, in our youth, we had played “geographi-
cal” games together under my Mamma’s critical supervision and I knew
that European geography had not been George’s strong point. Mamma
had been very withering in her criticisms of our ignorance, so I could
not help smiling whilst penning my lengthy missive inspired by patriotic
loyalty, for I could almost see George’s wrinkled brow whilst labouring
through it. This I did not, however, tell Bratianu, for I had come to
the bitter times when I had to take myself seriously; so seriously in
fact, that I also wrote much in the same spirit to the Emperor Nicolas,
but I shall spare my readers repetition (transposed for Russian ears)
of the same arguments sent to England, and shall only give a facsimile
of his answer as to-day the reproduction of his writing cannot but
deeply move all those who think of his terrible fate. (Pp. 31-34).

My letter to the Tsar was sent through my aunt, the Grand Duchess
Vladimir with whom I was in constant correspondence about the
exchange of prisoners, etc. She was a very important lady in Peters-
burg and very eager that we should come in on the Russian side.

THE CARES OF NEUTRALITY

29

I have all her letters and copies of all those I wrote to her, but I am
afraid of wearying my readers if I print them in full, although they
are very characteristic of the time; there are a few passages, however,
which I shall quote.

In a letter written on October 2nd, 1915, I say:

We have been following with breathless interest news of the French
offensive, praying that they may at last have a success. In consequence,
here for us there have been troubled days and there are no end of short-
sighted people who try to stir up public opinion against Nando, which
is a shame, because whatever his sympathies may be, he is first of all
the King of Roumania, and an excellent patriot. I have been told that
Russian money is being largely squandered upon this, and it is a great
mistake. Roumania does not need to be bought; it would be a good
thing if this were well understood in Petersburg. Roumania’s sym-
pathies are on the Allied side, and it would be much better for Russia
to use her money on Bulgaria which is, it seems, still hesitating, and
the people, I believe, are very unwilling to move against Russia because
of former sympathies: well-applied funds in that direction would be much
better invested than in Roumania!

This I must also say: Nando may not be very energetic, but he has
a curiously strong dose of resistance, and the more he is coerced and
threatened, the less will he move; he is not what one may call a man
of action, mais on ne pent pas I’intimider. Besides I am there to help him
fight his battles, and I am a good watch-dog I can assure you! All this
you may repeat where you consider it useful and my advice is : let well
alone, for in trying to force things by unfair and even humiliating means,
instead of helping the cause, you may be ruining it.

It would be better, in close understanding with your Allies and in
agreement with us, to work so as to create such military conditions as
would make our co-operation possible without leading our little country
towards a disaster we are not willing to face.

I also wrote to my sister Ducky (the Grand Duchess Kyrill) who
had been anxious about the German propaganda, on August 20th, 1915,
and this is an extract from my letter.

It is certainly difficult to discuss political questions to-day — they are
too burning, too explosive — and each man becomes too passionate as
every country’s fate is in the balance. But I can only tell you one thing:
here, in spite of German successes and the non-success of the Entente,
our people still have absolute confidence in the Entente’s victory. I am
even astonished at this because it must be remembered that the Roumanians

30

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

are des Latins and Latins adore success, but they are staunchly sticking to
their sympathies and all the most clever and lavish propaganda has not
made them change, though these last military events have somewhat sobered
their belligerent enthusiasm, as no country cares to commit suicide unless
its specialty is war and its King a Rauberhauptmann, which our dear
Nando certainly is not.

As for money, alas, yes, it has been spent and squandered everywhere,
and there are always greedy hands to be found and false hearts that can
be bought even to their country’s detriment. You know this in Russia,
alas, better than anywhere else, but here it would never assume such
proportions and would be reduced, I think, to a few Geschafte! I do not
think it could make traitors in the army, although to-day one hears so many
horrors one would never have thought possible.

German money has been extraordinarily profuse everywhere, in all
ways that nation is completely and systematically organized, but their
policy and politicians are heavy and our Latins are never quite dupes,
although for some, of course, as everywhere else, money has an irresistible
scent !

You cannot imagine with what a bleeding heart I follow your retreat,
hardly daring to open a telegram. Luckily all those in my personal
service, my ladies, Miss Milne, the children’s governess, my A.D.C., are
completely “Entente,” only with Nando I must use tact always.

The Grand Duchess Vladimir in answering one of my letters wrote
the following:

Petrograd.

12 th June, 1915.

My dear Missy,

I just received the enclosed letter from Nicky in answer to yours
which I handed over to him. As you wanted me to read it first I did
so and was full of admiration of the clever way you knew how to speak
for your country — the real language of a real queen! After reading
your letter I spoke to Sassonov and pleaded your cause. I have the im-
pression that both he and Nicky are sincerely willing to come to a good
understanding with Roumania, and to bring about a satisfactory alliance
with you, making certain concessions, but of course, Russia has also other
obligations, etc. . . .

And here she repeats more or less what the Tsar said in his letter.

All these different correspondences show how actively interested all
sides were about our intentions and how I did all I could to make

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THE CARES OF NEUTRALITY 35

Roumania’s attitude understood by our future Allies who were almost
as anxious as our enemies.

Earlier in the year 1915, I received the following private communi-
cation from the British Military Attache in Sofia, which proves how
the Entente counted upon my help.

British Legation
Sofia.

March 29 th, 1915.

Madam,

Your Majesty will, I hope, pardon the great liberty I am taking in
addressing you direct by the post, but I believe it to be in the interest
of my country, of Roumania and of Bulgaria that Your Majesty should
be informed. Privately speaking I believe that in spite of Mr. Rado-
slavov’s public declaration of neutrality, at the present moment the Bul-
garian Government is very well disposed towards the Triple Entente.
The visits of General Paget and also of General Pau were both very
opportune, and both Generals were enthusiastic at the way they were
received by the King of Bulgaria.

In my opinion there is almost as much distrust of Roumanian inten-
tions in Bulgaria as there is of Bulgarian intentions in Roumania and
yet I am convinced that neither country has the slightest intention of
attacking the other.

If the Roumanian Government would now give Bulgaria an assur-
ance of sympathy in the event of Bulgaria joining the Triple Entente,
I believe it would assist the Government here towards deciding to come
in with us.

I beg Your Majesty to treat this letter as entirely private and con-
fidential and not inform even my own Legation at Bucarest, and forgive
me the liberty I have taken in presenting my humble duty as

Your Majesty’s most obedient servant,

H. D. Napier, M.A.1

1 This letter was written only some ten days after the sinking of three British ships
in an attempt to force the Dardanelles.

Just before that calamity the Bulgarian Government had begun to realize the
probability of the forcing of the Straits, that they could no longer afford to sit on
the fence, but must join the Triple Entente without delay. Then came the news of the
check to the British Fleet, which gave the Bulgars time to pause. Meanwhile Turkey
had been greatly alarmed and some of their refugees, and railway archives, had
reached Philippopolis.

It was more important at that time for us to secure Bulgaria’s assistance, owing to
her geographical situation, than that of any other country, and my endeavours were
directed towards allaying her suspicions of an attack from her rear when engaged
against the Turks.

In fact, I had been accredited first to Bulgaria, and subsequently to Roumania also,
with the object of helping towards a rapprochement between these two countries.

36

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

So many years have passed since this letter was written that I think
to-day it is no indiscretion to publish it. For me it has a double interest,
firstly because it reminds me of the time when I was called upon from
all sides, and secondly because it had constantly been one of my chief
regrets that England was always more inclined to trust Bulgaria rather
than Roumania, and I well remember how many heated discussions I
had on this subject : Why does England believe more in Bulgaria than
in Roumania ? Or, to put it into my own sort of language : Why on
earth is England sentimental about Bulgaria?

I never received an answer to this question!

1916.

For the New Year Ion Bratianu sent me the following letter in
answer to my good wishes. I give the letter in facsimile (see pages
37-40) because times pass, quickly away and all things are soon for-
gotten. As the text is French in the original I translate it also into
English.

Bucarest.

8/21 January, 1916.

Madame,

The gracious words Your Majesty deigned to send me have a special
significance amidst the trials we are enduring.

The goodwill Your Majesty never ceased showing me has often per-
mitted me to call upon your personal co-operation in grave circumstances.

I shall never forget the precious aid she has been for Roumania and
the Roumanian cause.

While gratefully thanking Your Majesty for her gracious kindness,
I beg her never to doubt my unalterable devotion to herself and her
family whose greatness is inseparable from that of my Country.

I am Your Majesty’s most respectful servant,

Ion Bratianu.

As time advanced, Nando clung to me more and more, I seemed to
be his anchor, the one thing he could hold on to in this world of suffer-
ing. He knew also that although my sympathies were with the Allies

Extraordinary times demanded extraordinary measures, and I considered myself
justified in writing this letter without involving the Legations to which I had been
attached.

H. D. Napier. (November, 1934.)

PRESIDENCY

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THE CARES OF NEUTRALITY

4i

I felt no hatred towards the other side, only an immense pain that this
misery of having to choose had come into our lives.

From all parts I was called upon to help, and I was always ready to
do so as this little letter from Herr von dem Busche proves, which he
wrote to me in English on October 8th, 1915.

Your Majesty

I have been informed by the Chancellor that the Russian Govern-
ment has agreed to exchange Baron von Korff and Count Palianowsky
for Baron von Lowenfeld and Landrat Peters. Herr von Bethmann
Hollweg orders me to express to Your Majesty his most respectful
thanks for the great human interest shown to our imprisoned func-
tionaries.

Your Majesty’s most obedient servant,

Busche.

It was thanks to the close touch I kept with the Grand Duchess
Vladimir in Petersburg that I was able to plead for prisoners in Russia.
My aunt was a very active and influential lady and was one of those
who found time to answer every appeal.

On the other hand, the Emperor William, wildly elated by recent
victories, was sending snorting telegrams which passed en clair through
our country. One, to his sister, Queen Sophie of Greece, contained
loud threats against any who would dare oppose his victorious armies
and his Deutschcr Gott.

All this was very painful to my husband, more especially as in his
own country there was a turbulent war-party which tried periodically
to stir up ill-feeling against the King, considering him too passive and
pretending to doubt his loyalty.

Chief amongst these was Nicolas Filipescu, an honest and convinced
patriot, but hot-headed and over-ready to give vent to the violence of
his political passions. Having been War Minister, and a very efficient
one, in a former Conservative Government, he had retained the some-
what pugnacious attitude of the military man: besides, he never had
any real sympathy for King Ferdinand.

I, on the contrary, found favour in his eyes, and as it also fell to my
share to try and tame those in too vehement opposition, it was con-
sidered wise that Nicu Filipescu and I should come together.

42

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

So as to avoid any official meeting, a ride through the Buftea woods
was organized, for Nicu Filipescu had the virtue of being a horse-
lover, and we believed that a conversation on horseback might be
conducive to good understanding.

Well do I remember that ride towards evening through the summer
forest, when I had to make use of all my feminine tact to try and quiet
the belligerent gentleman, who was already brandishing his sword for
the entry into Transylvania.

I patiently and mildly explained the King’s point of view, his sense
of responsibility, his reasons for caution, begging him to restrain his
ardour and not to doubt his King, who was as ardent a patriot as he,
but who could not precipitate himself into a wild adventure before he
had come to a perfect and also safe understanding with his future
allies.

The ride was a success : I cannot say how much I was able to pacify
Nicu Filipescu, but it strengthened our regard for each other.

I often came towards evening to ride in the Buftea woods, escaping
thus for awhile from the heat of Bucarest.

Buftea was a well-run property, quite near the capital, and Prince
Stirbey had cut long avenues through his forest along which we could
gallop for miles on good ground. The Prince and three of his daughters
were excellent riders, and we were happy all together.

I loved these woods with their carpet of flowers changing according
to season, from the little yellow crocus to the deep violet pea-flower of
full summer, which spread its gorgeous clusters of colour over the
ground. When I close my eyes I can still smell the pungent odour of
the scrub oaks, so particularly aromatic of an evening when they
seemed to exhale their very souls into the cooling hours of dusk.

With steaming horses and glowing cheeks we would return full of
joie dc vivre to the cosy old-fashioned house where Nadejde, fresh and
radiant, would be awaiting us on the threshold inviting us in for a
welcome meal, tea or supper according to the hour of the day.

Nowhere were the strawberries and raspberries as large nor the
cream as thick and butter as fresh as at the Buftea board, and how
I enjoyed the exquisitely fresh little peas and home-baked bread, all
those good things I had once known in English country houses. There
was also that pleasant atmosphere of family life lived “far from the

THE CARES OF NEUTRALITY

43

madding crowd” and many a happy hour have I spent under the
Stirbeys’ hospitable roof, surrounded by faithful hearts in which I
could trust.

At Mogosoia, Marthe Bibesco had also open doors. The flowers she
cultivated were beautiful and I was fond of sauntering with her
through her grounds, appreciating her excellent taste and keenly inter-
ested in the clever way she was restoring the old Brancovan palace
which stood reflecting its beautiful but lonely face in the still waters it
overlooked.

We would paddle in small boats through the high reeds and watch
the marvellous Roumanian sunsets turn sky and water to flame.
Dreamy evenings full of melancholy charm which George Valentin
Bibesco would occasionally dispel with his boisterous activities, whilst
Marthe’s soft voice would evoke a thousand dreams and also a thousand
illusions which life swept away like chaff before the wind.

There was also Alexandrine Cantacuzene’s place, Ciocanesti. She
was a Paladi by birth, one of the friends of my youth. Small, ani-
mated, “le verbe facil,” she was always earnest and is to-day our
foremost feminine leader whose name is well-known through all the
reforming world.

She had a dear old house on the borders of a large lake, and she too
planted many flowers and invited me to make harvest of her fields of
La Tosca roses, so fragrant, loose petalled and delicately pink. Because
of the heat, it was always at the hour of sunset that I came to these
country places, so the visions retained are those of a world saturated
with glowing orange light.

But the most poignant remembrances I have are of the late evening
drives my husband and I used to take in the summer of 1916, the last
weeks before war was declared.

I knew all the King was going through, how his heart was torn and
tortured with doubts and regrets. Worn out by the soul-conflict he was
enduring, he was sleeping badly, so when the day’s work was over I
used to tempt him out. He loved driving his motor and I would sit
beside him without many words ; what he needed was the constant
presence of someone who knew his trouble without trying to talk about
it, and who was all the same there if he wanted to discuss the approach-
ing events.

44

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

Nando was exceedingly hazy about details of everyday life. He was
a man of habit, but I think he never truly realized how his house was
being run. I never bothered him with details, always preferring extra
work rather than trying to explain things to those slow of execution;
but this, of course, had made me an important, if not always recog-
nized, factor in our home. This habit of counting upon me for his
material comforts had been unconsciously extended also to brain-work.
I grasped things easily, even those not really within my province, and
my old attitude of not taking myself over seriously allowed him to
ignore how great a help I really was. This was important or he might
have crept back into his shell. Nando was easily suspicious and needed
handling with extreme care. All this, to explain how warily I had to go.

But he liked these evening drives. A blind urge impelled us to seek
out and to see again ajl those places we had cared for in our youth.

The future lay before us like a fiery portal we should have to pass;
all the unknown, lay beyond. To-day our country was still ours as
we had always known it and we wanted, so to speak, to feel, to touch,
to grasp it once more before great changes came.

So we drove in every direction, towards the hills, towards the
Danube, far out into the immensity of the sunbaked dust-veiled plains.
Those were wonderful evenings when feeling almost bodiless, we
seemed to be flying through the haze of sunset, files of creaking carts
coming towards us, heaped with hay, with wheat or occasionally with
huge pyramids of orange tomatoes like freights of gigantic precious
stones. The peasants patiently plodding beside their stone-grey oxen
would raise their sheepskin bonnets and stare after us through the dust.

On the road to Giurgevo I possessed a small country house sur-
rounded by fields and a large park with beautiful old trees. This place
had been left to me by a very old gentleman, an uncle of the before-
mentioned Nicolas Filipescu. In the years when motors had come into
our lives, abolishing distance, I had discovered this shady retreat and
loved to roam over its forsaken, grass-grown paths. Instead of resent-
ing my trespassing, the old gentleman, who had loved this place in his
youth, was touched when he heard that his blonde Crown Princess
had such a predilection for his abandoned grounds, and when he died
I suddenly found myself the owner of Copaceni.

This filled me with delight. It was the first piece of land I had ever

THE CARES OF NEUTRALITY

45

possessed, a ground over which I had undisputed rights and with which
I could do as I would, embellishing, improving it according to taste.

I always had the faculty of enjoying things to their utmost and of
getting others to share my joy, so Copaceni had become dear to us all.
Although in those days I had not a penny of my own to spend, I lived
in the happy dreams of what I would do one day. . . .

Now, the material means for realizing those dreams might have been
within my reach, but we were facing a future that for the moment
allowed of no happy plans.

But our evening drives often ended at Copaceni where we would
sup on the open veranda of the very old house, which I hoped one day
to make beautiful, and I tried to get Nando to unburden his heart, and
to ease his oppression with words.

But often we sat side by side, silent, chin on hand gazing out into
the night, watching the stars come out one by one, lighting the skies
with mystical signs. Our thoughts hung heavy on the stifling, dust-
filled summer air, we could almost hear our heart-beats, but words
came with difficulty; each one had to be torn from the depths of our
separate pain, and more than ever I realized in those hours how cruelly
each man is a fortress unto himself.

Chapter IV

THE DECISION FOR WAR

And then came the King’s birthday on August 24th. We received the
ministers in the big golden Cotroceni drawing-room. It was a hot
summer’s day and I had dimmed the light, for our faces were pale and
I knew my husband’s thoughts.

An atmosphere of tremulous expectation lay over this ceremony; the
King was fighting back his tears and I stood beside him helping him
through the ordeal. Bratianu presented the Government’s congratula-
tions in well-chosen words, accentuating the faith and trust they all had
in their King. Every sentence was heavy with significance, but each
utterance was still guarded; nothing positive was pronounced. Nando
answered, his voice trembled somewhat, but noblesse oblige, and a new
dignity had become his since he was King. To-day he was facing his
people as sovereign, his role had changed. For so many long years he
had only been Uncle’s obedient echo, now he stood out in the lime-
light, his was the responsibility, he had to take decisions, but I stood
beside him ; there was assurance in my presence, he felt this and so did
his Government.

And from now onwards I shall allow my diary to relate what came
to us. I have described every single day from the I4thj/27th of
August onwards and the first entry is :

Cotroceni, August i<\/2jth, 1916.

I awake this morning knowing what is going to be — I have known
it for many weeks, am one of the only ones who have known it. I have
carried the terrible secret about with me without speaking of it as others
were not to know. I have laughed and made plans and have acted as
though everything were as usual, and yet I knew.

What a beautiful morning, how silent and peaceful it is, yet I know
that it is going to be war !

46

THE DECISION FOR WAR 47

War! For two years it has been kept off, for two long years and
now it is to be — war !

How much has happened, how much have I seen and heard and
done since last I wrote in this book. A pity I did not put everything
down day by day, event by event, but I was too lazy, also too busy.
Then other writings filled my mind and time. But to-day I can think
of nothing else but that it’s to be war — war.

And we are a small country with enemies on both sides, yet it is
to be war !

Dear old Aunty is dead! She was mercifully taken away so as not
to see this. It is better that she went before, her heart would have
broken over it, if there had been something left of it to break.

She believed that the Germans alone had a right to win, to exist,
because it was their turn to rule the world, they were the chosen people,
etc., etc. . . .

Yet in spite of all this, it is towards the other side that our country
turns, it believes in the final victories of the Allies, it hopes to realize
its great dream!

Are we right, are we wrong? I know not, but the moment has come.

Oh, the struggles it has cost, the doubts, the anxiety, the fluctuations
one way or another.

Poor Nando, I know all that he has gone through. I know so many
things, I have been so intimately mixed up with it all day by day
almost.

Although a woman, from the first I have been trusted : I have been
told many secrets, I have known all that was going on. I have hoped
and despaired with them and now the moment has come!

It has been so much talked of that one hardly believed in it any
more. For two long years we have preserved our neutrality, coerced,
insulted, bribed by first one side then the other. Many profited by it,
some have become rich, others poor, and now the die has been cast
and it is war — war on the side of the Entente.

It is war against Austria. It is war perhaps also against Germany !
Our little country has become the Ally of dear old England, of France,
of Russia, of Italy, Serbia, Japan. Also of poor heroic little Belgium
and shall I also count Montenegro?

On the north we have the Austrians, perhaps the Germans, against

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

48

us . . . and in the south the Bulgarians, and yet I have always been
told that we are not strong enough to make war on two fronts. Well,
we shall see!

Both sides tried to bribe us, to buy us, to win us for their cause.

I believe rivers of money have been poured over us, yet at the bottom
of their hearts my Roumanians had but one real sympathy — France;
but one ideal — Transylvania.

Certainly there was a party for Germany with old Carp at the head,
reasonable people, which made it all the harder for Nando; but they
couldn’t carry it against the real feeling, the feeling for the other side.
Once, before Serbia was annihilated, we were told it was our time for
coming into the great dance. At that moment Serbia still existed and
Bulgaria had not yet joined hands with Germany, but Sarrail had
no troops !

In some ways the situation would have been more favourable, but
at that moment the Russians were beaten and we could have no contact
with that side.

My head spins when I think of all that has gone before, it already
seems history! The one great reality of this moment is that we are
at war !

The last two or three weeks have been poignant; I knew the day
that it might be and had to live as though I did not, because the date
had to be kept absolutely secret, success depending on absolute silence :
we have so many enemies in the country — and the Germans have such
wonderful spies.

I had the feeling I must leave Nando alone as little as possible;
there could be but one solution, all his hopes and desires could not,
dared not, count against that. I saw it coming all along, saw that the
hideous sacrifice could not be spared him, it would have to be made.

With all my affection I tried to lead him to the realization of this,
to help him face the greatest grief of his life: the going against the
country of his birth, against his brothers, his friends, against all that
he had loved and believed in, all that was his youth, his memories, his
sympathies : truly it was a mighty sacrifice, but ne made it because
before all else he is the King of this country, a good Roumanian, and
he too finally believed it best.

Such things happen in this world; such sacrifices have to be made,

THE DECISION FOR WAR 49

for fate is stronger than reason and patriotism stronger than personal
sympathies.

Only I and one other know what he has been through. Day by
day have I seen him suffer, struggle, doubt and hope, but the cup had
to be emptied, the last drop had to be drunk ; nothing was spared him,
neither threats nor prayers, nor calls upon his honour as a Hohenzol-
lern, as a German officer; he was reminded of former treaties, of old
Uncle’s inheritance, of all the politics that had been.

And from the other side he was looked upon as an enemy, with
suspicion ; his own country doubted him, he was called traitor, coward,
he was insulted in the papers, nothing was spared him.

Few believed what I told them, that when the moment came, he
would make his sacrifice, but that he would not make it too soon, at
the last moment only, so as to keep off the horrors of war as long as
possible.

All this summer of 1916 it has been coming nearer and nearer,
especially since the Russian advance; it was the sign that our hour
was approaching, our great hour — but it had so often been put off,
no one believed in it any more, but I knew. I knew the dates, I knew
the conventions, so day by day I hoped and feared. Of all hideous
dreads war was the worst, and yet I knew that the honour of the
country stood higher than that dread. Owing to circumstances I was
more intimately mixed up with it than most queens would have been.
My shoulders were considered broad enough to carry certain weights,
my heart was considered large enough to have the right courage; so
I was not kept out of things, and when needed, I was used as a help.

And so it came that I knew the date of the 14/27 August long
before others knew. Arrangements had to be secretly made, everything
depended upon secrecy. Thank God Nando and I had two men in
our house we could trust, Barbu Stirbey and Colonel Ballif, our
A.D.C., two men we knew that no one could bribe.

At certain moments one must have the courage to trust people —
these two we trusted and not in vain. Pages and pages could I write
about it all, there is so much to say, but too much to write it all down.

I was at Sinaia when the political convention with the Allies was to
be signed. In certain words it was to be announced to me by tele-
phone when the great moment had come. (Prince Stirbey sent me the

50 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

message and Simky Lahovary who brought it to me did not know what
it meant.)

The message came to me when I was in bed. I simply said “Thank
you,” as though it had been a quite simple message.

There I sat in my bed alone and knew, knew that it was war — war !
That ten days after the signing we were to come into the great struggle,
that we were to live or die!

Shall I ever forget that emotion ! To know that the die was cast, that
there was no going back.

Next day I got up with my heavy secret and the whole world seemed
changed. I laughed with the others, talked with them, but could hardly
understand that my voice hadn’t taken on another sound. It is awful
to carry such a secret alone!

Then came this great and terrible day.

I sat in my room, knowing that down below Nando was facing all
his ministers and statesmen, was standing up for a cause that went
against his instinct, knowing also that he would not have everybody
with him as he hoped, especially because then it would have better
justified his action before the eyes of those who had hoped he would
have put his name of Hohenzollern before his honour as Roumanian
King. For three mortal hours I sat waiting for what was coming, and
I remembered how in August, 1914, old King Carol had called together
a great “Conseil de la Couronne” at Sinaia, when he tried to persuade
his people to go into war on the side of Germany and Austria in whose
victory he absolutely believed. All his statesmen were against him ex-
cept old Carp, the only man he had never been able to get on with.
And yet it was to be his fate to stand alone with that one man to
back him, the man he had not liked. A tragic moment when he felt
all his work crumbling, or rather the crumbling of the politics he had
firmly believed in and so constantly lived up to.

He died soon after, died, in fact, of a broken heart. Before his death
he was still to see that the war was not going on as he expected. The
entry of England and the battle of the Marne shook his conception of
things.

He expected the French to crumple up as in 1870. The first weeks
of war seemed to confirm him in this belief, the overrunning of Bel-

THE DECISION FOR WAR

5i

gium, the advance into France; but the battle of the Marne changed
the face of things.

Once when old Aunt Elisabeth said: “Let us all die and go up to
heaven together,” Uncle severely answered: “I don’t want to die, I’m
too interested, I want to see this to the end.” He was not destined to
see the end.

Yes, I sat there thinking of all this and wondering what I was to
hear. Then came the hour when I did know : the hour when it was
settled : War on the side of the Allies !

Maioresco, Carp, Theodor Rossetti and Marghiloman made oppo-
sition. Carp violently because he always had but one conviction, that
Roumania’s only chance was with the Germans, because the Germans
were sure to win. He was an honest man with an honest tongue that
sometimes ran away with him, and at the end of this Crown Council
he became excessively rude.

Maioresco, it seems, was oily and polite, for such was his way.
Marghiloman was for neutrality and developed the theory of the
illogicality of going in on a side where victory would mean the Dar-
danelles and Constantinople for Russia, whom he considered Rou-
mania’s classical adversary; besides, he had gone too far in one
direction to be able so quickly to change face, but he remained polite
as he always was.

Poor Nando stood up against them (and these, let it be added were
those he liked best) and had to uphold the others because he considered
it his duty to decide that way. It was a great moment of supreme
sacrifice which he made for his country; may God bless this sacrifice
and may it be a sacrifice for Roumania’s good fortune !

The declaration of war was to be handed by our Roumanian Min-
ister at Vienna to the Austrian Foreign Office at six o’clock and that
same night our troops were to cross the frontiers at certain points
already decided and prepared for a long time.

We had to tell the children, who knew nothing, to tell our German
servants, which was most painful.

The servants mostly volunteered to remain with us, but certainly
they could only do so under certain conditions; more or less as
prisonniers de guerre.

Chapter V

THE FIRST WAR DAYS

I cannot of course copy out my diary day for day: it would be too
long, and much of it is repetition, so I select that which best tells my
tale, occasionally copying out several days in succession, then leaving
gaps when nothing of particular importance took place.

The I4th/27th August was followed by the usual war excitements,
mighty enthusiasm, the departure of troops, bustling and eager prepara-
tion on the part of the Red Cross. The organizing of private hospitals
(amongst others my own in the Bucarest palace), the fraternizing
with our Allies, the receiving of deputations, the cruel breach with
many who had been friends.

The King was the hero of the day, for he had said the words which
had been expected of him, he had drawn his sword; the doubters were
ashamed of having doubted or pretended that they never had done so.
This tremendous outburst of enthusiasm helped Nando over his sac-
rifice.

It was not considered safe that we should remain at Cotroceni,
which was a military centre, and therefore particularly exposed to air-
attacks, so Nando and Carol went with Headquarters to Scroviste
Peris, and I with our five other children to Buftea, the Stirbeys’ place,
the Prince’s family moving to a smaller house in the same grounds.

From here I was continually driving backwards and forwards to
the town or to see the King at Scroviste, or to visit hospitals. My
own hospital was not yet ready as I had not dared begin any prepara-
tions before war was declared, but with the help of Prince Stirbey and
Ballif I had been secretly laying in stores for some time past.

At first our troops advanced rapidly into Transylvania to the im-
mense exultation of the capital, but I watched their advance with
anxiety. We were so inexperienced, and, though brave, our army was
small, and how could we expect to stand out against such adversaries ?
Why should we imagine we could rush in and win?

52

THE FIRST WAR DAYS

53

The Allies indeed had promised all sorts of military aid, especially
the Russians, but what would they really do ; what would they be able
to do?

A terrible feeling of restlessness came over me, also a disagreeable
sensation of impotence. Where could I help? When could I help?
For the moment our people were cocksure, but I trembled before the
reaction which was sure to come. Were we sufficiently prepared?
What would Germany do?

The answer was not long in coming, as shall soon be seen.

On August 30/September 1 2th, 1916, I wrote this letter to the King
of England:

My dear George,

I want to send you a word by General Georgesco, so as to tell you
that although we tried to keep off war as long as possible, I am happy
now that the great moment has come for us, that it is on the side of
England that we are fighting. I always knew that it would end like
this, indeed I was confident that it would not be otherwise, but the
struggles were hard and poor Nando has made a tremendous sacrifice
— the greatest that can be asked of a King and of a man ; to go against
his own brothers, against the country he was born in, that he loved.
I alone know all he has gone through, nothing was spared him, but I
also always knew when others doubted, that he would do it, when the
good of his country demanded it.

We are living through anxious days, our frontiers are very long, we
have enemies on both sides and we are new to war — to the modern
horror of war. We are a small country and we are risking our existence
— we know it — but we have courage and confidence in the final result.
The loss of Turtucaia was grievous ; our people are so enthusiastic for
the Transylvanian side they are inclined to overlook the great danger
of the Bulgarians, who are good soldiers and hate us with a deadly
hate. I only hope Russia will keep her promise and not leave us in
the lurch: it would be disastrous for us as well as for the Entente,
if the Bulgarians were not beaten. With the Bulgarians well beaten,
the face of things would certainly change. They are not an enemy one
can afford to despise, for they are courageous, ambitious, false, they
are led by Germans, have German artillery and are also fighting for
their existence. Large countries cannot realize what little countries have
to face at such moments — “To be or not to be.” We know this and
yet we felt that war must be, for the sake of our future, for the sake
of the good cause.

We are separated from England by the whole of Europe, yet we feel

54

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

that England can be our great support and it is England that we
trust. I never imagined that it would be the lot of our generation, we
who were children together, to see this great war and in a way to have
to remodel the face of Europe. Why I am so anxious about the Bul-
garian question is that I well realize its tremendous importance, not
only from our point of view. We were quite ready to leave the Bul-
garians alone and even ready to give them back a bit of the ground we
had taken from them in 1913. But I want you to understand that at
this moment I am only considering the general cause. The Bulgarians
must be beaten : that would mean the fall of Constantinople, Serbia
saved, the Allies’ armies on the Danube, and the circle around the Cen-
tral Powers quite closed and getting tighter and tighter. Yes, I confess
I am anxious about that Bulgarian side. Our country is profoundly
enthusiastic about the advance in the North, as there lies all its ideal,
the dream of hundreds of years, which it is now fighting for. I know
that one of these days the great battle will have to be fought down in
Dobrugea, and I must say, I tremble because so much depends upon it.
There is nothing of the coward about me, but I have my eyes wide open
so as not to be taken by surprise. We are new to war for the moment ;
in spite of all one has heard and read about it, it is one’s own first losses
which make one realize things entirely.

This letter is just a confidential letter from cousin to cousin, written
badly, written in haste, because my hands are full, and there is so much
to do and see to which one must do oneself.

Once more let me tell you that I am happy we are together in these great
and terrible times, and let me have the feeling that we can always turn
to you when in need, as there may be very hard times to face. I am
not afraid but I am anxious.

My best love to May.

Your affectionate Cousin,

Missy.

Buftea, August 30th/ September 12th, 1916.

A tiring day. Went early into town to see about my hospital.
Everything goes much more slowly than I would like. Went to visit
the Gerota Sanatorium. Was very pleased with how it was kept. The
invalids looked comfortable and clean. There were a good many
officers there.

Lunched at Cotroceni with Nando after a meeting of the com-
mittee for my ambulances, which seem to be satisfactory. The sum
of money has increased splendidly, even my dear regiment sent me
money; I was very much touched.

THE FIRST WAR DAYS

55

After lunch walked about for nearly three hours in the military
hospital; any quantity of wounded who looked pretty comfortable, a
few only were badly wounded. One, dying from a shot in the spine,
was in terrible pain but happily almost unconscious.

They always greet me with touching joy so I think my visits are
really not useless. I bring them flowers, sweets and cigarettes.

To the most badly wounded I try to talk a little longer. They
hardly complain at all. The thing which touches me more than I can
say, and brings tears to my eyes, is that when I ask them if they are
suffering they one and all answer: “Yes, I am suffering, but never
mind as long as you become Empress of all the Roumanians.” It is
the eternal refrain, each humble little life is ready to bleed to death
as long as I become “Empress of all the Roumanians,” for there are
such follies in the world. I suppose it is these follies that make
humanity do great things. May God bless their effort and may their
suffering not be all in vain. It makes me feel so humble. Why should
they have to suffer, to give their lives so that I should rule over many,
and amongst which, if really there is to be a day of victory, these
simple creatures will probably be no more. It is the eternal why.

One man — he was quite young — who was terribly wounded by a
dumdum bullet, was lying on his stomach because no other position
was possible to him ; however he turned his head round to look at me.
“Hard did they hit me, Mamma Regina,” he said, “hard did they hit
me, those enemies.” I bent over him with tears in my eyes and asked
if he was suffering. “I am suffering, Mamma Regina,” and then came
the eternal refrain, “but may you live to become Empress of all the
Roumanians.”

I could not bear it, it seemed almost too much, I could hardly see
all the other faces because of the tears which blinded my eyes.

They all keep looking at me when I enter a room as though all their
eyes took possession of me; a strange weight to carry, the look of so
many eyes — I never knew it would be so heavy. All those eyes, one
after another, staring up at me, some with love, some with astonish-
ment, some with sad indifference, some with joy which lights up their
faces, some with mute pain, some as though calling for help, but one
and all resigned, terribly resigned. These days I have bent over so
many beds and looked into so many eyes — and they all follow me

56 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

wherever I move, each way I turn, I feel them upon me, hundreds
of them. . . .

Came back to the palace to see the ladies for my hospital who had
all been called together. So many have volunteered that I have too
many ladies! Madame Henri Catargi, the wife of our Marechal de la
Cour, is at the head of it, a practical and energetic person with a
tremendous sense of order, a regular general in her sphere.

Drove back to Buftea for a late cup of tea and immediately started
off by motor to plunder Didine Cantacuzene’s flowers at Ciocanesti for
my wounded. I had permission to take as many as I need.

A marvellous evening, the sun going down on one side, the moon
rising on the other, large, round, magnificent. Came back in the
dark with a flower-filled motor, the moon lighting our way with
almost fearful radiance.

I kept wondering how many dead faces were staring up at this
same moon, and worse still how many wounded who have not been
picked up !

The war news to-day was pretty satisfactory, but what will the
coming days bring us?

Buftea, Monday, September ^th/i8th, 1916.

I am desperate not to be able to help; I feel I ought to be doing
something, something useful, something energetic. But what can a
woman do in modern war? These are no more the heroic times of
Jeanne d’Arc. I only know that if I were at the head of things I
would not sit down and mope ; I should want to be everywhere at once
and see everything with my own eyes.

But it’s so easy to say what one would do when one is not going
to be called upon to do it ! But I am anxious, I have a sort of uncom-
fortable feeling that there is confusion amongst our leaders.

Later.

A lovely day, fresh, clear, delicious, invigorating air. The first news
brought me to-day was not too bad. I pray to God that it may not
become worse. Our troops are fighting bravely, and the Russians have
begun their attack to uphold them. My prayers, all my prayers are
with them ; may God give them the courage and the strength they will

THE FIRST WAR DAYS 57

need. Materially and morally these fights are so terribly important
for us !

Evening.

No definite news, but at least nothing bad, although we know the
Germans have detached troops from France to send to fight against us
in Transylvania. They very naturally want to beat us from both sides
at once. Otherwise the news in general is decidedly to the advantage of
the Entente.

Since we are at war it is as though the time before were cut off with
a line of fire. I seem to remember another country, another people,
another life, another me! Just now I have no patience with people
who cannot stand little worries. When the governess me fait la tete
because one of the maids cannot see her cousin, or when the nurse is
dignified and melancholy because the meat was tough and could not
be eaten “by those poor little darlings,” then I feel exasperated. But
it is all-important that I should control my temper and keep my feel-
ings to myself, for so much depends upon my own good-humour.

Everybody of course is offended with Ballif because he is the gaoler.
I must admit he is severe in a military fashion which is not always
either agreeable or pleasant ; but order must be maintained.

Buftea, Monday, September I2th/2$th, 1916.

. . . Lunched at Cotroceni and directly afterwards went back to
my hospital. I had something to do in the upper rooms of the palace
where Aunty used to live, when suddenly I heard violent shooting. I
went out on the balcony to find the sky full of small white puffs of
smoke and the shooting from all sides becoming louder and louder. In
vain I scanned the sky for the much-hated aeroplanes : the sun was in
my eyes, and I could see nothing but that marvellously radiant sky
and those little balls of smoke so dazzlingly white. It was rather a
lovely sight and somehow did not in the least inspire me with any
feeling of anxiety, though I was mildly excited. What was not, there-
fore, my horror when on going downstairs again I found my hospital
in a state of turmoil because of a terribly wounded soldier who had
been brought in from the street. At the same time we received the
news that hundreds of people have been killed and wounded in different

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

58

parts of the town. The Coltea and Brancovan hospitals are full of
terribly mutilated human beings carried in from all sides.

For three mortal hours all hands available worked frantically to try
and save the life of the unfortunate man who had been brought to us.
A bit of bomb had pierced the upper part of his right leg through and
through, cutting the big arteries ; the man was in fact bleeding to death.

Our surgeon set about operating on him and endeavouring to staunch
the blood he was losing in buckets. My ladies behaved admirably, every-
body volunteering to help, even those least accustomed to such sights.
The worst of it was that the man, being in a state of semi-collapse
because of the loss of blood, could not be chloroformed and so had to
stand the whole thing without the help of anaesthetics.

I went in several times to see how he was. The man only groaned
deeply and fearfully but never uttered a cry, and once, when told that
it was the Queen who had come to see him, he actually stretched up his
lips to kiss my hand!

I did not leave till we were able to get him to bed, his arms and
legs hung up so as to drive the blood back to his heart.

It was a tragic afternoon; consternation and indignation reigned in
the town.

For some time they would not let me drive home, so afraid were
they of a fresh attack.

And it was such a beautiful day: how was it possible that death
should be hurled from that glorious, gorgeous sky?

What folly has been let loose over the earth?

It seems a priest was walking along the street, holding a small child
by the hand; the child was killed, but the priest had his arm only
slightly wounded. Popular superstition will have it that it’s unlucky to
meet a priest, how much more so therefore to walk with one in war-
time !

September 1 2>th/26th, 1916.

Early into town for hospital work. Hardly was I there than the
aeroplane scare began again. Once more the blue sky was full of
bursting shells, once more death streamed down upon us from the
heavens. I saw something like a snow-white bird high up in the air,
something that with outspread wings exactly resembled the classical

THE FIRST WAR DAYS

59

symbol of the Holy Ghost, and from that almost imperceptible speck
of white in the shape of a dove, from that “Taube,” murder and dis-
aster were hurled down upon innocent inhabitants peacefully walking
in the streets !

Bombs fell about Cotroceni; I was not there at the time, but later
on, when driving to lunch, we saw an unfortunate horse lying on the
road with his legs blown off.

Now, at the first signal, all the policemen whistle as do also the
Boy Scouts and then as many people as possible take shelter, because
it’s always amongst crowds and agglomerations that they throw their
bombs so that as many as possible should be killed at once ; this is, I
suppose, the “Strafen” system.

Our poor man brought in yesterday, seemed rather better this morn-
ing, but towards evening signs of blood-poisoning set in and there is
a question of amputating his leg, bu.t even this may be too late.
Horrible ! And yet he is so brave ; never complains and is grateful for
all one does for him.

It is very difficult to get any real military news. I can find out
nothing, but there is bad news from the North. One the line towards
Ramnic, German troops have managed to slip in behind our army and
cut off the railway: but I cannot* discover how many troops, nor if this
is really serious news,

Chapter VI

THE GERMAN INVASION

Buftea, Friday, September 23rd/ October 6th, 1916.

Really bad news came this morning. After breakfast Ballif asked
to see me, and the moment I saw his face I knew I was going to hear
hard things. On these occasions I feel as though I were to undergo an
operation and that I must steel my nerves to the utmost.

Very bad news from the Bra§ov side. Our beloved country is in
great danger of being invaded by the Germans! Can any thought be
more fearful? One knows what it means; destruction in every form
— in this case also nameless humiliation. But each time, when receiving
such news, my first cry is ; it cannot be, it must not be, it will not be !

The horror is that we are such babies, so unlearned in the art of
war, and if the Germans really oppose great forces against us what
can we do? We are not sufficiently armed to stand out against mass
attacks. We were led to believe that they would not be able to detach
great forces to send against us, that their desire and their power to
punish were not one and the same thing.

Washburn, the American war correspondent of The Times, con-
siders our front, and our mountain passes in particular, of paramount
importance to the general cause. But not for a moment did he try
to hide from me that our situation is most serious. I cannot help
liking and trusting this queer American-speaking, little stranger. He
seems to have a heart as well as unusual intelligence and wide, far-
seeing perceptions. I quite realize that it is difficult to make others
understand exactly why I imagine that this little man could be of use
to us, but I feel it with all my instinct which does not generally deceive
me. I have more often been helped than harmed by my trust in people.
It needs courage to trust people ; I have that courage and am not sorry
that I have it, though it may often make more cautious and distrustful
people squirm. Each man can only act according to his nature; mine

60

THE GERMAN INVASION

61

is one of impulse and action, my weapon is truth, with me instinct is a
quality. I have always found that putting people on their honour makes
them give their best, makes them act up to their higher selves. If
some people ha.ve no higher self, more shame they! But I never regret
having tried to get at it even if it has sometimes meant misplaced
confidence. I do not mean by this that, like poor old Carmen Sylva,
I am ready to confide my own and other people’s secrets to the first
flattering adventurer who comes along, but I maintain that at certain
moments one must have the courage of confidence as well as the courage
of action, because it is not always by sitting still and pondering that
one wins the game !

I went into- town to my hospital, where my daily morning, visits are
awaited with pleasurable impatience, which is the only recompense
I need.

My own back is very painful for I have caught some kind of infec-
tion. Had it bound up. Some serious operations in my hospital this
morning. One poor gipsy, when under chloroform, began to declaim
patriotic speeches, he spoke so touchingly that he made those about
him weep. He then called for me, for “Mamma Regina,” who in a
vague way represents all the mothers of Roumania. To me also he
said curiously moving things. We get extraordinarily fond of these
patient, suffering men : they are so simple and so quietly grateful for
every care.

Our. hospital is already very full and runs smoothly. It would be a
disaster if circumstances obliged us to move. Where should we go?
Where should we transport our wounded, where make a new home
for them all? All day long my brain is racked with these difficult
questions and finds no solution, none at all because at the bottom of
my heart I can never really imagine that this could come about !

Ileana came for the first time to see the hospital and helped serve
the meals to the wounded with a little white cloth on her head like
those I wear: she looked too sweet with her huge blue eyes, and all
the soldiers were enchanted to see her; they love children.

As a rest I took a ride in the woods of Buftea, galloping my beloved
Grui for all he was worth. Riding remains the one thing I really
passionately enjoy.

For supper I invited Washburn and asked Stirbey to come after-

62

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

wards to make his acquaintance ; I wanted them to know each other
and to enable this interesting little man to explain his point of view,
because I continue to feel that he could be useful to us.

He has been on all the fronts and has “made all the Russian re-
treats” as he quaintly expresses it. He has seen terrible and tremen-
dous things, so he trembles for us.

Buftea, Saturday, September 2^th/ October jth, 1916.

Spent most of the day in my hospital. Towards evening the King
sent Washburn to me; they wrant me to write a letter to the Tsar. I
did so, putting all my heart into the appeal I sent to him for help ; the
forces sent out against us are too strong. I have no military news
to-day, I am almost afraid to ask.

In the evening Mircea and Ileana played in my room as in the
days of peace; it did me good to hear their happy, innocent voices, to
watch their games. What hard times these poor little things still have
to see!

Mircea is such a quaint little fellow, so intensely stubborn. We
always speak Roumanian together. Ileana is his slave, she adores him
like a mother, and has an excellent influence over the unruly child.

The letter I wrote to the Tsar ran as follows :

24^ Sept. 1916.

My dear Nicky,

If I write you to-day, it is not as cousin but as Queen of a country
I dearly love. We have bravely entered this war, well knowing what
we were doing and that our resources are not beyond a certain limit.
From all sides our Allies assured us that when we came in, such tre-
mendous efforts would be made on all the fronts at once that we would
not find ourselves fighting against forces quite beyond what we could
cope with.

Now we have come to the realization that we are facing tremendous
and immediate danger, and that unless we are helped at once, it may be
too late and we may have to experience all the horrors of invasion and
destruction.

It is as a woman and as a queen that I make my appeal to you, to
the man and to the Emperor ! Send us the help we ask for at once;
it is not a question of weeks but of days, or it may be too late and one
more country will fall victim to the general spirit of hatred and destruc-

THE GERMAN INVASION 63

tion. I need not tell you that the hatred in this case would be without
limit.

I am not in the least ashamed of sending you this cry for help. I
am trying to save my country by every means and nothing shall I leave
undone, and surely there has been already too much bloodshed and de-
struction : why should my innocent people also be destroyed ?

I believe our military situation is most critical, for we find ourselves
facing much greater forces than we were led to expect; therefore if we
are not to be destroyed we must be helped, and you alone can help us
and must help us, Nicky !

I ask no forgiveness for sending you this letter, Nicky, because when
one stands before the greatest crisis in one’s existence and when one
sees the danger of the destruction of all one has built up, and all one
has lived for, of all one loves, then it is one’s duty to stand up and cry
for help.

Your loving cousin,

Missy.

This cry for help shows that we were in a cruel plight and that the
Russians were the only Allied troops which could come to our rescue.
In those days we still had great faith in the Tsar’s power to help, he
was the only Allied sovereign with whom we were in direct contact.

Buftea, September 26th/ October 9 th, 1916.

Aeroplanes continue to make ravages. Many men were killed at
Chitila to-day ! They do quite horrible things, these death-birds !

The King came to see me after lunch. I found him depressed ; cer-
tainly there is enough to be depressed about. I tried to persuade him
to go about more, he will stand things better then. If I were King
I would go everywhere, see everything myself and talk to the troops,
be amongst them continually, till they would adore me and gladly go
to battle for my sake. I would be a reality amongst them, not a name.

War is such a tremendous reality, one must break away from old
rules and conventions. What matter other people’s objections? There
are occasions when one must judge for oneself, bravely face one’s fate,
break away from old chains, have a new freedom to do great deeds
upon one’s own responsibility.

Perhaps I am uttering stupidities, but I do feel so strongly that the
King needs to throw off certain old bonds, old habits, all those restric-

64 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

tions which stifle free action. Oh! sometimes I do mind being a
woman.

“Si j’etais Roi . . . !”

Whenever I came home in the evening it was my joy to be with
my two little ones, Ileana and Mircea, and we used to have great
games down in the big Buftea drawing-room. Mr. Denize, Nicky’s
tutor, was their great friend. He had endless patience with children
and knew how to amuse them. Nicky tyrannized over Denize, who
could never be really severe with him. Nicky seemed to have quicksilver
in his blood, he could never keep still.

But one day Mircea awoke not feeling very well. I am not an
anxious nor a fussy mother, but in this war atmosphere everything
becomes poignant, terrible and I looked with uneasiness at my beloved
little boy, though at first I would not believe that he was really very ill.

The pages that follow are full of intolerable pain. I wrote every-
thing down day by day, but I only give extracts because the reading
is too sad.

At the same time there was very bad news from the front, disaster
at Turtucaia, our people fluctuating between fear and hope. The
emotions of a crowd are always violent, swinging over from one
excess to another ; it is difficult to steady public opinion, to keep panic
away, or over-exaggerated rejoicing of which the reaction is often
despair.

I felt all this, but for the moment I could not step in and help;
everybody was too excited, too rudderless, they had to give way to
their tumultuous feelings.

I often visited the King at Head-quarters and made the acquaintance
of the different foreign generals and envoys.

Chief amongst these was General Berthelot, head of the French
military commission sent to help us. General Berthelot was a cheerful,
portly gentleman, full of refreshing optimism. I liked him straight
away, but I saw at once that he would have much to learn before he
could understand our Roumanians and the exact situation. I longed
to explain certain things to him, but realized that it was too early, he
would have to discover them for himself. Besides, how could he at once
believe in me, a woman! He could not know that I knew more than

THE GERMAN INVASION 65

most, that I was well-informed and that just because I had so to speak,
a back seat, I could see more clearly than those who received only
official reports. But I had to bide my time, look on, be patient and
grit my teeth and be prepared to face the worst.

Colonel Ballif had all-seeing eyes and he gave me solid military
advice, sometimes hard and dreadful, but always terribly to the point.

Chapter VII

I LOSE MIRCEA

Buftea, Monday io th/2yd, October, 1916.

Salut a toi, malheur, quand tu viens seul! But misfortune never
comes alone, it comes in numbers to try and see how much one can
bear : Mircea has typhoid fever — I was afraid it was this, and it is ;
he is very ill and the Dobrugea is nearly lost to us, Constantza has
been taken, our own people have blown up the big bridge over the
Danube, King Carol’s dear bridge, the love of his heart; the bridge
before which Aunty used to remain in ecstasy each time we travelled
on the Danube.

What the losses have been I do not know, but the situation is in-
tensely serious; again they begin talking about evacuation.

One blow came after another. I sat quite still, wondering how much
a human creature can stand at a time.

Evacuate with Mircea in this state? Go I know not where, I know
not how, and the child in this state?

But sometimes trouble comes over one with such force that one
feels quite numb, as though nothing could hurt one any more.

Yet, desperately I go on hoping; children do not always die even
when fever rages for many days. I always hope in adversity, it is
my nature to have hope and faith and trust.

Only one thing I have noticed; in this time of war and disaster
such dying is passing over the earth that those who are ill seem to
go more easily, as though the spirit of life were actually overcome by
the spirit of death.

Had moments of intense moral suffering. Nando came to dinner,
his version of the military situation was a degree less bad than the
one Bratianu sent me ; but all is to be feared.

Unbearable to see Mircea lie there a helpless little heap with glassy,
staring eyes, and not knowing whether he recognizes me or not. The

66

I LOSE MIRCEA

67

first days he still protested, was loud in his likes and dislikes, could
even joke, had certain jokes he produced especially for me because he
knew they amused me; he had a certain way of saying “Pfui docco!”
to the doctors, which was my delight. . . . He no more says “Pfui
docco!”

What is going to happen? Is my child to be taken from me? How
can one stand it? How does one stand just this one thing?

Buftea, Tuesday, iith/2<\th October, 1916.

Mircea seems to be sinking, even after wet towels his temperature
has gone up. He no more talks or professes any likes or dislikes.

May God help me; I am trying to prepare myself to face it if it has
to be.

Constantza is lost; but the bridge, it seems, has not yet been blown
up. Berthelot says we can and must hold out.

Buftea, 12th/ 25th October, 1916.

Day of struggle and anguish ; three times my Mircea nearly slipped
away.

Towards evening a ray of hope; the night was terrible.

Saw General Berthelot and had a long earnest conversation with
him, as I consider that he is the man who must help us save our
country; he has more experience than we have, and we must listen
to him.

Told him my child was dying, that perhaps God would ask this
cruel sacrifice of me; but in spite of this terrible thing which was now
completely absorbing me I wanted to speak to him of my country, so
that I should not lose both child and country at once !

Have not the courage to write down all our conversation, but had
the feeling as though I were making my will !

Berthelot is beginning to understand that although a woman, I know
what I am talking about, and that I count for something in this country.
All those who really do their duty have faith in me.

Buftea, Friday, October 14 th/2jth, 1916.

A monstrous nightmare lies behind me. Did I live through a night,
a month, a year? I hardly know.

68

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

At half-past twelve Ballif comes to call me. Like a dart I am out of
bed — it was an understood thing that he should call me — and rushed to
Mircea’s room. I asked no questions, Ballif offers no explanations:
“Son Altesse Royale va mal’’ — laconic, but full of cruel meaning, a
promise of terror to come.

And it was terror.

I found him already half gone, he had not been able to stand his
bath nor the wet sheets, the pulse was dying away and every means was
being used to revive him — artificial breathing, stimulants.

From time to time a tiny result, then a fresh collapse, till at last the
doctors had the feeling that all was over, nothing more to be done.

They laid him in his little bed: all white he lay there, his eyes half
upturned in their sockets, their whites injected with blood. His hands
and feet were icy.

I felt as if I were made of stone, no tears, no words; I was but
one inarticulate prayer.

Someone whispers to me that there had better be a priest; with a
dumb nod I consent.

They bring a priest, a quite simple village priest, and he gives him
the Holy Communion, and there I sit and wait.

From time to time I look up at the anxious faces around me, beg-
ging for a ray of hope, but there is no hope in any eye.

We send for Nando and Carol. I first call in Miss Milne, then
Elisabetta, then Mignon.

Little by little shadows gather round his bed. I do not turn to
see who they are, but all those who come are, I know, loving and full
of anxious sympathy. Once good portly Denize leans over me and
says: “He’s sleeping.” Denize is short-sighted and the light was faint,
he really thought he was sleeping. Beside Denize, straight and silent,
Captain Georgescu, the officer of my regiment who has been attached
to me, stands as though on guard; they all want to have a last look
at the dying little innocent. I hear women’s sobs, but I myself have
no tears . . . and so the hours drag on.

We had lighted a taper at his side, a holy taper; it burned steadily
beside two pink roses Nicolas had sent in to his brother that morning.

There is a commotion — Nando and Carol have arrived from
Scroviste, they come into the room, both quite wet with the thick mist

MIRCEA

NICKY IN BAMBINO

THE KING AND THE CROWN PRINCE ON THE FRONT

GENERAL AVER ESCU AND COLONEL BALL1F

I LOSE MIRCEA

69

which had made their way agonizingly slow: a dreadful drive that
must have been through fog and darkness, at the dead of night with
fear in their hearts.

And the hours drag on. . . .

A kind voice whispers to me that it may still last many, many hours,
will I not go to bed ?

I have no will to rise from my chair — I feel I must sit there on and
on as long as he breathes.

The doctors bend over him, feel his pulse, say that it is less weak,
that it can last . . . probably will last, and again voices urge me to
go to bed.

Stiffly I rise to do so, for perhaps if I rest, others will also rest, but
can there be any rest when one’s brain is so full of suffering?

And yet I did sleep and in the morning at seven they tell me that
he is better, that the temperature has gone down suddenly, too sud-
denly ! It may mean that last night was the crisis, but it may also mean
the beginning of the end.

But the improvement maintained itself, only there is no clearness in
his head, no recognition in his eyes, great torpor, complete indifference,
and this makes me anxious.

I feel like a ghost walking about; all is stiff in me, my brain, my
heart, my limbs; even my tongue seems unwilling to speak, because
the things I would have to say are things that hurt me too much.

But I am quite calm, I do not know why I am so calm.

My four ladies came to lunch, for I thought it unkind not to see
them, but when I am suffering I like being alone. I do not want to
talk, I have nothing to say, all my strength must be used to suffer
decently without upsetting others, without making a fuss.

The day dragged on with no better news and no worse. I did
nothing all day but wait and hope and fear.

Between the 23rd and 29th October there was a slight improvement
in Mircea’s condition and I even had the courage one day to dash down
to a village near the Danube to visit my regiment. They let me know
that they would soon for the first time be under fire and wanted to see
me before, if possible, to receive my blessing.

It was a long way, on difficult roads, and I was torn by the fear of

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

70

leaving Mircea for several hours, but at the same time how could I
fail to answer the call of my regiment? We meant so much to each
other and they wanted to see me.

So I went. . . .

It was a terrible drive, a poignant meeting, in a little village, all the
men hidden away in the peasants’ houses, but the news of my coming
spread like wild-fire and the whole regiment assembled and as I passed
down their ranks I wished them good luck.

Then back I rushed over endless roads towards sunset, the sky a
blaze of colour, a stupendous sight, an angry but magnificent sky, burn-
ing red and orange streaked with cruel-looking clouds, a sky well in
keeping with the anguish of my soul. Then the return to the house,
Mircea deadly pale — my heart stopped beating, but he opened his eyes
and looked at me ; Mircea was still alive.

Buftea, Sunday, October i6th/2gth, 1916.

My forty-first birthday! And what a beginning to it! After a terri-
ble night passed between anxiety and hope, at seven (or was it even
six o’clock! — I really no longer know which), I go in to his room to
find Mircea almost gone. As usual they bring him back to life and I
am able to go down to breakfast to receive kind words, but, thank
God, no congratulations; everybody feels that congratulations would
be impossible.

The moment I can escape, I dash up to see how he is, find him just
a wee bit better but always that ghastly cry, those terrible sightless,
upturned, bloodshot eyes. They assure me that he will anyhow live on
a few hours, that without too great fear I can rush into town to my
hospital ; and I actually have that extraordinary courage ; I only have
it because these days I feel of stone, as though the terrible anguish
had dried up part of me.

At the hospital, flowers, flowers and anxious faces. I smile at them
but I cannot talk, I ask them not to talk, tell them that I cannot bear
words. I make my round of the wounded, my arms full of flowers,
my birthday flowers, I leave whole packets on each bed. Kind eyes
everywhere and each soldier murmurs with his thanks a wish for the
health of “Prin(ul Mircea.”

I don’t feel my body, I only know that I smile, continue to smde,

7 1

I LOSE MIRCEA

but my lips are too stiff to talk, and thus on, on, from bed to bed
as though there would never be an end to those many beds. . . .

Poor General Dragalina, who has been brought to my hospital, is in
great pain for his arm is infected; they are to operate on him this
morning and are afraid he will have to lose his arm.

After my visit to the wounded who this day gave me as much
sympathy as I gave them, I had to go up somewhere to be “congratu-
lated” by the ministers. They too avoid many words ; the room is
full of flowers, beautiful flowers, but my only thought was “perhaps
they will be laid on a grave.”

I made supreme efforts for an hour and a half, then I flew to my
motor and dashed home. What a pace we went! I shut my eyes, the
wind beat and tore at me — was I alive or dead, or was I a ghost or
simply dreaming?

On returning to Buftea I dashed up the stairs to find my child
nearly gone, his pulse was giving out; again I stood in the presence
of death, but once more the doctors forced back its shadowy, out-
stretched grasp, forced the poor little sufferer back to life!

I cried out to them to let him go, that the torture was beyond my
strength, let him go ! It’s so easy to go and so difficult to remain, and
each time my heart dies with him and the moment hope filters back it
is killed anew by a fresh crisis which threatens to carry him off.

I cannot, cannot stand any more, and those poor eyes, and that

dreadful cry!

He cannot live and he cannot die, it is a ghastly fight. But my own
strength is leaving me ; I feel as though I could stand no more, no
more of those dreadful moments, poring over his changed little face,
being told that all is at an end, that there is no more hope, that he is
going . . . that he is nearly gone, and then again a ray of hope.

I have much less courage to-day somehow ; I cannot sit in his room
and hear him scream. Six days of this mortal anguish has nearly
worn my resistance away.

For two hours this afternoon I lay like a dead thing on my bed,
unable to go into that room of pain. Yet they say that he does not
suffer ... but I, I suffer till I can no more.

Maruka came to me, it did me good: Maruka is one of the only

people I can stand.

72 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

I could not go down to dinner, I could face no more inquiring
eyes to-day.

And yet, as it was my birthday, I wanted as many people as possible
to have a treat in spite of my grief. Each man must carry his own
grief and burden others as little as possible, so I gave orders that my
regiment on the front should receive wine and good things to eat, that
the village children of Buftea should be given cakes, that my wounded
in the hospital should have some extra treat. I sent money and flowers
to the ladies helping in the poorer hospitals so that a little joy should
be given to those who have not the luck of being in bigger hospitals.

I must not forget that I am “Mamma Regina,” not only Mircea’s
mother.

But the dreadful struggle lasted several days more, and on Novem-
ber 2nd this is what I wrote :

Buftea, Thursday, October 20th/N ovember 2nd, 1916.

There are two beings living in me just now, one who watches and
sees and another who suffers. Because of these two beings I am able
to write down all these words.

This last night was less bad than we expected and this morning his
state is no better and no worse than it was yesterday.

The little fellow continues his heroic battle against death. No sign
of consciousness, the eyes still like dead eyes. He screams no more,
but for two days he has an incessant movement of the jaw, clacking
and grinding his teeth.

M idday.

I think he is sinking. The doctors say nothing, but I think he is
sinking. . . .

Afternoon.

He is sinking, now I feel sure he is going . . . going soon. . . .
Evening.

Mircea died at nine, his hand in mine.

It is “Allerseelen.” . . .

... All Souls Day.

I LOSE MIRCEA

73

We buried Mircea in the old Cotroceni church. The trees in the
court-yard had shed all their leaves.

We carried him away from Buftea and the Stirbeys were angels of
kindness. The Prince had a quiet way of doing things, never many
words, only efficient help, but you feel that he is suffering with you.

Silence alone could make me bear my grief.

The church was full of white chrysanthemums and lighted tapers.
Many people crowded around me, the church was crammed, but I rec-
ognized no one. The little coffin, which I had wrapped round with an
old piece of red and golden brocade, was let down beneath the stones
of the church. I knelt beside the gaping hole. Everything was dead in
me, and when I stepped out again into the daylight I felt like a ghost,
and all the faces looking at me were the faces of ghosts. The whole
world was dead.

Chapter VIII

EVACUATION IN SIGHT

Unable for a time to bear my usual surroundings I decided to make
a tour through Moldavia to visit the wounded.

I took with me Nini, Mircea’s nurse and also Madame Mavrodi and
Ballif. It was already very cold, but in those days I only possessed
an open motor, a heavy Mercedes which was not without defects, so
my long drives of inspection were often very exhausting.

I began my tournee at Jassy, which was glad to receive me.

Thursday, October 2jth/N ovember gth, 1916.

3rd day in Moldavia.

Started at eight to see the hospitals at Roman. Visited three of
them and found several lady acquaintances, all of them bravely doing
their duty.

From there to Bacau along a very straight road passing many vil-
lages. Russian troops in quantities, met almost only Russian troops,
most picturesque. Their uniforms are dust or mud-coloured, mingling
completely with the tint of the roads, the bare hills and the peasant
huts. Arrived at Bacau where I also visited three hospitals in which
I found many severely wounded. From Bacau on towards Tetcani,
very pretty country winding slowly upwards, wild and picturesque
scenery well in keeping with the Russian troops that were massed in
all the villages. They looked quite at home, cooking their food, brush-
ing down their horses, cleaning their rifles, singing.

They wear large grey astrakhan caps and very short blouses with a
leather belt. They have thick, earth-coloured overcoats (the colour of
dry earth). Mostly they are quite well dressed and seem to have horses
in plenty. They look prosperous. We also met a certain number on
foot driving great herds of cattle. We had lunch at Tetcani unpacking
our own provisions which we shared with the Russian general who

74

EVACUATION IN SIGHT

75

had his quarters in this house dear to Maruka’s heart, and of which
she had so often told me, but where I had never been. Then on again
to Comanesti where General Prezan and his staff have their quarters.
Had a long military talk with him. He seemed contented and optimistic.

They sing strange, mournful, solemn chants whilst they march, first
all the bass voices together, then the treble and baritone break in, taking
up the same refrain. It is very impressive and rather lugubrious.

From Comanesti drove to Targu Ocna, a very picturesque little
town situated high above the river Trotus; part of the road was ex-
cruciatingly bad.

There is a fine old church in this town surrounded by strong walls
like a fortress high above the edge of the river, the whole of it in a
rather ruined condition, but most picturesque.

Here also I visited a hospital which had been arranged in the Town
Hall. Amongst others I saw a man, a woman and a child wounded
by an aeroplane that had just passed. I asked the mother, who was
lying all huddled up on her face, what was the matter with the child,
and she answered :

“Its leg has remained in the house.”

I bent over the child, a sweet little creature about five years old, with
a mass of black curly hair, who was also lying on its face. I gave it
some chocolate and it actually turned round and kissed my hand ! I
stroked its head, it was such a dear little child ; then I discovered that it
was shaking with fever, its teeth chattering together.

The sight of a suffering child is unbearable to me. I cannot stand
it so I fled like a coward.

On our way between Targu Ocna and Adjud we had a motor acci-
dent. We were going at a good pace when an ox-cart driving ahead
of us suddenly crossed the road just at the moment when we were
passing. Tremendous smash-up; the cart flew into a hundred pieces,
our motor flew into the ditch where happily the chauffeur was able to
stop it without its capsizing. Madame Mavrodi, who was with me was
hurled off her seat, hurting her leg, the peasant and the boy who were
in the cart were projected up into the air; in fact everything flew,
but luckily no one was really hurt except the cart. The oxen even
began peacefully to feed upon the over-turned hay, whilst the dazed
boy who looked very stupid kept rubbing the back of his head. Some

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

76

money and many good words put things straight again; we handed
the shaken peasants over to some soldiers passing that way and off we
drove, our motor hardly the worse, but my poor old Mavrodi suffering
rather badly from her knee and ankle.

We were in an open car and it was decidedly cold. An early moon
had risen, glorious and huge, night came on rapidly and the moon-
light upon the river was lovely; the valley is broad, hills in the dis-
tance, clouds hung over them. The world looked vast, endless, lonely ;
it was like advancing at a great speed through a strange dream.

Finally in complete darkness we arrived at Adjud, a tiny little town
where there is a large Red Cross organization, not in a hospital, but
provisional beds arranged in different houses.

Although I arrived quite unexpectedly I was glad to find ladies
and doctors alike faithfully at their posts. It all made a good impres-
sion upon me. Young Leonte, the surgeon, is the chief doctor there,
and seems to be an efficient leader. All the wounded were serious cases.

I wandered about amongst the many beds in a queer half-light.
This too was like a dream, but what was very real was the suffering
and also the joy that everybody felt when they saw me. Everywhere
I distributed little gifts. Here I had strongly the impression of a real
war hospital, as everything was improvised, and the half-light and the
low whitewashed rooms made it all strangely mysterious and somehow
unreal.

I saw nothing but suffering, suffering, suffering, which did not
lighten my heavy heart.

From Adjud I went back to my train, and in the night travelled back
to Buftea.

Buftea, Friday, October 28th/ November 10 th, 1916.

Coming back was not easy, but I must begin my old life again,
though everything hurts me. I went to my hospital. I moved about,
amongst my wounded. I must not selfishly shut myself up in my grief.

Made my usual round, but something is changed in me, something
that never, never can be the same again.

I utter kind words, I give advice, I smile and listen to complaints,
but my own sorrow shuts me up as in a cover of aloofness; it is I
who move and act and think and speak, and yet it is someone I am

EVACUATION IN SIGHT 77

not yet accustomed to live with, someone who used to be uncrushably
buoyant and now has something broken, someone who believed in the
joj. of life through all adversity and who now feels a ghost amongst
men, separated from them by some impenetrable atmosphere of sorrow
that nothing can pierce.

My Mircea is dead; can anything be ever the same any more?

Oh, I shall do my duty, I shall help others, I shall console them,
feed them, clothe them, wipe their tears. I shall even lead them if it
is necessary, go before them and show them the way — but it is not
the “me” of yesterday that they will be following, it will be a stranger
who knows not herself.

Buftea, Sunday, October 30th/ November 1 2th, 1916.

Yes, I must learn to live again, but I always seem to be waiting
for something, something that cannot come, that will never come
never, never.

But at least I can do my duty, for there is such a lot to do, and I
shall do all I can bravely. Only I do it differently now, like one sepa-
rated from life, one who has no share in what she is doing.

I feel doubly tender towards all those who suffer, but it is as though
my soul touched them, not my heart.

Had a small church service for the soldiers in my hospital. I stood
amongst them. For the first time in praying for the royal family his
name was not amongst them: “Carol, Elisabetta, Nicolai, Ueana,
Mignon and . . .” The dear name was no longer uttered. It is no
more necessary to pray for you, my Mircea, my child, my baby .

Saw Lady Barclay, wife of our British minister. A big English
hospital is coming here : they asked the Queen to give it a^name, so
I gave it that name which is no more pronounced when they pray 'for
the other five, the name I loved, Mircea !

So I learnt little by little to live without my Mircea, to bear the
unbearable.

Work was my solace, I worked and worked endlessly, and tried with
all my might, in spite of my own despair, to keep hope alive in every
heart. But things were going from bad to worse.

One day at Buftea there was a terrible air-raid. Having discovered

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

78

where I lived (for I was considered the chief enemy) the Germans
came to bomb my house. That day I just happened to have gone alone
with Ballif to Bucarest, leaving all my children at home and on arriv-
ing at my hospital I received the disquieting news that Buftea had been
attacked.

Luckily Prince Stirbey, who always thought of everything, had had
a sort of cellar-retreat made, which on this occasion and on a few
others later on, became very useful.

About a hundred bombs were thrown and many of the windows of
the house were blown out, a bomb went through the roof of one of
the out-buildings ; and in many places the trees of the park were torn
to pieces, but there was only one casualty, a gardener boy killed in
front of the house.

Princess Stirbey and two of her daughters who were running a
canteen at the station for passing troops, had to fly for their lives and
hide in a cornfield.

Nicky, always witty and funny, described to me afterwards how
amidst a cascade of broken glass he had, in a sitting position, slid down
the slippery open stairs to reach the “funk hole” as quickly as possible,
an avalanche of hurrying people, scurrying and slipping behind him
to find safety in the cemented retreat.

Luckily I heard of the raid after it was over; but it was difficult to
get back to Buftea as the aeroplanes were hovering over the road along
which I had to drive.

The children were more excited than frightened, but all the same
it was a horrid experience.

On this occasion the Pope telegraphed to me :

Nous felicitons Votre Majeste d’avoir echapper au grave danger qu’elle
a courru et formons des voeux pour son bonheur, et le bonheur de la
famille Royale.

Benedictus Papa XV.

Cruel news was reaching us from every side, daily it grew worse
and there were continual rumours of evacuation. I worked relentlessly,
hardly ever knew an hour’s rest.

Every day I visited another hospital; it is all written down from
day to day, also the growing anxiety and how I tried to keep panic
off as much as possible.

EVACUATION IN SIGHT

79

Many things made me very unhappy, I saw how many mistakes
were being committed, but my people were not yet ready to be helped.
There was confusion around me, but for the moment my hands were
tied, my voice could not reach them.

Buftea, Tuesday, November 8th /21st, 1916.

Alas, our military situation is excessively painful and precarious !
Our beloved Oltenia is undefendable; that beautiful part of our coun-
try is invaded and has to be given up to the enemy. It is unbearable,
yet it seems it has to be; the richest, most beautiful, most Roumanian
part of our land.

And such things have to be borne. My one prayer was that my
beautiful Horez, that lovely white convent, might escape; now they
say that there are battles just there, so no drop of bitterness is to be
left untasted. Are they going to destroy that corner of peace chosen
of my heart and which I so loved that I asked to be buried there when
my time came ?

Went early into town with Ballif and Nicky, visiting General Petala
on the way, who is in the Elisabetta Sanatorium with broken down
nerves after having admirably done his duty for two and a half months
amongst almost impossible difficulties.

Too continual efforts were asked of his strength. He was first in
the Dobrugea, then on the Olt. He behaved exceedingly well, holding
together insufficient and timorous troops.

Found him better than I expected, very eager to talk, quite clear
about what he had to relate, many sad unsatisfactory things, and few
pleasant ones, alas!

Poor man, he has seen hard times, gradually relinquishing many
hopes, many illusions, even the one of being physically capable of
superhuman efforts. It must have been fearful when he felt that his
memory was giving way ; he said that there had been a moment when
he actually could not remember where his troops were. Then he real-
ized that he was breaking down.

He was so interesting that I would have liked to talk to him much
longer, but I was afraid of exciting him, afraid also of fatiguing his
over-tired brain. Many of the things he related to me were exactly
what Ballif had told me some time ago.

80 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

j Buftea, Wednesday , November 9 th/22nd, 1916.

Decided to go off with Ballif and Madame Mavrodi by motor to
Campu-Lung to see how far I can go and in what condition I shall
find the hospitals, the wounded, the troops, the population. A mild
day, but mud on the road so terrible that it much hindered our advance
as it choked our car and made it heat, so that more than once we had
to stop.

However we reached Campu-Lung about one o’clock, having started
punctually at nine.

There I found a hospital for “first aid,” by far the most painful
to see. The wounded were just being brought in ‘straight from the
trenches — wretched, miserable, tattered pieces of humanity, all bloody
in their torn and dirty uniforms, infinitely more pathetic thus than in
their beds, as here I saw them in all their exhausted misery.

Some were but slightly wounded, some seriously, others had frozen
feet, and two were dying with fractured skulls. They lay in their litters
as they had been carried away from the battle-field. Their faces were
livid and the sinister sound of their death rattle filled the room. I went
about amongst the wounded, talking to them and distributing my mod-
est gifts. The soldiers fully realized who I was and I saw how happy
they were that I had come to search them out so near the front, here
in this far-away little hole.

I also hunted for General Cotescu who is in command of them,
with another general whose name I do not remember.

They were delighted and astonished to see me so unexpectedly. As
I sat in my motor talking to them, aeroplanes began circling over our
heads, so I was invited into the house. Profiting by the few minutes
under cover I tried to takfe some of the mud from the road off my face.

Here things were going pretty satisfactorily, and the enemy were
being kept at bay, but the effort and exertion, are- fearful' and the troops
suffer much.

The boom of the cannon followed us part of the way back, for it
seems the enemy is also invading the other valley, the one behind
Curtea de Arges.

We lunched somewhere on the road, disturbed by aeroplanes so that
once we had even to take refuge under a bridge. We also had several

EVACUATION IN SIGHT

81

pannes on the road due to the mud getting into our machine. We
arrived about half-past four at Pitesti where I visited more hospitals,
going from bed to bed of hundreds of wounded. Poor things ! I saw
dreadful suffering and so many patient, pain-filled eyes. Everybody is
pleased to see me, doctors, sisters, wounded ; they feel less forsaken, less
in danger, less unprotected when I suddenly appear in their midst.

After two hours spent amongst these poor creatures, started off
home; a beautiful mild night, overhead the stars made innumerable
intricate patterns over the sky. A still, windless night, our drive would
have been pleasant had it not been for the mud that caused many a
panne so that we did not arrive at Buftea till ten-thirty. Here they
had had an idiotic day with aeroplanes overhead so that most of their
time was spent in the cellar.

Buftea , Thursday, November ioth/2yd, 1916.

Managed to get off early into town undisturbed by aeroplanes.
Weather mild, sky cloudy; the death-birds prefer a glorious blue sky.
The military news is as bad as can be, so bad that I do not even talk
of it, as even words seem to hurt. All is going wrong, we are beaten,
the Germans are at Craiova, all our beautiful Oltenia is lost to us. The
Russians do not begin their offensive. I do not know what is going
to happen; I didn’t even try to see Nando: “Un grand malheur
s’apprend toujours assez tot.”

Came home for lunch with Bratianu and the Stirbeys. Poor little
Ileana was not feeling very well, but she was sweet, she always is
sweet.

Had the courage to take a ride. Since Mircea’s death had an almost
morbid dislike of the idea of getting on a horse, my favourite exer-
cise, so decided to break this aversion. Galloped on my favourite Grui
Sanger, but the weight at my heart was almost intolerable. Towards
evening I drove all along to Mogosoia to see Marthe, who was in bed.
Very poignant conversation, both of us very sad, but of the two, I
was still the more hopeful in spite of my state of grief. She was very
pretty in her old red damask bed, in the quaint, simple room sur-
rounded by old icons and tastefully disposed objects, her fine hair
unbound and her large eyes appealingly pathetic. Yes, to-day she was
quite the beautiful and fascinating Marthe. Drove sadly home through

82

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

dark and storm. Marthe wants to remain here if we have to evacuate,
but a Queen cannot be taken prisoner. Marthe wants to taste every
experience for the sake of literature, even occupation under the
Germans.

B lifted, Friday, November 1 1 th/ 24th, 1916.

A day of growing anxiety, bad news from all sides. The Bulgarians
are at Zimnicea; they are marching towards Bucarest and in less than
two days they can be here. This time it really means flight, and all the
accompanying despair.

Somehow, I take it quietly, awful as it is. Before the inevitable,
before disaster, what can one do? I hoped and hoped, in spite of every-
thing I did not believe that it would come to this, but it has come,
and it must be faced as all else has been faced, one trial after another.

Saw several people at my hospital to-day, some Belgian officers, then
old Admiral Fournier and a dozen French nurses he has brought with
him and finally a Russian general.

I liked Admiral Fournier and got on with him extremely well; a
clever, first-rate old gentleman of seventy-five, full of life, intelli-
gence and keenly interested in everything. We quickly became friends
and had some interesting conversations that I am too weary to recount.

Curious situation, absolutely desperate. In a short time we may
have no land left at all, and yet I cannot feel as though everything
were lost. It is probable that to-morrow our fate will be decided —
that to-morrow will mean flight.

It seems incredible that it should come to this, but it has !

Later.

I know many things which I cannot talk about. Sometimes it is
desperate to be a woman, for a woman is not supposed to be able to
help, and yet sometimes she can see a situation with painful clearness,
and now I know that we shall have to flee ! Yes, it has come to this !

Both Ballif and Stirbey have returned from Headquarters to tell
me this. I am to say nothing about it to-night, but to-morrow early
I must go into town, and whilst I am away Ballif will have the whole
house packed up and ready to start in the evening.

Yes, it has come to this, we must flee!

Chapter IX

FLIGHT TO JASSY

Saturday, November 1 2th /25th, 1916.

Written in the train.

So it has come to this — I am to run away! But let me tell things in
their right order; they are so simply tragic that it is worth while
relating them as they came about.

The programme decided upon yesterday was faithfully carried out
and if ever there has been a painful day, this was one to the full, I
can even say to overflowing !

At nine o’clock I drove to Headquarters to say good-bye to the
King who had had no time to come to me; I also wanted to arrange
about Carol going to the front. We had some tragic conversations,
when I said all I had to say, but when we parted it was calmly, as
though we were not standing on the brink of such terrible events. We
were parting; when and how and where we shall meet again lies
in the hands of God. Then off I drove into town.

Here cruel scenes awaited me in my hospital. The bad news had
spread and my invalids were being evacuated, many were already gone,
an atmosphere of panic was rapidly rising, and there were anxious
faces and red eyes and painfully inquiring smiles.

I myself was terribly upset. No one knew as yet that we were
leaving, but as my wounded were being taken from the hospital it gave
me a pretext for saying good-bye to them.

Desperately sad scenes took place in the officers’ room ; I sat on a
small stool between the beds of the two most severely wounded, each
holding one of my hands and all of us were weeping as though we had
been quite old friends. Ueana’s little friend, Bulgaras, was in a state of
despair at leaving: the terror of the hardships of the transport and
the fear of being taken prisoner if they remained made them all
half frantic; all barriers were broken down, each man gave vent to

83

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

84

his inner feelings, each one bemoaning what was happening, each
according to his character, his education, his state of nerves. And I
sat amongst them finding no word of real consolation because I was
perhaps hardest hit of all. Finally I hid my head in my hands and
wept. At that they suddenly all became men again, each one feeling
that he must console this desolate woman — their Queen.

At last I had to tear myself away, knowing that it was a final
good-bye. They clung to my hands thanking me, saying they would
never forget what I had done for them and before leaving I took
our little Bulgaras, our so grievous suffering child of the hospital
in my arms and kissed him, and then rushed out of the room.

Incredible moral torture met me at every step.

The next agony was the parting from Cotroceni, the house which
had been mine for twenty-three years, the house I had improved
and decorated, been proud of and loved. And yet all had to be done
unemotionally as we were not supposed to say that we were there
for the last time.

The hardest parting was still to come, the parting from my poor
little grave.

“Yes, my Mircea, I left you, left you all alone beneath the cold
stones of the old church. Mircea, I have forsaken you, only you of
all my children, you, the youngest, I have left all alone! And yet,
Mircea, little boy, perhaps from somewhere you are smiling down upon
me understanding as none of us do here, the meaning of earthly tears.
Little Mircea, perhaps you are much less lonely than your poor home-
less mother who dares not remain to keep watch over your grave.”

And so I left him, and I left my house; I uttered no words about
it, I hardly shed any tears, I only put a little letter written in German
into Steinbach’s hands : “Give it to whoever will come here in my
place,” was all I said to him and he looked at me with horror in his

eyes :

“Werden Majestat nicht wieder kommen?” he asked.

I answered :

“Es kann sein dass ich nicht wieder komme,” and I jumped into
my motor and was off !

This is the translation of the letter I gave him :

FLIGHT TO JASSY 85

I do not know who will inhabit this house, a house that I have loved :
the only prayer I ask is that they should not take away the flowers from
the new little grave in the church. . . .

Tragic was also the return to Buftea; wonders had been done in
our absence, everything had been packed. I walked through desolate
chambers that a few hours before had been cosy and comfortable and
were now as beggars stripped of their clothes.

My very last visit was to the room where Mircea had died ; lighting
a candle I stood on the spot where his bed had been and there with
dry eyes remembered those days of agony when a battle of another
kind had been fought and lost.

I sent all the others off before me to the train where a repast was
to be served for the many people who are to make use of it, but I
preferred going over for a last time to the Stirbeys’ small house to
share their last supper with them.

Poor things, I pitied them with all my heart : my own grief did not
in the least make me insensible to theirs, and I felt with them, mourned
with them, but all of us tried not to complain. We may some of us have
had the thought that mistakes had been made, that our leaders had
not been very clever, but does one know ?

It is no good accusing anyone, perhaps our country needs to be
hard hit, perhaps we are to pass through all this misery and trouble
to learn all those lessons none of us likes to learn. For a moment
though on reaching the train I felt as though my heart would break,
but I knew that my bitterest tears were for Mircea, for Mircea, my
little dead child.

The last person I said good-bye to was Prince Stirbey; he was
returning to Headquarters to be with the King. As we clasped hands
we wondered when and where we would meet again. There were no
words with which to express our despair.

Sunday, November \2>th/26th, 1916.

In the train.

The unknown has begun; where am I going, for how long, for
what?

It is such a full train, all my ladies and different members of their
families. Nadejde Stirbey and her daughters, Denize and family,

/

86

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

countless servants, endless, endless luggage. Ballif has done marvels,
and Georgescu helps him valiantly.

Everybody is terrible sad.

I do not know where we are going. Nothing is settled, never in my
life have I gone out thus into the unknown.

Sad awakening with many tears, I go from carriage to carriage
trying to cheer up the most desperate ; cruel days indeed !

Towards luncheon-time we arrived at a station called Grajduri,
where for the moment we remained, whilst Ballif has gone off with
an engine to Jassy to explore the town and see where we might find
habitation. A curious situation in which I never expected to be.

Prince Stirbey, who always foresees, two months ago took a little
house for' his family in that town.

I do not fuss after the sorrow I have been through the trouble
of where we are to go seems small.

I put myself entirely into Ballif’s hands, for he will do his best
and he is a real genius at arranging things. He is severe, sometimes
even rather terrible to others, but to me he is an invaluable help, a
devoted servant in the most noble sense of the word.

We are quite without news. Weather cold, a tremendous wind
howling round our train.

We spent about two weeks in the train. Ballif was going back-
wards and forwards to Jassy to seek a habitation for myself and
children, which after much hunting about he found in the house of
the Jassy military headquarters. It was graciously put at our dis-
posal, but it was only large enough for myself and children without
including the King. It took, however, some time before this was
settled and we continued living in our train at a station some distance
from Jassy.

Sometimes I went with Ballif into town accompanied by one or the
other of my children.

Nicky was a great solace during all this sad period. He was always
so irresistibly funny and full of life, enjoying any situation and keep-
ing up our spirits with his nonsense. A black cocker spaniel was
eternally at his heels, a patient, long-suffering animal who was taught
no end of tricks by the clever child.

FLIGHT TO JASSY 87

Each time I went to Jassy I was overrun by people of every kind
beseeching my help.

The foreign Red Cross units were at their wits’ end. Jassy, at all
time a small and sleepy little town, was now invaded by an inflow of
Russians, who had occupied all the larger houses for their hospitals,
depots, military quarters and so on. Now on the top of the first
invasion came the influx from the different invaded parts of the
country, including Bucarest, and all this was pouring into Jassy and
the quiet inhabitants were aghast and full of protest, even slightly
hostile.

And everybody came to me, the Jassyites as well as the foreigners,
and each one had something to protest or complain about, and it was
all I could do not to lose my head in this maddening pandemonium.
I was myself a refugee with no house of my own, most of my worldly
possessions left at Cotroceni, and what I had with me still packed away
in great cases in the train. Besides, everybody was in a state of panic ;
the authorities were at their wits’ ends, many had lost their heads, and
even I, the Queen, had nowhere to go, so how could I help?

It needed immense grit not to despair, also it must be remembered
I was still struggling beneath my own overwhelming grief.

I was quite cut off from the King, and although Prince Stirbey,
who was with him, got an occasional message through to me, I was
very hazy about what was going on and where the members of the
Government and different authorities could be found. It was an
extraordinary state of affairs, and could only be faced by remaining
as calm as possible and with all my might preventing all fuss and
complaints. The grief and despair of the situation was such that it
almost seemed unreal, and just this perhaps made it bearable.

Nadejde Stirbey and her four daughters were also in our train,
as well as my ladies, Denize with wife and children, and many others.
In the evening Nadejde would come and read to us in my compart-
ment. On fine days, when I did not go to explore Jassy, I would take
long walks over the undulating hills behind the station. It was a
strange fortnight, separated from every other event in life, a thing
apart comparable to nothing ever before experienced.

We received news of the fall of Bucarest, of Nando and Carol

88

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

moving slowly with Headquarters and the retreating army into
Moldavia, whilst one town after another had to be relinquished as the
enemy advanced. The petroleum fields and the corn depots were set
aflame.

Many trains passed through or stopped at our station and one day
we had the sad joy of discovering in one of these the wounded officers
evacuated from my Bucarest hospital. The meeting was poignantly
emotional and our friends wept with joy when they saw us. The chil-
dren and I brought them all sorts of provisions from our stores. The
train transporting them was rather miserable, but they were receiving as
much care as was possible in the circumstances. Nicky was always close
on my heels, thoroughly interested in my every movement, ready for
every event ; his heart was too young to be burdened with grief.

One day a Russian hospital train drew up at our station. It was a
train organized and fitted out by my aunt, the Dowager Empress
Marie ; we were invited to visit it and were received by a Cossack
officer who had the air of a conqueror in his picturesque uniform, a red
bashlic floating like a pair of wings from his shoulder and his belt
stuck full of daggers. He moved with springy ease and there was
something almost arrogant in his lavish hospitality. The magnificence
of this Imperial train made us feel small, shabby, poor. Here there was
everything in unbelievable plenty, and the superb Cossack strode
through the carriages like a king in his realm. He was most amiable
and every honour was shown me, but when I returned to the miserable
carriages in which my officers were being transported it was with a
feeling akin to humiliation.

Many months later I was to meet this officer again in terribly
changed circumstances, but this will be told in its time.

One day in Jassy I made the acquaintance of a French doctor who,
because of his dauntless energy, made a deep impression on me. It
was my dear old Sceur Pucci who brought him to me, the same Soeur
Pucci who had worked with me in the cholera camp.

Doctor Cluny’s specialty was infectious diseases and I was to help
him find a hospital somewhere out of town. I was being brought in
contact with many people, but this man impressed me particularly
and his dauntless optimism amidst the present chaos was a spur to my
own energies; he was so splendid in his unselfish desire to work and

FLIGHT TO JASSY 89

help that I felt ashamed of my own faint-heartedness, ashamed also of
giving way to my personal grief.

Whilst we inhabited our train, Ballif with his aide, Captain
Georgescu, whom we called “little Georgie,” and my invaluable house-
keeper, Madame Kopkov, were putting the Jassy military house in order
for us, and finally we took possession of our new habitation. They had
worked like heroes !

It was a big, spacious house, not very home-like or beautiful, but it
was a roof over our heads and I set about making it look as nice as
possible. Ileana’s room opened out from mine, and this was a con-
solation to me.

Now I shall return to my diary; there is too much to relate, but
I pick out the essential; it is very expressive of the terrible times we
were living in.

Jassy, Saturday, November 26th/ December gth, 1916.

Cold day. Endless amount of people to see, had so much to do that
was not able to take a breath of air.

On every side the news is bad, and when the news is bad cowards
begin to clamour.

Because I am strong, everybody thinks they can tell me all that hurts
me most — “to her one can tell the truth.” Oh yes, one can tell me the
truth, but because I can listen to it, it does not mean that I do not
suffer !

All day long my suffering seemed to grow and grow; everything I
heard was intolerable, everything that I thought of was intolerable —
there seems nothing to clutch on to, no hope, no relief. Each new
person I saw brought me new pain till it reached a climax at dinner-
time and I broke down at last in a paroxysm of grief comparable only
to physical pain.

Jassy, Sunday, November 2yth/December 10 th, 1916.

Snow ! The ground is white, but my thoughts are dark and tortured.

Have decided to go to-morrow to Headquarters to see the King.

Received Poklevski (Russian Minister) who is leaving and is to be
replaced by a general

90

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

A lot to decide, to talk over, to put into order — grievous things that
may daily get worse.

To-day though, I am calm. I think it would be a comfort if one’s
heart would die, for how can one give up one hope after another
and still be expected to live and even to create a new hope which one
would try to share with others ?

News continues to be dreadful, I do not know how it is all to end.

After lunch had a large committee for helping the refugees. Olga
Sturdza and the Metropolitan were efficient and practical. But all the
time I am living in an agony of uncertainty about what the next day
may bring. All is pain, thoughts of the future, thoughts of the past,
of which nothing is left!

And Mircea’s grave is in the enemy’s hands.

Who is living in our house, who is inhabiting my rooms; shall I
ever go back, and if I do go back will the human heart be able to
begin all over again !

Am I living in reality or in some abnormal dream ? Never to know
what is happening over there in that part of the country which such
a short time ago was ours ; to know nothing — nothing !

It was only about a month ago that I motored to Sinaia, Campina,
Campu-Lung, Pitesti to visit the hospitals! Then it was still my
country, but now? Oh, the agony of the thought! And to think that
we should consider ourselves happy if we could be sure of keeping
Moldavia and not having to move from Jassy !

Before dinner saw Bratianu, a fearful interview in which I tried
to persuade him that things must be more firmly taken in hand and
not allowed to go a la derwe. In times so abnormally deadful as war,
an abnormal attitude is also permissible as long as it is strong and
helpful. This is what I am trying to persuade them. It is the time for
action — even autocratic action if necessary. A leading hand is needed,
strong to punish or uphold. “Eine Faust,” as our enemies the Boches
would say. I must try and persuade the King that even civil things
must be put into military order. Now is the time when it can be
done.

After dinner received the new Russian Minister, General MossolofF,
a clever, rather sly-looking court-gentleman, who has been many years
in Emperor Nicky’s household, and who knows and has seen many

9i

FLIGHT TO JASSY

things. I think there is going to be trouble with the Russians ; there
is sure to be, now that we are so weak with our half destroyed army
and three-quarters of our country torn from us, all our riches gone !

Sad thoughts, sad realities, sad apprehensions, everything is sad,
sad, sad.

Mossoloff brought me letters from Alix, Ducky and Aunt Miechen.

Chapter X

AT HEADQUARTERS

Zorleni, November 28th/ December nth, 1916.

I have come here to Head-quarters. Ugly place, badly kept, but inside
the house looks quite cosy, as some of the beautiful furniture which
has been saved from Sinaia has been brought here.

It was very upsetting to see the furniture out of my gold room,
and even my favourite cushions, etc., spread about just anyhow.

But I would hate to live here. The house is badly placed, the sur-
roundings bare and badly kept.

In the train on the way here I had to see and talk to one person
after another, such as Bratianu, Mossoloff and Admiral Fournier.

Arrived just before lunch. Nando in spite of our disasters remains
calm. It is our first meeting since the terrible events. Carol is sad, but
youth is always hopeful.

Big lunch with all the A.D.C.s, and also Bratianu, Mossoloff and
Fournier. After lunch had a long talk with Nando, trying to persuade
him to listen to what I had to say, to listen to all those things one does
not see or hear if one lives in one’s own everyday little round; tried to
make him listen to the things from “outside.”

I talked with all the energy of despair, till my head ached as though
it must burst.

I tried to persuade him that General Prezan must be given a big
position where he can really work, because he is the one who has the
confidence of the army and the public. Also that severe measures
must be taken for the civilian part of the population, because la
debandade is not to be stood and may become very dangerous.

Before dinner had a long, serious conversation with General
Berthelot. Was disturbed to see that he had lost some of his fine
confidence, but pleased to hear that he too thought that Prezan was
the man who ought to be brought forward.

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AT HEADQUARTERS

93

Ghidigeni, Tuesday, November 2gth/December 1 2th, 1916.

I am here in my dear Sybil Chrissoveloni’s house. I came with
Nando, Simky and Stirbey round about tea-time, slow drive because
of tremendous fog.

My day at Headquarters had been decidedly depressing, bad news
from every side and no one gives me any hope. I confess that a feeling
of immense despair came over me. I am struggling against invading
floods of disaster. Nothing seems to be spared me, not even the feeling
that there are many who at this time of misery are ready to throw
stones at me whom they so loved. This is perhaps natural, because
I am strong. And yet those really worth while look up to me and keep
crying: “Help, help, help! It is you who must help.’’ And because
I am considered strong they overwhelm me with every hideous truth
and all the terrible outlook of coming danger, of unfair play, of selfish-
ness, of treachery, and all this I must be able to bear with my woman’s
heart which has already lost so much. Death would indeed be easier
in comparison. And always that same cry: “Help, help. It is you who
must help, you who must find ways of influencing those who need
influencing, only you can do it.”

My God, if ever woman has needed Thy help it is I ! But Thou
art so far above in Thy skies, so terribly far off.

But I shall try, I shall struggle on, blindly as there is no light with-
out hope, as I find no one who can help me, on, on to the bitter end
so that even if at last I am to be overcome I should fall with my face
to the enemy, their Queen in spite of themselves.

I do not even dare write down all that I have heard ; later perhaps
when everything has been lost, or something gained, I shall write it
down, but now it would need too cruel words.

Spent my morning in the hospitals of Barlad. Going amongst the
wounded has become infinitely more painful ; how inspire them with
hope when I have so little hope myself? Again I had the curious sensa-
tion of the burden of so many eyes upon me, but at first those many
eyes, although a heavy weight, had given me the feeling that I was
being uplifted instead of being dragged down; now they seemed to be
like chains to my feet already shackled by too many trammels. Some-
times I feel I must cry that eternal cry: “It is enough, it is enough!”
I can bear no more! One heart can only bear its own share of

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THE STORY OF MY LIFE

sorrow, not the sorrow and despair of a whole people, that is too
much . . . too heavy.

Lunch at Headquarters with, as guests, Bratianu and Colonel
Ferigo, the Italian Military Attache. Atmosphere laden with a sensa-
tion of impending disaster that cannot be averted. After lunch more
talks with Nando, with Stirbey, with Ballif, and nowhere can I
clearly see what I can do, no one seems to be able to give me consistent
advice.

Very restful to find Sybil here in her splendidly kept hospital, with
her grand confidence in ultimate success, her courage, her optimism,
her sweet clean spirit, her unshakable English loyalty, her touching,
devoted friendship. All this is beautiful to see like a flower growing
in a swamp of mud.

Her hospital is admirable, and it is all run with their own money.
She has a flock of white-dressed girls about her; this is a little island
of sweet repose.

But I must not tarry here for long, I must move on, my duty is
amidst turmoil and cries of distress, amidst forlorn hopes and the
chaos of disorder and disorganization; that is the ground I must try
to work on, that is the road upon which I must learn to advance with-
out falling, but Oh God ! ever and again the same words rise to my
lips and I cry to Thee: It is enough, enough! Ask not of me more
than I can bear !

Ghidigeni-Z orleni, Wednesday, November 30th/ December 1 $th, 1916.

Awoke in Sybil’s large pink and white bed after a good night,
enjoyed the luxury of a delightful bath with everything around me
clean, elegant, comfortable; an excellent breakfast prettily served,
appetizing food on fine china. For a moment I felt far from war and
banishment, the luxurious side in me rejoiced in these very material
comforts; felt at home amongst them as a fish in water.

The atmosphere about Sybil is so extraordinarily genial and benevo-
lent; a quiet, harmonious unselfishness. Her great belief in things
good, in happy results, in fresh beginnings, in final victory; all this
was balm to my lacerated soul, but it continually brought tears to my
eyes.

Her little boy Nicky is delicious, well brought up, polite, attentive,

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loyal and adoring like his mother. The sight of children playing
together touches me and makes me inclined to weep. I have become
such a poor thing, all within me is so sore that kindness upsets me
more than anything else. I love Sybil’s little Nicky, he seems so much
a part of her own clean self.

At ten Nando and Stirbey left for Headquarters and I drove with
Sybil and Simky to the Regina Maria motor school where they train
chauffeurs for our motor ambulances.

Here also I found the right atmosphere. Jean and Sybil Chrissoveloni
do things so loyally. I was touched by the way that all the men were
taught to understand that it was for me, their Queen, that they were
working, that it was my undertaking; and through the loyalty of
these two friends my blessing seemed to be lying over the whole
organization. Yes, it did me good to be in a place where everything
is done with such love.

These two, Sybil and Jean, work with an ideal; may God bless
their labour and allow it to prosper as it should. On the way back to
Zorleni, Simky and I stopped at a station where Constance Cantacuzene
had put up her wooden hospital for the wounded. We paid her a sur-
prise visit. All meetings now are emotional ; there is too much sorrow
in my heart, in all our hearts. I also noticed that those who haven’t
seen me since Mircea’s death, think of my grief and dare not approach
it, and yet long to let me know their sympathy. One goes thus through
every scale of emotion so that one’s eyes are never dry.

Was back for lunch at Headquarters. After lunch weighty and
difficult discussions with Stirbey, Ballif and Carol examining the whole
situation and our position towards the enemy as well as towards our
rather formidable ally, Russia; exceedingly painful whichever way we
turn, and into the bargain it seems that the Germans after their victory
over our poor little country are launching into the world propositions
for peace!

The first real official propositions of peace and it has even been
whispered that they may have a secret understanding with Russia!
What then ? Where would we come in, what would be our fate ?

Everything seems full of the threat of destruction; wherever I
turn, nothing but terror, danger and pain.

And whilst we are talking here, the enemy is beating back our troops

96 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

and we do not know if the Russians really, honestly mean to defend
our ground!

I do not think one need look for a more tragic situation!

Zorleni- Jassy, Thursday, December ist/i/^th, 1916.

Had a good night. After all it is a blessing to be able to sleep; my
capacity for healthy sleep still belongs to me in spite of all my troubles.
Awoke to beautiful sunshine; when the sun shines so gloriously one
cannot help imagining that there can still be something happy in this
poor old world of ours. Colonel Thomson, the English Military Attache
and a Japanese officer, who is said to be very clever, but whose con-
versation except in Russian is extremely limited, came to lunch.
Thomson is really and honestly heartbroken at what has happened to
us. He is very fond of our country and is not quite sure that our big
Allies have played fairly. Finally at half-past three I left Headquarters
with the feeling that, all the same, things were going to be taken more
energetically in hand. The situation is almost desperate, but it could
still be saved in part if we could be sure that the Russians would play
up; but will they? This is the burning question, or is there to be false
play now that we are in reduced circumstances?

One thing is decided, Prezan is to have a bigger position, but so
far as military things go, for the present we are quite in Russian
hands. Everybody seems to agree that our greatest hope lies in Nicky
the Emperor, himself, and from all sides they continue pressing in
upon me declaring that I must remain in close, affectionate contact
with him. I shall if I can, but no one seems to realize the mental
strain I am going through. Sometimes I feel as though I could stand
no more, as too much presses in upon my heart, and my heart, alas,
minds everything too much, feels everything too acutely.

Above all I must not lose my belief in humanity : my greatest strength
came from my belief in others in spite of every disillusion. Now my
belief is being sorely tried.

In the train on the way back to Jassy I had a terribly painful
conversation with Ballif and Simky, after which I decided to give
up the idea of having a hospital of my own. It was not easy to resign
myself to this and I confess that I went through a moment of furious
revolt. Ballif quietly waited till my fit of despair and indignation

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AT HEADQUARTERS

had passed away, then with his pitiless and relentless common sense
he began building up for me a plan of how I could make myself useful,
quietly, modestly, without treading on anyone’s toes. It seems I must
learn more and more to give everything up, everything that might be
a consolation to me. In this time of misery I must expect no help but
must continue helping even if I am met with ill-will. It is a hard
lesson, but probably a wholesome one, only one must be strong enough
to bear it and not break one’s heart over it. I always imagined that I
was strong, now comes the time to prove to myself if I am; perhaps
my final bitterest disappointment will be to lose my illusions about
myself.

Nietzsche says; “Tu dois construire plus hant que toi meme, mads
il faut d’abord que tu sois construit toi-meme carre de la tete a la base.”

It remains to be seen if I am built “carre de la tete a la base” !

The children are happy to have me back again and it does me good
to be with them. They are getting accustomed to their new sur-
roundings.

It was about this time that I eased my heart by writing the following
prayer :

A QUEEN’S PRAYER

I lift up my heart unto Thee, O God ! Listen, I pray Thee, to my
humble prayer.

Thou hast exalted me, Thou hast set me up in high places and hast
put into my hands a power not granted to many.

Thou hast marked out for me a road, which must be my road and
upon which I must walk without faltering.

Because they have to raise their heads to see me, many may believe
that this road runs through nothing but sunshine, but Thou, my God,
knowest of the stones which wound my feet, and of the many thorns
hidden beneath the roses given to me.

Thou hast made my face to shine before the lowly of this world,
Thou hast placed purple on my shoulders and a crown on my head,
and Thou hast bidden me wear these as though they were not a burden.

And Thou didst say unto me: thou art chosen amongst many: be
thou worthy of the honour which has been done unto thee : let thy
hand be gentle, thy word full of comfort, and make of thy heart a resting
place for those who are weary and need rest.

Be up early at dawn, and at night sleep not too soundly, so as never
to miss any cry that may be cried unto thee.

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

98

For thou art the mother of a people and hast been chosen to lead
them towards light, and also to carry the weight of all their sorrows
and even of all their joys.

Therefore, do I cry unto Thee, O my God! Give me the strength
to face every fate, to overcome every fear, to breast every storm. Give
me never-ending patience, O Lord, and the will to overcome every un-
worthy temptation; make me fearless, good and true, O Lord, so that
I may stand upright through no matter what adversity.

Give me a heart strong enough to bear the sorrow of all I hear and of
all that I see, brave enough not to be discouraged at the end of the
long day, large enough to love even him whom no man loveth, just
enough never to condemn in a hurry, merciful enough to forgive unto
seventy times seven.

Give me the gift of words that console, O Lord, also the gift of sym-
pathy and understanding, so that when I stretch out a hand it should not
be in vain.

Allow me to hold my head high, O Lord, not in pride but because
my conscience is as clear as crystal into which the sun shineth, bringing
forth a thousand lights, so that I can look fearlessly into every eye.

But when my last hour cometh, O God, may it find me with no bitter-
ness in my heart against any man, and may no one deem himself my
enemy, so that, before coming to Thee, the hands which I raise in blessing,
may be as light as soaring wings.

And if any remember me on earth, O Lord, may they see me with
a smile on my lips, a gift in my hand, and in my eyes the light of that
faith which removeth mountains.

AMEN.

Chapter XI

DIFFICULTIES, MILITARY AND POLITICAL
Jassy , December 4th/ 17th, 1916.

Day of wonderful sunshine, almost like a spring day, but I had no
time to go out in the morning as from half-past nine onwards I never
had a moment to breathe. There is a feeling of boiling effervescence
in the atmosphere, which inevitably follows the horrors of retreat ; a
huge struggle between good and evil, a desire of regeneration, but
at the same time a sort of lame feeling which hampers all energy.
I am aware of all this and all currents seem flowing towards me as
though I could and must help.

After days of almost crushing discouragement and distress my fight-
ing spirit is awaking anew ; I want to help, to work, to save what I can.
I know it is an almost impossible undertaking, but faith moves moun-
tains and I shall do all I can before I confess myself beaten.

Sent for Professor Jorga, told him that efforts must be made to
uplift the general morale of the army and also of the public, and that
he is the man best indicated to help me. He approved of this and is
going to make a little plan of work.

Saw also any amount of other people, amongst others one of the
giant English doctors from Roman. He is delighted with his work
there and is full of praise of the Roumanian doctor, Marzescu, who is
their chief. An exhausting morning full of brain effort and heart-ache.
I am so terribly in the midst of all the different currents of all the hopes
and fears that it is difficult not to lose my head.

A short outing after lunch, and at five o’clock my audiences began
again.

First I received le Marquis de Beaumont, who has come with my
Regina Maria automobiles, then Monsieur Psycha, the Greek Minister,
and Madame Psycha, then the new Swiss Minister, very nice, and
finally the Italian Minister, Facciotti, with whom I had a serious con-

99

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THE STORY OF MY LIFE

versation. He is an exceedingly intelligent gentleman and has all the
Italian talent for intricate polities, so lacking in my Anglo-Saxon
temperament. He is very insistent that the King should come and open
Parliament and show himself master of the situation before the whole
of his people. I shall therefore be off to-morrow by motor to Barlad
to have a talk with him, as there is no time to lose.

After dinner I still had to receive old Admiral Fournier, who is
leaving for Russia and besides I had to write a letter to the Tsar,
which the old gentleman is going to take to him. Would I ever have
thought that Fate would oblige me to mix up in high politics !

The French have had a big success near Woevre : of our own front
I have no special news, although all that I hear does not sound reas-
suring.

Jassy-Zorleni, $th/ 18th December, 1916.

Started early with Mignon and Ballif to have a talk with Nando at
Zorleni. Three and a quarter hours’ drive. Luckily not too cold, as my
motor is an open one ; first part of the road exceedingly bad and thick
with mud. Arrived just in time for lunch.

Prezan had been invited. It gave me pleasure to see him and talk
to him, as I was strongly in favour of his having the place he now
occupies as Chief of the General Staff. Found him calm, energetic, in
nowise disheartened in spite of terribly difficult situation. He is tactful,
conciliatory, and shares my opinion that everything must be done to
keep up good feelings between the Russian and Roumanian armies.
In fact we agreed about most things.

Found the King well disposed. He had had long talks with Prince
Stirbey, and was therefore somewhat prepared for the questions I
came to discuss with him.

He read me a nobly conceived letter he had written to Bratianu. In
this letter he expresses his intention of coming to Jassy to open Parlia-
ment himself and that in his address he intends mentioning his desire
of forming a National Coalition Government in view of the necessity
of the present situation and of declaring his desire to see the agrarian
question solved by the distribution of land to the peasants.

At half-past three received General Zaharoff, a rather shabby-looking
little man, who speaks very bad French. Not prepossessing as so many

DIFFICULTIES

IOI

Russians are, no charme slave about him ! But he is supposed to be a
good military man which after all is the principal thing. It cannot be
said that he is particularly encouraging; he recognizes that our situa-
tion is most serious and that our frontiers are impossibly difficult to
defend, but it is to be supposed he will do his best; his honour is con-
cerned as well as our safety! I must cling to faith and hope — all that
remains to me!

Ardent discussions at lunch, Carol very sure of his opinions. Vintila
Bratianu, our Minister of War, was also there; he is very like his
brother, only smaller and less brilliant. A three hours’ drive home,
the motor going well; we reached Jassy at about seven, which made
the journey there and back six hours’ motoring in very keen, not to
say cold, air.

Mignon was quite exhausted, but I can stand these long drives with-
out exhaustion as long as I can keep warm. Still plenty to do after
dinner. Got to bed at about eleven.

Jassy, Tuesday, December 6th/ igth, 1916.

St. Niculce.

The Tsar’s and our Nicky’s name-day. Went to the Metropolitan
Church for a Te Deum, which lasted two hours and a half; I had no
idea what I had let myself in for. Stood all the time, my feet getting
colder and colder, but the service was well done, quiet order and
dignity, the singing good. Part of the prayers were in Russian, and
there was a Russian cantor who had a prodigious voice marvellously
under his control. He had a way of augmenting its volume very grad-
ually, till one was overcome with wonder at the degree of strength he
could reach. There is something awe-inspiring about such a voice;
it is one of the world’s wonders ; it makes one’s heart beat.

Had no time to give audiences this morning because of the long
church service.

After lunch, as it was Nicky’s name-day, I let him drive me about
in his “baby” Peugeot, which we call “Bambino,” as nothing gives him
so much pleasure as to drive me about and it must be confessed that
this innocent form of amusement enchants me. Something of the child
has always remained at the bottom of my heart, and to go off like that
a Vaventure delights me; it is a sort of relaxation after an over-dose of

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THE STORY OF MY LIFE

serious work. We started off, Ileana seated on my knees and went to
visit my wounded officers who are now being looked after in the Red
Cross hospital. Nicky had brought them his name-day cake. We also
looked into all the other rooms and talked to- most of the wounded.
Here we also saw the girl heroine, Catherina Theodoroiu.

Then we gave Ileana over to Nini and Nicky and I continued explor-
ing the town in “Bambino,” who did not always behave as he should.
We had several absurd stoppages in the middle of unknown side streets
which caused the agglomeration of many little Jewish children who
stared at us till we were able to start off again.

Jassy, Wednesday, December Jth/20th, 1916.

Day full of thought and. doubt and struggle. Everyone comes to me,
with their different convictions, with their hopes, their sympathies and
their hatreds. And I must listen and try to judge and' to be impartial
and not lose my head.

First old Ferikidy came to see me and then Demetre Grecianu, and
finally Bratianu, who has guessed that I am' trying to bring about a
certain change in the existing state of affairs. We had a lengthy and
not exactly pleasant conversation, it was in fact the clashing of two
strong wills, which ought to work together and not oppose each other.
I felt his strength and that he had no intention of playing second fiddle,
but I bravely stood up for what I felt I must fight for. I had to admit
to myself that he was far cleverer than I was, but he will have to con-
cede that I am right in certain things. This will, however, be very diffi-
cult as he is accustomed to rule and knows that no party is as strong
as his. Being a real fighter myself, I appreciated the cleverness of his
every move. I cannot, however, say that it was a satisfactory interview.

I have at last received a letter from Mamma, a terrible letter, full
of overpowering grief about Mircea’s death, full of irrevocable, un-
reconcilable bitterness because we have gone to war. It seems I am
accused of having wanted the war; in Germany I am made responsible,
all their hatred and revenge turns towards me. Mamma actually never
meant to write to me, never to be in communication with me as long
as the war lasts, it was only the death of Mircea which made her break
through her silence to send me a word of sympathy, then to return
to her silence !

103

DIFFICULTIES

Can she really believe that I am responsible for this war ? And she,
a Russian, minding so terribly that we should have turned to the side of
her former patrie! A curious state of things has come about through
this terrible upheaval, such desperate conflicts.

Her hard words- are an added burden on my already oppressed
heart, but above all I weep when I think of the bitterness which fills
her. It must be a worse suffering than all I have to- bear, because I
feel no bitterness towards anybody ! But then at the end of the day
as consolation came marvellously happy news : Ducky is coming to see
me, dear sister Ducky; she may arrive any day!

George Michailovitch is also coming and he is my old friend, but
I do not think that they are coming together.

So, amidst all this sadness and trouble, I am to have the joy of seeing
Ducky ; that is indeed a blessed event.

And Ducky actually came. The joy was almost unbearably great and
each hour spent together was' precious, but all too short. She had come
to me at a moment when I was all but desperate, when misfortune was
crushing in upon us from every side. I was struggling against too
many difficulties at once, and was for the present insufficiently helped,
but although often criticized and misjudged I was, all the same, becom-
ing the pivot around which all energies centred. But as yet I did not
feel or realize this ; had I done so my task would have been less
heavy. To me it seemed a blind and almost hopeless struggle.

My sister’s quiet, staunch, somewhat masculine personality was just
what I needed beside me. I could talk to her freely, ask her advice, lay
my problems before her, discuss the situation and how best to meet
the inflow of disaster. Besides, our love and understanding for each
other was so great that to be together was in itself a supreme comfort
and consolation.

She arrived on the same morning as the King came for the open-
ing of Parliament. He made a fine speech which was much applauded.
He was right to come and open Parliament personally and he was
given a warm reception in spite of the depressing situation. The news
from the front, though, is very bad. The Russians hold no position,
they are continually retreating, and Braila and Galatz are both
threatened.

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THE STORY OF MY LIFE

I had been making great efforts to bring about a coalition Govern-
ment. I felt that this was most necessary, and Bratianu should share
responsibilities with those- of the Conservative party. It would be
better for the King, better for Bratianu himself.

My diary is full of this struggle and how I was upheld by Prince
Stirbey, who is continually going from one to another as peace-maker,
trying to reconcile difficult temperaments and giving me timely hints
where I could help with my feminine tact. But Bratianu was not over-
pleased ; he knew he was the strongest and did not care to share power.
I have long descriptions of our interviews together, and of how I
received one politician after another, doing all in my power to promote
a good understanding, trying- to persuade all sides that they must over-
come party feeling and present a single front, united' in common
strength so as to meet the terrible situation bravely.

I nearly broke my heart in the effort and was often bitterly dis-
appointed to meet with such selfishness even now in the hour of danger.
Sometimes I had the feeling that my husband and I were the only
really independent patriots ; party feeling may be a stimulant, but cer-
tainly it is not always pretty!

Finally, a compromise was reached and a certain number of Con-
servatives- entered the Cabinet, Take Ionescu, Michel Cantacuzene
(Maruka’s husband), Dr. Istrati and Demetre Grecians I had hoped
for better results, but this was anyhow an improvement as it calmed
public feeling.

Being at Jassy whilst my husband was at Barlad made me the centre
of all inrushing currents and it was as much as I could do not to lose
my footing, but I did my best to keep an open mind, not to become one-
sided, but also not to provoke confusion by encouraging fundamental
changes in time' of danger ; continuity of programme was essential.

I was learning a lot, but it meant hard labour from morning till
night. I neve-r granted myself an hour’s rest ; my brain had to be open
for every question, my eye watchful and my heart ready to listen for
all cries of distress.

I gave every ounce of my strength, and, reading through the tale
of those days of stress, I wonder why I did not break down.

Into the bargain there were continual difficulties with the Russians;
accustomed to their own limitless lands, they could not be brought to

DIFFICULTIES 105

understand the enormous importance of holding our last precious
positions.

I also discussed this with my sister and persuaded her to come with
me to Head-quarters to have a talk with Zaharoff in her capacity of
Russian Grand Duchess.

My mother’s cousin, the Grand Duke George Michailovitch, had
also come to Roumania and we were very glad to meet. He came con-
tinually to our house and liked to be with us, especially for meals.

Ducky was as untiring as I was, even more so-, being a real Spartan.
I have a complete description of our visit to Headquarters to inter-
view Zaharoff, but it is. too long to be quoted in full. We also, tried to
get to Tutova to visit Constance Cantacuzene at her hospital, but the
roads were in too frightful a condition, and we could not get there;
it would have taken hours and our time was limited.

Nando also found it a comfort to talk to Ducky and he decided to
come up to Jassy to see us.

Jassy, December 16th/ 2Qth, 1916.

Nando arrived from Zorleni for breakfast with George Michailo-
vitch;. it was nice to see him again, a friendly meeting in hard circum-
stances. Had a long. talk. Ducky and he are most amusing because,
although very good friends, they are always quarrelling.

All sorts of questions had to. be gone into ; the transportation ques-
tion in particular is very difficult as we have only a single line between
Jassy and Russia. The Russians would like to take our railways over
into their hands. Certainly our railways are bad and there is a good
deal of disorder, but very naturally the Roumanians are loath to give
up anything which belongs to them, specially at a moment when so
little remains to us. Burning questions, heavy with consequences one
way or the other.

Did my best to smooth things out between both parties, as both sides
of the question are confided to me.

Judging by all the information' asked of me, all the propositions
made to me, all the conversations I have had, it does not look, alas, as
though the Russians thought they could defend our country for us!

This would mean exile, complete exile. The thought is so utterly

io6

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

ghastly that one accepts it quietly without words of complaint or pro-
test, as one accepts the thought of death.

Different towns in Russia have even been spoken of where we could
go and form a Roumanian colony, Kharkov, Ekaterinoslav, Poltava ;
but although I faced the thought, my brain and heart cannot accept it.
To be outcasts, wanderers, nothing belonging to us any more, how can
such a thought be borne? How would we live? For what would we
work? Oh no, God forbid that it should come to this! My God, my
God, is the cup not yet full enough ?

Jassy, Saturday, December iyth/^oth, 1916.

Busier than ever : everything one has to do seems to accumulate end-
lessly.

In the morning had no end of people to see and numerous questions
to discuss with Ducky. We talked over all the different points of what
she is to say to Emperor Nicky as she has promised to stop at the
Stafka on her way back. She will try to- explain to him all our difficul-
ties and the danger our country is in.

Before lunch she, Ballif and I, drove down in the pouring rain to
the station and pottered about in unbelievable mud to look for railway
carriages which could be turned into a Russian hospital train which
Ducky hopes to arrange. But difficulties spring up at every step. We
try, however, to overcome them with our joint energy. Working
together, she and I, we help each other and our resistance is steely, but
it does not mean that it is not exhausting work.

George Michajlovitch, who is always hungry, and who arrives much
too early for each meal, came to lunch, after which we drove about
with him to the Russian hospitals, where we helped him; to distribute
St. George crosses and' medals amongst the dying, and wounded. Wit-
nessed touching scenes and- saw. terribly wounded men,

I also did my best to try and help the Russians- to- enlarge their
hospital ; they are in a. part of the: Notre Dame de Sion Convent, but
they have not enough space. Ducky and I visited the old Mother Su-
perior and found her iru a state of exasperation because' everybody was
trying to take' her house from her. She was not particularly amiable
about the Russians, which was most embarrassing for me, and made
Ducky very angry.

DIFFICULTIES

107

After this we still wandered about endlessly in the semi-darkness
amongst the wounded in the enormous Russian evacuation hospital
near the station. I always have quantities of cigarettes with me which
I give with lavish hands wherever I pass. I gave to every soldier I met,
even to those loitering about outside, and although they were some-
what sheepish, they were evidently very pleased. Home for la.te tea
and endless, weighty conversations with Bratianu, who gets on very
well with Ducky and was also very eager to impress upon her what
she is to say to the Tsar.

Alongside, in the big room, innumerable ladies were working at
the packets we are going to send to the soldiers for Christmas. It has
become quite a habit for everyone to come here offering their aid,
willing to be put to any use. Had hardly any time to dress for dinner.
After dinner had still to write a weighty letter to Emperor Nicky,
exerting my tired brain to the utmost and trying the while to crush
down my sorrow at having to part from Ducky. She has been a great
help, encouragement and stimulant to me. I hate to let her go !

At half-past eleven I took her to the station; the train was late. We
parted with immense regret, but she has promised, if God wills, to come
back again directly after the Russian Christmas festivities. Completely
exhausted, I finally got to bed at half-past twelve.

Soon after Ducky left, certain of my lady friends were possessed by
the idea that I must go to Russia and plead with the Tsar, that this
would' force the Russian troops to stand their ground. The news
that, in the middle of a well-organized and carefully planned attack
which meant everything to us, the Russians had retreated at the crucial
moment with disastrous result, was the event which inspired them
with this idea.

Lala de Belloy was the first to open the attack. She talked and talked,
tearing the soul from, my body with her pleading, but worst of all was
my friend Maruka, because occasionally Maruka goes off at a tangent,
becoming absolutely fanatic.

She tortured me inexpressibly, accusing me even of want of patriot-
ism because I would not then and there leave everything and rush off
at their behest. In vain I tried to explain that I could not go off
secretly. It was materially impossible as no train could be had without

io8

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

military permission, everything was under military control and how
could she' imagine that I, the centre of everything, could suddenly
disappear? How could it be done? Oh, she did not mind how it
could be done ! That was my business, where there was a will there was
a way, and if I did not find that way it was a sign that I was too
proud, afraid of being humiliated by the Tsar, etc. . . .

Maruka was, in fact, possessed with a romantic idea and saw" me as
a sort of second Konigin Louisa on my knees in front of the Emperor
of all the Russias, a heroine saving her country, and my refusal to act
immediately upon their plan was on my side a proof that I was not
the brave Queen they all imagined I was.

Considering the taut state of my nerves because of all the accumu-
lated difficulties which were overwhelming me, this scene with Maruka
nearly broke me down; it was- excruciating torment and she finally left
me in a huff, telling me that I had profoundly disappointed her, al-
though I promised I would go- if I could obtain the King’s consent.

There were also continual discussions about the evacuation question,
which were also a torture. The King not being here everybody came
to me, it was quicker, easier.

The thought of evacuation was what I minded most of all. Of all
the tragic problems overwhelming me, this was the cruellest. It was
the Russians in particular who- were becoming very pressing, and
Mossoloff was continually coming to me and bringing other Russians
with him to present to me different solutions, all of them horrible to
contemplate.

All the hospitals had to be visite'd, helped, encouraged. I was making
continual round's through them all, for my presence seemed- necessary
everywhere and I trained my two elder daughters, also Nicky, to help
me as much as they could. Also my ladies, Simky and Irene, were con-
tinually at work, especially Simky who was most efficient and energetic.

I had to be ready for every call, at all hours of the day. There was
no time to consider if it was or was not my business; help was needed
immediately, nothing could be put off. Danger was crushing in from
all sides and it had to be met energetically, without hesitation.

One day I had a tragic visit to pay ; I went to see my regiment or
rather, the ragged remains of my regiment. We met at a place called

DIFFICULTIES

109

Rivali just beyond Jassy and here I reviewed their thinned ranks
and brought them my Christmas packets and they offered me a bouquet
of mistletoe, having managed, I know not where from, to get a faded
blue ribbon, the colour of the regiment, to tie it up with.

Colonel Prodan was commanding the regiment, and they were on
their way to take up their winter quarters in some far-off Moldavian
village. I had not seen my regiment since that day near the Danube
when Mircea was dying.

It was also during this period that my daughters and I were invited
to visit a marvellous Russian train, organized and run by Purichkevich
(later celebrated in connection with the Rasputin murder). It was a
wonderful train brimful of every possible thing soldiers might need
at the front, from felt shoes and mufflers to writing-paper or medi-
cine. There were also musical instruments and games for the con-
valescents with which to while away the time. I was offered, and
gratefully accepted, a splendid stock of quinine, aspirin and all those
necessary and useful drugs, becoming rarer and rarer in our regions.
They gave me great bottles of them and I went home feeling rich and
thankful.

Christmas was at hand, but the weather was not cold, which was a
great blessing. We even sometimes had almost spring days.

Chapter XII

DISASTROUS DAYS
Jassy, December 25th, 1916/ January yth, 1917.

Christmas Day! Usually it was a day of flowers; all my friends
and acquaintances would send me flowers. My house became like a
garden. Here neither for love nor money can any flowers be found.
None! Not even the tiniest bouquet of violets. This lack of flowers
is really a grief to me; it is the first time in my life that I am quite
without flowers. Here the only thing that one has is mistletoe, and
luckily there are quantities of that; the trees are sick and suffocated
with mistletoe. At eleven, official service at the Metropolitan Church;
before and after, work, work, we never stopped working as we wanted
to finish our Christmas packets. This evening we sent three thousand
off to the front, four hundred have already been given to my regiment,
and a thousand are ready for the hospitals, but we go on and on without
stopping, without a moment’s rest.

At about half-past four Prince Stirbey came to tell Nando and me
that there was very bad news, that all hope placed in a certain military
combination had crumbled, because the Russians, in the middle of a
successfully begun offensive, had given the order for retreat. Our
despair was tragic ! For a moment we were both completely crushed,
with the feeling that all was in vain, that every effort was hopeless, that
there was nothing left but to sit still and relinquish everything, every-
thing . . . everything! However, after about an hour’s despair we
decided that it was cowardly to be crushed; that as long as there was
an inch of Roumanian soil left to be saved we must save it, or anyhow
try to save it at whatever cost !

And then suddenly we thought of what so many had come to try
and persuade me to do, to go myself to the Tsar and implore him to
save the country ! At this hour of complete bewilderment we at last
agreed that it was a step that might be taken, that perhaps must be

no

DISASTROUS DAYS

1 1 1

taken. Of course the best thing would be if we could both go, but it
is impossible for the King to go: he cannot leave now but I can, if
I must.

So we sent for Bratianu and Take Ionescu to have it out with them.

It was a memorable interview. Bratianu opposed the idea, Take was
for it. The King and I were simple and outspoken, he, touchingly
turning to me to try and persuade them to let me do the thing which
was so painful to both of us. What more could he do for his country,
than offer to send his Queen to petition for his people as he himself
cannot go!

Bratianu’s objection was that this step would not be in keeping with
the dignity of the Crown. I declared that a queen was never humiliated
unless she felt humiliated. That if I did not at least offer to take this
step I should always have the feeling that I had not done my utmost
to save my country, although it was almost unbearably difficult to leave
just now, having so much to do and so many depending upon me. Of
course the mission might be hopeless and useless, yet I offered to go;
what more could I do?

Take accepted the offer, Bratianu continued to be against it but
ended by saying that as so many wanted me to do it, I should probably
finally have to accept this mission. It was a most moving interview,
and after it was over Nando and I felt quite weak, yet we knew
that we had done what we had to do.

Stirbey stood by us bravely and was all the time a great consolation
to us.

The first step was to send a telegram to Ducky to inquire if a visit
to Petrograd would be acceptable at this moment.

The King left again for Headquarters at half-past ten.

Jassy, December 26th, 1916/ January 8th, 1917.

Snow and frost.

A lot to do, endless people to receive, difficult questions to be worked
out, such as details of my visit to Russia, the journey, etc. Everything
has to be carefully examined, combined, looked at from all sides.
Luckily Prince Stirbey has remained here to help me, as my precious
Ballif is not very well — he works too hard and worries too much.
Everything to-day is fraught with such difficulties that it makes the

1 12

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

stoutest heart quail, but I for one will not give up till the very end,
till I or the country die ; sometimes I think death would be an immense
rest, but it is cowardly to think such a thing. I must keep Washburn’s
words before me : “There is gold in this country, but gold must
crystallize round something : the King and you must be that thing
around which the gold can crystallize.” So let it be!

Have telegraphed to Ducky about coming to Russia, but I am not
sure that this idea will meet with approval there, because there are
rumours of serious trouble at the Russian court. It is said that the
much-hated Rasputin has been murdered, killed by Dmitry Pavlovitch
and the young Yusupoff, and that the Imperial Family is in revolt
against the Empress, clamouring that she should be sent to a convent.
She is extraordinarily hated and some event unknown to me must have
brought this hatred to a climax. Anyhow, something uncanny and
dreadful is going on there, so I hardly think it would be a propitious
moment for me to arrive. I interviewed Mossoloff and told him about
my plan of going to the Tsar; I saw that it rather terrified him, but
he was nice and understanding, admitting that the way of touching
the Tsar was “de I’ebranler sentimentalement but one must remember,
he warned me, that the Empress had a quite disastrous way of throw-
ing cold water upon all his enthusiasms. How deplorable when a
woman has a bad influence over a man ! Poor Alix !

I also reviewed with him the evacuation question which is immensely
difficult ; it is the railway transportation that renders the whole situation
so very anxious. Oh dear, how very difficult it all is !

Jassy, December 28th, 1916/ January 10th, 1917.

All the morning went about in different hospitals, Russian, Rou-
manian, French. Terrible need everywhere. Because of difficult trans-
port conditions, wood is becoming rare, and everywhere I am asked
to help, asked to make the impossible possible. I strain every nerve,
rack my imagination, use whatever influence I have and all the same
there is so very little that I can do.

The weight of all this depresses me, no good news is ever brought
to me, hope grows less and less ; the disorder, discouragement, disor-
ganization of everything seems complete. I suppose it is because of
the beaten, invaded condition of our country, but it is difficult to wade

DISASTROUS DAYS

113

through. Even Minister Alecco Constantinescu, generally so resource-
ful, was discouraging this evening when he came to talk with me.

At seven Mossoloff came again. He is in a great state of despair
about the news received from Petersburg. It is now confirmed that
Rasputin has been killed, that Dmitry has had a hand in it, and that
he has been banished. Trepoff has been forced to resign, and an out-
sider has become Prime Minister; the Empress seems to have won all
along the line, which is a source of despair to everyone, because her
influence upon her husband is considered fatal and unlucky. Poor
old Mossoloff had also bad news about his son, which added to his
sadness.

The place spoken of for our eventual exile in Russia is Kherson, a
little town not far from the Black Sea, beyond Odessa. If there is to be
exile I do not object to this choice ; it would not be so dreadfully far
off, and anything would be better than the North!

Jassy, December 2,0th, 1916/ January 12th, 19 1 7.

Nando and Carol arrived from Zorleni for breakfast. A great deal
of talk and discussion which tired me as I am not feeling particularly
well.

The answer from Ducky has come. She considers that it is not a
wise moment for me to come to Russia. The family situation there
is too strained after the terrible storms raised by Rasputin’s death.

On the whole I am relieved, although I should like to have done this
for my country, as it seemed to expect it of me. Now Carol and
Bratianu are going instead, which will make certain people very angry.
But I cannot stem the tide, I have done my best, and sometimes when
solutions are taken out of one’s hands, then one must simply sit still and
become an onlooker without wasting one’s energy upon things that any-
how one cannot change.

Went with Elisabetta to Mignon’s hospital ( for several weeks
Mignon has been working in a large hospital, aided by French doc-
tors) to distribute my Christmas bags. This is the first hospital which
is to be evacuated into Russia, the beginning of an adventure of which
one cannot foresee the end. Curiously hard times when each step one
takes is full of strange terrors, of unexplored griefs and hardships.

Tried to take some rest, as I am really not feeling quite well; but

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

1 14

bed is no refuge when people come and sit beside it discussing military
questions in loud voices which seem to grate upon one’s nerves.

Jassy, December 31st, 1916/January 13th, 1917.

The last day of the year and one which will for ever be remembered
by us all because of a fearful railway accident which seemed to put the
finishing touch to that disastrous year. At one o’clock in the night
the train between here and Barnova came to- grief, the brakes giving
way when it was travelling downhill. The train was overcrowded as
usual, the carriages went off the rails and capsized, and hundreds were
killed and wounded; besides, there was some terrible explosion and
many people were burned to death.

Spent my whole afternoon with my daughters and Nicky going from
hospital to hospital visiting the wounded, where we saw sights of un-
forgettable horror.

I am always astonished that Nicky asks to go with me. He has no
horror of hospitals and always volunteers to come with me and help.
This is a curious trait in his otherwise excessively ardent, fidgety, over-
excitable nature.

The day was also remarkable for political intrigues, a great effer-
vescence amongst the. members of the Government. Deputies from
both sides came to me; Some people hope that I shall be as- partial as
they are. All this has been fermented because Carol and Bratianu
are going to Russia instead of me. Where they make a mistake is in
supposing that I make a personal question out of things; for me it
is the country which counts and my own ambitions mean nothing to
me. I dearly hope that Carol and' Bratianu will do good work. I have
no wish to be mixed up in politics, for I have plenty to do with my
hospitals and all the miserable, suffering people who look to me for
help.

After dinner Professor Jorga came with a chorus and various actors
and actresses from the theatre for what the Roumanians call “Vicleim,”
an old Roumanian custom for New Year, when singe-rs go about from
house to house with a plough, chanting and making a lot of noise. This
is generally done by poor children, who. are then given small gifts, nuts
and apples and something to drink. Jorga had' composed a poem in
popular form, which Notara (our oldest actor) recited.

DISASTROUS DAYS

ii5

At eleven the King left again for Head-quarters; he hates being
here in the middle of a thousand intrigues, little realizing what my life
has been for nearly two months.

Jassy, Tuesday, January 3rd/ 16th, 1917.

I was supposed- to go to some hospitals, but there was some confusion
and I couldn’t get off. The atmosphere in my house is rather heavy at
this moment, and there- are certain intrigues going on which I shall
have to stop. I am the kindest of souls and in some things I am even
idiotically indulgent, but what is mine is mine. I wish to be mistress
in my own house. If I am frustrated in this, then all the blood of
ancient ancestors comes out in me. I have toutes les bontes, but I will
not be made a fool of in my own house. If I feel underhand intrigues
going on, then I would rather sweep everybody out, even those of whom
I am most fond. Each creature- has its limitations and these are mine ;
I cannot and will not bear the feeling that under my very roof I cannot
obtain what I want, because my wishes are being undermined by others ;
there cannot be two masters.

I need- loyalty and truth; the moment I feel the least unfair play I
become enraged and all my peace is at an end. I can stick to people
through thick and thin no matter what others tell me about them,
till I, myself, am possessed by a shadow of doubt. If this comes over
me it is finished, I am sickened and would rather smash things into
a thousand pieces than go on. I feel something of this kind to-day and
I must put a stop to it or I shall burst.

So as to cool my head I went out for a walk with Elisabetta. The
weather was too- beautiful, a glorious sun streaming down, but the
roads are impossibly muddy.

For the same reason, in the afternoon I took a long, rambling voyage
of discovery with Nicky in his “Bambino.” We decided to find the
end of Jassy, and found that it ended in mud, and a fat pig sitting
in the middle- of this mud barring the so-called road. We laughed !
Sometimes I simply must laugh, so that my heart does not burst and
my mind give way to sorrow. These ridiculous little drives in the
‘‘Bambino” relieve me both morally and physically ; I become in a sense
a child again, who rejoices in the precious little machine driven by a
child.

n6

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

I cannot quite explain this side of my character, except that in reality
I was made for a simple, happy life and yet, though inclined by nature
to be independent and adventurous, I find myself stuffed into a position
of never-ending complications and small intrigues.

At least in war-time if we cannot have anything else, let us have
truth! I feel this so strongly. If people* would only not intrigue and
eat each other up with jealousy and always be offended ! All this sounds
very confused, but I am just letting my thoughts run away with me,
because my head, my heart and my soul are too full.

Towards evening my depression came over me again, and even
assumed greater proportions, and as I sat rather apart in the' big room,
working with many others, I suddenly found myself weeping great
tears of grief. At times my great longing for Mircea awakes like an
immense wave of pain and all my other sorrows and griefs group them-
selves around this central pain till I feel I must lie down and die.

I was beginning to feel that I must have a rest or I would break
down. I always had an instinctive feeling of self-preservation, a sort
of sub-conscious knowledge when my strength was running out. These
last two months had been too strenuous ; I needed a change if only for
a few days, but where find rest? Where could I go?

Then I thought of quiet Zorleni, where Nando was living near Head-
quarters which were at Barlad.

It sounds odd perhaps that peace and quiet could be found at Head-
quarters, but so it was. No doubt they had military work to do, but
only at certain hours, not like here at Jassy where my room had become
the centre of every energy, of every despair, where I could never call
an hour my own from nine in the morning till eleven at night. Besides
all the political effervescence and the distressing evacuation questions,
there were also all the hospitals and constant distress because we lacked
all the most essential things needed, which were not to be found
anywhere, and all the demands were brought to me, and' it was only
by constantly visiting each place myself and seeing to everything in
person that I could keep things going. Also all the foreigners came
to me and I was expected to find immediate solutions for the most com-
plicated cases. I could only get through with everything by instantly

DISASTROUS DAYS

ii 7

attending to each demand, by never putting anything off for even half
an hour. But it was exhausting.

So to Zorleni I went, taking with me only Ballif who, during the
time I was there, could collect all the necessary military information.
I also took my favourite horse, Grui Sanger, hoping to be able to ride,
the weather having been quite mild. I had never had any time to ride
at Jassy. Unfortunately the next day after my arrival, winter came
with sudden vengeance and I was not once able to take out my horse.

But my week at Zorleni was really a rest. Nando- occasionally had
people to lunch, but otherwise the life was most peaceful, uniform
and unclouded, almost unbelievably so. The military news was bad,
but thank God I could not be expected to make military plans ! And
except for visiting the hospitals at Barlad, I had little'to do, and had
plenty of time to read, write and think.

Occasionally I would walk through the desolate-looking village, and
one day I came upon a half-frozen flock of sheep and took it upon
myself to go from hut to hut begging the peasants to take in one or
two sheep, thus saving them from certain death, promising the shepherd
that I would make good his losses. I could not bear to think of the
animals freezing to death without any shelter.

Another time I visited a large military train-depot and was given
by the general in command a hundred warm dressing-gowns for my
unfortunate hospitals. But the culminating moment of my stay was
when Colonel Muruzi, of my regiment, came and asked me to accept
as a gift his beautiful white thoroughbred horse, Ardeal, an animal
I had always longed to possess. Muruzi declared it was too precious
a horse to expose to the inclemencies of a winter campaign. I was
delighted to become the possessor of this magnificent creature and
rejoiced greatly.

In the late afternoon, Prince Stirbey, who was living with the
A.D.C.s in a house on the same grounds, would come to read to me
whilst I worked.

Carol and Bratianu were in Petersburg, and both Stirbey and I
would help the King decipher the endless political and confidential
telegrams received from there. The project of Carol’s marriage with
the eldest daughter of the Tsar had suddenly been revived in court

1 18

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

circles, which somehow seemed an impossibly peaceful plan for such
desperate and unhappy times.

This week spent at quiet, ugly Zorleni was almost incredibly rest-
ful, but Jassy and all my work there was clamouring for me, so I dared
not prolong this peaceful interlude, and returned again to my duties. It
had become bitterly cold and I fully realized that this inclement tem-
perature would add a terrible new complication to our many mis-
fortunes.

But a great joy was also to come to me for I received news that
Ducky was soon coming back to Jassy for a second visit.

Jassy, January 14th/ lyth, 1917.

Arrived at half-past eight after having travelled the night from
Zorleni.

As anticipated, hardly had I set foot in my house before all my
worries began again.

No wood in the hospitals, not enough to eat, the ladies and doctors
inclined to be quarrelsome. There is danger of various epidemics, as
there is not enough method in the sorting of the wounded, infectious
cases being boxed up together with the wounded. Because of the want
of wood for heating the patients catch cold and die of pneumonia,
neither can their linen be washed, nor their food cooked, all for the
want of fuel. It is an infinite and complicated source of despair.

The want of a responsible Head for our sanitary questions makes
itself felt. But owing to the stupendous difficulties of the situation it
is hard to find a man equal to the occasion. I know that something
ought to be done, could and should be done, but must humbly confess
that I do not for the moment see my way out of the difficulty.

The hospital trains are also most unsatisfactory, and everywhere the
lack of supervision makes itself felt. Our people need looking after
and have to be continually kept at their job.

I know that this sudden retreat, followed by a victorious enemy
tearing from us three-quarters of the richest part of the country, has
made everything incredibly complicated and confused. That we are
fighting against almost insurmountable odds, this too I know, but all
the same I definitely feel that if everybody would bravely pull together

DISASTROUS DAYS 119

and face our disaster squarely some of the terrible chaos could be
overcome.

My whole morning was taken up by endless and wearisome dis-
cussions in all directions.

Found Ileana in bed, having been inoculated against the threatened
contagious illnesses that must certainly soon spread. She was feeling
very ill and had a high temperature and I remained with her as long
as I could.

Old Prince Oldenburg, chief inspector of the Russian Red Cross,
came for lunch. He is very old, but I believe he is a mighty terror to
all those working under him whom he rules with a rod of iron. He is
very energetic and extraordinarily ugly.

After lunch we visited the young Empress’s hospital train, a beau-
tiful train, admirably organized, and well kept. A most amiable, thin,
eagle-faced general, who was at the head of it, and his fat little wife
received us with great joy and I was given a wonderful stock of linen
for about two hundred wounded. The Russians may have many faults,
but they are certainly very generous.

All the evening restless coming and going of people with eternal
and varied complaints till I could bear it no longer, and suddenly made
up my mind to call up a few ministers and also General Prezan, so as
to make a plan for better co-operation.

I gathered together Take Ionescu, Vintila Bratianu, Demetre
Grecianu and Alecco Constantinescu.

I cannot flatter myself that I came to any particularly satisfactory
conclusions, in spite of trying to be very clear and persuasive. I ex-
plained that having spent eight days at Head-quarters, I had found
there perfect goodwill and had arranged that orders should be given
for the transportation of wood for the hospitals. I had been assured
that orders had been carried out, but on arriving at Jassy I discovered
that nothing had' been done and that our unfortunate wounded were
dying like flies, not of their wounds, but of pneumonia caught be-
cause of the cold in the unheated hospitals. As there was no wood
with which to heat the stoves, their linen could not be washed, so they
were either lying half naked in their beds or in shirts so filthy that it
was impossible to save them from infection.

As I talked, the monstrous vision of our wretched situation rose be-

120

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

fore me. There are days when there is not even bread because the mills
cannot work for want of fuel. And yet all around Jassy masses of
wood had been cut and it is only the difficulty of transportation which
is making everything so hopeless.

The ministers declared that as long as Head-quarters were at Barlad
and communications were so bad things were sure to go wrong as it
made unity of action complicated. I listened to them patiently but
stuck to my opinion that it would be a terrible added difficulty to try
and find quarters for the whole Roumanian, as well as the Russian,
General Staff in our already overcrowded town. I know something of
the difficulties of finding houses because of our over-crowded hospitals,
where sometimes three men have to be stuck in one bed. Of course
these important gentlemen do not see anything of this sort, but it falls
to my share, so I know, and I have no illusions.

What makes my work so difficult and often makes me feel so help-
less is that I have no actual power in my hands, only the right to try
and help, to give ideas, to persuade, to try and unify action; but an
actual recognized right to order about, I have not. For really effective
work I ought to have a few energetic men at my side and a free hand
to do what must be done and permission to shoulder my own respon-
sibilities. I am afraid that others do not yet see this as clearly as I do;
but by sheer necessity they will have to come to another order of
things. A chief will have to be found somewhere, an energetic or-
ganizer, who will be able to lift the country out of its present chaos.
All I was able to obtain to-day was a promise that Army and Govern-
ment would work hand in hand, and I heard afterwards that the same
day they actually did have a several hours’ conference about the ques-
tions I had touched upon.

Nando came in whilst I was talking to the authorities, and loyally
upheld my point of view. At half-past ten p.m. we had to be off to
the station, as we are leaving for the front.

Chapter XIII

DISEASE, DISORDER AND INTRIGUE
On the Front, Janu’ary i6th/2gth, 191 7.

Yesterday was a day of endless hospitals. To-day was a day amongst
the troops. In the morning Nando decorated three flags at Onessti and
several officers and many soldiers. Touching ceremony in a setting
of snow. Snow everywhere, everything dead white, sky and earth, so
that one’s eyes could hardly bear the dull glare.

In the afternoon we set off again in another direction, our motors
labouring with difficulty through high masses of snow; several
stoppages and then arrival at a village near which a number of troops
were being re-grouped after having come from the trenches. We passed
them in a sort of review and there was much loyal cheering and
many faces delighted to see us, but oh what ragged, gaunt-looking
men with brown, sometimes almost black, faces and keen, far-seeing
eyes, eyes that had seen every horror and sudden death ! Besides, they
looked terribly frozen, being quite insufficiently clothed for the very
severe temperature.

Here Nando also gave many decorations, the ceremony lasting much
longer than in the morning as there were great numbers of troops.
We were standing about in the fields, a keen north wind was blowing
and I got colder and colder. On all sides snow, snow, nothing but snow :
sky and earth white, no beginning and no end either to sky or earth ;
white despair.

It filled me with inexpressible emotion when I looked at all those
brave men who, against overwhelming odds, ill-fed and in every way
insufficiently equipped, are keeping an overpowering enemy at bay. I
know that everything is very difficult now with such fearful odds
against us, but it did shock me and wring my heart to see them so
miserably clothed. And as to the horses — I shall not even begin to
describe what they were like.

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THE STORY OF MY LIFE

One queer little event took place, as I was standing in the heavy
snow amongst withered corn-stalks. A wee little mouse jumped up
on to my arm and I stuffed it into my muff and carried it about all
the time with me to keep it warm.

We drove back to our train in a raging snowstorm which made
everything hazy and dream-like. When I am very cold I have the sen-
sation of becoming smaller, of losing part of my identity; I shrink!

At Bacau, Madame Averescu came to see me, whilst Nando had
still a few military schools to inspect, although it was already dark.

Averescu makes a decidedly masterful impression : it is evident that
he knows what he wants and that people follow him willingly, for he
has the real leader’s spirit. All the measures he takes are intelligent
and to the point.

We arrived at Roman for dinner and dined in the train with a
Russian general, aide of General Lecinsky, who was ill in bed with
bronchitis. This general, whose name I cannot remember, was tall and
thin and talked quite decent French.

Jassy, Tuesday ijth/^oth January, 1917.

We travelled during the night and arrived here for breakfast. Slept
beautifully: I like sleeping in the train and after yesterday’s strong,
cold air I was particularly sleepy.

Found everybody well at home.

They are preparing a house for the King when Head-quarters move
to Jassy as my house is not big enough for all of us together; besides,
His Majesty must have plenty of space for all the men around him.
I went over to see it being put in order, quite a nice house, big and
light, a house in which Cuza had lived in days gone by. A most miscel-
laneous conglomeration of furniture, some beautiful old chairs and cup-
boards from Sinaia, no curtains to the windows, no carpets, really a
funny mixture, but Nando is very indifferent as to how he lives and
is in every way extremely frugal.

I also went to inspect a depot of medicines generously given me by
the Russians, then to see a French doctor who makes miraculous cures
for burns with a sort of wax which he calls Ambrine. One man whose
face had been entirely burned has completely recovered, the colour of
his face is quite normal and no traces of burning or scars mark his

DISEASE, DISORDER AND INTRIGUE 123

skin, nor has he any pain ; it certainly is a miraculous cure. The same
cure can be used for chilblains. The doctor told me that frozen feet
could be prevented by dipping them into common paraffin, but alas, it
would probably be impossible to have sufficient paraffin on the front.

In the afternoon went sleighing with Nicky. Beautiful weather,
enormous quantities of snow, the heaviest fall for many years.

Towards evening I had to see a Russian gentleman come from Petro-
grad to help about the evacuation business to Kherson. Somehow I
cannot believe that it will really come to this, yet it is better to have
everything in order so as not to have confusion and disaster at the
last moment if the worst comes to the worst. He was a very pleasant
young man, very tall and talkative, uncomfortably outspoken about
Russian affairs. I was absolutely horrified at all he told me. Their
hatred of the Empress has reached a terrible pitch ; they consider her
a misfortune for the country and there is no one to-day who would
not gladly get rid of her by any means.

How dreadful ! I cannot imagine anything more ghastly than to be
hated by one’s own people, and after all it is not so very difficult to
make yourself beloved if you are Queen, in Russia especially where
the Tsar and Tsarina are almost sacred figures.

Later I had still to see Mossoloff, and we talked about all sorts of
things. I quite liked the old gentleman. He, too, is very outspoken.
Then I received the little doctor from the Purichkevich train so that
I could thank him for all the things that they had given me. He was
beaming and had so mightily perfumed himself for the occasion that
he made my whole room smell of his scent, which luckily was a good
scent. I offered him my photograph, and he gave me a very welcome
box of excellent chocolates from Odessa, a real luxury nowadays.
Altogether he seemed to be quite delighted, pleased with himself, his
scent, and also it seems with me!

Jassy, Wednesday, January i8th/2,ist, 1917-

Ducky has arrived! Great joy! Everybody is pleased that she has
come back, she is much liked, as all recognize her undeniable per-
sonality, her strength of character, and superior intelligence; besides,
she is both agreeable and amusing and has a wonderful way of relating
things, tersely, in a few words.

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THE STORY OF MY LIFE

To me it means more than I can say to have her here again, it makes
everything easier; it is really a case of geteiltes Leid, halbes Leid,
whilst alas, there can be no question of geteilte Freude just now.
But all the same even small things become pleasant when one has one
of one’s own kith and kin with whom to share them; someone who
feels alike, thinks alike, was brought up in the same way.

Glorious excitement unpacking all the delightful things she ha9
brought us. Good things to eat and also useful things, sweets, tea,
home-made cherry brandy, smoked fish, etc., big Russian water-tight
boots, leather jackets, Orenburg shawls, a paint-box for Ileana, etc.,
etc. Nicky was given a pair of tyres for his precious “Bambino” and
he also ran off with a fur-lined leather jacket. Ileana got a much-
desired horse and cart and other small surprises. It was like having
Christmas over again.

And after that another joy! Splendid provisions for my soldiers and
for my hospitals, thousands and thousands of things : shirts and
trousers, gloves and sheets, dressing-gowns and bandages, medicines,
needles and cotton, a generous and splendid donation, which means
more than gold to us. This is an untold blessing, as each day our
situation becomes more precarious and more difficult, and so few pleas-
ant things happen to us just now. May my beloved Ducky be a
thousand times blessed!

Endless and interesting conversations with Ducky about* the situation
in Russia, which is very dangerous because of the prevailing hatred
for the Empress, so* that even the Emperor is looked on askance and
there is actually talk about suppressing them one way or another. The
Imperial couple keep sending people into banishment; no one is safe
any more, and they make foolish and unjustified nominations. Their
Government is composed of absolutely unknown and worthless people.

Here everything is getting more and more difficult. The great cold
which has prevailed for some time makes the question of fuel a real
despair, also food is getting scarce, and both the Roumanian and the
Russian railways are running very badly. The situation is really most
serious, especially as we are threatened with an epidemic of that dread-
ful black typhus, unless measures are taken *in time, but it is impossible
to take any measures as long as there is no real head to our sanitary
organization. I am trying to have Jean Cantacuzene appointed with

DISEASE, DISORDER AND INTRIGUE 125

Slatineanu ; it was nearly done but somewhere it had met with opposi-
tion, and I did not succeed. This threw me into a state of despair,
because it is absolutely essential that I should carry this through ; but
I shall have mountains to move before I can do so. How hard it all is,
and how I hate politics !

After lunch Ducky and I set out with Ballif in an open motor to
see where they are cutting the wood round about Jassy. A beautiful
afternoon, but deadly, cruelly cold, almost impossible to clothe oneself
so as not to freeze, and I have no closed car. We saw where the
wood was being cut, and how it was being brought into town ; we also
saw how Austrian prisoners were carrying it on their backs to the
carts and motors that were to bring it into Jassy, but where does it go?
We got very cold, and Ducky, although warmly dressed, nearly per-
ished. She always hated the cold. Her circulation is not as good as
mine.

Jassy, 2 2nd January/ 4th February, 191 7.

Nando arrived for breakfast.

Spent an agitated morning seeing numerous people and hearing
nothing but things which made my heart and soul ache. As I am not
feeling particularly well physically I am inclined to take things doubly
tragically, and great waves of grief pass over me so that any moment
I feel as though I must burst into tears.

Suddenly Lady Barclay appeared, very breezy and very satisfied
with the good work she is doing. She is a capable but agitated lady.

Good old Georgie has also reappeared; of course he came to lunch.
He was full of talk and Ducky and he were as amusing as ever to-
gether, although what they had to talk about was not exactly cheerful.

After lunch Ducky and I set out to visit a hospital installed in the
former convent Frumoasa, built on the outskirts of the town, in which
all the soldiers with eye complaints have been interned. Doctor Canta-
cuzene had specially asked me to go and inspect this hospital because
it is in a terrible condition; they always hope that when I go some-
where I shall be able to insist upon improvements, and also help as
much as I can with my own means.

I have been hardened to many sights since I have been going about

126

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

from one wretched hospital to another, but I confess that this is one
of the most awful things I have ever seen.

Although our excellent Doctor Staicovitch is at the head of it, aided
by a nice young doctor whom I do not know, but who talked several
languages fluently, even English, the place is horrible and the two
doctors were in indignant despair about the state of things, though
nobody really knows who can be held responsible for it. In a space
meant only for three hundred, seven hundred have been herded together
in barn-like constructions, without ventilation or light, with muddy
floors which are nothing but stamped earth, the beds fixed one above
the other. And stuffed into these, a crowd of unfortunate beings with
every imaginable eye complaint, not to speak of several forms of
typhus. No place for isolating infectious diseases, and no sanitary
arrangements of any kind. A terrible state of affairs which will have
to be looked into, but which, alas, cannot be bettered in a day.

Ducky and I wandered through these ghastly wards with the feeling
that we were advancing into Hell, wondering how much misery human
beings can bear without succumbing.

The beds stand together one against the other with no space between
them, which makes the doctors’ work well-nigh impossible.

The first step I must take is to insist upon Jean Cantacuzene’s
nomination in the face of every opposition ; we must have a responsible
head. I decided in my heart that before night came on this question
should be settled. This inspection over, although neither of us was
feeling well, Ducky and I dragged about wearily on foot for several
kilometres through deep snow at a far-off station where we were
searching for some railway carriages she wanted to turn into a hospital
train. What we found was very unsatisfactory, but we got excruciat-
ingly tired wading through the snow-drifts with our big Russian boots.

When we reached home we found old Georgie waiting for us and
crying for his tea. He remained with us till nearly dinner-time, upon
which he left us to reappear well before the soup was served, because
dear Georgie has a healthy Russian appetite.

Having an excellent cook in his train and plentiful provisions, good
old Georgie brings us each day some excellent zacuska, which is the
children’s delight.

DISEASE, DISORDER AND INTRIGUE 127

This, however, did not exclude my still having' to receive Princess
Marie Maruzi, who came to tell me about all the horrors I had just
seen.

Ducky remained with us eleven days. She helped me in every way.
Things were working up to a crisis ; I was not at all well at that time,
but overworked and harassed as I was, I made heroic efforts not to
break down.

My diary at this period is full of the struggle I had to have Dr.
Jean Cantacuzene named as supreme head of our sanitary organization,
which was in a chaotic condition, and black typhus was spreading ap-
pallingly. Political intrigues were rampant, and although I had at one
moment really considered his nomination a settled thing, it suddenly
fell through and I had to begin the struggle all over again.

This brought me almost to the verge of despair. Why should poli-
tics and personal animosity mix up in everything?

I, however, had to stand above party feeling, voting for what I
considered right, even if I made myself unpopular with some, perhaps
even with my friends. I had to fight tooth and nail to preserve my
independence and not to be influenced one way or another. I had also
a cruel struggle about my “Regina Maria” ambulances, a well run or-
ganization, under my special guidance and of which Jean Chrissoveloni
was the leading spirit. We did astonishingly good work, being always
there when the need was greatest.

My name was a sort of password for all who belonged to our unit,
holding everyone together. It was an inspiration for the simplest chauf-
feur or mechanic, as it was for all those in higher command. “Regina
Maria” was their pride and strength.

Now the army wanted to take my motors from me to combine them
with the military units, and I knew that this would be fatal ; in a short
time nothing would remain of our brave work and all enthusiasm
would die a sudden death.

Therefore in the face of sickening opposition, in spite of unbearably
overwrought nerves, I strained my last strength to the utmost not to
be beaten in this. Finally I won, but I nearly succumbed in the effort.

Ducky stood staunchly by me. Her language was forceful and to the
point, and she defended her hard-tried sister with splendid energy.

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THE STORY OF MY LIFE

We always had guests for lunch and amongst them we received two
celebrated Russian generals, Keller and Wrangel. Keller was a bril-
liant cavalry officer de grande allure, Wrangel, tall and incredibly slim,
finally played, as will be remembered, a great part in the struggle of
the ‘White Army.”

I give a few extracts from my journal during those days of high
pressure :

Jassy, Monday, January 23rd/ February 5th, 1917

Woke up rather feverish and not feeling very well and still idi-
otically inclined to weep.

Everything seems too hard, too difficult, too completely dreadful, as
though no human strength could stand such pressure and not give way
to despair. But I shall stand it, I have sworn to stand it to the bitter
end, it may even be a glorious end; at the deepest depths of my soul,
I still believe it will be a glorious end, though I must admit that
nothing at the present time justifies this optimism.

Germany has declared war a outrance with her submarines, which
means that they will blow up without warning every boat that sails
the seas within certain zones, everything, including neutral boats ! No
warning will be given and no account will be taken of life. It is a mon-
strous threat, but it certainly looks as though they are capable of carry-
ing it out. In consequence both America and Spain have called back
their Ambassadors and stand on the verge of war. What is our poor
old world coming to?

Decided to remain quiet to-day, to undertake nothing so as to give
my poor aching body a chance.

I did, however, have Norton-Griffiths for lunch. We have all be-
come very fond of him; he has a quiet, masterful way about him
which inspires confidence, and the King also has the highest opinion
of him. I want him to try and help me to get out a certain number of
railway carriages that have been blocked ; these carriages contain col-
lapsible barracks which Jean Cantacuzene needs for beginning his
serious work of depomllage. The carriages are blocked somewhere at
a little station called Rafaila and there are twenty-two trains standing
before them. This is the sort of thing I am asked to do.

DISEASE, DISORDER AND INTRIGUE 129

Jassy, Thursday, January 26th/ February 8th, 1917.

A rather melancholy day, everybody’s nerves on edge, as no one is
feeling well.

At breakfast an unfortunate discussion was started about my “Re-
gina Maria’’ ambulances with which we fetch the wounded from the
front. As during the retreat a great many motor ambulances were
lost, the army is trying to lay its hands upon my organization as it is
still complete. When I mentioned this to Ballif his answers were not
particularly tactful. I am convinced he did not really mean to hurt
me, but being already upset he managed to cut me to the quick.
At first I tried to remain calm but as the discussion became more
heated my exasperation got the better of me. There has been too much
disappointment and vexation lately so that as I talked an uncontrollable
grief welled up and overflowed, and at first I am sorry to say I became
frightfully angry and said many of those unjustifiable things which
escape from one at moments of tremendous bitterness. All this had
been accumulating for a long time and my state of health was finally
undermining the self-control I had preserved all along.

Now it was a sort of relish to give vent in words to all my pent-up
despair. I declared that my goodwill was misunderstood, my motives
suspected, that everybody came to me crying for help, and yet the
moment I did want to help, tried to help, endless intrigues undermined
my every effort. I had neither pride nor personal ambition, only a
heart that in spite of all my grief was still glowing with love, a heart
which only asked humbly to be allowed to help and work, but even
this right was not conceded to me. I had agreed to give up my own
hospital so as to be able to help all other hospitals in need, distributing
all those many things I had carefully gathered together. This was no
doubt a useful way of giving aid, but it left my heart empty; and
now, if they also want to take my ambulances away from me, which
are well organized and run with an enthusiasm not to be found again
if they become anonymous, all those working in them, having been
fired by my sympathy, would then disintegrate. If they did this to me,
then better once and for all to bury me in a deep well and put a big
stone over it; the only thing I begged was that the stone should be
heavy enough to prevent my hearing what was being done over my
head as I was sick of political intrigues.

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THE STORY OF MY LIFE

I had no idea that so much bitterness had accumulated in my soul:
I can only say that quinine would have been sweet in comparison. But
the humiliating part of it was that it all ended by my having to get
up from the table in floods of tears.

I fled to my bed where Ueana came and lay down beside me to try
and console me ; she is a lovable, adorable child with an extraordinarily
affectionate heart for her age. We talked of Mircea, mingling our tears,
whilst I wept and wept in abject misery.

Not long after, my faithful Ballif, full of remorse, came to tell me
that he had been .to General Prezan to talk over the ambulance busi-
ness, which for the moment is to remain untouched. I was still lying on
my bed and had nothing more to say. It was as- though I were emptied
of speech, but Ducky who was sitting beside me told him that she
thought people were behaving towards me in an unjustifiable way.
The burden of everything lay upon my shoulders, everybody expected
everything of me and at the same time hampered me in every way, and
this she considered incomprehensibly illogical as well as unfair.

I kept my tear-stained face hidden in my pillows and took no part
in the conversation. They talked over my head as though I were a
sick child, which I certainly must have resembled at that moment;
there was nothing of the energetic, winning Queen about me just then.

All my children were inoculated to-day, some for the second, some
for the third time, and were feeling terribly ill with raging fever.
After dinner Ileana was seized with a bad pain in the lower part of
her stomach, which gave us a great fright. We sent for Dr. Romalo,
but he told us not to be anxious, explaining that these injections often
gave strange and uncomfortable results.

Ducky and I, neither of us feeling very well, went for once early
to bed.

Jassy, Friday, January 27th/ February 9 th, 1917.

Had a bad night, my cold has gone down to the bronchial tubes and
I draw my breath with a whizzing sound most disturbing when in bed,
as it makes me cough.

Morally and physically I am badly run down, but I must not give
way, there is too much to be done, I must continue my work in spite
of the wrath I feel against those who make things so difficult.

DISEASE, DISORDER AND INTRIGUE 131

The suggestion has again been launched that perhaps I should go
to Russia. At first we planned that I might go off with Ducky but
this is rather difficult to arrange, as being Queen I would have to be
received with royal honours, etc.

The idea of Carol’s marriage with O'lga, the oldest daughter of the
Tsar, has also suddenly cropped up again; advances are being made
from Petersburg. There has been wind of it here and people, eager
for something pleasant at last, are overjoyed by this thought. I must
say it never entered my head that such an idea would come to them
now when our little country hardly exists. But because of its humili-
ated state it would be looked upon as a happy event. It remains to be
seen if the young people could take any liking to each other.

Anyhow, this has put the idea of my ‘going to Russia on the map
again.

Good old Georgie reappeared for lunch and dinner and tea, but
Ducky and I were still feeling unwell and we were not such good
companions as usual.

The weather continues bitterly cold, the railways run worse and
worse, the fear of famine is becoming more and more a reality; and
yet one must have the courage not to give way.

Jassy, January 30th/ February 1 2th, 191 7.

Had an awful night, felt abominably ill; at about three a.m. I
broke into a violent sweat and my temperature, which had been very
high, at last went down.

This morning, although I feel as weak as a new-born babe, my head
is much clearer. Throat still horribly painful but breathing easier.

Ducky who was to have left, is staying till she is sure that I am
really better; she is awfully kind and looks after me like a mother.

This morning Nando came to me with a pale face and brought me
terrible news : Colonel Alexander Sturdza (son of old Demetre Sturdza,
head of the Liberal Party during Uncle’s reign), who for several days
had mysteriously disappeared, is thought to have been a traitor of the
blackest kind. Crainicianu, son of the general, was taken with mani-
festos in his pocket, signed Sturdza, in which he calls upon the army
to surrender to the enemy and to join hands with the Roumanian

132 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

prisoners on the other side and to throw the Russians out of the
country !

Nando almost broke down over this, and no wonder! And yet some-
how I cannot imagine that Sturdza would stain his father’s name by
such a deed!

Jassy , February 8th/2ist, 1917.

I am still not well. Had a dreadful shock to-day, as it seems poor

General S was publicly degraded. S ! Successful, smiling, fat,

comfortable S had to stand up to public disgrace with all Jassy

looking on whilst they tore off his “galons” and dressed him in convict’s
clothes. He is condemned to five years’ hard labour.

I had heard that this was to happen, but I did not know that it was
to be to-day. I was in bed and Simky was sitting beside me when I
heard the dull, continuous thud of soldiers tramping past my window;
I asked Simky why so many soldiers were passing by and she answered
that it was because of General S .

“Why because of S ?” I asked.

Then she told me !

I felt as though the day was turning to night, that life was unen-
durable and the world too awful a place to live in. How could any
man live through such an hour of humiliation!

I felt as though I couldn’t stand it, that I must cry aloud with the
anguish of it, I felt as though I were suffocating; the thought was
not bearable, not bearable !

They say he had been a coward, that he had turned tail and run,
dragging his brigade with him ! Yes, no doubt there is no excuse for
such a thing, it is an unforgivable crime, but the punishment is still
more monstrous than the crime. Much better shoot him, a thousand
times better shoot him than such degradation!

I have known S ever since I came to the country ; he was always

smiling, always spick and span, rich, successful, aggressively pleased
with himself and life and Fate and humanity. He had the best horses,
the richest wife, the most comfortable house, the broadest smile, the
most bragging tongue, and being a cheerful fellow he was a friend of
the children. A good eater, a good drinker, a great smoker, a great
talker, the one always chosen to go abroad on different missions; a

DISEASE, DISORDER AND INTRIGUE 133

man I never specially appreciated, but who was a companion of all our
happier, lighter days, who had been an officer in my regiment, to end
like this . . . like this.

All day I could think of nothing else; in a hundred ways I imag-
ined to myself that dreadful scene; the gloating, cynical, inquisitive
public, all Jassy invited to see his downfall. To be brought out, to
stand helpless and there, beneath God’s sky, to have his “rank” torn
from him, to stand up and not to die. I cannot bear it ... I simply
cannot bear it. Somehow I go half-mad when I think of what it must
mean, especially as lurking at the back of my mind I have a sort of
feeling as though there was some mistake somewhere, as though he
was being too harshly judged; I suppose in war-time one has to make
certain examples, but is this one really just?

Jassy, February 9 th/22nd, 191 7.

It is too trying, I cannot get my strength back again, and all these
exhausting discussions with all sorts of people are almost more than
I can stand; but what can I do but fight on and on according to the
line of duty that I have set myself, trying to induce others to work,
to arrive at some necessary solution, not to give way, to make super-
human efforts, to do the impossible under impossible circumstances?
If only each man would do his share faithfully, the deadly despair of
the situation could be dealt with a little, just a little! I am not asking
for miracles, I am asking for effort and the will to help! I am asking
them to pull together, honestly without quarrels and hatred. Is this
so impossible?

I want a little of the faith that “removes mountains,” and find it
hardly anywhere, and I am actually being accused of mixing myself
up in things that are no business of mine. I do not imagine that my
small efforts can better the absolutely terrifying state of affairs; I have
no illusions that with my small means I can relieve the situation, but
as long as there is breath in my body, a thought in my brain, a penny
in my pocket, I mean to do my utmost, my very utmost, to relieve all
the suffering and awaken all the energies I possibly can. This is my
right, and I shall fight against all those who do not do their duty and
who will not work. I may be destined to break my heart over all this

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THE STORY OF MY LIFE

without obtaining any results, but then there would still be time to die
in harness like a horse who falls when his strength is spent.

And work I shall on and on, relentlessly, restlessly, never matter
what it may cost me, never matter if the effort be a thousand times
greater than the result !

All I hear is fearful; I have to shut up my heart so as not to suffer
it all, I have to put a dark cloth over my brain so as not to perceive
visions that would drive me mad.

And the worst is they will not leave me alone, they always begin
over and over again, fruitless, exhausting discussions which never come
to an end and give no result. Finally at the end of a day when I could
stand no more I exclaimed :

“The doctors tell me to keep quiet or I shall never recover; at least
if I am to go against their orders and do harm to myself let it be for
the good of something, not for futile, sterile arguments that lead to
nothing and only kill my heart, my courage, my faith and hope.”

Jassy, February nth/2^th, 1917 {Saturday).

To-day the good news was brought me that the little Grand Duke
Alexis, heir to the Russian throne, has sent me five wagons full of
presents for our soldiers; they have just arrived and it is I who am
to distribute them.

I take this as a sign that God doesn’t quite forsake me at the mo-
ment when with all my might I am trying to help.

I have asked Nando to let me keep Carol here, instead of his going
back to Head-quarters. There life is too uniform, he has too little
to do and he is keen to work. We are going to arrange to send him
from place to place, inspecting, inquiring, looking into things. I shall
also get him to go with linen and provisions to different regiments;
it is good that he should see things with his own eyes, but he must
never go with empty hands; I shall fill his hands for him because the
misery is so great.

In spite of difficulties and objections and endless impediments there
are a few things that I can do, and they must be done now immediately
during this crisis of atrocious want.

It looks as though this terrible black typhus is becoming virulent;
even poor Costescu of the police, who always follows me everywhere,

DISEASE, DISORDER AND INTRIGUE 135

is also down with this sickness, I am afraid. There are endless calami-
ties ahead if this epidemic spreads.

Jassy, Monday, February 13th /26th, 1917.

Nothing special to relate, am still kept in bed, which exasperates me.

Costescu is really very ill, his case causes much anxiety, because
according to the doctors, as he had been inoculated with the anti-typhus
serum he ought to have been immune. But I wish him to be nursed
in my house, not in a hospital. The weather is suddenly warmer and
there is a tremendous thaw. Carol motored with great difficulty to
Barmova to take provisions from me to the regiments quartered there.
He found great misery but things already on the mend.

Long talks with Nando and Barbu Stirbey about the general situa-
tion and what steps should be taken in several directions.

Ileana goes out daily with bread, biscuits and a thermos of tea and
rum to feed the more miserable creatures she meets on the streets ; she
is a curiously earnest-minded little girl and seeing how I try to help
everywhere she also wants to do her share. In the afternoon Mignon
often goes with her; in the morning Mignon works in her hospital.

I never eat my bread now but always put it aside so that the children
can take it when they go in search of the hungry.

Carol has a bad sore throat and I hope that he will not also be ill;
I explained to him how to look after his throat for the night, so he
may possibly be quite well the next morning. He is working hard
just now and making himself useful; he likes working under my di-
rection and I am pleased to have him as my right hand.

I am sick of bed, I shall now ignore temperature and take up my
usual life again. For two days they have given me no more medicine,
which makes me feel much better.

I am afraid Simky is also going down with “grippe.”

Jassy, Tuesday, February lAjh/iyth, 1917.

Beautiful weather! Spring is coming but with it, alas, no good tid-
ings. I hear only of misery, hunger and sickness, also, alas, of mis-
management.

Got up for the first time after more than two weeks in bed. I felt
rather like a ghost and top-heavy as though I had lost ballast and were

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

136

floating uncertainly over the waters. My little cocker, Dana, was mad
with joy to see me on my feet again, and everybody greeted me, touch-
ingly pleased to have me back in their midst.

I found the noise at meals rather hard to stand, it made my head
swim, but I held my own courageously and then crept to bed again,
quite at the end of my tether.

At eleven I received the mayor of the town, a certain Racovita, who
has married a girl I knew very well, whom the young Crown Prince
of Germany had once admired. The mayor is young and eager to
work, although the conditions he has to work in are almost desperate.
The town is stuffed full with ten times its ordinary population, epi-
demics are raging on all sides, food becomes scarce, transport almost
impossible, next to no horses, and the few that remain dying for want
of fodder. These miserable little skeleton animals sent to bring in hay
either die on the way or eat up half of the provisions they were to
bring to town.

Having been in bed for some time, I had a chance of quietly re-
viewing the whole situation and by slow degrees I began to under-
stand what had created the incredible chaos through which we are
labouring.

The trouble and disaster came so quickly that people lost their heads
and took some time to realize the situation, and when they awoke from
their torpor, it was too late; the state of confusion and mismanagement
was such that no human power could put it right.

Our army was beaten and had to retreat in disorder, abandoning one
town after the other, and with those towns our hospitals, depots and
provisions had also to be abandoned. The wounded were evacuated if
possible, the most precious necessities saved if possible, but how often
it was not possible ! Add to this panic, disorder, confusion, many try-
ing to profit from the general chaos, the impossibility of reviewing
the situation, the eternal terror that the next position would also have
to be surrendered; the country becoming smaller and smaller, poorer
and poorer and more panic-stricken, a single railroad on which every-
thing and everybody tried to move, evacuation, transport, ammuni-
tion, refugees.

The Russians having been called to our rescue, came pouring in from
the opposite direction, and they also needed the railway, and all this

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

138

years unaccustomed to effort, did not know how to cope with such a
situation ; in consequence disorder, no little dishonesty and no efficient
inspections, no systematic supervision.

I saw it all coming, without however realizing the details. Now
it all lies before me like a horrible picture suddenly revealed to my
gaze. I have tried to use all the power I have to induce those responsi-
ble to make the necessary efforts, not to sit still and moan, not to
confess themselves beaten, but to concentrate all their strength and
help for all they are worth. The Roumanians, however, are more or
less fatalists; they always imagine that God, or Fate, or Chance will
step in at the last hour and save them ! But being of English origin
my motto is: Help yourself and God will help you, and this I have
been trying to preach but with small result.

Now they are waking up; but to face what? A situation so formi-
dable, so despairing, so intricate that it well could make the bravest
heart quail!

Here comes the mayor asking me "tout mon concours”\ In other
days it might have made me smile, that the mayor should have come
to the Queen to ask her help ! But in these days I have learned not to
smile at such demands, but quietly to take up my part of the burden
and go ahead, do what I can.

I told him to ask to see Carol, who would be able to help him in
the transport question, etc. The man is at his wits’ end, as for months
no cleaning of the town has been possible; there have been no men
to do the work, no horses, no motors, no carriages, the army having
requisitioned everything and the few horses which had remained to
them having died of misery and hunger.

Prezan came for lunch. He rejoices with us over the splendid pro-
visions sent to me by little Alexis for my soldiers. I feel quite rich, for
I have a wonderful supply of miscellaneous things : linen, tobacco, soap,
biscuits, pressed tea, gloves, stockings, pencils, pen-knives, sugar, salt,
flour, smoked fish, felt boots, caps, coats, shirts, nuts and sun-flower
seed (which the peasants love eating), writing-paper and postcards and
goodness knows what not else.

Everybody who comes to see me carries off something for their
own special poor ; it is a blessing to be able to give.

After tea had long talk with Stirbey and Ballif. They want to put

DISEASE, DISORDER AND INTRIGUE 137

to be coped with by people who had more or less lost their heads ; in-
deed, it was an almost superhuman task!

The Russians who came as saviours soon proved to be an added
difficulty. They came in never-ending masses, and we were pleased
to see them, for they represented for us a strength that would stop
the enemy’s advance; they meant the hope of keeping the last shred
of our territory. And at first no one thought of that other danger,
Famine !

These countless hordes of Russians had to be fed! Transport was
slow and insufficient, therefore they laid hands upon all that could
be bought up. Their money was always forthcoming, and their appe-
tite was huge. The peasants, little realizing that in a short time money
would be completely useless as there would be nothing more to buy,
gave their all without reserve !

I have often sat at my window watching the Russians marching
down the street. In compact ranks they came and they were always
singing — strange solemn chants, the treble and bass voices alternately
taking up the same refrain, most impressive to hear and rather dis-
turbing; there was something fateful and mournfully dismal about
their Russian songs.

Like the locusts of old, these slow-moving, well-fed, steady-going,
earth-coloured Russians, their name being legion, devoured the land.
They had already two years of war behind them, were accustomed to
look after themselves, to make provision, to foresee! And little by
little those who had been greeted as saviours turned into a mighty
danger none had anticipated.

Lately I have tried to concentrate my mind, to look backwards and
forwards and all round, to try and conceive the whole of the disastrous
situation, and sometimes my courage almost fails me before what I
perceive.

Added to all the rest, two months of bitter cold winter, such as has
not been remembered in the land for a generation.

The regiments that had to be re-formed were quartered in deplor-
able conditions often in far-off, miserable little villages lost amongst
the hills. Owing to the snow, transport became almost out of the ques-
tion and hunger, cold, misery and sickness set in. It was nearly im-
possible to get from place to place, and the Roumanians, in happier

DISEASE, DISORDER AND INTRIGUE 139

Ballif into a big, responsible, military position, but Ballif is unwilling
to leave me and he also declares that he has been too long out of con-
tact with all that is going on to be able to accept. He would not feel
justified in so doing.

Carol continues to be useful and to do his work well. I continue
to have a temperature, but I have thrown my thermometer away. Poor
Costescu is very ill.

A minor disaster : Ileana’s favourite pony, Tango, a queer-coloured
little animal, a sort of earth-coloured roan with long, flowing cream-
coloured mane and tail, has actually had to have his tail cut off. This
being a time of infection a little wound at the root of his tail festered,
became bad and the beautiful tail had to come off. Of course Ileana
wept.

Jassy , Thursday, February i6th/March 1st, 1917.

I am trying as much as possible to take up my usual life again, but
I am still shaky.

This morning a lady I am very fond of came to see me. I rather
dreaded the interview because I foresaw what she was going to talk
about, but she was kind and conciliatory and very affectionate. She
came to ask me to see her husband more* often, that it did him good,
but I told her quite truthfully that he did not do me good and that
after a visit from her husband I always felt more discouraged, and
that in general I avoided seeing him because of this. After a talk with
him, I had the feeling each time that all the bones had been taken out
of my body and that nothing was left of me with which to continue
struggling and working; he depressed me hopelessly.

Also Lala de Belloy with dear old Soeur Pucci cayne to see me, a
very saddened Lala, working with all her heart for one of the hospi-
tals, aided by her daughter, Collette Brancovan. Eajch day the situa-
tion in the hospitals becomes more difficult ; at the present time there
are more sick than wounded. The death rate is much higher, the
hospitals are over-crowded so that the men are sent away before com-
pletely cured and we have no hospitals for convalescents; therefore
these unfortunate beings who are supposed to be well enough, to rejoin
their regiments, are not in a condition to do so and yet have nowhere
to go! But the hospitals find it impossible to keep them as there are

140

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

already two and sometimes three in one bed, and more and more sick
pouring in. What shall I do?

Sceur Pucci is in a hospital beyond the town working with the ex-
cellent little French doctor, Clunet, of whom I spoke when I first
reached Jassy. It is an isolation hospital for infectious cases. I had
the pleasure of giving her quantities of provisions, so she went off
very delighted. I also promised to visit them soon.

Another beautiful present arrived for me from Empress Alexandra,
a quantity of linen, medicines and provisions for the hospitals.

After dinner I went early to bed, but first had a long talk with Carol,
who is really becoming my great help.

Jassy , Friday, February 24th/ March gth, 1917.

Nando arrived from Zorleni for breakfast. Things are not quiet
politically, there is a party which is furious because Bratianu is kept
in power.

Prezan and Zaharoff were invited to lunch. I rather like little old
Zaharoff, I think he is an honest fellow, though his lack of French
is a drawback. However, I get accustomed to this and learn to help
him out with what he wants to say.

There is trouble from the Stafka ; they speak of taking troops away
from Roumania, which would be too bad. After having come here
with so many transport difficulties and after eating up all the provisions
of the country, it would be too unfair to withdraw their troops without
their having done anything to help us.

Little Zaharoff is indignant and says in his broken French “Ca
honte pour Russie.” At lunch he said something very funny to me.
They were discussing the utility of the King’s going to Russia to talk
to the Tsar :

“Roi doit aller, mais vous allez avec Roi, faut aller avec Roi. Roi
parle, Tsar parle, moi parle, militaires parlent, vous souriez. Tsar dit
OOuai! [oui]. Russie aime beaucoup vous.”

Weather was beautiful, motored through the snow with my two
daughters, our car full of various provisions which we divided among
the miserable, hungry-looking soldiers we met along the way. Alas,
there are many too many miserable soldiers running, or rather limping
and dragging themselves about. I absolutely must find a way of help-

DISEASE, DISORDER AND INTRIGUE 141

ing them. The great difficulty is to find a place for them. Jassy is
crammed so full. Perhaps I can build a wooden barracks for them.
I am racking my brain to find a solution.

Jassy, Saturday, February 2$th/March 10th, 1917.

Fine day, but tremendous thaw and awful dirt.

Had the joy of receiving a big donation from the English Red
Cross. After lunch set off with Carol and Mignon in a motor to visit
a regiment quartered in a small, miserable village. Up to the present
it was impossible because of the snow. Now the snow is melting so
one can get through, but the mess is inconceivable.

A chilly drive through a melancholy landscape, thaw and filth, bodies
of dead horses strewn along the road; the village itself squalid,
wretched, dirty, forsaken, buried in mud and melting snow. Wander-
ing about between crumbling huts, pale, ragged spectres, ghosts of
soldiers with yellow faces, with sunken eyes, their clothes in tatters,
remnants of what was once a regiment ; they had been suffering from
cold, hunger and sickness. I asked where the doctors were. Some of
them had died-, some were down with the terrible typhus. Where were
the officers? They too are half of them dead, half of them in the
hospital.

Sadder sight I never saw. Luckily I came with full hands, had a
motor behind me stuffed with provisions, of tea, biscuits, sugar, soap,
tobacco. For the officers I had brought a special quality of tea, choco-
late, cigarettes and also stockings. For the most grievously sick I had
rum, brandy and medicines. Mignon was cruelly impressed by all we
saw, but my children followed me without complaint. They are get-
ting accustomed to these terrible conditions and learn to overcome
their natural shrinking before such heartrending sights. But some-
times I see waves of horror filling Mignon’s gentle blue eyes; but she
has a strong, kind heart and is ready to do her share.

Chapter XIV

THE RUSSIAN REVOLUTION

Jassy, Tuesday, February 28th/ March 13th, 191 7.

This morning at about 9 a.m. Stirbey appeared with the disturbing
news that a revolution had broken out in Petersburg. We do not yet
exactly know what form it has taken, but later in the day there was
more precise news ; the regiments brought out to fire on the population
refused to do so and distributed their cartridges amongst the revo-
lutionaries after killing their officers!

I hope Ducky is not in danger, I hope the fire will not spread, it
would be dreadful for our cause and, oh, what a disaster in every way!

After lunch drove out with Elisabetta in a motor laden with pro-
visions. We hunted up the poorest quarters of the town and distributed
many things, food and sugar and clothing such as woollen gloves,
stockings, mufflers and shirts. We got into incredible regions where
the world seemed to come to an end in .mud. I also visited a hospital
which an energetic little French doctor has put into excellent order; it
used to be a sickening place, now it is still poor but neat, tidy and clean.

Hurried back for an audience with Bratianu ; he was very agreeable
but we did not agree on every subject. Of course we were very anxious
about what is going on in Russia.

Jassy, Wednesday, March 1st /14th, 1917.

News from Russia very bad. The troops in Petrograd are in full
mutiny. It is even said that they are marching towards Tsarkoe and
that divisions have been sent from the front to quell the revolt. It
remains to be seen, if these troops will be faithful or if the revolution-
ary ideas have spread through the rest of the army, which would
of course be intensely serious. What would happen to us if things
went wrong in Russia is not even to be contemplated. It would mean
utter and complete disaster, it would mean the end of everything!

142

THE RUSSIAN REVOLUTION 143

At one moment during the day the news sounded a little more prom-
ising, but towards evening it was much worse again.

Jassy, Friday, March yd/i6th, 1917.

Astounding news from Russia that Nicky has abdicated for himself
and his son, that he has designated his brother Michael as his suc-
cessor, and that the Grand Duke Nicolas Nicolaivitch is to be Generalis-
simo ! I can hardly realize the whole thing, it seems so dreadful ! We
have hardly any details, but those we have received are bad enough.

When the Tsar received the news that there was a revolution in
Petrograd, he started off from the Stafka to go to Tsarkoe but he
could not get there ! They blocked his train and all he could do was
to go northwards to Russki’s army, where as far as we can under-
stand he received two deputies from the Duma and signed his abdica-
tion.

One hardly dares picture to oneself what hours he must have gone
through, and not being able to get to Tsarkoe to Alix and his children
who were no doubt in danger. Who knows even if he had any news
of her, because the revolution is, it seems, entirely directed against
them and their government, and especially against the Empress and
the minister Protopopoff who was Alix’s favourite and whom she in-
sisted that Nicky should keep in spite of the ill-feeling it created.
What an hour for that woman, who because of her fanaticism has
brought about this crisis ; she who would listen to no one except Ras-
putin, and separated herself little by little from all the members of the
family, then from the whole of society, never showing herself any-
where any more, shutting herself up either in Tsarkoe or in the
Crimea, surrounding herself with quite unknown people who had a
disastrous influence upon her, and whom she imposed upon the Em-
peror.

Into the bargain, she was passionately ambitious, absolutely con-
vinced that her judgment was infallible, that she alone understood
Russia, and the need of the country and people.

Gradually she allowed hatred to enter her heart. Behaving like the
tyrants of old, she wished everything to be done according to her own
desire, and unfortunately completely swaying the Emperor’s will, giv-
ing him wrong advice, to which he imagined he must listen, probably

144 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

because he too was a mystic, and believed in predictions and false
prophets.

Fault upon fault was committed; the Imperial family tried to warn
Alix. Even Ducky, who had a difficult position, being her ex-sister-
in-law, had the courage to go to her and warn her about the smoulder-
ing discontent, showing her how she was taking the wrong turning,
how she was gradually losing the love of high and low. Courageously,
Ducky told her the whole dreadful truth, but in' vain. Blinded by her
faith in herself and advised by Rasputin, she believed that she alone
was rightly informed, that she alone understood the situation. She
was worse than blind, she was a fanatic, and her husband was as clay
in her hands ! And this is what she has brought upon him and her
children and her country !

What may her feelings be to-day? How does she bear it, separated,
as she is, from her husband, he not able to get to her and all her chil-
dren down with measles. A ghastly situation.

I sit and ponder over it and to me it seems tragic and fearful be-
yond words.

How this is all going to end lies still in the dark. What influence
will it have on the War, on our fate? Tragic questions to which I find
no answer.

Mossoloff came to see me, very anxious, having heard from Gen-
eral Alexieff that the abdication of Nicky and the coming to the throne
of Misha does not seem to satisfy the people. It is as though they are
inclined towards a republic !

The whole tiling is mysterious and dreadful and I am horribly
anxious for Ducky. I do hope the troops at the front won’t mutiny.

Took my usual outing in the afternoon, my motor full of food and
clothing. It was sunny but intensely cold. On the way home we met
a whole convoy of prisoners carrying logs of wood on their backs, so
we stopped and began to divide our provisions amongst them. They
were mad with joy. Surrounding our motor like famished wolves,
they nearly tore the things out of our hands. Elisabetta was with me.
We gave everything we had, they were quite frantic for sugar and
cigarettes. Poor things, I am so pleased we stopped, though at first
I was afraid that there were too many of them and that my provisions
would not suffice. They were so excited that a moment came when

THE RUSSIAN REVOLUTION 145

their heavy logs were bumping about over our heads in a most un-
comfortable way. They were Germans, Hungarians and Austrians.
Of all sad sights, prisoners are the saddest. I would always go out of
my way to help a prisoner, no matter what nationality.

When we received the news of the Emperor’s abdication the King
and I sent him this telegram which, strange as it may seem, safely
reached his hands.

A.S.M. I’Empereur Nicolas.

En ces cir Constances doulonreusement solennelles oil Tu as pris line
decision si grave, notre pensee se dirige avec nne affection emue vers Toi
et Alix. Nous tenons a Te dire en ces moments d’epreuve notre reconnais-
sance et celle de notre peuple pour Vamitie constante que Tu n’as pas cesse
de nous temoigner.

Ferdinand, Missy.

And not only did Nicky receive our telegram but he sent us an
answer which reached us in his own handwriting, and of which I give
the facsimile on page 146.

Veuillez transmettre a Sa Majeste le Roi Ferdinand de Roumanie le
telegram suivant:

“Je vous remercie de cceur tons les deux pour votre touchant message.
Suis encore separe de ma famille. Que le bon Dieu vous benisse ainsi que
le peuple Roumain et que le Seigneur vous accorde la victoire finale et la
realisation de toutes vos aspirations.”

Nicolas.

I cannot read that ultimate message received from quiet, gentle
cousin for whom I had always felt such sympathy without deep emo-
tion and that last sentence: “May God grant you final victory and the
fulfilment of all your hopes” has a quiet bigness about it. He was losing
everything, his every hope had crumbled, but in a last cry of friendship
he wishes for us a better fate. May God rest his soul in peace.

Days of great anxiety followed where news came in little scraps,
news which was often conflicting.

Besides my enormous anxiety for our country, I was also torn to
pieces with fear about what might be happening to my sister. It was
long before I could get into direct contact with her and during that

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THE RUSSIAN REVOLUTION

147

time I was tortured by a thousand visions of what she might be suffer-
ing, of the dangers she might encounter.

So as better to stand my ever-growing uneasiness I redoubled my
work amongst the sick and wounded in all the hospitals, also I went
more and more amongst the wretched sufferers in the desolate out-
skirts of the town, here, there and everywhere. I think there are few
queens who have seen such sights, who have been in places of such
abject, unimaginable misery. I allowed nothing to appal me; it was a
period of fantastic distress and people saw in me a supreme hope and
their belief in me increased my strength.

In primitive countries there is one figure all men instinctively turn
to when in distress; The Mother. All sons in these days having been
torn from their mothers, I had in a way become the “Universal
Mother,” a symbol of what every man searches for when in pain. I
have known old men of seventy call me Mother !

People clamoured for me on every side ; when a situation or dis-
aster was most appalling, or a hospital most miserably neglected, I had
to go and see it with my own eyes. Miracles were expected of me;
when all else failed, their cries mounted towards me, their Queen, and
because of their faith in me I found a thousand ways of helping, and
even if materially I could do very little, my presence amongst the most
desperate and destitute still brought a ray of hope.

From dawn to dark I went amongst them, everywhere, in no matter
what place, no matter through what filth and infection. I never shut
my ear to a single cry for help ; somehow even fatigue seemed to drop
from me, my body hardly counted any more, and although I did not
then possess a closed motor I seemed to be able to stand the most
piercing cold, and only on rare occasions did I have to give up.

One of the most dreadful sights I ever saw was what we called
the “triage” at the station. This was a sort of “clearing place” where
the sick were brought; soldiers arrived from different parts of the
country, and they were kept there until room could be found for them
in our different hospitals. Dante never invented a more ghastly hell.

I was called as usual to come and help, as the infection bred here
was a danger for the whole of Jassy. I wandered through a series
of dark, bare wooden barracks, where the sick and dying lay huddled
together on the floor, often stepping over corpses so as to reach those

148

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

holding out their hands towards me, and I am not exaggerating when
I say that they were covered from head to foot with lice! At first
I could not understand what was that white sand or dust which lay
in every fold of their clothes, and could hardly believe it when I was
told that it was neither dust nor sand, but lice ! And it was those lice,
it seems, which carried the typhus infection!

This was the first time I thoroughly understood how dangerous this
was, because how could I defend myself against an insect no larger
than a grain of sand?

I gathered all my strength together to have this horrible place en-
ergetically taken in hand and with the help of Dr. Cantacuzene and
some others we finally cleared it up. Many brave and faithful helpers
were found, and foremost amongst them was a Madame Popp, wife
of one of our younger doctors, a Frenchwoman by birth. Her work
was admirable in every way as she was both practical, devoted and
merciful! I even got the King to allow me to use one of his own
A.D.C.s, Colonel Tanescu, as sanitary inspector of the work we were
undertaking, one who had sufficient authority to make himself obeyed.

Madame Popp escaped the infection, but more than one of our brave
helpers lost their lives in the cruel struggle.

I got into the habit of always having a motor packed full with every
kind of provision, so that I could help immediately sur place any mis-
ery I encountered. My diary relates day by day these visits to every
possible and impossible place.

To keep up the spirits of the troops on the front so that my thought
should penetrate also there, where I could not go in person, I took to
writing articles in the paper which was most read by the soldiers. These
were messages of encouragement and I sent them, and in response re-
ceived many a touching answer.

Ballif was a precious collaborator, he always gave severe advice
with nothing merciful about it. he often made me weep; but I had the
strength to recognize when I must listen to him and I am grateful to
him for never having spared me. He saw that I must not be allowed to
weaken. Together with him I elaborated a plan for sending Carol from
place to place, laden with my gifts ; I wished my son to be better known
and better loved.

I had by degrees bought up great supplies of food-stuffs, clothing,

THE RUSSIAN REVOLUTION

149

medicines and all that was most needed in hospitals, and gratefully
remember how liberally I was helped in this by the Allied Red Cross,
including the Russians who were always generous givers.

Needing a steady, trustworthy man to control all my depots, I chose
Dr. Mamulea to become the head of this organization. He proved
himself invaluable and even to-day, sixteen years afterwards, he is
still at the head of my charitable organizations.

We instituted a regular transport of provisions from Russia, which
for some inexplicable reason kept on reaching me for quite a time,
even after the revolution had broken out.

Yes, it was a period of almost superhuman stress, when the exulta-
tion of sacrifice multiplied my usual strength, so that I never at any
time completely broke down.

Chapter XV

THE TYPHUS TERROR
Jassy, Friday, March i/th/^oth, 191 7.

I have taken to riding again ; it does me an enormous lot of good and
is the one thing that gives me back some of my high spirits. Ileana
often comes out with me on her tailless Tango; she sits very upright in
her little Cossack’s dress and wears a high grey astrakhan cap. A
brave, lovable child. I have been riding the precious white thorough-
bred Ardeal, a splendid creature, full of go and something of a handful.

Had the immense relief receiving a letter from Ducky; it is a tre-
mendous joy to me to have news of her at last.

She writes that they lived through days such as one reads of in
history, days both of fear and danger, the mob crying and clamouring
beneath their windows, shooting in the streets, no safety anywhere.
She and Kyrill had been in sympathy with the movement for obtaining
a freer government, their ideas were very liberal and the new Govern-
ment were their friends; but the people having taken the upper hand,
and the new masters having to make concessions to the mob, they will
probably be sacrificed for the sake of keeping momentary peace in the
interior. It was a brave and noble letter, just as one would imagine
she would write. She tells me that Diamandi, our Minister, has been
a brick through thick and thin; defying all danger, he came to see
them continually whilst many closer friends forsook them in the hour
of distress.

At ten I am leaving so as to visit the cavalry regiments in the north
of Moldavia.

In the train. Saturday, March 18th/ 31st, 1917.

Spent the whole day inspecting the cavalry division ; it did me good
to be amongst the troops, and gave me a less sad impression about our
army. In and round about Jassy the misery is so very evident.

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151

I visited fourteen different regiments in eight different villages.
Everything was extraordinarily well arranged as things always are
when Ballif has them entirely in hand. We started at half-past eight
from the station of Veresti and made the circuit which Ballif had
drawn out for me.

In each village the regiments were lined up in some open place and
I walked down their ranks whilst they cheered. I must say they mostly
looked well and were well-dressed, the greater part of them very
young men. They were all on foot, the horses not having been able
to recover as well as the men. In each village the school or the mairie
had been taken to make a hospital. Wherever I went, I found them in
a satisfactory state, quite clean, and numbers not too great, but of
course very poor.

At Hantesti, Dumbraveni and Salcea, I found a lot of typhus
exantemathique. Especially the 10th Rosiors had much suffered, also
my regiment.

Wherever I went everything was decorated with the early flowers of
spring, especially snowdrops and mauve crocuses, which were very
pretty. I have been so starved of flowers that this abundance was a
real joy. At Zimnicea they had strewn the ground I was to pass over
with mauve crocuses, in another place everything was decorated with
snowdrops, in another with snowdrops and scillas. The entire popula-
tion crushed around me filling my arms with flowers, so that I was
able to give fresh little bunches to all the sick. Added to the sweets
and cigarettes I brought them, it gave them great pleasure.

The day was fine and Carol was with me, having joined me early
in the morning from Botosani. It did my heart good to be once more
lustily cheered by our troops, and when I finally reached Dumbraveni
about luncheon-time, I was much moved by the way they received me.

To hear our national anthem made the tears come to my eyes.

Here at Dumbraveni there was a big hospital, well kept and roomy,
but many very seriously ill. I brought quantities of things for all the
troops, but I could not distribute them myself, so left them with the
different generals and colonels to divide, so much for each division or
brigade. I also brought many things for the hospitals.

At Dumbraveni I lunched with all my officers in Leon Ghyca’s
house. It was nice to see them all again; several faces, of course, were

152

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

missing, some were new. Leon Ghyca and his brother were also
there, but I was the guest of my Rosiors. It was very nice, but being a
military lunch it lasted too long. Carol, refusing to accept a place of
honour, sat amongst the quite young officers at the end of the table
where there was much fun and joking. After lunch we started off
again to visit Pierre Grecianu’s division; he used to be our A.D.C.
He met us at Salcea, looking extremely spick and span, as he always
does. At Salcea there was also a big hospital. Alas, we are losing
many doctors because of this dreadful typhus. In the end, they all
seem to get it, as it is caught through vermin against which it is very
difficult to defend oneself in times of dirt and disorder.

We finished up in Burdujeni, which is the frontier between Rou-
mania and Bucovina. There I found Elise Grecianu who took me into
her little house for a welcome moment of rest when I was able to tidy
up a little. Our faces had been covered by dust and mud in turns.

Jassy , Monday, March 20 th/ April 2nd, 1917.

Beautiful weather but very dry and dusty.

After breakfast started off with Nando to Villa Greerul to inquire
about Doctor Clunet and the other patients reported to be down with
typhus, as I am very anxious about Dr. Clunet. It would be tragic if
he succumbed to the scourge he' has been so bravely fighting. We
found him very bad and quite unconscious, but Doctor le Laurier,
who for the moment has taken his place, is not quite without hope.
Some of the others were better.

We visited every room and talked to every patient who was in a
condition to be talked to. The house was golden with sunshine, but
the rooms full of suffering. Four of the sisters are ill, one, an old
woman is very bad.

Soeur Pucci, as usual, was up and about doing everything for every-
body, always cheerful, even funny.

We visited everything, even her washing which was done by two
old men of the militia in the garden fountain. The shabby old fellows
wanted cigarettes, which they promptly got from me. The road to get
to Villa Greerul is, alas, almost unbearably bad and tries every bone
in one’s body ; it is a disastrous, cruel road.

General Berthelot and his A.D.C. Marshal came to lunch. Both

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153

were cheery. Berthelot is not too pessimistic, even about our army,
but he deplores the Russian revolution, understanding the danger, and
wondering as we do what the result will be.

I keep thinking of Ducky and worrying about what she may be
enduring and about how it will end for her. I cannot imagine anything
so cruel as suddenly to be nothing in your own country but a scarcely
tolerated looker-on.

Took another good ride this afternoon, finding a few new places for
galloping. I rode my favourite Grui Sanger, taking Barbu Stirbey
with me and lending him Coconas ; although a splendid black thorough-
bred, magnificent to look at, Coconas is too phlegmatic for my taste.

I am writing the second volume of “The Country that I Love.” I
read the chapter I had just finished about Cotroceni to Nicky describ-
ing our garden, the old church, and speaking about Mircea; suddenly
he threw his arms around my neck, bursting into tears. I had no idea
that these memories would stir him so much. We sat a long time hand
in hand talking about Mircea and all that we have lost.

Jassy, Tuesday, March 2ist/April 3 rd, 191 7.

Weather has become extraordinarily warm, and stifling dust fills
the whole air, which is exceedingly unpleasant.

Directly after breakfast I started with Simky to inspect my wooden
barracks for convalescent soldiers. It is getting on, will be completed
on Saturday and will be just the right thing. Stopped at every corner
to feed poor destitute creatures met along the road, I also tried to give
sugar to the miserable horses, but generally they will not take it.
Visited a particularly forsaken little hospital in the village close by;
here also I distributed my usual gifts. The doctor has fallen victim
to this terrible typhus, so that the sick are very much neglected;
I promised to come back as soon as I could to bring some good soup
for the invalids. I never saw anything more horribly pathetic than
that hospital !

Before lunch I saw Stirbey, who came to bring me the news from
Russia — it is certainly not satisfactory and confusingly contradictory.

The Swiss Minister came to lunch and Mr. Andrews, the American
Charge d’Affaires, a very nice man.

After lunch I started off with Mignon for Villa Greerul, to take some

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154

food to Colonel Holban, who is on the mend — fresh white bread and
butter, and an excellent Roumanian soup with chicken in it ( bortcli ).

On the way there I stopped at my sad little hospital, where from
time to time I visit those particularly wretched creatures who are so
awfully ill and who get so little care, though they are looked after
in a rudimentary sort of way by a medical orderly who helps them
according to his lights. When I get into these very particularly infec-
tious holes, I leave my children outside. As I was leaving the barracks
I met a Catholic priest, who had just come down from Villa Greerul,
and he announced to me the sad news that Clunet was dead ! This is a
cruel blow, I had so hoped for his recovery, he, who had run the
whole hospital there, who with relentless energy and wonderful
courage had put everything in order, overcoming difficulties that were
mountain-high. And now, he is dead, victim of his own devotion and
abnegation. Oh, it was indeed sad news !

I arrived to find the whole house in tears. His poor wife was sitting
on the bed where he lay so peaceful, but so pale and so still, he who had
been the very expression of life and energy. They had been a tre-
mendously devoted couple and his wife is expecting a baby in August.
She lost her first child just before coming here and her husband had
brought her out with him so as to help her over her grief, and now,
she loses him and remains alone in a foreign country !

I tried to find words of sympathy and consolation but there are none
at such moments. On a bed beside Clunet lay the poor old nun who
had also just died. Her starched white head-dress framed her sad old
face as with the wings of a sea-gull. There was an extraordinary
atmosphere of peace about these two who had died so faithfully doing
their duty towards all men.

Jassy, Thursday, March 2yd /April $th, 19 17.

His Majesty has gone to the front, where he is to make a declaration
to the troops, a declaration which we have seriously talked over
together, he, I and Prince Stirbey, a declaration in which he will tell
his soldiers that they will receive part of the land as recompense when
they return from the war.

For me this was a full day. Early in the morning I wrote an appeal
for my country to be sent to America. Spent two hours in the military

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155

hospital which is in good order. Old Dr. Bogdan was, as usual, beam-
ing and satisfied, pink and white and fresh looking. He is on excellent
terms with his invalids, wras delighted with everything I brought him,
delighted with his personnel, delighted with himself ; it is so seldom
nowadays to see someone who is delighted that it did me good.

Had an audience or two and then directly after lunch started off with
Ballif and Madame Mavrodi to a far-off village where two artillery
regiments are quartered. Arrived there without mishap upon a pretty
decent high road. I was received with great joy; my coming was
unexpected, and I had to spend a long time visiting the hospitals
organized with much energy under the intelligent direction of a French
doctor. They had transformed a huge sort of barn into a large ward.
There were many, many soldiers down with typhus. There were also
several smaller hospitals. I visited them all and was most gratefully
received wherever I went; my humble gifts are always a great joy.
I have noticed a curious thing, that even the most sick, even those in
full delirium seem to recognize me, and when I bend over them whisper
my name.

When I was leaving, one of the officers told me that in a village
much further off our friend Colonel Radu Rossetti was down with
typhus, but only quite recently. I decided immediately to try and get
there in spite of impossible roads. We soon came to a spot where the
motor could not pass. Thereupon a moment of confusion, but I was
firmly decided to get there somehow. As luck would have it I met a
French doctor in a ramshackle, shaky little carriage who was just
returning from the village I was trying to reach. Without more ado,
I decided to get into this carriage with Ballif and the French doctor,
abandoning Madame Mavrodi in the motor.

We had a killing drive over impossible roads deep with mud, our
carriage running mostly on two wheels up against the side of a steep,
sticky bank. The horses were miserable little fleas. The road became
worse and worse, till finally even the carriage could get no further,
so we did the last part of the way on foot. Luckily I had high boots
on under my white nurse’s dress.

I was mightily cheered by the troops when I finally reached my
destination, but found it very difficult to pass with dignity down their

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156

ranks as the ground was so terrible, a mass of dried mud, cut up into
holes, so that at each step one risked twisting one’s ankle.

Finally we found Rossetti upon a camp-bed in a quite decent little
house, which was, I believe, the school. For the moment he was pretty
cheery, full of talk, flushed by fever and tremendously eager to tell me
all that he had tried to do for his troops in this forsaken little hole.
I believe he has been wonderful, and I hope to goodness that he has
not really caught that terrible sickness ; it would be too sad. We
always speak English together.

I was actually offered a cup of tea, which I accepted with joy, as
having a cold I was dreadfully thirsty, my throat painfully dry.

I had no time to visit the hospitals, as it was very late and the sick
were scattered about in different houses, but I promised to come back
again, which I shall certainly do in spite of difficult roads. It is worth
while coming if it gives such pleasure, and it is such a comfort to the
sick.

We got back to our motor and Mavrodi in the same sort of incon-
gruous way. By this time it was already night, but fortunately a
beautiful moon.

I had made an arrangement that on the way back I should be met
in the village of Galata by another motor with a large cauldron of good
nourishing soup destined for a number of hungry, dilapidated wretches
I had discovered in a miserable little corner, half asile de nuit, half
hospital, a place of completest horror and misery.

It was quite dark when I arrived, and no lights in the house, but
nevertheless I penetrated with my followers into this place of horror,
and began feeding the human wreckage with my hot soup ; the absolute
sordid misery of the place defies description. The flotsam I found there
heaped together could hardly be called human beings.

Some were sleeping on, and some under, a set of wooden tables, the
dead huddled together with the dying. These were also victims of the
dreadful typhus.

I gave soup, tea and bread to those well enough to partake of food,
I also left some linen and clothes. The sight was the worst I had ever
seen; the outcome of suffering and degraded humanity. As it was
quite dark, my chauffeur had turned my motor lamps so as to light up
the place. The glaring light revealed unforgettable sights of horror.

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157

We only reached home at half-past eight, everybody imagining that
something had happened to us. My cold is none the better for this long
and varied excursion ; but I always have to ignore my colds.

Went to bed directly after dinner and set to work writing out some
verses of the Bible for Jorga’s newspaper; I know such splendid verses,
and some so much to the point; I shall quote one out of Ezekiel, which
I think suits present circumstances :

“I will seek that which was lost, and bring again that which was
driven away, and will bind up that which was broken and will strengthen
that which was sick, but I will destroy the fat and the strong; I will
feed them with judgment.” ( Ezekiel xxxiv, verse 16.)

This verse was however not sent to Jorga’s newspaper!

Jassy, Friday, March 24th/ April 6th, 1917.

The King has come back from the front very pleased. He has had
two full and very satisfactory days, he made a declaration to the troops
about recompense to be received after the war, about the land which
because of their heroic defence of their country will be given them
on a larger scale. He has brought good and happy impressions back
from the front, where he also found the hospitals in excellent order.

At half-past ten, Prince Kropotkin came to take me to the train he is
organizing, the one he and Ducky had started together. It made me
sad, things have so changed. She was such a blessed help and now
for a time, it is as though she no more existed. On the top of all my
other sorrows there is this added grief and distress ! It was both a
moral and material help to have her as a close neighbour, knowing that
at any time I might call upon her kindness, sympathy and intelligence.
Now I have no one within my reach.

The Russians who cared for the old regime now seem to cling to
me, happy to have even a foreign queen in their midst. It must be
hard to have suddenly no Emperor, no royal family, when all your life
you were accustomed to consider them the centre of everything.

The train was nice and there were some charming sisters looking
after it. To celebrate the occasion they had spread a big table near
the train and were giving a good meal consisting of some excellent
soup and a delicious dish of rice and bacon to some hungry Roumanian

158 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

soldiers. It was all most appetizingly served on bright, clean, aluminium
plates.

As there was a gale of wind to-day the dust was unbearable.

Poor Madame Clunet came to see me, but she did not accept my
offer to stay with us here in the house. Her husband is to be buried
on Monday, so she hasn’t got the courage to leave his body, and
afterwards she hopes to get off to France.

Clunet expressed the desire to be buried in the garden of Villa
Greerul amongst his patients who had died before him. So sad to
think that he was not allowed to live to end his work ! I so well remem-
ber the first time I saw him in November, so full of energy and life,
when he lifted me out of my own depression and sadness.

Prince Stirbey came for a late cup of tea. I had not seen him for
several days, as he had been with the King at the front; he too brought
back a good impression, he was the one who chiefly encouraged the
King to speak to his troops, and to do it before others could take the
initiative out of his hands.

My cold is very bad.

Jassy, Monday, March 2jth/ April gth, 191 7.

Major Georgescu (“little Georgie”) has at last come back from
Russia, looking very thin and hungry. Luckily he managed to bring
us all the provisions I had ordered. He has had curious experiences
and seen much. Poor Ducky can do nothing more for us for the
moment, although she and her lady-in-waiting helped him all they could,
and actually managed to get the train to leave with all we had bought.

The King has gone to Botosani to visit some schools. Lady Barclay
came to announce to me the arrival of someone called Baker, who is,
she declared, going to be most useful to us ; she is going to put him at
the head of the British Red Cross Provisions Depot and she also
hopes to get through him more material.

I do not like the look of things in Russia, they are going too far
and are spreading a dangerous propaganda through their army, so one
cannot help wondering how it will all end. America has finally declared
war on Germany.

After lunch I did a little writing. I am writing a legend about
Mount Athos. Mount Athos has always fascinated me.

MY WHITE RED CROSS DRESS HAD BECOME A SYMBOL

MARCH PAST OF TROOPS IN A FOREST

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159

I drove to see the Prezans ; I had to talk to him about not sending
the quite young officers, just come out of the schools, to infected
villages where they would catch the typhus. It would be too great a
shame, too useless a sacrifice, besides really not practical.

Madame Prezan was much excited about politics, intensely opposed
to the existing regime. Womanlike she expressed this in many words,
giving way to personal bias. Some of the things she said were based
upon truth, but I am in a position whence I can see all sides of the
question, so I know also the danger and difficulty of a radical change
during such perilous times.

On my return Jean Cantacuzene came to ask for two of my motor
ambulances for the triage at the station, and immediately afterwards
Madame Lucie Grecianu came to beg for things for her little hospital
near her country place. There are so many needs, and everybody comes
to me ; alas, my hospital provisions are coming to an end ; I have done
nothing but give and give, and now there is hardly anything left, but
I have plenty of food-stuffs.

After dinner I continued writing my legend.

Jassy, Easter Sunday, April 2nd /15th, 1917.

Easter Sunday, a beautiful spring day. Spent the morning bringing
food to different troops. First to some recruits bivouacking at Copou.
I was not at all satisfied with the state in which I found the men, so
thin and weak looking, they need to be fed up and I had to make severe
observations. I must try and give them wine : it is supposed to do
wonders. Then I went with my children to a very populous part of
Jassy where I brought things to my special proteges, the shabby old
men of the commissariat, those that I call my old ravens, or meine
Hunger gesellen; they as well as the population of the slums, were
delighted to have me amongst them and we exchanged many Easter
greetings. The fruit trees were beginning to flower so that even the
most wretched outskirts of the town had put on a festive look. On
our way home we filled our motor with the first blackthorn, which had
suddenly burst into bloom.

After lunch set off with Ballif and Madame Mavrodi to visit
Voinesti and Hornesti, the distant village where I had found Colonel
Rossetti, stopping also at another village on the way, of which I do

160 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

not remember the name ; there several regiments are quartered in very
unsatisfactory conditions of misery, sickness and want.

Everything had been arranged in perfect order, Ballif had sent my
gifts on in advance. I found all the regiments formed up in a huge
square and' a table with my offerings in the centre. I first passed down
the ranks whilst they cheered, then I gave souvenirs to the officers and
told theni how I wished my different provisions to be distributed.

But most of my‘ time was spent amongst the sick of which, alas,
there were far too many. In the first village the conditions were not
so bad, but at Hornesti they were heart-breaking; one miserable little
doctor for hundreds of invalids scattered about in squalid cottages and
most of the officers of the regiment down with typhus.

I wandered about amongst the miserable, dark little huts in which
the sick were huddled together, giving them sweets and cigarettes, and
brandy and tea to the most ill ! I went slowly without showing any
hurry, so that they should have the impression that they had me
amongst them for some time. The misery of those improvised hospitals
defies description. I tried to bring them as much consolation and
encouragement as I could, giving each man a little cross to wear round
his neck. Many grateful eyes looked up at me and I felt recompensed.
But what suffering hidden away in those huts !

At one place there was a low mound at the top of which stood a wee
church, and the bell was tinkling like a cracked voice. On the bank
beneath the church all those who were not actually dying had been
brought and laid out in the sunshine, a parade of skeletons. I passed
in and out amongst them, giving a pleines mains; it was very hot and
there were hundreds of them, and the sun was in my eyes; they all
wanted me at once and kept crying for me from all corners at the same
time, stretching out bony hands as though to grasp me and hold me fast.

Just as I was leaving, one of those emaciated phantoms staggered
to his feet, and thanked me for “coming down from my palace towards
their misery, on this Easter Sunday,” then he sank back again amongst
his prostrate comrades. The sun was setting and they lay about like
shadows but the last rays of light seemed all to have converged upon
my white dress, so as to light it up and make it shine like a flame. I was
loath to leave them, tears welled up into my eyes and I felt as I have
often felt that something very strong, very real, almost holy, passed

THE TYPHUS TERROR 161

from my heart to theirs and from their hearts to mine, something as
strong as Fate.

As I left the village, children and soldiers ran after me and filled my
hands with great bunches of cowslips. Cowslips. . . .

I confess that finally I was really exhausted and terribly thirsty.

I am told that I take too few precautions and touch them all too
much. I am aware that I am not really careful, but how show the
slightest hesitation or aversion when they are suffering so cruelly?
I must just trust God to allow me to pass through all this without
catching the infection myself, as I begin to think that I can really be
of some good to my country now, when it is so important that every
ounce of courage should be kept up. But it is certainly a disagreeable
thought that the bite of one single louse suffices to overthrow the
strongest man; it is almost impossible to protect oneself against lice
when one moves in and out amongst such wretched hovels.

The roads are dreadful, so the drive there and back was not exactly
restful. As I passed through Voinesti I was stopped by the French
doctor, Humber, and the officers of the artillery regiment I had
recently visited, waiting to greet me on the high road. I had a little
talk with them. Humber told me that the mortality was decidedly
diminishing. He was evidently delighted to see me again and announced
that he had called the big hospital he had organized “Spital Regina
Maria.” He certainly is amongst those republicans who have under-
stood that a queen can be more than a necessary evil. This makes me
smile.

Jassy, Sunday, April gth/22nd, 1917.

Had a busy afternoon in my school which I have lent as an orphan
asylum. After ten, Stirbey came to talk over the agrarian question
which is exciting everybody. He is preparing all the documents the
King will need when to-morrow he has to face his ministers, so that
he should be able to meet their every objection. He was very busy, so
we had not enough time to finish our talk, which interests me as this
is a very radical reform.

At dinner we had to receive the new Russian Minister of War,
Gutchkoff, a simple-looking elderly man with spectacles. This went
against the grain. It was a strange feeling to sit beside this clever man

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162

who represents the new order of things, who had helped to upset those
belonging to my family; I must say that I was moved by conflicting
feelings, deep resentment not unmixed with curiosity; a certain latent
admiration mingled with a natural repulsion of one of my class for
those who overthrow.

It was a strange dinner and I was curiously excited. Bratianu and
his wife, Vintila Bratianu, Barbu Stirbey and Henry Catargi were also
invited. I must say that Gutchkoff was extremely pleasant to talk to.

I think if the meeting had been less public, he would have told me
much more. Things being as they are, I had to feel my ground, for
the situation, to say the least, was new. He said amiable things to me,
amongst others .that my country loved me and that he knew I worked
hard for my people. I replied that I hoped it was true that my country
and my people loved me, because I loved them ; as to the work I was
doing it was only a wee part of what I would like to do, or ought to do,
but that circumstances were difficult ; our poor country was much tried,
and as I talked many, many pictures of suffering passed before my
eyes, terrible visions of distress.

After dinner I asked him if my sister was safe; he answered that
now she was, but that at first she had been in great danger. He had a
profound respect for my sister.

The King had received Gutchkoff in audience before dinner, and to
him Gutchkoff had spoken very freely, saying that what had been done
had been inevitable, but circumstances had not moulded events as he
and his colleagues had planned. They had only decided on and desired
the abdication of the Tsar in favour of his son; but events ran too
quickly for them, and the present situation was the outcome of what
they had been able to save in' the general upheaval, not what they had
wished. It is thus with revolutions !

In spite of a natural feeling of repulsion I would have liked to talk
much longer with Gutchkoff, but the time was too short, he was leaving
by an earlier train than mine.

At half-past ten I started for Roman, lustily cheered at the station
by crowds of Roumanian and Russian soldiers.

Chapter XVI

THE GHASTLINESS OF WAR
Roman, Monday, April ioth/2yd, 1917.

A busy day in Roman hospitals from morning till night ; a real queen’s
day. I started off at nine and my first visit was to the big hospital
which is in part run by the English Red Cross under the care of my
two giant friends the Fitzwilliam brothers, who are working with a
complete English unit and one or two Russian sisters. They have
the whole ground floor whilst the top floor is run by our good
Dr. Marzescu.

It is a huge hospital and I spent over two hours walking about
amongst my sick and wounded. The atmosphere was one of festive
joy; I felt that my presence was giving great pleasure. In general,
I have now the feeling that a current of warm affection is mounting
towards me from the hearts of my people, something extraordinarily
real and vibrating which as time goes on becomes stronger and stronger.
I hope I am not deluded, but, being intensely sensitive to atmosphere,
I do not think that I am.

Of course I distributed all sorts of good things amongst the sick and
wounded, and gave signed postcards to all the sisters and doctors as
well as to most of the orderlies. All the English were beaming, my
visit was a pleasurable excitement to them, and I was, so to say,
received with open arms.

Thence to a hospital arranged by Madame Averescu in several charm-
ing little, old, white-washed Roumanian houses with enormously thick
walls. Here they were so proud of their good food that I was given a
very delicious stew to taste made of barley and meat.

The weather was atrocious, it was cold and poured all the time.
Rushed back to the train to get a little tidy and then to lunch with
Madame Nevruze Khan, the ecstatic and kindly Armenian lady, who
has volunteered to lodge the two giant Fitzwilliam brothers.

163

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

164

This is all the more hospitable because Madame Nevruze, having
lost all the members of her family whom she adored, had closed one
by one all the rooms of her house, each separate chamber being dedi-
cated to the memory of some dear departed. This was indeed touching
but of course left few rooms open for daily use, and it was only her
love for the Queen which induced her to break through these lugubrious
traditions and open her doors to useful foreigners who had to be
lodged. The result has been that this kindly recluse, who as to figure
is not unlike Queen Victoria, has become a sort of mother to these two
enormous Englishmen who have the faces and expressions of over-
grown schoolboys. She goes about with them everywhere and has
taken on the appearance of a kindly protective hen.

Madame Nevruze is the widow of a former diplomat and in her
younger days had moved grandly in the higher circles of Constantinople
society.

When I appeared on the scene my reception was both rhapsodic and
tearful; I was given to understand that my very presence worked
miracles, and that I had command over everything the kindly lady
possessed; her house, her heart and even her life.

Over the chair in which I sat she had spread the last ball dress she
had worn, relic of former splendour-, a grey satin sprinkled with silver
flowers. Her servants approached me as though I were a deity ; it was
no easy task to help myself from the dishes offered me, because it had
been impressed upon the maids that they must under no circumstances
come so close as to incur the danger of touching my royal person, with
the result that they stood at such a respectful distance that I could
hardly reach the food extended to me.

When anyone was to be presented, she would advance towards my
chair dropping a series of curtsies, thereby somewhat disconcerting
those who were to be honoured, as it became difficult to keep pace with
her, and I, myself, did not find it easy to adapt my face to the
circumstances.

Madame Nevruze Khan is in fact a personage not to be met with
every day, and is to be treasured as unique.

Immediately after lunch I started off for more hospitals. Amongst
others I visited one which was run by my own Regina Maria organiza-
tion and I ended up with the typhus hospital which was somewhat out

THE GHASTLINESS OF WAR 165

of town. Here the men were all terribly ill and the conditions exceed-
ingly painful, at least two men in each bed, but it was evident that
every effort was being made to look after them properly. They seemed
cared for in spite of a certain unavoidable misery. Here more than
anywhere perhaps, my visit was welcome, and my acid sweets were
received with such delight that I had to go round a second time, no
small matter as there were hundreds of beds. The rain was tremendous
and I had to wade over muddy courts and in consequence returned
to Madame Nevruze’s house in a rather dilapidated condition.

In several hospitals I came upon wounded German prisoners; they
received me with “sa traiti” learned for the occasion. I gave them the
same things I gave to my own soldiers and had a talk with each, asking
them where they came from, about their families, their homes, etc.
They were as eager to see me as my own people were.

Tried to tidy up a bit, as my eager hostess had collected a goodly
number of people to meet me for tea, especially doctors and a few of
the surviving members of her own family. She fed me on an excellent
sweet dish, a kind of very thin wafers piled up and spread with almonds
and honey, very sticky and delicious, which I thoroughly enjoyed.
I tried to be amiable all round whilst greedily stuffing myself with this
sticky concoction, and then off I had to go again, this time to the
military hospital, which ended my day’s round at 7.30 p.m., when
I returned to my train.

Whilst I was supping I remarked that an immense crowd of Russian
soldiers had collected before my carriage on the station platform. It
must here be mentioned that at Roman the Russian soldiers had become
exceedingly revolutionary, and that I had even been advised not to
come here because of hostile manifestations they had made a few days
before, when they had torn down our portraits from certain public
buildings declaring that there were no more kings and queens. But
I had answered that as long as I was Queen of Roumania I would go
about my country as I pleased, and would not be kept at home because
of a rowdy pack of Russians.

Supper over, I approached my window to look out, and saw before
me a sea of faces, some scowling, some indifferent, some brutish, and
others vacantly good-natured. I was smoking a cigarette and contem-
plating this congregation of revolutionaries when the wish suddenly

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

1 66

came to me to try and tame these Bolsheviks. I asked Ballif how many
packets of cigarettes I had to dispose of, and Ballif replied that he
had a reserve of a few hundred if needed.

Leaning out of the window I offered a little packet to the man stand-
ing nearest who turned sulkily away, so then holding up the disdained
cigarettes I offered them to another who took them somewhat sheep-
ishly. By this time several hands were raised and I threw my little
packets over the heads of the others to those who were asking for
them. There ensued a regular scramble towards my window, everybody
suddenly alive with the desire to accept my gifts.

I stood for about a quarter of an hour at the window and by the end
of that time I had thrown cigarettes to nearly every man there. It had
become a regular game this throwing and catching, and I myself was
thoroughly amused. They understood that there was no condescension
on my part, only a genuine wish to give pleasure and this was infectious.
Now there was not a scowling face left in all that human herd. Finally,
raising both my hands I showed that they were empty, that I had no
more to give and at that a cheer rose from a thousand throats, a mighty
cheer for the Queen of Roumania !

I was just preparing to go to bed when I was asked to show myself
once more, and there beneath my window stood an officer chosen by
his men to bring me their thanks.

Thus ended a long and somewhat tiring day, after which bed was
both soft and restful.

Bacau, Tuesday, April nth /24th, 1917.

Another more than full day, an early start, to review several com-
panies of mountain machine-guns, which passed before me, splashing
through lakes of mud in the Bacau streets.

It was through similar lakes of mud that I had to wade all day whilst
visiting endless numbers of hospitals. It never stopped pouring, but
luckily I had put on high boots.

General Averescu is in command here and his wife, an admirable
organizer, has done wonders in spite of very difficult conditions.

I cannot enumerate all the hospitals I inspected, I can only say that
I visited miles of them, and wherever I went I distributed sweets,
cigarettes, little crosses and holy pictures and sometimes my own little

THE GHASTLINESS OF WAR 167

books, which are eagerly demanded by the soldiers. I was also taken
to see a workroom which Madame Averescu had organized for the
women whose husbands are at the front.

Lunched with the Averescus in the nice, very clean-looking house
in which they are quartered. I confess that it was a great relief to sit
down after so much wandering. Having to lean over every bed
becomes finally a great fatigue for the back. They served me an
excellent meal and there was much talk, especially of course on military
topics.

Before starting off again, I actually had half an hour’s rest during
which I stretched my weary limbs quite flat upon the bed in the room
they had prepared for me. All my veins throbbed and my head ached,
but when the moment came for starting I was all right again. The
whole afternoon was similarly employed visiting one hospital after
another, returning at six o’clock to the Averescus’ house for tea, to
which many ladies, doctors and officers had been invited. I gathered
my lost wits so to say, in a laudable endeavour to be smiling and
amiable.

General Averescu and his wife work splendidly hand in hand, she is
an enormous help to him. But she remains modest, never puts herself
forward and simply lives for doing good. Their house is admirably
kept and they actually have none but German maids. That evening
I had Averescu to supper with me in my train. We discussed war and
politics and the Russian situation, we compared our hopes and fears.
Averescu is always pleasant to talk to and I have the feeling that he
has a certain confidence in me. This evening also bed was a blessed
relief.

One§ti, Wednesday, 12th /25th April, 191 7.

A day of goodwill and enthusiasm, a day which warmed my heart
and gave me courage to continue my work and my manifold duties.
It had rained all night, but the morning, although sunless, was clear,
promising to become finer later on.

As usual I started early and motored to a place in One§ti where my
first Regina Maria hospital has been erected. I did not expect such a
reception, had somehow imagined that I was simply to visit my
hospital, but not at all ; I was met with every possible honour by both

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

1 68

Roumanian and Russian troops and endless French officers. General
Grigorescu received me, Averescu had come with me from Bacau.
At the station a guard of honour, and at One§ti I found the troops
lined up in an enormous square ; everything had been touchingly deco-
rated by the peasants of the village, who received me eagerly, throwing
flowers before me wherever I went.

We began by a church service followed by a very moving speech
delivered by General Grigorescu, who speaks very well and knows how
to choose his words. Then innumerable French doctors and officers
and also many Russian officers were presented to me ; followed by all
these gentlemen I visited the hospital, which is entirely run by my
Regina Maria organization of which Jean Chrissoveloni is the head.
He was there, but kept modestly in the background leaving all the
honours to others. I was much pleased to find everything in such
perfect order. Having sent any quantity of material there was no want
of anything.

The French doctors make a business-like impression; no nonsense,
only work. I gave things to all the invalids, to all the orderlies, and
small, signed pictures of myself to all the doctors and officers of the
different nationalities.

The atmosphere was one of general enthusiasm, a sort of irrepressible
joy seemed to move all hearts.

At midday I was solemnly conducted down toward a wooden shed
where a copious lunch had been spread; I marched through rows of
soldiers and peasant women. A charming spot near the Trotu§ river
had been selected for lunch. Formerly there must have been a wood
here, but now only a few trees have remained as the Russians have cut
most of them down, but it was still a very pretty place. The lunch was
long, but most cheerful and cordial, and towards the end somewhat
noisy, because everybody allowed his joy and enthusiasm to burst forth
unrestrainedly. Of course there were many speeches, and suddenly in
the middle of the meal an old French colonel stood up and recited some
verses he had specially composed in my honour.

We had no end of different kinds of music, a military band, also
soldier lautars (gipsies), a Russian soldier chorus and a chorus of
Roumanian peasant girls. The good cheer knew no end. This was the
first time I had taken part in anything joyful since Mircea’s death, and

THE GHASTLINESS OF WAR

169

I found that my smiles and tears were not far apart, but I could not
help being touched by the fact that my presence gave rise to so much
rejoicing.

A Polish officer, a count of some kind, who even before lunch had
found it difficult to curb his enthusiasm, and who had followed me
about like an adoring dog all through the hospital, could no longer
contain himself after lunch and overwhelmed Simky with confessions
of all he felt for me. He declared he would not leave Roumania before
having retaken Bucarest for the Queen, and that even if he were then
in his grave he would know the moment when I returned to my capital,
and though under the ground, would rejoice with us. He became lyrical
and ecstatic, and finally, when I left and was saying good-bye to all the
officers, the enthusiastic gentleman fell upon one knee to kiss my hand,
quite regardless of the publicity of the spot, or of the mud on the
ground, declaring that it had been the most sacred day of his life.

From One§ti we motored to the end of the village where lies the
lovely old convent of Casin at the foot of the hills which is surrounded
by ancient, fortress-like walls. This is very near the front.

Here I was given another most moving reception by numbers of
soldiers under the orders of my old friend Colonel Rujinski, of the
cholera days. Whenever I see a regiment with flowers or green twigs
in their caps, I know that it is Ruj inski’s regiment, because he does
this in remembrance of the time we spent together in the cholera camp,
when I used to decorate his soldiers with flowers.

All the soldiers stood in a long line leading up to the porch of the
old convent opposite ; on the other side of the path stood all the peasant
women who had flocked together, and as I mounted towards the
ancient building over bright coloured carpets which had been spread
out before me, the women clutched at my hands to kiss them, whilst on
the other side the soldiers cheered. Thus I advanced in triumphant
procession till I reached the old portal. It was one of the prettiest and
most touching receptions ever given me, everywhere the tender green
of spring and the fruit trees in full bloom, as background hazy wooded
hills, and further off a blue line of higher mountains.

Inside the old enclosure I was received by the priests in their gaudy
vestments; they led me into the church for a short Te Deum. My
throne-like seat from which I could overlook the congregation was

170

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

decorated with white cherry blossom, and the whole ground was strewn
with the petals of these same flowers; everywhere I could see touching
efforts to receive me fittingly, and none of these little details are ever
lost on me. On stepping out of the church I noticed a newly made
grave in the shadow of one of the old walls, and upon asking who was
buried there, I was told that it was a very young lieutenant recently
fallen in one of the last battles. I promised I would have a cross set up
to his memory and I laid all the flowers I had in my arms upon the
grave.

When I returned from my three days amongst the soldiers and
hospitals at the front, I heard that the King had more or less been
able to reconcile the Liberals and Conservatives of his government,
who had been quarrelsomely disagreeing on the agrarian question raised
by the King’s declaration to the troops that on their return home they
were to receive ground expropriated from the great estates. This meant
a tremendous reform and the Conservatives being mostly big land-
owners, large sacrifices would be expected of them.

The situation in Russia was getting worse, which aggravated our
situation tragically, and our chief anxiety was as to how the Germans
would take advantage of this state of affairs which they had, no doubt,
helped to bring about.

My activities redoubled. I liked to imagine that nothing could over-
tax my strength, and if ever my body showed signs of being over-
driven it would fill'me with resentment, as I would not give up a single
day. Occasionally, however, I had pains and aches which I ruthlessly
decided to ignore.

Beside the activities outside my house and the many audiences I was
continually giving, I was writing articles for the soldiers’ newspapers
as well as the book called “The Country that I Love,” and in addition
to all this I was diligently keeping up my diary and was, in fact, taxing
my strength of resistance to the utmost, but seemed somehow to find
time for everything, even time to be with my children.

Another sore complication had come into our lives : the Russian
soldiers were becoming rowdy and there were continual rumours that
they would try and do something against the King. Though certain of

THE GHASTLINESS OF WAR

171

their regiments could still be controlled, most of them had set their
officers aside and had taken the command into their own hands. For
the moment they were more or less good-natured, but the immense
number of them was a menace, and as discipline fell to pieces more
and more, the situation was becoming in the highest degree dangerous.
We had to be very careful not to set flame to their violence by repres-
sion, but it could hardly be expected that we should sit still and allow
ourselves to be bullied by those who had once been our allies.

This was during the Kerensky Government when no one exactly
knew what was going on in Russia, nor which way things were turning.
There was news of Allied victories, but those were far away at the
other end of Europe, whilst Russia was a close and terrifying reality;
anything could happen in that great country of darkness and mystery.

Jassy, Friday, April ir\.th/2jth, 1917.

Day of audiences, one of those days when I can never pause to sit
down a moment and think. Besides, there are troubles in the house
which have to be gone into, the sort of troubles which arise from the
inability people have of living peacefully together.

I received a military deputation from a regiment I had visited on
Easter Day when I had not been pleased at the way the men were
looked after. They came to make amends.

After lunch I took a ride with Alice Cantacuzene; I rode Ardeal,
who was too fresh and pulled a good deal. On the way home I was
taken by a sudden fit of acute lumbago, intensely painful, so that I had
to stop galloping and felt both humiliated and upset. Never has such a
thing happened to me before ! I cannot understand it, but for some
time I have had a tendency to a pain down the left side of my leg.

All through the evening I was in great pain whenever I tried to
move. This is thoroughly unwelcome, as I have a great deal to do and
I cannot limp about ; I need all my physical as well as my moral energy.
I was quite in a state about it and Prince Stirbey who came for tea,
reproved me for taking so small a thing tragically, but any physical
failing seems to me line decheance and a sign of coming decay!

After having finished a chapter of my new book for Jorga, went to
bed in great pain.

172 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

Jassy , Saturday , April I $th/2&th, 1917.

Awoke in great pain, have the greatest difficulty in moving about,
my whole left side from the waist downwards stiffened by a racking
pain; to get up and sit down is agony. Walking does not hurt, but
I declared that if my crown fell to the ground I could not bend to
pick it up to-day! Decided that it must be sciatica.

However, I got up at about ten and went to visit Rossetti and to
bring him a bunch of deliciously fresh lilies of the valley. I took Ballif
with me as he is Rossetti’s great friend. Poor Rossetti is coming back
from afar, but he is certainly recovering. He is much changed, poor
fellow, but was very pleased to see me; we talked a little but I took
care not to tire him.

His family declares that indirectly he owes his recovery to me,
because if I had not found him then in that far-off village it might
have been too late to bring him to a hospital and to save his life.

Getting in and out of the motor is acutely painful. At half-past
eleven I received Vintila Bratianu who came to discuss with me various
societies and institutions. He is a tough debater.

I gave up going to Villa Greerul in the afternoon because I was
suffering too much, so remained at home to do some writing. Later
Jean Bratianu came to say good-bye, as he is going to Russia, this time
most unwillingly. He was pessimistic and depressed.

I have news from Loie Fuller, who is going off to America, whence
she hopes to send me many provisions for my hospitals. I hope she
will not be blown up ! She is a wonderful friend and such an enthusiast.

Could not find a position in which I could sit with any comfort.
I am exasperated, as I need all my strength ! Why must my body turn
traitor at such a moment?

Jassy, Tuesday, April 2$th/May &th, 1917.

As the Russian news was not too acutely anxious to-day, I decided
to start off with Ballif and Madame Antonescu for a far-off village
greatly in need of aid, although for the last ten days a good doctor has
been sent there who is eagerly trying to put things in order.

With Ballif’s practical aid, I sent many provisions on ahead so as
not to arrive with empty hands.

Part of the road was very beautiful, through a lovely forest in its

THE GHASTLINESS OF WAR

173

first tenderest green, but it was more bumpy than anything that can be
described; the weather, however, was delicious, neither warm nor cold,
with blue sky and sunshine. We lunched somewhere in the wood on
the way, then on again till we reached the village I was to inspect.
Where indeed I found completest misery — they had absolutely noth-
ing! A hospital had been fitted up in a sort of school which was of all
things also a theatre ! And to add to the ghastliness the dying had been
bedded on the stage. They had no linen, so the soldiers lay in their
uniforms ; it was an awful sight. I walked about amongst them giving
as much consolation as I could, but many, alas, were far beyond con-
solation. I also visited the convalescents sitting out in the sun, who
much appreciated my cigarettes and sweets.

Luckily I had brought an enormous quantity of things beginning
with linen and ending with every possible sort of food from butter and
cheese to sugar, tea, and rum, as well as all kinds of dried vegetables
for bortch, dried fish, bacon, etc., all these provisions I ordered from
Russia, having with much difficulty arranged for regular supplies.

I left these treasures in charge of the doctor and begged him to deal
them out according to necessity, also amongst the sick in the village
who have been infected by this dread disease.

I visited a family, husband and wife both down with typhus, lying
together with their children in one bed, the house being about the size
of a cupboard. I tried to talk to them and tell them that they would
be helped, but they were too dazed by fever to be able to understand.
The two little children although huddled up against them had not been
infected. Curiously enough it seems children seldom catch this form
of typhus.

From this village I went on to Tibanesti, Peter Carp’s place, where
Nando used in former days to go shooting in winter. Here also I
visited the sick, some in very low tents which made moving about
amongst them very difficult, as I had to bend double and at the same
time distribute the things I had brought with me.

Dear little Madame Antonescu fearlessly crawled about with me
everywhere, and was a real aid to me. She is a sweet, good little
woman and an excellent companion in spite of her modest timidity.
I am deeply attached to her.

We also went into Carp’s house ; there were actually Russians lodg-

174

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

ing there, quelle ironie! Carp always detested the Russians! I went to
poor Peter junior’s grave; he was their second son and was killed in
my regiment even before the loss of Bucarest. I believe he was his
mother’s favourite, and now she is cut off from his grave as I am from
Mircea’s. In her name I laid a bunch of flowers on his tomb.

Ballif proposed to drive us home by another road, saying it was just
as good, and if anything shorter. Well, the road must have changed
since those good old days, for it was extraordinarily bad. We took
three hours to get back and we were bumped mercilessly from beginning
to end. Once we remained stuck in a boggy part of the village, where
in spite of the dry weather the mud was knee deep, and it took ten
oxen to drag us out.

During this stoppage we drank a cup of tea and I divided cake,
sugar and cigarettes amongst the peasants, I also gave little crosses
to the children which seemed to delight them. I always have my hands
full in these days ; it is the only pleasure I have, to give and give and
give.

_ One delightful old cart-driver, dishevelled, grey and picturesque, who
was watching the scene, told me he had met me once and had seen from
a great way off how I was distributing sugar amongst the soldiers ; he
seemed delighted to meet me again at closer quarters. He was smiling,
energetic and friendly and gladly accepted cigarettes, sugar and a cross
to wear round his neck.

We came home at seven o’clock satisfied with our day, but having
been nearly bumped to pieces.

Jassy, Friday, April 2&th/May nth, 1917.

Nando received a deputation of the Jews and made a declaration to
them promising that they too would be given rights after the war, and
that all those who gave their blood for the country, whether Christian
or Jewish, would be treated alike.

A delightful old French lady came to see me, a Madame Bonne, a
military infirmiere, who had faithfully worked in the triage where she
had caught typhus, but has now recovered and is leaving for France.
I decorated her with the Regina Maria Red Cross order, whilst with
great volubility she related to me her many adventures.

She is quite a type, resembling somewhat the vivandieres of former

THE GHASTLINESS OF WAR

175

days. She salutes in military fashion and is afraid of nothing. She
has already nearly three years’ campaign behind her, was taken prisoner
by the Germans at Villeroi quite at the beginning of the War, but
managed to escape : went to Serbia, made all the Serbian retreat over
the mountains into Albania in winter-time on horseback, having lost
all she possessed. She had had eleven children, the first year beginning
with three, the next year with two. She only managed to bring up
three, and now she is divorced. She is mobilized for the duration of
the War and for six months afterwards. Her energy is uncrushable,
even death spared her, for she recovered from that ghastly illness which
carries off so many.

Robert de Flers came to see me at eleven o’clock and described to
me his tournee on the front with Carol. He has come back de-
lighted, bringing me many messages from the enthusiastic French
colonel who writes verses in my honour. Flers declares that this
enthusiast considers that a ten years’ war would not seem long if
he could during that time be in my service. Flers of course related this
in the most comic way.

It was announced to me to-day that England was sending me five
thousand pounds for my good works. This is indeed splendid news.

Jassy, Sunday, April 3 oth/May 1 3th, 191 7.

At last a long letter from Ducky was brought me, a tragic letter, a
heart-breaking, soul-torturing letter, a letter full of blackest despair,
and deepest, most hopeless agony. I had always feared it would be
thus with her and yet hoped against hope that it would not be. A
dreadful letter of inconsolable grief, cruel and fearful in its desperate
intensity.

She could not but suffer thus, because what is left? As she says:

“Neither pride, nor hope, nor money, nor future, and the dear past
blotted out by the frightful present; nothing is left, nothing!”

And I cannot go to her! I can be of no good, no aid, no relief.
How can I, a queen, go now to Russia or send anyone of mine there ?

Poor, proud, great Ducky; why had her life to be as tragic as her
face? But perhaps this is not yet the end! Can one know what may
still happen?

And into the bargain she is going to have a baby, and she has no

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

176

layette for it. By some extraordinary chance I have Mircea’s layette
here with me ; I must find means of sending- it to her.

It was Marshal who brought me Ducky’s letter. I begged him to
try and see her if he could. He has been deeply impressed and upset
by finding this proud, brave woman in such a cruel situation. He spoke
with concentrated indignation about the happenings in Russia. It is
very difficult for anybody to go to see Ducky or any member of the
Imperial Family, but she writes that both Bratianu and Diamandi
behaved beautifully towards them.

Every free hour I can dispose of is used for writing my book, “The
Country that I Love.”

Jassy, Tuesday, May gth/22nd, 1917.

Had a quiet morning and for once time to write in peace. Am
writing a series of articles for Jorga’s paper, describing parts of our
country now under the enemy’s sway, which will later be collected to
make a book. I had no idea that people would be so touched because I
described their country with such love; it seems to go to their hearts.
For the moment my articles are in great favour, so why not give
pleasure whilst I can, but it is the last thing I would ever have imag-
ined, that I should one day, en temps de guerre, write articles in Jorga’s
paper that the world at large would sanction ! I, who never used to
write, who really had a very small opinion of my intellectual capacities !
Well, well, much that is unexpected happens to-day.

Unexpected also that I should daily send white bread to Professor
Jorga, with whose digestion brown bread disagrees. For the moment
I am in high favour with the great man. We shall see how long it
lasts !

Directly after lunch Carol and I, followed by our military com-
panions, drove to the far-off village of Voine§ti, where the little
French doctor Humber is doing such good work. He is an enthusiast
and my* last visit there had fired him with the desire to do everything
he possibly could for my soldiers. His hospital has been fitted up in a
large barn and everything is being done with the greatest care and
forethought. This is entirely a typhus hospital and what touched me
was that even the sickliest men turned round to tell me how wonder-
fully the doctor was looking after them. The joy to have me amongst

THE GHASTLINESS OF WAR

1 77

them was very evident. My name has been given to this hospital and
my portrait has been hung in a conspicuous position, decorated with
flowers like an icon, and the name of Regina Maria was printed even
on the papers above the men’s beds. Regina Maria ! Regina Maria !

I met my own name wherever I looked.

I have got into the habit of going very slowly through the wards,
so that the sick should not have a hurried impression of my visit.
Strange, but all, even those who are delirious, always call me by my
name, as though instinctively recognizing me; this always fills me with
touched astonishment and wonder.

The doctors have often tried to induce me to wear india-rubber
gloves when I go about amongst typhus cases, but I refuse to do this
as the soldiers all kiss my hand, and I really cannot ask them to kiss
india-rubber !

Came home late after having done my duty thoroughly, which
to-day was not without virtue because I had a bad headache and the
bumpy roads were agony. I left provisions for the hospital and small
souvenirs for the doctors and officers.

I tried to rest my poor head, but it cannot rest, it has too much to
worry and think about.

After dinner I actually played a game of cards with the children.

Chapter XVII

SPRINGTIME HOPES AND SUMMER FEARS

Jassy, Wednesday, ioth/2T)rd May, 1917.

The tenth of May — our National Day.

How many memories it brings back to my mind: the many years
of my youth, when year after year I prepared my smartest clothes for
that occasion, so as to appear to my greatest advantage before our
people.

I remember old Uncle and Aunty and all my children at different
ages in their festive clothes, and full of excitement; even when they
were quite small I used to take them on that day to the parade, it was
a day of glory for their nurses, old Green and Woodfield. Only little
Mircea never went because, it must be confessed, he was of uncertain
temper and' I could not count upon his behaviour ; little Mircea was a
naughty boy! The naughty boy is naughty no more, he lies still and
silent in his grave over there beyond the line of fire, and to-day he
doesn’t know that it is the Tenth of May.

What may our poor Bucarest be doing to-day? What may its
thoughts be, its hopes, its despairs? Who of us will return there, and
if we' return what shall we find?

Here our Tenth of May was a touching day full of deep emotions.
At ten we drove out to the aviation field where there was first a
church service. We stood in the middle of the field surrounded by all
the troops, then Nando decorated many officers and also some flags.
This was followed by a march past, after which the soldiers danced
national dances.

These ceremonies were made exceedingly moving by the thought
that most of these men had been under fire and that they were the
remnants of an army which at the outset had been double the size.
These were those who had been able to live through the incredible
hardships, want and misery of this winter, and added to these very

178

SPRINGTIME HOPES — SUMMER FEARS 179

young recruits of this year. What we had before us represented a
tremendous effort towards the rebuilding of a new army under fan-
tastically difficult circumstances. Moving, especially, when one thinks
of the thousands and thousands who lie under the ground, mowed
down by fire, sickness and want.

The past winter rises up before my mind like a nightmare almost
beyond human conception. May God preserve us from having to live
through another such winter.

Before we left the field the troops gave us a tremendous ovation.
The King and I stood up in our motor, so that all the men could see
us; they came rushing towards us in thousands, throwing their caps
into the air, or, sticking them on the ends of their bayonets, they waved
their guns over their heads; a mighty breath of enthusiasm swept over
them.

We had stood for over three hours, but the weather was heavenly,
sunny, blue sky, and all the same fresh. Only when I came home I
discovered that I had burnt my neck, so completely that it was covered
with large white blisters; the same thing happened to Mignon — we
hadn’t realized that the sun was so strong.

After lunch a performance at the theatre with colossal enthusiasm
and demonstrations of devotion. The house was full of soldiers and
officers, and at the end they all sang the national anthem in chorus.

We are happy and touched to see the immense popularity Nando has
to-day attained, in spite of the ill-success of the War. He is now loved
and appreciated by his people. They have at last understood how

honest, unselfish and loyal he is. The way he has uncomplainingly

shared all their misfortunes, has made him dear to their hearts. I was
popular even before the War, so the difference was not so marked,
but in his case their attitude has undergone a veritable transformation.

My good Ballif was still too ill to be with us this morning. I paid

him a surprise visit. He is still in great pain, but is sitting up. Ballif

is a strange fellow, he would never let me come to see him whilst he
was laid up, declaring that a queen cannot visit one of her servants,
that if I desired to see him he would have himself carried up and stood
up against the wall because he could only receive me standing. Not
many to-day have ideas of this sort.

i8o

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

With spring came a feeling of renewal. The winter had added
horror to our many disasters. The warm sunshine was like a miracle,
and beneficent to all convalescents. I kept on visiting our convalescent-
camps and could verify how little by little those yellow-skinned, skele-
ton-like beings were crawling back to life. I used sometimes to sit
with them on the steps of their wooden barracks, letting the sun drench
us, and I would talk to them about our hopes.

I was welcome everywhere, and my coming and going amongst the
suffering in every place had become quite natural. I never had to ask
who they were, soldiers or civilians ; they were my people and they had
looked death in the eye and I was their “mother,” a vague but all-
embracing title which needed no introduction.

Colonel Thomson came to take leave of us. He had been made
General and was called home. We lost in Thomson a good friend. He
had understood our suffering and thinks we have not been very fairly
treated. Thomson has a very individual and quaint way of seeing
things and is also quaint in the way he puts his thoughts into words.
I felt that Roumania would always have a defender in Thomson. He
regretted having to leave us at a moment when we are facing the
terrible Russian danger. Also from Salonica the news was far from
reassuring. Danger whichever way we turned.

Jassy, Monday, May i$th/28th, 1917.

Nicky and I spent the afternoon teaching the convalescents in my
little rest-home how to play Halma, draughts and other games which
have been sent to me from England for the soldiers. Nicky took care
of one group and I of the other.

In the evening there was a dinner in the King’s house for Albert
Thomas, quite a big dinner with all the ministers of the Entente and a
few of our local ministers.

The Roumanians love France, and the moment a Frenchman appears
on the scene they all “go off their heads” and their natural sympathy
bursts through their reserve. Most receptions are more or less arranged
affairs, the enthusiasm not really spontaneous, curiosity having much to
do with it, but a Frenchman calls forth an outburst of joy and excite-
ment which comes irresistibly from their hearts.

Albert Thomas was a great success. He is a funny, round little

SPRINGTIME HOPES — SUMMER FEARS 181

man with shaggy hair and spectacles, and is possessor of a tan-coloured
beard ending in two impossible curls. I do not know what he has done
with his teeth, but he only seems to have one in front and when he
talks he sticks out his under lip like a child when it pouts. And, my
goodness, he can talk !

Everybody was of course in evening clothes, but he had remained in
his shabby little jacket and was a delightfully incongruous guest for
the King’s table. He sat beside me and I must say that we had an
excellent time of it. He was not only interesting but also amusing, and
the flow of his speech was like a gushing stream. He can hold forth
on any subject, putting even the most insignificant story into just the
right words to make it irresistible.

Everybody round our table was amused, interested, even somewhat
excited. This red-faced, shaggy-haired, little individual represents the
man of to-day and perhaps of to-morrow; he is an homme du penple,
whose intelligence alone has placed him where he is. At this crisis in
our lives, he may be of great help to our country. He seems well
disposed enough and got on with us as though he had always known
us. He made especially great friends with Carol and declared he wanted
.to carry him off with him to France so as to show him everything and
then send him back with heavy batteries and a squadron of the latest
style of aeroplanes. Carol who, ever since he was a child cared for
everything French, was keen on accepting the offer.

It was an amusing and interesting evening and I enjoyed studying
the different faces round our table. Decidedly there was excitement
in the air and a vague wave of hope.

Albert Thomas is living with the Metropolitan, and amusingly de-
scribed his reception by the bearded Father of the Church ending with
a kiss on the mouth. Thomas has an irresistible laugh which bursts
forth with complete sans gene; he seems to enjoy his own eloquence
as a woman enjoys her beauty.

Went to bed not feeling very well — I have a gnawing neuralgic pain
in my left arm, very irritating and not to be ignored.

Jassy, May lyth/^oth, 191 7.

This morning I received Claude Anet, who is going about with
Thomas. Many years ago he travelled to Persia with Simky and

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

182

Marthe, going by motor through almost pathless lands. He was most
pleasant to talk to and all he had to relate about Russia was most
interesting, as he has been there for several years and like most
Frenchmen talks well and fluently.

Late in the afternoon I took Irene Procopiu with me to visit two
villages, where two regiments had been quartered during the winter.
They were cut off from all communication and when the typhus was
at its height the death toll was enormous. I had been asked to come
and see the churchyard where all the soldiers had been buried, as they
told me that it was a very pretty place. It certainly was very pretty,
the churchyard situated on a hill behind an old convent. Shaded by
large walnut trees, it was one mass of flowers. The air was full of
the perfume of acacias, which are now in full bloom.

The old priest of the place showed me round; he was glad to see
me and eager to talk about all the sadness he had witnessed. He was
full of apologies because the crosses on the graves were not in tidy
rows, but he explained that the winter had been so rigorous, the
ground frozen so hard that it was difficult to dig graves.

“You see,” he said, “so many died, and those who had recovered
were so weak that very often the dead lay in rows before we could
bury them. Luckily it was very cold. I was always there to read
prayers, but it did make me very sad to see so many quite young men
die. But also the doctors were sick,” he added, “and there was no
one left to look after the invalids; besides, there were so many packed
together in the peasants’ huts, and after all the peasants had also to
live somewhere.”

The old man spoke quite simply without accentuating his words ;
he too was a peasant and had something of the peasant’s stoicism about
him and his eyes had a way of not seeming to see the things they
were looking at.

There was an enormous lime tree in full flower just beside the old
church, around which a thousand bees buzzed. It was intensely hot,
but inside the church it was very cool and there was a beautifully
carved tombstone on the grave of some ancient Boyar. I was specially
struck by the perfection of the design, which reminded me of Persian
designs, flowers rising like a fountain out of a long-necked vase.

SPRINGTIME HOPES — SUMMER FEARS 183

Finally bidding farewell to the old priest, we drove off to visit another
far-away village, where several officers, friends of Irene, were quar-
tered with their regiments.

They took us to a lovely spot under an enormous walnut tree,
whence there was a wide-sweeping view and where they had dug
themselves a trench-table.

Young Ferikidy was amongst the officers and with his usual taste
had charmingly decorated the table with peasant pots full of yellow
bog irises and wild roses. They actually offered me a good cup of
tea and of all things, ginger biscuits, a luxury I had not tasted for
ages. It was restful and pleasant there under the big tree, but I had
to hurry off as I was expected back to dinner.

The impression I carried away from this little tea-party beneath the
nut tree was very pleasant. It was so far away from all the turmoil
of the town, and to-day there is in all things an atmosphere of rising
hope. The drive home was also very pretty, and the sun was sinking, a
red ball over a vast expanse of swamp, low, shadowy hills in the dis-
tance.

Hurried home as quickly as possible, which is difficult on these
bumpy roads, but I had to be punctual as we are expecting Albert
Thomas for supper.

Nando has returned very cheerful from his troops, and is pleased
with all he saw ; certainly the general depression is much less great.

Our supper was really most amusing. Thomas sat beside me again
and on the other side I had one of the officers of his suite. He was
most entertaining and after the meal was over we all settled down
round a table with this witty, fat little man in our midst, who behaved
as though he belonged to the family, so that the children were inclined
to call him Uncle Thomas. We would never have believed a short
while ago that we should sit thus round one table with Albert Thomas,
Socialist, French Minister of National Defence.

I think we made a friend of him, and I think also that he under-
stood the great effort our poor invaded country was making in the
face of so many odds. Albert Thomas felt so comfortable in our
family circle that it was with great difficulty he was coaxed to his
train, which had to start at a fixed hour.

1 84 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

Jassy, Friday, May igth/June ist, 1917.

To-day I received a killing, fat, little man who does not wish to be
considered a Jew, who brought me the gift of five thousand francs,
and has promised me a thousand eggs on Sunday for my hospitals.

After lunch I started off with Mignon, Stirbey and Major Georgescu
for Dobrovatz, one of the Crown Estates. The road there goes
through beautiful forests, but it is long and almost intolerably bad.
Stirbey, who is head of the Crown Domains, had to go there for
inspection, and I went to visit the soldiers and hospitals.

When we arrived the regiment I came to inspect was exercising
in the woods. They were called together by trumpet and all came
running through the trees towards me. It was a pretty sight. When
they had all united and had been formed into a giant square, Mignon
and I advanced towards them from the opposite direction and were
received by the National Anthem sung by all the troops in chorus.
It was so moving that it made our hearts beat with emotion.

The colonel commanding this regiment has a very good record, and
has been decorated with the Mihai Vitiazu (our highest war-deco-
ration).

I begged him to tell his men that I knew of their past sufferings
(the regiment had suffered fearfully during the winter, and many had
died), that I had come to see for myself if they were well again, that
I had always thought of them, but had been unable to reach them
because of the snow; I wished them to know that I was grateful to
them for their courage and abnegation. The colonel faithfully repeated
my words in a loud voice, upon which I was tremendously cheered.
The soldiers threw their caps into the air, catching them on their
bayonets, which is their way of demonstrating very great enthusiasm.
When I moved away the whole regiment moved after me still cheering
for all they were worth, whilst their music played. All this in a very
beautiful hilly and wooded landscape; it was quite one of the prettiest
and most spontaneous military receptions I ever received.

Of course I visited the hospital also; it is well arranged and clean
but happily half-empty. As I came out of the hospital it began to
rain, and rained heavily for ten minutes, washing the dust off every-
thing. It was a tremendous relief as the dust had been insufferably
Stifling all the way out.

SPRINGTIME HOPES — SUMMER FEARS 185

We had for once a quite delicious drive on a road made by the
Crown Domains. Alas, it was but a short bit, but after the rain
it was perfectly lovely, the washed trees filling my eye with deepest
satisfaction. We meant to take another way home but we made a
mistake and landed again upon the bumpy road, which was a trial. We
stopped however to sup on the way in a lovely part of the forest. It
rained from time to time and had actually become almost chilly. We
were back about 10 p.m.

Certainly all that part of the country is lovely and the forests still
almost virgin; but do not speak to me of the roads!

This was a quieter period and although the Russian news was dis-
tracting, we were not in such constant distress. The warm season
lessened our misery, and we seemed to be a little less oppressed.

My different organizations for helping every kind of distress began
to give excellent results. Mamulea was certainly a good choice and
showed himself quietly efficient. He was a very stolid personage, his
feelings never ran away with him, but being circumspect he considered
me over-generous.

I also began helping the poor Jewish population; Jassy has swarms
of poor Jews. I had laid in great stores of provisions, and Mamulea
dealt them out most systematically, at the same time stemming my
too impulsive altruism.

My diary is full of all these different charities which filled my days.
It makes rather dull reading, so I only copy out a page here and there.
Every single day I went either to one hospital or another, and I took
a special interest in the one for the tuberculous, the most desperately
sad of all. Here my visits were very frequent, and whenever I could
lay hands upon extra provisions I would come to this saddest of places
and deal them out myself.

There was a room for hopeless cases. They used to await me with
heart-breaking eagerness. I could do nothing for them except, by my
presence amongst them, give them a feeling that they were not entirely
abandoned. I had got accustomed to these sights of abject misery,
but my heart never became indifferent, and all my energy was con-
centrated in one continual effort to help.

News came that the Russians on the front had begun to fight again,

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

1 86

we were even told that they had a “success” somewhere. But it was
all very vague and uncertain.

The weather was getting very hot. Jassy was full of dust and I
decided to send Ileana for a time to the country, accepting the kind
invitation of old Prince Ghyca Deleni. I also sent Mignon to Sybil’s
hospital at Ghidigeni, where she was exceedingly happy and did excel-
lent work.

The King had no end of worry trying to form a solid coalition
government, in which he was faithfully aided by Prince Stirbey. Many
of the discussions and debates took place in my room and we sighed
over the quarrelsomeness of politicians. They are the sore trial of
kings !

Jassy, June 8th/ 21st, 191 7.

An emotional morning. Parade and swearing in of Transylvanian
troops that had been prisoners in Russia (taken from the Austrians),
and who have now been liberated and allowed to come to fight for us.

It was a fine and moving ceremony, which stirred our hearts and
made tears come to our eyes. They were a fine-looking lot of men,
well dressed and full of enthusiasm.

As usual we first walked down their ranks, then followed a church
service during which the oath was taken, then altogether they sang
the National Anthem and other patriotic songs, after which they
marched past the King to the cheering of the crowd.

The weather was glorious but immensely hot. The King remained
to lunch with the troops on the plateau in the broiling sun; when he
came back he described how they had suffered from the heat.

At a quarter-past six all the Transylvanian troops marched past my
house, to make patriotic ovations. I ran out to the front of my garden,
standing up in a motor to receive their cheers and manifestations of
goodwill. There was an atmosphere of tremendous excitement and
emotion ; the sight of these “Ardeleni” means so much to us, part of
the great dream for which we are fighting!

Many of our people were walking with them and I recognized
several friends, who cheered me with all their might. Flowers were
thrown to me as they passed and I also threw flowers to the soldiers.
Then they moved away up the hill,

SPRINGTIME HOPES — SUMMER FEARS 187

Hurriedly dressed for a ride, taking Mignon with me ; I was riding
Ardeal, the ground was perfect, the sky very black and stormy, so
black in fact, that our riding was considered a folly, but we got no
rain, only delicious freshness. At times we rode through knee-high
grass full of wild flowers of every colour. Everything was refreshed,
succulent and green after the recent rain ; we simply loved our ride.

Jassy, June 14 th/2jth, 1917.

As usual my morning was taken up by hospitals. There are dis-
tressing numbers of consumptives ; I am doing what I can for them,
am trying to feed them up, especially those who can still be saved, but
I spent much time amongst the hopeless cases as they are so desperately
miserable. That consumptive hospital is the saddest of all my hos-
pitals.

Yesterday received bad news about Dr. Campbell, who was working
with Dr. Armstrong in Maruka’s hospital. It seems he has caught an
infection in one of his fingers, and they are very anxious about him;
Miss Milne, who is working with him, was terribly upset. On my way
home I passed the hospital to inquire how he was, only to receive the
sad news that he had just died! A quite young man, only thirty, who
had gone through the Serbian typhus campaign, who fought the typhus
with us here and in Russia, and now dies of a poisoned finger! Such
is Fate !

Jassy, June i$th/2%th {Thursday), 1917.

Went this morning with Mignon to bring a decoration the King had
given me for poor Campbell; I pinned it myself upon his breast. He
was covered with flowers, but they had put a cloth over his handsome
face. This was necessary, his great friend Armstrong told me with
unutterable grief, because he was so terribly changed. Of course I did
not ask them to uncover him; in the hospital they had all been so
proud of his handsome face, it was better to remember him as he had
been in life. All those who worked with him had loved him dearly.

For lunch I had no one and started off immediately afterwards for
Ruginoasa and Pascani. It was hot but not unbearably so. The road
had miraculously improved, there were wild flowers everywhere, in

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

1 88

some places in such quantities that the fields and roadsides were a
carpet of colour, great stretches of blue, mauve and yellow.

We reached Ruginoasa in about an hour and a half, and wandered
through the hospital and endless tents which were studded about the
fine park. The house used to be Cuza’s country place and is hideous
false Gothic, painted light grey, but the rooms have good proportions
and were very cool. It was very fatiguing and hot, though, crawling
about in all the tents.

Young Dr. Leonte is at the head of this hospital, which belongs to
the Red Cross, and seems to be working very efficiently.

Before leaving we visited the church where Cuza is buried. Both
Elisabetta and Mignon were with me and also Colonel Ballif, at last
quite well again and in good spirits. When Ballif is in good spirits
he is up to anything, full of fun and ready to go in for any of my
sudden impulses.

Hurrying away from Ruginoasa we sped along the road towards
Pa§cani, where I wanted to hunt out a certain little French Doctor
Ferreyrolles, who has been bravely fighting the typhus in this far-off
place, through a thousand difficulties and with no one to second him.

Pa§cani is very prettily situated, and at a certain point overlooking
the town, Princess Marie Muruzi has a lovely old Roumanian house
with a loggia of carved stone rather like Mogosoia.

We did not find Ferreyrolles at his hospital but we were told that
he was at Brate§ti, a charming little old convent near by, which he is
transforming into a home for convalescents. There we found him very
astonished and delighted to see us, the more so when we explained
that we had come all the way to see him. Pie has been so little helped
and encouraged that this seemed almost impossibly good news, espe-
cially when I told him I wanted to send provisions or any help he
needed. Brate^ti is really a lovely little place amidst woods and or-
chards, quite the sort of place I would love to live in. There were a few
refugee women there, who were full of delight to see us, and carried
us off to a charming spot amongst fir trees where there was little
spring of fresh water, whilst the invalids dispersed amongst the fields
to gather large bunches of huge bluebells.

I must say that this place would tempt me much more as a summer
retreat than all the fine houses that have been suggested to me. It is

SPRINGTIME HOPES — SUMMER FEARS 189

the sort of place which has irresistible rustic charm, and I never can
resist an orchard; a month’s rest in this place would be ideal, but of
course this will not be possible.

We dared not tarry as we had still all the hospitals to visit. Kindly
Ferreyrolles asked us, on the way to his hospital, to stop at a smaller
hospital run by some Russian women, who had been very helpful to
him during the terrible winter. Here we found half a dozen genial,
friendly women, who were very glad to see us and with whom we
could get on partly in French, partly in German. I distributed some of
my gifts amongst them and their invalids.

Accompanied by their blessings and by. all the flowers they could
tear up out of their meagre garden, we drove off to Ferreyrolles’ sev-
eral hospitals grouped round the station.

It was already late and the sky, which had been quite clear, was
taking on curious leaden colours, promising a storm of some kind.

Nothing daunted, however, we set about visiting the different build-
ings which represented much hard labour on the part of our good
little doctor. The sky was doing incredible things, becoming blacker
and blacker; the whole horizon was streaked with great flashes of
lightning, but at the same time there was a lurid light, so strong that
it literally turned everything it shone on into flaming gold, the strang-
est, most unusual light effect I have ever seen. Whilst I was moving
about in the almost dark wards, outside this extraordinary radiance lay
on all things, but only on one side of them, the other was already
almost inky black. Lifting my head to look out of the window, I found
the wall of the house opposite a miraculous golden flame; I have never
seen anything like it !

Ignoring the oncoming storm which was gathering from all sides
like an invading army, I quietly continued going from hospital to
hospital, my daughters in my wake. We actually reached the last hos-
pital, which was so dark inside that I moved from bed to bed with
someone holding a lamp behind me. The whole proceeding was strange
and weird. Then at last down came the rain, in buckets, in torrents,
in rivers and with it the night.

We got drenched before we could reach our motors, and thereupon
decided to go and take our supper at the mayor’s house, where the

doctor was living, instead of taking it somewhere outside as we had
intended.

To our surprise we found a neat, clean little house, almost in good
taste, a pleasant little hall with a table laid for supper and a pretty
staircase leading up to a second story, and of all amazing things, here
we were received by an Englishwoman ! The mayor was harbouring the
refugee wife of a military doctor, whose small girl had an English
nurse.

We were led to a nice comfortable room where we were given water
for washing and all we needed for tidying up. At the further end of
the room in a white cot lay a charming little girl about three or four
years old. She sat up and stared at us, and when told that I was the
Queen, her eyes became very round, it must have all appeared to her
like some sort of dream. But so that she should ever after realize that
I had really been there I gave her a little jewelled bonbonniere I gen-
erally carried about with me in my bag.

Comfortably refreshed, we went down to dinner with the doctor and
the refugee lady, the mayor being absent, they lending us their table,
we providing the food. My colonel was in high spirits, so it was a
most genial meal and we asked the faithful Ferreyrolles to tell us
exactly what he needed, and Ballif took note of each thing on a piece
of paper, promising that everything would be sent in the shortest
possible time.

Just before we departed the mayor appeared; he is, it seems, the
only philanthropist of the place, is well off and has helped the doctor
as much as possible.

At a late hour we started for home; it was still raining, the roads
had become very slippery, and going was difficult. Once we got with
two wheels into a ditch and had no end of trouble in getting out again,
reaching Jassy finally after midnight.

Now came a time of comparative quiet when the hospitals were
emptier, and my different organizations, being well established, were
doing steady useful work, so I could ease down a little; and although
we could not go to the country for a rest, as we had nowhere to go
to, I drove about a great deal exploring the country around and occa-
sionally visiting the regiments quartered in distant villages.

SPRINGTIME HOPES — SUMMER FEARS 191

Everywhere was a feeling of rebirth. The skeleton soldiers began to
look like human beings again and each regiment cultivated large stretches
of vegetables so as to have provision for next winter. Everywhere
teeming activity and in spite of the Russian anxiety on one side and
the Germans on the other, there was undeniably a strange feeling of
hope in the air.

A born optimist, I was soon saturated with this feeling, based
though it was upon frail expectations, but the human heart is incredibly
elastic and I thank God that this happier period was given to us during
which we could absorb new strength.

I began to love the country round Jassy. It had a charm of its own.
I discovered enchanting little villages and rejoiced over the hollyhocks
the peasants planted in their tiny gardens. Sometimes these gorgeous
flowers were higher than the wee thatched huts. There were also huge
fields of sunflowers the seeds of which were used for oil. I loved these
golden-flowered stretches which of an evening exhaled a pleasant,
aromatic odour ; they were a glorious sight.

Carol had a rapid, smooth-running Rolls-Royce in which he occa-
sionally drove me towards sunset, and I have a dreamy remembrance
of never-ending roads leading to forsaken villages where I stopped to
give sugar and other provisions to the women and children who ran
out to greet us.

The valleys of the Jijia and of the Pruth, and beyond lay Bessa-
rabia, and behind Bessarabia Russia with all its fearful possibilities
and threats ; it was a strange feeling to be so near.

I also took long rides and rejoiced over the cornfields in their ripen-
ing abundance. There was one distant point I often went to, a hillock
overlooking great distances, and from here I would gaze into space
with a queer feeling that I was overlooking the world. But beneath this
outward peace seethed a dull anxiety about what was still to come.

I had a favourite horse called Grui Sanger, a dark brown thorough-
bred which Marghiloman had once given me. This beautiful creature
was more than a horse, he was a friend, and during these evening rides
it was as though my own uneasiness ran also through his veins. A
noble creature which I rode for twelve years and who was perhaps the
horse I have, during my lifetime, most loved.

But although I think of them gratefully, those few weeks of peace

192

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

were not to last ; the Russian threat was advancing towards us, becom-
ing greater and greater, and on the other side we were preparing to
meet a new German onslaught and upon this new effort depended our
last hope, and our military resistance was being feverishly prepared.

And thus began the battle of Marase§ti, but although I was behind
the front with the hospitals, I did not at the time exactly realize the
importance of this battle which has remained celebrated in the annals
of our war. This will be seen by the notes in my diary.

Chapter XVIII

THE RUSSIAN DEBACLE
Jassy, July i\th/2\th, 1917.

For several days we have foreseen military events of great importance
both here and in Russia, and a feeling of excited anxiety has been
with me all the time. Alas, I am more anxious than hopeful, I am no
longer accustomed to good luck. To-day was an uncomfortable day,
continually expecting news. Reports from the Russian front are any-
thing but good, whilst our offensive began to-day and we are, alas,
not at all sure of the Russians. Some consider our offensive a dangerous
folly; I confess to be one of these, but I always hope that there may
be some lucky military combination that I do not understand which
made this offensive not only necessary but advantageous. But I am
mortally anxious and all day long conflicting news was brought to me,
which was most upsetting. Curiously enough Nando is not as anxious
as I am. Carol left last night for the front and Nando leaves this
evening.

He did not appear for lunch as he had a headache; this gave me
a dreadful fright. I thought that it was perhaps an indisposition
caused by bad news, but no, it was a natural headache and when I
dashed over to his house to see him, I found that he was not half so
worried as I was. Ballif is also pessimistic and he is generally right
about most things, so this does not help to reassure me.

So as to calm my nerves I went out for one of our absurd drives
with Nicky in “Bambino”; I was moved by the spirit of adventure
and induced my youthful chauffeur to take risks upon impossible roads
upon which other motors could not go.

Nando’s headache was better and he came to dinner. He refuses
to share my apprehensions.

Jassy, Wednesday, July 12th /25th, 1917.

Spent a long morning at Frumoasa, the eye hospital, which in early
winter was such a terrible place, when Ducky and I had gone on a visit

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THE STORY OF MY LIFE

of inspection. Now it is scarcely recognizable. Dr. Staicovitch showed
me around with great pride, delighted with the improvements, to which
I had somewhat contributed. They have even planted quantities of
vegetables in every available place, sufficient to have provisions for
the winter, a question I always anxiously inquire into, as my Rou-
manians are not particularly good at saving up things for the morrow.

Little Catherine Stirbey who was with me is very keen to be useful,
so I often take her about with me when I have no children of my own
at my disposal.

Military news was good on the whole, except from Russia where
in one place the Germans continue to advance and the Russians
to retreat. Our offensive seems to be successful; cannons and prisoners
have been taken, but for some reason my heart is as heavy as lead.

After lunch I went off with Elisabetta and Nicky to visit General
Angelescu’s division at Grajduri. He has done a lot of good work
and put things into excellent order. We went from regiment to regi-
ment and were pleased to find that everywhere efforts had been made
towards tidiness, comfort and usefulness. Here, too, were many vege-
table gardens and even systematic baths and bakeries. The general has
also repaired the roads in his part of the world, but before we reached
this blessed region they were inconceivably abominable. Returned home
about io p.m. much bumped but satisfied with what we had seen.

Jassy , Thursday, July 13th /26th, 1917.

Day of growing anxiety. Nando appeared unexpectedly for break-
fast, called back from the front by Headquarters, who had stopped our
offensive, as something terrible seems to be going on in Russia. It
appears that they are giving way all along the front before an enemy
only a quarter their number; they simply retreat in masses without
fighting.

For us this is terrible news, disastrous news, and it has come so
suddenly that I am quite dazed. I still cling to hope, for such is my
way, but I am afraid that this time it may really mean the end of
everything. In fact, for us the disaster is such that there are no words
with which it can be expressed.

I went about my own affairs as usual, as though nothing had hap-

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195

pened, but with line angoisse an cccur which grew from hour to hour.

It was a lovely day, cool and sunny, wherever I looked signs of im-
provement, a little recompense for all the hard and laborious work.
Everything so fertile, vegetables planted everywhere, the harvest nearly
ripe, the hay splendid, and seeing it all my heart ached and ached.

The Coandas and General Barter came for lunch; I must say I like
General Barter, he is so encouraging, amusing and cheerful, one cannot
help feeling hopeful when he is there, yet I know that disaster stares
us in the face.

The Germans are nearing Cernovitz, which is quite near us, and if
the Russians do not hold what is to happen to our troops which are
beyond our frontiers, according to the plan made with our trouble-
some Ally?

Misfortune pursues us; if the Russians will not fight we can be in-
vaded in a few days, and Mignon and Ileana are still at Ghidigeni !

Fear is gradually invading me; I am slow in accepting fear, but I
feel that events are so tragic that all our courage and energy are of no
avail. The Russians cut our throats.

Carol suddenly reappeared but although he had been to Ghidigeni
he said nothing to the children, nor did he make any arrangement
about bringing them back, so I hurriedly sent a railway carriage for
them but had no time to write a letter.

After dinner alone in my room, I had a fit of despair. I asked if
Ballif was in the house, but he was not; I had so many things to think
about, to settle, that I felt at my wits’ end. Unable to stand my state
of mind, although it was already 11 p.m. I sent for Stirbey and with
him tried to face the hopeless situation. I then got hold of Ballif, and
all three together, we set about making plans as to what could be done.
It was a hideous repetition of the situation of last autumn, only much
more tragic, because now it is our Ally Russia who causes us more
despair than our enemy. In those days we looked upon the Russians as
possible saviours and now they are worse than enemies. If the whole
thing were not so fearfully tragic, it would be almost ludicrous.

So as not to spread panic, I have decided to keep to my plan of
going to Botosani to-morrow. Got to bed after one o’clock thoroughly
heartbroken.

196 thestoryofmylife

Jassy, Friday, July i/\.th/2jth, 1917.

A long day’s outing, taking Elisabetta with me, starting at nine. We
went by Stephanesti to Boto§ani. Wherever I passed I stopped as usual
to look at all the hospitals and bring them provisions.

We arrived at Botosani at half-past twelve and were given an ex-
cellent lunch at the cavalry school, now commanded by our old friend,
General Portocala, who was once colonel of my regiment. Everything
was very nicely arranged and there were beautiful flowers, especially
roses, for which Botosani is celebrated.

I also saw another old friend, General Basarabescu, who in the first
battles had two fingers shot off his right hand. It was a moving meet-
ing as we had not seen each other since the fall of Bucarest. His
mutilated hand was giving him great pain.

Ball if was going to the telephone all the time to speak with Prince
Stirbey at Jassy, asking for news. For the moment nothing worse,
which allowed us to breathe more freely, otherwise everything would
have been unbearable, especially the thought of all the useless efforts
that are being made to rebuild ourselves in every way.

We also looked at some horses; they even said I could choose one
if I liked. Two of them pleased me very well, but one can never
really judge of a horse until one has been on its back.

We left at about half-past six, had several punctures on the way
and only reached Jassy a little after eleven.

Carol met us with news that sounded rather less hopeless; but I
cannot rejoice, for we are too near the brink of the precipice.

Jassy, Saturday, i$th/2&th July, 1917.

The children arrived from Ghidigeni, Mignon fearfully upset at
having to leave, especially at a moment when all hands were needed
and the wounded were being brought in in quantities. She was tre-
mendously happy there and is actually getting thinner. If things calm
down at all I shall certainly send her back, it is good for her. Mignon
needed a little freedom and to be separated for a time from home, so as
to develop her personality; she is too good-natured, therefore auto-
matically becomes everybody’s slave.

Ileana brought back a little tame chicken with her : the absurd animal
follows her about everywhere, like a dog.

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197

No special news to-day, but terrible battles are going on, on all the
fronts. The Russians actually seem to be making a stand on a line
somewhere near Cernovitz. There are also formidable and murderous
battles going on in Flanders and in the Champagne. How can humanity
stand it! It is a dreadful, dreadful time, and yet it has to be lived
through, and has created many a wonderful virtue alongside of its
fearfulness.

Jassy, Thursday, July 20th/ August 2nd, 1917.

A hot and depressing day, so I didn’t go out in the morning; besides,
I am not feeling well ; I am mortally and physically depressed, I cannot
throw off my cold or my anxiety.

Unlike my usual self I can sit and ponder, unoccupied, allowing
black thoughts to invade my heart. I used to believe in my Luck, now
it seems to be forsaking me with my youth ! Is the spring going out
of me, is my body going to turn traitor to me with all the rest? I
suppose in happier days they would have said : “She needs a change
of air, she ought to be sent somewhere to the sea !” I cannot be sent
to the sea, we have no sea left, soon we may have no country left!
That is Fate I suppose, but at least my body ought to behave. I must
not be ill now.

Had many audiences, amongst others with Prince Kropotkin, very
full of their hospital exploits during the last attack ; he was enthusiastic
about the way our soldiers fought. I also saw Monsieur and Madame
Titulescu, our new Finance Minister and his wife; he is very intelligent
and she is a pretty woman. Then Bratianu came with General
Jancovescu, the new Minister of War. Also numerous ladies came
with their different preoccupations.

All sorts of conflicting rumours about Russia are circulating. There
is supposed to be a reaction towards severity, but can one know if this
is true? There are even murmurs of a return towards “Monarchy.”
But so great is the tragedy of Russia to-day that one hardly dares look
into it, nor would one be able to look into it if one would. It is a
fearful page in its history and Fate willed that we should be mixed
up in it.

To keep up our spirits Nando and I take long drives in the eve-

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198

ning, enjoying the pretty places we discover one by one. Nando also
loves the peaceful and simple pleasure of searching for wild flowers.
He is a wonderful botanist.

Unfortunately I am not feeling very well.

Jassy, Friday, July 21st/ August 3rd, 1917.

Weather intolerably hot, dread of what is coming intolerably heavy,
my body so aching that I remained in bed. There are moments when
my fatigue seems to pour from me, when I must pause a moment to
take breath. I am trying to do so, for God alone knows what new
phase of suffering may be coming. To-day the news was worse than
ever ; the Russians are giving way everywhere and our hour of disaster
seems to be coming nearer and nearer. I feel waves of anxiety which
almost amount to panic, rising all round me, but I am quite helpless.
What can I do but submit to my fate without showing the awful
despair which consumes me?

It is all too big, too tragic, too mysterious, too overwhelming;
what can one single will, one courage, one sorrow do against the
immensity of this tragedy which is taking place? I can only prepare
in silence for what may be coming ; I cannot stop it, but I can hope on
to the very end.

Got up for lunch, depressed faces around me ; have to make plans
for packing, plans for the next move into the unknown, and I have to
make them silently with no show of emotion as though it were an
everyday occurrence, for any show of emotion would make me break
down.

At seven, a new arrival of Transylvanian troops made the day all
the more tragic, they used to represent hope ! Went down as I did
the last time and stood up in my motor to see them pass, to greet
them, to receive their cheers, to listen to their songs and their en-
thusiasm, but to-day our hearts were intolerably heavy.

It was the hottest day we had had; Ileana was almost ill with the
heat and yet for the moment I dare not send her anywhere to the
country.

It just has to be stood, there is nothing to be done. “Aushalten!” —
that is all.

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199

Jassy, Saturday, July 22nd/ August 4 th, 1917.

My name-day ! All jours de fetes are tragic now, but none will ever
be as tragic as that last birthday of mine when Mircea was dying.

Many people came to congratulate me, all my different friends, also
the whole Government. Everybody put on as brave faces as possible,
but there were moments when I felt as though I must cry out my pain.

After lunch had a very sad interview with the officer we used to
call “the beautiful Cossack,” the one we met on our way to exile after
the fall of Bucarest who was at the head of a magnificent hospital train
sent by the Empress Mother. The man had been then like a victor,
strong, decided, imperious, full of pride and courage. Now he was a
desperate man, strength, hope, pride, all gone ! He has had a dreadful
time with his soldiers, who forsook him one by one and finally looted
his train. Wounds received at the beginning of the War have broken
open again, he suffers mortal pain, has a broken attitude, is not to be
recognized.

He hardly dared look me in the face. They had come as friends to
help us ! And now our enemies do not make us suffer as much as this
our one-time Ally!

Yes, it was a pathetic, tragic meeting, almost unbearable, finally
I sat beside him holding his hand, for he had been an old friend.

To-day oppressive, as if a storm ought to come and cannot.

Carol sends telegrams from the villages which were taken back
from the enemy during the recent successful attack we made, but this
had to be stopped because of the Russian breakdown. He wants me
to come, and I shall certainly do so if there is any possible chance.
For the moment I am so sick with grief that I hardly dare think or
plan.

Jassy, Sunday, July 2yd/ August $th, 19 1 7.

My grief over the situation is so great that I am like one great
wound, I can hardly bear to be touched even by word or look. Some
things I cannot talk about at all, one must not talk of some things
till they are over one way or another. What we must do now is to keep
calm, we must neither weep nor fear, only get ready to meet our Fate.
Judging by all that is happening it is probably the worst fate of all

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THE STORY OF MY LIFE

that we shall have to meet. There will always be time enough to lament
when the last scrap of hope has been torn from us.

For lunch we had Monsieur and Madame Blondel (the French
Minister and his wife) and Marincovitch, the Serbian Minister. The
King gave the Blondels a decoration for their daughter Madame
Camarasescu, a man’s decoration that no woman as yet possesses in
Roumania, because she really has been very brave all through the War,
always there where it was hottest.

I have not been out for three days, my body needed rest, but at the
same time a sort of morbid despair seizes me now, I, the great mover!
At the idea of going about, I have a sort of dread of seeing places that
perhaps we shall soon have to give up.

News continues bad; the Russians continue to move back without
fighting, our frontiers are reached; there are no words to express our
indignation ; besides, it is not quite a feeling of indignation, it is some-
thing bigger and more crushing; head, heart and mind are not large
enough to grasp all we feel.

Madame Mavrodi and her daughter, also Maruka and Lala Belloy
came to see me. People feel that they want to group themselves around
me, as we do not know how much longer we may be together. The
whole day seems a long, haunting passage of sickening apprehension;
one hardly dared rest one’s mind on any thought and at the same
time we had calmly to settle all our packing as though we were quietly
starting for un voyage de plaisir.

What our troops are doing I do not know. I only know that we
do not mean to die without making some sort of stand. I keep think-
ing of Ducky, wondering what she thinks of it all, if she knows. She
must be full of cruellest despair.

I did not go to dinner with the others, but afterwards they all
came to talk with me in my room.

Jassy, Monday, Jidy 24th/ August 6th, 191 7.

Pulled myself together to-day and made the tour of certain hos-
pitals, taking little Catherine Stirbey with me. I also went to Galata,
where my little wooden barracks for my convalescents looked so sunny
and peaceful. The vegetables we planted there have grown up so
luxuriantly, enormous sunflowers brightened every corner, it all looked

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201

peace and content, a kindly effort achieved after many difficulties and
much hard work ; it all made me inexpressibly sad.

On the high road, the many children I always feed were awaiting
me with eager, delighted faces, knowing that they never wait in vain.
I gave with full hands and heavy heart, wondering how much longer
I shall be able to give them a little joy.

For lunch we had Poclevski and General Candole. Poclevski hardly
dared look us in the face, so ashamed is he of his country. I had
a good talk with him, insisting upon a few points which would make
the intolerable a little less intolerable. We asked to go to Rostoff on the
Don if we have to move into Russia, and that our Roumanian ships
should go there, so that we can live on board if we want, without
having to search for a house.

Sceur Pucci, with several of her sisters and Madame Vaudescale,
a young Roumanian woman who married one of the French doctors,
came to say good-bye to me. They are leaving for Odessa to await
events. I think it reasonable that people should evacuate by degrees
so that there should not be a rush if danger comes; I always keep the
hope that they will return soon, because the tragedy is so great that
I still cannot accept the thought that it really can be.

Jean Chrissoveloni came to me. He was calm, still full of hope, but
he too is making plans for evacuation if necessary, plans that remind
one of nomads moving in the days of the Bible. In the evening Prince
Stirbey came with rather bad news.

It is not astonishing that the general despair is great. No situation
could be worse ; if the dread hour comes we have only flaming Russia to
move into. Many are already leaving so as to avoid a crush at the last
moment if the real debacle comes.

Each day we make new plans and none seems even halfway bear-
able. The King has sworn to me that whatever happens I shall be
allowed to remain with him in the army on Roumanian ground to its
last possible limit. Nothing will induce me to go off as many are trying
to persuade me to do.

Jassy, Tuesday, Jidy 25th/ August yth, 1917.

A day of suspense, and news continue bad though nothing definite
except that somewhere on our front our troops were driven back

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by poison gases, one of these cowardly inventions of modern war.

We continue to pack and to prepare for the worst, calmly combining
everything as though we were to start for a pleasure trip, yet we do
not know where we should go, nor in what conditions, nor in what way
we should be received by our unruly neighbours. All this a none too
encouraging prospect, but we still hope that this bitterest of all cups
will pass us by!

Weather cooler, in fact quite pleasant. Went with Catherine Stirbey
to bring food to the most miserable of my consumptives. Hardly had
I reached home when old Mr. Baker came to me, he too to talk over
the sad evacuation question. It is all very upsetting when one goes
about with an oppressed feeling as though one couldn’t breathe freely.

Received a telegram from San Francisco to announce that Red Cross
doctors and nurses are starting out to bring us help ! This too makes
me sad; yesterday it would have been wonderful news, but now I
keep wondering if anything will be able to help us any more, and just
now people seem to want to help from all sides. I had dreamt of doing
a lot of good to my unfortunate people, but instead I shall perhaps
have to forsake them entirely!

Prince Stirbey came to tea. We hunted up possible places on the
Russian map. I cannot bear the idea of going north, I like to cling to
the south, and, besides, it is nearer home.

Carol came back from the front with much to relate. He says our
troops were wonderful, their spirit excellent; it was a surprise attack
and the astonishment of the enemy was so great that they fled in dis-
order, their officers en tete. If we had only been able to follow up our
success great things could have been done whilst the confusion lasted
in the enemy’s ranks; but, alas, the Russians failing entirely in the
north, it became a danger to allow our troops to advance. Cruel cir-
cumstances, bitterly hard for our men, who are fighting to win back
their homes.

Jassy, Wednesday, Jidy 26th/ August 8th, 191 7.

Went with Catherine Stirbey up to the Ceta(uia (the old fortress)
to visit the convalescents Maruka is looking after. The place is really
beautiful, but the road to get up there is more than disheartening.
Here Maruka’s friend and slavelike follower, Mile. Pruncu, rules su-

THE RUSSIAN DEBACLE

203

preme ; I found everything in good order and although this was a sur-
prise visit I had no complaint to make about how things were being run.

No special news to-day. There is a pause in the German advance.
Near Fossani on the Galatz-Marasesti line they are fighting, and the
Russians for the moment encadres by our troops are behaving and
holding out. We fluctuate between hope and fear, but we continue to
pack and to get ready for sudden departure if necessary.

Nando had a big war council to-day. I do not exactly know what
was the result ; I only know that he came an hour late for lunch ; St.-
Aulaire and the Due de Luynes were both invited and were very nice
and kind, very distressed for us and our poor country; they have
become good friends, having lived through our trials with us.

After lunch received several doctors and also Mr. Goodsell of the
Y.M.C.A., all of them to discuss the evacuation question, and finally
Lise Soutzo, who came from Neamtz. She was looking very thin,
having energetically worked in her convalescent camp near Piatra,
she too terribly distressed over what is happening. All was going beau-
tifully. She is quite near the new battle-line; it breaks her heart to
think of having to give up all the work begun, and like me, to the end
she hopes it will not have to be.

Jassy, Friday, July 28th/ August 10 th, 1917.

No specially bad news, but all day carry about with me a feeling of
dread. There are huge battles going on on the Focsani line where the
Germans have massed great forces. Although nearly everywhere the
Russian army has fallen to pieces, here, fired by our soldiers, they
seem to be doing their duty, but it is always uncertain if they will hold
out, and this makes our position insupportably precarious as the Ger-
mans are past masters in profiting by every weakness. Our poor little
soldiers are fighting like heroes. I am afraid many are falling, and I
am in a terrible state of impatience to get off to my hospitals at the
front, to my wounded — I feel a coward not to be amongst them.

Received a number of people, including General Ballard and Con-
stance Cantacuzene to whom we gave the cross of the Regina Maria.

I actually received a letter from Mamma from Zurich and one from
faithful Gretchen von Raben, but from Ducky nothing for a long,
long time, which fills me with constant anxiety.

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THE STORY OF MY LIFE

In my house they continue to pack, and have taken so many things
away that it has really become rather uncomfortable, and yet all the
time I have the feeling that we are not going ! The idea is too ghastly
— going into what?

Jassy , Saturday, July 29th/ August nth, 191 7.

All day long the news was anxious but varied. Towards evening,
however, it got worse, especially on the Oituzi side. At dinner, Nando
was very worried and not pleased with the way things were going. I
think he is contemplating a change of command amongst his generals.

Also Averescu’s army was beaten back to-day towards Ocna, a very
important spot for us, as it is there that we get our last oil. I am afraid
our chances become smaller and smaller, for the Germans are bringing
large forces up against us.

Jassy, Sunday, July 2,0th/ August 12th, 1917.

I went with Elisabetta to the Russian hospital, where they have
received a batch of about four hundred wounded, badly wounded. I
visited them all giving them cigarettes and sweets which they seemed
to appreciate, and the nurses and doctors were pleased to see me
again; they have suffered much from the change, are very sad and
humiliated and glad to group themselves round even a foreign queen.

The Russians had turned their St. George medals face downwards;
as I went from bed to bed, I kept turning Nicky’s face uppermost again,
sweetly smiling into their faces as I did so. They looked at me with
great astonishment, but did not protest.

Some of the soldiers were sullen, not knowing if it was beneath their
dignity to be amiable with a queen, not realizing that if they could not
be pleasant with a queen, they could be so with a woman who had come
to see them because they are suffering. Some, however, were frankly
pleased and smiled, saying things to me which I could not understand,
others were beyond either appreciation or resentment, they were nearer
the other shore. I came home to receive Mrs. Rattigan, who is in
great trouble. She is the wife of the English Charge cl’Affaires, who is
laid up with a bad knee and is in great pain and unable to move, which
is a tragedy to them, because if the worst came to the worst they would

THE RUSSIAN DEBACLE 205

have to contemplate being taken prisoners by the Germans; awful
thought !

The news from all sides is more bad than good, although I cannot
help having a certain amount of hope. But there are murderous battles
going on about Oituzi, Focsani, Marasesti.

Carol is leaving for the front, so I shall profit by his departure to go
with him, taking only Mignon and Ballif with me, as I want as little
fuss as possible. I shall first go to Ghidigeni so as to visit my Regina
Maria hospitals and from there go on as far as I can.

Ghidigeni, Monday, July 31st/ August 13th, 1917.

A noisy night in the train, great turmoil at all the stations.

After breakfast left my train to go to the Ghidigeni house. Mignon,
who was in a state of excitement to get back to her work and to
her companions, had got up early so as to present herself at the
usual hospital hour as though she had never been away. I have never
seen my good Mignon so excited. She has really put all her honour in
this work. When I arrived at the hospital there she was amongst the
nurses. Mignon is one of the humble workers. She will do anything
and has no wish to shine, she will just as readily wash the windows,
sweep the floor, or serve up the meals, as hold a man’s leg when it is
to be cut off. Mignon has no pretensions.

I spent a long time in the hospital, which is quite full. There were
terrible wounds, and they were just bandaging them. I must say it
was an awful moment, and the place was full of screams and groans.
Joan, my servant who always goes with me, was ill, so to-day I had
another following me about, carrying all the things I give; he could
not bear the sight of the wounds, he turned green and had to leave the
room. Seeing all the suffering, the immense folly of all this war struck
me again — why, why, why? And such young creatures, and so muti-
lated; arms and legs missing, perforated lungs and bowels, paralysed
spines, trepanned skulls, etc. ; oh, what cruel folly !

I spent a long time amongst them distributing my small gifts, which
they received eagerly, Russians as well as Roumanians.

My faithful Sybil followed me about everywhere, she is so touch-
ingly glad to have me here. She works from morning till night seeing
to everything; she is wonderful and keeps the whole thing going, be-

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THE STORY OF MY LIFE

sides having open house for anybody who comes that way, no matter
what nationality, nor what standing — real hospitality in its broadest
sense. I saw nothing of her husband, who is dashing about in our
Regina Maria ambulances somewhere near the front.

A short rest after lunch and the whole of the afternoon I spent
visiting endless other hospitals arranged in wooden barracks ! I did
my duty bravely, going to every single wounded man and giving him
something; it was 8 p.m. by the time I got home and I confess to
having been absolutely exhausted when it was over, especially the soles
of my feet, which refused to carry me any further.

No cannons to be heard to-day, perfect peace and such quiet in the
country after the noise of Jassy. It was pleasant to get out of my
boots, to wash my face and hands, because I was what other people
would call dead tired, but it is not my way to confess fatigue.

Jean Chrissoveloni and Carol both appeared at the same time from
different sides with different news. Alas, our friends the Russians,
continue as usual to relinquish their positions whilst our brave regi-
ments are beyond praise. It seems that they have been wonderful, but
there are terrible losses. A change has been made in the command;
General Grigorescu will have some of the Russian troops under him,
and let us hope he will be able to make them obey.

Mignon worked all day, she took to it again like a fish to water !
Even after dinner she was still working and I went back to my bed in
the train before she did. The marvellous quiet of the country does me
good, but I had a headache nearly all day. Carol lives in the Ghidigeni
house. I have decided to stop two days longer to inspect other hospitals,
but I am living in my train.

Ghidigeni, Tuesday, August ist/ 14th, 1917.

This was the most peaceful, quiet night I have had for ages; a real
country awakening amidst the woods where my carriage was standing.
Oh, I love the country, and for several years I have had nothing of it.
The morning was beautifully fresh and everything was drenched with
heavy dew, but later the day became tremendously hot.

Went over to the house at eight for breakfast with all the hospital
people, then till half-past nine walked about the hospital, talking to
all the wounded, smiling in no language at the Russians. Some have

THE RUSSIAN DEBACLE

207

friendly faces and are glad to see one, others are sullen. One young
Russian has so much the face of Nicky (the ex-Emperor) that I go
each time and sit by his bed. There are frightfully wounded men
amongst them ; two died to-day. There is also a German prisoner, a
painter from Munich whose right hand has been badly wounded. He
is a friendly fellow and I have long talks with him about all sorts of
things ; about Munich and the Munich painters, about the folly of war,
about the beauty of Roumania and the niceness of the Roumanian
people. He is much interested in them from an artistic point of view.
I really quite enjoyed my talk with him and we certainly forgot that
we were supposed to be enemies.

I went from bed to bed and many of the wounded have already be-
come quite good friends. Mignon was working like mad at whatever
she could put her hand to. She simply loves her work, and I have
decided to leave her here; Carol guarantees her safety “with his head,”
as he is remaining in these parts.

At half-past nine Carol, Sybil, Ballif and I started off for Tecuci
to visit hospitals. Went first to the Cincu Hospital (so-called because
it is arranged in the Cincu house, where the severest cases are brought
and where two good French doctors are in charge). But the hospital
itself is not well kept ; it smelt horrid, the men looked rather neglected,
and the women who showed us round were not very attentive to the
frightfully wounded men. Saw awful things that tore my heart, un-
bearable things that make one’s very soul shudder. Brought a little
consolation wherever I could, but I am sadly aware that it is less than
nothing! I can only let them feel that I have come to them in their
trouble.

We found Vartejianu there, the brother of Carol’s orderly officer,
with a terrible leg; they are sorely afraid that he will lose it, but they
are sending him to Jassy to Doctor Bonachi, who is his uncle.

From here we went to the hospital de triage which is just beyond
the station. It is there that the wounded arrive from the battlefield. I
went about amongst them talking to them and giving them cigarettes.
Then I climbed into the carriages, which is a difficult business as there
are no steps and I can only get into them by kneeling with one knee
on the floor of the carriage and drawing myself up. This manoeuvre
oft repeated is excruciatingly fatiguing. Whilst we were there the

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THE STORY OF MY LIFE

Boches began bombarding the station and as we drove off we saw
the shells exploding, throwing up dark masses of smoke and earth
quite near by. I drove to General Grigorescu to pay him a visit, as he
is a very formal gentleman and likes attention. I found him in the
middle of his council of war. I was pompously invited to take part in
it and listened very attentively, poring over maps and asking various,
I hope not too stupid, questions. It was a strange experience, as we
are standing before such imminent danger. I left Carol with the
general and drove back with Sybil to lunch at Ghidigeni, having
arranged with Grigorescu to return in the afternoon to inspect his
battlefield.

So I returned at four o’clock; the road between Ghidigeni and Tecuci
is a real torture, and I did it four times to-day in broiling heat. Picked
up Carol, who drove me and Mignon to a very advanced position above
the River Siret, where we could see everything, that is to say very
little except the bursting shells before us and right over our heads. Al-
ready as we drove along the road the shells were bursting on our left
one after another, a curious sensation, but it all looked so simple that
one can hardly imagine the dreadful reality; the dreadful reality is
much more visible in the hospitals. It certainly made us feel very
excited, and filled us to the brim with hopeful anxiety.

Drove home over the dreadful road and as a last effort paid another
visit to the wounded at the Mircea Hospital.

Feeling somewhat exhausted, soon after supper I retired to my train.

(

Here I must insert a few words before going on with my every-day
record.

The astonishing and perhaps unexpected resistance our small army
set up against overwhelming German forces is a thing which will for
ever remain a glory in the annals of our national history.

In spite of the bad example of the Russians, who had mostly turned
Bolshevik and were daily abandoning their positions by the thousand,
our soldiers, underfed, insufficiently armed and hardly ever relieved,
remained staunch to a man, unshaken amidst the debacle of their erst-
while allies.

I had been with them everywhere — in the hospitals, on the front,
right into the trenches; I had seen them gradually turn again from

/*

MV FAVOURITE THOROUGHBRED, GRUI SANGER

WITH GENERAL GRIGORESCU DURING THE BATTLE OF MARASESTI

THE RUSSIAN DEBACLE

209

half-starved skeletons into healthy human beings. I had sustained with
all my energy and with my every effort the miraculous resurrection;
helping, upholding, encouraging when and wherever it was in my
power to do so, till a bond of perfect affection and understanding had
grown up on both sides — a comfort to them as it was to me.

Looking into the eyes of their Queen, they had sworn to stand up
like a wall to defend the last scrap of Roumanian territory which was
still ours. Many a dying soldier whispered to me with his last breath
that it was for me that he was fighting, for was I not his home, his
mother, his belief and his hope?

Humbly I had stood before such magnificently simple faith, and
when on that morning, in company with the generals who were plan-
ning our resistance, I had pored over their maps, I saw again before
me those many nameless faces — I saw those many eyes which had
looked into mine for a last reassurance, I felt those hundred trembling
hands which clung to me before sinking into darkness, and in my heart
of hearts I knew that I could count upon our soldiers and that in spite
of being such a small army we would win through.

And this for me, “the mother of my people,” was the battle of
Marase§ti.

Ghidigeni, Wednesday, August 2nd/i$th, 1917.

Awoke after a good night’s sleep in the train to find everything
covered with thick dew, birds actually singing in the trees around me
as though it were springtime. The morning was heavenly and cool,
but turned gradually into one of the hottest days I have ever endured.

Went up to the house for eight o’clock breakfast with everybody
together, then wandered about for an hour amongst the wounded, talk-
ing to them, listening to their tales of woe, consoling them, lighting a
cigarette here and there. It is a beautifully kept hospital and those
cared for in it are tremendously lucky, for indeed there are differences
in hospitals ! When I think of that dreadfully smelly Cincu hospital, I
am so glad that this one has Mircea’s name.

At half-past nine Sybil and her husband, Ballif and I, started off
for Cotofane§ti, the day gradually getting hotter and hotter. The
roads were mostly atrocious and as for the dust, absolutely nothing can
describe it; it lay in thick quilts on the ground and rose like impene-

210

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

trable smoke on all sides. It was brown dust, and into the bargain
we kept meeting Russian transport columns, kilometres of them, so
that we were regularly asphyxiated by dust. We ate our lunch on a hill
overlooking the Siret whence there was a glorious view over the whole
valley, but much veiled by the dust which lay like mist over everything,
blotting out the horizon. The place where we sat was strongly fortified
with wire and trenches.

After lunch we wound our way down into the Siret valley, crossing
the river, through Adjud to Caiuti, a torturing drive of heat, of dust
and bumps; as physical discomfort it was about the limit, but it was
interesting all the same, and the sound of cannon reached us from
both sides, from the north and the south.

Carol had meant to come with us, but there is a great battle going
on there where we were yesterday, so he went to Grigorescu for the
day.

We first stopped at Caiuti to visit the Regina Maria hospital there.
They have done tremendous work, the doctors toiling day and
night for four days without stopping, as it is one of the big centres
to which the wounded are brought. There are two quite excellent
French doctors who do wonderful work, and never lose their excellent
good-humour. I spent a long time going around amongst the wounded
with cigarettes and other gifts, talking to them and encouraging them
as much as I could. The heat was indescribable, and I needed all my
courage not to give up. I have stood much heat in Roumania, but to-
day was the comble.

After having gone to every single wounded man in the place we
started for Cotofanesti ; more dust, more bumps, but the touching
incident of the marching troops recognizing me and spontaneously
cheering, taking off their helmets to wave over their heads. I stopped
my motor and left a lot of cigarettes amongst them. At about half-
past three we finally reached Cotofanesti, which is one of the largest
Regina Maria centres with beautiful wooden barracks built by General
Vaitoianu. His wife and two daughters work there as nurses and
many other ladies, but, alas, too few, as the hospital is for a thousand
beds.

At the moment there are five hundred wounded ; this also is a centre
for severely wounded, as it is quite near the front. My old friend

THE RUSSIAN DEBACLE

21 1

Dr. le Laurier is commandant here. The hospital is built in a beautiful
spot amongst large poplar trees, overlooking the River Trotus, with
wooded hills in the background.

Here on a little hill just above the hospital, General Vaitoianu and
Jean Chrissoveloni have built me a lovable little wooden house, whence
I have a double view over the Trotus and the hills.

Just as we arrived we nearly had a spill in our motor, as we met
another motor and in trying to make way, part of the road, which was
new, collapsed under us. Many screams from Sybil, but after having
leaned over at a perilous angle the motor stuck and we crawled out,
arriving at our destination on foot.

A few minutes’ rest in the nurses’ department, trying to wash off
a little of our dust; we had really suffered badly from the heat, which
continued to be overpowering, but here at last were shade and water !

The moment we felt presentable we started visiting the place. In
spite of fatigue and indescribable heat, I did everything that was ex-
pected of me with heroic persistence, going into every corner, looking
at everything, talking to everybody and giving gifts to all the wounded,
feeling the while that I was melting away like a dish of jelly.

Finally, at about half-past five, I was at last able to get up to inspect
my own little house, which is one of the sweetest, neatest and most
practical little constructions I have ever seen, with two large, open
verandas facing both sides of the valley, so that one or the other is
always in shade ; from each there is a marvellous view.

The house is built in perfect taste, every detail charming. As it is
perched on the very top of the hill they have built a covered wooden
gallery which climbs up towards it like a small cloistered walk of
wooden columns, with Roumanian carving. A treasure of a place.

Up there I found Sybil awaiting me with a welcome cup of tea,
a table spread upon the open veranda upon which the sun was pouring
down. The heat was still almost unbearable, but the little house is cool,
being built with double walls. I loved the place. It has been erected
with the idea that I can settle down there if I want to live amongst
the wounded of my own Regina Maria hospitals, as it is the most
central point. This was Jean Chrissoveloni’s idea, because he knows
what a sacrifice it was to me to give up my own hospital.

All the French and Roumanian doctors, as well as the nurses, came

212

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

up to rejoice with me over my little house, and finally we left accom-
panied by many wishes that I should come back as soon as possible to
take possession of my little dwelling amongst the wounded ; as answer
the roll of the cannon from north and south, the cannons that are
these days deciding our Fate.

Half-way back on a road which tortured us with bumps and dust,
Chrissoveloni left us to dash off to see about our motor ambulances at
Marasesti. He is indefatigable, sees to everything himself, keeps our
organization in perfect order, goes even under fire, into bombarded
villages and positions. The Regina Maria ambulances are doing price-
less work; on all sides I have been told that thousands and thousands
of lives have been saved because of the admirable way our organization
works. I am really proud of it!

It was Jean Chrissoveloni’s idea that I should start this ambulance
organization, because he wanted my name to be carried into the very
battle-line. He really is a good friend. A welcome bath in Sybil’s
room was splendidly refreshing after twelve hours’ hard work in over-
powering heat. It really was a day. After supper I sat on the terrace
enjoying the evening coolness and talking over military matters with
Carol and Grigorescu.

General Grigorescu is of course anxious, understanding the extreme
gravity of the situation, but at the same time he is confident because
of the extraordinary spirit of our troops. The Russians remain the
shady side of the picture; I suppose it must be considered a miracle
that they still fight at all.

I was back in my train at midnight. I am leaving Mignon here in
Carol’s care.

Chapter XIX

WORK AT THE FRONT
Jassy , Thursday, August 3 rd/i6th , 1917.

I have at last received a letter from Ducky, who is at a place in
Finland called Borgo; she thinks of having her baby there. Up to the
present she has been pretty well, but is now suffering from dreadful
cramps in her legs and cannot even stand ! Her despair at the last events
in Russia can find no expression.

Irene Procopiu is actually leaving, as she wants to take her daughters
to Denmark and is going to try and see Ducky on the way.

Ileana is excited and delighted about a new little horse that has been
given to her. I have promised to ride out with her early to-morrow.

No news from the front to-day, Nando has sent Ballif off to
Averescu’s army to inquire into the state of affairs there.

Jassy, Saturday, August $th/i8th, 1917.

A busy, almost breathless, morning, everybody seemed to want to
see me at the same time. Various Russians, whose organizations have
fallen to pieces, but who have still great provisions, want to work
under my orders.

In between two audiences dashed off to see Vartejianu’s brother, who
is now at the Brancovan hospital where Nadejde Stirbey is working.
I found him on the operating table in great pain, but they hope all the
same to save his leg.

News has reached us that the Tsar and his family have been trans-
ported to Tobolsk, no one knows why. What are they going to do with
poor Nicky? I am so anxious, and no possibility of being in touch
with any of them.

Spent the afternoon writing and painting with Ileana, who was
sweeter and more lovely than ever. Her charm is so great that it is
like having a flower in the room; she is very preoccupied about two

213

214

T Hd£ STORY OF MY LIFE

letters she wants to write in answer to letters received from her
Russian cousins who wrote to her (Ducky’s daughters).

Jassy — Roman, Tuesday, August Sth/2ist, 1917.

An early start with Nicky, Miss Milne, Major Georgescu and old
Mr. Baker for Roman. Good road, atmosphere delicious because it had
rained, and the car going well so that we arrived punctually at Madame
Nevruze’s house; tidied up a bit after having been ecstatically received
by that excellent lady and then a long two hours’ visit at the Mircea
Hospital where my giant English brothers have done wonders.

Now the hospitals are again full of wounded instead of typhus
cases. Innumerable fractured legs, which come, it seems, principally
from hand grenades. Alas, a great number of amputations, but every-
where the spirit of the men was high, full of courage, mightily in-
terested in the game of war; but seeing all the havoc I continued
repeating to myself: “What folly, what folly!”

After lunch at Madame Nevruze’s house, where she served us ex-
cellent and plentiful food, we started out for more hospitals, beginning
with the Red Cross hospital which is now directed by Dr. Marzescu,
who used to work with the English. Then to another Red Cross hos-
pital somewhat smaller, then to some huge wooden barracks near the
station where there are about a thousand beds. From there to another
hospital in the station itself, and then still to the triage. No end! And
everywhere I give things and talk to the soldiers, doctors, nurses, of-
ficers, doing my duty as best I can ! But it is fatiguing, yet how dare
one think of a little fatigue when one sees so much suffering; I there-
fore crush down all my own physical sensations and go on and on,
never refusing to visit a single place I am asked to inspect. This
keeps up the morale of the wounded, also of the doctors and nurses.
These visits are not in vain ; besides, I can listen to all complaints
and step in where there is need. For instance at the triage, the French
doctors told me that the men were very underfed, so I am going to
send them all the provisions’! can.

Having visited all the principal hospitals I started off for a village
near by where they have arranged a little home for orphans, and this
left a sunny impression upon me. It was a sort of large peasant’s

REST IN A MAIZE-FIELD TALKING TO ONE OF OIR SOLDIERS

READING TO A WOUNDED OFFICER IN ONE OF OUR COTOFANESTI W ARDS

WITH GENERAL AVERESCU AMONGST THE TROOPS

WORK AT THE FRONT

215

house where they were keeping only eighteen children, who all looked
happy, well cared for, neatly dressed yet suitably for the little peasants
that they are ; it seemed to me that it was being practically and rationally
run. Some of the children were irresistible, especially two little boys,
and each time I see little boys between four and five a hungry longing
comes over me.

I fed them on sweets and gave them little crosses to wear round
their necks, then my hands were kissed by numerous women of the
village, the beautiful Roumanian sun pouring down upon us all, great
and small, high and low. Then back to Madame Nevruze, who had
gathered together a miscellaneous collection of people in her garden
for tea, upon all of whom I had to smile. There were French, English,
Russians, Roumanians. I tried to be sweet to everybody and finally
drove off at half-past seven, arriving at Jassy only at nine, to receive
the military news that on the Marasesti side the enemy seems to
weaken their attacks, concentrating more violently on the Oituzl where
our troops are being sorely tried. Alas, some ground seems to have
been lost there.

Jassy, Wednesday, August gth/22nd, 1917.

The King has come back from the front. After breakfast I had
a long military talk with him and Ballif, who had also come back
but from the other front where he had been with Averescu. On the
whole the news he brought was satisfactory. He thinks that in spite
of the great pressure and our terrible losses — for the battles are in-
conceivably bloody — that our troops can hold out. He came back full
of praise for men and officers; but the transport of troops is difficult,
we have too few lorries and the poor horses are in bad condition. On
the whole there is a prodigious difference between our army of to-day
and yesterday; it is a marvellous and almost inconceivable resurrec-
tion, only it is a small army !

Ballif was also full of praise for Averescu. He is always amongst
his troops, sees to everything himself ; calm, courageous, he shies at no
danger. He is much adored by his men.

In the French hospital this morning, where I went with Nicky, I
found my old friend Colonel Radu Rossetti badly wounded in the leg,

2l6

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

a fracture of the hip bone; alas! I am afraid his active part in this
war is over, but he was as cheerful as ever and full of the ardour of
battle, chattering away, full of enthusiasm, he, too, loud in the praise
of his troops.

In the afternoon I drove out with Elisabetta to take Petrachi, a little
gipsy friend of mine, in one of the villages, some little shirts I had
had made for him. He was expecting us, and the whole village had
come together to see his triumph; his old clothes, or shall I say rags,
were removed and nut-brown Petrachi was shoved into a very white
little shirt with a red belt round his middle, and a red bow in front;
I must confess Petrachi looked like a nigger; his rags suited him
better.

Then Elisabetta and I went to a field further off and picked quantities
of sunflowers. We loved the wild flowers round about Jassy, they are
different from those we used to find near Bucarest.

Military news more reassuring to-day : the Italians have had con-
siderable successes, also the French near Verdun. We are holding
on.

Mignon. is still working at Ghidigeni. Carol is still at the front.

Jassy, Friday, August nth/2/^th, 1917.

Nando’s fifty-second birthday; I gave him a bowl of English
soap, a war-time present. And yet we are happier to-day in spite of our
disasters than we were last year when the great step had to be taken,
and when the decision almost broke his heart.

When the die was cast, when there was no going back, it was more
tolerable, in spite of all the sickness, disappointment and misfortunes
that followed. And now, after- nearly a year’s war, our land is smaller
instead of larger! But the link between us and our people has become
deep and real, a link of trust and of sorrows mutually borne without
complaint. And at this moment we are so proud of our troops and
their splendid spirit that it gladdens our hearts and makes us believe
in the future in spite of our vicissitudes. I spent my morning paying
private sick visits, and then we had a lunch in the King’s house, to
which we had invited the Generals Prezan, Berthelot and Tcherbacheff,

Left at eleven by train for Piatra and Bacau,

WORK AT THE FRONT

217

Piatro — Bacau, August i2th/2$th, 1917.

A pretty good night in the train, then a strenuous morning at Piatra
amongst the sick and wounded. Piatra is such a pretty little town at
the mouth of the Bistri^a valley. Averescu met us and also the prefect,
who used to be an old friend of Aunty’s at Arges, a rather tryingly
familiar old gentleman, but kindly and it seems a good prefect, which
after all is the main thing !

We first went to the Red Cross hospital, then to a sanatorium for
French doctors and officers, a charming little house which they adore
and go to with great pleasure. They had always longed that I should
visit them there and greeted me with gratifying pleasure. Thence I
paid a flying visit to Madame Albu, who once in my youth had been
my hostess, whilst my husband and I were making an excursion
through the Bistrita valley ; now she is a widow and is very ill ; she
looks ghastly. We talked of olden days and were very sad, but she
was glad I had come to see her, also very touched, as she is very
lonely and almost a complete invalid.

From her house off we went over the river to the huge convalescent
hospital which my friend Lise Soutzo is looking after, and which is the
pride of Averescu’s heart. It is a splendid undertaking and has already
housed a thousand men, but he wants to enlarge it so that it could
hold four thousand. Lise and an eager little Roumanian doctor run
it together most beautifully; Lise has much tact, and although the
only woman there manages to tread on no one’s toes. She has to work
tremendously hard and has been living up to now in a tiny rough little
cabin at the end of one of the wooden barracks. Two weeks ago a
sweet little house was built for her just above the hospital overlooking
the whole ground; it has a lovely view and I had the pleasure of enjoy-
ing her little boy who was living with her. The only criticism I have
to make is that the site of the actual hospital is absolutely treeless ; the
situation of my Cofofanesti hospital is much prettier, because of its
poplar groves, though here the hills are higher. I bravely did my usual
round amongst the sick, offering my gifts. From early morning the
heat to-day was tremendous and steadily grew as the hours advanced.

Lise is an excellent companion and looked after me splendidly; I
had only Elisabetta with me and no lady-in-waiting. Lunch was served
on the hill-side overlooking the whole hospital and was taken in the

2l8

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

company of the convalescent officers. We also visited the other site
quite near by where the new barracks are to be built, then returned
to Piatra to visit the big Russian hospital. The doctor talked French,
and everybody, even the soldiers, was amiable and decidedly pleased
to see us. Averescu talks perfect Russian and I must say does his duty
with irreproachable dignity and order.

Then off we drove in scorching heat towards Bacau, visiting on the
way what they call the triage hospital, also an enormous colony of bar-
racks through which we wandered whilst a torrid sun poured merci-
lessly down upon our heads. Averescu went with us everywhere and
it can easily be seen how his soldiers love him.

At Bacau we were received by Madame Averescu in their nice, clean,
comfortable house where we are going to live for two days. It was
very restful to have a good cup of tea and then a delicious bath before
dinner.

Lise Soutzo and the Russian general, Ragosa, were invited to dine
with us, and the excellent meal was served by two pretty German
girls.

Before going to bed, Averescu came to my room to have a heart-
to-heart talk with me. He considers that he has much of which to com-
plain. I listened with sympathy and promised to let him know if I
perceived that any intrigue was being hatched against him. I was
sorry when I realized how ill-used he felt, for he has worked hard,
kept his army in excellent condition, has been active in every direction,
and is adored by his men and officers ; yet it is evident that Head-
quarters have no great faith in him. This is naturally exasperating to
a man who feels he has done his duty and has been brave into the
bargain.

We talked for a long time and I think that for once the haughty,
reserved man said almost openly what he felt and what was oppressing
his mind. I was as kind to him as I possibly could be and I hope that he
felt a little happier when he left me, having been able to talk so openly
with his Queen.

Bacau, Sunday, August 13 th/26th, 1917.

A day of strenuous hard work, hospitals, hospitals, hospitals, one
after another all day long. To begin with an enormous military hospital

VISITING POOH HOSPITALS ON THE FRONT WITH COLONEL ANDERSON

ILEANA WITH FRIENDS AT DELENI

AS 1 LOOKED AT FOKTY

WORK AT THE FRONT

219

arranged in huge barracks, formerly heavy artillery barracks, where
there were over a thousand wounded ; we went into every single room,
did our duty unflinchingly, in spite of intense fatigue. But the day
was less hot. We visited also kitchens and depots and a pottery where
they made all the necessary dishes for the hospital; everything well
run and on a very large scale. From there to another enormous hospital
arranged in several huge corn barns. Saw a terrible lot of suffering,
but everywhere the wounded were touched to see us; I feel that these
visits do good, it consoles the wounded and encourages those who are
looking after them. There are some excellent doctors at Bacau.

We had a quiet, restful lunch and only started off again at half-
past four, but then it was on and on from one hospital to another
till half-past eight. I feel quite confused about how many hospitals
we saw ! I only know that we got more and more tired, till we hardly
knew what we felt. Our feet were in a state of active torture, and
Elisabetta’s knee was giving her great pain, for her knee-cap gets
easily out of place, which naturally saps her energy.

We came back thoroughly and completely exhausted, hardly know-
ing how to stand on our feet. Luckily there was a heavy thunder-
storm round about seven o’clock which relieved everybody as the day
had been intolerably sultry.

Bacau — Onesti, Monday, August 14 th/2jtli, 1917.

Awoke rested, although for the first time I can remember I was
too tired to sleep. I tossed about for hours unable to close an eye, my
limbs aching and tingling with extraordinary fatigue ! I had not re-
alized that I was so tired. It was as though my blood continued
racing although my body was at rest. But next day I began duty early ;
I did not even go to breakfast, as I had to write my name on a few
hundred postcards. I felt rushed and pressed, and although it had
rained heavily in the night it was still very close and heavy. At half-
past nine we began again visiting hospitals, working ceaselessly till
half-past twelve, when I snatched a hasty bite of lunch and then threw
myself into improvised riding clothes, as General Averescu had invited
me to pay a visit to the front. With Lise Soutzo and Ballif we
started off by motor for Onesti, a beautiful but dreadfully bumpy road

220 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

over hill and dale, delightfully wooded in places, with often lovely
views.

We arrived at Onesti punctually at four as expected. The cannons
were thundering from the hills; here Averescu met us and carried
us off towards the mountains, all the women of the villages running
out to see us pass.

Averescu led us up to a height opposite the position occupied by our
Roumanians and the Germans in sight of Targu Ocna, which the
enemy is trying to take and continually bombarding. We went by
motor as far as we could, then we got on to horses and rode to the
top of the hill. From here the panorama was beautiful, and the posi-
tions lay before us uncannily near. There was no great bombardment
going on, only intermittent cannonading from both sides. General
Vaitoianu joined our party and both generals together explained to me
the positions and also their hopes of resistance, perhaps even of
attack !

The heat was great, but the view really glorious, and it was a deep
emotion for me to be so near those places where our brave soldiers
are offering up their lives to form a living barrier between these regions
that still belong to us and the invading foe. I felt more than ever
how deeply I loved every inch of this land !

After having thoroughly understood all that the generals had to
explain I left my height for lower altitudes, where a company of
“Vanatorii’ de Munte” (chasseurs) were gathered together waiting
to receive decorations for their brave conduct. Averescu asked me to
decorate them instead of doing so himself, which of course I did with
great pleasure. He knew this would mean more to them than anything
else. Dear brave little soldiers, with their helmets and sunburnt faces,
they are a goodly sight to see, and each man beamed upon me in turn,
glad to have me in their midst, telling me the name of the village
whence he came. The name of many a dear place was pronounced, and
our eyes understood each other in our mutual longing for regions
that are ours no more, and yet a new confidence has been born lately
because of the bravery of our soldiers, so heroically defending what
still remains to us.

It was an hour full of emotion when we very keenly felt that strong
love which now binds us together. The site was lovely, the sky blue,

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WORK AT THE FRONT

innumerable flowers starred the meadows, and the boom of the cannons
rolled round the mountains beyond.

This ceremony concluded, we hurried off by motor back to our train
stationed beyond One§ti, where Elisabetta had remained, unable, be-
cause of her knee, to take part in this excursion. We found her not at
all well, so I left Lise with her and, quickly discarding' my none too
elegant riding clothes, started off with Averescu and Ballif to a distant
village where the first division had invited me to dinner.

We arrived there at nightfall and I was solemnly led amidst thunder-
ing cheers to a large meadow where huge tables had been spread, one
for me and the officers and a little further down for all the troops. On
this night of nights we all wanted to be together.

I first walked all round the field to greet the men whilst they waved
their helmets in the air, cheering for all they were worth.

It was quite dark except for two reflectors which cast a blinding
light into my eyes. Probably I could be clearly seen by my troops, but
I could only see them in outline and the flashing lights on their metal
helmets as they waved them about over their heads.

It was a weird and impressive sight, and I was full of emotion,
elated and yet sad. So many were no more there to greet me: this
division alone has had terrible losses, and I was therefore specially
eager to be with them before they went under fire again. General
Stratilescu received me as commander of the division.

I could not remain very long, as I was due back in my train at a
certain hour, but Averescu made a touching speech ; it happened to be
exactly a year ago that, at that same hour, war was declared and that
our troops crossed the Carpathians ! Already a year ! And how much
we have all of us learned and suffered in this one year !

And to-day it is an almost sacred pride to me that all our troops
want to have me in their midst, more especially when they are to be
under fire. I help to keep alive the spirit of enthusiasm. My nurse’s
dress has become to them a symbol. As I moved all white amongst
them, their reflectors singling me out, I knew that I represented the star
of hope. Something which showed the way ; a living, existing some-
thing every man was ready to live for, fight for, die for, because
all men need an ideal, something which stands beyond, above the every-
day level; I, their Queen!

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THE STORY OF MY LIFE

There was more tremendous cheering and then, alas, I had to hurry
back to the station in the starlight, over many a bumpy road accom-
panied by the boom of the cannon, back to my train.

Flying over the hills I saw great fiery balls the Germans were shoot-
ing into the air; I never quite understood what was the meaning of
those fiery balls !

Jassy , Tuesday, August i$th/2&th, 1917.

St. Maria Mare: a year since the War began. Arrived at Jassy
at half-past eight, Carol also just arrived from the other front and
there was a great deal to relate on both sides, our tongues wagged
without stopping. I receive innumerable touching telegrams.

Elisabetta is not well, she cannot stand such tremendous fatigue.
Ileana and Nicky met us with their white rabbits in their arms.

After breakfast had long military talks with Carol and Nando and
put Averescu’s case before the King.

Avereseu had given me in blank his resignation as a sign that he
is not working for his own personal ambition, as he believes that some
imagine, begging me to hand it on to the King if I thought that the
King considered it better that he should go. A rather strange act, but
as a sign of friendship I accepted the paper, although I never showed
it to the King. But I valiantly defended his course, putting before the
King the general’s virtues and demonstrating how unfair it was to
suspect him and try to put him in the shade. His officers had confidence
in him, as a leader he awoke the enthusiasm of his troops, he ought
therefore to be honoured instead of humiliated. I think that with my1
pleading I made an impression upon my husband and son.

For lunch we had that nice Commander Locker-Lampson, who came
once before this winter and with whom I have been in communication
ever since; several times he has helped me.

The meal over I had a long talk with him, and liked him better than
ever. He has promised me more help; besides, being an M.P., he can
give moral support to our cause in England. He also asked me if I
would accept a sword of honour which the men of his armoured cars
want to offer me, an English Princess, who has bravely done her duty
as Queen of a sorely tried country. This touched me deeply.

WITH THE MONKS OF BOGDANA

MV PRECIOUS WOODEN HOUSE

WORK AT THE FRONT 223

The King has sent a very fine manifesto to his army for the begin-
ning of the second year of war.

To our greatest regret the Due de Luynes and Robert de Flers left us
to return to France. We took a sad farewell of each other. They have
been excellent friends.

Although it was always a struggle to get away from Jassy I had at
last the joy of being able to go for a short time to the little wooden
house which had been built for me above the large Cotofanesti hospital,
chief centre of our “Regina Maria” activities, behind the front.

I was enthusiastic about my wee dwelling so delightfully perched on
its isolated height overlooking the Trotus valley. It was an enchant-
ment to be in the country after the hot town life; besides, here I was
quite near the front and in daily touch with the troops, not to mention
all the wounded who liked to have me amongst them.

Heavy fighting was going on on both fronts. Cotofanesti was a very
central position and our hospital daily received hundreds of wounded.
I spent my days amongst them ; we were a small regiment of enthusi-
astic workers and, of course, my presence amongst the doctors and
nurses was both a stimulant and encouragement, and from here I could
also get to all the other hospitals along the valley as well as to the
different troops.

Elisabetta, who was to have come with me, had had a breakdown
after our last over-strenuous tournee, so Nicky and Ballif were my only
followers. Nicky loved my little house as much as I did, and enthusi-
astically helped me to make it look as nice as possible with bright-
coloured peasant rugs and pottery. Nicky was excellent company and
we thoroughly enjoyed keeping house together. He was everybody’s
friend, knew every soul in the place and made himself useful in many
ways. We revelled in our uncontrolled freedom, so different from the
Jassy life. Ballif kept watch over us, maintaining severe order. He was
an exacting taskmaster and never allowed me to flinch before any duty
however hard or exhausting; he was always severe and critical, but I
accepted his advice, having recognized that it was always good though
sometimes relentless.

Many came to me whilst I was in my little house, my table was
always laid for any guest who appeared at the last moment.

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THE STORY OF MY LIFE

The generals visited me in turns and amongst others a Russian gen-
eral, Eltcherninoff, who was commanding some troops which had not
yet turned mutinous. He was very attentive to me and overwhelmed
me with compliments in atrocious French, but he was a kindly old
gentleman and I was kind to him as I was so sorry for all the well-
meaning Russians of to-day.

My stay was brought to an abrupt end by bad news from Russia;
Korniloff had failed and Kerensky had declared himself “Generalis-
simo” and again our hearts were weary with fear.

Here are a few descriptions of my days at Cotofane§ti :

Cotofanesti, Thursday, August 24th/ September 6th, 1917.

This is my third day at Cotofanesti. Each morning at about seven
an enemy aeroplane flies over my house and is shot at from somewhere;
it is about the first sound that I hear on awakening except sometimes
the wind which sweeps very freely round my dear little house. I call
it “the little house where the four winds meet.”

A lovely day, less chilly than yesterday and all the same deliciously
bracing. I must say the air here is excellent.

Spent my morning as usual amongst the wounded in the hospital.
Many were being evacuated and I wandered about amongst them giv-
ing cigarettes and good things to eat. Our soldiers find such sweet
things to say, the Roumanian peasant has a charming way of ex-
pressing himself.

I also sat about amongst the officers who were lying out in the sun-
shine on their stretchers and I fed them upon jam, and compote for
those who are not allowed to eat anything else. I go here, there and
everywhere trying to bring a little comfort, a kind word, a kindly
smile. I could describe many a touching scene, and some of them ter-
ribly sad.

They all love my visits, and if I should perchance forget one of the
ten barracks, it is a great disappointment.

The poor, good-looking little Russian I was so particularly looking
after is dead ! Poor nameless fellow, so young and so far away from
his home. I saw death creeping slowly up that young body, I felt how
he was getting colder and colder, I saw how his eyes were sinking more
deeply into his head and how dark circles formed around them. Oh,

WORK AT THE FRONT

225

I have seen desperately sad sights. Some of my experiences are almost
too sacred to relate in words. A great strength was given me in those
days; I felt this and was grateful to God.

There is one poor colonel wounded in the spine, for whom, alas,
there is no hope. He lies there in stoical resignation and will not allow
his family to come, as he does not wish to be seen in such a condition.
But to me he talks whilst I hold his hand for am I not “Mamma
Tutulor.”

One man who has been trepanned has lost all power of speech; he
has a fine, intelligent face, and large dark eyes, which look at me with
mute agony. All the time he holds a stump of pencil in his hand, but
when he tries to write what he has to say, his hand will not obey him,
yet his eyes implore me and he keeps shaking his head in a sort of dumb
despair. Another, whose whole face was shot to pieces, begged me to
wash his eyes for him as his lids were quite closed and stuck. I
washed them for a long time and it was wonderful and touching to see
the look he gave me when finally he was able to open them to look
at me. They keep calling me from all sides at once and the name they
give me is “Our Mother.” It is all the time “Our Mother, I want this
or that,” and when I do not appear they keep asking where I have gone
to. So of course I give them all the time I can.

General Averescu and several of the hospital people came to lunch
with me and after lunch I had a long military talk with the general.
Then I hurried off to Pauline Otetelesanu’s train, which was standing
in the nearest station. She is a cheerful lady who laughs all the time
and has more heart than sense, but I must say that I found her train
in perfect order. One part of it was composed of cattle trucks, which
had no communication one with the other. I climbed into each to give
things to the wounded, with the result that afterwards my knees felt
very shaky as the climbing into those very high carriages is a great
strain. My excellent Pauline is absolutely fearless but she suffers from
over-generosity and would like to feed the whole world on the provi-
sions in her train. I am continually replenishing her foodstuffs. She
has a predilection for Russians and good cheer.

From there I motored to Caiuti where I visited my Regina Maria
hospital which for the moment was half evacuated, but where never-

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THE STORY OF MY LIFE

theless I found a good many wounded. Here Colette Plagino has
worked wonderfully.

As we drove away, Jean Chrissoveloni appeared on one of his
rounds. I invited him to my little house for a cup of tea, then Colette
Plagino, whom I had missed at Caiu^i, suddenly appeared wandering
up the hill, so I called her in and we all three sat round my big table
talking together, admiring the lovely view and enjoying the perfect
peace of the place. Jean gave me good news of Mignon, who is work-
ing splendidly.

He is eternally on the move, never an hour in the same place, works
with relentless energy and sees to everything himself ; this is, I suppose,
why the results are so good. But there is also a restlessness about him,
full of “spleen.”

For dinner came General Valeanu, whose head-quarters are in the
village of Cotofane^ti and also Celia, who is tremendously enchanted
to have me here. Valeanu is fat and cheerful and likes the good things
of this world.

At half -past nine I went down again to the hospital and made a
round of all the barracks. The pleasure it gave my wounded to see me
appear at such a late hour was deeply touching. With the coming of
night they had all become like little children and each one wanted a
word of comfort or a kindly caress.

The pathetic joy I read in their eyes was very dear to me; I really
feel at those moments as though I were the mother of an enormous
family, and that each one asks something of my heart. I give and give,
and in giving I feel that I have always more to give — a spring of
which the waters never run dry ; the more I pour out, the more flows in
again.

Cotofanesti, Friday, August 25th/ September Jth, 1917.

Early visit of German aeroplanes, dreadful sounds, bombardment
of all sorts of guns, and finally a terrific explosion from afar, like a
continued, severe bombardment of heavy guns. Our whole house trem-
bled in the most uncanny way. Afterwards we found out that the
“death birds” had thrown bombs upon an ammunition train at Adjud
and that there had been a formidable explosion, which quite naturally

WORK AT THE FRONT 227

filled the town with panic. Here the noise was bad enough, but what
must it have been there !

Spent all the morning amongst the wounded, getting more and more
friendly with them : some are quite good acquaintances by now.

At eleven, General Averescu came and I went through the barracks
giving decorations to the wounded, which of course gave me and
them immense joy. It was a busy but fruitful morning, in which from
half-past nine till half-past twelve I never sat down for a moment.
Averescu remained to lunch with me in my little house.

Nicky is quite at home here, adores his little room and is of course
friends with great and small.

At half-past four he and I went off to Adjud where Prince Kro-
potkin works with his Russian unit. He lives in the station of Adjud
and was nearly killed this morning by the explosion, which twice
knocked him down. I also saw Captain Paris, Sceur Pucci’s friend,
who has been in a gas attack and whose eyes are in a dreadful state.

Major Georgescu arrived this morning from Jassy; it seems that
poor Elisabetta has developed jaundice which is raging as an epidemic
at Jassy.

Cotofane^ti, Saturday, August 26th/ September 8th, 1917.

The King came just in time for breakfast, and as I had to give and
receive news I got down to the hospital less early. The aeroplanes were
also later this morning and less busy, consequently less noise.

I left the King and General Averescu together in my little house to
pore over maps and went down to say good-bye to some of our
wounded who are being evacuated. Later, the King came and I led him
through the different barracks to the great joy of the wounded, as the
soldiers adore him.

Lunch round my big table and then Nando and I separated he going
to visit the wounded at Sascut and I going off to Mo^anoia by a beauti-
ful road over the hills, built by the soldiers, which goes almost entirely
through forests. During the winter Mosanoia was one of our principal
positions ; since then our line has advanced and now there are no longer
many soldiers there, but those I encountered were intensely glad to
see me so unexpectedly in this far-away corner.

In the middle of the forest there is a wee wooden convent ideally

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THE STORY OF MY LIFE

situated ; it is guarded by a solitary very old monk, who tolled his little
bell as I arrived. He too was very glad to see me. The convent lies
under the shade of huge beech trees.

It was a lovely evening and the long drive back was quite beautiful,
although part of the road is very bad as in places the soft earth has
given way.

Nando and I met again for supper in my little house which I love
more and more and cannot make up my mind to leave, especially as
these days we are expecting military events and I must be here when
they bring in the wounded.

Cotofanesti, Sunday, August 27th/ September Qth, 1917.

Awoke to the sound of cannons. I know they are preparing an attack
on our side near Targu Ocna, so of course I am anxious. No planes
this morning. Nando went off towards where they are fighting and did
not come back all day, so I went down to the hospital and spent all
my time with the wounded. They keep calling me from all sides be-
lieving that I can find a remedy for all their different sufferings. I
spoil them in every little way I can imagine and they rejoice like chil-
dren over each smallest thing. The quiet way in which they bear their
pain has in it something of the sublime. In spite of the horror of it I
can remain with them for hours and hours and never have a wish to
run away, but occasionally when I step out of those haunts of suffering
into the glorious sunshine, I feel like stretching my arms out to the
sky asking why, why, why?

Another sad sight is all the women and children who flock along
my road as I pass, come to tell me about their disasters; they are
women from the invaded regions we had just taken back, which had
to be re-surrendered because of the Russian failure near Cernovitz.
They have quitted their homes and as they have absolutely nothing left
are very difficult to help.

Carol suddenly appeared by motor bringing several people with him,
who all lunched with me. He is not feeling well. Directly after lunch
Jean Chrissoveloni arrived quite unexpectedly to announce to me that
Mignon also has an attack of jaundice at Ghidigeni and is feeling
wretched! Elisabetta at Jassy, Mignon at Ghidigeni and probably Carol
is in for it too. And after tea, to which I had invited Celia and her

WORK AT THE FRONT

229

equipe, I suddenly noticed that Nicky was looking canary yellow and
was much quieter than he usually is. Jaundice! Too bad, all my chil-
dren at the same time in different places, and yet they say that jaundice
is not catching!

Celia enjoyed her tea; she is gloriously greedy, and always funny,
she has a way of finding incredible comparisons. One can never be dull
when Celia is anywhere about the place.

All the time we heard the cannons booming, booming !

I went back to the hospital, as one of our officers is dying, a quite
young man. I sat with him for a while, my hand on his forehead. He
still recognized me, but at times his mind wandered. Ignorant as I am,
I felt that he was dying, and my heart was wrung with pain. When I
left him I kissed him on the brow, and he struggled to free his hand
from his sheets, so as to kiss mine, and said a few words to me which
I could not understand, but my smile reassured him and he closed his
eyes as though, relieved.

After dinner when I came back he had just died, quite peacefully
without a struggle, they told me, but I felt oh, so sad. He lay there
quite still with a single candle burning beside his couch ; no more pain,
at peace.

Nando and Carol appeared for dinner; our military operations it
seems are advancing slowly, but with advantage on our side.

Nando came down to the hospital with me afterwards so as to talk
to the doctors and sisters, and I wandered all by myself through all the
dusk-filled wards giving as much comfort as I could. I heard many a
groan of pain, but reaped also many a touching word of gratitude.

As in a strange dream I moved endlessly amidst those wooden beds,
listening to those sighs and groans and blessings; some leaned their
aching heads against my shoulder, some caught hold of my hands cov-
ering them with kisses, others like small children burst into tears, and
their eyes seemed to ask for all the love and pity I could give. It was
awful and yet sweet, terrible yet in a way comforting, because as never
before I feel that I belong to them all and that they knew that.

There is something ghostlike in those wards at that late hour, a sin-
gle light burning in the centre, both extremities buried in shadow so
that they appear to be endless, like a long dark passage through nothing
but suffering, dread and pain.

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THE STORY OF MY LIFE

Cotofanesti, Monday, August 28th/ September 10th, 1917.

I have the painter Stoica and Professor Panaitescu with me here;
Stoica to make sketches and the Professor because he translates my
writings into Roumanian. We have become great friends over this and
can talk by the hour, and he encourages me very much in all my under-
takings, in fact he believes in me, but is an exceedingly severe critic.

Same sort of morning in the different wards. Nicky decidedly has
jaundice and lies in bed with a baby hare on one side and his dog on
the other, and the two animals get on quite peacefully together. The
baby hare is a perfect treasure. Nothing, however, will induce Nicky
to remain in bed all day. He has made great friends with a French
mechanic with the interesting name of Rigaud; they potter about to-
gether endlessly, doing all sorts of things.

I had a nice Russian general, Eltcherninoff, to lunch, a pleasant and
amiable man with whom conversation was both easy and agreeable.

In the afternoon I drove with Ballif to Adjud, Ballif sitting beside
me but on the very edge of the seat. At Adjud I visited a large hospital
for contagious diseases, mostly typhoid, and also several barracks for
the wounded. This hospital was specially recommended to me by Dr.
Jean Cantacuzene, because some of the people of his laboratory are
attached to it, favourite pupils of his.

In one of the largest barracks I found a dear little boy who had been
wounded in the head, a child of about four, whose father is in the
army, but whose mother was probably killed when the child was
wounded, anyhow there was no one to claim him. His head was all
bound up and there he sat, a wee morsel of humanity in his large bed
between nothing but grown-ups. An adorable little fellow, who sol-
emnly answered all the questions I put to him. I told the doctor that
I would take charge of him the moment he was well enough to be
moved.

Nando, with Prince Stirbey, came to dinner, and I had also invited
another Russian general whose name I do not remember.

Cotofanesti, August 2gth/ September nth, 1917*

We have had bad news from Russia which makes us anxious. Ker-
ensky wanted Korniloff to resign: Korniloff has refused, declaring
that Russia is in peril and as long as it is in his power he will remain

WORK AT THE FRONT

231

at the head of the army so as to save his country. Most of the generals
have rallied round Korniloff. Tcherbacheff is on Korniloff’s side and
has sent a manifesto to the Russian troops here, but General Surikoff
commanding the army round Galatz declares that he will remain faith-
ful to Kerensky and the Government and not to Korniloff! This may
cause fearful complications in our country and again we see our-
selves faced with a crisis of the worst kind. Here I am so far away
from all talk and panic that I cannot feel anxious, but Nando and
Stirbey see danger ahead and they are already beginning to fuss at
the idea that I am wandering about too far from the centre; but I will
not so easily let panic take possession of me and shall remain here as
long as I can or go to Ghidigeni.

Carol reappeared for lunch, but he was not at all well, so we per-
suaded him to leave for Jassy and get through his jaundice there, as
it is no good dragging about when one feels like a rag; Nicky is as
yellow as a lemon but will not go to bed ; he even went out fishing with
Ballif and all the morning he pottered about the hospital in the company
of his friend Rigaud.

When I am alone I invite the doctors and ladies working in the hos-
pital to come up in turn for either lunch or supper. Dr. le Laurier who
is our chief, is really a splendid man and works beautifully, loved by
everybody. Madame Vaitoianu and her daughters are most devoted,
and Jean Duca’s sister, too, is a remarkable nurse; the soldiers adore
her. To-day Celia came for lunch with a charming young Frenchman,
Pierre Reindre, belonging to the Regina Maria mission who came out
with the Marquis de Beaumont. Reindre is quite homme du monde,
tall, slim, and good-looking, and one can talk on all sorts of topics
with him.

In the evening more anxious news about Russia was brought to us.
I should hate to have to go back to Jassy before the date we had fixed.
I feel that my presence keeps enthusiasm alive and puts spirit into all
those I come in contact with, be they nurses, doctors, officers or the
fighting man ! It is the human touch.

Cotofane^ti, Wednesday, August 2,0th/ September 1 2th, 1917.

Usual visits amongst my wounded; this morning I gave them a feast
of that white cheese the peasants are so fond of, which is a great treat

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THE STORY OF MY LIFE

as it is seldom to be had now. They like it better than anything else and
say that it makes them feel as though they were at home.

After lunch I had a long talk with Panaitescu about the different
books we want to bring out for the soldiers, and after another long
talk with Stirbey, who came with various telegrams, I finally started off
with Ballif to search for the 4th Ro§iors (my regiment) which was
supposed to be somewhere beyond Onesti.

After a somewhat adventurous and perilous drive we arrived rather
late and found George Moruzi and some of the officers, but most of
the regiment is in the trenches. For the return journey we found a
rather better road, because the one we came by really gave us too many
emotions. But in spite of the better road we only reached home at nine,
which upset me as I had been invited to dine with the people down in
the hospital. Luckily Nando was also late. The soup was somewhat
cold and sticky, but they were all delighted to have both the King and
me at their table. Afterwards as usual I made my evening tour amongst
the wounded till my feet ached.

This morning I had a great grief. I arrived just too late to decorate
a man to whom I had promised a decoration ; many of the others had
been decorated and he had been left out and this broke his heart, so I
had implored Averescu to send me an extra medal. The moment it
arrived I rushed down with it, but the man had died just a quarter of
an hour before I reached his bed. This is the sort of thing one cannot
bear.

The man had lost both legs and imagined that if he returned to
his village with a decoration he would be looked upon as a hero instead
of only a cripple. But he died before I could bring him the supreme
consolation.

I pinned the much coveted medal over his heart which beat no more,
and I made the sign of the cross on his forehead as his mother might
have done.

Chapter XX

STRENUOUS DAYS

It was quite a wrench to part from Cotofane§ti and the freedom I
enjoyed in my wooden house amongst the hills. It was hard to leave
my fellow-workers, hard to tear myself away from the wounded who
had become fond of me, hard to have to return to town with its stuffy
air and thousand worries. Near the front everything was different,
the air was pure in every way and the work keener, more enthusiastic,
and politics did not sour my days.

But Jassy was clamouring for me and under the threat of fresh
Russian disasters I had to return to what I termed “hard labour.”

They also brought us the news that the mighty Kaiser was
triumphantly promenading about the invaded part of our country; he
had been to Sinaia and to Curtea de Arges where he had laid wreaths
upon the tombs of old Uncle and Aunty. Nando was very much upset
and remembered with a certain bitterness how old King Carol had
always expected the visit of his young kinsman who, although he had
been given the title of “Reise-Kaiser,” had never given his old uncle
this pleasure. To-day he had laid a wreath upon the old ruler’s grave,
after having invaded his country. It was not thus that Uncle had
thought to receive his nephew. I always imagined that that imperial
wreath must have lain heavily on Uncle’s tomb.

During the summer I came together with men of several nationalities
and many of them became real friends.

There was Nicolai of the Fusilier Marin, tall and fair, of aristocratic
appearance, a great gentleman ; there was also the Comte de Rochefort,
Elisabetta’s friend, and several French doctors such as Devaux,
Championere, Veuillet, Vaudescale and others.

There were my English friends Locker-Lampson and Captain Evans
of the armoured cars, who took a great interest in our suffering country
and helped me as much as they could, encouraging my efforts by word
and deed.

233

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THE STORY OF MY LIFE

The appearance of the American Red Cross in our midst was also
a happy event. We received them with enthusiasm, and Colonel Ander-
son, their chief, put himself entirely at my disposal to work in close
contact with me. He was a charming Virginia gentleman, a little
ceremonious and exceedingly chivalrous. From the first we were
friends and worked in perfect and pleasant understanding.

They came with full hands and a magnificent supply of provisions
of every kind, which seemed quite dazzling at this time of dearth.
I took Colonel Anderson about to the hospitals and drove also far out
into the country with him so that, with his own eyes, he could see
how terrible was the want in the villages. He followed me patiently,
and together we saw many a heartrending sight which fired our desire
to help in every possible way.

The tremendous amount of material they had at their disposal
enabled them to do excellent work; besides, they were magnificently
practical and efficient, and went about things in the right manner. I
shall never be able sufficiently to express my gratitude for all the aid
they gave us at a period when we were forsaken and in the utmost
distress.

Ileana was at Deleni with old Prince and Princess Ghyca, who had
a lovely house near the small town of Herlau. I visited her there,
spending a night with her amiable hosts.

I was amused to see how Ileana fitted into this somewhat antiquated
household, where the outward world never penetrated, and where time
seemed to stand still. Prince Ghyca was a boyar of the old type, hostile
to every innovation, living an isolated existence, desiring to ignore
that change could ever be.

My small daughter was treated with the utmost ceremony, and at
meals was solemnly seated, according to rank, at the head of the
table, an honour she accepted with perfect grace. Ileana was born
with the feeling of noblesse oblige, and it was charming to see how
gracious the child could be, gay as a bird, and full of fun, yet never
forgetting her manners when in the company of those she rightly con-
sidered her betters.

There were two granddaughters in the house, two rather shy and
timorous little girls whom Ileana tried to emancipate, but with small
success, and she had also Ioana Perticari with her, her closest friend,

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235

a year older than herself. The old house was surrounded by walled
gardens which breathed peace and seclusion, and I was grateful that my
child could be here, far from the dust and turmoil of the town.

Nicky was having a holiday at Macsut, a neighbouring country house
belonging to Monsieur and Madame Polisu, who had two sons more
or less of his age. “Bambino” had come along with him, and at
the back of the house there was a large vineyard where the grapes
were ripe. The life my son lived here was anything but ceremonious.
He was outrageously spoilt by every member of the household and
by their numerous guests, having a glorious time of it, indulging in a
hundred restless activities! Everybody was at his beck and call, for
Nicky had a way of being top-dog wherever he went. Grape-eating
played a great part. Nicky, although as thin as a sprite, had a tre-
mendous appetite. At Macsut they kept feeding him all day long.

Elisabetta was also having a short holiday at Madame Demetre
Grecianu’s fine old place Stanca, which from a lonely height over-
looked the Trotus valley. I visited them all in turns when I could
get away from my many obligations.

Having seen how great was the want in many of the villages, with
Ballif’s aid I began running canteens for hungry children in several
centres. I also clothed them with the clothes made in the working-
room of my own house over which Miss Fifield, a brave English-
woman I had known for years, presided with energy, order and
efficiency.

Mr. and Mrs. Rattigan, the British First Secretary and his wife
came to take leave of us. He had for months been suffering from
a very bad knee. Mrs. Rattigan was a very lovely woman, tall and
fair. I was glad they were able to get off before our situation became
still worse.

We were continually prepared for every eventuality, although these
summer months had allowed us breathing space and our military re-
sistance had made our spirits rise.

Jassy, Tuesday, September 12th/ 2$th, 1917.

A busy morning, but I did not go out. At eleven received part of
the American Mission and deputies from each of my societies, as I
wished to bring them together so as to see in which way the Americans

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236

can give the most practical help. There was an atmosphere of good
understanding and I think that the coming of this fine mission will help
us enormously.

There was a lunch at the King’s house for the Americans, a very
hearty atmosphere with any amount of goodwill on all sides.

Colonel Anderson, a Virginian, the head of the mission is a charm-
ing man, very gentlemanly and pleasant to deal with.

At six o’clock we all met again at Maruka’s house where Enescu
played to us most beautifully, and here again we all fraternized and
were amiable to each other.

Jassy, Thursday, September 2ist/October 4th, 1917.

A busy morning at home, writing, seeing my usual round of people
in connexion with my different works, which continue to grow accord-
ing to need. Everything is so complicated, as no material is to be
found anywhere, no food to be bought in large quantities ; in fact
nothing is to be had in the country, and in Russia everything is
becoming impossibly expensive, and things promised from other
countries never reach us because of the disorder on the Russian
railways.

One has to be armed with angelic patience, which has to resist
every disappointment ; but when actually something does arrive, or is to
be found, the delight is great, it seems almost too good to be true.
Oh, one learns many a lesson !

At twelve I went down with Madame Mavrodi to the station triage
to see a lot of children who had arrived from different parts of the
country and who are to be sent to the several convents. I found much
noise and confusion, but also a lot of work going on. Olga Sturdza is
at the head of the orphan organization, and Helene Perticari helps
her. Helene always feels everything very intensely, whilst Olga remains
calm ; the contrast between the two is interesting to watch.

I distributed sweets amongst all the children, who had just come
from their baths, and were wandering about in thick coats we had
made for them, like a flock of irresponsible little sheep. Poor Olga
looked lost amidst the crowd and more ready to weep than the chil-
dren themselves, but Helene, always masterful, was in her element.

Madame Popp of the triage was calm and businesslike, well d la

STRENUOUS DAYS

237

hauteur of her work; a kind smile never leaves her face; she is an
admirable worker and no situation, however perplexing or complicated,
dismays her.

Madame Popp has been invaluable to me. When we started clearing
up the station triage she volunteered to take over the whole thing. It
was by far the most dangerous post, but she never thought of the
danger and, with her husband, set about clearing everything up and
organizing a really systematic plan which gave excellent results.
Madame Popp is a Frenchwoman by birth, but she has become a won-
derful Roumanian; I shall never be able to express all my gratitude
to her. Dr. Popp is a great friend of Carol’s.

On coming home I received Colonel Anderson, who came to report
all he had decided since our last talk; he, too, feels the despair of not
being able to get the things we need. He is certainly learning that we
are not on a bed of roses.

Having found great misery in many of the villages I drove through,
I have started a private little organization which is to be run entirely
by Ballif and his faithful satellite Georgescu (“little Georgie”) to feed
the most needy. To-day I drove to see my first little canteen, which has
been entirely set on foot in three days. “Little Georgie” has worked
like mad and when I arrived I found the children all cleaned up and
ready for their first repast. We have found a nice little house and a
trustworthy old woman who is to do the cooking. We have a quite
decent storeroom and we are going to feed the children three times a
day.

I shall try to organize little canteens of this sort in as many villages
as we can before the winter begins.

Nando is rather depressed to-day as our situation with the Russians
becomes daily more unbearably difficult, so that despair fills one’s
heart. I endeavour with all my might to keep up everybody’s spirits and
to fire or keep alive their enthusiasm ; it is hard work. I ought to be
several people in one !

Jassy, Friday, September 22nd/ October 5 th, 1917.

Spent most of my morning with Colonel Anderson in the poorer
hospitals giving American cigarettes to the patients. At half-past eleven
received Lady Decies, who has been working with the Scottish ladies

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238

for the Serbians and is now going to our forlorn little town of Dorohoi ;
a nice kindly woman, full of heart and energy. After lunch, General
Steinbock, of the Russian Red Cross, came with a sistritsa and a
Cossack to bring me a poor little orphan boy they had picked up some-
where in the forest, whom they had looked after and of whom I am
now going to take charge.

The Cossack was carrying the little boy, a child of about five years
old, in his arms; he belonged to the old type of Russian soldier, the
right-thinking sort. He had expressed the desire to kiss the Queen’s
hand and to give over the child himself, also one thousand five hundred
francs he had collected for the little orphan. It was really comforting
to meet a loyal Russian again, such as there used to be in olden days.
The child was in despair at parting with his friend the Cossack. I
must say I was very much touched.

At half-past twelve I received Mr. Mills of the American Associated
Press and had a long talk with him, telling him about the actual
and past situation of Roumania and expressing my gratitude towards
America for having sent this fine mission in which we have great
faith.

To-morrow I am taking Colonel Anderson to visit some of our
centres.

Jassy — Piatra, Saturday, September 2yd/ October 6th, 1917.

Slept pretty well in the train. Had breakfast with Madame Mavrodi
and Colonel Anderson, who offered me a beautiful Cossack dagger
someone had given him on his way through Siberia.

At nine we got out at Piatra, received by General Averescu, and
drove from one hospital to another seeing as much as we could before
half-past ten when I was expected at the sanatorium Averescu has
organized.

There I was received with many honours and much cheering by
officers and doctors of different nationalities. General Averescu- led me
to a small bright-coloured carpet in the middle of one of the courts.
Here we had to listen to a short church ceremony followed by a well-
expressed speech of the general’s. Everything was extremely well done
and with the perfect order characteristic of Averescu.

In one of the barracks we were shown different objects made by the

STRENUOUS DAYS

239

convalescents, and here no end of people were presented to me ; I made
myself amiable all round in several languages, whilst they all pressed
in upon me.

Before lunch, Lise Soutzo took us up to her little house, which is too
nice, everything so pretty with a background of trees turning yellow
an4 red. I was quite particularly enchanted with the piece of rough
peasant linen, dyed orange, which was spread over her bed; it is just
the sort of colour I delight in, and was in charming contrast with
the absolutely bare, white walls. Lise affects on purpose no sort of
decoration or comfort in this simple place; but the concession of the
orange stuff had all the same been made. I am strangely attracted
to that bright orange colour.

Lunch was spread in a garden beyond the sanatorium beneath several
huge walnut trees. In a large square all round our own table, the tables
for the convalescent officers and soldiers had been laid. The lunch
lasted less long than I feared, and afterwards the soldiers danced
their national dances, and then several artists who were amongst the
convalescents recited patriotic, and also some comic, verses. I then
gave cigarettes to every one of the two thousand convalescents, who
passed before me one by one, which finally made my arm ache.

Then off we drove amidst much cheering to visit the French officers
and doctors at their rest home. Here I found our friend Ferreyrolles,
and from there on to the huge hospital for infectious diseases, where I
seemed to wander endlessly amongst one thousand eight hundred beds.

Colonel Anderson followed me faithfully wherever I went, evidently
pleased to be with me, but slightly astounded at the arduousness of a
“Queen’s day,” which he thought fatiguing to the degree of exhaustion.

This strenuous round was followed by a visit to old Madame Bogdan,
one of the grandees of Piatra, who had always wished me to come
and see her in her delightful old Roumanian house, somewhat beyond
the town. It certainly is a delightful habitation, and I was received
with evident joy and excitement, and given an excellent tea, so plentiful
that it was more like a' supper. Colonel Anderson sat beside me and
was full of talk, also a little inclined to become poetical about the roses
on the table, etc. I have seldom met anybody more polite, but he
certainly is dumbfounded at what a single royal woman can do in a
day. He kept sighing his dismay and admiration.

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THE STORY OF MY LIFE

After much pleasant conversation and a courteous exchange of
amiabilities, we left the kindly old lady, our motor laden with every
sort of product from the gardens, kitchen and farm, and drove over
many hills and through autumn tinted woods to the place of Prince
Caragea, where the young lady was keen to show me a small hospital
that she had arranged in their village. Although the hospital was not
large, her effort had been most laudable and I congratulated her very
warmly. She then insisted upon taking us up to the house of her
parents-in-law, where we were again supposed to partake of much food
for which I had no space. It was already dark by the time we drove
off ; a long, very long drive through the night beneath the stars, a
lovely, soft night full of charm. We drove, and drove and drove;
I ought to have been tired but I was not, although to say the least
it had been a long and strenuous day. We finally reached Jassy at
midnight. Madame Mavrodi slept most of the way, but Colonel Ander-
son quoted poetry and spoke to me of the stars. . . .

Jassy, Sunday, September 24th/ October jth, 1917.

Up early as usual and very busy1 in spite of my tiring day yester-
day. No end of audiences, ending with St. Aulaire, who brought me
la medaille des Epidemies in gold, especially stamped for me with my
name on the back. We had a long talk about our political situation,
about Russia and the difficult position of Roumania, and we agreed
that the outlook was gloomy. St. Aulaire is an exceedingly pleasant
man ; his speech is very caustic, but he is so amiable it sometimes dis-
concerts me. I feel I cannot always be as drastic with him as I would
like to be, he is too polite, which takes the wind out of my sails.

The rest of the day was given up to trying to settle differences be-
tween touchy people, which I consider more fatiguing than visiting
one thousand eight hundred wounded. My strenuous yesterday gave me
no headache, but all this talk certainly did. Why must people quarrel
even in time of stress and disaster?

In the second week of October I was interrupted in my activities
by a touch of appendicitis which took me quite suddenly during an
audience I was giving to Professor Panaitescu. The pain was ex-

STRENUOUS DAYS

241

cruciating, but did not become worse. It obliged me, however, to
keep to my bed for a time which filled me with exasperation. I could
not bear to have to give up because of my health ; that my body should
play me false at a moment when I needed all my strength seemed too
unfair.

I had meant to be off again to Cotofanesti but had to change my
plans. Although in bed, I received many people and continued to direct
my different charitable works. I was in close touch with the American
Red Cross and, together with a very charming Dr. Perkins, elaborated
a vast scheme for helping also the civil population. But I was feeling
weak and suffered from headaches. I found it more fatiguing to work
in bed ; and as I could not get up and go away I was at the mercy of
others and had patiently to submit to their lengthy visits.

Mignon had a fresh relapse of jaundice, and on October 27th we
had the news of a great Italian defeat ; it was said that the Germans
had taken sixty thousand prisoners ! What next ?

Jassy, Monday, October gth/22nd, 1917.

This is my eighth day in bed. Much brain work and a great deal of
headache, but a little more food allowed. I think my pain is gone, but
I am still to remain a few days in bed for the sake of prudence.

In the morning a long conference with Professor Panaitescu, the
painter Stoica, General Gavanescu, Kirilianu (the King’s librarian)
and Ballif, so as to talk over my Christmas calendar for our soldiers!
I hope we shall succeed in making something nice.

All day increasing headache, which ‘is a trial, as I cannot keep my
brain still, it must work. Great discussions and many lists brought
to me because of the decorations to be given on my birthday. I do not
mind headaches, as long as I can obtain the decorations I feel must be
given. They are often so slow about giving necessary decorations,
which means for me much hard labour.

This evening Nando gave a dinner to important people to meet
Professor Masaryk, chief of the Czech separatist movement. He has
come to consult with our Government and our Roumanian National
Party of Austria-Hungary about organizing a congress of all nation-
alities of the Dual Monarchy now struggling for their independence.

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242

Jassy, Wednesday, October nth/2<\th, 1917.

I am still in bed, but am decidedly better and tomorrow they will
have to let me get up for a little ; now that I am allowed scraps of food,
I shall be able to stand it. Both my doctors have been desperately
severe; I suppose they were right, so as to prevent any fear of a relapse.

I received Carol’s Vartejianu, whose brother had been so badly
wounded in the battle of Marasesti and whom I had visited at Tecuci
this summer. Alas, he has died of his wounds, and his brother has
just come from his funeral. He is very sad. I asked him a lot about
his feelings during battle. He used to be a rather flighty young man,
but looking death in the face has made him much more serious; al-
though his comrades have fallen at his side in great numbers, he him-
self has never been scratched; how strange is Fate!

I then received our War Minister, General Jancovescu, who has just
come back from Russia and had many interesting things to relate.
Although everything there is in a terrible state he all the same came
back with the feeling that at heart the Russians were good fellows. His
impression of Kerensky is that he is a farceur hanging on to power
simply because for the moment there is no one else strong enough to
take it from him.

General Barter continues to be an excellent friend and does all he
can to uphold our Roumanian cause, whilst Sir George Buchanan re-
mains inexplicably hostile and unfair towards our brave and hard-tried
little country. There is no fairness in his heart towards us, there never
was ; not even formerly in days of peace.

Although he was an intimate friend of Ducky’s, he was amongst the
first to forsake her when her dark hour came, whilst Ducky remains
eternally grateful to Diamandi who, in spite of personal danger, be-
haved in those days like a brick. She even mentioned this when she
wrote to Mamma.

Barbu Stirbey appeared with the news of a French victory. I also
had the pleasure of receiving a magnificent donation for my poor and
wounded from the Americans in Paris; this comes to me at the most
propitious moment.

STRENUOUS DAYS

243

Jassy, Monday, October i6th/2gth, 1917.

My forty-second birthday ! My second war birthday ! I am now
an exile from our old home, but thank God not yet from our own land ;
it may still come, but I must have “a heart for any fate” ; our fate for
the moment is hard and dangerous, yet nothing is comparable in horror
to those dreadful days of last year when Mircea was dying! He nearly
died just that day and I remember a nightmare drive into town to the
hospital where they gave me flowers, flowers, a glorious quantity of
chrysanthemums, and all the time I was afraid that my Mircea would
die before I could get back, so afraid!

Now I am far from Bucarest, from Cotroceni, from Sinaia, from all
that was ours, but especially I am far from Mircea’s grave.

To-day I got up for breakfast, put on white and let myself be con-
gratulated by big and small and spoke to no one about what was in my
heart; if I had wept to-day, it would have been disastrous because I
know that then everything would have made me weep. It was better to
behave as though I did not remember . . . did not remember !

The presents I received were of a strange kind. Ileana brought me
four ducks, my elder children gave me a huge pig ! All this for my
canteens in the villages. Nando gave me money to use for my poor,
other people also brought me money: Colonel Rossetti, Woodfield, Miss
Milne, Mile. Ventura ; the latter actually gave me seven thousand francs
which she had earned at the theatre. And all the poor little flowers of
Jassy were brought to me, such meagre, sad little flowers, the last
blooms of the year.

At twelve I received the Government. At one we had a big lunch
in the King’s house for our military and civil household. Everybody
had put on their best clothes, even I had made efforts to look smart and
my old maid Elise had made me a grey velvet dress trimmed with chin-
chilla, pre-war provisions ! Good food was served, of which I partook
most sparingly. Prince Stirbey, as head of our household, made a
charming speech, touching upon past events, which brought the tears,
which had all the time been so near, to my eyes.

At three we had a long ceremony, decorating with the Regina Maria
Cross all the ladies, nurses and orderlies who had faithfully worked
in the hospitals. Great pleasure on all sides and a weight was lifted off

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THE STORY OF MY LIFE

my heart as at last I was able to obtain recompense for much good work
done by my collaborators. Tea, wine and biscuits were served, and
we moved about amongst our guests talking to them all in turn; I
think there were about a hundred and fifty.

Finally I was very tired, being still weak from two weeks in bed.

Jassy, October 20th /November 2nd ( All Souls), 191 7.

Mircea’s death-day.

It is a year to-day! A year! All the agony of it wells up in my
heart anew, all the silently borne sorrow I carry with me everywhere,
and so seldom speak of, cannot, must not speak of if I want to remain
calm. I always have the feeling that we must not inflict our own grief
upon others, I am also morbidly afraid of calling forth any superficial
manifestation of sympathy.

And he lies over there all alone and probably no one will be allowed
to lay flowers on his grave to-day. Poor little grave, it has not even a
name on it yet. I know it matters little to the one who lies within, but
it matters to me bitterly — bitterly!

Dear little Mircea, his passage on earth was short, no one knew what
he was going to be, whither our love would have led him. Mircea died
as a bud. The good and the evil within him died with him, and there
remains unsolved the secret of what he might have been. I had put so
much hope in Mircea, my little boy.

At eleven there was requiem for him; they sang beautifully and I
wept, thinking of the lonely little grave left in the old home.

A mournful day and all the time I was afraid that anyone would
speak to me about him. I know that everyone was in sympathy with
me, but sometimes it is better to be dumb, wordless. . . .

At three I had a meeting of the Regina Maria committee, at four,
Dr. Massar, at half-past four, my friend Anderson with two Russian
officers who have come to offer their help to the American Red Cross
in Roumania, with all their newly arrived motor-cars not yet in use.
One of the Russians is half-American and talks perfect English, and
he is in despair about the state of things in Russia, but as he cannot
bear to be idle he would like to continue his work here, using some of
the Red Cross provisions which are being wasted in Russia. It sounds
a good arrangement and Anderson seemed very pleased.

STRENUOUS DAYS

245

At half-past seven Dr. Jean Cantacuzene came to talk to me about
different medical, sanitary and Red Cross questions, also about the
Regina Maria ambulances which he wants to concentrate.

I took him to see Mignon, who cannot get fit, but he thinks that all
the same she is on the mend now.

Dined in bed, as I am still idiotically tired. To-morrow night Elisa-
betta and I are leaving for Cotofanesti. I am taking dear old Sceur
Pucci with me to give her a well-earned rest, and also little Madame
Vaudescale, Vartejianu’s sister who married a French doctor with an
English face.

Cotofanesti, Monday, October 2yd /November 5 th, 1917.

Our third day here.

Quite a military day. Started off at ten with Elisabetta and Ballif
for Onesti, where we were received by General Vaitoianu. There, on
a field, I decorated the soldiers and officers of the 24th Regiment, which
has been resting for a fortnight and is now going back to the trenches.
Tremendous enthusiasm, and again I realized that these visits to the
front are an excellent thing. My presence fires the men to new effort,
fills them with fresh enthusiasm.

We lunched in a wooden barracks and the colonel of the regiment,
Badescu, made a speech with extraordinary poetical fluency: he is
intensely loyal and could hardly contain his joy about our visit. He
has, it seems, been very brave. He told me it mightily encourages his
soldiers when I come to see them before they go under fire.

I also visited my Regina Maria hospital and the enormous church-
yard General Vaitoianu has specially looked after. Hundreds and
hundreds of graves, alas, but beautifully arranged beneath the fruit
trees of a large orchard just beyond the church.

Hurrying back to Cotofanesti I dropped Elisabetta there, changed
as quickly as I could into riding clothes and off again with Ballif
towards a mountain where General Vaitoianu has arranged that I
should visit the first line trenches. The general allows me to do this to-
day because it is very foggy which makes it less risky.

We drove past Onesti, through the almost entirely destroyed Targu
Ocna, out beyond to a village where horses had been got ready for us ;
but Colonel Ruj inski, who met us here, persuaded us that we could get

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246

almost to the top of the mountain in the motor. We followed his
advice and the first thing we did was to stick in the mud, were pulled
out and then nearly upset down a slippery bank, but after this with a
certain amount of emotion at sharp turnings on the edge of precipitous
inclines, our motor brought us nearly to the top of the mountain.

Here we found ourselves enveloped in mist, and we walked a good
distance uphill through dripping autumn fogs, along a road which had
been torn up by big shells.

After a certain time we left the road and crept into the trenches, a
whole labyrinth of trenches, slippery under foot and difficult going,
continually up and down. Not being in good condition after my two
weeks in bed, I found it quite an exertion, to which my knees and lungs
rather objected.

It was a pleasure to witness the soldiers’ astonished delight when
they saw me. I penetrated into each little dug-out to give them ciga-
rettes and kind words. I was received with such deep joy that I was
much touched. All conversation had of course to be in whispers be-
cause the enemy was so very near.

So that I should realize how close we were to the enemy’s trenches,
an officer began a German conversation from our trench to the one
opposite and he was answered in German. It was quite a friendly little
talk, the German asking for bread, and yet if one or the other had
raised his head, he would have immediately been shot at.

Night was coming on and we began picking our way through the
growing dusk back towards the road. Everywhere the soldiers had lit
fires in their dug-outs and were cooking their supper. I talked to them,
had some of their soup, sat down in their little holes to rest and gave
them cigarettes, and we smoked awhile together.

The pleasure we felt was mutual, but it was mixed with an under-
lying feeling of excitement because I had penetrated so near the heart
of modern warfare and of course the soldiers did not expect to see their
Queen in the trenches ! Everywhere along the trenches, laid out in
little niches in the earth were hand grenades and cartridges of different
kinds. I even pushed my way into the farthest outposts where the
sentries stand, their guns pointed towards the enemy, and do not turn
round even when spoken to ; I laid my little packets of cigarettes down
beside their guns.

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247

And yet this evening everything was so still, it hardly seemed pos-
sible that here I was in the trenches where the real fighting takes place.
One shot was fired somewhere, that was all I heard.

It was night by the time we left the trenches and we picked our way
carefully over the shelled road to where we had left our motors and
then began a somewhat perilous descent upon the steep, sticky, twisting
road. This visit to my troops in their trenches was a great experience
for me and an almost holy joy to them. The Roumanian peasant uses
charming language. As I sat smoking with them in their dug-outs they
told me in poetical words what my name meant to them and how the
sight of me filled them with new energy and a dogged desire to hold
fast to the last man.

I felt a lump rising in my throat and thanked God in my heart for
being allowed to hear my own men say such words. It is a recompense
for every effort and every sacrifice.

I did not reach Cotofane§ti till half-past nine, and I was expected
to sup with the doctors and ladies down in the hospital. They were
however delighted to have me, better late than never; the supper was
cheerful and Celia as usual exceedingly funny. At the end our good
doctor le Laurier actually allowed himself to be induced to sing some
comic verses he had composed upon Cotofanesti to the music of the
Marseillaise, everybody joining in with the chorus.

I was very tired but I did my best to take part in the fun.

Cotofanesti, Wednesday, October 25th /November yth, 1917.

This morning Minister Alecco Constantinescu visited me at the hos-
pital ; he was so fat and round in his thick overcoat that he made the
wounded smile, for I am sorry to say that our friend Alecco has a way
of walking which irreverently reminds me of Uncle Bertie, H.M. King
Edward VII.

Dr. Ellis, the American writer, critic and publisher, also appeared
again. I showed him all round ; he is a most pleasant, keen and agree-
able man, especially interested in social and religious questions, and has
been travelling about the wilder parts of Europe, principally in Russia,
to collect information and impressions. His impression of Russia is a
ghastly one, alas!

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248

It was a glorious day full of magnificent sunshine, golden light and
such a dark blue sky. We simply revelled in its beauty.

I kept the Minister, our American friend, Sylvia Vaitoianu and an
officer for lunch. Interesting talk upon many subjects. The news from
Italy and Russia is, alas, most alarming. I discussed it with Constan-
tinescu who is one of our cleverest Liberals, and exceedingly efficient
on all occasions.

Directly after lunch I started off with Dr. Ellis and Ballif to the
far-off village of Paune§ti which is the centre of General Petala’s di-
vision, and where he is helping me to make a Mircea canteen for the
orphans and poor children.

All the way during my drive I was followed by an enemy aeroplane ;
finally some of our own rose into the air and circled about over our
heads so as to protect us. It is astonishingly how they know when I
drive out. This constant anxiety turns Ballif ’s hair grey, but I have
become quite accustomed to the nasty buzzing things. I have not the
feeling that they want to kill me, but only to know where I go.

At Paune§ti I was given a wonderful and quite unexpected reception,
the Russian, Roumanian and Transylvanian troops all lined up. I got
out of my motor and walked proudly down their ranks and was much
cheered ; the Russians were as excited and pleased as my own soldiers.
I am certainly each time fully recompensed for my exertions !

Then according to local custom I stood on a very bright, many-
coloured carpet in the middle of Paunesti’s most imposing square, and
all the troops marched past me.

This was followed by a visit to the poor children in the Mircea
canteen where they were given tea and I divided amongst them the
good things I had brought. From there I proceeded in solemn proces-
sion through the village, followed by all sorts of people who seemed
to sprout out of the ground under my feet, to the hospital where I
distributed tobacco and sweets to the sick and wounded. Although the
air was keenly fresh the sun shone gloriously, and I could go about
without a coat.

In the same order of procession I was solemnly marched back
through the village, my followers treading on my heels, to a large house
where a welcome cup of tea was offered me in the company of Rou-
manian, Russian and French officers, who all vied with each other in

STRENUOUS DAYS

249

being amiable and attentive, so much so that finally carried away by
their enthusiasm, I gave them all signed photographs of myself ; upon
which I was asked to stand out on the steps of the house to receive
different deputations of soldiers, Russians and Transylvanians, who
offered me money they had collected for my orphans. Loyal speeches
were uttered and verses composed by General Petala’s son were recited
in my honour by a young and eager officer. There were even some
unfortunate little children who had also to recite verses and to offer
flowers, whilst all the troops stood around breaking continually into
cheers, drowning their shrill small voices.

The atmosphere was vibrant with goodwill and happy excitement and
the crowd crushed round me and took part in everything, in good
Roumanian fashion, almost treacling on my toes in their eagerness to
have a good look at me ; nor was I allowed to leave without having
visited another hospital and some military baths of which they were
very proud. All along the way I was stopped by the peasants, who
wanted to talk to me, voice their complaints, shower blessings on my
head, or kiss my hands.

A second visit to the canteen, reviewing the children who were being
fed upon the rich, white cheese every peasant adores. I hung a little
cross round the neck of each child and was finally allowed to get into
my motor, and to drive off amidst the frantic cheering of all the troops,
including the Russians, the peasant population joining in with all their
might. By this time it was dark and the drive home was very cold but
animated, as Dr. Ellis all the time kept up a flow of talk and we made
a plan about how he could best help us in more ways than one. He is
also very interested in my writings.

We reached home at about eight o’clock; I changed my clothes,
warmed myself a bit and then gave supper to all my party including
Dr. Ellis and the two officers attached to him; one of these, Lascar,
speaks perfect English. After supper more discussions, our plans
taking shape, and finally to bed dead tired and aching in every limb.

Cotofane$ti, Thursday, October 26th/November 8th, 1917.

Awoke to a wonderful morning of sunshine. So as to keep off my
legs for a little and to give my aching body a chance, I remained in
bed till eleven o’clock, breakfasting in my own room but with my door

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THE STORY OF MY LIFE

wide open into the dining-room which was a blaze of sunshine, so that
I could talk to the others whilst they were eating round my big table.
Dr. Ellis had come early to fetch some papers, so he too was invited to
partake of the meal. Soeur Pucci sat over the coffee she so much enjoys
and the sun lay bright upon her snow-white cornette and upon the
orange Regina Maria ribbon she wore round her neck ; it also lay upon
the bowl of chrysanthemums in the middle of the table and upon the
wooden walls, which became quite golden. The whole room was
flooded with sunshine, real Roumanian sunshine. I am so happy that
I can give these few days’ rest in pleasant surroundings to my dear old
nun; she so seldom gets a holiday, her life is all work and sacrifice.

From my bed I could talk to my guests, but Dr. Ellis only remained
a short time, so as to conclude our business and then dashed off for
some military inspections, and I remained with Soeur Pucci and had a
heart to heart talk with her during which all of a sudden I was able
to speak about Mircea. This is always a relief to me, as mostly I carry
about that pain deeply and dumbly buried in my heart.

A short visit to the hospital and then General Averescu came to
lunch. The news from Russia is very disquieting. I received a cipher
telegram from Jassy sent by Prince Stirbey, but Ballif had forgotten
his dictionary and had to send for it, so it was only at luncheon-time
that I received the desperate and despairing news, news that may mean
anything : that the Revolution has taken a turn in favour of the Maxi-
malists. The Minister of War has resigned, giving as reason that the
Naval Governor is treating for peace. The Minister of War has, there-
fore, put himself at the head of the Maximalists and has arrested the
Government. Kerensky and Tereshenko are supposed to have fled. For
the moment it is not to be fathomed what an effect this will have upon
Roumania, but Tcherbacheff is anxious and has asked for Roumanian
troops to be sure against all eventualities, and other Russian com-
manders have expressed the same desire !

Extraordinary state of affairs ! And in conclusion, of course, I am
told that I ought to come back to Jassy!

Naturally this was a shock, as it is very disagreeable to dismantle
your house at a moment’s notice and to rush off. With hurry and
bustle we might pack up everything this evening and dash off after
dinner, but beside the absurdity of such a precipitate departure, I had

STRENUOUS DAYS

251

promised to go and visit General Mosoiu and his division to-morrow,
a specially brave division, and they have made great preparations to
receive me. As all the troops know that I am coming, the disappoint-
ment would be great. So after a short time of hateful hesitation I
decided I would not give up my plans for to-morrow.

I also had a long talk with General Averescu, and then Dr Reverchon
came to me to talk about our Regina Maria organization ; he is a clever,
business-like little man.

The rest of the afternoon and the evening was spent in the hospital
amongst the wounded and my fellow-workers ; every hour has become
precious and I hate to have to be torn from them, as this is probably
the last time I shall be able to come here this year. I also supped down
at the hospital popotte with all the doctors and sisters. Ballif was able
to get into communication with Prince Stirbey at Jassy. The news is
certainly bad, so I have decided to leave to-morrow evening after my
military inspection and to be at Jassy by Saturday morning. Although
it will be dreadfully hard to leave this dear little house, I myself feel
that I had better go back to the King. Of course we have had already
so many forms of horror and terror that one gets hardened to bad
news, we never expect good news any more, and if good news does
come it is sure to be immediately drowned by the announcement of
some disaster.

I am fond of this little house, so far from all noise, so simple, and
my life uncomplicated by court surroundings and politics.

I lie in my bed looking out upon the view through my glass door,
and remember all the days I have spent here, and I seem to listen for
the footsteps which one after another have climbed my little stairs ; the
footsteps of many coming to ask my help. . . .

What is coming next, what is our fate to be, what new sorrow, what
new danger shall we have to face ?

Cotofanesti, Friday, October 2jth/N ovember 9 th, 1917.

An entirely military day in the hills amongst the troops, what I call
a successful day, a day worth living.

An early departure with Ballif, Elisabetta still unable to stand a
strenuous day. But before really starting I first went up to the Cot5-
fane§ti cemetery which I have had arranged. We have set up a large

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THE STORY OF MY LIFE

cross in the centre for which I made the design. The churchyard lies
so beautifully high up above the Trotu§, and now the colouring is
marvellous, the trees all amber, copper and red against a hazy blue-grey
background of hills, the river flowing far down beneath. I would like
to turn this spot into a flower garden for the dead.

Then off we went, Ballif and I, towards Pralea. Halfway we were
greeted by round and portly General Mo§oiu, whom as yet I had never
met. We immediately made friends, with a rapidity justified by the
man’s extraordinary joie de vivre and overflowing, bouncing, good-
humoured energy and belief in all things good.

This rubicund, military gentlemen inspires one with the feeling that
all things on earth are not only possible but even pleasant.

We drove along a beautiful new road up the hills through the forest,
built by Mosoiu’s troops. This heavy but genial gentleman sat beside
me in my Rolls-Royce which groaned under his weight, and more than
once we remained sticking, upon which he would jump out of the
motor with extraordinary alacrity, full of excuses for the mud which
had formed in the night because of the dripping mist, and he himself
shoved the motor from behind. His size and the number of stones he
weighed in nowise impeded his activities.

Mo§oiu has a real genius for organization and forethought. A great
eater himself, he has looked after the food for his troops in a marvel-
lous way. No division is so splendidly cared for, he has everything in
abundance and has laid in stores for man and beast at least six months
ahead.

Having taken some German trenches he studied the enemy’s way of
making things comfortable, and has set himself out to outdo them, and
has built whole little hidden villages of neat, comfortable, little houses
half under ground.

When we arrived at his post of command, I was taken to a delightful
little house where a small room had been prepared for me with a mar-
vellous bed which the soldiers had built specially for me, all different
coloured tree bark and with a crown on the top, which induced me to
promise to come back again and sleep in this bed if I could get away.
Of course I had to inspect the whole camp, the officers were presented
to me and then we drove off to a battery of guns somewhere beyond.
The weather, which had been very misty, had quite cleared and the

STRENUOUS DAYS

253

view was lovely. Here I had to be shown how cleverly the guns were
hidden and all four of them were fired in my honour, a sort of little
greeting to the Boches, because I, their Queen was in the midst of her
soldiers; not an inoffensive royal salute, but a real war salute with a
deadly message which made me shudder in spite of the enthusiam
shown by my guides. I was taken in hand by an energetic artillery
lieutenant, Georges Lupu, who marched me about everywhere, show-
ing me how they lived and how everything had been organized for
their comfort and health. Up and down we climbed looking at the
dwellings, at the baths, and I was asked to speak through the telephone
with the first trenches and received a “sa traiti, Majestate” (long live
Your Majesty) as answer. Everything was in perfect order and done
with the new war art which has been inspired by extraordinary cir-
cumstances.

Thence back again to Mo§oiu’s neat little, hidden village where I
partook of excellent, but too plentiful food whilst soldier “Lautars”
(gipsy minstrels) played, and different artists amongst the officers and
soldiers sang or recited, for Mosoiu believes in good cheer on the front.

General Mosoiu sat opposite me enjoying his own food like a kindly
ogre, enjoying also his own work, his own hopes and revelling in the
thought of all he was still planning to do, shedding around him an
atmosphere of content and confidence which was pleasant to meet in
these days. Here I also found Rossetti Balanescu, who this spring
wrote me such a touching letter after having read my article upon
Bucarest. He told me what I meant to every officer and soldier in the
army.

The meal over, we started off again on a lovely road down the
mountain-side, through Valea Babei to the valley of the Su§ifa. A
really beautiful road, but the ground very steep and difficult, a marvel-
lous forest radiant with autumn colouring. This road has also been
built by Mo^oiu’s troops and he is gloriously proud of it. Altogether
he is gloriously proud of all he has done, but with good reason, be-
cause all has been done with extraordinary efficiency. At one place the
general told the chauffeur to dash as quickly as possible, the road being
exposed to German guns.

In the village of Campurile we stopped and there they gave me a
demonstration of a sham battle but with real arms : cannons, guns,

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THE STORY OF MY LIFE

machine-guns and hand grenades. They had even dug trenches over-
night so as to make the thing quite real ; there were also machine-guns
hidden in all the trees and on the roofs of the houses. The noise was
absolutely infernal, and Dana, my cocker, nearly became crazy with
fear. After this, exhilaratingly cheered by the troops, I drove on to
another village where a plentiful and excellent tea was offered to me
by my irrepressible, fat general, who presided over it with the already
mentioned air of a kindly ogre, who could not only digest any food, but
also a few Boches into the bargain.

Finally tearing myself away from this excellent company, I drove off
and after a few miles was handed over to General Marginianu, into
whose section I had now penetrated. Here I had also to examine baths,
hospitals, springs, depots, dwellings, etc., and was offered a silver
image taken from the destroyed church of Maresti.

Now it was General Marginianu who took the place beside me in
the motor; it groaned less under his weight than under that of my host
of this morning, and he took me to his post of command behind
Mosinoia, the place in the middle of the forest where this summer I
visited the dear little wooden monastery with the solitary old monk.
General Marginianu is a quite different type from General Mo§oiu;
one of our bravest soldiers, but more taciturn, less exuberant, also half
the size of his comrade, but a great believer in his Queen.

At this post of command we again stopped and visited the whole
place. Here there is also an underground village, most practically or-
ganized, but less full of imagination than Mo§oiu’s ; each general had
worked according to his special capacity. I distributed as usual much
tobacco amongst the troops, the men are always greedy for cigarettes.
Finally I shed my second general, Ballif took his seat beside me, and
off we drove along the beautiful but endless road through the forest.
The colouring was magnificent, the sun was setting and the whole
forest was one blaze of dazzling, ruddy, rusty light, trees and ground
a dark burnished copper, glorious indeed.

Night came on and we drove on and on over the winding, twisting,
never-ending road, our lights throwing weird reflections upon the trees
as we went. The road was in pretty good condition, and the night
warm; at times it drizzled, but hardly enough to make me very wet,

STRENUOUS DAYS 255

somehow one does not get very wet in a motor when one goes fast. At
times we were entirely enveloped in drifts of fog.

At seven I reached home. I tidied up as quickly as possible, so as
to receive Pierre Reindre, who wished to talk to me about the propa-
ganda he is eager to start on behalf of our Regina Maria ambulances
when he goes back to Paris. For dinner I had invited General Vaito-
ianu and the kindly ogre who had followed me as far as Cotofanesti.

After dinner, although I was in a hurry to get off, I still had to
receive an ardent Frenchman who came about the organization of
motor ambulances throughout the whole army and wanted to find out
in which way he could make contact with my Regina Maria ambu-
lances.

He was desperately keen that we should work together, desiring
therefore to put the whole organization under my protection, saying
excessively amiable things to explain why he desired this. I on my
side was also very amiable, but somewhat evasive in my answers, not
knowing upon what authority he was talking and not knowing exactly
how the new organization of which, in principle, I entirely approve,
would affect my own work. I said I should be enchanted to help and
put myself at the head of the whole organization if I were officially
asked to do so by those in authority.

Then off we hurried to the station, where there was a loving leave-
taking from all those I had worked with, also touching good-byes to
all the generals, etc. It was raining and a great comfort to slip at last
into bed and to stretch my tired limbs.

I love these military days ; they refresh heart and soul, but they call
upon every ounce of my physical fortitude.

Chapter XXI

HOPING AGAINST HOPE

Jassy, Saturday, October 28th/ November 10th, 1917.

I am back again, back in the midst of all sorts of bad news, back to
an atmosphere of discouragement and depression, back from the hills,
from my dear little house and from kindly, optimistic ogres to anxious
faces, politics and depressing rumours.

But in a way it is good that I should be here. Nando is going
through a phase of discouragement and my more optimistic disposition,
my perhaps idiotically confident nature, is all the same a shield against
depression. Anyhow, I will not be beaten or feel beaten till the last
shred of hope has been torn from me. Certainly we are in an impos-
sibly odious, desperate hole, but I cannot help feeling that there is a
way out. Only one must have the right sort of courage and abnega-
tion. I feel this so keenly and I am so prepared for it myself, that I
feel as though I must teach others to simplify their amour propre so
as to face squarely a beastly situation, honestly without any shield of
false pretences or accusing of others.

I wish I had the tongues of angels so that I could make them all
understand what I mean and what sort of courage I think we ought
to have. In spite of all that has happened our politicians are not yet
ready to sacrifice themselves for the common cause. I cannot explain
what I mean, but I strongly feel it, and blush for them.

I had a busy morning talking to Nando, to Carol, to Irene Procopiu,
who has returned from her long journey and has a thousand things
to relate.

Then Stirbey came and we compared notes, exchanged news and
sifted our ideas, fears and hopes. I had not even time to take ofif
my hat.

Mignon is better, but not yet well; Nicky is not quite himself, and
I hope he is not going to produce a new kind of malady.

256

HOPING AGAINST HOPE

257

After a rapid little outing with Elisabetta I sent for my friend
Colonel Anderson and had a long, serious talk with him about our
situation, which he considers desperate unless drastic means for ade-
quate organization are immediately taken. I called in Prince Stirbey
and we discussed the best way of putting through what has to be done,
obliging every man to do his duty, at the same time avoiding as much
as possible offending the national, and especially the governmental,
susceptibilities.

Afterwards Ileana came and read to me to show me the progress she
was making. Ileana is the most earnest pupil and never shuns a
difficulty.

Jassy, Friday, November $rd/i6th, 1917.

Got up for breakfast although I was not feeling really well, but I
had such a lot to do that I cannot rest any longer; besides, I am
terribly anxious about Nicky.

Nando is hopelessly depressed and feeling very low; I am so afraid
he is near a breakdown. The last Russian news has been so desperate
and so ghastly for us that he says he sees the end approaching with
giant strides. I try to give him courage, to prove to him that there is
still hope, but I have nothing but my instinct and faith to set up against
his definite bad news, so of course my arguments were scarcely con-
vincing.

I believe that our situation really is completely awful. The Russians
have been deciding to make peace, trying to force us also to do the
same and if we will not, declaring that they will take the royal family
prisoners as well as the Government.

I admit that this is a ghastly outlook, and yet, after all, these are
only threats. Clinging to my own belief, I think it will not come to
this ! Certainly I have no grounds to be still hopeful, but I am, and I
shall be to the end. But I understand the King’s despair ; the strain has
been too awful, never any good news, all hopes crushed again and
again. The situation getting more and more impossible and nowhere
to turn to.

Soeur Pucci and Anne Marie Vaudescale came to see me and we
talked over our impressions of happy, sun-filled Cotofanesti, the peace
of which seems already far off. Too much lies heavily upon me to-day:

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

258

the King’s distress, Nicky’s state of health and myself not feeling well.

In spite of all this I had to go to the theatre for a performance on
behalf of the prisoners. Ventura was playing the Marche Nuptiale, and
between the two first acts she recited a poem in prose I had written
for our prisoners. There is no end to what is asked of me to-day; even
to become a poet! She recited it beautifully and it awoke enormous
emotions amongst the public, and immediately afterwards she made a
quete which must have brought a good deal of money as I saw how
everybody put their hands in their pockets.

Returning home rather overstrung I found Dr. Romalo exceedingly
anxious about Nicky, more and more afraid that it is really going to
be typhoid.

It was almost too much, too cruelly a repetition of last year’s sor-
rows. I try to be strong but “verily sufficient unto the day is the sorrow
thereof.”

After a last visit to Nicky I went to bed with a heavy heart.

Jassy, Saturday, November 4 th/ijth , 1917.

Woke up physically better, less “painy,” but Nicky’s temperature
immediately showed me that there was no more hope that he was not
seriously ill.

Why this sadness and anxiety, why? Was it not enough! I suppose
not; it is the run of ill luck that must surely one day change for the
better !

Stirbey came to have a serious talk with me about our personal situ-
ation in case Russia made peace with the Germans over our heads, their
intention being then to take us and our Government prisoners. A
pretty nasty position, so nasty in fact as to be almost fantastic, almost
comic.

He wanted us to be clear about how we should act if it came to this;
what were the King’s, Carol’s and my intentions on this subject? I
voiced what I considered was the opinion of King, Queen and Crown
Prince ; anything rather than concluding peace with the Germans ; any-
thing else can be asked of us, but not that.

Part of our army would probably have to surrender if we were
caught in a trap between so-called friends who had joined hands with
the enemy over our heads, but we should all the same try to cut our-

HOPING AGAINST HOPE

259

selves a way with a small armed force through Russia to a safe place.
Of course it all sounds fantastic, like stories of adventure belonging
to olden times. But for all that it is for this solution that I vote. No
doubt we shall have to go through a country in revolution, a country
badly disposed towards us, with all the risks of war, and this with a
family of children to save ! But the Russians have shown so little desire
to fight that they would hardly send out troops to stop us if we showed
that we were firmly decided to go through.

Later in the evening both the King and Carol adhered to my point
of view, and looking things squarely and bravely in the face we all
three agreed that this would be what we would try to do. But of course
one thing would have to be firmly stipulated : the absolute and irrevoca-
ble assurance on the part of our big Allies that they would uphold us
as Sovereigns of this country wherever we might be, no matter how
few Roumanians would have been able to go with us !

When put down like this, it seems an almost impossible adventure,
and yet things have come to such a pitch that every eventuality has to
be thought out.

Nicky is much worse to-day. He slumbers almost continually, but
when I go to him he still has a cheerful word or two and he kisses me
with all his might. Poor, jolly, energetic little Nicky! May God have
mercy upon us.

Jassy, Sunday, November $th/i8th, 1917.

My days are full of anxiety. The situation becomes more and more
desperate because of Russia and my Nicky is very ill.

All analyses of his blood give negative results, so the wise men of
science begin to doubt their senses, because, according to every sign
it is typhoid!

Dr. Romalo came to me in his anxiety, and began speculating what
it could be if it were not typhoid, “because,” said he, “you are a person
who can stand being told anything.” So he explained to me that it
might mean something infinitely worse than typhoid, something indeed
so bad that I nearly fainted at the thought, something like galloping
consumption !

Of course my reason refused to believe this, refused to admit it for
a single moment ; it is not possible, not possible ! Only nowadays every-

26 o

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

thing is so fantastically awful that there always remains a small impos-
sible possibility that the worst may come to pass ! Anyhow, all day long
I nursed a monstrous fear in my heart which made me feel physically
sick each time I thought of it.

I continued receiving people all through the morning, but kept the
afternoon for myself nursing my “angoisse,” unable to work. I sup-
pose there are moments when poor human creatures must fight their
inner battles and realize that they are nervously overstrung.

To-day I was in a curious condition. I felt all my strength and all
my weakness, all my possibilities and all my limitations, all my enthusi-
asm and all my discouragement. I longed for solitude and yet solitude
nearly drove me mad. What would have done me the most good would
have been to ride far out over lonely places, to ride violently through
wind, cloud and falling leaves. A strange state of nerves, half-exalta-
tion and half-despair, and being the so-called strong one, none can help
me, I must bear it alone.

On the whole, Nicky’s day was not so bad. In the afternoon he said
to me, “I am feeling almost quite comfortable,” but after dinner when
I went to say good night he moaned : “Now my bones are all aching.”
We were luckily able to get a good English nurse, Miss Moore, to look
after him and they get on well together. She has every possible war
experience of the most exciting kind to relate, and it interests him. His
mind is so keen, he is such a clever boy, so bursting full of life and
interest in all things. We have cut his hair quite short, his face looks
tiny with dark rims under his eyes, but such a dear, handsome, sharply-
cut little face. One can easily imagine in what a state is faithful Denize
(his tutor).

Jassy, Thursday, November 9 th/22nd, 1917.

A real royal day, Carol driving Ballif and me in his motor; we
started at half-past eleven a.m., and only returned at half-past twelve
at night.

As Nicky’s state of health did not cause me any special anxiety, I
decided to inspect my far-off Mircea canteens, which “little Georgie”
had organized in the poorest villages.

The first part of our drive was very slippery because it had rained

HOPING AGAINST HOPE 261

in the night and it was mightily, monstrously cold because we had a
bitter north wind against us.

Our first destination was Vanatori, a small and terribly poor village
between Stefanesti and Botosani. Before we reached our destination
we stopped at a small roadmender’s house where we partook of a frugal
repast brought with us, very glad to get under shelter for a moment ;
we had had illusions about the temperature but soon discovered that
there was a cruel wind which did its best to get between our skin and
bones. It was quite a decent little house, and well heated, which we
much appreciated. We were kindly looked after by the peasant woman
who inhabited the house, who took our somewhat unexpected invasion
with real Roumanian-peasant placidity, showing neither pleasure,
astonishment, nor fuss. Her words were few and she stolidly continued
cooking her “mamaliga,” whilst we ate better things. We left her half
of our “better things,” and departed again after half an hour, having
tried to wrap up more efficiently. But it was cold, and the wind was
fierce.

Finally we arrived at Vanatori and inspected the neat little Mircea
canteen, its provisions, the old woman who cooked and the gendarme
who guards it.

When we arrived we found a few Russian soldiers installed in my
house, quietly drinking tea which they had brought in a basket. They
were quite peaceful ; the officer even saluted in a dogged sort of way,
but they had no intention of quitting the place.

These passing Russians are a great terror to those who keep my
canteen, and to all the peasants in the villages. Of course they are also
a danger to my provisions, but here, for the moment, they have neither
been discovered nor stolen.

Unfortunately, it was not a mealtime, and the children were dis-
persed far and wide, so I was not able to see them eat their lunch, but
the old woman declared that they come regularly and that she feeds
them well. Having to be satisfied with this assurance, we started off
for our furthest canteen, Dumeni, near Dorohoi. I was keen to visit
my far-off canteens as in these days one is never sure when one will
again get a chance of doing anything. As it happens Dumeni was a
good way beyond Dorohoi ; when we started we had no idea that it
was so far.

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THE STORY OF MY LIFE

On the outskirts of Botosani, we stopped at the aviation field to take
in petrol, as the Rolls-Royce cannot run endlessly without being fed.
Some jovial French soldiers came to chat with us, at first quite una-
ware who we were, and inclined to be jokingly familiar, much admiring
our car; when finally by the attitude of our Roumanian soldiers they
discovered our identity, they became somewhat blushing and much less
amusing.

Then on we went ; we drove and drove and drove endlessly, the wind
at times behaving cruelly towards us. Luckily the roads were in part
good, some even excellent, but in spite of all our running we did not
reach Dumeni before dark.

It is a large village and we had the luck to find a notary who has
taken great interest in my canteen, putting heart, energy and under-
standing into our undertaking. The house is large and clean, and al-
though we arrived quite unexpectedly we found the court-yard, kitchen
and little dining-room spotlessly neat and clean, all the cups and plates
laid out on the table, beautifully washed, although the repast was only
just over. Here also we were not able to see all the children, as it
was too late; but these surprise visits had the advantage that we see
things as they are, no one having had the chance to make unusual
preparations.

Here, the Russians, instead of being a nuisance, have been most
helpful. I visited every corner, and found everything spick and span.
This is decidedly the best run of all our canteens. Fifty children receive
two big meals a day, and hot tea in the early morning.

Before starting on our way home we ate the remainder of our lunch
in the notary’s house; he even kindly offered us some boiled eggs and
some quite good biscuits baked by his wife.

The drive home was endless, despairingly endless. We had pulled
up the hood, but it had no sides and gave us little protection against
the blasting wind. Luckily I had a stock of thick peasant coats which
I always carry about with me to give to wretched people along the road.
Ballif cleverly contrived to put up one of these coats on the wind side,
which made a sort of screen, a blessed relief.

Carol drove beautifully. I admired him, because during our thirteen
hours’ outing, we were rolling nearly all the time and most of the way
the furious wind was dead against us.

HOPING AGAINST HOPE

263

I came back not particularly tired but stiff in the neck, and my eyes
swollen with the wind. We were received with many Ahs ! and Ohs !
by the servants and maids, who considered the length of our drive
risky for me in more ways than one. I confess to having been very
ready for a hot cup of tea and bed !

The English have had a big success in France, a surprise attack with
their tanks; they progress considerably, taking several villages and
many prisoners.

Jassy, Saturday, November nth/2\th, 1917.

My work with Mamulea grows and grows ; we have endless under-
takings, and the work goes well, but of course we have no end of
difficulties, for the Roumanians in general are difficult to work with,
and times are hard.

Received a timid young Englishman, Mr. Bird, who had been at
Teheran and has been detached from there to help Sir George Barclay
here. He brought me a letter from my cousin, Dmitry Pavlovitch, who
was saved from the revolution, having been exiled by the Tsar to
Persia after the Rasputin murder.

After lunch I had a long conference with our fat minister, Con-
stantinescu ; he is clever, sly and very capable and generally we get on
very well together, but to-day I had to induce the wily old gentleman
to answer point for point in what way he would help the Americans
in their work. I had the American proposition in clear writing, and
did not mean to let my minister off without a counter-proposition.

I tried all my powers on the clever but slippery little man ; to-day I
had no intention of being nonplussed, and I think he understood it.

I then went with Madame Cincu to visit the club room and night
refuge that I am building together with the Y.M.C.A. I think this is
going to be a very useful organization. I also visited the Jewish
Orphanage close by, and found the children in the middle of a Bible
lesson. They were just going through the story of Jacob and Esau in
impossible Jewish-Roumanian; I was able to show them that I too was
well up in the Old Testament by asking pertinent questions, but what
I did not do was to tell them that I thought the story of their patriarchs
anything but moral, in fact a disgusting story. I finally left, but not

264 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

before having promised stockings for the boys, and, of all things, soles
for their boots !

Thank God, Nicky is getting on splendidly. Normal temperature,
and let us hope that this nightmare is over.

I have received three wagons of butter, sugar and rice which I
ordered from Odessa; it seems almost incredible that anything should
get through in these days.

I am afraid that our dear old Miss Milne will be leaving us shortly, a
sad moment for all of us, and for her the end of her long and honour-
able career.

Jassy, Tuesday, November 14 th/2jth, 1917.

Day of hospitals and audiences. Spent part of my morning amongst
the consumptives, distributing General Mo§oiu’s white cheese and
dried plums, which he had faithfully sent me according to promise. It
was quite a feast for my wretched invalids, but oh, God, what sad
sights I saw ! It was quite evident that many of them were trembling
on the edge of the “beyond.”

My audiences began with a lady who has a high opinion of herself,
and whom I had known in better days. She was as usual ridiculous,
painted, familiar. She had composed a piece of music which is to be
dedicated to the King and Queen, and which she wants to conduct
herself on some public occasion. She put her services at my disposal,
her services as well as her heart, her intelligence, her charm, but if I
could find no use for them she put them at the disposal of Elisabetta
or Mignon, or Nicky, or Ileana; no matter whom as long as it could be
a member of the Royal Family. With this she squinted, full of assur-
ance, convinced of her indisputable right to be one of the elect !

After she had tried to charm me by voice, speech and manner, she
departed to be replaced by a very nice English clergyman come from
Petrograd. I loved talking to him, because he knew all my Russian
family and had been special friends with Olga, Tsar Nicky’s younger
sister; he was also an intimate of Cousin Dmitry and young Yusupoff,
and knew in detail all about the Rasputin murder. He also knew
Ducky quite well and had worked a lot with her at the beginning of
the War. He was a most pleasant and charming man.

He was followed by a very ugly lady from Galatz, who came to talk

HOPING AGAINST HOPE

265

to me in the name of the bishop about the Galatz orphan question, and
then came two more females from Vaslui, one with a sad story about
a daughter she could not educate, and the other about a daughter she
could not marry off. When I had managed to show sympathy in every
direction, I jumped into my motor and drove to inspect the Galata
hospital now under Ferreyrolles’ care, where I gave the invalids the
remains of my white cheese and plums.

Nicky is nearly well, but has still to be kept in bed.

Jassy, Thursday, November 16th /29th, 1917.

An early start with Elisabetta for Roman. An extraordinarily beau-
tiful day, like the best days of spring with an indescribably brilliant
sun.

So as to arrive in a tidy condition, we drove for once in a closed
motor, a rare occurrence, but thanks to Prince Stirbey, a beautiful
Cadillac has been put at my disposal by the military section. He argued
that I have to go about just as much as any general, so why should I
not therefore occasionally have a closed motor, especially in winter?

The road between Jassy and Roman was in splendid condition, and
we flew along with a feeling of exhilaration. Ballif sat in front, in
high spirits and very proud of the pace our car could go.

A short stop at the ecstatic Madame Nevruze’s house so as to tidy
up, then off to the Mircea Hospital which the American Red Cross has
taken over from the English, my giant Fitzwilliam brothers having
gone nearer to the front. The Americans have a large personnel, and
everything looked most satisfactory and prosperous, with all the nec-
essary improvements.

Of course we had to visit everything in detail, not only the patients,
who looked cheerful and well cared for, but the kitchen, the outhouses,
also the pigs and calves which formed part of their riches, and we even
visited the wood depot, a very important adjunct.

By this time we were ready for lunch, which was quite an American
affair as it was their Thanksgiving Day, and they were much enchanted
to have us with them. Of course it ended with a pumpkin pie, which
it seems is the correct thing. Colonel Anderson sat on one side of me,
and Mr. Baker of the English Red Cross on the other, two pleasant
companions. Opposite me sat Elisabetta, who was’ being entertained

266

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

by Dr. Perkins, who is cheerful, intelligent and interesting. It certainly
was a successful meal, with a feeling of goodwill towards all men.

After lunch, the Prefect carried us off to visit different places where
food was being distributed to the poor. We were enthusiastically
cheered wherever we went, and in spite of rumours that Roman was
a dangerous place because of the Russians, I insisted upon walking
from street to street straight through the crowd, who received us
warmly, the dreaded tovaresh saluting us just like our own people.

Of course we had still to go to more than one hospital, also to a
Jewish school.

In several of these hospitals I had the pleasure of finding some of
my special friends, wounded, and evacuated from Cotofanesti.

A visit to Roman would not have been complete without the classical
tea given by Madame Nevruze Khan in her house, which has become
hospitable because of her adoration for her Queen. All the important
people of the town had congregated in her salon, where we were offered
delicious food. As usual, everything was done with that peculiar
order and ceremony established by my fervent old friend. She had
clothed herself in immaculate white, and looked like some strange
Tibetan nun.

Jassy, Sunday, November igth/December 2nd, 191 7.

News worse than ever, an atmosphere of panic in the air. I try
not to allow it to infect me nor those around me, but often I feel the
tears come burning to my eyes.

Received a very warm telegram from King George of England
saying that my children and I are welcome in England at any time.
At first the telegram made me very happy, but on riper reflection I
understood that it was a bad sign; they recognize that we are in
danger and that our position is untenable.

For lunch, to which Nando came very late, we had as visitors
General Tcherbacheff with his daughter and her husband, also Ritch-
itch with his wife and Nindi Romalo, whom the Americans want to
have as their secretary as he speaks excellent English.

The air is saturated with anxiety. Rumour will have it that to-day
or to-morrow the Russian soldiers are going to arrest or murder
their officers. Tcherbacheff is in a panic. I wish the Russian officers

HOPING AGAINST HOPE

267

had more pluck; I am sure that with a more decided attitude much
mischief could be avoided; they seem to have entirely lost their nerve.

Seeing that the weather threatens to change, I quickly drove off
with Elisabetta to Villa Greerul, because the roads are still dry, and
it is some time since I visited my dear old Soeur Pucci. Mignon and
Miss Milne followed in another motor. Our coming brought great
joy to the sick and to those who were nursing them; we drank a cup
of tea, had a good talk and then back we drove again over the bone-
breaking road.

There are always great objections when I drive out that way be-
cause we have to pass through a large Russian military settlement and
people consider it dangerous.

During my absence Minister Constantinescu had gone to the King
to try and persuade him that we must leave with all our children this
very evening for Ghidigeni or Cotofanesti, as there is every reason
to believe that to-morrow will be a dangerous day. Luckily Nando
came straight over to me and we agreed that we were of one opinion ;
nothing in the world would induce us to budge, nor to show the
smallest signs of anxiety. Stirbey, who had been called in, upheld
our decision. The situation has just to be faced come what may, and
above all we must show those Russian bullies that the much despised
little Roumanians are not afraid of their threats. As long as we keep
steady and are disciplined, I am convinced we can have the upper hand
even over superior numbers.

But I feel waves of horrible anxiety mounting on all sides. Above
all we must keep calm and continue living and acting as though noth-
ing were the matter.

Nicky was allowed out of bed for the first time to sit in a chair :
he felt top-heavy, light-headed, and weak in his legs, but otherwise
well.

Went to bed early, read a little, and in spite of everything felt
quite calm.

As will be seen in the following pages I was possessed by the idea
of resistance at any cost, even against quite impossible odds. The
struggle was heart-breaking and little by little I could not help no-
ticing that everybody was losing faith.

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THE STORY OF MY LIFE

This made me frantic and reading through my diary it is pathetic
to see how I hoped against hope, calling upon all my strength and
energy to keep off our horrible fate. I was terribly unresigned and
could not believe that we were destined to give up. The “never-
say-die” of my English temperament and upbringing made the strug-
gle unbearable.

But the iron circle enclosing us became tighter and tighter, the
Russians were now treating with the Germans, and Lenin’s time
was at hand.

It was a terrible moment when I realized that I stood alone with
my opinion, that no one rallied round me any more; they were the
reasonable ones, I was the impossible idealist. People began to fear
coming to me, but in my exaltation of resistance it was some time
before I realized this.

As this is my story, the story of my life, I let my diary speak for
me. What is the old saying? “There is only a step between the
sublime and the ridiculous.” Perhaps I was ridiculous, but we can,
each of us, only act according to our natures, our inspiration.

Nothing immediate followed upon those dreadful days, nothing ab-
solutely decisive happened, and with that elasticity peculiar to the
human heart, getting accustomed to the terrible situation we almost
began to take fresh hope and to breathe more freely. But the angoisse
remained, and I began to dread the sound of an opening door, of a
voice suddenly raised in case it should mean approaching disaster or
the announcement of some unbearable news.

What upheld us most was the strong feeling of love and trust
which mounted towards us from all sides. We daily received tre-
mendous manifestations of sympathy. Misfortune united us in a
very special way. The King had become popular and though the
Roumanians are not very demonstrative in their affection, an at-
mosphere of loyalty surrounded us which upheld our strength. In
our case, disaster had not weakened, but only strengthened the link
binding us together.

Chapter XXII

THE AGONY OF DESPAIR

Jcussy, Monday, November 20th/ December yd, 1917.

A change in the weather, it is raining.

The situation continues to get worse and worse. I had to tell my
ladies that the day might come when I should have to leave suddenly
with my children, without being able to take any of them with me.
I thought it was better to prepare them for this, however painful
it was.

But the horror of the situation is that if it came to the worst it is
not even sure that we should be able to get off. The Russians might
turn into enemies who would not even let us pass through their land !
It is a ghastly situation, and the only thing is to take it so calmly
that panic cannot spread.

We had Vopika, the American Minister, and Captain Walton, the
American Military Attache, to lunch and of course the situation was
gone through with its chances for remedy, for existence, for flight,
for defence; the thousand and one questions with which we martyr
our brains. The worst is that we are so entirely in the dark, we can
make no plans, take no decisions ; there is nothing positive to face,
we can only sit still and wait, and each day may be the last. It is
ghastly !

After lunch I received my friend Professor Panaitescu, and with
him also we reviewed our chances, but we decided to continue our work
and our Christmas calendar for the soldiers as though we had a future
ahead. Then Maruka appeared, and of course the same sort of talk
began all over again. Finally Prince Stirbey came; he is always the
best informed, and, thank goodness, he remains steady.

The Entente Ministers have had long interviews with General
Tcherbacheff, pressing him to take a decided attitude, promising that
if he does everybody will uphold him.

269

270

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

The news was received from Roman that General Ragosa and his
staff were arrested by his soldiers as had been feared. The incredible
thing is that none of these generals try to resist : this is incomprehen-
sible to everybody, especially as those who now have the upper hand in
Russia are upheld by no sort of authority and are not recognized by
anyone but the Germans!

The whole thing is so fantastic that I cannot even put it plainly
down on paper.

Jassy, Tuesday, November 21st /December 4th, 191 7.

The situation remains awful. We have simply begun to speculate in
which way we are going to die. Whichever way we turn we are sold,
we are betrayed. . . .

Of all the bitterness we have had to taste the knowledge that all
along we have been betrayed is the most unbearable. There seems no
way out. Russia is in a state of putrefaction, is falling to pieces, and
no one stands up to take things in hand.

Each day the command passes to a lower fellow. The Leninists are
in full swing and they are entirely in German hands, moved by German
money, mostly false money, so that Germany does not even get any
the poorer. The whole army is now in the hands of a sub-lieutenant,
Krylenko, whose first order was that there is no more rank in the
Russian army.

They have murdered General Duhonin, who was accused of having
allowed Korniloff to escape ; they murdered him in the most barbarous
way at the Stafka, where he was chief for a time. It seems they
literally tore him to pieces.

The foreign military attaches are at Kief, as the Stafka is now in
the hands of the Bolsheviks, of the rabble in fact. Everything is crash-
ing around us and we live half in the dark, as it is impossible to realize
what is really going on, or to know in what way things are going to
turn.

For the moment the Russians have declared an armistice on the
whole Russian front, including Roumania; that is to say the Russia
which is represented by the Bolsheviks; other parts of Russia protest,
and the Russian ambassadors abroad do not recognize those now in
power. The gachis is complete and poor little Roumania is caught in

THE AGONY OF DESPAIR 271

the cruellest of traps, and has to sit still, speculating as to the way she
will have to die.

General Tcherbacheff, upheld by our generals and the Entente Min-
isters here, preferred to declare the armistice himself, so as to avoid
receiving orders from those whose power he does not recognize. We
are still in doubt about how this has been received by the Petersburg
maniacs.

After lunch a young French doctor and his Roumanian bride came
to ask me if I would marry them at Piatra. This sounded a peaceful
note in the middle of all this turmoil; I promised to come if “circum-
stances” would allow me to do so.

All sorts of people still came to me about this, that and the next
thing, and finally my friend, Colonel Anderson appeared, who is en-
tirely with me as to resistance a outrance.

The plan would be that with part of our army we should cut our way
through the south of Russia towards the land of the still faithful Cos-
sacks. It is only thus that I see our escape. It is but a forlorn hope, but
at least it is not an ignoble one! To sit still and die, suffocated between
Russian traitors and German haters is really too poor a death ! To this
I would prefer la Grande Aventure', fantastic I know, hardly belonging
to our days, but honourable, brave and free !

Oh God, if only I were a man, with a man’s rights and the spirit
I have in my woman’s body! I would fire them to desperate, glorious
resistance, coute que coute !

Prince Stirbey came late and we discussed every hypothesis ; at times
I was angry, at times eloquent and hopeful, at times desperate with the
feeling that the walls around me are getting narrower and narrower,
till I shall be suffocated. The Prince has the faculty of remaining quite
calm, letting me blow off steam, and then quietly arguing every point
out with me, reducing things gradually to their normal size. The
process is often painful, but generally healthy.

Celia came to dinner, and afterwards with Nando we sat together in
my room, and there I put the whole case before them in clear words,
with its every issue, lingering lovingly upon the only one supportable
to my own nature, la Grande Aventure. I had the feeling that I had
sown the seed of that same desire in their hearts, but perhaps it was

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THE STORY OF MY LIFE

only the glamour of my own enthusiasm which for a moment carried
them off their feet.

Jassy, November 22nd/ December 5th, 1917.

I wonder how many days more I shall be able to write Jassy at the
top of my pages. The awful nightmare continues, the darkness, the im-
possibility of seeing clearly in anything ; and of course people begin to
lose their heads, the good and the bad come out at those moments.
The lovers of panic, the lovers of disorder, the jealous, the resentful,
the tremblers, the cowards, all lift their heads, and each according to
the smallness of his heart talks and acts and agitates.

Personally, I had a very bad day, I am not yet resigned to this last
situation. I want to fight it, and it seems there is no fighting it. No
one sees any possibility of our being able to save ourselves by fighting;
they all consider it would become a bloody and useless massacre, they
all join in to say so, even Berthelot. No one will vote for armed
resistance, and it is that which annihilates me, the horrible, deadly
humiliation of perhaps having to lay down our arms because our
enormous, powerful Ally has failed, utterly, abominably, dragging our
country, which has behaved with utmost heroism, down with it to
disaster. Before the appalling injustice of such a fate for the first time
I feel beaten, I feel humiliated, as though I had lost my place under
the sun ; at last I feel that it is too much, too much.

Like last year when Mircea died, I wondered why I had to live —
Why? To see this, why, why, why?

I continue the same life, hospitals, audiences, and so on. Amongst
the people I received to-day was a certain Dr. Hansen, a Dane, and
a most fascinating personality whom some people think is a spy. If
he is a spy, he is a pleasant spy, which is more than can be said of
many people who are not spies.

At lunch we had General Averescu and Grigorescu, come for a
military conference and to join in the Council of Ministers, in which
it is to be decided if we too, are to agree to an armistice, so as to gain
breathing space, so they say. In spite of all my courage and energy
the moment has come when I can do nothing else but let the floods
flow over my head, and what dark waters ! What our personal fate is
to be, I do not know; I am so one with my country that I cannot

THE AGONY OF DESPAIR

273

imagine a personal fate, a fate which is not mixed up with that of the
country. For the first time to-day I could not face people without tears,
my heart is wrung by extraordinary agony, I seem to read condemna-
tion in every eye.

I feel as though I were slowly dying, in spite of my splendid health
and vigour, and my up to now, dauntless spirit : I think I am beaten,
beaten, and I do not know how to accept defeat, not this kind of defeat !

After lunch I drove with Elisabetta and Miss Milne to Proprican to
distribute clothes amongst the children of my little canteen, also to
inspect it, and see if everything was in order, which it was.

By some irony of fate I had settled some time ago that each
Wednesday we were to have a little music for the ladies who come
daily to my work-room, but in the general turmoil I had quite for-
gotten this till the poor musicians innocently appeared with their instru-
ments, and politeness obliged me to let them play, which was certainly
difficult to stand to-day — the music seemed to be grating on my racked
nerves.

Finally before dinner, Jorga appeared in despair, to ask me what
this news about the armistice really meant. He was like a child, quite
distracted by a blind agony of apprehension and grief. Carol and I
tried to calm him, but my own heart was too full of revolt to find very
convincing arguments. I am in the dark — in the dark.

Jassy, November 2yd/ December 6th, 1917.

It certainly is very difficult to bear this dreadful situation. What I
mind most is how all our foreigners seem to see that this is the end!
Some even would like to see us leave immediately, want us, in fact, to
fly, but at the same time they give us to understand that we should
probably not be able to get through Russia !

It has been decided that certain Russian and Roumanian officers are
to go and parley with the enemy about the armistice. The meeting is
to be held, I believe, at Focsani.

I kept up my usual sort of life, though in the morning I was very
near tears all the time, gaining in self-control as the day went on. I
received Mamulea and Georges Bal§ to talk about Red Cross affairs,
also about the decorating of those who had faithfully done their diffi-
cult duty. Before he left I told Georges Bals that if it came to the

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THE STORY OF MY LIFE

worst, I wished to leave all my precious and jealously guarded depots
in the hands of him and his wife, begging them both to continue my
work in the same spirit in whch I had begun it, and if possible to
continue distributing the provisions in my name even when I might
be far away.

Later, a gentleman came to see me who had, of all things, written
a play upon my Mircea’s death. The tragedy of it having struck him,
he put it into patriotic verse. Of course I had to explain to him that
it was impossible to put me on the stage, although no doubt it would
be very dramatic and emotional. He was much grieved, and to console
him, I let him read part of it to me : some of his verses were really
touching, but of course they did not exactly remove me from the
flood-gates near which I had been hovering all day.

Lady Muriel Paget, head of our Roumanian Red Cross in England,
came to lunch. She had been working in Russia, and has been very ill.
The news she brought from there did nothing to allay our fears. Jorga
was also at lunch, and continued to be funny and biting in spite of the
horrible situation, but he is a most choleric and erratic gentleman.

After lunch I received a certain Captain Laycock of the English
Intelligence Service. He came to tell me that if I wanted to send the
younger members of my family away he was at my disposal to help
me, and had an English officer who knew several languages, who could
accompany them. He was a simple, cold-blooded, unemotional little
man, who ended by telling me that I and my eldest daughters ought to
fly to Salonica in aeroplanes, a journey which in no wise tempts me
in this cold, and into the bargain without a scrap of luggage. An ad-
venturous and dramatic exit no doubt, but one for which I have no
taste. Curiously enough I was never one of those who had much wish
to fly, in any sense of the word.

Laycock finished by declaring in a very business-like sort of way
that he was a royalist and therefore entirely at my disposal, that he
had risen from the ranks and was very much impressed by being in the
presence of a queen.

I have no sort of news from or about Ducky, yet each day I ask
myself with horror if all is well with her! I have no means of finding
out. She must be in constant danger.

Nicky is quite convalescent.

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275

Jassy, November 25th/ December 8th, 191 7.

I had a bad morning. I felt all along that a crisis was imminent, that
there would have to come a moment when there would be an outburst
or a breakdown ; I had been too cruelly harassed.

My breakdown came through a talk with a certain English general,
who was sent to speak to me. The Allies have come to the conclusion
that I must be made to understand that resistance on the side of Rou-
mania has become impossible.

The poor little general is a good and honest fellow, but not the sort
of deputy to send to a desperate woman. His cold-blooded way of
admitting our hopeless situation and that “he had always said so,” etc.,
made my cup overflow. Although I had always been the loyalest of the
loyal, growing indignation against those who were abandoning me was
slowly accumulating in my trustful heart, and whilst I talked I felt a
terrible storm rising within me which had to find utterance in words,
in fearfully plain, accusing words, words that are said once in a life-
time, when nothing else but truth seems possible, the barest, bitterest,
sword-sharp, withering truth. The outbreak came after he tried to
persuade me in the name of the Allies that I must give up.

I turned fiercely round upon him and asked him how he, an English-
man, dared come to an Englishwoman, and into the bargain a queen,
and tell her she must give up. And just because he was an Englishman,
I felt that I could say things to him which I would not have said to a
man of any other nationality; it was my right to cry out all that had
been stifling me. Now in cold blood, thinking over all I said, I marvel
that I was able to say it; but I do not regret my words, they had to
be said.

If we are to die, let our Allies at least know that we do not die like
blind fools, but as conscious heroes, knowing that we have been sold
and betrayed, and that at the moment when, through the failure of
others, our front is becoming useless, our big protectors begin to haggle
and bargain with us, as to whether they will be able to keep any of the
promises given to us when we were still prosperous, before the Russian
revolution cut our throats!

I do not think that a queen has ever lifted her voice to say such
terrible naked truths, which can only be cried out at an hour when

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276

one is facing death, and facing it bravely, without flinching, no matter
how slow the agony.

The little general looked at me aghast with his washed-out blue
eyes ; no wonder he found no word in reply. He left me with hanging
head.

He was followed by old Mr. Baker, of the English Red Cross, who
came to propose carting my family away, and this also upset me.
Neither Nando nor I can decide to part with any of our children at
this crisis. Whilst they are still under our wing, we know what we
can do for them, but if separated in these terrible times, how should
we ever know when or where, or even if ever we would meet again?

If our fate is to be finally surrounded and made prisoners, let us at
least be prisoners all together, or if it comes to the worst, the male
members can flee. God knows what it will come to, but what we deeply
feel is that we cannot separate !

The third person who came to me was Goey Odobescu, formerly
one of the officers of my regiment, a faithful friend, and a comrade
of our young days, but whom I had not seen for a long time. He
meant to be calm and so did I, but when we faced each other, all our
grief for our country, and the realization of its mortal danger, rose
up before us, and added to that we recalled all the happy memories of
yore, so that the interview assumed an aspect of tragedy seldom ex-
perienced between queen and subject.

We were both fighting back our tears, fighting for calm, for all the
courage we meant to show each other, but all our country’s agony
seemed to stand between us as we looked into each other’s eyes. I
understood at that moment as never before how utterly I belonged to
my people ; I was theirs, and to tear me from this soil would be tearing
me up by the roots !

And after that I really had a breakdown, at last I wept, wept as
small children weep, with great sobs, my head on the table.

Goey had come to thank me for all I had done for the country, as
mother, as Queen, as sister of charity: “Thank you for the way you
have loved it, helped it, understood it, and suffered with it. Perhaps
you stand at the end of your work, and we with all our love and desire
for sacrifice, we, your soldiers, cannot save you for the country, nor
the country for you. I feel all this as one groping in the dark, for

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277

nothing has really been explained to us, but I wanted a last time to look
into the face of my Queen and to tell her : You too have been a soldier,
we honour you as one of the bravest within our ranks.”

Yes, after that I wept and wept, and said violent things, cruel things,
tremendous things. I was a woman, a queen, a mother, a beaten soldier,
weeping out her agony for once, before patiently taking up her burden
again to struggle on.

Such hours are dreadful, they leave scars on heart and soul, but one
must not be ashamed of them, they have to be. Afterwards one is all
sore, but one enters into a sort of convalescence which means renewed
health.

In the afternoon I remained quietly reading in my room, whilst
Ileana, unaware of the storms that are shaking us, painted wondrous
pictures on the ground at my feet.

The day, however, was not over. We had a military dinner in the
King’s house for some officers and three non-commissioned officers,
who had just been decorated for special valour, no one at table except
the family and the soldiers. Much devotion was shown us, it was a
loyal repast, but I seemed to see everything through tears.

This rather terrible day came to an end in Maruka’s house where,
surrounded by faithful allies of several nationalities, we listened to
Enescu’s marvellous music, which to-day rose to an agonizing pitch of
beauty, well in keeping with the vibrating tension of the hour.

It is especially that prodigious sonata of Lequeux that lifts one be-
yond oneself into a world of inconceivable emotion, and Enescu plays
it like no one else. He then left his violin for the piano and played the
“Erlosung” of Parsifal, and I can only say that it sufficed as emotions
for one day.

Jassy, Saturday, December 2nd/i$tli, 1917.

I continue my usual sort of life — hard work, hospitals, interviewing
people, receiving all those who need either help or advice, and those
who need cheering up.

This morning Panaitescu came to me with the translation of a small
thing I have written for the newspaper Romania; he has done it well
and I think it is quite publishable, but one must have a certain courage
when one speaks out publicly like that. I have learnt to have that cour-

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278

age. In all terrible moments there are two sides to everything : there
is the glorious and grand side as well as the one that is terrible and
awful. One must do one’s best to uphold the one and to keep the other
at bay as much as possible. During epochs of national emotion one
must try to exploit all good sentiments so as to give the bad ones no
chance to thrive, and this I try to do. But it needs courage for a
queen to come before the public, and she must feel very strongly to be
able to face even ridicule for the sake of what she considers right and
useful.

I feel that this armistice is one of the greatest trials we have yet had
to bear, and that it is an hour when I ought not to be afraid of speak-
ing to our army and people. I know .that my action can be criticized,
for it is not usual for a queen to speak to her people through the
medium of a newspaper, but how otherwise reach thousands of ears?
It is a question of feeling, of weighing the pros and cons; I had to
judge for myself, and I judged that it was right to speak to them
precisely at this moment, so I did. I like talking things over with
Panaitescu because he believes in me and considers it is fortunate for
our country that I am its Queen. He finds most people disappointing,
especially politicians, but though he is an ardent democrat and was for
a time even a Socialist, he finds it easier to talk to me than to anyone
else.

Then came Evans Griffith, my nice little Welshman of the British
armoured cars, accompanied by a Belgian, and with him I talked very
openly about my soreness at the way our Allies were treating us. It
was rather a painful conversation as are all conversations that touch
upon deep and terrible truths, but at present I can only stand absolute
truth. When one has almost reached the point of death then one is no
more afraid of one’s words; they have to be strong and to the point,
without compromise.

We had invited for lunch the poor old Russian general, Ragosa, who
is leaving, a humiliated and broken man ; in his day an ardent and
brave soldier, he is now crushed by the downfall of Russia. He can
stand it no more, so he is going. It was pathetic and unbearably sad.
When Nando gave him the Grand Cross of the Star of Roumania he
burst into tears and then embraced Nando, with both arms round his
neck. It was 'one of the saddest scenes I have ever witnessed; the poor

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279

old man expressed all his feelings in broken and impossible French,
which made his outburst still more pathetic. His wife was there too.
She speaks better French and is very nice and intelligent.

Amongst the last orders issued in Russia is one to the effect that
all property is to be given up; to-day everything belongs to everybody
so no one has a right to his own house or to any of his possessions.
This poor old couple do not know what they will find on their return.
A monstrous state of affairs!

After lunch there were more emotions to tear at my heartstrings.
I had to take leave of Dr. Armstrong, of Miss MacGregor and of Dr.
Fitzwilliam, one of the giant brothers, who, all three, had so faithfully
worked with and for us. Finally came the saddest parting of all, the
parting with old Leila Milne. Her going means the end of so many
things, but her old sister in England claims her. To-day she can leave
under the care of the English. To-morrow it may be too late. So she
tore herself away from us because she had to.

Jassy, Thursday, December Jth/20th, 1917.

Each day now when I awake a crushing weight seems to fall on my
heart, to fall suddenly, smothering the short peace that night and sleep
had allowed me, because whatever trouble I have I am nearly always
allowed the blessing of sleep.

These days are really almost more than anyone can bear. To think
of what is going on in Russia, to see disaster coming nearer and
nearer, to strain every nerve, every particle of faith, hope and courage,
and to have to realize that it is all in vain, that each tiniest little light
which shines quiveringly for a moment inevitably goes out ! To be
ready for every sacrifice, to feel sure of your people and your army,
of their courage and bravery, and to know that because of a treacher-
ous Ally gone mad within your own walls you not only cannot remain
true to the cause you are fighting for, but have to see all that remains
of your country devastated little by little, by savage hordes which, after
having eaten up everything in the country, are now beginning to de-
stroy even the houses because there is nothing else left upon which they
can lay hands.

How can one bear it, how can one still continue to hold up one’s
head and to pray to a God who can allow such a crime to be per-

28o

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

petrated beneath the face of the sun? I feel as though I were trying
to stand up against something black and overwhelming which rushes
in upon me from all sides as though, dead tired, I were continually
stumbling through the night, for ever picking myself up again and all
the while searching for a light which is dwindling and dwindling so
that soon it will be quite dark !

At eleven I presided over a big meeting with all the Allies and some
Roumanians to discuss organizing a big relief work for the population
behind the front. I was astonished at my own calm, at the self-
possession with which I talked. I was able to lead the discussion and
I made everybody understand what I was aiming at and what part I
expected each of them to play.

I really must be getting old for I have tons les courages and allow
myself to adopt an authoritative attitude I would never have dreamed
of adopting a short time ago. War certainly forces me to give my
utmost in every direction and to take myself seriously at last.

I had all the foreign ministers as well as the foreign representatives
of the Red Cross, our Red Cross delegates, and also the local ministers
concerned with public welfare.

I managed to lay the foundations of what I wanted and got the
first point settled: that each country should appoint representatives
and that these several representatives would together decide how best
to divide up the work. I myself would stand as director of the whole
thing and would always be ready to receive any of these representatives
when they needed advice or came to make a report.

I had also called in the generals, Averescu, Grigorescu, and Vaitoi-
anu, whom we afterwards kept to lunch. After lunch, General Averescu
came for a long talk with me in my room; he is always very eager
that I should know exactly what he is doing and what his opinion is ;
his loyalty towards me has always been very marked. I then took him
to my Y.M.C.A. tea-house and showed him the work we were doing
there. He appreciated our effort and was, in particular, much delighted
with my idea of having a night refuge for soldiers passing through
town who cannot find shelter.

Stirbey came to tea and we discussed the horror of the situation and
I fully realize that he is trying little by little to accustom me to the
thought of being able to accept that which may still be asked of me.

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281

For the moment everything within me cries out against it, I cannot
face it calmly. When my thoughts dwell upon it I feel as though my
brain were giving way. He left me, however, a little hope. But after
dinner Nando came and took away even the little hope with which I had
lived through the afternoon.

He came to tell me that General Tcherbacheff, whom we had prom-
ised to support against his own troops, had this evening given in to the
Bolsheviks, although he had in the morning accepted our plan of re-
sistance. The man must have lost his nerve at the last moment,
although we were all there to back him !

I am afraid that this is really the end, that we have played our
last card and have lost. Nando also tried to lead me gently to the
thought which I cannot face and which for the moment I have not
the courage even to write down, and for the third time to-day, once
with Averescu, once with Stirbey and then with Nando I had the
feeling that I was being led up to an operating table where I was to
be operated upon without chloroform.

Jassy , Saturday, December gth/22nd, 191 7.

I was just going out when Prince Stirbey arrived to report that there
had been trouble in the night. Some Bolsheviks had come to try and
arrest Tcherbacheff, threatening him with pistols and declaring that
troops were marching against Jassy. The King had been called up in
the night and that was why he did not come for breakfast. Stirbey told
me that our troops had been ordered out to meet the Russians and to
fight them. He seemed to be doubtful if this had been a reasonable
order and he feared the consequences, but I rejoiced greatly and told
him that he could not have brought me more welcome news — that 1
was sure there would be no fighting, that those rudderless cowards
would turn tail at the sight of a single gun ! I had always been in
favour of showing them our teeth instead of sitting still and allowing
them to bully us.

Events proved that I was right in my conjectures ; at the very first
sign of resistance on the part of our troops the revolutionaries, when
summoned, laid down their arms without protest at once.

Tcherbacheff was saved by a faithful Cossack he had with him who,
backed by Roumanian soldiers, defended him with a pistol ; those brave

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THE STORY OF MY LIFE

Bolsheviks cannot face even a pistol, it seems. Personally I had always
declared from the first that to show them one’s teeth was the only way.
Few would agree with me, being afraid that any action on our part
might be the signal for bloody encounters and wholesale massacre. I
never believed there was any fight in those despicable creatures.

Jassy, Sunday, December 10 th/2$rd, 1917.

For some reason, in spite of all the depressing news the general
atmosphere to-day was less heavy. In these dreadful times even the
smallest alleviation of disaster is good news ; we have become very
modest !

For lunch we had invited Sir George Barclay, General Ballard and
Colonel Anderson. We had ordered a specially good meal, as Sir
George is a great gourmet. For some unknown reason it was a gay
meal and Nando was in extraordinarily good spirits. Afterwards many
burning questions were discussed, the great excitement of the moment
being the disarming of the Bolsheviks ; up to the present it has all gone
calmly enough, but we must be continually prepared for any dangerous
reaction on their side. Undeniably these are important and anxious
days.

After lunch I received a Russian gentleman of the Red Cross whose
name I always forget. It is quite heart-breaking to talk to any right-
thinking Russians just now; they are so horribly humiliated. Nando
came into my room whilst the man was there and was very nice and
kind to him, having once met him at Ghidigeni.

I visited my night refuge, which goes beautifully and is always full.
My good Madame Nicolescu (who is an Englishwoman married to a
Roumanian officer) prepares excellent hot soups for those who come
in late, hungry and cold; I am very glad to have secured Madame
Nicolescu for this work, which is one of my pet organizations and is
exceedingly helpful.

From there I went to pay a visit to Madame Vintila Bratianu, who
has arrived to-day from Bucarest. She has been exchanged for other
detenues. She had been a prisoner from the beginning of the War and
was shut up as a hostage. It was a very upsetting meeting for us both
and we were profoundly moved.

She told me many, many things, too long to relate, but one thing

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283

gave me great pleasure ; all the women of Bucarest sent me the assur-
ance of their absolute loyalty and let me know that they were quite
ready to continue suffering for the good cause.

Alas, all that had been reported about old Peter Carp is true. He is
a traitor to us and is working with the Germans to make it impossible
for Nando and me ever to come back to our capital ! Our old friend
Peter Carp ! It seems impossible, incredible ; but we shall have to face
this sorrow along with so much else.

She also told me that the Turks, Bulgarians, Germans and Austrians
all cordially detest each other and quarrel continually about everything.

She said too that on the anniversary of Mircea’s death requiems
were read in every church in spite of ill will on the part of the enemy.
I could hardly tear myself away from her — there was so much I
wanted to know, and yet at the same time I was afraid of hearing it
all, afraid of more suffering.

Jassy, Tuesday, December I2th/2$th, 1917.

Christmas Day abroad. Here it was a busy day for me, filled by
duties of every sort and kind. After having talked to endless people
I hurried off (I am always hurrying) to an English Church service
at the English Legation, taking Nicky and Ileana with me. There Sir
George showed me a telegram which had been sent me, or rather in
which there was a message for me, from the British Government.
This message was the result of the rather stormy interview I had had
with the general the other day. In this message England declares that
she understands the horror of Roumania’s situation and that no matter
what happens she will uphold Roumania’s interests and “revindica-
tions,” regardless of how much she will presently be forced to give way.

I sent Madame Kopkov and my old maid, Elise, to take some cakes
to the German and Austrian prisoners I had visited in the military
hospital the other day, so that they too should have some little Christ-
mas pleasure. I sent a specially full little bag to the boy from Sig-
maringen, and even found a postcard of Sigmaringen to put with it.
Amongst the prisoners was a tailor from Vienna and he told my maid
that his greatest ambition was to make “ein Kostiim filr die schone
Konigin,” which seems to prove that once a tailor always a tailor, even
in the face of the enemy ! But are we really enemies ?

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THE STORY OF MY LIFE

We had lunch in Nando’s house with some officers whom he deco-
rated, and with General Grigorescu with whom I had several talks, but
I mean to ask him to come and see me so that we can have a serious
discussion about military matters.

My daughters made a little Christmas tree and gave a tea-party to
the French people with whom they have been working in the hospitals,
and we asked Enescu to play for us, which he very kindly did, playing
most divinely all our favourite things.

After dinner we had a little jollification for the English. We gave
them good things to eat and also a plum-pudding, which was much
appreciated, Ileana serving it round solemnly. In fact Ileana had all
the success — the English Military Mission simply adore her.

On these occasions Nicky is always particularly gay and is not loath
to profit by the excellent refreshments he serves round to our guests.
Nini looks at him with virtuous disapproval. When I am not there
it seems that Nicky’s language is not always strictly decorous, so that
Nini feels she must pray to God to forgive “the poor dear child.”

Chapter XXIII
THE OPENING OF 1918

The New Year came, 1918. Not yet New Year in Roumania, however,
as we still had the two dates, but New Year elsewhere, and we saw it in,
making company with the English, French and American missions,
and gathering as many friends about us as possible, not knowing how
long we might still be together and wondering what 1918 will mean

to us all.

As Ileana had no more books to read I began writing a fairy story
for her, and this became my solace during my spare hours, which were
few. But I wrote easily just then and queer as it may sound, all the
suppressed fun in me came out in this story told to my child. Every
few days I had a new chapter to read and I put so much humour into
my tales that even the King would come of an evening and listen to it
so as to have a good laugh. This was a sort of safety-valve and
refreshed our tired and anxious spirits, cela detendait nos nerfs.

My every faculty seemed to be awake ; it was as though there were
several personalities in me which gave strength to each other, as though
I could occasionally switch off all my pain to become quite simple, a
child with my own child. This was the instinct of self-preservation
of which I have often spoken before. It has often helped in hours
of overstrain. It was like putting a tired hunter out to grass.

Jassy, Thursday, December 21 st, 1917 /January yd, 1918.

My Mircea’s birthday; my little Mircea who lies peacefully in his
small, cold grave in the enemy’s hands and who knows nothing of our
troubles and nothing any more of summer, winter, autumn or spring,
who knows nothing of war or peace, and who sees nothing of all
the injustice that is being done under the sun. How much further,
I wonder, shall I be driven from Mircea’s grave? He would have
been five years old to-day.

285

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THE STORY OF MY LIFE

My two little adopted orphans, Vasili and Nicolaita, always talk
of him. Every morning they come to me whilst I am dressing and then
they point at his picture and say : “Poor little one, he died, poor Mamma
Regina,” and every day with childish persistence they repeat those
words which pierce my heart ! And they do not know what courage it
takes for me to have them always with me instead of him.

We went to lunch at the King’s house with the generals who had
come to confer with him. I had no time to talk with them, but there
is an atmosphere surrounding the King just now which makes me
anxious. I do not know in what way he is being influenced.

When we came home from a theatrical performance, Laycock of
the English Secret Service asked to see me. He brought me bad news,
amongst other things the news that there were Russians coming to
Jassy to try and murder the King and his two sons. He gave me
the letters to read, which he had received from his agents in Russia —
ugly news. In the south of Russia, however, the state of affairs is not
yet so desperate; the Entente could still do something if only they were
clever enough, but they are too undecided, too hesitating, whilst Lenin
knows how to speak to the masses which are looking for a leader.

I sent for Prince Stirbey, and, with Laycock, we examined the
situation, a serious, anxious, tragic conversation. This was another
of those days when I felt nearly at the end of my tether, but I grind
my teeth and will not break down. I shall struggle on to the bitter
end, but to-day with the memory of Mircea breaking through my calm,
and being also physically tired, I really had to strain every nerve to
remain brave.

It would have been a comfort to let myself tumble into bed, but
I had still to go over to the King’s house to decide about certain deco-
rations to be given to the doctors for Christmas ; so Carol, Nando and
I worked at it till a late hour as I would not leave his house without
having my “decrees” signed. I could not go off before that necessary
work was done as the question of decorations is difficult, and it is
I who know best which doctor ought to be rewarded, as I have seen
them at work. But this work of persuasion drives me to the verge of
desperation — it is so slow and so unnecessarily tedious.

When finally I got to bed I was a poor, tired and very reduced
Regina. I longed for fond motherly arms in which to weep!

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287

Jassy, Friday, December 22nd, 1917/ January 4th, 1918.

I got up early, before it was light and went with Colonel Ballif
to inspect the distribution of bread to the poor of the town. I had been
told that it was badly done, that the women came at early hours, even
sleeping part of the night in the street with their small children in
their arms, so as to be amongst the first, but that in spite of this it
often happens that they have to go away without having received their
bread. I wanted to see things for myself.

I must say that I found conditions less bad than I expected. In
parts of the town there were certainly unavoidable accumulations of
people, but not crowds, nor did they seem to be complaining, and the
bread was being handed out without much ill will or loss of time. In
several places I got out of my motor and went amongst the people
talking to them, asking how far they had come, how long they had
been there, if they received sufficient bread, etc., and nowhere did
I hear of any special grievances though I made a tour of all the bakeries.
Our people are extraordinarily patient and expect so little of life.

It was gradually getting light and I then drove to the big military
bakery a little beyond the town. Here a certain Colonel Barca is doing
splendid work. I found everything in astounding order and a really
enormous and systematic work was being done. As I turned back
towards home the sun was just rising, bathing the whole of Jassy in
a wondrous golden-pink light. As it was misty all the houses and
churches appeared to be rising out of clouds, soft, rosy clouds, almost
a fairy town ; it really was a lovely sight and a reward for my efforts
at early rising.

I came home for a cup of tea and a little work in my room, and
didn’t go out again till eleven, when I went to inaugurate a canteen at
the station triage. This triage is one of my prides because really good
work has been done there, chiefly owing to my relentless insistence,
never giving up until it was completed. It used to be one of the chief
centres of infection — now it is perfection.

Dr. Cantacuzene, General Berthelot, Anderson, Baker and others
were there, our Allies having also contributed to the running of this
canteen, which we named “Santoni,” after the French doctor who sacri-
ficed his life here last year doing heroic work in deplorable conditions
during the typhus epidemic.

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THE STORY OF MY LIFE

On my return, Prince Kropotkin came to see me, in distress, of
course, like all decent Russians just now. Then Panaitescu appeared
bringing me the first copy of our Christmas calendar, at which he
has really worked like a slave and with all his heart. To those in big
countries who have unlimited means this humble work would prob-
ably not seem much, but for us in these times it represents a tremen-
dous effort.

We lunched in the King’s house and at three o’clock I received
General Averescu and I had a long, serious talk with him, which from
my point of view was most unsatisfactory; he considers our case des-
perate, and demolished every one of the points I still cling to. A most
depressing interview but it was a frank and open discussion, which
I always prefer even if we cannot agree.

Then came General Vaitoianu and we went over the same ground;
he was less categorical and therefore less trying to listen to. He is a
man of few words, but a man ready to do his duty to the utmost,
no matter how difficult and dangerous. Although it was a sad con-
versation he did me good because I understood that he was in deep
sympathy with my unutterable distress.

Jassy, Saturday, December 23rd, 1917/ January 5 th, 1918.

My Ileana’s birthday; that sweet child who is everybody’s joy. A
more delightful, attractive child cannot be imagined — she is really
perfect in every way. She is pretty, good and intelligent, with a cap-
tivating charm which none can resist. Sometimes I tremble because she
is really too perfect. Everybody made extraordinary efforts to collect
tiny gifts, which is very difficult just now as nothing is to be had,
not even a flower. She was, however, delighted with all she received
and knows so charmingly how to express her pleasure over the smallest
thing. Although she is so sweet and so much loved, she is entirely
unspoilt.

Jassy, December 24th, 1917/ January 6th, 1918.

The Roumanian Christmas Eve. My work was strenuous, getting
things into order, and trying to find something for everybody, seeing
about all the arrangements and at the same time receiving endless
audiences.

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289

I saw Michael Cantacuzene and had a long political and military talk
with him; he has the same ideas as I and, therefore, was not difficult
to get on with. At half-past twelve the Metropolitan came with the
holy images and we had a short service, and then kept the old gentle-
man to lunch. I made amiable conversation with him in Roumanian
during the meal and many a sweet word did he say to me in unctuous
tones about my good works and national virtues.

Paid my usual visit to the Y.M.C.A. tea-house, where I am eternally
distributing cigarettes and biscuits; I then generally sit for awhile at
the head of the long table where my soldiers are drinking their tea. I
talk to them and play the hostess and thus have many broken bread
with me.

At seven we lighted our tree and received our whole household accord-
ing to the good old custom. All the ladies and the gentlemen, both
military and civil, and every servant, down to the smallest kitchen-
maid, was given something. Vasili and Nicolaita, my orphans, also
took part in the. jollifications.

After the distribution of the very humble presents we offered a plen-
tiful repast to our entire household, which promoted good cheer.

I must say I admired our cook, for he served up excellent and varied
foods in spite of the dearth- of provisions. That night we went to
bed somewhat cheered because in spite of our troubles it had been
almost a gay evening; at least we are still all together and for this
mercy may God be praised.

Jassy, Thursday, December 27th, 1917/ January gth, 1918.

More feast days! Yesterday was Mignon’s nineteenth birthday and
to-day is our silver wedding. Twenty-five years of marriage! Really
and truly I still feel very young, much younger than I imagined people
would feel at their silver wedding. Neither do Nando and I look old.
Yet- the road has been long and much lies behind us, both joy and pain.

Those who remember my arrival in Roumania remember the intense
joy it was to the country; “C’etait un beau mariage, une princesse de
grande maison.” The new little country was happy to have a princess
who was related to all the reigning houses in Europe — granddaughter of
old Queen Victoria, granddaughter of the Tsar of Russia, first cousin
of the German Emperor and so on. , . . Also I was young and healthy

290 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

and there were legitimate hopes of children. In this I did not dis-
appoint my people; at the earliest possible date I gave them the heir
they longed for. I was too young in those days to realize how great
the joy was, I was too busy learning to be a woman, and in those days
all political or national ideas were totally incomprehensible to me, nor
had I been prepared for all the sacrifices eternally demanded of me
from the very first day of my coming.

I confess that I was at first very miserable, terribly lonely and utterly
disillusioned. Only very gradually did I learn to accept the atmosphere
into which I had been transplanted, although from the first I loved the
country and its simple peasants ; but there were many people and things
I did not like nor understand.

I believe the Roumanians were inclined to care for me from the first ;
they certainly liked my face and my fair hair. My youth and my candour
evidently astonished but also touched them. The old court, however,
wished me to win my spurs and the school to which the Crown Prince
and I had to submit was a hard school which cost him many a sigh
and me many a tear.

Well, all that is of the past; to-day Nando and I, hand in hand,
confess to each other that at this hour, in spite of our misfortunes, or
should I say because of them, we have become the firmest possible
friends, attached to our country in a way not often given to sovereigns.

We are one with our people and in spite of the momentary defection
of some, our people are one with us. Those few faithless ones on the
other side do not count : they must be counted amongst those painful
realities, generally called disillusionments, that follow one all through
life !

Of course this was a tremendous day of congratulations, beginning
early in the morning. A deputation of ladies brought me a plaited
crown of beteala (silver thread), which I wore in the evening at our
big dinner, instead of a diadem, as I have no jewels with me here.
Everybody was very much touched and the children were sweet and
affectionate. Before lunch I went with them over to the King’s house
where we received different deputations, first French, then Russian
officers. I could not help grieving for the poor Russians ; their situation
is odious and humiliating. At first they used to be uppish and full of

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291

disdain for Roumanians; to-day, in spite of our misfortunes, we have
become for them an envied centre of loyalty, fidelity and order.

We then received all our household and gave them a big lunch.
Prince Stirbey made a very touching and yet simple speech, quoting
words pronounced by old King Carol at our wedding when he said
that the young bride had come to be a new mainstay to the country.
The Prince developed this theme, demonstrating how the bride had
lived up to the country’s expectations.

It was an emotional meeting for everybody, all our feelings rendered
more intense and vibrant because of the existing situation ; each word
of affection, trust and understanding assumed a special significance.

Even the utter impossibility of being able to offer us any of those
gifts habitually brought to sovereigns on these occasions made it all
the more moving, because no one had anything to offer except sym-
pathy, affection and loyalty.

Most of the afternoon was spent receiving different deputations of
ladies and listening to more loyal speeches. Amongst others I received
a deputation of officers’ wives who came to offer me forty thousand
francs which, through the initiative of Madame Coanda they had
collected for my poor.

The day ended with a big governmental and military dinner. Before
we sat down to table Nando decorated Prezan, Vaitoianu and Grigor-
escu, and then Prezan, in the name of the army, offered me the Virtute
Militar, first class (a war medal given only to the bravest soldiers), for
the fearless way I had, through thick and thin, moved amongst the
troops. I felt much honoured.

At dinner, Bratianu made a very fine speech to which Nando replied.
Nando had to make seven speeches to-day and spoke perfectly each
time. The Government offered us silver rings bound in war steel and
gave me five hundred thousand francs for my good works. What joy!
I can now go ahead with all this money !

There was something unique about the atmosphere of this meal.
Those assembled round the table looked at us with tearful affection,
for indeed this festivity, in the midst of all our trials, was moving.
Even Maruka, who never goes out, made the tremendous concession
of taking her place as minister’s wife. We had, of course, to let her see

292 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

that we were duly impressed by such an immense world-shaking
sacrifice. -

I wore my plaited wreath of silver thread and found in one of my
trunks a silver and white dress I had never worn and which came
in useful to-day. My little silver wreath gave me a certain air of
dignity, in keeping with such an honourable anniversary.

Jassy , Sunday, December 31st, 191 y /January i$th, 1918.

Yesterday I took a day off, which means that to-day business accumu-
lated and my morning was one long series of people coming to ask
every possible and impossible question till my head was near to bursting.
I have really more on hand than one person can reasonably do ; it will
finally wear me out. My life is too full of people; they suck dry
my heart, my intelligence and my purse.

At half -past eleven I received General Ballard. He came with good
intentions and I meant to try to find him sympathetic, but his cold-
blooded way of giving us up as a bad job tries me beyond endurance.
For an Englishman he is certainly not inspiring.

I then presided over a small committee composed of Baker, Ander-
son, Bals, Belloy and Mamulea, to consider our big feeding and cloth-
ing problem. This was not as satisfactory as I had hoped it would be.
People in official positions do not seem to have much heart. We have
learnt much, but not yet enough. Some are too comfortable, and
will not open their souls and minds to the fearful suffering of the
people. Those at the head of things have not seen people die, nor the
heart-breaking misery in the villages amongst the women and children.
If they had seen it as I have they would be more eager to help; effi-
ciently, I mean, not only on paper.

There is certainly something wrong with the existing order of things ;
therefore also our administration is not as it should be.

This is the only thing which makes me wish to be very very rich.

I could then be entirely independent and beat our politicians all along
the line. Money gives such tremendous power and if a queen is rich
no one is able to stand up against her when she wants to do good.
Sometimes it really needs tremendous courage not to be disheartened
nor to become a perfect revolutionary oneself!

The ideal would be a democratic autocrat, an absolute monarch, who

THE OPENING OF 1918

293

would be strong enough and good enough to make the necessary inno-
vations without anyone daring to interfere ; it would be the only way
to bring new health into old ways really become rotten.

In the afternoon General Petala appeared with five small boys from
my Mircea canteen at Paune§ti, come to sing Christmas carols; he
had also brought two old peasants from the village along with him.
We fed them all copiously, gave them some kind words and sent them
off laden with gifts.

As it is New Year’s Eve all sorts of people come to sing Christmas
carols and New Year songs. Before dinner we had a choir from the
Air Force and after dinner Jorga appeared with the chorus from the
theatre. He had composed New Year’s wishes in the form of popular
verse, which was recited by our oldest actor, Notara. No end of Jassy
ladies had also appeared, representing different societies. According
to custom they were plentifully fed whilst we accepted their manifold
good wishes.

We saw the New Year in to the sound of Enescu’s most glorious
music at Maruka’s house; even the King, making an exception for
once, came with us. We did not get to bed till two!

Jassy , Sunday, January i^th/2jth, 1918.

The weather continues warm and fine, though rather misty these last
days. I did some writing this morning, then I went down to my
Y.M.C.A. where I am always warmly welcomed by my many soldiers.

We had the Belgian Minister and his wife to lunch; they are the
sort of people who are crushed by misfortune and therefore heavy
company.

The news from Bessarabia is satisfactory. Our troops entered Kishi-
nev, music en tete, well received by the population. We hope that the
railways will soon be in our hands so that transport should no longer
be hindered by the Bolsheviks.

Herling and Kuhlmann have been making long speeches about peace
and peace conditions. George of England has telegraphed to Nando
very warmly and Lloyd George to Bratianu. Wilson has made another
speech in which he defends the cause of Italy, Serbia and Roumania,
but if the Ukrainians are going to make peace, what will our posi-
tion be?

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THE STORY OF MY LIFE

All these questions are burningly interesting, but very intricate,
and my head is a little too suffering these days for me to write every-
thing down more fully. I am having a series of bad headaches which
undoubtedly come from overtiredness, slowly accumulated through long
months of moral suffering.

I shall just have to ease down a bit so as not to collapse. But I won’t
collapse ; that’s not my way. All the same I must not drive the machine
too hard, nor even my very courageous heart. Ich habe zu viel Men-
schen in meinem Leben; they sap me, drink up my vitality little by
little.

I had a short rest after lunch and then gave a big tea for all the
artists, writers and painters who have been helping me with my
calendar.

Jassy, Thursday, January iSth/^ist, 1918.

To-day we received the news that the Bolsheviks have declared war
on us and have taken possession of our treasure and of all my jewels
that were at Moscow. Our Minister, Diamandi, has been sent away
from Petrograd, but we do not know whither.

I first received a little French sculptor who is keen to make a medal
of me, and then Madame Popp from the station hospital who came
to tell me that they are organizing a “refuge” in the style of what I
have made, but they will have over a hundred beds where passing
soldiers can be housed for the night. I am delighted they are doing
this, as I always felt there ought to be something of that sort at the
station. My asile is not big enough for all our needs.

For lunch we had the irresistible General Mo§oiu, who spread good-
will amongst us ; his stolid content when everything seems so unstable
is very comforting.

A long drive with Carol and Miss Fifield to clothe another set of
poor children in one of the villages. I had enough clothes for all of
them, and it did our hearts good to see their small shivering bodies
slip into the warm clothes and underclothing. After tea Prince Stirbey
came to ask me to help him with a telegram the King is sending to the
King of England. When he read it to me I suddenly burst into tears.
It too cruelly summed up our desperate and hopeless situation, the fatal
abandonment in which we find ourselves, cut off, betrayed, no help

THE OPENING OF 1918

295

forthcoming, no help possible. I was really very sad to-day and what
for me was terrible, for the first time I admitted in my heart the use-
lessness of resistance; we cannot fight enemies on three sides, it’s quite
utterly impossible.

It seems the Germans have let us know that they mean to break off
the armistice. Well, I suppose it was decreed by Fate that we are to
be completely annihilated; or at least that this is to be one of the acts
of the tragedy, the rest remains to be seen.

I am quite quiet, with the cruel calmness of one who sees no issue
and can only sit still facing the end. At least I can face it without
complaint; it’s not my fault if the sky falls in.

Chapter XXIV

BETRAYAL

Jassy, Thursday, January 25th /February yth, 1917.

Came back to Jassy after three days’ wandering amongst the destitute
peasants and the troops at the front. Arrived at half-past nine to meet
a thousand troubles.

I had expected this, but it was worse than my worst anticipations.
The moment I crossed my threshold I was overwhelmed by nothing
but terrible reports.

The Germans have sent an ultimatum; they want us to come and
treat, and because there is calm on the other fronts, they have well
furnished our front with troops, knowing that the Russians have for-
saken us and that we have to occupy also those positions they have
abandoned. They also know that we have our hands full in Bessarabia.
The Germans, themselves, have trouble, their people are beginning to
have had enough of it;, they have been promising peace to the discon-
tented, but as they have not obtained what they hoped in Russia, they
are going to avenge themselves by bullying us into submission.

They have given us four days in which to make up our minds.
What for long has been expected has come about, the Liberals have
handed in their resignation as they cannot decide what answer should
be given.

So Bratianu has fallen at last! To-day all his enemies can rejoice
and all sorts of hopes mount from the shadows in which they had
lain so long. If only they were all clean hopes and ideals! But along-
side of those crushed seeds of good, there are also the evil growths of
jealousy, revenge and the longing for power.

I look on and am sad — so few really care for the cause, so much
is personal that one shudders and saddens at the sight. One’s belief
in humanity gets sorely tried, at times, sorely !

The Conservatives are for absolute and immediate refusal to treat,

296

BETRAYAL

297

whilst Bratianu wants to treat so as to gain time with the intention of
not giving in finally ; but the Conservatives do not trust him sufficiently
to go with him into this new undertaking, so there is division and
therefore downfall of the Government.

Michel Cantacuzene came to me this morning and we talked length-
ily and mostly we agreed. Our ideas about the honour of the country
are the same, but knowing the military position better than he does I
too am for gaining time by agreeing to treat, no matter how odious
it may look in the eyes of the Allies. We have sacrificed so much for
the Allies, again and again, and they have upheld us so little, giving
us words, nothing but words and often meagre words at that. We are
so far from everybody, they cannot judge of our suffering, and what
they hold out to us, and that with which they try to uphold our love
for them is cruelly insufficient, when disaster stares us in the face.

I, personally, see the honour of the country in keeping utmost fidelity
to the very end. Morally the country would rise to an extraordinary
height; but, alas, not everybody to-day has as implicit faith in the
Allies’ final victory as I have. I know only too well that they have
not helped us as they might have done, not because they would not — I
give them that credit — but because they could not understand. They
are too big, we too small and for them too unimportant.

The Conservatives are not strong enough to form a Ministry by
themselves and General Averescu being the only man powerful enough
to meet the situation, it is Averescu the King has asked to form a
Government, a quite new Government with quite new men.

What deeply troubles me is that I do not know how far Averescu
is for peace ; my heart is torn with fear and anxiety. Anything rather
than dishonourable peace, every drop of blood in my body protests
against this. I am going through hours of indescribable anxiety.

The whole day I was feeling dreadfully upset; there are certain
thoughts I cannot resign myself to, but I do not think it will come
to the worst; it is just another dreadfully bad moment such as we have
been through again and again, but it is true that luck has forsaken
us, everything is always against us, every event, every turn of the wheel,
every move of friend or foe.

In Russia things are getting worse and worse, terror reigns every-
where, Now the so-called “Red-Guard” has begun plundering the

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

298

churches; it is the old story, the French Revolution over again, prob-
ably worse. It fills me with horror. In Finland dreadful things are
happening, and Ducky is there, and have had no news from her for
three months. All my telegrams and letters remain without answer, and
I do not even know if they reach her.

Jassy, Friday, January 26th / F ebruary 8th, 1918.

Awoke with that odious feeling of weight on my heart and tears
in my throat. Why can we never receive good news? This continual
anxiety is almost more than one can stand. But I carry on my work,
as it is the only way to bear my anguish.

In the morning the King received the ministers who had tendered
their resignations.

Tremendous excitement in town and all conflicting passions are let
loose.

In the afternoon Nando received General Averescu and asked him
to form a Government. He accepted. His hour has come. May God
inspire him to give his best. I hope that the step we are taking will
be good for the country, but I am not without fear, although I well
know that Bratianu is played out and Averescu is the only man who
could step in now.

Went with my two daughters to pay old Soeur Pucci a visit. I am
afraid there is no doubt that she has cancer! She was up and about,
but her face is drawn with present and coming suffering and uncon-
sciously her eyes have the haunted expression of those who know that
they will soon have to face death and much pain. Why has also this
to be?

Jassy, Saturday, January 2jth/ February gth, 1918.

Averescu came to Nando to discuss the new cabinet. On the whole
Averescu is choosing well, although there are some I would rather
have seen him without.

I had many people to receive, as they all flock to me in their anxiety.
Amongst others there was St.-Aulaire, and I had the courage to speak
to him with the utmost sincerity, trying to make him see where the
Entente again and again makes deplorable mistakes.

THE MOST TRAGIC OF PICTURES: THE TSAR AS PRISONER IN HIS OWN GARDEN
GUARDED BY THREE BOLSHEVIK SOLDIERS

MARCH PAST OF OUR RECRUITS

GENERAL BERTHELOT

BETRAYAL

299

I explained how they never sufficiently sustained the King so as to
give us a complete feeling of trust and help. I had the courage to say
all that had to be said in a last, desperate effort for efficacious collabo-
ration in spite of everything being against our cause, against our hope,
against our every plan of rescue.

St.-Aulaire took it well, and I do not think I offended him. I believe
I did more good than harm; besides, I showed him that all was not
lost, as long as they honestly helped us to play our cards not too badly.
Later in the evening I also saw Vopika, the American Minister, and
told him much the same as I told St.-Aulaire. He too was completely
nice. I was so full of emotion that I don’t think any of them were
indifferent to my pleading, because I can talk when I am deeply moved,
and I know they are all of them personally attached to me, they know
I have played the game. . . .

Ghidigeni, Sunday, January 2&th/February 10 th, 1918.

During the night I travelled to Tecuci and left my train early for
what I call a really royal day of hard work. At nine I was received
by General Grigorescu and then immediately got into my motor and
drove to a distant village to distribute clothes to some extraordinarily
destitute refugees. Here I met with the most delightful American,
Mr. Tooes, formerly an artist, a. delightful fellow of English origin, a
mile long with a genial, smiling face also longer than most faces; in
spite of the good he is doing amongst the half-clothed population, the
artist in him sighs when he sees their picturesqueness destroyed by soap
and solid clothes. I helped to distribute endless provisions ; we were
hours at it. General Grigorescu presided over us with his usual pom-
pous manner. The American Red Cross is doing splendid work.

The general then begged me to go once more with him to the point
where we had stood together during the battle of Marasesti ; he had a
sentimental desire to see it again in my company. So we drove to the
point where a high bank overlooks the Siret and remembered how we
had stood there together whilst the shells flew over our heads. The
sun had come out in all its glory and the view was marvellous ; on the
other side of the river, in the small wood, the Germans are still in their
trenches.

300

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

After this, again endless hospitals to visit, and all sorts of diseases,
amongst others smallpox, which I saw for the first time ; I have a holy
horror of smallpox, and confess that it was an ugly sight.

The great Grigorescu offered me lunch at his head-quarters.

I had arranged with Prince Stirbey that the King should send me a
telegram announcing Grigorescu’s promotion, which I was to receive
at lunch-time. The telegram arrived faithfully at the very minute it
should, and I had the pleasure of giving this brave soldier the news he
had pined for so long. It was received with solemn and holy joy and
all his officers left their seats to go up and kiss him, which must have
much astonished my American companions.

At luncheon, kindly Anderson became very sentimental over the
Zigane music and opposite me sat Grigorescu pleasurably ruminating
over his new dignity. I had, however, to tear myself away from this
friendly meal to go again amongst my refugees.

We first went to a place where hundreds of destitute people were
huddled together in extraordinary dug-outs, a picturesque, tattered,
wretched congregation, living just anyhow with an enormous lot of
children. To-day the sun was so beautiful that the whole place was
more picturesque than heartrending, but to think of these same dwell-
ings in rain or snow is a nightmare.

Here with the aid of genial Tooes, I presided over a second huge
distribution, after having wandered about amongst the dug-outs, enter-
ing many of them and talking to the wretched people. I never saw
such incredible quantities of children, some of them adorably attractive.

You might imagine that this was enough for one day, but not at all,

I had to be bumped back over atrocious roads to visit at least five or
six more hospitals and charitable institutions, being, so to say, passed
from hand to hand amongst all those eager to show me their work,
amongst others Yvonne Camarasjescu, Blondel’s daughter (Blondel
was French Minister).

When I had reached almost complete exhaustion I was even then
snapped up by enthusiastic Madame Radu Mihai and asked to visit
her hospital train. To my tired feet the train appeared to be miles long.

Finally, to reach Sybil’s beloved Ghidigeni was like running into
harbour after a tiring passage on rough seas.

BETRAYAL

301

Ghidigeni, Monday, January 29th/ February 11th, 1918.

Awoke in Sybil’s broad, roomy bed. I had slept wonderfully. Hav-
ing been really tired yesterday evening, I had gone to bed early.
Grigorescu had also dined with us, shedding around him the sun of his
new dignity.

As my morning was not to be a busy one, I allowed myself the
luxury of a rest with my pen and books and no hurry, having agreed
with Sybil that I would have a late breakfast by myself in my own
room, coming down only at ten to visit the hospital.

It was like a spring day, I had drawn my curtains whilst it was still
dark and had seen dawn slowly efface the night. I revelled in being in
the country, and thought of many things and only wrote a little; above
all I rested, and the absolute stillness of the country was a perfect balm.

There is horror in the thought that if our defensive lines are drawn
further back Sybil would lose her Ghidigeni. She is preparing herself
to face this cruel eventuality, but let us hope that this will be spared her.

At ten I visited the hospital, but there are not many wounded left.
We also inspected the canteen Sybil is going to establish for poor
children, for which I shall supply the provisions.

With Mariette Bals, and followed by all my Americans, I went to
visit Constance Cantacuzene who is still in her field hospital at Tutova.

She gave my followers some excellent Madeira wine which melted
their hearts to such a degree that they all became sentimental, Colonel
Anderson becoming in fact quite ecstatic.

Thence another series of hospitals, returning to Ghidigeni for lunch.

Round about three, having picked up Mariette Bals, who had re-
mained at Tutova, I went by train to Barlad where the great Grigorescu
had prepared me a tremendous reception, military honours and all the
rest. The whole of Barlad had been turned out; schools and popula-
tion, etc. I was asked to go part of the way on foot through the streets
so that the people could see me close to, and I was frantically cheered.

I was taken to the military orphanage where I visited every corner,
finally distributing sweets amongst the children, having listened with
intelligent interest to the habitual loyal, patriotic or sentimental verses
recited by anxious or forward infants of different ages. Always to
the sound of lusty cheering I then proceeded to the huge Beldiman
Hospital, roomy and well kept but fatiguing for feet still tired by yes-

302

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

terday’s round. It was an endless visit and when I was just congratu-
lating myself that my troubles were over my iron colonel, Ballif,
whispered into my ear that I was still expected on the other side of the
street in another enormous hospital.

Of course I agreed to do my duty to the bitter end, and crossed
the street to the joy of the expectant public, and was received on the
other side by a delicious old doctor quite like a comic figure on
the stage ; protruding tummy beneath the belt-line, pouchy cheeks, short
white side-whiskers. He actually began talking to me in atrocious but
fluent English.

This hospital was as endless as the other, night was coming on, my
feet were getting more and more tired, my provisions were running
out, yet on and on I went like a sleep-walker, more and more beds,
more and more rooms, more and more eager, suffering faces, more
and more kisses on my hands. Dana, my little cocker, who had insisted
upon coming with me, kept getting mixed up with the legs of all those
who, in classic Roumanian fashion, were following me in countless
numbers. This amiable but not very practical peculiarity had an un-
comfortable way of causing a fine squash at every exit, especially when
I had to turn suddenly round to find myself nez a nez with my fol-
lowers, who could not at a moment’s notice become as thin as air.

I was actually allowed an hour’s rest in my train which I used for
correcting some of my writings, after which I dressed and returned to
Grigorescu’s house for dinner. Sybil and her husband had also been
invited. Everything was done with the inimitable order and decorum,
not to say pomposity, characteristic of the general. He is an admirable
metteur en scene. Before the meal began I was solemnly led to the
drawing-room, where the general offered me a framed photograph of
poor Tsar Nicolas. It was a picture of him I desired to possess in
which he is sitting as a captive in his own palace gardens on a block
of wood with three Bolshevik soldiers standing on guard behind him,
a picture beyond words pathetic. The gift had been placed on an easel
and was presented to me with all possible ceremony and appropriate
speeches, to which I answered as admirably as my talent of adaptation
permitted.

Then only were we allowed to go to dinner, which was excellent,
accompanied, of course, by many speeches, loyal speeches, pompous

BETRAYAL

303

speeches, patriotic speeches. There was also much music, the Lautars
being at their best.

Colonel Anderson, on whom gipsy music always has a melting effect,
made the finest speech of all which I had to translate into French,
rather lamely I fear, but greatly to the kindly gentleman’s satisfaction;
he loved having a royal interpreter.

Dinner was followed by a musical entertainment where different
officers showed off their talents whilst our funny Plagino, in his neat
little uniform, and with a face de circonstance played le M ait re de
Ceremonie. His squint and missing tooth added to his funniness,
which can be irresistible. Mobilization has an absurd effect upon
certain people.

Then at last to the station, but my great general friend remained
ceremonious to the very end. The train could not immediately leave as
the motors had to be shipped, but nothing would induce the great
man to quit the platform before my train, so instead of being able
to go to my well-earned rest, I had to stand for an extra half-hour
at the window, which I did in a becoming vieux rouge dressing-gown
with all my pearls and smiles on. Thus ended my visit to General
Grigorescu in his “Residence.”

It will be admitted that after this I well deserved my bed.

Jassy, Tuesday, January 2,0th/ February 12 th, 1918.

Returned to Jassy to be overwhelmed by bad news : Ukrainia has
signed a peace and has promised to export all her corn to Germany.
Trotsky, without exactly signing peace, has declared that the state of
war in Russia is at an end and that the army is demobilized.

The iron ring which is to strangle us is getting tighter and tighter.
Everybody talks to us and of us as though we were dying and had
but a few hours to live. A feeling of frantic revolt takes hold of me.
I cannot resign myself to it, I cannot; it breaks my heart, it kills my
soul, it is too, too unfair!

I have arranged that every day two little orphans from my Jassy
Orphanage come to our breakfast, every morning two different chil-
dren. I feed them copiously on all the good things with which I can
stuff them, and Vasili and Nicolaita, my own private orphans, stand
at my elbows like two greedy puppies eager for the best crumbs.

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THE STORY OF MY LIFE

To-day the sound of children’s voices, so happy and eager, was in
tragic contrast to the despair I carry about with me.

The King gave me part of the bad news, and Prince Stirbey came
to amplify it. Then we had to hurry off to the church of Trei Ierarchi,
where a service was held in honour of the patron saints; it’s a lovely
little church. Feeling as I did, everything seething within me, it was
both terrible and calming to stand still and listen to all the chants. The
chorus sang beautifully and the acoustics are splendid in that church,
small though it is.

Lunch was a trial to me to-day, as I could hardly bear facing people,
but that meal over, a greater ordeal awaited me — I had to receive the
new ministers.

I have no personal objection to my new ministers, but what they
actually represent is a deadly grief to me ; it means the failure of all
our hopes; it is the seal upon the terrible tale of suffering, sacrifice and
disappointment of the last year and a half. And now we are suffocated,
drowned, sold, betrayed, caught in an airless trap!

I tried to be calm with my new ministers, I talked about indifferent
things with complete banality, but the moment I said a word of what
I really felt, all my despair immediately burst through ; not one of them,
I think, was left in doubt of my feelings.

Averescu so little expected to find me in such a state of despair that
after I had said good-bye to the others, he asked to be allowed to speak
with me alone.

The general was curiously moved to find me in such a state of de-
spair. He certainly did not expect that I would take it thus, and in
spite of his quiet self-possession, it upset him. He and I had always
been good friends, and I had always staunchly defended him when he
was attacked. I think that of all the royal family I am the one that he
likes best ; and now we suddenly faced each other as opponents.

He tried to convince me that our position was neither tragic, hope-
less, nor humiliating, as I appeared to consider it, and was sincerely
distressed to find me so unresigned. In spite of the tragic quality of
our interview he made quite a pleasant impression on me, but I could
not help saying to him what a grief it was to me to see him, our best
general, called upon to treat for peace.

After Averescu left me I received Sir George Barclay, and with him

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305

also I had a tragic conversation, and finally I wept as only a woman
and a queen can weep, when she sees, one after another, all her hopes
crushed by a relentless fate which deals blow after blow till nothing
is left, neither hope, nor future, nor the possibility of resistance; no
attainment, not even the recognition of our stoic heroism. We have
just to fall out of the circle of the living, like a dead weight because
we have been abandoned and betrayed, and now we are like a dying
animal which everyone forsakes !

The kind old gentleman didn’t even try to find any words of con-
solation; he just ejaculated a profusion of distressed “Ohs” and “Ahs,”
and himself felt like weeping.

To assure our railway transport it was decided that we should send
troops into Bessarabia, and from Jassy we anxiously followed their
advance. Russia was chaos, and beginning to fall to pieces as at that
time there was no recognized head, but Lenin was in the ascendant
and the reign of terror had begun : we received horrible news about
the way the disbanded soldiers were massacring and torturing their
officers.

A deputation of Ukrainians arrived at Jassy, and we received them.
They were feu et flamme for their so-called new liberty, and spoke of
their marvellous hopes. They were earnest, sympathetic men, and I
could not but listen with interest to what they had to say, to all their
illusions and delusions. Each part of Russia seemed to have a differ-
ent ideal and to wish to set up independently. The Tsar had been the
string upon which toutes les Russies were threaded : the string had
been cut through and united Russia became a thing of the past. Each
man to-day imagined himself on the threshold of a new, glorious era,
little realizing that he is destroying instead of building up.

All the rejoicing about a new and free Russia gave me an uncanny
feeling; I had clearly the sensation that we were going towards some-
thing dark and horrible, and could not understand why Europe re-
joiced : I felt as though it would one day be punished for thus rejoicing.

France, desiring to honour us at an hour when we were so dis-
tressed, had elected me as Membre Correspondant of the French Acad-
emy of Fine Arts ; a great honour which much touched me as well as
all the Roumanians. This news was announced to me by a telegram

306 THESTORYOFMYLIFE

from Victor Antonescu, our Minister in Paris, couched in the following
terms :

“Flam eng, qui se fait I’honneur de prendre 1’ initiative de la proposi-
tion m’a communique que VInstitut de France, Academie des beaux
Arts, vient d’elire Votre Majeste Membre Correspondant.

Depuis que Napoleon a fonde VInstitut, pour la premiere fois une
femme est appelee a une pareille dignite.

En accueillant avec chdleur la proposition, VInstitut a tenu rendre d
Votre Majeste un hommage digne d’elle et du noble pays qu’Elle
reprcsente avec tant d’eclat; il s’incline respectueusement devant Vart
et la sou ff ranee personifies aux geux du monde par Votre Majeste.”

This honour paid me at such a moment was like a sudden flash of
light from an impossibly better world, with which actually we had
nothing to do. I was deeply touched, but too sad really to be able to
rejoice.

The pages which follow fully describe my state of mind when Gen-
eral Averescu, replacing Bratianu, took over the Government so as to
treat for peace.

I considered it perfectly abominable for a general to accept such
a mission. I was probably both wrong and unfair, but no argument
could convince me, the fiend of resistance possessed me, and not even
those I would generally listen to, could make me see reason. I began
to feel cruelly lonely, almost an outcast, because of that impossibility
of resigning myself to our fate. The idea that the Allies would for-
sake us and that we should be left alone, strangled, done away with,
drove me to the verge of madness. Wherever I turned were closed
doors, nowhere a way out, and, worst of all, I read pity in every eye.
I did not wish for pity; I wanted to fight!

But events took their course in spite of my protest, in spite of my
despair. Envoys headed by Mr. Papiniu were sent to Bucarest to make
contact with the occupied part of the country. The news he brought
back was unpleasant to hear. Our so-called Germanophiles, Carp,
Beldiman, Lupu Costachi, Virgil Arion, Stere, and Nenitescu came to
him with a signed paper declaring that they no longer recognized King
Ferdinand as their sovereign and voted for a new German dynasty.
This was certainly hard to bear, as all these men had been personal
friends, but we were now so accustomed to cruel news that I did not

BETRAYAL

307

break my heart over this ; but I regretted old Peter Carp. I had always
liked him from the first. We were made to understand each other,
but this War had torn to shreds stronger things than my sympathy
for Peter Carp.

But there was also good news from Bucarest, many a greeting sent
by those who had kept faith, amongst others from Didine Cantacuzene,
heading those who had worked in Bucarest; humble gifts were sent
from our wounded soldiers, who had themselves made them.

One day Berthelot came to me and asked if he could, in front of me,
decorate Ballif with the Legion d’Honneur. I accepted with joy, so
Berthelot came to my room and in my presence decorated my iron
colonel and we were all three deeply moved, especially as we felt that
this honour was being done to us because we were soon to be aban-
doned, given up, and a brave old soldier like Berthelot could but be
in sympathy with my attitude, even if the reasonable side of him con-
sidered it quixotic.

Also Colonel Anderson found ways of showing me his deep-felt
sympathy, I can even call it admiration, and he promised me that if
he should have to go he would leave me all his Red Cross provisions,
so that I could carry on their work. They were all kind and gentle
with me, but as doctors at the sick-bed of one who is condemned to
death.

They tried to make my dying easy, but, alas, I am not one of those
whose death-agony can be peaceful or resigned, my constitution is too
vigorous, too healthy; I am built for resistance not for capitulation;
but I shall allow my diary to tell my tale, although I can give but
extracts, for the whole of it would be too long.

Chapter XXV

OUR INFAMOUS PEACE

Jassy, Wednesday, January 31st /February 13 th, 1918.

Saw Professor Panaitescu, when we discussed something I had written
for the papers, deciding that it was not quite the right thing for the
present situation; he wanted me to write something else, but I ex-
plained to him that my grief was such at this moment that I found
it impossible to write, as all my words would be too strong, too great
an outburst of suffering and grief. They would be a torrent which I
should never be able to stem. So better to be silent just now : impossible
for me to be lukewarm.

It seems the poor man was dreadfully upset to find me in such a
state, and whilst he gave Mignon her lesson, kept asking what could
be done to help me.

Then Delavrancea, Celia’s father, came: “just because he had a
great yearning to see me at this hour of sadness,” was what he said,
for no other reason, “not to protest, or complain or advise, or to
mourn, only just to feel a little warmth” through my presence. I do
not know if I can give much warmth just now, but I liked him for
believing that I could.

Finally Facciotti, the Italian Minister came, he also to talk over the
situation with me; he is an exceedingly clever man, and I know he
often gives good advice, but his Latin mind is very far from mine;
however, I felt that he was an ally.

Jassy, Thursday, February ist/i^th, 1918.

I remained in bed all the morning, needing a rest and intending to
see no one, but at eleven General Grigorescu asked very pressingly to
see me, so, of course, I received him. He confided to me what was
worrying him, and we talked the situation over; then I asked him to
remain for lunch, and after lunch we had a long talk.

I then retreated to bed again and actually had a little sleep. Towards

308

ON THE BALCONY OF THE BICAZ HOUSE

MICNON HIDING LIKE OI R PEASANT WOMEN

OUR INFAMOUS PEACE

309

five o’clock Averescu asked to see me and although I would have pre-
ferred being left alone to-day, as I need a little peace to recover my
strength, I am accustomed to do my duty to the bitter end, so I had
to receive him.

He came in the hope that he might find me more resigned to the
idea he represents, but he found me just as desperately unhappy as the
last time we met. He argued each point out with me, slowly, methodi-
cally; his arguments were much stronger than mine, reason written
with a large R was on his side, he had everything on his side except
what one calls the faith that moves mountains.

After having tried every possible persuasion only to find that my
grief and despair were unabated, he finally confessed that he could
not understand my point of view.

“Never mind, General,” I said, “don’t rack your brain; I will give
you an explanation which my old English nurse found for me when
she once discovered me in a paroxysm of grief : ‘Your Majesty minds
so much because she is English and the English never can give up.’
Take that as explanation, General, if you can understand no other; I
am English, a race that cannot give up.”

He left me sadly, regretfully, but not as my enemy, I hope. Men
are generally not my enemies, but nowadays everything is so strange
and dark that all is possible. Perhaps it would have been wiser if I
had been calmer, more indifferent, more conciliatory, more in sympathy
with his aims; but my irresistible love of truth makes of me a bad
diplomat, though I can generally move people just because of that
eloquence of absolute truth so seldom found, and especially so seldom
expressed.

It was a sad interview which left a heavy weight on my heart. He
sees our only hope, our only salvation, in what I consider bitter
humiliation and darkest misfortune ; he doesn’t see it like that, and he
may be right and I wrong, but as I said to him : “I have made myself
too completely one with the ideal with which we had started out to be
able to conceive happiness for our country in any other way.”

Jassy, Tuesday, February 13 th/26th, 1918.

The poor King has a terrible ordeal before him to-day. Czernin
has asked to see him in the name of his Emperor. The King’s Gov-

3io

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

ernment considers that he had better agree to meet him. Prince Stirbey
has worked up point for point all that the King will have to say to
Czernin. We pored over these points with the utmost care and anxiety.
The future of the country is at stake !

I hate the thought that Nando should have to see Czernin. The
meeting is to take place at General Averescu’s house at Bacau.

Jassy, Wednesday, February 14 th/2jth, 1918.

At last I have had news of Ducky through England. She is in
Finland and up to the present she has not been much molested; the
Crown Prince of Sweden is trying to help them to get away, but
without success for the present. They are in continual danger.

Jassy, Thursday, February l$th/2&th, 1918.

Nando came back at one last night, but I only saw him this morning.

I anxiously watched how he came up the stairs; by the way he
walked, by the expression on his face, I immediately knew that the
ordeal had been terrible. But it was only after breakfast when I could
take him alone into my room that he told me how it had been.

It was awful, in every way awful. Czernin was barely polite; he
can be pleasant enough when he wants, but even in better days there
had been something supercilious about him, so it can be well imagined
what he was like during this interview.

He gave Nando no hope at all ; the peace conditions are absolutely
inacceptable, but if we do not agree to them, we are, according to them,
to be swept off the face of the earth. The country is to disappear, to
be divided up amongst Austria, Bulgaria, Germany and Turkey. If
Nando does not want to accept peace now and at the terms they dic-
tate, then the two Emperors wish him to know that they will pursue
him with relentless resentment and never more lift a hand to protect
him or any member of his family.

Personally, I had never been able to bear the thought of Nando
seeing the man. I always considered it a humiliating proceeding, but
Nando feels that he must do everything for his country, even things
that humiliate him personally. Perhaps he is right. I am no judge,
but I have the feeling lately that those around him have been sapping
his courage and confidence in his country’s strength and loyalty.

OUR INFAMOUS PEACE

3ii

Personally, I much prefer an enemy who is frankly beastly to an
enemy all smiles, who has nevertheless an iron hand ready to strangle
you after having induced you to treat for peace. Of course our position
is so tragic that it is almost fantastic, but I for one prefer la guerre a
outrance, with final defeat, to treating with those whose only dream is
to make slaves of us for the next fifty years at least. I may be wrong,
but this is my way of looking at things ; I cannot help the blood which
flows in my veins. Now, at least, because of Czernin’s attitude, we see
more clearly; therefore am I less depressed than I was a few days ago.

After dinner I had another long talk with the King; Averescu is
going to ask for a personal interview with the Emperor of Austria.

Jassy, Friday, February 16th/ March 1 st, 1918.

Had a tremendous ride with Alice Cantacuzene. I was riding Ardeal,
my beautiful white thoroughbred; he was a bit of a handful and gave
me almost more exercise than I needed, but I brought him back at a
reasonable pace after a few mighty gallops to calm his ardour.

I saw General Prezan. I wanted to cheer the King up, but I believe
our military position is utterly impossible ; the Austrians are marching
into the north of Bessarabia; we are entirely encircled. However des-
perately courageous and foolhardy we might be, he fears that there
is absolutely nothing to be done. What then? Let us hope at least
that if we are to die, it should be en beaute.

Jassy, Saturday, February ijth/ March 2nd, 1918.

The King came to me early with a face ravaged by anxiety and
told me that the answer from Vienna was that they refused to treat
with us upon any other basis than the one they had proposed, and they
desired an answer before twelve o’clock. Nando was in a dreadful
state, and alas, we could not quite agree in the way we looked at things.
He has a great desire to consult with me, and yet I feel that I terrify
him because of my passionate attitude; I can never be lukewarm. He is
to have a Crown Council this morning at ten, to which all political
parties have been invited. I felt that the King was being pushed into
this unprepared and was appalled, unable to plan how I could protect
him at such short notice. I tried, however, to inspire him with all the

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THE STORY OF MY LIFE

courage possible; but I am so afraid he has lost faith. Tragic moments
when I wish I were a man ! Nothing would have induced me to go
unprepared and unprotected to preside at that terrible sitting.

Although full of anguish, I had a busy day and made the acquaint-
ance of a very interesting Canadian, a certain Colonel Boyle, who is
working for us in Russia, trying to better our situation, and especially
our transport. A curiously fascinating man who is afraid of nothing,
and who by his extraordinary force of will and fearlessness manages to
get through everywhere; a real Jack London type.

The King appeared very late for lunch. Prince Stirbey came to me
and we sat together in mortal anxiety, waiting to know what had
happened at the Crown Council.

When the King did come, all he had to say was completely unsatis-
factory; in spite of the length of the sitting, nothing really conclusive
had been settled. Nando was very weary, so I hardly dared press him
to give me a clear description of what had taken place; besides, Nando
is never very lucid when summing up a situation, for words do not
come easily to him.

I felt despair invade my soul, felt that I was struggling against over-
whelming odds, and that everything was being done the wrong way
about. It’s a frightful feeling to be at a loss and not know how to help.
Yet I know that I shall do something, that I must do something, but
what? What? To whom can I turn for help? How must I act?

Carol has come back from his regiment. I put him au courant of
what was going on and we consulted together. The generals are, it
seems, for resistance, and they have all gone back to their posts to
organize this. What is going to happen? It is enough to drive me
crazy !

I do not even dare put into words what I feel; one must be careful
at moments of violent suffering not to judge people too harshly; it is
better to wait, watch, and be continually ready to spring in when neces-
sary with all the force of one’s conviction and faith. But I am tortured !

I only wish that political men were not so personal in their every atti-
tude. They ought to be able to rise above their dislike for one another
and think of the cause rather than of themselves, and I, alas, am but a
woman, but a woman. . . .

To-day my children brought me the first flowers of spring.

OUR INFAMOUS PEACE

3i3

Jassy , Sunday , February i&th/March yd, 1918.

Had a painful scene with the King. He came late for breakfast; had
already finished mine and was talking to Carol in my room explaining
to him the exact situation, as he was also to be at the Crown Council of
this morning. The King asked what we were talking about, and I
told him that I thought Carol ought to know what was going on, and
then, woman-like, I had my say. Impossible to repeat all the words I
used, they were strong and to the point, but not pleasant to hear ; and
the King violently resented my attitude. The encounter was bitter
and left scars.

Probably I was too passionate, for that, alas, is my way, but there
are things Nando had to know, and who else but I could tell him what
I told him this morning? As an example of my language I must quote
these words which I cried out in the paroxysm of my despair :

“If we are to die, let us die with heads high, without soiling our
souls by putting our names to our death warrant. Let us die protesting,
crying out to the whole world our indignation against the infamy
which is expected of us.”

Carol behaved very well : without in the least sharing my violence,
he yet sustained me in the telling of those truths his father had to hear,
and which no one was independent enough to tell him. There was
health in the prophet of old who dared to stand up in the open street
warning the people not to sell their souls to the devil.

All day we went through excruciating fluctuations of hope and
despair.

At one moment I thought I had won the day, because whilst the
King was at his Council, a horrible telegram was brought from the
Germans, piling up the infamy of their conditions so that the King
finally considered them inacceptable.

This, coming on top of the scene I had made this morning, induced
the King to declare that he could come to no immediate decision and
that he begged of his councillors to consider the terms the enemy were
offering and come back to-morrow for fresh discussion.

This news filled me with new hope, as I considered it a direct sign
from heaven that this message should have been brought just at that
moment, and to all those I met during the day I confided this hope,
and my heart exulted exceedingly.

3T4

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

But at six came Averescu, and with him death to my new-born hope.
I think it best to draw a veil over this conversation with Averescu,
I can only say that this interview with our Prime Minister, at the end
of that day already too full of emotions, was one of the bitterest and
most tragic hours of my life; dark as death!

Jassy, Monday, February igth/ March 4 th, 1918.

During a night of torture a thought took root in my mind : I must
get Carol to carry my word of protest to the Crown Council which is
to be held to-day. Early in the morning I called Carol to me, careful
to keep secret from everyone what I was doing, and begged him to
stand up in the middle of the sitting and to protest in my name, and in
the name of all the women of Roumania, against the horror of peace
in such a form.

The Council was a very painful one, I believe. The King made his
declaration that, as no one upheld him for resistance, he was ready to
accept the painful conditions, being unable to unite a government for
defence. Carol gave my message bravely, and when he came back he
fell on my neck, thanking me for having allowed him, through my
words, to express his own feeling.

But it is all over now, no one rallies for resistance ; it is considered
folly by all those who would have to take the responsibility (excluding
the generals whose advice was not definitely asked).

Everybody came to me to-day : Jorga, the generals, Ballif, Delavran-
cea, Ellen Perticari, Anderson and others besides : my tired brain can
hardly remember. It was numb with pain.

Nando and I could hardly face each other, he was a completely
broken man. I did not try to argue any more ; I knew that all was over ;
I knew that I was defeated.

Fearful thoughts came to me. I was ready for any sacrifice, for any
desperate move. There is something in me, perhaps the blood of un-
known ancestors, which makes me unable to bend my neck or to accept
certain things. It is hard to be built this way.

And then the terrible thought came to me that I must try and make
the King abdicate rather than put his name to that infamous peace.

Nobody can comfort me to-day, I am made that way; even the great-
est love and kindness shown to me to-day is only like soft music round

OUR INFAMOUS PEACE

3i5

my heart that has been too cruelly bruised, it cannot help me in my grief.

And all the Allies have received orders to leave. It is one of the
German conditions.

Jassy , Wednesday, February 21st /March 6th, 1918.

I try to be calm, to accept the hideous reality : but inside me there is
a continual storm threatening to burst forth at any moment and to tear
my reason away with it. I am unresigned, fiercely and completely un-
resigned ! And there is no argument that makes me believe that we are
doing right, or anyhow, that it has been done in the right way.

My morning was a continual series of painful interviews till at a
quarter past twelve I received the English Military Mission, come to
take leave of me. General Ballard was always amongst those who for
a long time saw our end coming and who tried to make England realize
it and accept it.

Of course this meeting with all those nice, quiet, clean, strong Eng-
lishmen was dreadfully upsetting. They quite well knew to what they
are leaving us. But on the whole I managed to pull through the terrible
ordeal without outwardly losing my calm.

I decorated Mr. Baker of the Red Cross in the King’s name. The
general made quite a short speech, then in a tremendous chorus they
sent up three cheers for the Queen of Roumania : Hip, hip, hurrah ! All
through the day people came to say good-bye to me, and each time it
was as though my heart were being torn from my body.

One of the most upsetting interviews was with General Berthelot.
We talked like two good soldiers who understood each other and
who wept over the same irreparable mistakes and deplored the in-
exorable fate which had beaten us at every turn, gradually tearing from
us every particle of hope.

Jassy, Thursday, February 22nd /March Jtli, 1918.

My kind friend Anderson has also received orders to leave : all our
Allies are to leave! We had a big military lunch at the King’s house,
receiving all the important French officers. Berthelot made a moving
speech, and we all sobbed, whilst he himself could hardly talk because
of the tears that were rolling down his chubby cheeks.

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

316

It was horrible, but we felt such a spirit of warm friendship amongst
all those men, and we knew that they were going away broken-hearted,
not having been able to save our poor, brave Roumania from a ghastly
fate.

We had a tea at the English Mission, rendered almost gay in spite
of our misery, because of the simple English hospitality which always
promotes a feeling of home. In each grown Englishman there survives
something of the schoolboy. For instance, we were immediately led to
see their cows, horses and geese, their whole farmyard. The tea was
excellent and plentiful, and afterwards, to Nicky and Ileana’s delight, an
excellent conjuror was produced. The children would have liked to
have remained indefinitely, but we had to get home, for others were
waiting for us.

This afternoon, after lunch, Simky and I read the conditions of
peace proposed to us, telegraphed on from Nauen, the German news
centre. The insolent tone with which they declare that all these condi-
tions have already been accepted by Roumania, filled us with frantic
shame : it was hardly to be borne.

In spite of all that I was feeling, I had to give a big party after
dinner, uniting under one roof most of the French, English and Ameri-
cans who were leaving.

I moved about amongst them as though I had one body but two
personalities. The one was smiling, officially resigned to her fate,
speaking of future reunions ; the other was one gasping, seething revolt,
ready for any desperate actions if I could only hinder the advancing
disaster.

Colonel Boyle, the Canadian, was amongst our guests. He was very
much like a rock in a stormy sea.

There was some music, much talk and our actress, Ventura, recited
patriotic verses. We served an excellent buffet, but to me it was all
acutest torture, though outwardly I remained calm and smiling. Finally
we all parted at about half-past one, and then Carol came and sat for
a long time with me and we ate our hearts out in fierce but impotent
despair, vowing to each other that we would still try to prevent the
worst, even were we to go to pieces in the effort.

OUR INFAMOUS PEACE

3U

Jassy , February 2T,rd/March 8th , 1918.

No words can describe the tragedy we are living through. We are
like a body of which the clothes have been caught in a machine that is
relentlessly dragging it ever nearer certain death.

This morning Carol and I had another talk with the King. We
once more tried to persuade him to do what we consider right and
honourable, but he cannot. Probably he knows things we do not
know, so we can only look on and try to bear the weight of our despair.

Spent a terrible morning saying good-bye to all the foreigners who
are to start to-morrow evening, who are to abandon us as we are no
more allowed to stand up for our freedom.

Colonel Anderson brought me his whole unit and I decorated many
of them with the Regina Maria Cross.

My kindly friend made a touching little speech to which I an-
swered in words through which my pain welled up like an over-
bubbling spring. We all had tears in our eyes and many were sobbing,
pain seemed to be engulfing us like a dark flood. Then General Prezan
came and we talked like two soldiers. He promised to take a message
from me to the King ; it is ghastly the way nothing can make me give
in or give up !

Rather late I went over to the King’s house, where we had a big
lunch for the English and the Italians. There is a certain simplicity
about the English which makes things quiet and undramatic ; they take
our awful situation as one of the cruel episodes in this formidable War,
an episode they mean to wipe out with the victory they are so per-
suaded they will win. They all swore to me that on that day my poor,
torn, mutilated country would not be forgotten. May God take them
at their word! They are strong, faithful and true, and mean to stick
it out. Never have I felt so passionately an Ally as at this hour when
everything has been torn from my hands and when we are slipping out
of their ranks.

After tea I sent for Berthelot and told him how I had tried to move
the King, that I implored him not to hurry away his Military Mission,
that perhaps even now at the eleventh hour, the situation could still
be saved. I used every word a woman can use when she stands before
a disaster she hopes to hold back. The old man was deeply moved. I

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

3i8

do not know if he thought there was any hope, but clasping my hand
in his enormous grip, he promised me he would go and talk to the
King.

Then came Prince Stirbey. I tried to fire him with my last dying
spark of hope. He looked at me half in pity, half in admiration,
marvelling at that flame which never dies in me and that ever again
urges me to new effort.

“You see,” I said, “it is a lack of faith that is losing our country,
that is sapping its courage and which induces so many to bow their
heads before disaster. My English blood refuses to accept disaster. If
there remains the smallest, most meagre fighting chance, I shall still
fight, — a losing battle, no doubt, but I would consider myself unworthy
of my own ideals were I to give in before I am completely convinced
that all is lost.”

There is a mighty force in belief, a mighty strength in a straight
road which one follows coute que coiite; it is the byways that lead us
astray.

Colonel Boyle came to dinner and after dinner all the favourite
friends assembled around us for the last time for a little music.

Just as I was receiving them I was brought a terrible message: I
think I will not say here what it was, but to me it seemed like a death
blow. I rallied, however, as is my way, and tried to undo the wrong
which I thought was being done. Carol and Prince Stirbey stood by
me and we discussed together in what way we could do that which
had to be done.

This almost silent drama was being enacted whilst in the next room
Enescu was playing marvellous music. I moved from place to place
as in some ghastly dream, but my every nerve was taut for whatever
fight might be coming, — alert, ready, watchful.

It is not for me to describe every phase of that fight I fought that
night with Carol and Stirbey at my side. We strained every nerve,
every sense for a last and desperate effort to make others do what we
considered right.

But I played my last card and — lost !

Thereupon I threw myself into a corner of Elisabetta’s large sofa
and asked Enescu to play us Lequeuex’s symphony, and there, sur-
rounded by the friends who to-morrow are to leave us to our humilia-

OUR INFAMOUS PEACE

3i9

tion and despair, I listened with all my soul to that superhumanly
exquisite music, and in its every note I seemed to hear the agony of our
dying country, and mixed with it was the wounded and yet still un-
broken energy of a Queen who had tried to do her utmost to lead her
people on what she considered the path of honour.

This too was a tragic hour. I sat there surrounded by those who
represented all my hope and pride, all my right of a free Queen, fighting
for a cause she believed in, and still believes in, in spite of oft repeated,
crushing disaster.

Enescu stood calm amidst the storm and played like a god one of
the most glorious pieces of music ever written, and it was as though
with his violin he were sobbing out into the night all the grief of my
soul which I was unable to express in words.

And from all the four corners of the room faithful, affectionate
eyes were fixed upon me, the eyes of strong men who could find no
words, but who knew that they were leaving me and our country to
an overwhelming disaster which none had been able to hold back, and
I knew that at this hour I was to them the living symbol of the
country which was being so cruelly abandoned to its fate.

Jassy, Saturday, February 24th/ March gth, 1918.

All night long I had the prayer on my lips : “Dear God, prevent my
friends being sent away, do not ask of me this bitterest of sacrifices,
not all of them at once, all those men who were the symbol of our
freedom, of our right to be amongst the living.” Ever again I woke
with that same prayer on my lips: “Dear God, do not let them go!”

Yet in spite of my ardent prayers the first thing I heard this morning
was that they were leaving, all of them, this very day in five different
trains, the first of which was to start about 10 a.m.

Being the fighter that I am, even then at the last hour when all was
lost, I still struggled to stand up against events. But it was all in vain !
Although I strained every nerve, every particle of my brain and energy,
in this also I was destined to fail ; one train after another started, and as
the hours passed hope became less and less, and the agony of my heart
increased till it was an intolerable, burning torture. All my ideas are
upset, there are certain things my mind does not, will not, cannot
accept.

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THE STORY OF MY LIFE

And they all came, one after another, to say good-bye, tons les petits
soldats de la France, even those I didn’t know came, begging for photo-
graphs to take away with them : “Un souvenir de cette Reine qui est
devenue un peu notre Reine, a travers qui nous verrons toujours ce
beau pays de Roumanie.”

So many said it to me in different words: “Nous aimons votre
pauvre, pauvre Roumanie, et nous vous aimons, vous. Vous restez
notre drapeau plante sur le sol roumain, c’est pour vous, a travers
votre image que la-bas nous luttrons pour votre pays. . .

And many more such words which were balm to my grief. One after
another they came, high and low, officers, doctors and soldiers, and all
of them had tears in their eyes, and all of them clung to my hands
and cried out their grief at having to leave me, to forsake me in my
hour of distress, to abandon a woman. . . .

I had met them here, there, everywhere, during these last eighteen
months in the different corners of my torn and bleeding country, in sun-
shine and rain, in summer and winter. I was with them in sickness and
pain during our retreat and our building up again. We upheld each
other through faith and hope and in a mutual effort we strained every
nerve to try and overcome a relentless fate but disaster overwhelmed
us, all our courage was given in vain.

Amongst the many who came to take leave of me was also my friend
Anderson. He is to be swept away with the rest, that staunch upholder
of my ideals, that kind man who from the first hour of his arrival
had become the most faithful of my subjects, working for me and
through me, he too a fighter who understood honour in the same way
as I did.

Yes, he too came to say good-bye, he even came twice, unable to
tear himself away from the Queen he had sworn to help. He was a
gallant man with a certain old-time courtesy about him, rarely found
in our days, the real Virginian, with all Virginia’s high tradition and
aristocratic point of view. Yes, he too came to say good-bye, and I saw
how his heart wras wrung and how his soul revolted against this going
away which was like an abandonment.

In the afternoon, Pierre Reindre and the Comte de Rochfort came
together, broken-hearted, full of emotion, entirely overcome with grief,

OUR INFAMOUS PEACE

321

in fact. Then Dr. de Vaux, also a great friend, and Colonel Marshal,
and finally precious old Berthelot himself.

We had understood each other, he and I; the somewhat masculine
intransigeance of my nature had met his soldier’s soul half-way ; for him
too the word honour had only one meaning.

Our interview was short; all that we had to say to each other had
already been said, and this was simply a final hand-clasp, a final good-
bye. I said to him, I, the Queen :

“Mon general, je ne suis pas un officier en uniforme, vous ne me
decorez pas avec La Legion d’Honneur, mais moi aussi, a ma faqon,
j’ai ete un bon soldat qui a fait son devoir; ne pourriez-vous pas me
donner l’accolade?”

And I found myself suddenly pressed against his ample bosom and
both my cheeks were kissed with two heartfelt and resounding kisses.
Never have I been pressed to so ample a bosom !

I think Berthelot was the last — and after he departed I went into my
daughter’s room and wept, wept as though all my life long I would
do nothing more but weep over this thing which I cannot forgive;
this sending away of the friends who had come to fight for us, this
parting with all those who represented our cause, our right to the road
of victory.

And all this agony and this gradual dying of our hopes was, in
other proportions, a repetition of the illness and death of Mircea six-
teen months ago.

I persuaded Nando, although this was not favourably looked upon
by our Government, to go with me and the children to see the last train
start and to say good-bye to Berthelot and his Mission. As they were
not to leave till after midnight, Colonel Boyle, who had been dining
with us, came and sat with me, and I tried to let myself be steeled
by the man’s relentless energy, tried to absorb some of the quiet force
which emanates from him. I poured out my heart to him during
those hours he sat with me. I do not know all that I told him, the
memory is a blur, but I made a clean breast of all my grief and when he
left me and I said that everyone was forsaking me he answered very
quietly “But / won’t,” and the grip of his hand was as strong as
iron.

I have also a numbed and confused remembrance of that final good-

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bye at the far-off station, which we reached by driving miles through
the dark night. Those who were leaving were deeply touched, for they
had not expected that the King and his family would come to say
this last supreme good-bye, and I think that, in a way, it softened for
them some of the bitterness of this tragic departure.

The return home was the return of defeated hearts which had let
hope die, and always I seemed to see a vision of that last train dwindling
away into the night ... we had been abandoned.

Chapter XXVI

DEFEATED BUT NOT SUBDUED

Jassy, Sunday, February 2$th/March 10th, 1918.

A blank day, a day of tears, a day of passionate revolt. All day I lay
on my bed and did not accept my fate ; I submit to it but I do not accept
it — no, no, no, I do not accept it !

Many people came to see me, as in a dream they came, one face
after another, but my tears and my pain stood between them and me,
so I have but a vague remembrance of great mental suffering and of,
a body that although dead-tired was as unresigned as was my mind.

Ballif also came and I gave him the Regina Maria Cross, and told
him it was a decoration he would not be ashamed of wearing.

And all day long they came, all those who had been most faithful,
and it was as though they were paying me visits of condolence for the
death of something very dear, for had not yesterday been the burying
of all our hopes ?

A long, long, day dark with pain and revolt.

The period which followed was so dark that I would weary my
readers if I asked them to follow me through my daily grief.

I was passionately and fiercely unresigned, and not easy to live with
just then. I had enough sense left to feel this, so I avoided as much as
possible meeting those who represented government or authority,
coming together with them only on those unavoidable occasions when
my queenly duties obliged me to; otherwise I continued seeing many
people and I worked harder than ever.

But something in me was crushed. I was made for resistance, but
resignation was impossible to me. I was a brave, if not always an ab-
solutely disciplined, fighter, but I was not a diplomat. For the moment
I was beaten, this I had to recognize. Beaten, yes, but not broken,
oh, no, not broken ! I was, in fact, biding my time, relentlessly attached

3 23

324

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

to my one steady ideal, though for the present it was quite impossible
to see whence light might again come to us.

Work was my refuge. There was more than enough to do. Colonel
Anderson had left me all the American Red Cross provisions, a glorious
inheritance, but a heavy responsibility, as only one helper remained,
a queer old Russian general, Verblunski, who had worked on Ander-
son’s staff and in whom he had great faith. I put him together with
Mamulea, and although we sorely missed our departed collaborators,
we managed to go ahead.

To-day everything was pain to me and I was looked upon askance by
those actually in power, and when Averescu resigned, to be replaced
by a Marghiloman cabinet, I found it very difficult to bear the contact
with those who came from Bucarest with German sympathies.

Once I had to go with the King for the swearing in of the new
recruits. I could hardly bear this ordeal, I could not resign myself
to the fact that we had had to lay down our arms.

I almost envied those who could be resigned, but in my heart of
hearts I also slightly despised them.

I do not pretend that I was entirely normal just then, but as these
pages are a faithful tale of my life, I must relate things as they really
were.

As misfortune never comes alone, I had also at that time the great
grief of losing faithful Soeur Pucci, who was gradually dying of a
terrible form of cancer. I was with her continually, and she clung to
me in her suffering; to her, at least, I could be a comfort.

M. Mi§u, our Minister from London, arrived in Jassy and it was
a real relief to have him amongst us and to get news from “the land of
the living.” From this time on Misu was closely associated with our
lives and was the greatest help. He was a man of outstanding in-
telligence, but almost incredibly modest and unassuming. Having few
illusions left, he was inclined to sarcasm in his judgment of others,
but this not from any dryness of heart, but rather because of a philo-
sophical, somewhat sceptical attitude he had towards life. Desiring
nothing for himself, he slightly despised those who had not yet reached
his degree of selflessness. Misu seemed to be detached from all things,
to look at them from a distance, as though no man and no event were
in direct contact with his inner being.

DEFEATED BUT NOT SUBDUED

325

When the Allies were obliged to forsake us, I sent a message to
King George by Captain Barrett, one of the officers of the British
Military Mission, and received a kind answer.

As I knew that we were to lose our postal independence I wanted
to send a last cry of distress to that very dear kinsman beyond the
Western Front, where terrible battles were being fought and where the
Germans were concentrated for their last mighty effort. It was at this
time that their huge cannon, die dicke Berta, made its first appearance.
It can easily be imagined with what breathless anxiety we followed
events.

Message sent to King George :

My dear George,

I would be very grateful if you would receive Captain Barrett, so
that he can tell you all those things I cannot write.

Our agony has been fearful : cut off, betrayed, encircled by enemies,
we have had to give up, in spite of the high spirit of our troops, in
spite of our unshakable fidelity to our mutual cause, in spite of our
fortitude in the face of impossible odds.

I for one did all that was in my power; your Englishmen will tell
you how I struggled to the last, even when everyone else had given
up, trying to save what could not be saved, how I never lost faith and
was ready to accept every sacrifice and to face any danger ; but it was all
in vain.

Luck was against us, not a single event came to our rescue. I saw
every hope crumble; we had no one and nowhere to turn, and we have
known everything of pain, suffering and disappointment. The tale is too
long to tell, others will tell it, and you over there, on the winning side,
will fight for us who tried to fight for you. You will fight and win, and
on the day of victory do not forget us.

Until that blessed hour, good-bye, George, I am going out to meet
a fate, almost too dark to be conceived.

Rather would I have died with our army to the last man, than con-
fess myself beaten, for have I not English blood in my veins?

Your loving cousin,

Missy.

In response to this message I received much later, as my message
had a long way to go, this telegram as answer ;

It is with feelings of deep sympathy with you both in your times of
adversity that I have received your message of the 16th inst.

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

326

Mingled with these feelings is the intense admiration that I share
with my people of the heroic efforts made by the gallant Roumanian
Army against the overwhelming forces which encircled it.

You may be confident that we and our Allies will do our utmost to
redress the grievous wrongs Roumania has suffered in the great cause
for which we went to war.

George.

18th March, 1918.

Jassy, Friday, March 2nd /15th, 1918.

Got up bravely to face the world, the sunshine and the day’s sorrow ;
this last is overwhelming, unbearable, each day. heavier.

I had a long talk with Ballif, and he tried to make me see that the
unbearable is bearable, but I cannot see it ; besides, they none of them
really know how fearful are the conditions of peace imposed upon us ;
each day worse, each day the noose round our necks tightens. It seems
the post and the telegraph is to be in their hands, and to-day they sent
in a list of the people they expect us to banish from the country.

I received two soldiers who had escaped from the enemy’s side to
bring us news. For me they had brought a piece of stuff on which
verses had been written for the Queen, by those who had remained
faithful in Bucarest.

This morning I composed three telegrams : one to the King of
England, one to the President of the American Red Cross, and the
third to Dr. Ellis, the nice American who was here last autumn. In
each telegram I begged them not to forget Roumania, even if a dread-
ful and deadly silence were from now onwards to cut us off from the
living, for one of the worst conditions is that they want to prevent all
communication with the outside world. It is not peace; it is foreign
occupation, it is living death, it is strangulation. I cannot bear it.

I am losing myself, I am sinking into darkness, like one who has
lost too much blood ; no one helps me, no one can help me. I am sinking
down, and all my life and energy, my pride and courage are useless
before this thing which is being done to my country.

Many people come to talk to me, giving me useless advice, or asking
me for help I can no more give. I feel so empty to-day; how can I
give?

Soon it will be complete slavery and then there will be no more

DEFEATED BUT NOT SUBDUED 327

a place for me under the sun. I am not made to be a slave, to buckle
under, to grovel!

I am on the verge of madness : sometimes I think that to slide over
into complete madness would be an infinite and wonderful relief.

Outwardly to others I seem to be the same Queen as I was a few
weeks ago; but they do not know what a stranger I have become: I
have become an explosive mass of revolt, but if I burst it would only
be my own destruction and who would care?

I am going down — going down. . . .

Jassy , Sunday, March 4 th/ijth , 1918.

The sun shines gloriously, but despair creeps ever nearer my heart.
My world is sinking. I have nothing to hold on to, all I believed in is
crumbling, all I hoped for is gone to pieces ; they are even destroying
the future for me, because I feel as though we were selling our souls
to the enemy.

General Grigorescu came to see me, and he so belongs to better
days that the sight of him nearly broke me down. He could bring me
no consolation. He still has a few illusions but he does not know as
much as I do. He was horribly shocked to find such a change in me
since our last happy meeting in Barlad and Tecuci ; those two days now
seem to belong to impossibly happy times, and yet even then my heart
was heavy with fear, but not with the despair of to-day. Later I went
with Mignon to see Sceur Pucci. I sat a long while beside her, my hand
in hers. Sceur Pucci is dying ; she is going very rapidly now ; she too
is leaving me, soon she also will be gone.

She can no more leave her bed and is wasting away, each hour a little
more; she can take no nourishment, she is dying of starvation in hor-
rible tortures, and we can do nothing for her except to let her feel our
love.

I came home with Mignon; in the motor, we sat hand in hand. We
have no more words, our world is crumbling about us ; there is a vast
and terrible mistake somewhere — but where?

Stirbey came to tea. We sat contemplating a future we do not under-
stand, nor do we know how long we shall still be together ; the un-
known lies before us, but before we reach it who knows what we shall
still have to go through?

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

328

Went to bed early, as one whose soul has parted from her body:
besides, I have a bad throat and a bad cough. I am no longer Regina
Maria — I am someone quite different, someone who knows no more
who she is, who has no more place under the sun. . . .

Jassy, Monday, March $th/i8th, 1918.

Had a long talk with Ballif this morning. He tries to prevent my
nursing the idea of leaving the country, anyhow not suddenly, not vio-
lently, nor as a manifestation. Perhaps he is right. I’ll see: I do not
know what I shall do. A part of my people will, of course, still need
me, will consider me their only hope; the only link with the past so
many still cling to. We will see. For the moment it is all dark: je
subis les evenements, I can no longer control them, but certainly at
hours when I am calmer I see that as long as I can in any way still
represent something for the good cause, I must keep myself in reserve.
I must not give way to do anything desperate that would cut me en-
tirely off from my country and people ; but in my first hours of furious
despair it would have been a relief to smash everything to pieces; on
voit rouge, and violent and desperate action alone seem possible; alas,
I am built that way, I am toute d’une piece.

This morning Nando received Marghiloman, who is forming the
new Government. He has not yet asked to see me ; I am dreading this
more than anything else, for he is a link with the enemy and therefore
utterly and completely intolerable to me.

Jassy, Tuesday, March 6th/ igth, 1918.

To-day Nando received the swearing in of the new Government —
the Marghiloman Government.

With this the King turns over a new leaf ; I lie in wait to see what
will follow. I am full of mortal anxiety and I am torn to pieces with
the perplexity of how I should behave. Generally I know so exactly
how I mean to behave ; now I am walking in the dark on ground full
of snares. My own ideals, my own faith, my own idea of honour are
unshakably the same, only I do not know how to serve them to-day,
how still to be Le drapeau des Allies plante sur le sol roumain. How,
how? I must see, I must gradually find out.

DEFEATED BUT NOT SUBDUED 329

No doubt I have not yet suffered enough ; I must take this too upon
myself, this is the most intolerable of all. Now that I am calmer and
that I feel less as though my mind were giving way, I know that I shall
be ready to bear anything as long as I can keep the fire of our cause
alive in the hearts of my people.

This morning I received a queer little Jew, a tremendously rich man
who wants to put his fortune at my disposal ! Yesterday he had been
to Nando proposing that the nation should offer the King a golden
mantle studded with gems and a jewelled sword such as would be
seemly for a sovereign! Nando gently persuaded him that this was not
quite the moment for such a gift, that it would be better to build a
sanatorium for consumptives. This he immediately agreed to do. To
me he used the same language, but he went still further; he wanted me
to choose other charities which interested me, anything I desired, and
he would run the financial side of everything, which was not to worry
me in the least. What is he after?

The whole conversation was impregnated with something fantas-
tically unreal. It is not every day that a man comes and implores you
as a great favour to put your hands into his money-bags. We finally
stuck to the idea of the consumptive sanatorium, and also an organiza-
tion for helping the poor families in Bessarabia, and later perhaps
something for the invalids.

Sir George Barclay brought me a most affectionate telegram from
King George, in which he says he understands our desperate situation
and promises to uphold us in spite of our present disastrous pre-
dicament.

After lunch I received a deputation from the arsenal, come to present
me with a marvellous money-box, specially constructed for me, which
could only be opened by a special trick. I was much touched, but I
also smiled, because it is a huge box and would take some time to fill ;
they had put a hundred francs into it, as it seems a money-box or a
purse must never be given empty. I do not, however, see Regina Maria
filling a money-box, only emptying it. How keep a full money-box
when the world’s need keeps knocking at your door ?

This deputation was followed by General Vaitoianu, who touched me
very much. He had come from afar to tell me not to despair; he had

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THE STORY OF MY LIFE

come in the name of the army to declare to me that all the troops knew
how bravely I had tried to uphold the nation’s ideal, and said that I
must not make myself ill with grief because the whole country needed
me to-day just as much as they did yesterday and as they will need
me to-morrow when our hour of revenge will come. I was deeply
touched. I cannot say how grateful I was for these kind words at a
moment when my whole world seemed falling to pieces.

Finally came the frightfully painful moment when I had to receive
Marghiloman. He, of course, made it as easy as possible for me, as
he is always so demonstratively amiable, and meets one more than
half-way; but for all his smiles it was a sinister feeling to know that
however outwardly amiable we were to each other, our inner convic-
tions make of us implacable adversaries. We talked of many things
almost as though we were the friends we used to be, but beneath
everything lay that terrible something which separates us more com-
pletely than if we were on two different spheres.

At last I got off with my two daughters to visit Soeur Pucci ; she is
sinking rapidly, her voice is nearly gone, but her intelligence is as vivid,
clear and unselfish as ever. Dear Sceur Pucci. Too much sadness,
too much. . . .

Jassy , March I2th/2$th, 1918.

The news from the Western Front is bad. The Germans have won a
victory over the English, and the sensational news is that the Germans
have invented some new and fearful sort of cannon, and have been
bombarding Paris from a distance of a hundred and twenty kilometres.
One’s heart stands still in fear. It is our future as well as theirs which
is being played for over there: and such a fearful massacre of brave
boys of every nationality! How can humanity bear it?

The Germans are also brave soldiers, dass muss mann ihnen lassen !
The opening of each telegram becomes a trembling anxiety; there has
been too much misfortune, too much. One cannot believe that any good
news can come any more. Pour le moment c’est le triomphe du mol.

In the night I was called to Soeur Pucci’s bedside; she was very
bad, but did not yet pass away, she has still to struggle on, still to suf-
fer , . . why is it sometimes so difficult to die?

DEFEATED BUT NOT SUBDUED

33i

Jassy , March 14 th/2jth, 1918.

Soeur Pucci died last night. I was with her up to the very end.
I had brought her my own large pillows, because I could not bear to
see her lying on those miserable hospital cushions. She died as she
lived, a saint.

Jassy, Thursday, March i$th/2&th, 1918.

Although not feeling very well, I got up for my dear old Sceur
Pucci’s burial service, a fine and dignified service in the Notre Dame
de Sion chapel, and I shed real tears of profound sorrow and regret.

Dear Soeur Pucci, you meant something quite unique in my life;
now you are gone, gone at a moment when my heart has already relin-
quished so much. You promised to plead in heaven for me and my
country, and I am sure you will. The single red lily I had brought you
when you died was still quite fresh, and it was the only flower you
had on your coffin, that red lily which is the emblem of Florence, the
town from which you come.

They carried' you off in a shabby black hearse with four lean, brown
horses, nightmare animals out of a bad dream. But your coffin was
covered with the French flag, and upon this flag lay my red lily all by
itself. We all wept, even Carol ; he also had known you well, and loved
you dearly since 1913, when we had worked together in the cholera
camp. Good-bye, dear old Sceur Pucci, good-bye, my old and very
precious friend.

When I came home I received a Russian sistritza who is leaving,
desperately sad and hopeless like all better-thinking Russians. She
was followed by good old General Verblunski to whom I gave the
Regina Maria first class. He promptly fell on his knees in good old
Russian style, and poured out a torrent of wonderful protestations
of devotion and loyalty in incredible English. We looked through all
his papers, which are in wonderful order; he was eager that I should
see how faithfully he was carrying on the work entrusted to him.

The news from the Western Front is still anxious, though the
English and French have not lost their heads and are making a
splendid stand against overwhelming masses of Germans.

God help those who are also fighting for our liberty.

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THE STORY OF MY LIFE

Jassy, Thursday, March 22nd/ April 4th, 1918.

At twelve I received an audience which was painful, Costica Arion
of the new Ministry. Of course he was charming, he always was a
very charming gentleman, but my confidence has been shaken by recent
events ; I am no more the woman I was. A quite unknown thing has
stolen into my loyal heart ; mistrust. So now I hold myself in reserve.
I cannot feel friendly or have complete confidence in anyone whom I
suspect of being in sympathy with our enemy.

All those who are inclined to consider that we are justly punished
for having undertaken a war which for me is still to-day as holy as
it was yesterday (because I believed in the cause for which we were
fighting and in the Allies on whose side we were fighting) cannot have
my sympathy, nor be my friend. The fundamental idea we started with
is different, how then can we agree? Neither can I understand living
on good terms with an enemy who forces us to accept such a peace !

I could not help telling Arion: “that if ever there was a chiffon de
papier, this peace is one,” and whilst saying this I made with my hands
the gesture of tearing that chiffon de papier into a thousand little pieces.

He expressed great joy at meeting me again and I think his emotion
was genuine. He called me “notre Reine” with a very special accent
upon the notre ! I, on my side, very honestly told him que je me tenais
en reserve, that for the moment I could not talk to him a cosur ouvert.
Too much had happened, he must wait before I could be again the
Regina Maria of former days.

What they must understand, however, before we can in any way
collaborate, is that I do not in the least consider myself a beaten Queen
who must recognize that she has been mistaken, but as the leader of
a glorious army which has not been vanquished, but had to submit to
a fearful and preposterous peace because it was betrayed by its Ally,
Russia. This basis once accepted, we would then see how and if we
could work together.

On the ex-front, March 25th/ April Jtli, 1918.

A very full day, I may even say a tiring day. The weather is too hot
and too dry for the season. It is distressingly dry, and nothing can
grow; if it continues like this it will be a fresh disaster added to many
others.

DEFEATED BUT NOT SUBDUED

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We began our activities at Comane§ti, but I was awake long before
and looked out of the window at the pretty landscape through which
we were passing, the same landscape I had seen last summer, whilst
the cannon were roaring all round the mountains. Now the cannon are
still and we are much unhappier than we were last summer ! We passed
through the entirely destroyed Targu Ocna, where some fruit trees
were already in flower.

At half-past nine we had a big parade at Comanesti. All the troops
looked so well, quite different from what they looked at this season
last year, but to-day what is the good? No, my spirit is not resigned,
with each day I am more turbulently desperate about everything. Each
step I take into life now is acute grief, everything has become a torture
to me, and the sight of our army, of which I was so proud, tears my
heart to pieces ; it is a veritable effort for me to go anywhere or to do
anything.

The parade was a long business as the field was huge and we walked
down the ranks, a tiring proceeding, and then all the regiments in their
turn marched past us. The horses looked miserable; they have suf-
fered more than the men.

Lunch was served to us in the castle of Comanesti, a purely military
lunch which did not last overlong. As I sat there amongst the officers
I felt all my pain surging up within me so that I could almost have
shrieked aloud. Never in all my life have I felt anything like what I
am going through now ; sometimes I have the feeling I am going out
of my mind.

In the afternoon we drove to the Ceri§oaia, right up to the top of
the mountain where last autumn I had been in the trenches. We visited
all the old, positions and General Vaitoianu explained sur place all the
battles. I was deadly sad, so sad that my body was made weary by my
sadness ; I am physically and mentally weary.

The spring has gone out of me. I see nothing before me except a
dark, impossible road upon which I am not yet resigned to walk.

Lonely little graves everywhere, nameless, scattered about here and
there upon the battle-fields, facing in eternal solitude the glorious view
from the mountain-top. And there where blood had been so freely
shed, violets clustered in large patches; it was as though they had
specially chosen to bloom there where the young had bled to death.

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THE STORY OF MY LIFE

Grass and earth were all dusty grey, streaked here and there with those
extraordinarily vivid-tinted violets. Perhaps their colour was so partic-
ularly bright because their roots had drunk of the blood of heroes ; at
least that was the thought which came to me. We penetrated into the
positions I had visited this autumn ’neath mist and falling leaves ; then
it was a living world, palpitating with an ardent desire for action, every
soldier sure of his strength and fired by the desire to beat the enemy.
Now they are forsaken positions; forsaken, but not surrendered in
battle.

Opposite our trenches were the enemy’s trenches, quite near by,
hardly a few yards apart. Several Austrian soldiers and their officers
came out and saluted us. Indeed a strange state of affairs !

It all makes my heart sick and my body weary ; I was near tears all
the time. In fact, I hated going back to these places, except that I was
able to say a few prayers over those lonely soldier-graves.

I was getting very tired; I am not in good condition at all, either
morally or physically, but there was still much to do. Seated beside
Nando in his motor we were driven down very steep roads, through
the ruins of Targu Ocna, through One§ti to the distant village of Casin
where we opened a little peasant casino the army had built for the vil-
lage. It was late when we drove back to Onesti, and almost dark, but
we still had a huge parade on a field near the station. Another endless
review of the troops, but this time I did not do it on foot, because, un-
like my usual self, I was very tired; I hate being tired, I resent being
below my usual level.

The parade was long. I stood it on my feet. The last part of it was
drowned in the first shadows of night. There were many, many troops ;
this was the first division, the generals were unknown to me.

On the ex-front, Monday, March 26th/ April 8th, 1918.

Another long military day, first visiting my little Cotofanesti which
had been burned down and was rebuilt and slightly enlarged. The
weather was dull, almost chilly, so the dear place did not look its best.
Precious little house, I am pleased that they have rebuilt it; it can
become a refuge to which I can flee when I am sick of town and its
eternal talk.

Thence we drove to my friend Mosoiu’s post of command, which

TYPICAL OLD PEASANT OF THE BISTRITA VALLEY THE OLD ‘ ST. NICOLAI OF DURAN

YI1GNON AND SVMKl’s DAUGHTER, IRENE, IN ROUMANIAN DK ESS

DEFEATED BUT NOT SUBDUED

335

Nando had never visited. All the places we passed reminded me of
better days, of hopes that had been destroyed, of heroic but useless
effort. In spite of all the fine words with which they try to console me,
this end to me spells failure; to me it is an end unworthy of our
army’s splendid courage!

But even my profound state of melancholy had to melt somewhat
under the sun of Mosoiu’s ogre-like smile, before his irresistible, un-
shaken optimism; also the real sun came out and the heavens became
radiant. All chilliness had gone out of the air and the sky was intensely
blue, but the drought is dreadful, nowhere green grass or even a sign
of leaves. If it would only rain once, the change would immediately
be miraculous.

All the morning we visited the forsaken trenches, and Vaitoianu
took us to the different positions, explaining the battles. This lasted
till lunch-time.

With a feeling as though I were coming home, I took possession of
my little room with the wonderful bed the soldiers had made for me;
they are going to keep this room intact. The lunch was plentiful and
cheery. No misanthropical attitude can stand out against Mosoiu’s
over-exuberant good humour and his confidence in the good things of
life. He spreads around him an irresistible atmosphere of bonhomie
and satisfaction.

At two we started off again to review the troops of the eighth di-
vision commanded by General Zadic, a thin little man who looks
younger than he is and whom I had not known before.

After this we went to a place called Clegea. Wherever we passed,
the peasants trooped out of their houses and pelted us with quantities
of humble violets and large white anemones. Nando drove at a tre-
mendous pace, but as I sat beside him in front it was supportable. I
got him, however, to slacken down in the villages and even to stop
when the women had flowers in their hands, a great concession for a
chauffeur.

At about five we arrived at the parade ground where we reviewed all
the regiments. Afterwards we remained amongst the men and they
had all sorts of amusements. They sang, danced and recited poetry.
One man had a bear with which he wrestled. The bear looked like a
man pretending to be a bear and was so funny that he made me laugh

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

336

heartily. Nando also decorated some of the soldiers and officers whilst
all the troops looked on, and finally began to edge nearer and nearer to
us till we were shut in by a ring of dusty, eager-eyed little soldiers with
their guns on their backs. They were delighted to be in such close
contact with us.

Our day ended with a supper at General Zadic’s quarters. The drive
home to our station was very pretty. All along the road the troops
had collected in groups round their fires, and as we drove past they all
rushed towards the road with torches in their hands, cheering with all
their might. It was a charming sight. In Roumania everything is so
exceedingly picturesque.

March 2jth/ April gth, 1918.

This has been a day specially consecrated to the villages and peasants.
Carol remained with me whilst Nando went on towards Tecuci to the
First Army. We spent the whole day going from village to village
visiting the different organizations helping the poor population. Several
generals are doing good work. Part of the time I had my friend
Mosoiu with me and part of the time Vaitoianu and his family who
are working with my Regina Maria equipes which we now use in the
villages; Dr. and Madame Costinescu are foremost amongst these.

In the afternoon we came to Grosesti at the beginning of the Oituz
valley which had been continually under fire and which is now almost
completely destroyed, and with it the Negroponte house on the hill
above.

The unfortunate inhabitants are beginning to come back, but to
find only ruins.

I went through the whole village on foot, going from house to house,
or rather from family to family, because the houses are destroyed. The
peasants sat with real Roumanian resignation upon heaps of cinders
and the fallen down walls of what had once been their homes. In-
stinctively each man had returned to his own little bit of ground. It
was one of the most pathetic sights I had ever seen; they were mostly
women and children, and sad old men with long grey locks.

I wandered about amongst them and let them tell me their woes ; of
course they complained and sighed, saying that they were hungry and
that their children were ill, but they were not a bit tragic, nor did they

DEFEATED BUT NOT SUBDUED

337

shed any tears. A little shrugging of shoulders whilst they crossed
themselves, some pathetic words poetically expressed, as is the way of
Roumanian people, that was all.

Here the village was cut to pieces by trenches; we climbed over
several of them, but they were already beginning to mend the roads.
There are still soldiers in the place, and not far away are the enemy
trenches where I saw an Austrian sentry on guard.

Here and there near a heap of ruins, or an almost undamaged roof
fallen to the ground, is a tree in full bloom, and small violets pushing
up through the cinders. A pathetic old mother with her grandchildren
clustering about her knees, sits upon a broken door-step, hiding her
mouth with her white head-cloth with that gesture so characteristic
of the peasant woman; a stray pig, a hen or a guileless puppy struts
about, seeking nourishment among the rubbish ; sad sights, and they all
seem to take it calmly, doggedly sticking to their own little corner,
sheltering themselves beneath whatever bit of masonry is still found
standing.

One house had been cut exactly in two, the front part was undam-
aged, which was considered lucky for the owners.

I also visited one of the big military graveyards, not far from the
monastery Casin in a deep little side valley. It is a bare, melancholy
place, amongst low, barren hills, but beautifully tidy and cared for.
There are several hundred graves with crosses made out of birch-
wood, all of them the same size.

Each cross had a wreath of fir branches hung over its outstretched
arms; the wreaths had faded and had taken on the colour of rust. The
sun was sinking, lighting up with its last rays the white crosses and
the faded leaves which had become bright orange ; as a background the
barren, dun-coloured hills, without a tree anywhere. It was a pro-
foundly melancholy but intensely harmonious symphony of colour.

I wandered about for a long time amongst that silent host of crosses,
wondering who was weeping or longing for those young beings who
would never return to their homes, never again.

We drove back to Onesti, where I visited the hospital and also some
of our prisoners who had returned from Hungary, a troop of shabby,
bedraggled human beings, but physically not in quite such a bad state

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338

as had been described to me. But oh, how much suffering was stamped
on those many unknown faces.

Jassy, Wednesday, March 28th/ April 1 oth, 1918.

Bessarabia has declared herself annexed to Roumania, which causes
great joy; I also ought to rejoice, but I have lost the habit of rejoicing.
I can only look ahead with fear, wondering what new trouble will arise
out of this.

I came into the middle of loud demonstrations. My train arrived
five minutes after Marghiloman’s train ; he had returned from Kishinev
and had been received with much cheering, and there, on the platform,
my Prime Minister and I, who are en froid, had to shake hands in
public and congratulate each other as if all the world were a garden
full of roses ! Well, it must all the same be considered a happy event,
as far as events go. Let us hope at least that it is definite.

Jassy, Friday, March 2>oth/April 13th, 1918.

A day of strange emotions, of outward rejoicing and inward mis-
givings.

The annexation of Bessarabia is, no doubt, a great event for our
country. It is the first step towards the “Unire” of which Roumania
dreams. It has come about in a quite unexpected way, by the falling
to pieces of mighty Russia, and it has come about at a moment when
my heart is too sore to rejoice. For me all possibility of rejoicing is
smothered by the misery of this abominable peace, and by the anxiety
with which I am watching the politics of our new Government.

At eleven there was a solemn Te Deum and afterwards a reception at
the Metropolitan’s palace where all the Bessarabians were presented
to us, after which we gave them a lunch in the King’s house. Nando
spoke very well, and much loyalty was shown us by our new subjects.
They are mostly quite simple men and behave simply; for instance,
they kept getting up from their places to ask us to sign our names on
their menus for them, and after lunch, when there was a demonstration
beneath our window, one of them not only asked to be allowed to make
a speech from the balcony upon which we were standing, but finally
insisted on carrying off our sons and daughters to dance a hora with
the crowd in the street below ! Nando actually allowed it and my two

DEFEATED BUT NOT SUBDUED

339

daughters suddenly found themselves in the centre of violent acclama-
tions, dancing this national dance in the celebrated Strada Lapusnianu
with these enthusiastic but quite unknown Bessarabians. What is the
world coming to?

I hurried back to receive Captain Pantazi, one of our Roumanians
who had been rescued by Colonel Boyle. He was full of intense
admiration for this strange man who risked his life so as to save a
few dozen Roumanians because their Queen had asked him to look
after them. The promise he had made me was sacred to him and it
seemed nothing to him to risk his own life in keeping it. This man I set
apart as someone quite unique and far above the average. But, as we
are becoming slaves, shall we be able to keep him with us?

Finally I received Stere — a difficult man to receive, an absolute So-
cialist, who was anything but loyal towards us, but who has many
excuses, as his one ideal had always been the reunion of Bessarabia and
Roumania. When he saw we were going with the Russians, of course
all his hopes were shattered. He is a Roumanian Bessarabian, and
having been banished for many years to Siberia, he hated Tsarism.
Now his dearest dream has suddenly come about in the most unex-
pected manner, so of course now he has nothing more against us. It
was not our personalities he fought against, but the hindrance he con-
sidered we were to the realization of his ideals.

A strange man; powerful, enthusiastic, rather brutal and at the
same time a dreamer full of Russian mysticism. We were not par-
ticularly comfortable together, nor did he quite dare look me in the eye.
I myself said very little but let him talk. I asked many questions, but
we both had an attitude of watchfulness, neither of us being very
certain on what ground and perhaps also on whose toes we were
treading. It had been considered wise that I should receive him, as
he is looked upon as one of the men of the future.

The news from the Western Front continues to be advantageous
for the enemy. The English are suffering fearfully.

Jassy, Saturday, March 3 ist/ April 13th, 1918.

At twelve I received Marghiloman, who had asked for an audience
so as to explain to me his attitude.

According to Marghiloman there is not the slightest doubt but that

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340

the Germans will be victorious and because of this be tries to treat them
as friends instead of enemies. I listened to him patiently, but I begged
him also to understand my point of view. Although we have had to
give up, I refuse to consider that we are beaten, and am just as con-
vinced as I ever was that we have chosen the right side. I am one of
those who stand or fall for a cause. When the hour of trial comes I
do not deny those who were the friends of yesterday, and I still salute
their colours. I am cruelly staunch : it causes me much suffering, but I
am as I am. I had not the slightest feeling of bitterness against my
enemies when they were my honourable and much stronger adversaries,
but now that they are forcing a horrible and suffocating peace on us,
I feel immensely and irreconcilably hostile. The harder the conditions
they impose upon us, the more desperately do I cling to the Allies.

He defended his point of view in every possible way, was eloquent,
pleasant and amiable as he always is, but to my mind he sees the enemy
through rose-coloured spectacles, with an optimism which is difficult
to bear. We parted, however, on friendly terms; and he begged me to
send for him whenever I was particularly upset about anything so that
he should have a chance to explain matters. My answer was that al-
though I am an open, a too open, opponent, I never refused to treat with
the other side.

Chapter XXVII

DAYS OF DESPAIR

Jassy , Sunday, April ist/i^th, 1918.

To-day I read an extract from an article in the newspaper La
Victoire, which was balm upon my wounds, for in it I found these
words :

La Roumanie n’a pas etc battue par les allemands, elle leur a
ete livree pieds et poigns lies par la revolution Russe.

Received Jean Duca, always a pleasant companion, but he looks
very thin, and we had a rather painful conversation, as he has not
my stamina, and to-day I am “intraitable” for all those who do not
feel as strongly as I do. Jean Duca is too emotional to be in all cir-
cumstances entirely staunch.

The month of April, 1918, was a very dark one for me. I could
not get accustomed to the new state of affairs. I mistrusted my actual
Government, and as can be seen by the foregoing extract from my
diary, was fundamentally out of sympathy with their point of view.

But a cruel thing was happening to me : I was learning to hate ! And
this new experience was horrible. Hate was absolutely alien to my
nature, so it was as a poison to my blood, making of me a sick woman.

I had never hated my enemy whilst I fought him in open warfare.
Fate, not my free will, had made of us opponents. On the battle-field
I would not have refused to shake hands with him; we had no per-
sonal quarrel, and before God we were all human beings, every man
fighting for his own country. But now, when each day I had to hear
of the new peace conditions imposed upon us, I hated him, hated him
with an intensity difficult to understand in cold blood, and this hatred
had made of me a stranger unto myself so that I could hardly bear my
own company.

It is painful to read my diary of this time, it is so saturated with

341

342

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

excessive resentment that it does not bear copying out, so I shall only
quote a page here and there, although everything is written down in
detail from day to day. But it is a weary tale of depression and in-
dignation which would not make good reading, especially as my
language is exceedingly violent, so violent that in one place I say:
“I wish I could invent new words never yet used to express my loathing
for those who are imposing upon us an abominable, mutilating, soul-
stifling peace,” and this is mild in comparison with other outbursts !

Those who had what I called “a humiliating work” to do could not
feel particularly friendly towards me, and I regarded them with dis-
trust. I was perhaps harsh and sometimes unfair, but I was true to
myself and the ideal I had before me. I was, in fact, the centre of
resistance, an unpleasant personage for those who considered I was
mistaken, but a comfort to the faithful who had not set aside their
ideal.

I was becoming very suspicious, and this too was fundamentally
foreign to my nature; I was never sure to-day in what spirit people
approached me, if they were perhaps wolves in sheep’s clothing, so I
was continually on my guard, aggressively on the defensive, and this
darkened my spirit.

In times of defeat, negotiation and bartering, all that is turbid has a
way of coming to the top. Not every man is a hero, compromise is a
common instinct, and there is more than one way of bearing adversity.
Some delight to fish in troubled waters which mirror no clear picture ;
those bending over those waters, would not have been particularly
elated had they been able to see their own chameleon-like faces.

In general the moment anything goes wrong, humanity searches
for a scapegoat. To-day for many I was this scapegoat.

Those eager to propitiate the enemy imagined it was in the general
interest to render me harmless, and to do this, I had to be denied. Those
who believed in Germany’s final victory looked upon me as a danger for
their plans, a stumbling-block in their way, and this was natural, be-
cause there was no treating with me, I was immovable, adamant.

But sadder than this was that even some of those with whom we
had started out had become faint-hearted, their vision blurred, and
they began deliberating as to how they could change colour without
giving themselves away too much; and these, of whom thank goodness

COLONEL

BOYLE WITH A SPECIAL PROTEGEE WHOSE ROOF WE
(OBSERV E SIZE OF THE HOUSE !)

REPAIRED

LITTLE OLD WOODEN CHURCH AT JOHAN NEAR BICAZ

WITH SOME OF MY HUMBLE FRIENDS

DAYS OF DESPAIR

343

there were not many, I resented infinitely more than those who were
openly Germanophiles. For me it could only be everything or nothing;
with my character, compromise in this case was out of the question.

It was now possible with special German permission to pass over
into the occupied part of the country and deputies came from there
and some, anxious about their homes and houses, had the courage to
cross the cruel frontier, which, like a scar, cut the country in two, and
each time they returned to Jassy with sad and depressing news.

I was particularly incensed by the way our demobilized soldiers and
officers were treated by the enemy, and was intensely on my guard
against those who came from Bucarest : and this not without good
reason, as all sorts of machinations were afoot.

Pressure was being brought to bear on the enemy’s side to try and
get us to send away from our household those who stood most staunchly
with us: Prince Stirbey and General Ballif were on their black list. I
watched with anxiety our Government’s attitude, always fearing to be
suddenly hit from behind. Everything was possible to-day, and I felt
like a caged animal continually on the defensive and never knowing
when or whence a new attack might come.

Colonel Boyle, the brave and adventurous Canadian who had come
so unexpectedly into my life, was at this period a great help to me.
lie was a free lance, recognized no authority and obeyed no orders
except those dictated to him by his own conscience. He was a refresh-
ing personality and his quiet, almost insolent, strength seemed to me as
a rock amidst tumultuous seas, stolid, immutable, not to be shaken.

He was an elderly man of heavy build, with strong, rugged features,
almost ugly in fact, but his eyes, which were deep blue and keen,
sometimes even fierce, could on occasion become gentle, almost tender,
and his smile was kindly and reassuring. Though their grip was of
steel, his hands were unexpectedly refined. Dogged strength emanated
from the man; a stubborn tenacity. Here, indeed, was ein Mann , ein
Wert.

At the hour of darkness when our Allies had to leave us, abandon-
ing us to the enemy, he had, as I have narrated, clasped my hand
promising that neither man nor God would make him forsake me as
long as I and my country needed him, and to this promise he stuck
with a single-mindedness, characteristic of his unyielding nature.

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THE STORY OF MY LIFE

His life had been a series of adventures. The word of the Bible:
“Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might,” seemed
specially written for Joe Boyle. He was indifferent to where Fate led
him, but no matter where he was, whatever job he undertook, be it
gold-digging in the Klondike, cowing the Bolsheviks, or helping a
distressed queen, he did it with all his might.

As far as he was personally concerned, money meant nothing to him ;
he had no needs, but he enjoyed making a fortune, because fortunes
spelled achievement, and could be spent in some undertaking, never
matter which or in what corner of the world, as long as the work
was arduous and obliged him to exert every ounce of his strength.

It was in this spirit that he had saved our Roumanian deputies from
the hands of the Bolsheviks. They had during the evacuation scare
been carted off to Odessa, and after the revolution suddenly found
themselves prisoners, and being “bourgeois,” were in continual danger
of death. Finally a day had come when, for some sinister reason of
their own, their jailers had driven them all aboard a ship, no explana-
tion was given nor were they told whither they were to be taken.

Boyle happened to be in Odessa, and having in the largest sense of
the word promised me to “look after any Roumanians,” hearing of
their predicament, he had rushed down to the harbour to find that the
ship was just leaving its moorings. Unarmed as he was and com-
panionless, he had sprung on board, and for a fortnight, although he
could not speak a word of Russian, had kept the Bolsheviks at bay
whilst they moved the ship from harbour to harbour: a fantastic and
incredible voyage, comparable only to adventurous tales from out of
the past. Finally, single-handed, with almost hypnotic force of will, this
courageous Canadian obliged the lawless revolutionaries to run the
ship with its frightened cargo of prisoners into a Roumanian port.

It was a tremendous feat, an astonishing act of bravery and ruth-
less will-power — a single unarmed man, with no words at his disposal,
keeping at bay a horde of angry cut-throats! A tale so strange and
adventurous that it hardly sounds credible! But this was Joe Boyle
all over, and it is no wonder that this remarkable personality should
have fired my imagination, more especially at a time when we were
crushed by adversity, and many had lost hope and with it all power
of reaction.

DAYS OF DESPAIR

345

Being myself entirely unresigned and exceedingly rebellious, it was
natural that an irresistible sympathy should spring up between us;
we understood each other from the first moment we clasped hands, as
though we had never been strangers. His advice was strong, brave,
stimulating, sometimes a little ruthless, but always invigorating. He
admired me for my strength of resistance, and had faith in my
tenacity, and this belief he had in me, kept me strong; I can honestly
say that during that dark period of my life, Joe Boyle often kept me
from despairing.

When Easter came I obtained permission from the King to leave
for what I continue to call the “ex-front.” Nothing would induce me
to go to church with the actual Government; no prayers would have
been possible for me in their presence.

My husband was at first very displeased with me and there were
heated arguments but he finally realized that I was in no mood to be
trifled with. I could, if necessary, hold my tongue, but I could not
be bent to the will of those to-day at the helm, so it was better that
we should meet as seldom as possible.

I made no secret of my feelings, and the King in the end con-
ceded that I should be more useful amongst the soldiers and peasants
than in Jassy, where I was in open opposition with all and everything
that was going on. So finally I was allowed to leave with my three
daughters for One§ti and Cotofanesti where my little wooden house
had been rebuilt.

During all the following months this primitive wooden abode became
my dearest refuge and like Joe Boyle, a real source of health and
recuperation.

Cotofanesti, Friday, April 20th/ May 3rd, 1918.

Although I slept in the train I spent the whole day at my empty
little house, which has been rebuilt after the fire, but which is quite
bare of furniture for the present, except for the big table in the dining-
living-room and a few chairs.

I want to put it in order so that I can come here occasionally when I
need a rest from the horrible atmosphere of Jassy.

I brought also Madame Kopkov with me to fit up some curtains for
the different rooms. I had some plain white counterpanes dyed bright

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

346

orange, and they look awfully nice with the wooden walls. I am going
to dye the walls of my own private room dark brown, which will make
it very restful. The architect came, and I explained to him about the
few simple pieces of furniture I shall need, especially one or two big,
solid tables, also some chairs and brackets.

Although the house is innocent of any furniture, I remained there
all day enjoying the early spring beauty, the budding leaves and that
delicious odour of things growing out of the ground.

There was a lot to do about the house, which kept us pleasantly
busy. I had Elisabetta, Ileana and Nini with me, and we ate a maigre
Good Friday lunch, according to Roumanian Church rules.

Mignon, who had a very bad cold, poor thing, had to be left in
the train.

I wrote a little, seated upon a very hard chair, but I greatly enjoyed
the calm, the silence, the fresh sweetness of spring.

At seven I went back to our train, which was moved to One§ti,
where, after an exceedingly frugal supper, we took part in the very long
Good Friday service in the village church, which was brimful of
soldiers and peasants.

The procession round the church was charmingly picturesque, those
hundreds of peasants and soldiers following us with small lights in
their hands, and beyond the vast military cemetery with an army of
white crosses beneath the blooming fruit trees, and on nearly every
grave a little light.

The ceremony over, I began wandering about amidst these many
graves, putting little lights upon those that had none, as many as I
could, all those walking behind me offering me their tapers to use in
this way. I seemed to be advancing through Hades.

Overhead the stars vied with the lights on the graves. It was a
wonderful picture, all those white crosses and the tiny lights beneath
the trees in full blossom.

When at last I got back to my bed, it was long before I could
sleep, as I kept thinking of all those brave young fellows lying so peace-
fully beneath the ground, so blissfully unaware of our poor country’s
torture.

DAYS OF DESPAIR

347

Cotofanesti, Saturday, April 2ist/May 4th, 1918.

We spent this day too in the little wooden home. The nightingales
were singing all round, and it was divinely peaceful. I mean to make
a treasure of this little house, with nothing but rustic things in it; I
shall only bring the beds from Jassy, because they, of course, must
be good.

We had both lunch and tea up here and finally even a hot bath,
which was prepared for me in a queer sort of tub, and, much refreshed,
I returned to our train.

The great difficulty was to keep awake for the midnight service. I
was afraid if I let myself go to sleep I should not have the energy to do
my duty.

Although I had a little nap I managed to pull myself together, and
appeared at the church on the stroke of midnight, and took part in the
“Invieri” surrounded by masses of soldiers and peasants. I did not
have the courage to stand through the whole service, which is endless,
especially in a village, so I returned to the train for a rest, and at two
o’clock I went back again accompanied only by Ballif, as Elisabetta
was too tired, to put in an appearance at the military Easter supper.
This was very nice, and beautifully arranged beneath God’s stars, not
far from the church. Two sets of tables had been spread, a large
square for the officers and, beyond this, a wider square for all the
soldiers who had come from the different regiments of the Second
Army.

I made the round of all the soldiers and broke eggs with them,
according to Roumanian custom. They were enchanted and I looked
into many bright eyes and saw the flashing of many white teeth. I then
sat down at the officers’ table and pretended to eat whilst there was
music, reciting and singing and many toasts were drunk and loyal
speeches made. Amongst my soldiers I am at peace.

I did not get to bed till four.

Easter Sunday was spent entirely amongst the peasants, going from
village to village. I loved moving amongst these simple, quiet people.
Their patience was so extraordinary and my greatest desire was to
help them as much as possible.

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

348

Ever since war had come upon us I had had the habit of taking
provisions with me wherever I went. The misery being very great,
it seemed essential never to appear anywhere with empty hands. Good
words and kind intentions were not enough ; on all occasions help had
immediately to be forthcoming.

I had a quite young footman, who always followed me. Being
mobilized he wore uniform. I had trained him to my altruistic habits,
so everything was ready at any hour or any place; at hand whenever
there was need.

We had formed a well-organized little equipe: Colonel Ballif, who
had just been promoted General, Major Georgescu his aide, Costescu
belonging to the police service, loan Macedon, my servant, and myself.

All were perfectly drilled and I had trained them to be almost as
indefatigable as myself, and for two long arduous years these four
men were eternally at my beck and call, patiently faithful.

I hated going back to Jassy, but I was never allowed to remain away
long ; I was the watchdog, the one who kept enemies at bay, so I had to
be near the King.

Jassy, Saturday, May 26th /June 8th, 1918.

A restlessly busy and upsetting day, in terrible contrast to the rest
I had found in my little wooden house. Of course I was met with all
the different news I most dislike hearing. At eleven we had a big
Requiem for our soldiers fallen in battle, a service which had been
put off continually by our Government, which also protested against our
Allies being invited. They are afraid of making the Germans angry;
this situation is absolutely intolerable; how shall we be able to live
through it without revolt?

The only foreign officer in church was Colonel Boyle, whom I had
invited before I knew that the Allies had been excluded. Boyle was
quite indifferent as to orders : I had invited him, that was quite enough
for him. What others thought about his being there was a matter of
glorious indifference to him.

As luck would have it, my very “unloved” Government was not able
to put in an appearance because of a railway strike. At this I rejoiced.

The ceremony was beautiful ; the church was filled with the regi-
mental flags, the singing was fine, the general emotion great.

349

DAYS OF DESPAIR

I stood before my high throne-chair dressed in my white Red Cross
uniform, a candle in my hand, and looked down upon the congregation,
and felt so entirely the mother of this suffering, torn and often mis-
taken, yet dearly loved people, that when the fine chorus swelled
through the great church a tremendous emotion took possession of me.
All that was and all that might have been passed before my mind; our
crushed hopes, our shattered dream, the cruel reality, the many mis-
takes; and above all, as in a vision, I seemed to see all the faces of
the dead, who had died for a cause that they, like me, had believed in.

I also saw the face of little Mircea, who had been torn from me at

the beginning of the great tragedy.

Tears welled up in my eyes and I wept; wept as only a broken-
hearted mother can weep, the mother of a dead child, of dead hopes,
the mother of a suffering people she has learned to love and who have
learned to love her.

Oh, it was an hour of profoundly tragic emotion, and yet looking
down upon those strong, honest-faced, sad-eyed, patient men, who were
holding the flags, I said to myself :

“This race will live, must live; I shall work for it heart and soul,
even if I go to pieces over the effort, as verily it seems to be a work
beyond the strength of one woman.” I thought I was destined to be
a happy, brilliant successful queen; all within me seemed to promise
this, and I seemed made for that part. But perhaps, on the contrary,
my lot is to be a tragic, vanquished queen, ever so much more tragic
than Carmen Sylva ever was with all her talk of a martyr’s crown.
I had no vocation for a martyr’s part, and yet it looks as though God
had singled out Nando and myself to bear a cross which at times
seems almost too heavy.

We lunched at a late hour and when finally I returned to my room,
I found there a whole tub of flowers, glorious roses, peonies, irises,
and bluebells; I stood dumbfounded before them. Never since my
exile had I seen such flowers. Wherever did they come from?
And suddenly I noticed a card and on it was written “Gruss aus
Cotroceni” ! — Cotroceni. . . .

Steinbach had arrived, and these were flowers from my own garden,
my own flowers, from over there. Over there where Mircea lies all

alone waiting for us.

350

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

This quite broke me down and turning to Helene Perticari, who was
beside me, I fell into her arms and we both wept as though we should
never more cease weeping.

But I could not permit myself the luxury of grief : audiences were
waiting for me and I had to get through several of these before I
could find time to see Steinbach.

Steinbach, who has been guardian of our invaded home, guardian of
Mircea’s grave. Oh indeed it was enough emotion for one day, more
than enough !

To listen to all that Steinbach had to relate was excruciating pain.
Horrible! Each detail is horrible, horrible. . . . But he, too, says
that Mackensen is decent, a gentleman who tries to help the Rou-
manians and to listen as fairly as possible to the complaints of the
oppressed. He has a Scotch name, and Scotch blood in his veins, and
this is perhaps the explanation.

Steinbach implores me not to be too violent, not to show too strongly
my feelings of resentment.

Jassy, Thursday, May 3 oth/June 1 2th, 1918.

The weather has suddenly become intolerably hot, unbreathable,
all sign of rain has disappeared from the skies : we are panting.

This has been a week of audiences. I did not even try to struggle
against them, I simply let them swamp me. But to-day only one
audience counted; it stood out huge, dark and sinister; Oberst von
Brandenstein, the German officer who has come to Jassy for the
demobilization of our troops.

It was considered necessary that I should receive him, but everybody
was anxious as to what my reception of him would be. Certainly it
was a horrible moment; all my blood boiled within me at this first
contact with the enemy, and in this way! How much rather would
I have met him face to face in battle !

I steeled myself to be quite calm. The man was shy and uncomfort-
able and my heart was beating fast. However, I began by politely
asking him if he was comfortably lodged. I was quite self-possessed,
not in the least shy, but all the same there were pauses in our conver-
sation because too much lay between us, too many dead on both sides,
but on their side there was also the horrible peace they are forcing on

DAYS OF DESPAIR

35i

us. We could perhaps have been able to pass over the dead, but not
over the peace conditions, and he knew this.

We talked of the War, of the powers of hatred now let loose over
the world, of the want of food felt everywhere, of the want of rain
here that may mean famine to many, all this only from a general point
of view, but all the while feeling the immense, unspoken horror which
lay behind each one of our words.

There was only one more personal thing that I said when I told him
that I had heard that Mackensen had tried his best to be kind to the
Roumanians and that I, as their Queen, would never forget anybody
who tried to help a Roumanian. I also talked about the typhus, about
how our soldiers had died of it last year in the small villages, of how
I had been with them everywhere and how I had seen them die; but
that I wasn’t afraid of infection. I talked also of the snow, of the
want of wood and soap, and yet all the time behind the words I said,
boiled my horrible indignation about the peace conditions.

Brandenstein was neither fat nor thin, neither big nor small; he
was rather ugly and very dark, had watery eyes and was very uncom-
fortable, more uncomfortable than I was, although it was I who was
at his mercy. We behaved as so-called civilized, well brought up people
should behave, but war has torn the mask off civilization, and we both
knew it, both felt it !

It was a hideous interview and left me trembling. Que Dien ait
pitie des pauvres cccurs humains !

Towards evening I drove with Nicky in his motor to Stanca; the
temperature was horrible, Stanca was dry and thirsty and the air so
heavy that I could hardly drag myself about. I longed to lie down and
weep: lie down and die. Everything was thirsty, wanted to live, but
was dying of thirst, drying up, fading, shrivelling because the sky
won’t give it drink!

The world is dying of hate. . . .

Chapter XXVIII

PEACEFUL INTERLUDE

The King at last realized that it was better for me not to be too much
in Jassy : I had more or less reached the end of my tether, and besides I
could be of no more help for the moment. It was no good trying to
break my will, nor to hope to make me change my point of view, and I
think it was quite a relief to the “pacifists” when I begged to be allowed
to go from time to time to my little wooden house.

So there were blessed days when I was allowed to shake off the dust
of town from my heels, taking with me a friend, or one or the other of
my children to become enchanted possessors of the house on the hill.

All through my youth and later years I had yearned to spend a spring
in the country, but this joy had always been denied me; duty and
Uncle’s heavy restrictions had barred every liberty, every hope. So it
was a strange coincidence that it should have been war-time which at
last fulfilled my greatest desire : to enjoy spring in the wilds, far from
court life and scheduled obligations.

The enchantment of my freedom in the little Cotofane§ti house is
hardly to be described in words; it was ecstasy. I adored every tree,
every plant, the young foliage, the wild roses : I revelled in the sun-
rises and sunsets, in the unrestricted simplicity, the delicious isolation ;
I had achieved my dearest ideal, I was enjoying a free life in the coun-
try, I was possesser of a wee house which had several doors opening
right out on the woods !

With my ceaseless craving for beauty, I had in no time made a
treasure out of my wooden abode. My own room especially became
all my heart could desire. Its walls, ceiling and floor had been stained
dark brown. On the panelling behind my bed, which was but a broad
couch heaped up with cushions in every shade of orange, I had stretched
an old piece of Russian church brocade, mellow-tinted in different tones
of gold, and upon this throned a time-darkened icon in a silver setting.

.352

PEACEFUL INTERLUDE

353

A dusky Turkish rug lay over the floor and instead of flower-vases
I used empty shell-cases of every calibre, heavy and rusty brown. Here
and there a piece of bright green peasant pottery, a brass dish such as
the gipsies use in our country, and with the deep-toned orange cur-
tains the colour scheme was a rest for my eyes so long wearied by
ghastly sights.

This room opened out upon a wooden veranda and in its rustic sim-
plicity was indeed a chamber of peace and repose.

Also our dining-living-room was very attractive. It was a goodly
size and had in the centre a large, heavy, octagonal table. The walls
were of natural pitch-pine, but feeling the need of a violent splash of
colour, I had dyed an old bath-towel deep dark orange and this I had
spread over the centre of the table, and upon it stood a shallow brass
bowl always full of flowers or bright green foliage. When the sun
shone into the room, this bowl would sparkle like gold.

There were no pictures or prints on my plain walls, except for a
single icon representing a weird old saint with an enormously broad
beard. I called this holy gentleman “The Saint of the Four Winds,”
declaring that this was the house where the four winds met. My
venerable saint wore a jewel-studded halo round his head and was
really an impressive personage: he, too, was painted on an old-gold
background, the colour of beech trees in autumn. Undeniably my
wooden abode was an adorable retreat and everyone who saw it loved
it as I did.

Many came to visit me in my solitude, especially those who, like me,
were sick of what was going on in our official world. My doors were
hospitably open to every visitor, and my table stretched according to
the number of my guests. The generals of the different armies were the
most assiduous, Voitoianu, Grigorescu, Margineanu and my jovial
friend Mosoiu.

Colonel Boyle too came to us, and once I took him for a long drive
through the spring woods and showed him our former military posi-
tions and also the dear little monastery of Mosinoaia where several of
the bravest officers of the Second Chasseur Battalion had found tem-
porary graves.

I loved this profoundly poetical sanctuary hidden away amongst the
secular beech trees in the very heart of the forest, with its ancient

354

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

wooden church and solitary monk who was as old as my Saint of the
Four Winds, though shabbier, less complacent-looking, and with no
halo round his humble old face.

On this particular day I found an apple tree in late bloom growing
quite near the church, pink against grey. I broke some of its branches
and laid them on our soldiers’ graves.

Boyle had much to tell, and he also elaborated for me several plans
as to how I could help the poor population; he did everything he could
to ease the weight oppressing my heart. He was a wonderful friend,
strong with brave, healthy principles. He continually kept my ideal
before me. Putting me on my honour, he made all wailing seem paltry,
almost cowardly in fact. Like Ballif, Boyle had something relentless
about him, he was always in deadly earnest, but his heart was in the
right place. A great spinner of yarns, he had so many tales to tell
about his adventurous life, but we never had leisure enough to hear
them all. In times of depression he was an extraordinarily refreshing
and invigorating companion, and an unexpected touch of early Vic-
torian Puritanism added much to his quaintness. He neither drank nor
smoked. My Ileana adored him, and he filled her young soul with
strong and healthy maxims which later she carried with her out into
life.

During my sojourn at Cotofane^ti I also discovered another mon-
astery called Bogdana. I have a special love for these ancient sanc-
tuaries, mostly to be found hidden away in deep valleys far from high
roads of this noisy world.

Bogdana was a less humble monastery than Mo^inoaia; it possessed
a solid stone church surrounded by high walls and was inhabited by at
least a dozen monks.

I discovered this place of beauty on a marvellous spring day when
the young green was sprouting and the apple trees and cowslips were
in full bloom ; that enchanting season when the world seems new,
when the nightingales sing and all things are tender, succulent, rap-
turous, like a song of love.

I remember climbing a small hill behind the monastery where a
large group of fir trees stood, night-black against the sunshine of
budding beeches, and seating myself on a fallen tree, fascinated I gazed

THE KING DECORATING SOME OF OCR MEN

THE SAINT OF THE FOUR WINDS

PEACEFUL INTERLUDE

355

down upon its high encircling walls, inner court and humble church-
yard.

Cowslips in yellow profusion grew around my feet; beyond the
wooded hills were clouds of hazy green. From afar the sound of
cow-bells, the liquid note of a blackbird and coming slowly towards me
over a meadow studded with marsh-marigolds, staff in hand, a quite
young monk followed by a flock of sheep. Peace, beauty, stillness . . .
my very soul seemed to drink them in.

The charm about Cotofane§ti was that I lived in close contact with
the peasants, and as there was much want and misery I, of course,
quickly became the centre of help. My house had open doors for all
those in need, but it was not easy to cope with their many wants, and
on certain days, when they came in too great numbers, I was often
at my wits’ end. Ballif, who only half approved of my altruism, would
then shrug his shoulders and the words : “I told you so” were written
largely all over his protesting person.

He, however, procured for me a huge cauldron, and in this a thick
nourishing soup was daily prepared, around which the most destitute
and hungry would gather, bringing their own earthenware bowls and
wooden spoons. They accepted this unexpected boon with the calm lack
of astonishment characteristic of the Roumanian peasant.

There was a very miserable village with the name of Bostea Galea,
which I had specially taken under my care, and here in this village
Ileana and I had many friends. Far from the high road, Bostea Galea
could only be reached on foot, on horseback, or in an ox-cart. We knew
every house, the name of every inhabitant, how they were related to
each other and also all about their family feuds. One, Baba Elisaveta,
the most ancient of the community, had always to receive our first
visit : this was village etiquette, tier cottage was minute and very poor,
but perfectly clean and tidy. Of course her complaints knew no end:
her roof needed repairing, her hens were sick, her cow gave no milk.
Outside her crooked little door the rest of the village inhabitants would
gather ready to’ carry us off to their own homes, the moment we re-
crossed the old dame’s threshold. By the villagers she was quaintly
designated: “Stefan’s Elisaveta,” Stefan being her very old husband,
who otherwise played little part except that of being old Elisaveta’s

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

356

possessor. He seldom put in an appearance, and was seemingly more
at home amongst the sick hens and milkless cow than within the
neat poverty of his house.

The most prosperous cottage in the village was ruled over by Mother
Anica, who had a consumptive daughter Maria, and endless other chil-
dren, amongst them Stance and Dumetru, who were our constant com-
panions, spending the greater part of their day following us about or
patiently seated on our door-step awaiting our next outing.

Mother Anica was more full of lamentations than any other woman
in the village. Her care-worn face showed traces of former beauty,
and whilst she bewailed her many misfortunes, she would press the
end of her white headcloth against her mouth as though to hide its
sad resignation; she would shrug her shoulders and slowly wag her
head, but in her eyes lay the deep patience of those who till the earth.

Foremost amongst Anica’s troubles was, of course, poor sick Maria,
a lovely girl, but as pale as a church taper. Quite naturally I took spe-
cial charge of Maria and saw to it that she should be well fed whilst
I was in the vicinity, also leaving plentiful provision for her when I
should be away, but I was, alas, almost certain that saraca Maria was
not to be long for this earth.

Occasionally I would hire a cart drawn by oxen, and filling this
with food and clothing, picking our way with difficulty up and down
precipitous inclines, I would descend upon the village laden with all
those precious and unbuyable necessities the peasants had not seen
for months.

Our most faithful followers were four exceedingly ragged little
ciobani (shepherds) who had, as a matter of course, dedicated them-
selves to our service, carrying and fetching for us, and going with us
wherever we roamed. Occasionally, however, they would remember
their other duties and would then be found, switch in hand, guarding
a stray cow or a few wandering sheep.

Colonel Boyle had quaintly declared that every Roumanian boy
between the age of four and thirteen would be sent to guard something,
from a sparrow to a bull; switch in hand he would sit all day long
doing nothing, which was detrimental to his education, whilst his
sisters at an early age were worked to death helping their mothers in
their arduous household duties, washing, cooking, cleaning the house,

PEACEFUL INTERLUDE

357

feeding the pigs and hens, looking after the babies; serious-faced,
worn-out little creatures, carrying weights beyond their strength, whilst
their brothers lolled about in comfortable sloth.

Three of our four ciobani friends happened to be called “loan”;
there was the tall loan and black loan, and loan, Ileana’s favourite,
whom she had singled out as her particular chum. The fourth was
Dumetru, saraca Maria’s and Stanca’s brother. Dumetru, for some
unexplained reason, seemed to have a certain standing in the village and
was the one who was best up in all the village news. He had dark,
saucy eyes, gloriously white teeth and, like every cioban, always carried
a switch or staff in his hand.

Dumetru’ s family was the possessor of a wonderful milk-white cow.
This creature of dreams was suddenly revealed to us one day whilst
we were resting under the shade of a wide-branched lime tree. Our
long and exhausting rambles generally ended beneath this rarely beau-
tiful tree, and here I would spread a little feast, taken with me for my
young companions, whilst Ileana solemnly catechized the four shep-
herds upon their religious beliefs. Ileana was a convinced Orthodox
and very strict about what was due to the Church : there was no laxity
in Ileana’s conception of duty. There was much talk about the saints
and their different canonized virtues, St. Michael, St. John, St. Deme-
trius or the venerable Nicholas. Ileana knew all about them and was
eager to impart her knowledge. But my talk was about the War, about
our Allies and about the reverence owed to those fallen for their coun-
try. I also spoke about the distant isle upon which I had been born.

And as we sat there earnestly talking, suddenly a snow-white cow
stood before us. The sun shone on her milky coat, so that she ap-
peared to be full of light. She had about her something of the sacred
cows of India, and was quite different from the cows habitual to
Roumania. The sight was so unexpected that it was almost like a
vision. But Dumetru explained that it was their cow, and was evi-
dently flattered by our exclamations of admiration. The white cow
made, in fact, quite a hero of bare-footed Dumetru, and he smilingly
accepted this dignity.

My four shepherds were also very keen to help me in caring for
the soldiers’ churchyard perched high up above the Trotus. We often
went there together and I taught them to pull up the invading weeds

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358

and how to keep the graves tidy and neat. I had sown no end of
seeds in this enclosure, but the ground being very dry and stony, few
of them had come up, only some sunflowers and here and there a stray
anemone grown from English seeds. We nursed these plants with
breathless interest and watered them with water brought from afar, and
also often from here we would watch the sun set over the river, flooding
earth and water with fiery, molten gold.

On Sunday the workaday rags were discarded and every peasant
donned his finest costume, his whitest shirt, his gayest belt. The
women wore pleated red skirts and queer, short velvet jackets, padded
and embroidered. In solemn procession they would climb up to my
house with small bouquets of wild strawberries, or flowers tied up
with strips of coloured cloth. If I was not immediately to be found,
they would congregate around my threshold awaiting my coming.

It was an idyllic life which I deeply enjoyed, and all those who fol-
lowed me shared in my love for the place.

Celia was with me once for a few days, Celia being a very dear
friend with a marvellous musical talent, the daughter of our writer,
poet and patriot, Barbu Delavrancea. I had known her ever since
she was a small child, when she used to play the piano in Carmen
Sylva’s rooms. She was small, with a mass of naturally wavy brown
hair : enthusiastic, spontaneous, ardent and also full of fun ; we were
perfect companions and enjoyed each other’s company in a very special
way. Celia liked me to read to her, but declared that I was hopeless
whilst the wild roses were in bloom, as I never could be kept in the
house but eternally roamed about amongst these flowers, irresistible to
me ever since childhood. Elisabetta was also devoted to Celia and we
made a happy trio.

But my chief companion was Ileana; she better than anyone shared
my love for the peasants and for the little wooden house.

She came with me, accompanied only by a nursery maid, old Nini
having been left in Jassy. This was a marvellous occasion for enjoying
a liberty seldom to be had. Both of us were as prisoners who had
escaped from the enforced round, and every hour we spent at
Cotofanesti was deep joy.

It was only the very violent thunderstorms which occasionally upset
Ueana’s blissful content. Up on this exposed height the noise and clatter

PEACEFUL INTERLUDE

359

during a thunderstorm was terrific, a wonderful but also an awe-
inspiring sight. One night I remember standing on our wooden
veranda, whilst the whole world seemed to be torn by blinding sheets of
light accompanied by ear-splitting explosions. But as the spring and
early summer had been disastrously dry, the formidable deluge which
followed this particular storm was a veritable benediction.

Ileana had been given a wee baby hare, the most adorable creature
imaginable ; its eyes were huge and shiny like mountain waters, its fur
the colour of partridge’s feathers and its long whiskers quivered in time
with its anxious little nose. We both tenderly loved this baby thing
which we christened Pitera and it was our companion day and night;
it slept in Ileana’s room.

One morning Ileana rushed into my room overcome with grief ;
Pitera had been found dead between wall and cupboard, nor did we
ever rightly discover what caused our favourite’s death, but we mourned
for it deeply; it had been such a soft, tender little thing.

Every smallest incident of our days at Cotofanesti is noted down in
my diary, but I only copy out the last day. We had a pleasant young
companion with us, Lili Catargi, the eldest daughter of our Marechal
de la Cour, an intelligent girl, slim, agile, always on the move, ready
for any adventure; she simply revelled in this free, untrammelled life
and was very proud of being my chosen companion.

Cotofanesti, Wednesday, June 20th /July 3rd, 1918.

Our last day here. The sadness of it pervades the house, which with
its many flowers is looking particularly sweet. I have many lilies and
my own little brown room, with its old stuffs and orange curtains, is
perfection. We all love the little house with passionate gratitude, we
feel we would like to tell its very walls how much we love it and how
grateful we are to it for being so sweet, snug and homelike and for
having such a lovely view. Each morning on awakening, we have that
feeling and each time we come back to it after a walk or drive, also in
the night when the moon is shining, or all the stars are out when we
go to bed. We are grateful for each sunset, for each light which
plays upon the river beneath. Certainly the many peasants have become
really an invasion difficult to cope with, but there are many friends
amongst them and their confidence in me is both pathetic and touching.

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

360

Ileana lives in a world of self-created ecstasy. She has found a little
wooded corner beneath our house, which she calls her “secret garden.”
Its existence is surrounded by almost holy mystery; she talks of it with
bated breath and one of the four loans, her favourite, has been let
into the secret and works with her endlessly putting the precious
little garden in order. It is a joy to contemplate her enchantment and
to note the extraordinary glamour with which she surrounds that simple
little piece of ground. At all hours of the day she goes down to it and
then she reappears with glowing cheeks and shining eyes, bright with
the delight of this blissfully free life.

All the morning I read and wrote, but after tea we went for a last
walk having driven up to the top of the hill and coming down on foot
by other roads through the forest, ending of course by the village,
where naturally we paid farewell visits to all our humble friends. We
walked steadily for three hours.

Ileana, to her greatest delight, had got hold of a shaggy peasant
pony of two colours, with a pink nose and an anxious, patient eye, and
on this pony she rode part of the time with a grey cloth instead of a
saddle. Of course, this cloth was for ever slipping round under the
patient beast’s tummy ; this horse really had a resigned, long-suffering
air, but the slipping cloth only added to Ileana’s pleasure as nearly
everything does at that age under certain circumstances. We discovered
a new road which was quite enchanting.

The whole place was one mass of huge, sometimes man-high, flowers
which the Germans call “Lebenslichte” and which in Roumanian we
call “Luminare” but of which I do not know the English name. They
are extraordinarily decorative and shoot up everywhere like pale jets
of light.

Our most loving farewell was to sick Maria and to Mother Anica.
They had just prepared their supper in their tiny court-yard — a huge
mamaliga and cold bortch with white beans all placed upon a tiny,
flat, circular table round which the peasants squat on wee, three-legged
stools. Of course we were invited to take part in their supper. It was
a real Liebesmahl.

Slowly and sadly we returned to the beloved house which we were
to quit after supper. There was a wonderful sunset and we made
a last tour of each room, taking a fond farewell.

PEACEFUL INTERLUDE 361

Just before leaving for my last and longest stay at Cotofane§ti, we
received the news that Colonel Boyle had had a stroke whilst flying
in Bessarabia. This was a terrible blow to me. This strong, self-reliant
man had been as a rock on a stormy sea. There was something of a
sturdy oak about him and his steady strength ; now it was as though
lightning had struck the oak under which I had thought to take shelter.
It seemed incredibly unfair and cruel that Fate should thus lay low
this only friend who had remained with us when all the Allies had been
ordered to leave Roumania. And what made it doubly hard was that it
was absolutely impossible for me to go into Bessarabia just then, so
that I, who had looked after so many hundreds of anonymous sufferers,
was not able to hurry to the sick-bed of my friend.

The return from Cotofane§ti was as usual difficult. But fortunately
here also it had rained copiously and the parched land had suddenly
bloomed with a thousand flowers.

Chapter XXIX

THE TURN OF THE TIDE
Jassy, Thursday, June 21st /July 4th, 1918.

It is not easy to take up the Jassy life again, but the children are happy
to have me back.

The great event for me to-day is that I actually received two letters
from Mamma, a rather ancient one from Coburg and a much more
recent one from Switzerland. The news she gives about herself is on
the whole good, but the news she sends me about Ducky is terrible in
every way. Her spirit is so broken that even the Germans begin to be
looked upon as saviours, so ghastly is their situation in the land of
the Bolsheviks. Poor, poor Ducky, when I think of how she felt about
our mutual enemy the last time she was here ! And never shall I know
all the details of their suffering, their fear, their horror!

In the afternoon Didine Cantacuzene, who had come from Bucarest,
came to see me, and we had endless talks. On all sides there is suffer-
ing, despair, grief and misery.

I also visited Lise Soutzo, who has been operated on for appendicitis,
and is being looked after by her aunt in the Caritatoa hospital.

Jassy, Saturday, June 2$rd/July 6th, 1918.

Have developed a heavy cold and felt miserable all day, but I had, all
the same, to see many people, amongst others General Petala and Jean
Chrissoveloni to talk over my Regina Maria ambulances. Our Govern-
ment is being nasty, and Jean is being unfairly treated. I was feeling
physically unwell so I all but broke down over everything I heard.
But I gritted my teeth and remained calm and practical in spite of my
grief. It was one of those dark days, when everything seems hideous, a
Weltschmerz day, when nothing is bearable, when one sees only the
ugly side of things, and every effort towards good appears vain. I was
in the sort of mood when one would like to give up, to become non-
existent, to disappear; a horrid feeling!

362

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363

Jassy, Sunday, June 24th/ July Jth, 1918.

To-day I received Averescu, who had for some time desired to see
me. We had not met for weeks, and our last interviews had been
stormy. The first moment was not without a feeling of constraint. But
in spite of my outspokenness I have enough worldly tact to bridge over
a difficult situation. So as to keep off too burning subjects, I began
about the agrarian question, saying that I had followed up his attitude
in Parliament and was glad to see that on this point we agreed.

We talked for two hours. He was eager to explain his attitude when
he began treating for peace, and declared he would have obtained much
better conditions had he remained in power; he was eloquent, persua-
sive, conciliatory, but I am still too sore, too suspicious, to recapture
the old friendly and confidential footing of a few months ago. This
made me very sad, as the general and I had always worked together,
but there are still too many dark questions not yet explained. Some I
was able to speak about, and Averescu had of course, good reasons to
give for everything, but I am not sure that they always satisfied me.
Lately I have seen too much changing with the wind, too much howl-
ing with the wolves, and were I not a queen I would say too much
ingratitude. But a queen must not look for gratitude; she must un-
ceasingly give and ask for nothing in return.

Although my head was aching intolerably, I got through this difficult
audience pretty well on the whole. But we talked for over two hours,
and by the time the general left I was almost at the end of my tether.

I had now less to do. The welfare of the poor and suffering became
my great perplexity. Because of the heavy hand the enemy held over
us, our poor country was being drained of its last resources, my own
provisions had diminished, and I could no more replenish them via
Russia. It was a sad time, but I struggled against the overwhelming
depression as best I could.

We began talking about going to Bicaz, one of the Crown Estates in
the lovely mountain valley of the Bistri^a. There there was a big white
house on the very brink of the river, upon which the great rafts came
floating by. A quiet, idyllic place, and although the house was not very

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364

large, with a certain amount of squeezing we should be able to live
there, all of us together.

Town had become intolerable, and we felt the need of a longer rest
in really good country air; but it was still some time before we could
get off definitely.

Heavy rains had much refreshed the country all around Jassy. I
took to riding again, either with Ileana or Nicky. An enormous, heavy
hunter, bought from a Russian officer, had been added to our stables,
and it amused me to gallop this elephantine animal which I had called
Jumbo.

But of an evening I would tempt my husband out for long motor
drives, exploring the region, thus discovering many a forlorn and pic-
turesque village. The peasants were happy to see us, and wherever I
went I tried to bring a little help.

The King was a great botanist and delighted in the wild flowers
which now, after the rain, bloomed everywhere in rich profusion; he
cared for simple pleasures and I was glad to find a way of bringing
even a small joy into his harassed life.

Now I was receiving fewer people, as I had shut myself away as
much as possible from our official world, but my door was still open
to all those who asked to see me.

One day a Russian, a certain Count Ugarov, asked for an audience.
He had just come from Russia and brought me sad news about Nicky
(the Tsar) and his family, heartbreaking news about the way they are
being treated in Siberia. I am afraid they are in great danger. Aunt
Minnie, the Dowager Empress, who is in the Crimea, seems less badly
off. Everywhere sadness and anxiety.

But my chief despair was the behaviour of our Germanophile Gov-
ernment ; I distinctly felt that they were selling us to the enemy. Cling-
ing to their belief that victory would be on that side, they seemed ready
to make any humiliating concession. But I was as firm as ever, abso-
lutely relentless in my opposition, and I did all in my power to make
the King share my indignation. I remained unbendingly intransigent;
for me there was only one way, only one opinion, and to this I held
fast, indifferent to my unpopularity with those in power. The King
occasionally considered me too intractable, too categorical, but I in-
stinctively felt that my attitude of no compromise would one day be my

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365

country’s strength. I felt that the day would come when my people
would be grateful to me for being so unbending, perhaps even those,
who, to-day, considered me a pugnacious nuisance. I was there, a
shadow in the background, disapproving of their politics. To-day I was
an insupportable hindrance, but the time would come when truth would
be on my side. The faithful, as well as those who, to-day, were not
sure of their own minds, needed my strength of resistance; this was
my most absolute conviction.

About this time I find in my diary this passage :

“Nando is to receive Marghiloman to-day, who is to bring him a
paper to sign, in which he declares a general amnesty concerning all
those who betrayed our cause. He must not sign this paper; I im-
plored him to be strong and to resist Marghiloman’s coercion, but he
gave me no positive assurance. Tortured by the thought that he might
give in I wrote a fearfully energetic little note and sent Nicky over to
the King’s house to give it to him, during his audience with his premier.
Then I sat in my room and trembled; he cannot and must not sign
that amnesty; it would be a shame to him for all the rest of his life; it
would be a weakness both friend and foe would condemn.”

But it can easily be conceived that Marghiloman, though he remained
outwardly polite, could have no great love for me as I was indeed his
most implacable opponent.

But, of course, I had difficult moments with the King. I knew that
I often troubled, even exasperated him ; besides, he resented it when
people came to consult with me and found in me a resolution they did
not always find in him, and in spite of the displeasure he often showed
me, I had to stand firm. One day he, too, would recognize that I had to
have this attitude; it kept him steady and frightened those who wanted
to coerce him to do the wrong thing. It was my unshakable belief that
I was right, which gave me the sad strength to be such a termagant.

There were hours, however, when Nando let me talk calmly with
him, and then I tried to make him understand that we must complete
each other. Our characters were different, but just this difference could
be useful, if we could only find the necessary patience towards each
other’s peculiarities. I was too categorical, too conclusive, he too much
of a doubter. There had to be moments when doubt must be set aside

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366

for action, and at those moments he must forgive me for being what
he considered too excessive. Often I prayed for the tongue of angels
so that I should find the right words which would not make him angry,
but open his eyes to what should be. It must be very trying not to
be able to make up one’s mind, but it is also a tremendous responsibility
to be so sure that one is right. Occasionally the temptation came to
me, especially when I was unjustly scolded, to give up, but I am glad to
say that these hours were rare, and on the whole my unbendable con-
viction that right was on my side carried me over the most dangerous
reefs.

But certainly I was not a pleasant companion at that period; of this
I was well aware.

Finally the happy day dawned when we left Jassy for Bicaz. This
change from town to mountain air was a great relief, and we soon
found how much good it did us. The simple country life soothed our
strained nerves and we delighted in the beautiful valley, the dear little
villages, the old churches and convents, and soon became very fond of
the peasants, who all wear picturesque costumes. Numerous small
valleys branched off from the chief valley; every day there was some
new place to discover, and the wild flowers were a continual enchant-
ment.

Also we saw much less of our Government, though the ministers
appeared occasionally to worry the King with their different, sickening
demands. Generally they travelled through the night, arriving for
breakfast, which was a meal taken in common. I looked at these gentle-
men with suspicion, and their appearance generally meant difficult hours
with my husband afterwards, when my watch-dog attitude became
again most necessary. But there were also blessed days of peace when
we could breathe more easily. Besides, the news from the Allied fronts
was good; it came to us late and in small bits, but it came all the same,
in spite of German control and propaganda. I received it with almost
holy joy, but refrained from outward manifestations for fear of put-
ting out the light of hope, for fear also of fresh disappointment to
which we were, alas, too accustomed.

Carol was in command of a Chasseur regiment at Targu Neamtu,
a little town not far off. I had obtained this command for him, as I

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367

found it necessary that he should be given a responsible position, and
some real, active, military work to do. This new dignity seemed to
please him. He came occasionally to Bicaz to see us, but I did not think
he was in good health; he was too thin, he coughed, and it was as
though something were preying on his mind.

We went much about amongst the peasants and I soon discovered
their many needs. With the aid of Prince Stirbey I had managed to
buy several wagon-loads of corn-meal, that our peasants call malai and
which is their chief food. Under the supervision of Dr. Mamulea I
organized in our village a regular distribution of this precious food-
stuff, now become scarce, and also instituted a dispensary where the
sick and ailing could come for medicines and medical aid. Hundreds
came daily and we were able to do much good.

The Bistrita valley was very poor, and ever since the active fighting
had ceased the Red Cross and also the Regina Maria organization had
worked in many valleys with great devotion, looking after the destitute
peasants. Many of my friends headed these equipes, foremost amongst
these being Madame Bal§ (sister of Prince Stirbey), Dr. and Madame
Emile Costinescu, Madame Coanda and her daughters, and many
others. In a small village not far from Bicaz Tarcau, a certain Madame
Antonescu, the very soul of charity, had done wonderful and devoted
work, but having caught some infection she fell ill and died, thus sacri-
ficing her life for the poor. The peasants having dearly loved her, in-
sisted that she should be buried amongst them, and I would often go
to her grave, and those for whom she cared would flock round me, tell-
ing me all about her. “She was like a mother,” they declared, and
whilst they talked, I would see before me her young, serious and charm-
ing face as I had known her last summer in Cot5fane§ti, where together
we had looked after the wounded. Her memory was kept holy in the
village of Tarcau.

On July 22nd we were brought the news that the Tsar had been
murdered. No details, but only just the news that he had been killed,
nor was there any mention of his family.

I was horrified. So they had really done it ! I had always been afraid
it would end thus, but had hoped against hope that in some way they
could have been saved. On the 31st we had a requiem for poor Nicky
in our village church. I quote my diary :

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368

“At eleven we had a very simple and very pathetic parastas for poor
Nicky. For some reason the official world tried to prevent our having
this service, but I insisted upon it, if not officially, which I considered
would have been right, then at least privately with our household. They
were exceedingly religious and prayers for the dead meant much to
them. Poor Nicky! I shudder to think of your end, you, who knew
all of power and glory; and such a death!

“And if you had died on the throne what a fuss they would have
made, what pompous ceremonies there would have been in every church,
in every country! But to-day because you are fallen from power, an
exile, they try to ignore you; they did not even want us to have a
requiem in your memory, they would pray for the dead emperor, but
not for the martyr you are to-day ; this is humanity.

“But here, in the rustic village church, we prayed with all our hearts
for the peace of your soul. You are a poor captive no more, neither
the slave of power nor of a savage horde. Surely God recognizes in
you the good man you were. He alone will be the fair judge of the
mistakes you made whilst on the throne, for all men are mistaken, and
probably you had to die for sins not your own.

“As I stood in the small, unadorned church whilst the humble village
priest was celebrating the prescribed rites, I deeply pondered over your
life, all the past glory, the tragic end ... I remembered how we had
been children together. I saw again your gentle face. I had a vision
of your riding into Moscow for your coronation, a quite young man
surrounded by all the pomp and glory of the world, I saw you at
Tsarskoe with your children, at Constanta the last time we met.

“Dear Nicky, I loved you sincerely. Our little requiem was cele-
brated without pomp, but it is not pomp you need to-day but hearts
which can understand you and mourn for your cruel end. My thoughts
go out to you in loving remembrance; may the great belief you had in
the next world have been with you to the very end!”

Bicaz, July 19th/ August 1st, 1918.

A lovely day. I take long walks with Lili Catargi, who is as lively
and energetic as I am. I have taken again to wearing Roumanian dress
and visit the peasants in their cottages and hold converse with them.
They are delighted when I come to their homes and follow me about

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369

everywhere. They have such a charming and even poetical way of ex-
pressing themselves, and know how to show their loyalty. They are
unspoilt, unsophisticated, but are always full of many needs. They
have a child-like confidence in my power to help. I never go anywhere
with empty hands. I am training my three orphans to go with me and
carry my baskets with small gifts.

Round about tea-time General Ballard and M. Misu came with
Colonel Boyle who is to finish his convalescence here in Bicaz under
my special supervision. We have found a nice, clean little peasant
house, not far from ours where he can be lodged. I have sent over a
large English arm-chair and a few comforts.

It caused me great emotion to see my old friend again, and I noticed
that he too was deeply moved. I could not judge during this first short
meeting how he really was; I only noticed that he let the others talk
and spoke very little himself. Formerly he led the conversation.

In the evening I drove out with Nando and Elisabetta. I am always
searching for a place to build “the white house of my dreams.” To-day
I found the place, a gorgeous Hochplateau and spread out beneath it
a series of heavenly green meadows, which descend gradually in ter-
races: as background the Ciachleu, our highest mountain. If I built
my house on a certain crest I would have a frowning background of
mountains and dark forest, grand and forbidding, but before me would
be a wide and smiling stretch of green, nothing shut in about it, and
yet a magnificent, romantic setting.

I got Nando and Elisabetta to join in my enthusiasm; they agreed
it would be the place of places for a lovely white, convent-like house.
There is a question of making a dam somewhere on the Bistrita, and
then this place would be surrounded by a huge lake. On one side the
grassy ridge would run steeply down into the lake, but in front the
meadows would not be flooded, and only the last one would run down
to the water.

A wondrous place, where one day, so God wills, I shall build “the
purified house of my old age” and the name I have chosen for it is
“Fata Morgana,” as for the moment it is but a frail vision of my imagi-
nation; but if my dream comes true I shall stick to the name of “Fata
Morgana.”

After supper I had a long talk with Misu about the whole situation,

3/0

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

about our hopes and fears. He also told me that Boyle still needs much
care and must not be fatigued.

Bicaz, July 20th/ August 2nd, 1918.

I took Mignon with me to visit a poor family. We brought them
various provisions ; this was our morning walk.

At half-past eleven Boyle came to see me. I watched him anxiously.
Outwardly he seemed almost unchanged and yet there is some change,
more felt than seen. There is no difference in his face and hardly any
in his speech. His judgment seems as clear as ever, his arguments just
as precise, his attitude has the same well-known pugnacity. But some-
thing has gone from him, some of his magnificent belief in his strength,
something of that splendid self-possession and unbending force of will
over body and mind formerly his ; a certain sadness has crept into his
being. He has looked with open eyes upon the end of things. The
lightning has touched the mighty oak without having dared to fell it
to the ground, but he is no more quite whole and he knows it. It made
me sad, and the worst is, it saddens him. In former days he never
doubted his strength ; to-day he does.

For lunch we had as visitors two of our generals; Nando gave them
a “shake up,” which they needed. Misfortune is demoralizing.

Prince Stirbey came for a long talk, and as with Mi§u yesterday, I
went minutely into every aspect of our situation. Intense tact is needed ;
there is no doubt that luck is to-day on the side of the Entente, but our
situation becomes therefore all the more dangerous. Our eyes and ears
must be open, but we must be careful of every move; almost of every
word.

We finished the day with a picnic at the place of my dream-house.
I took my whole party with me and even General Ballard became en-
thusiastic about the beauty of the site, and Ballard is not a poetical
soul, but all the same I made him dream my house with me, perched
up against that gorgeous background. We copiously fed the peasants
who flocked around us whilst we supped.

Bicaz, Saturday, July 21st/ August yd, 1918.

Good news from the French front. Soissons has been taken back.
Our dear old Berthelot is commanding an army there. He gave un

THE TURN OF THE TIDE 371

ordre du jour for the English troops fighting under his command. It
was a great pleasure to read his name.

Boyle, Ballard and Mi§u came to lunch. Boyle has become much
more silent. I watched him with anxiety. I feel that he has been hard
hit and that he is recovering slowly. But really I feel that he knows
he will never be quite the same man again, and that this is terrible to
him. I must be careful and not allow him to overtire himself till his
strength comes back.

Ileana loves him and he adores the child; she does not fatigue him,
nor need he make great efforts when he talks to her. She and I together
took him to the village of Ruginesti, situated beyond the river, facing
my “Fata Morgana” site. At the very end of this village, right up
against the hill, there are a couple of old women I always go to see.
They are the poorest of the village and rather looked down upon by
those better off. I was attracted by the extreme tininess of their huts.
One of the huts especially is absurdly ramshackle, with an over-bulky
maize-covered roof. This absurd mud dwelling seems to be expiring
beneath the burden of its roof. The old woman who inhabits it has
only one foot; the stump of the other is wrapped in a bit of carpet
and she limps along with the aid of a rough staff, a regular old witch.

Her sister lives a little lower down in the same enclosure. See too
is the perfect incarnation of a witch, but she is married and lives with
a daughter with whom she is everlastingly arguing and quarrelling;
they disagree upon every mortal subject.

The only way of entering their enclosure is over a stile. My two
old women and the quarrelsome daughter await me on the further
side; I am helped over with many exclamations of welcome, and then
I am relentlessly kissed on both cheeks, which makes four kisses when
I arrive and four when I depart; as my old ladies are none too clean,
these kisses are the least pleasant part of the entertainment.

These old crones are, of course, inveterate gossips, eager to impart
all the village news. They have a healthy but not exactly Christian
detestation of their neighbours. Having been singled out for royal
attention, they, the poorest and most destitute, are experiencing the
rather fearful but thrillingly honourable discomfort of being envied.
Formerly the most despised of the community, they now find them-

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THE STORY OF MY LIFE

selves, owing to the Queen’s visits, the object of jealousy, a new
experience both exciting and uneasy.

All this is told me in many words, and with many tears; the old
body with the single foot weeps copiously. Each invective is accompa-
nied by expressive pantomiming, and at each imprecation against their
detainers they devoutly make the sign of the cross.

With big eyes Ileana listens to their weird talk. I am a thousand
times blessed for my generosity, but the evil-minded neighbours are
richly cursed in exceedingly picturesque language, worthy of the Old
Testament.

To-day, as usual, violent arguments between witch No. 2 and her
daughter. This time it was about the younger woman’s husband. Like
every self-respecting man, he was to-day a soldier in the army, but
there^-seemed to be a hitch somewhere and the old mother became loudly
abusive in her accusations against the absent one, and the daughter
more and more exasperated; of course it ended in floods of tears and
finally the grass widow cried out in her despair: “You, Mother, have
a tiny dried-up little heart, black as sin, whilst Mamma Regina’s heart
is round and red and full of love !” And whilst saying this she illus-
trated with descriptive gestures the different sizes of our vital organs.
Shutting her fist tight, she made us see the despicable size of her
mother’s, but speaking of the Queen’s round red heart, her fingers
opened and curved as though clasping a large and precious treasure.

It was as good as a play, but when the atmosphere became too tense
with family resentment, I finally suggested food, and this pleasant pro-
posal brought peace back to the party.

Ileana and “Uncle Joe” spread the repast I had brought with me in
a basket, he cutting large slices of bread which Ileana solemnly smeared
over thickly with raspberry jam.

The old woman with the carpet foot, however, continued to be
lachrymose, as weeping seemed to be her chief pleasure, until the mo-
ment when I proposed a smoke; at this a toothless grin spread com-
placently over her wrinkled face — sunshine after clouds.

And there sat the Queen of Roumania on the beaten earth seat before
the mud hut with the overwhelming maize roof, an old witch woman
on either side of her smoking pleasantly scented cigarettes, all three
enjoying this “pipe of peace” with the difference, however, that the

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373

tattered old ladies spat as neatly and cleverly as well-trained sailors
playing games on a spotless deck.

At first I felt a bit nervous about this somewhat startling exercise,
as we were sitting so very close together, but I was soon reassured
when I saw how skilfully they avoided all objects which were not to be
touched; their aim was unfailing. So I quietened down and smoked
my cigarette to the last puff, humorously enjoying a party which, al-
though not exactly conventional, had become exceedingly genial as it
always did when I proposed cigarettes.

Of course on departing I had, as usual, to submit to the sacramental
four kisses ; two on each check.

Colonel Boyle was most amused. Ileana had to translate all they
said, and once or twice he broke out into his old happy laugh.

On the way home we fed numerous small children on large round
gingerbreads I have specially made by our cook.

Bicaz, Sunday, July 22nd/ August 4th, 1918.

My name-day, Mary Magdalene. Glorious weather, but rather too
hot. Many flowers were brought and sent me, touching congratulations
from great and small. Quantities of telegrams. A breath of hope and
expectation is slowly rising again, and I am the chief centre of this
hope. I am the flame of resistance; they all know this and the news of
Allied victories makes the most timid and disheartened raise their heads
again.

Marghiloman appeared all ready for breakfast. Ileana, an ardent
little patriot, asked me afterwards how I could bear to sit at the same
table with him. “I got up and left as soon as I could,” she said — a most
withering speech.

A big lunch with many people, not particularly pleasant; as the
dining-room is too small we had to lunch on the terrace, and it was
fearfully hot, and there was a terrible glare.

After lunch I gave cigarettes to all the soldiers, and my name-day
cake to the poor, who came along the road. There are always plenty
of them !

In the afternoon we all drove in different motors to the lovely old
monastery of Durau, one of my favourite spots in this valley. It lies
off the high-road under the Ciachleu.

/

374 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

There are incredible old monks at Durau. I call these “the old
funguses.” They are so old and rusty that they look mossy and mil-
dewed, and live in incredible little huts. They never open their win-
dows, which are covered over and over with flies. Curiosity once gave
me the courage to penetrate into their remotest dwellings, but it was a
none too pleasant experience. There is one old monk, however, with
a fine face and a long white beard whom I call St. Nicholas, and there
is another dear old fellow, very tiny, who wears huge felt shoes. His
little house is perfectly dean and has a delightful whitewashed stove,
built out of bricks. It has been given all sorts of shapes to fit into the
low, crooked little room. I found the tiny little old monk sitting on a
wee, three-legged stool, peeling potatoes. I delight in these quaint old
places and love to explore every corner. The Staritz was delighted to
see me appear on my name-day, and showered blessings down upon my
head.

Our life at Bicaz continued outwardly peaceful, but beneath this
apparent calm a thousand emotions surged, a thousand anxieties had
their place.

The news from the Allied fronts filled me with hope, but the Ger-
mans, still masters in our country, tried to intimidate us in every
way, and Marghiloman seemed to be playing their game.

I had to be relentlessly watchful, never being sure what new sacrifices
or concessions the Government would try to squeeze out of the King.
Prince Stirbey and M. Mi§u were always on the alert, and kept me as
well informed as possible, but being suspected by the actual Govern-
ment, it was not easy for them to get wind of what was going on, so
their task was far from simple.

Ballif, on his side, gave me military news; he too was a real watch-
dog, with eyes' and ears wide open.

Colonel Boyle and Ileana became ever firmer friends. The visit to
the queer old women on the hillside had stimulated their interest in the
poor. They called themselves my boy scout and girl guide, and were
continually going about in the smallest and poorest villages, hunting
up the most destitute, and when a special case of misery was discovered,
I too was called upon to give my aid or advice. Our excellent colonel
was very generous with his money, and Ileana, under his intelligent

CAROL AND ILEANA

It

ONE OF MY OLD WITCHES

THE TURN OF THE TIDE

375

and masterful guidance, did excellent work. She was a willing pupil,
and it was very charming to see the earnest-minded child and the warm-
hearted old pioneer walking about together in the most forsaken
villages, feeding the children, succouring the sick and consoling the old
and helpless.

This work with the faithful “Uncle Joe,” as she called him, certainly
laid the foundation of that desire for service amongst the needy, which
developed so strongly in Ueana later on.

Those three months spent at Bicaz were full of conflicting emotions,
full of small joys and great anxieties. I have written it all down day
by day in its minutest detail, and when I turn over the pages of my
diary, I live it all over again poignantly.

The sound of rising hope throbs through it all, like anxious heart-
beats. The Allied victories meant our liberation, our saving from a
dreadful fate. It became ever more essential to cling to our ideal and
to keep steady in face of all enemy threats and cruel coercion, and I
pitted every ounce of my strength against those who tried to discourage
or intimidate the King.

The sovereign was in an exceedingly delicate situation. He felt as
we did, that the tide was turning, and that hope was being reborn;
slowly but surely. But three-quarters of our country was still in the
hands of the enemy which, feeling itself weakening, was all the more
ready to bully us as long as we were at its mercy, so the King knew
that any too premature signs of joy might lead to disaster. For the
moment he still needed the Marghiloman Government to tide over these
critical months ; above all he had to gain time.

Perhaps Marghiloman was sincere; I was too violently opposed to
what he represented to be able to look upon his politics with anything
but horror, and I do think that he profited unduly by the King’s pre-
dicament to force upon him concessions which he knew were inexpress-
ibly painful and sometimes even humiliating. He being an amiable,
polite gentleman, with pleasant ways and a smooth tongue, I was
always uneasy whenever he was boxed up alone with the King, fearing
that he would lull the royal suspicions with his charming manners,
“gilding the pill” in such a way that the King would not even realize
what disastrous concessions he was making till it was too late.

I was sometimes frantic when I heard all that poor Nando was

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

376

expected to concede; amongst other things he was to agree that the
members of the Government, headed by Bratianu, who had voted for
our entry into war on the side of the Entente should be arrested
and tried.

Marghiloman, knowing that the King could not for the moment do
without him, would continually threaten with his resignation, using this
as a means of coercion when the King resisted the demands imposed
upon him by the foe.

The King always held out to the utmost limit, and each time he had
to give in, he made his Government well understand that he only ac-
cepted under coercion, never of his free will. Thus it was only when
Bratianu himself, whom the King no more saw, but with whom he
was secretly in touch through a neutral diplomat, begged him to do so,
that he permitted that the Liberal Ministers should be put on trial.
Bratianu, who was far-seeing, had reasons to believe that this legal
measure would turn to his advantage in the end.

But His Majesty was not only in secret touch with Bratianu and
other politicians friendly to the Entente, but also through trustworthy
officers, with General Prezan, with whom, during all this horrible
period of outward relinquishing, he was secretly preparing for the pos-
sibility of mobilization. I knew this, but never discussed it with the
King, being aware of the excessive danger of any talk.

I watched the double game with a beating heart and there were times
when the emotional strain was excruciating.

I find in my diary this rather interesting passage written on the first
and fourteenth August :

“Prince Stirbey who has been in Jassy returned to-day. Of course
he had no end of disagreeable news. Amongst others he brought me
an exceedingly violent article written against me in a Budapest news-
paper. I shall stick it into my diary because it will be most exceedingly
flattering for me if our cause wins through.”

In this virulent article the Hungarian newspaper complains that I
went to visit the villages which according to the peace stipulations were
to become Hungarian, that I was spreading propaganda against them,
that I came with my motor full of gifts, and that the peasants flocking

THE TURN OF THE TIDE

377

around me had kissed my hands and wept. Finally, when leaving, I
had turned to them and said la revedere [aw revoir\ , which was a sign
that I did not seriously recognize the peace conditions. Being a very
important member of the Roumanian Dynasty this manifestation on
my part was a serious offence, and showed how dangerous it was to
leave our family on the throne. The Germans as well as the Austro-
Hungarians should insist that we be got rid of, etc. . . . etc. . . .

This article much flustered Marghiloman, who came to complain
about me to the King, and although I had not undertaken this trip
without royal consent, I had to submit to a certain amount of repri-
mand, which, however, did not much upset me.

The accusation was true : I had visited the villages in the mountains
which were to be torn from us, and I had gone with a full motor.
Most moving and heart-breaking scenes had taken place, and when the
weeping peasants flocked around me kissing my hands and deploring
their fate, I had said to them that I did not consider this a definite
good-bye; that hope lay still before us, and the last word would be
spoken by the guns of the Allies.

Imprudent language, no doubt, for a Queen who was supposed to
recognize that she was beaten; but I had never recognized this, and
could not help declaring to the irate Marghiloman that I was in no wise
repentant, and that if I should be put again in the same situation, I
would act exactly in the same way. I was building for the future ; those
unfortunate peasants had needed a word of encouragement in their
distress, I their Queen had brought it to them ; it was my right ; besides
that, I never for a moment admitted that those Roumanian villages
would really ever become alien ground.

Marghiloman clasped his hands over his head and looked upon me
as a hopeless case, which I was.

Much later our Transylvanians told me that my la revedere to those
peasants had been to them like a beacon of light in their great darkness.

Two ways of saying the same thing.

I also got into trouble about a two days’ excursion I had planned with
Carol, taking Mignon and Nicky with me. We decided to go up into
the mountains with the officers of Carol’s Vanatori de Munte battalion

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

3/8

and visit all the battlefields, the officers explaining sur place the different
attacks and counter-attacks as they had taken place last summer.

Upset by the Budapest newspaper article, the King at the last moment
tried to hinder my going. But I explained to him it was too late ; the
officers were all expecting me, then bending over him, and giving him
a hearty kiss, I said: “Who nothing risks, nothing gains.” He looked
at me, shrugged his shoulders, lifting one eyebrow right up into his
forehead as was his way, and let me go. Here is my description of
those two “military” days :

Monday, August 6th/igth , 1918.

A day of physical exertion. We met Carol at Targu Ocna with all
his officers. It was boiling hot. Military mountain ponies had been
brought for Mignon and me, and we mounted them as best we could
in our Roumanian costumes; we looked quite like mountain peasant
women, more picturesque than royal. The paths were incredibly steep,
but the view from above magnificent. We bravely followed every-
where, no matter how rough the tracks, and unflinchingly stood the
most merciless sun, sacrificing our complexions for the good cause.

Carol is excessively precise and systematic, there is never any fluster
or confusion; he organizes things according to his desires and convic-
tions, with a certain impressiveness and just a touch of pomposity, very
foreign to either of his parents, which occasionally, as his mother,
makes me smile, but which I recognize is quite a good thing on certain
occasions. His father was always too humble, not aggressive enough.
Carol never doubts that he is right and entirely justified in all he is
doing; with this he impresses others and many are ready to follow
him. As he is my child, I cannot help being a little amused, but I admit
that he does everything with a laudable sense of order. He is pro-
foundly systematic and very much convinced and earnest about all he
undertakes, which is a good quality, and he knows how to make himself
obeyed.

We went over many of the positions where I was in the spring, when
the violets were in bloom. The manifold lonely graves have been tidied
up, marked with little white birch-wood crosses and are evidently cared
for. The officers described each battle to us.

After a large lunch we returned on foot by an incredibly steep and

THE TURN OF THE TIDE

379

stony path; a great trial to my ankles. Ballif, ever at my side, would
allow no other to help me but himself. The heat was excessive and we
glowed like red peonies. Our road finally ended in a small churchyard
where many fallen officers and soldiers had been buried. Here, beside
a small wooden church, a solemn requiem was celebrated for the dead.

There was a great gathering of peasants and soldiers, and the recital
of multitudinous prayers. Mignon, after a while, overcome by heat
and fatigue felt giddy and had to be led away, but I, in spite of aching
feet, unaccustomed to such steep descents, stood it unflinchingly to the
bitter end, though I am at no time over-fond of exaggeratedly long
prayers.

I could not, however, be persuaded to accept a very hearty invitation
to a military supper, but gratefully took possession of my railway car-
riage again, where I drank a welcome cup of tea in Mignon’s cosy com-
pany. We were both feeling healthily exhausted, our cheeks burning
like fire because of over-exposure to the mountain sun and wind.

But I am pleased we came ; the officers were very glad to have us, and

I consider we must keep closely in touch with them ; they must feel our
sympathy and encouragement during this time of depression.

Tuesday, August jth/20th, 1918.

We have had a tremendous twelve hours of it. From 10 a.m. to

I I p.m. we were on the go without a moment’s pause. Started by motor
from Targu Ocna to a certain point, where we found our ponies wait-
ing for us, very steep road, very slippery saddle. Rode as far as we
could, and then continued on foot up impossibly difficult and stony
tracks to the ancient position of the Co§na : on one side a splendid view
over an enormous landscape of mountains, and on the other side down
towards the plains. These were the positions the Vanatori de Munte
had stormed and taken possession of with heavy losses of men and
officers. In those days, the mountain-side had been thickly overgrown
by forests, now the forests are cut down and the whole place was one
mass of gorgeous wild flowers, a regular orgy of colour, a delight
to the eye.

At each different point, one or the other of the officers explained
how the battles had been fought. The climb was enough to burst my
lungs, but the day was much less hot, which was a mercy. Here too

380 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

there were little graves strewn about everywhere. At each one I said a
silent prayer.

We came down on the other side of the hill. Ballif was continually
helping me, and so efficacious was his aid that afterwards my arms
were black and blue.

The descent was very difficult and a great strain on the knees; but
the spirit of our party was exhilarating, and Mignon and I felt per-
fectly at home amongst all these young fellows who had fought so
bravely and come unscathed through such dangers.

As yesterday, lunch was served in a sort of trench, quite a com-
fortable arrangement ; our meal was, however, watered by a violent
thunderstorm, which was luckily of short duration, but the downpour
was copious enough to turn the dry ground into a slippery danger. Our
final descent was most comical. Mignon, who was being helped by a
young officer, came down in the mud and the officer fell on her head.
There was much laughter and general good humour.

Another great difficulty was to get our motor, which was waiting
for us on a field, safely back out of the mud on to the high road. We
needed the help of all the soldiers available. They ran after us, and at
certain risky places actually lifted the heavy car, and at others hung
on to it to prevent it skidding into ditches or rolling down steep inclines.
It was indeed a risky and exciting experience.

All the time whilst they were exerting themselves alongside of my
motor, I kept feeding our hot, eager and joyfully helpful soldiers on
sugar which I had in abundance in a sack, for I always carry sugar
about with me for the peasants.

Finally we reached the high road without accident, but certainly not
without difficulty, and then we raced full speed past Grosavesti to
Cotofane§ti, where I wanted to spend a few hours amongst our peas-
ants. We arrived at about six, after having taken affectionate farewell
of our officers.

The news of my arrival had spread like wildfire, and all along the
way I was stopping to pick up my various ragged friends, who clung
on to every available part of my motor. And thus we dashed up to the
door of my beloved wooden house, on the threshold of which stood
faithful, but disconcertingly outspoken Mme. Stefanescu, who had

THETURNOFTHETIDE 381

been keeping an eye upon my poor. There was the broadest of grins on
her jovial face.

Not only had she tidied up my rooms, put flowers in all the vases,
but she had even baked an excellent cake. Her language was voluble
and picturesque and none too protocolaire.

I eagerly inspected the flowers I had planted round the house ; many
of the sunflowers are already heavy with seed, and the hollyhocks have
grown up tall, pink and beautiful; the marigolds and violet petunias
make a brave show. My four barefooted “loans” followed me about
proudly, feeling very “co-possessive.” I only wish Ileana were here.

Partook of a hurried tea, to which my ciobans were invited, and
then hurried off to the cemetery, which is always my first visit. Prince
Stirbey joined us there, and all together we went to my special village,
Bostea Galea. Each well-known friend had to be visited, beginning of
course with old Elisaveta, who was radiant to see me again. Poor
consumptive Maria looked terribly pale. Mamma Anica led us into her
best room, and was full of her usual laments. Night was coming on,
but I had still to go to what used to be the former hospital where a
colony of Scouts were to give me some sort of performance; rather
an ordeal after such a long day, but not to be refused. I hurried along
the river bank, and finally reached the beautiful poplar grove where
our wooden barracks still stood.

The eager Scouts sang songs, danced, recited verses, performed gym-
nastic exercises. It was now quite dark, and it was the first time I had
sat down on a chair since 10 a.m.

We finally supped in the precious wooden house at ten o’clock, feed-
ing on excellent Roumanian dishes cooked by the energetic Mme.
Stefanescu. The moon rose glorious and full, flooding my little
dwelling with silver light. At eleven I regretfully left it for my train.

Carol parted from us to go back on his own.

On the isth/2Sth of August I wrote:

On this day two years ago, our mobilization was declared. It is
Mignon’s name-day, “St. Maria Mare.”

The event of the day was that I received a Hungarian gentleman
who asked to see me. There had been much hesitation as to whether
I should receive him or not ; finally it was decided that I should, and

382 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

that also Carol should see him, so Carol came to lunch from Targu
Neamtu.

I received the man in audience at twelve. What he really wanted of
me I do not know, what he said was this : that the Hungarians of the
higher classes were indignant about the insulting articles written against
me in the Budapest paper : that the whole Hungarian society admired
me as Queen, and as a great patriot who had bravely done her duty.
It was Fate that had decreed that I had to become their enemy, but
Roumanian-Hungarian interests were so closely linked that the coun-
tries should try to live in good understanding when the war was over,
and become strong and help each other instead of quarrelling. Being
both of them agricultural countries they could rise out of chaos more
quickly than industrial countries, and if we joined forces we might
become strong factors in the remodelling of Europe. Hungary was
sick of war and tired of hating her neighbours, and her greatest grief
was that she was at war with England, which she continued to love in
spite of the existing state of affairs. I was English and, therefore, a
being of superior essence ; it was because of this also that I could
magnetize my people and had become a leader etc. . . . etc. . . .

That the moment war was over, I must come to Hungary and that
no Queen would ever receive such a reception as the Hungarians would
give me !

A strange talk, and I kept wondering what he was really driving
at, and why / had been chosen to be thus pleaded with and flattered.
Who had sent him, what did he represent?

I said very little, denied having such a preponderant influence in
politics, spoke of the unfairness of accusing me of having “made the
war,” but admitted that I was loved by my people and by the army,
having done my duty according to my lights during very difficult times.
That I had never hated any nation, but that certainly these monstrous
peace conditions had embittered my very soul, and that whilst there
were such burning frontier questions it was very difficult to speak of
a peaceful understanding, though I agreed with his general conception
of good will amongst countries. He tried to sweep aside these larger
questions, but I remained rather haughtily on my reserve. As to age, I
should say he was between forty and forty-five, he had grey hair and

THETURNOFTHETIDE 383

a clean-shaven, pleasant face. I cannot, however, remember his name ;
I am always bad about remembering names.

Afterwards, comparing notes with Carol, I found he had spoken
to him much in the same way. But Carol too could not make out exactly
who he was. Both of us have remained rather hazy about what he really
wanted, and who sent him. Upon whose authority was he speaking?

The following days were made very miserable by the Marghiloman
Government who, pressed by the enemy, became exceedingly disagree-
able to the King, who had refused to sign certain of their horrible and
humiliating laws.

We used to discuss by the hour, the King, Prince Stirbey and I,
weighing the pros and cons, examining the situation, our hopes, our
fears, planning how to behave, how to meet Marghiloman’s demands
which often amounted to chantage. Prince Stirbey had a very difficult
part, as the King counted on his advice, and at this period every counsel
had to be deeply pondered over and examined from all sides, so as to
steer our difficult way through the many dangers that hemmed us in.

Finally the King left with Prince Stirbey for Jassy, to try and find
a way of conciliating his Government without giving way beyond what
was tolerable. I saw him go with anxiety and hated to think of the
hard debates he would have with his ministers. I so often wished I
could be at his side when he had to face his tormentors ; but this was,
of course, never possible.

Whatever legends may have been related about me, I never broke
in upon an audience, but it has happened that at some particularly
anxious or crucial moment, I have sent the King a little letter, message
or note, which was to be given him during the debate, so as to keep up
his courage or warn him against some special danger.

We were now well into September and the news from the Allied
fronts was more and more reassuring; fearful battles were being
fought, but all the successes were now to our advantage, and the good
news reached us little by little, in spite of the German barrage. It be-
came more and more difficult to stand our actual Government, which
was trying to hold fact to a lost cause, desperate of course at being in
the wrong, but not daring to change face.

The autumn was one of those glorious Roumanian autumns, so full

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

384

of colour and sunshine. Our stay at Bicaz had done us a wonderful
lot of good. I was feeling extraordinarily well, my body of steel; my
very blood seemed to tingle with redoubled life, my mind was alert,
expectant, and a feeling of excitement ran as an undercurrent through
every outward action of our quiet, everyday life.

I continued to go amongst the peasants, who met me everywhere
with touching confidence. I took long walks, drives, and rides, searched
for wild flowers and eagerly explored all the beauties of the mountain
region. Ballif had procured for us some military mountain ponies, and
on these, astride, in my peasant’s dress, with one or the other of my
children, or with Lili Catargi, I would discover marvellous sites which
could only be reached thus or on foot.

I must admit that though inordinately fond of riding, I was never
a very good walker ; I shied at long climbs, but I adored roaming about
over hill and dale, mounted on these agile ponies, for which no track
was too steep and no descent too precipitous. To start off on unknown
paths gave me a feeling of delightfully unrestrained liberty, and thus
mounted I have discovered gorgeously beautiful places where I longed
to linger, but to which I was not destined to return.

I remember especially one ride with Mignon and Lili Catargi, along
a lovely, wild, forsaken-looking valley, right up into the mountains,
winding our way through a stupendous beech forest, finally following a
rough track which brought us down behind my “Fata Morgana” site.
The last part was over a narrow crest, a path leading through night-
black firs. The beauty of this ride has remained with me for all time ;
I shall never forget it. I could have shouted aloud with the joy of it
and my two young companions joined in with my ecstasy.

I like being with the young. Strong, indefatigable and blessed with
an even temper and uncrushable high spirits, I make a good leader, as
well as a pleasant companion. I feel no age when I go out thus into
the wilds of nature, and the young, because of their love of adventure,
are dearer to me than the cautious, who try to enchain me with restric-
tions and hesitations.

There was also another ride I love to look back upon. This one was
also up one of these mysterious and lovely little valleys branching out
from the central valley, with a stream rushing through it, making a

THE TURN OF THE TIDE

385

lot of fuss and noise, tumbling over large rocks and fallen trees, a wild
little river full of life and fun.

Up to a certain distance the road was quite possible, and we passed
through a charming little village with a picturesque old church. The
houses were embedded in fruit trees, heavy with red-cheeked apples or
lovely blue plums with a bloom on them almost like a butterfly’s wing.
As we entered the forest, the road became very bad and finally almost
impassable, not that it was specially steep, but it had been overlaid with
round beams, and these, because of the nearness of the river, were
rotting away and had become exceedingly slippery.

It was hard going, and we had often to get off our ponies and walk
beside them, but the forest was so grand, the leaping little stream so
full of gay enchantment, that I could not resign myself to giving up
and turning back. So slipping, stumbling and breathless we pushed on ;
Mignon and Nicky were with me, two uncomplaining companions, my
daughter flagging occasionally, but Nicky as keen as I for any adventure.

Finally we came out upon a clearing in the forest, a small green
meadow, and here we discovered a wee, wooden monastery, tiny, grey
and forsaken, guarded by a few rusty old monks in threadbare cassocks,
comparable only to my old “funguses” of Durau.

This was not at all like everyday life, but as though we had suddenly
penetrated into a long-forgotten fairy story, away from every reality.
The monks blinked at us, hardly believing their eyes. When they un-
derstood who we were, there was a good deal of genuflexion and one
of the mildewed old fellows shuffled off to sound a plaintive little bell,
which seemed to call out its astonishment, while endeavouring to be
impressive and welcoming.

We sat down for a while on the edge of the meadow, allowing our
horses to rest, whilst they eagerly cropped the short grass and we fit-
fully chatted with the bewildered old recluses.

But we could not tarry long, for we had a long and arduous return
journey to make. But in spite of the fatigue and of the exceeding
discomfort of the round-logged bridge road, we felt fully recompensed
for our undismayed efforts.

The King was very much interested in the description of our mo-
nastic discovery and wished he had been with us, but I am not sure he
would have enjoyed our slippery log road.

Chapter XXX

DIRE TRAGEDY: “ROMANIA MARE”

And here I come to an exceedingly distressful hour in our life — my
pen hesitates before it.

An almost insurmountable grief came to us on the 2nd-i5th of
September, a staggering family tragedy which hit us suddenly, a stun-
ning blow for which we were entirely unprepared.

It is so heartrending a story that I have not the courage to tell it
here ; maybe I shall never tell it, although it has been written, hour for
hour, in my faithful, perhaps all-too-faithful, diary.

I have had many difficult battles to wage, but this was the most
terrible of all, because it meant that we had to fight against one of our
own, to save him against his own will.

The King and I, surrounded by those most devoted to us, lived
through agonizing days when all the different tragedies we had been
through seemed but a prelude to what we were facing to-day.

I shall say no more; this, however, I must add; in that most cruel
of hours I learnt to know humanity as never before. Some showed both
courage and devotion beyond all praise, but there were others, those
we imagined we could count upon, who “howled with the wolves,” who
were merciless, unfeeling, and worse still, trivial and petty.

It is interesting, but also painful, to watch how each separate being
will react at a moment of superlative trial ; characters reveal themselves
at such hours, and one suddenly sees people as they really are, with
their masks off, stripped of their everyday decorum and pretences. It
left me a wiser and sadder woman.

For myself I can only say that, finding myself up against terrible
odds, I knew I must fight. And I did so, my back to the wall, des-
perately, a creature at bay, knowing Avell that those who opposed me
had strong arguments on their side.

At that hour I knew the lioness feeling, the overpowering ferocious

386

DIRE TRAGEDY: “ROMANIA MARE” 387

tenacity of a mother-creature defending its young. But it was a heart-
rending struggle because the one I was fighting for had forsaken me
suddenly after having been my best friend, my fellow-worker; my
central hope.

No, the story does not bear telling to-day; but to all those who helped
us, who stood by us, understood the agony of a mother’s heart and of a
King’s wounded pride, I would like to express my thanks. Some are
no more of this world, others have been torn out of my life by a relent-
less fate, but to one and all, to the living and to the dead I say : “Thank
you: by being what you were, you saved my belief in humanity, you
helped me to carry on. . .

This also must be said, or there would be no truth in the tale I have
undertaken to tell ; the final struggle for our country, the last convulsive
effort to cast off our chains, to come in again on the winning side,
sword in hand, was overcast, darkened, tortured by this inner grief
which so tragically intermingled with the wild ecstasy of being at last
rid of the enemy, of at last being able to lift up our heads again; the
yoke broken ; liberated, free !

But now I must return to the outward side of my tale, because there
is still a lot to tell.

Bicaz, Sunday, i6th/2gth September, 1918.

Beautiful weather. Excellent news from all the fronts which inter-
ests us, but everything is darkened because of our personal trouble.
The Allied troops are advancing everywhere, in Belgium, on the
Somme and on other parts of the Western Front. They are advancing
also in Macedonia and Palestine. But what is the most important as
far as we are concerned; Bulgaria is asking for peace! For the first
time we really see light ahead ; we have walked so long in darkness.

Marghiloman appeared decidedly inclined to be more conciliatory, so
an immediate crisis is not to be feared, though excitement is running
high and I feel the whirling of separate currents. We have, therefore,
to be doubly steady and to keep our eyes as well as our ears wide open.
In fact, we must be continually on the alert.

I advised Nando to talk to all our A.D.C.s and to explain to them
exactly what attitude we were taking about our present grief, and that
we expected our household to stand or fall with us, as at this bitterest

/

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

388

of all moments we needed the utmost loyalty inside our house, so as to
be strong against attacks coming from outside. Those who did not feel
one with us were to say so and leave.

Marghiloman remained for lunch, and afterwards I had a talk with
him. Up to the present I had avoided this, being afraid of saying
things which later could never be forgotten. To-day, knowing through
the King that he had partially come round, I took the bull by the horns
and said I was glad to hear that he meant to stand by us in this great
trial which had come to us, so that we should have time to settle it
with what we considered justice towards the offender, and in accord-
ance with our dignity as sovereigns. He answered quite loyally, so that
instead of treating him as an enemy I treated him as a friend, which
was perhaps wiser, and was certainly kinder, and this means more
to me.

Prince Stirbey, Ad. Misu, Ballif and Boyle have been a great help to
us during this terrible crisis. Stirbey fought heroically to help us
through.

Bicaz, September iSth/ October 1st, 1918.

Cambrai has fallen ! The Bulgarians have accepted the sweeping
peace conditions of the Allies. We must hope that Turkey will also
have to give in.

I supped at the Stirbeys’ small house to rejoice with them over this
good news.

Bicaz, September 20th/October 3 rd , 1918.

News from all the fronts is almost overwhelmingly satisfactory for
the Allies. St. Quentin, Cambrai have fallen. The Germans left both
beautiful old towns in flames.

These victories fill us, the subjugated, tormented, humiliated ones,
with fearful hope, but at the same time we must be prepared for any-
thing, because our invaders must sense that we are beginning to take
long breaths of relief, and they will try to make us as inoffensive as
possible. Max of Baden has become Reichskanzler. It seems there is
some change in the form of the German Reichstag, but exactly what
I have not grasped. Great events may be imminent, but we must hold
tight and be very careful.

DIRE TRAGEDY: “ROMANIA MARE” 389

Bicaz, Friday, September 2ist/October 4th, 1918.

The sensational news to-day is that Ferdinand of Bulgaria has abdi-
cated in favour of his son Boris, who was immediately crowned in
Sofia! Ferdinand is already on his way to Hungary. We have no
details of whether he abdicated under pressure or of his own free will.
Was it the Germans, the Bulgarians or the Allies who persuaded him
to leave ?

I am suddenly feeling tired and must take a little rest.

Bicaz, Sunday, September 2yd/October 6th, 1918.

Max of Baden, the new Reichskanzler, has agreed to treat for peace
on the basis Wilson has put forth. What is to come of all this, and
what will our poor country still have to suffer?

We are all tense with excitement ; events seem to come with a rush.

Bicaz, Monday, September 24th/ October jth, 1918.

Had a long, serious talk with Prince Stirbey ; events are precipitating
themselves. (I believe this is a French expression, but I am too excited
to write decently in any language.) Fresh horizons are opening before
us. Now comes a moment when one must be steady in every way and
not lose one’s head.

I am almost giddy when I think of the approaching light. But not
having lost my head during times of disaster, I really must not do so
now that luck is turning our way.

Bicaz, Tuesday, September 2^1/ October 8th, 1918.

Days full of tense but silent excitement. All that is going on in the
world just now actually means life or death to us, slavery or liberation.
We simply palpitate between glorious hope and deadly dread, but we
must try to keep outwardly calm because our country is still bristling
with enemies.

Nando had a long audience with Costica Arion, his Minister of
Foreign Affairs, and kept him to lunch. He and I sparred away at each
other with sweet smiles and words which meant more than what was
really said. Their feelings towards me to-day must be complex. As
patriots they have to rejoice that things are turning my way, but having

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THE STORY OF MY LIFE

up to now condemned my attitude, they do not, of course, know exactly
what attitude to assume.

Bicaz, Wednesday, September 26th/ October gth, 1918.

This is the news received to-day :

Advance on all the fronts; the Serbians are near Nish. In Turkey,
the Government has been overthrown, important events are expected
there.

The French continue to advance, the Germans are forsaking their
strongest positions.

After dinner started off by train from Piatra to Jassy for a parastas
for old Uncle Carol.

Jassy, Thursday, September 2yth/October 10 th, 1918.

Arrived early at Jassy. Had breakfast in my house and at half-
past eleven drove to the “Metropolie” for the requiem in a fearful
downpour. It poured in such torrents that the streets became rushing
rivers.

In church a curious feeling overcame me. I looked down from my
throne with an uncanny sensation of growing power, knowing that my
day was approaching. And I am ashamed to say that I was seized
with a quite unworthy feeling of contempt towards all those who had
tried to fight me, my ideals, and my aims ; all those politicians seemed
small to me and despicable. At the same time I knew this was a feeling
I must not give way to ; it was against all my ideas of decently playing
the game.

When Colonel Boyle came to see me in the afternoon, I confessed
to him what had suddenly come over me in church. He looked me
squarely in the eye, and with a very grim mouth said to me : “Your
Majesty, you have been a good loser, let me also find you a good
winner,” and I felt ashamed of the unfamiliar hardness which was,
quite unexpectedly, growing up in my heart.

Many people came to see me, amongst others General Vaitoianu and
Professor Panaitescu. It can well be imagined how emotional our
conversations were. These two were always among the most faithful
of my followers, each in his different way.

DIRE TRAGEDY: “ROMANIA MARE” 391
Bicaz, October ist/i^th, 1918.

For the moment none of the Allies have accepted the offer of an
armistice. There are fearful battles being waged on all the fronts.
French troops have entered Sofia, the Allies are advancing in Serbia
and Albania. Turkey is going to pieces; in Palestine, her armies are
almost completely destroyed. The German front is at last crumbling
everywhere. Conflicting news from beyond our German barrier; from
the occupied parts of the country. Some say that the enemy is getting
ready to leave, others on the contrary declare that our oppressors are
more tyrannical and insolent than ever.

About this time the “Spanish flu” began to show itself amongst the
peasants. At times I would find a whole household down with it. Dr.
Mamulea caught it himself, and was miserably ill. But we had not
yet in the least understood what a deadly sickness it was, and I used
to go about everywhere with Ileana, visiting the poorest houses, fol-
lowed by Boyle and Nini, Ileana’s nurse. I tried to give them quinine,
but it is very difficult to get a peasant to take any medicine outside a
hospital.

The days were getting much shorter and the autumn colouring was
a marvellous glory. I moved about a lot, taking long walks or drives
and helping the peasants wherever I went. It was thus that I best
stood that inner excitement about events that were taking place, and
also the grief which was continually gnawing at my heart.

In the village of Bicaz I had also a special friend, rather of the
same category as the two old witch-women on the hillside, but this
human curio was a road-mender and certainly an original. He went
by the name of Mos Cerbu (pronounced Therbu) and he too was
ancient and grimy beyond description.

Mos Cerbu was what is called a “character,” but my household was
rather horrified that I should hob-nob with so ragged an old fellow.

I once gave him a padded, khaki-coloured, Russian jacket, and as
Mos Cerbu’s habits were none too cleanly and as he dwelt in a leaking
shack on the river’s edge, this Russian jacket had become a disgrace,
but was astonishingly in keeping with the old boy’s shaggy and unkempt
beard ; both seemed to have more or less the same colour.

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THE STORY OF MY LIFE

Those, however, who despised him because of his filthy Russian
jacket and unappetizing beard, missed a great deal, because for all his
grime Mos Cerbu was both a philosopher and a poetical soul.

Unfortunately he snuffled when he talked, so that much of his
wisdom was lost upon me, when he entertained me with his meander-
ing discourse which apparently had no beginning and no end, but I
had, all the same, understood that he had vast and ambitious projects
for beautifying the Bistri(a valley, which was his pride.

He had some weird plan of how the Ciachleu (our highest moun-
tain) could be lighted at night with an artificial sun, and in some
mysterious way all these improvements and inventions were to heighten
my glory and queenly prestige. He also wanted to encourage national
dances in costume; the women of the village were to come and show
off both their art and their dress in the royal court-yard.

But the women of the village would have nothing to do with Mos
Cerbu : they despised him as thoroughly as did those at court, nor, be-
cause of his snuffles, could I always closely follow up all his arguments.
Being aggressively independent of thought, and therefore not always
strictly disciplined, the authorities and Mos Cerbu were continually up
against each other, and then I was called upon to settle the differences.

One of the chief accusations against Mos Cerbu was that he could
not be got to leave the churchyard in peace. Old Cerbu had a quite
unique feeling about the dead, and evidently had no fear of ghosts,
because he often spent his nights digging about amongst the graves.
This was reported to me and I had to interview my ragged protege
upon the subject. He asked me to come with him to the village ceme-
tery, and there, stir place, amongst the little green mounds, scratching
the back of his dishevelled head, he explained to me what the contro-
versy had been about.

It seems there had been a dozen soldiers buried here, but just any-
how, so in the night he had dug them up and laid them straight. All
through life, he declared, they had had to walk in line, so it was only
right and fair, that dead, they should lie tidily one beside the other,
so that when the Great Call came, they should be in correct military
order !

This argument was certainly to the point, and I tried to convince

DIRE TRAGEDY: “ROMANIA MARE”

393

his accusers that in principle, at least, if not in fact, Cerbu was right,
his intentions good, and it was as well to leave it at that. But I advised
my grimy friend henceforth to leave the dead in peace.

To Ballif’s honour, let it be said, that the humorous side of him
shared my sympathy for Mos Cerbu, so that he was inclined to forgive
his offences, nor did he turn up his nose more than was necessary over
the Russian coat. To me, Mos Cerbu was certainly a joy and an
entertainment !

Although this has nothing to do with actuality, it is quaint to relate
that my acquaintance with Mos Cerbu did not end with our departure
from Bicaz. For several years afterwards, to the horror of the whole
of Cotroceni, he would find his way to the capital and pay me a spring
visit.

Although other clothes had been given him, the favourite Russian
jacket was still to the fore, and the old fellow had as much as ever to
relate, but the snuffles had increased so I understood him less and less.
To the utmost disgust of my self-respecting servants I gave orders that
each time he came, Mos Cerbu should be a guest under my roof for
three days.

On his last visit, when he departed he took everything with him;
bed-clothes, towels, even the basin, soap, water-bottle and tumbler, and
when asked the reason for this licence, he declared that the Queen had
said everything in his room was his. When searching questions were
put me as to whether this were strictly the truth, I raised my shoulders,
spreading out my hands palms upwards : “Don’t be too inquiring,” I
begged, “Mos Cerbu tells and asks me so many things, and his speech
is so confusing; besides I am generally in a hurry, so that it is quite
possible that amongst other things he has asked me if the things in his
room belonged to him ; let us leave it at that ! One thing is certain,
we shall not be much poorer, but Mos Cerbu certainly richer for having
carried off the household sheets ; it is a pity he could not carry off the
bed as well, because I hardly think he is very comfortable in his shack
by the river.”

In this I had been all too right, because next spring old Mos Cerbu
did not reappear, and on making inquiries I learnt with sadness that the
old fellow had died, probably of cold, during the last awful winter,

394

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

when neither the Queen’s blankets nor the precious Russian coat had
been able to keep him warm. . . .

So much for Mos Cerbu.

Bicaz, October cjth/22nd, 1918.

The news to-day is wonderful! It is hardly to be believed; the
Allies are already at Vidin and Rustuk, on the other side of the
Danube ! They are also at Adrianople and are marching towards Con-
stantinople in conjunction with other troops that have landed at
Dedeagaci. A French aviator has flown over Jassy with messages.
All this is tremendous news for us. makes us tremble with excitement
and expectation. The Allies on the Danube, opposite our country, and
I am not there to receive them with shouts of joy!

Bicaz, Wednesday, ioth/2yrd October, 1918.

News more and more exciting. The aviator who flew over to Jassy
was from Salonica and brought me a short message from my good
friend Radu Rossetti, in which he also sends me a word from George
(King of England). They hope to find us ready when they give the
sign from over there.

George promises that Roumania will not be forgotten. His note is
written very small on a tiny piece of paper. It was written in July.
There was also a little slip of a note from our dear old Leila Milne
(the children’s governess).

Had an important talk with Prince Stirbey and the King ; it was a
difficult conversation, because certain terribly weighty decisions have
to be made, and Nando is not a man of action. But just now each
hour may count. Sometimes during these encounters I have the sensa-
tion that my hair is literally turning grey, to such a degree must I take
myself in hand not to lose my self-control: it is an almost superhuman
effort.

It is absurd to say so, but at those moments I have the same feeling
as when I am riding an intensely difficult horse. No movement must
be wrong, not even the jerk of a rein — there must be perfect calm,
perfect balance.

So many things torture my mind just now, because alongside of the
country’s need, is also the need of the one I am trying to help. I must

ION BRATIANL

KING FERDINAND

395

DIRE TRAGEDY: “ROMANIA MARE”

win through. Sometimes I actually have to lean my head against the
wall and to call upon God to give me more patience than is naturally
mine, and more tact than goes with my too-frank character which
yearns for naked truth.

In the evening the King left for Jassy with Prince Stirbey. I
longed to go with them, but at present I must keep things steady here.
I am considered a chief factor in my country’s welfare; all through I
have been the centre of manly opposition, the centre of unbending
loyalty towards the Allies, and must therefore only appear officially on
the scene again at the right moment, which has not yet come. What-
ever my excitement may be, for the present I must still lie low. But
Prince Stirbey has given me his word that he will see to it that I am
called if my presence can be helpful in any way. For the moment I
can help best by remaining utterly steady.

Bicaz, Thursday, October nth/2^th, 1918.

The Allies are advancing everywhere. In Bucarest the excitement is
great. Hope at last is rising in every heart. To have friends on the
other side of the Danube is wonderful ; if only Constantinople would
fall, then we should be no more choked, cut off, starved out !

Bicaz, Sunday, October 14 th/2jth, 1918.

Nicky arrived early from Jassy bringing interesting letters from
Nando and Stirbey. Victor Antonescu, our former Minister in Paris,
flew over with a French aviator to Jassy bringing messages. His
presence has, however, been kept a secret, and he is hidden somewhere
in Jassy. He is going to fly back with an answer, and another aviator
will be coming to fetch Flers. All this is intensely exciting and it is
a wonderful feeling to know that we are again in touch with friends
after a silence which was very much like being throttled or buried alive.

Elisabetta is down with a mild form of the Spanish flu, also the
Stirbey daughters and Mile. Florescu, Ileana’s school-mistress. I went
to visit the Stirbeys ; they were feeling very miserable, especially Marie,
the eldest, who is delicate.

I was asked from Jassy by the King to telegraph to Clemenceau;
it is considered that, being what I am, a telegram from me at this
crucial moment would have more effect than coming from anyone else

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

396

in this country, even from the King. I composed it in my own energetic
and somewhat drastic style, which Clemenceau, of all people, should
be able to appreciate !

The train between Lille and Paris has begun to run again, the first
for four years !

The Germans are seriously thinking of modifying their constitution.
They are still trying to be conciliatory, although Wilson’s answers are
getting harder and harder.

Bicaz, i6th/2gth October, 1918.

My forty-third birthday. I’m getting old, which is a pity, for I
have still such a lot to do ; a pity also because each year must inevitably
take from me something of my good looks. My people always con-
sidered me pretty, and were proud of me, notre belle Reine. In a way
it was considered one of my royal duties to please their eye, and yet
it is the only duty for which I cannot be held responsible ! When I have
lost all my good looks they are sure to imagine it is my fault, nor will
they pause to think that it will be sadder for me than for them. I have
never been specially vain, but my face has been like a friend, and if
it changes it will be like living with someone who is a stranger to me,
and it will be horrid !

I once heard a lady say whilst powdering her face to very little effect :
“Que c’est bete de vieillir!” and it is just the feeling one has; it is
stupid, unnecessary!

Pouring rain ; Nando arrived early from Jassy, feeling cold and
rather absent-minded, forgetting to congratulate me, although he had
come all the way from town to do so. Finally when he remembered,
he explained that he had not been able to think of any sort of present
to bring, but he supposed I’d best like some money for my poor, only
he did not know where his money was, etc. . . . He was absurdly
his own vague self, and I could not help giving him a hug, which made
him look at me quizzically, one eyebrow drawn right up into his fore-
head, having not entirely fathomed what my hug really meant. I was,
however, able to squeeze a bit of news out of him, but only in tit-bits,
disconnected crumbs which I had to piece together as best I could.

I received, of course, endless telegrams, and they all made allusions

DIRE TRAGEDY: “ROMANIA MARE” 397

to our rising hopes, and to my being the very centre of these hopes.
A big lunch, but it continued raining all day.

Exciting political news: Austria, as far as we can understand, is
offering separate, unconditional peace, which means, I suppose, peace
at any cost. Whether this is good for us, I cannot yet judge; anyhow,
events seem to follow each other quickly and we must be prepared for
anything and everything.

After supper Nando left again with Prince Stirbey, and I went
rather exhausted to bed.

What may my forty-fourth year bring me?

I actually received a telegram from George of England.

Bicaz, Wednesday, lyth/^oth October, 1918.

Austria has turned traitor to Germany! Somehow I think this is
dreadful. Germany is my enemy, but to-day I am sorry for her. She
kept all the others on their feet, she was the backbone. Some things
are terrible to think about ; to be forsaken by your closest Ally . . . !

Nicky telephoned from Jassy that there are inundations and inter-
ruptions on the railways. So we are wondering if we shall be able to
get to town for Mircea’s parastas on Saturday.

Bicaz, Friday, October 19th /November 1st, 1918.

The longed-for event has come about, the Turks have surrendered,
the Dardanelles are open, we are no more cut off from everything,
suffocated ; there are hopes now that we shall not starve ! This is the
news of news I have been waiting for. This was the great event we
have been looking forward to; as far as we were concerned, this was
the most important of all. There is now at least one passage open, one
of the barriers down; we can breathe again, we can get through to
the outside world. As though liberated after a siege, we feel like
shouting for joy, but for all that we are sober in our outward mani-
festations. Even Ballif, the conscientious pessimist, one who never
likes to concede to what others consider good news, admits that this
is at last something to rejoice over.

Austria is rapidly falling to pieces. What astonishing and fearful
events ! It all seems to be turning our way, but as yet I cannot quite

398 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

grasp it ; it is all coming so quickly, it is so overwhelming, so difficult
to conceive.

After tremendous rain it was a gorgeous day. I went with Simky
and Lili Catargi to “Fata Morgana.” I wanted for a last time to
absorb all its beauty, which was even more wonderful to-day with
its grand autumn colouring. It is Lib’s last day with me, and she felt
very near tears. She has been my constant companion, and a very dear
one, in spite of the disparity of age, which used to make others smile.
Her bright, rather passionate youth, which is sending out feelers on
every side, was what I needed at this period of high pressure. There
were too many pessimists about, I needed her glorious belief in me,
which carried her right into her own dreams. She has all the vivacity
and love of life I had as a girl; besides, her devotion to me warms
my heart. I defy anyone not to appreciate being exultantly loved; it is
so exhilarating!

At ten we started for Jassy.

Jassy, Saturday, October 20th /November 2nd, 1918.

Arrived early with streaming sunshine. All Souls’ Day, and it was
the day little Mircea chose to fly away from this earth; little Mircea
who was to have lived to become a man, to be a joy to us and of use
to his country. But this was not to be, and perhaps God knows best.
It is not so simple a thing to become a good man. . . .

He is waiting for us over there in the old church: Mircea, we are
perhaps coming back to you soon!

An atmosphere of excitement pervades the town; it met us at the
station. The falling to pieces of Austria has, of course, raised national
hopes to the highest degree. But we still have difficult hours before
us, and we must try to keep our people steady, which is not easy, because
their imagination is a flame and their patience has been sorely tried.

Somehow I am calmer than the others. This is probably because
although outwardly I had to comply with the attitude our country
was obliged to adopt, I was never for a single instant resigned to the
German rule, nor did I believe it would last. I never, not even in my
weakest moments, agreed with certain things that were being done.
Therefore I am not so inclined to lose my head to-day.

After breakfast, Prince Stirbey came to have a talk with me in the

399

DIRE TRAGEDY: “ROMANIA MARE”

King’s presence, drawing a very clear and precise picture of the situa-
tion. The great danger is that Bolshevism, which surrounds us on
every side, might also gain our country.

The Germans, on the occupied side, are doing all they can to spread
it. It is the chief danger, and for the moment we do not know how
near the Allied armies are; their advent would be our saving, even if
it would mean war on our territory, which although terrible would be
better than blindly destructive and all-overthrowing revolution. Stirbey
has a real talent for summing up a situation in a few words.

We thank him for bringing all sides of the picture before us. Of
course, tons les /deles had flocked to the church for the parastas, and
I believe that in most minds, as in mine, was the thought that perhaps
it would not be long before we should return to Mircea’s grave.

Boyle came to see me in the afternoon, also Poklevski, and we talked
over the possibility of getting Aunt Minnie (the Dowager Empress)
safely out of the Crimea. Boyle is ready to undertake this, he is just
the man for a daring job of this kind. I promised to help in every
way, to obtain a Roumanian ship, etc., also to get things ready for
Aunt Minnie and any other members of the family, if they can be
induced to leave Russia. Boyle will start on this mission as soon as
possible.

At eleven I left again for Bicaz with Mignon and Nicky.

Bicaz, Tuesday, October 2 yd/ November 5 th, 1918.

The Austrians have accepted a truce with the Italians, giving in to
quite terrible peace conditions. Hungary has declared herself a Repub-
lic. Extraordinary and chaotic things are going on in Austria. Exactly
what is happening in Germany, is, for the moment, not clearly to be
seen.

What sort of Europe is to emerge out of all this? I cannot help
feeling rather anxious. My thoughts go out constantly to Mamma.
What is she thinking of all this? What is she going through? And
Ducky?

Bicaz, Wednesday, October 2A/\i/N ovember 6th, 1918.

The Marghiloman Government has fallen at last ! General Coanda
is forming a cabinet with Vaitoianu, Fotin Enescu and others. It was

400

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

all done quickly and secretly in a few hours, everything having been
well prepared beforehand; a sigh of relief mounted from many a heart.
It is almost too good to be true to have friends in power again. I do
not know what the programme of this Government is to be, I only
hope that no mistakes will be made. I know there are real patriots on
watch, close beside the King, keeping him steady, helping him with
every move. Nothing is being done a la legere, I know this. St.-Aulaire
was in the plot, I believe, so was Sir George Barclay. Stirbey must
have had his hands full. I feel quite queer, being out of it all, I am
generally there snr place. But it is better thus. No one can then accuse
me of influencing the King. This is men’s work. I forgot to say that
Grigorescu, the hero of Marase^ti, is Minister of War. How proud
he must be !

Spent the whole afternoon paying good-bye visits to my different
poor. I would like to rush off to shut up my Cotofanesti house and visit
my poor there, but I received orders from Jassy not to move from
Bicaz. What events are taking place?

Bicaz, Thursday, October 2 $th/ November yth, 1918.

Have decided to leave for Jassy on Sunday. I cannot remain away
any longer, it is all too overpoweringly exciting and everything is hap-
pening so quickly. I must be with them all now, sharing the joy.

I believe Germany is being brought to her knees. She is being aban-
doned by everybody. Austria’s capitulation has opened her southern
frontiers. Bavaria is in danger. On the Western Front, Allied Armies
continue to advance. Some of our troops have been called into Bucovina
to keep order. All our Roumanians beyond the old frontiers are de-
claring themselves free to unite in one big nation. The dream of
“Romania Mare” seems to be becoming a reality. It is al] so incredible
that I hardly dare to believe it. We have been so accustomed to disaster
and trouble since the War began that it is hard to believe that our great
hour may be near !

I always believed in. the final victory of the Allies, I was one of
those who never doubted even in the darkest hour, but I never had
visions about myself as the realizer of the “Greater Roumania” dream.

I always saw myself sharing my people’s troubles and vicissitudes, but
somehow never pictured myself at the final hour of success, though

401

DIRE TRAGEDY: “ROMANIA MARE”

once long ago, I had pronounced these dangerous words : “I am one
of those who win.” I was told it was defying Fate. Am I really to
be a winner? The thought almost makes me afraid.

And curiously enough, I have always thought of the hour of victory
as a sad hour. You can only be victorious at another’s expense, and
instinctively I am sorry for that other.

I hate my enemy when he is triumphant, not when he is beaten, then
he fills me with intolerable and devastating pity.

The King has proclaimed universal suffrage and land for the peas-
ants. I am pleased he has done this without either Bratianu or Aver-
escu in power, so that it should be his name alone which will remain
attached to these reforms; the name of the modest, timid, doubting but
honest and unselfish Ferdinand I. If he can also realize the unity of
all the Roumanians, then indeed he will find his recompense for the
great sacrifice he made when he declared war.

My heart is too full to put everything down clearly. I must wait
till I can reach Jassy and I shall be told everything in detail. What a
busy time Prince Stirbey and Misu must have had!

Stirbey is certainly one who will have won his spurs if we come out
on top. He has worked and slaved unceasingly these two dreadful
years, or perhaps I should say four years, because there were also the
two years of neutrality, which were difficult enough. And at heart he
is a pessimist. But his great strength is a quiet and tenacious per-
sistence, rare in his race.

Whether my great desire that we should stand again sword in hand
beside the Allies is to be realized, remains to be seen. Germany seems
to be giving way so completely that no more fighting will be necessary,
either here or elsewhere. Yet there may be a plan on foot of which I
know nothing, I cannot help hoping there is.

If only that great grief I carry about with me day and night could
be rolled away. But how save one who does not wish to be saved?
How bitterly cruel it is !

Bicaz, Saturday, October 2jth/ November qth, 1918.

I received endless enthusiastic telegrams. The old cry of “Empress
of all the Roumanians” has begun again with fresh enthusiasm, and
with a little more reason than two years ago. Wilson has publicly de-

402

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

dared that he will stand for Roumania’s right to unite all her people.
Strange what power is being given to Wilson, a man from beyond the
seas !

The excitement is growing, growing. I find it difficult to remain
here now, but I shall soon be in the midst of the fray and with my
muzzle off. Oh, this means something to me ; I never entirely hid my
feelings, but I often had to be dumb when my blood was boiling with
indignation and revolt.

In order to be able to control my unrest, I go about amongst the
poor, dividing up my last provisions. I have been to my queer old,
tattered women on the hillside and left rich stores for the winter; I also
want to say good-bye to the sad, but intelligent, little consumptive boy
who used to run away from his hospital, doing many miles on foot,
to see “Mamma Regina.” I go into each valley in turns and take
leave of all my humble friends and their blessings are showered
over me.

Ileana, on her side, has been going daily to her proteges, faithfully
carrying on the work begun with “Uncle Joe.”

This afternoon I met a transport of Italian prisoners, stopped my
motor and gave them cigarettes and was lustily cheered. Later another
lot arrived at Bicaz. They had not eaten for twenty-four hours and I
had them fed upon whatever could be found, no easy matter, as there
is a scarcity of provisions.

And before going to bed I received from Prince Stirbey the glorious
news that the Allies, with my friend Radu Rossetti, have crossed the
Danube into our country! I have no further details, but this is the
news I have been waiting for with feverish anxiety.

Bicaz, Sunday, October 28th/ November 10th, 1918.

My last day at Bicaz ; the house is being dismantled and looks hor-
ribly dismal.

Our general mobilization has been ordered! Hurrah! We are once
more openly with our Allies, we take up our rank again amongst the
combatants. The Germans have been called upon to evacuate the coun-
try, to surrender, or to fight ! What will follow remains to be seen.

Kaiser Wilhelm and the Crown Prince have abdicated! It seems
impossible. Proud Cousin Bill! I cannot say that I like it! No doubt

DIRE TRAGEDY: “ROMANIA MARE” 403

it is a logical end, but I, for one, like a country to stand and fall with
its ruler, its King, a father with his family.

Kaiser Wilhelm tried to destroy us, but I did not want to see him
destroyed. I wanted to see him beaten : yes, that I passionately desired
because he wished to have this country wiped off the face of the earth.
For us he represented a brutal, a merciless tyranny; he had also about
him something of the proverbial “pride which goes before a fall.” But
in his way he was a force. There was something about his too ex-
uberant energy for which I always had a certain sympathy. But there
were other sides of him I could not abide. But honestly I do not like
to hear of his abdication. It hurts me somehow. Perhaps it is solidarity
of caste, because certainly there was no special love lost between us.

To-day when I went my rounds amongst the poor, I was everywhere
cheered by the peasants who were being mobilized. They were going
off stolidly from their homes again without complaint. Patient crea-
tures, I admire them. I gave them cigarettes and had my motor brim-
ful of things for the women and children.

Returned to an absolutely dismantled house, and after supper off to
Piatra to take the train to Jassy.

Jassy, Monday, October 2gth/November nth, 1918.

A tremendous day lies behind me ! I was asked to arrive at Jassy
at a later hour than had been fixed; I supposed it was because of the
mobilization and transport of troops. But the reason was that a tre-
mendous reception had been prepared for me; what a reception, and
what enthusiasm !

I tumbled out of the train straight into Nando’s arms and then I
found myself facing General Coanda our new Prime Minister, and
St.-Aulaire. All the Frenchmen who had remained in Jassy had gath-
ered together, and they were at last in uniform once more. There was
a deputation of Transylvanians headed by Mihai Popovici, Ion Vescan
and Chiroin. They offered me a bouquet of flowers and out of the
fullness of their hearts they glorified me as “The Guardian Angel of
our Great National Dream; the one who through every adversity had
never weakened or lost hope and who, like a beacon, had led them
through darkness to the great hour of light.”

And always it was with these words that I was thanked, all through

404 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

the day. . . . There were also masses of ladies, officers, professors,
students.

Everybody seemed to want to make a speech, but could not be heard
because of the cheering. There was such a noise, such a crush, so much
enthusiasm that I felt inclined both to weep and to laugh. After the
long oppression, to be able to breathe freely again, to be able to rejoice
after so much suffering, to be able openly to clasp hands again with
one’s friends, was a mighty delight.

At last, with some difficulty, silence was enforced and St.-Aulaire
stepped forward and, after having pronounced a quite perfect little
speech in the name of France, he offered me la croix de Guerre for
having been “a brave Queen and an unshakable, loyal and faithful
friend, as firm in the hour of disaster as in the hour of success.” Such
were his words.

This was almost more than I could bear without weeping; nothing
could touch me more than being treated as a soldier who had bravely
done his share.

Cheered by an immense crowd, I finally drove off with the King to
my house.

The rest of the day, as can well be imagined, was spent receiving
people who came to congratulate me and to rejoice.

One of the first who came was Prince Stirbey, and I tried to thank
him for his ever- watchful fidelity. But he is too modest, and will never
let us thank him. I alone know the arduous task he has had, how
through thick and thin he was always there in the hour of need, help-
ing the King to steer through overwhelming difficulties, past dangerous
cliffs, never giving way to discouragement, although often brutally
attacked and accused of goodness knows what intrigues. He also had
the rare moral courage of telling his Sovereigns those things which
are often hard to hear, but which helped us to overcome ourselves, to
be ready for every sacrifice, living solely in one thought — the good and
the honour of our country.

Yes, we owe him a great deal. He is not one of those who stand
for popularity, for his quiet, somewhat haughty attitude forbids this;
he will certainly never obtain full recognition, for such is the destiny
of those who work for an ideal and not for themselves. But he truly
loved his country and its rulers, and served both with fidelity and abne-

DIRE TRAGEDY: “ROMANIA MARE”

405

gation. Much of the good which has come to us to-day is thanks to
his fidelity. These pages, at least, will testify the truth, and I think
that those who have followed my story so far can easily recognize that
every word I write is the truth.

To-day events are going so rapidly that I can only note them down
as they come, one thing after another, almost hour by hour ; but what
the world will presently look like it is difficult to conceive !

I cannot get accustomed to the idea that the Kaiser and his son have
abdicated ! They say there is to be a Regency, but for whom, if Ger-
many has declared herself a Republic? It is all a jumble and I do not
like all that is happening, although our national aspirations have been
achieved along with all the rest, far beyond our wildest hopes !

Our people are off their heads with delight and enthusiasm. The
order for mobilization was received with delirious joy. Truce has been
ordered on all the different fronts, but our mobilization continues.

It is difficult to grasp so many events at once. I remain calm amidst
all the excitement, hardly daring to let myself give way to any feeling
of triumph. For me triumph can be but solemn; we have suffered so
much, and even now we are facing such extraordinary, complicated
problems. I am very consciously a Sovereign, and I fully realize that
our class is going to have a difficult position in this wild rush for
democracy. There is also that intimate grief that has come over us
which is a heartrending problem, also a cruel humiliation; at least I
feel it as such.

Besides, our own triumph is built up upon the crumbling of so much
else that I must leave it to others to sing hymns of joy. I humbly
thank God for having allowed our time of humiliation and oppression
to have such a marvellous end, but it will take time before I can
consider myself “the Great Queen” they are so eager to call me.

I received our different generals and we congratulated each other
mutually. They all thanked me for “my never-flagging spirit of re-
sistance.” I accepted their thanks with a happy feeling that I really
had been a good soldier. The meeting with Prezan was emotional; I
had been so very unhappy when we last saw each other. Grigorescu is
enchanted to be Minister of War. He declared he would have liked
to have consulted me before accepting, but I had not been there; he
was full of dignified pride.

406

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

Sir George Barclay, M. de St.-Aulaire and also M. Vopika came
to present themselves, and finally I received all the members of our
new Government. It was the first time for months that I was able to
smile upon my ministers ; I gave them my hand with pleasure and told
them so. We chatted with the greatest animation, and more than once
I made them laugh. I cannot resist my own little touches of humour,
even at my own expense. It is not always quite in keeping with the
solemnity of the occasion, but it simply bubbles up in me. I finally
begged them not to discover suddenly they would prefer a Republic,
because that would spoil all my pleasure. Upon this we all parted in
great good humour, and with many smiles they bowed themselves out
of the room.

As a conclusion to this very full day, General Ballard asked if I
would come to dine at the British Military Mission, saying that it would
mean so much to them if they could have me to-day of all days. I
accepted, taking my two elder daughters, General Ballif and a lady-in-
waiting with me. It was a happy, cheerful little party full of goodwill
and kindly feelings. Colonel Boyle was also there to rejoice with us.

And in this way, this long and too emotional day came to an end!

Jassy, Wednesday, October 31st /November 13 th, 1918.

The intense excitement continues. No end of conflicting news from
Germany. It seems to be an absolute and complete collapse of the old
state of things. It is said that the Kaiser and Crown Prince had fled
to Holland and that the Socialists had hoisted the Red Flag upon the
palace. I do not know if all this is true, but if so, it is horrible ! I keep
thinking of Mamma, who must be at Coburg, and of how dreadful
all this must be to her. The women of Germany have appealed to the
women of France and England not to let them die of starvation. What
a fearful state of affairs; what a terrible revenge for all the suffering
inflicted upon us and other countries ! It seems we shall be able to live
the whole winter upon the foodstuffs which they were transporting
out of the country, and which have now been stopped. We should
have starved this winter had we not been released, but to this they
were, of course, quite indifferent. It seems they were rifling abso-
lutely everything. And yet, for all that, I cannot look without grief
upon the collapse of a country which for many years I had loved, and

DIRE TRAGEDY: “ROMANIA MARE’’ 407

in which I was happy, and I cannot but weep with those who suffer
because of its terrible downfall. And the German soldiers were so
brave! There may be a fearful lesson in this downfall, but one that I
would rather read in history than live through.

And the vision of my sad old Mamma, who lost everything in
Russia, and must now assist at the collapse of her country of adoption.

There is talk of a triumphant entry of our troops, in company with
the Allied troops, into Bucarest. Nando has even proposed that I
should ride at his side in uniform. I would never have asked for this,
but it is, of course, by far the greatest honour that could be done me,
because if ever a queen was one with her army, I was that queen!
This I say without any modesty!

Had a sad talk with Prince Stirbey. There are violent attacks on
him, and he thinks that he should perhaps resign his position as first
dignitary of our household. They hate him because he is Bratianu’s
brother-in-law. He thinks it might give satisfaction to those who cry
for his head.

A strange world! Why should the man who helped to pull us
through be attacked? Certainly there are things I shall never be able
to understand. When I tell him this he answers sadly: “Of course
Your Majesty cannot understand such things, as you are always de
bonne foi.” This remark makes me ponder : it is true that I am always
of good faith, candid and trustworthy. That is why I am easily taken
in, I suppose; being naturally generous, I expect generosity of others.

But I cannot bear the idea of such ingratitude !

Jassy, November ist/i/^th, 1918.

Audiences all day long ; I am not allowed a moment to breathe. But
it is natural that all those who formerly in time of trouble, came to ask
my help or sympathy, should to-day come to rejoice and to congratu-
late me.

I saw Robert de Flers, who has all through been a really good friend
to Roumania. We clasped hands with great emotion, and he told me
about his exciting flight to Bulgaria and Salonica, whilst we were still
cut off from our friends, and how he carried important messages there
and back. An exciting flight.

Also Bratianu came to me, of course, for no political consideration?

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

408

separate us now. We met as two friends and fellow-workers, who had
occasionally been up against each other, but both of us were conscious
that we had done our share, never allowing events to break the ideal
we had so steadfastly clung to all through. Being a strong man, he
naturally has many enemies, for the world seldom cares to recognize
those who cannot be cut down to an everyday size.

In the afternoon there was a huge meeting of “the Women of
Roumania” in the National Theatre. I and my daughters were pres-
ent. There were many speeches and much cheering, and I had to sub-
mit to being much glorified. I accepted all the incense which was
being burnt before me as modestly as the occasion justified, and I was
proud of our Roumanian women.

A hectic time followed, a description of which is too long to copy
down day by day. Events were rushing in so fast that I had much
too little time to sit still and grasp all our joy. In grief it is good to
have too much to do, it helps one to bear the unbearable, but to-day I
would have needed a little leisure so as to be able to go deeply down
into my own heart. But the everyday needs of a whole people seemed
to be crushing in upon me with a thousand demands, so that I could
not call my soul my own, nor my thoughts, nor even my joys and
sorrows.

I had for so long been a rallying-point that now that a new era had
arisen, I just had to be there for everybody in the hour of victory, as
I had been there in the hour of despair: no fatigue must be mine. I
was in the centre of the wheel, and had to keep continually turning,
no matter if I felt dizzy or not, or if I needed rest.

Though our capital was clamouring for our return, it was delayed
because, as a last greeting before leaving, the Germans had blown up
all the bridges they could lay hands upon, thereby cutting off our road.
Early snowfalls added to the difficulties of transport and reconstruc-
tion, so we had to wait patiently till these untimely disasters could be
overcome.

Eager as I was to get back to the old home, I had, at the same time,
a feeling of reluctance to leave Jassy, become dear because of the days
of misfortune, anxiety and effort we had lived within its walls. This

DIRE TRAGEDY: “ROMANIA MARE” 409

town of exile had now a special meaning for us, and it could not be
left without a pang.

And there was also another feeling, a sort of apprehension, almost
a fear of going back to the old haunts, knowing that the world was a
changed world, and that no re-commencement is easy. Those two years
had been a lifetime. Nobody’s mentality had remained quite the same,
nor could life ever again be the same; but although I felt all this sub-
consciously, I had no idea to what a degree my apprehensions were
to prove correct.

Amongst the many who came to see me in those days was Lieutenant
Carja, one of the most terribly wounded officers in my hospital at
Bucarest ; we had looked after him with tender care, but without much
hope of saving him, as he was also a consumptive.

During our worst times of panic he had been evacuated, still very
ill, from Jassy to Russia, first to Kief and then to the Ural, because
of his lungs. Here the revolution overtook him and he was impris-
oned by the Bolsheviks, but escaped to Tiflis, where he was admirably
treated by the French and English, but these had to abandon the town
to the Turks. Carja fell ill with typhoid, but the Turks behaved
humanely, and when he was sufficiently recovered, allowed him to be
evacuated to Constantinople, where he by slow degrees worked his way
back home.

Most astonishing of all was that in spite of his many vicissitudes
he has returned in good health, and his lungs are quite healed !

He was looking very well, clean-shaven, in a neat uniform and trem-
bling with the emotion of seeing me again. He said many loyal things,
declaring he owed me his life, and whilst he said this his eyes brimmed
over with tears. I could not accept the honour of having saved his
life, but I, too, was deeply moved at this unexpected meeting and
rejoiced with him over the extraordinary luck which had carried him
safely through so many adventures to return a healthy and grateful
man.

The chief event during these weeks of waiting was the advent of
deputations from Transylvania and Bucovina, come to declare their
countries one with old Roumania, the Motherland, under whose wing
they had always hoped to unite one day.

We received them solemnly and they hailed King Ferdinand and

4io

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

Queen Marie as their deliverers; they came to us as children who
needed parents, and we accepted each other with deep emotion, remem-
bering how a short while ago our dream of union had been crushed
under the enemy’s heel.

The address brought to the King from the Bucovinians ran as
follows :

The Congress of Bucovina, representing the supreme power of the
country to-day, unanimously voted the unconditional and everlasting union
of Bucovina, within its historical boundaries, to the Kingdom of Roumania.

We praise the Almighty Providence that, after a long and sorrowful
waiting, it was granted us to see the injustice done to our country one
hundred and forty-four years ago, made good again. Proud to acclaim
Your Majesty our liberator and the bearer of all our troubles, we beg to be
shielded under Your Majesty’s sceptre. Mending the thread broken for a
century and a half, may you renew the glory of Stefan’s reign.

The President of the Congress of Bucovina,

Iancu Flondor.

Transylvania, Bucovina and even Bessarabia! Greater Roumania!
It made me almost giddy to realize the magnanimity of Fate. Certainly
our people had gone off to battle, a song on their lips, because they
were setting out to fight for the century-old dream, but between times
the grief had been so dark that to-day I was almost afraid to accept
the light of joy.

There was also this : our attainment meant the downfall, the unhap-
piness of so many that, being as I am, I could not but shudder at this
thought. So much had to fall to pieces before our unity could be
accomplished, and I was sensitive enough to be appalled at the decrees
of Fate.

We might just as easily have been amongst the vanquished, foi had
not all nations gone out to battle with the conviction that their cause
was sacred, and even if Governments, Kings and Presidents had been
mistaken, the fighting man, the soldier, had gone forth in good faith,
ready to sacrifice his life for what he was led to consider his duty
towards his country. And what sacrifices, what slaughter, how many
dead ! And more tragic, ever so much more tragic are all those graves
of the vanquished, than the graves of the victorious. They too had
fought bravely, furiously, desperately; but in vain. The thought of all

DIRE TRAGEDY: “ROMANIA MARE” 411

those lives thrown awTay, only to be beaten in the end, was torture to
me; it darkened my hour of triumph.

Kaiser William, when drunk with success, had cried out in a loud
voice that King Ferdinand would be the last of the Hohenzollerns to
sit on the Roumanian throne. King Ferdinand had said nothing, but
he had quietly, humbly pursued his thorny way. To-day, the Kaiser
and his son were without a country and King Ferdinand, loyal and
modest, was hailed as a deliverer; was the first King of all the Rou-
manians ! How not bow my head in the wonder of what had come to
pass?

Friends, who had been torn from us in the hour when we had to be
abandoned to our fate, were beginning to arrive, hurrying back to us
the moment the frontiers were open; each meeting was like a resur-
rection.

Then suddenly the 1st of December was fixed for our entry into
Bucarest. My faithful friend Colonel Radu Rossetti had arrived with
messages from General Berthelot, pressing us to come as soon as
possible, for the Allied troops were awaiting us as impatiently as our
own people, anxious to give us a tremendous reception. Bridges or
no bridges, we must put off our coming no longer ! So the final
preparations for departure were made and the great day came nearer
and nearer.

Before I left I had a last pilgrimage to make ; I had to go and say
farewell to those from foreign lands, who lay under the ground ; those
who had died for us, far from their homes.

I asked Celia Delavrancea to go with me, as her father too lies
there, that ardent patriot, who had died at the hour of our greatest
humiliation, and to-day does not know that his dream and ours has
been realized; he is not there to rejoice with us over “Romania Mare.”

So together we went, Celia and I, on that sad November day. There
was no light in the sky, a drizzling rain was falling over half-melted
snow, a stifling melancholy lay like a pall over that mournful garden
of the dead.

Hand in hand we wandered from grave to grave. Soeur Pucci, my
beloved old friend, who had been so cruelly torn from me at the hour
when the Allies had to forsake us. Indeed, her prayers for us in heaven

412

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

had not been in vain. Handsome Dr. Campbell, Colonel Dubois, Mile,
de Goutel, Dr. Santoni, and others whose fate it had been to die for
us. I remember how we had grieved over each death, be it soldier,
doctor or humble nun, and on this day of thaw and sleet, the dead
somehow seemed doubly dead.

Only Dr. Clunet was not there ; according to his own wish, he had
been buried in the garden of Villa Greerul, the hospital where he had
so faithfully worked under terrible odds.

The leafless trees wept heavy tears over our heads and close above
the ground hung a faint veil of grey mist, out of which the simple
wooden cross on Delavrancea’s grave rose ghost-like with outstretched
arms. We stood before it and words seemed useless ; we both knew
how much he had loved his country, and he was dead, as was also
Nicu Filipescu, that stormy patriot, always in such a hurry, but not
destined to see our day of fulfilment, for death takes no heed of human
dreams.

And then on Saturday, November 30th, we left and I shall quote
again from my diary :

Saturday, lyth/^oth November, 1918.

In the train on the way to Bucarest!

We are actually on the way to Bucarest !

Two years ago, exactly at this same date, we were fleeing from
our capital — exiles, not knowing whither we were going. Two years,
and what years !

How much has been endured, what terrible events, how much suffer-
ing, how much despair and hope, like a dwindling light, becoming
fainter and fainter! And yet we hung on desperately, and I for one,
never admitted that we were beaten, but only betrayed by Russia’s
downfall. Luckless and suffering Russia!

And during these two years, what work, what effort ; a heartrending
series of misfortunes, a situation almost fantastically tragic, with all
odds against us.

And yet, in looking back, I cannot but call them great years, when
never-ceasing tribulation forced each man to give his best, and if he
had nothing to give, then he was simply non-existent. I can even call
them blessed years, for they brought me quite close to the heart of

DIRE TRAGEDY: “ROMANIA MARE” 413

my people, they taught me to shun no effort, to fear no danger, to
overcome all weakness, and to be ready day and night for every
emergency.

Now the long nightmare is over, and the dream of Greater Rou-
mania has become a reality, and we are on our way home !

Nando, whom many doubted, returns as a deliverer, having achieved
the unity of his people. The sacrifice he made has been recompensed ;
to-day his name is blessed by one and all.

Marvellous indeed are the ways of God ; great and fearful !

At every station eager crowds, hundreds of soldiers, frantic cheer-
ing, music, singing, the waving of many flags, general jubilation.

Braila, in particular, the first of the liberated towns we came back
to, was mad with joy. At the station we were nearly torn to pieces
by the enchanted crowd.

My heart feels full to overflowing — and to-morrow I shall be able
to kneel at Mircea’s grave. . . .

Cotroceni, Sunday, November iSth/ December 1st, 1918.

We are back ! Actually back again in the old home after two years’
exile, and dare I utter the great word — we have returned triumphant.

I do not say this in a spirit of pride, but humbly, as one who desires
to fall on her knees and render thanks.

How even try to describe the day of emotion which lies behind us ?
Adjectives sound so hollow when one tries to put it all down on paper;
it was a day of wild, delirious enthusiasm.

In spite of transport difficulties and the destruction the enemy had left
in his wake, everything went without a hitch ; even the weather behaved,
but torrential rain had made havoc of the worn-out roads. Our train,
however, arrived almost according to schedule. I confess that I was
feeling tremendously excited, and my fingers trembled as I fastened
the buttons of my military tunic, which with its leather belt had been
made for the occasion. As head-dress I wore a grey astrakhan bonnet
with a strap under my chin, which gave me the look of a healthy, chubby
youth. This get-up was completed by a long military mantle with a
fur collar. I give all these details because one day it may be amusing
to remember how I was dressed.

We were met at the station of Mogosoia by our portly friend, General

414

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

Berthelot, and by several English and French officers, and of course, also
our generals, headed by Prezan; Radu Rossetti was also there with a
beaming smile on his kindly face. It can well be imagined with what
deep emotion we greeted each other. Our horses awaited us at the station.
I was to ride huge and solid Jumbo, a very tower of strength and not to
be perturbed by any sort of excitement, a wise and steadfast animal, just
what I needed for this day of noisy manifestations.

Carol had already ridden into town at the head of his regiment, and
our daughters had gone on before us in a carriage drawn by four horses.

We were the last to start, the King and I, with Nicky on one side, and
General Berthelot on the other, followed by many generals and all our
A.D.C.s. And thus we rode solemnly down the well-known “Chaussee,”
which was lined by many troops. First the French and British, and then
our own, headed by my regiment, the 4th Rosiori.

It was the first time that we saw Allied troops on our soil, and the joy
of having them with us to-day was almost more than I could bear : I felt
as though my heart must burst. Friends at last ! We had been so hope-
lessly cut off in our far corner of the world ; during the whole war we
had never been in touch with friendly armies except the Russians, and
they, alas, at the end turned into a terror instead of a reassurance.

Half-way we were stopped by a circle of priests in bright vestments,
come to bless our return, and also the Roumanian and Allied flags.
Solemn chants were sung, and we were given the cross to kiss.

A second stop was made on the square before the Calea Victoriei, and
here we were received by the mayor with the traditional bread and salt,
by our Government and many former ministers of all parties, and also
by the Corps Diplomatique and numerous enthusiastic ladies, who
showered flowers on me, none too easy to cope with on horseback.

After this followed our entry into town, down the celebrated Calea
Victoriei, dear to Roumanian hearts : the King, I, Nicky and Berthelot in
a line heading our troops, closely followed by those of our Allies. It
was indeed a triumphant march back into our capital.

The town had gone absolutely mad. It was as though the houses as
well as the pavement were cheering with the crowd. Flags everywhere,
undulating from the windows, from the house-tops, from the lamp-
posts, flags in the hands of every child. It was a giddy waving of red,
yellow and blue.

DIRE TRAGEDY: “ROMANIA MARE”

4i5

High-perched on Jumbo’s solid back, I could look over the heads
of the multitude, right into the windows of the houses, and keen-eyed
as I am, I could catch the expression of every face, answer every smile,
notice the excitement of each child, be in intimate communion with
the people’s joy.

All faces were turned toward us, and those thousands and thou-
sands of outstretched hands seemed to be taking re-possession of
the Sovereigns from whom they had been parted for two bitter years.

Bucarest had known every horror of occupation under the sway of
ruthless masters, who had heavily oppressed and tyrannized over the
population. No man’s soul had been his own; pale-faced, with
bowed heads, our people had had to submit to their fate. No voice
had dared speak above a whisper, no man had been able to go freely
about his business except those who had kowtowed to the enemy ; the
faithful had had a bad time.

And now, after these cruel two years, in spite of misfortune and
humiliation, we had come back victorious, and Roumania’s age-long
dream was fulfilled. No wonder that our people were frantic with
joy, no wonder that even the stones under our feet seemed to acclaim
us, to glory in our return.

And looking down upon all those upturned faces, it was as though
I could read the past suffering in every eye.

Our procession wound its way to the classical square, where the
statue of Michael the Brave stands brandishing his sword in his
left hand.

Here, ever since I had come to the country in 1893, an innocent and
homesick bride, I had witnessed our yearly parade ; but never a parade
such as this one, in which the French and British troops took part, and it
was with frantic cheers of exultation that our population acclaimed our
deliverers, who had come from over the Danube, having travelled from
afar so as to be with us on this day of days.

The parade was followed by a thanksgiving service at the Metro-
politan church. Whilst the guests were arriving, I was given ten min-
utes in which to change from uniform into festive attire.

The Te Deum was short, solemn, impressive; the dusky church
lighted by a thousand candles, and whilst we knelt, rendering thanks
unto God, a chorus of many voices swelled in waves above our heads.

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

416

As we stepped out of the church, General Grigorescu came forward
in the name of the army, begging the King to accept the Field-Mar-
shal’s staff. I had suggested this idea to the generals, who had adopted
it with enthusiasm, but to Nando it came as a surprise and he was
deeply touched.

And then we drove home, home to our house, to Cotroceni, where
Mircea had lain for two lonely years awaiting our return, Mircea, my
youngest, whom I had had to forsake !

So still it was in the dear, dim church : I knelt down and buried my
face in my hands.

“Mircea, I have come back!”

But Mircea was dead; neither joy nor pain could move him any
more; Mircea was dead.

All the world over there are so many dead, so many brave boys
in every land, who to-day cannot rejoice over the hour of victory,
nor weep over the hour of defeat. . . .

“Wherefore I praised the dead which are already dead more than
the living which are yet alive. Yea, better is he than both they, which
hath not yet been, who hath not seen the evil work that is done under
the sun. . .

And here I let the pen drop from my fingers. It is not the end of
my story, for it is only fairy tales which end in being “happy ever after”
— only fairy tales ; and this is no fairy tale, but the story of my life.

What came afterwards is long, very long and interesting no doubt,
but all the same this book had better end here, where I have come
back to Mircea’s grave, back to the old home.

One day, perhaps, I shall write “what came after” — this remains to
be seen, but to-day, somehow, I am moved to finish with words not
my own, the words of one who knew all about the sorrows of kings :

“This sore travail hath God given to the sons of man to be exer-
cised therewith. I have seen all the works that are done under the
sun; and, behold, all is vanity and vexation of spirit.”

INDEX

INDEX

A

Adjud, 210, 226-7, 23o; author at, 75-6
Adrianople, 394
Albania, 175, 391
Albu, Madame, 217

Alexandra, Empress of Russia, 34, 91;
Russian hatred for, 112, 123, 125; bad
influence of, 1 13 ; present for author
from, 140; and Russian revolution,
143-4 „

Alexieff, General, 144
Alexis, Grand Duke, of Russia, 134, 138
Allies, the, and Roumania, 7, 9, 26-27, 47,
51, 53, 62, 259, 275, 306, 325-6, 401-2;
author and, 23, 36, 297, 332, 340, 400;
convention with, 49-50; and Danube,
54, 394, 402; victories of, 373, 375, 383,
395; and Bulgaria, 388
Anderson, Colonel, 234, 236-7, 282, 287,
292; author and, 234, 239-40, 257, 265,
271, 307; visits hospitals, 237 ; and Rus-
sian offer of help, 244; and Zigane
music, 300, 303; sympathy of, 314;
takes leave of author, 315, 317, 320;
leaves Red Cross provisions, 324
Andrews, Mr., 153
Anet, Claude, 181-2
Angelescu, General, 194
Anica, Mother, 356, 360, 381
Antonescu, Madame, 172-3, 367
Antonescu, Victor, 305-6, 395
Arad, 26
Arges, 217

Arion, Costica, 332, 389
Arion, Virgil, 306
Armstrong, Dr., 187, 279
Austria, and Roumania, 24; and Bucovina,
27; Roumania at war against, 47; Carol
and, 50; and peace, 397, 399; downfall
of, 397-8; and Germany, 400
Austria-Hungary, 9, 310; and Roumania,
26; dismemberment of, 32; Roumanian
National Party of, 241
Averescu, General, 122, 166-7, 213, 222,
232, 250, 310, 401 ; army of, beaten back,
204; Ballif and, 215; author and, 217-
20, 222, 225, 227, 251, 280-81, 288, 304-
5, 309, 314, 363; sanatorium organized
by, 238-9; at Council of Ministers, 272;
asked to form Government, 297-8; and
new Cabinet, 298; treats for peace, 306;

and Austrian Emperor, 31 1; resignation

of, 324

Averescu, Madame, 122, 163, 166-7;

author and, 218

B

Baba Elisaveta, 355, 381
Bacau, 168, 217-8, 310; author at, 74, 122,
166; doctors at, 219
Baden, Max of, 388
B&descu, Colonel, 245
Baker, Mr., 158, 202, 214, 287, 292; author
and, 265, 276; author decorates, 315
Balanescu, Rossetti, 253
Ballard, General, 203, 282, 292, 369, 371;

takes leave of author, 315
Ballif, General, 49, 79, 130, 151, 188, 190,
302, 314, 326, 355, 374, 383, 388; as
A.D.C., 20; and author’s hospital, 52,
96-7; severity of, 57, 129, 148; bring
bad news, 60; advises author, 65, 94,
148, 326, 328; and Mircea’s illness, 68;
and tour through Moldavia, 74; accom-
panies author, 78, 100, 106, 125, 155,
159-60, 166, 172, 174, 219-20, 230, 232,
254, 287, 347, 406; at C&mpu-Lung, 80;
and flight from Buftea, 82; at Jassy, 86,
89; talks with, 95; illness of, ill, 179;
at Zorleni, 1 1 7 ; refuses to leave author,
138-9; and Rossetti, 172; pessimism of,
193; and Russian retreat, 195; leaves
for front, 205; visits hospitals, 207, 209-
10; and Averescu, 213, 215; at CotS-
f3.nesti, 223; Nicolas and, 231; and can-
teens for children, 235, 237, 248, 260-61 ;
and author’s Christmas calendar, 241 ;
visits first line trenches with author, 245 ;
and news from Russia, 250; visits Gen-
eral Mosoiu, 252; decorated by Berthe-
lot, 307; author decorates, 323; Germans
and, 343; helps author on rough path,
378-9; and Mos Cerbu, 393; and open-
ing of Dardanelles, 397
Bals, Georges, 273, 292
Bals, Mariette, 301, 367
Banat, see Temesvar, Banat of
Barca, Colonel, 287
Barclay, Lady, 77, 125, 158
Barclay, Sir George, 263, 282, 329, 406;
and message from British Government,
283; and author, 304-5, 406; and Coanda
Government, 400

420

INDEX

Barlad, ioo, 117, 120, 301, 327; hospitals
at, 93; Ferdinand at, 104
Barnova, 114
Barrett, Captain, 325
Barter, General, 195, 242
Basarabescu, General, 196
Bavaria, 400

Beaumont, Marquis de, 101, 231
Beldiman, 306

Belgium, Roumania as ally of, 47; Ger-
man invasion of, 51; Allied advance in,
387

Belgrade, 26

Belloy, Lala de, 107, 139, 200, 292
Benedictus XV, Pope, 78
Berthelot, General, 287; author and, 64,
67, 92, 152-3, 216; and military situa-
tion, 67; decorates Ballif, 307; takes
leave of author, 315, 317, 321 ; in France,
370-71; and return of author to Bu-
carest, 41 1, 414

Bessarabia, 27, 191, 329, 361; good news
from, 293; Roumania and, 296; Rou-
manian troops in, 305; Austrians in,
31 1 ; united to Roumania, 338-9, 410
Bibesco, George Valentin, 43
Bibesco, Marthe, 43, 81, 182
Bicaz, 363, 366, 393, 402; Carol at, 367;

author at, 369, 374-5, 391, 399
Bird, Mr., 263

Bistri(a valley, 217, 363, 367, 392
Blondel, M., 200, 300
Blondel, Madame, 200
Bogdan, Dr., 155
Bogdan, Madame, 239
Bogdana, 354
Bonachi, Dr., 207
Bonne, Madame, 1 74-5
Borgo, 213

Boris, King of Bulgaria, 389
Bostea Galea, 355, 381
Boio^ani, 151, 158, 195, 261; aviation
field at, 262

Boyle, Colonel Joe (“Uncle Joe”), 312,
316, 318, 345, 356, 388, 391, 406; and
author, 321, 343, 390; saves Roumanian
deputies, 344-5; and Requiem for sol-
diers, 348-9; at Cotbfanesti, 353-4;
Ileana and, 354, 371, 374-5, 402; ill-
ness of, 361; convalescence of, 369-71;
and peasants, 372-3; and Empress
Marie of Russia, 399
Braila, 103, 413
Brancovan, Collette, 139
Brandenstein, Oberst von, 350-51
Brasov, 60
Br&testi, 188

Bratianu, Ion, 28, 81, 162, 197, 293, 401;
and author, 23, 90-92, 102, 142, 407-8;
and author's letters to George V, 25;
letter from, to author, 36, 37-40; and

King’s birthday, 46; and military situ-
ation, 66; at Headquarters, 94; and
Coalition Government, 104; opposes au-
thor’s visit to Tsar, ill; visits Russia,
113, 1 1 7, 172; party against, 140; and
Grand Duchess Kyrill, 176; and au-
thor’s silver wedding, 291-2; resigna-
tion of, 296-7, 306; Government wish
to arrest, 376

Bratianu, Madame Vintila, 282
Bratianu, Vintila, 101, 119, 162, 172
Bucarest, 78, 169, 178, 216, 307, 324, 326,
343, 362; Carol’s lying in state at, 12;
hospital in palace at, 52; Bulgarians
march towards, 82; refugees from, 87;
fall of, 87-8, 174, 196, 199; author’s ar-
ticle on, 253; message to author from
ladies of, 283; envoys sent to, 306;
and advance of Allies, 395; triumphant
entry into, 407, 41 1-5; occupation of,
4J5

Buchanan, Sir George, 242
Bucovina, 26-7, 152; Russia and Rou-
mania’s claim to, 32; Roumanian troops
in, 400; union of, with Roumania,
409-10

Budapest, 376-8, 382
Buftea, 56, 71, 73, 76; author at, 42, 52,
61; and author’s birthday, 72; air-raids
at, 77-8, 81; flight from, 85
Bulgaras, 84

Bulgaria, 407; and Roumania, 24, 35,
53, 310; and Russia, 29; and England,
36; and Germany, 48; results of defeat
of, 54; accepts peace conditions, 388
Burdujeni, 152

Busche, Herr von dem, 9, 10; writes to
author, 41

C

CaiutI, 210, 225-6
Camarasescu, Yvonne, 300
Cambrai, fall of, 388
Campbell, Dr., 187, 412
Campina, 90
C&mpu-Lung, 80, 90
Campurile, 253
Candole, General, 201
Cantacuzene, Alexandrine, 43, 56
Cantacuzene, Alice, 171, 31 1
Cantacuzene, Constance, 301; her hos-
pital, 95, 105; awarded Cross, 203
Cantacuzene, Didine, 307, 362
Cantacuzene, Jean, Dr., 128, 159, 230,
287; and sanitary organization, 124,
127; and condition of hospitals, 125,
148; and Regina Maria ambulances, 245
Cantacuzene, Maruka, 75, 187, 200, 236,
277, 291; author and, 71, 269; and plan
for author to visit Tsar, 107-8; and

INDEX

421

convalescents, 202; author at house of,
2 93

Cantacuzene, Michel, 104; author and,
289, 297

Caragea, Prince, 240
Carja, Lieutenant, 409
Carmen Sylva, see Elisabeth, Queen
Carol, King of Roumania, 66, 178, 291;
death of, 11, 17, 24; tomb of, 12; funeral
of, 14; and Carmen Sylva, 17-18; and
“Conseil de la Couronne,” 50; and
war, 51; and Kaiser, 233; requiem for,
390

Carol, Prince of Roumania, 77, 92, 140,
151, 195-6, 206, 212, 237, 256, 294,
316-7, 318, 336; and Carmen Sylva,
18-19; at Scroviste Peris, 52; and Mir-
cea’s illness, 68-9; goes to front, 83,
I75> I93> 205; retreats into Moldavia,
88; at Headquarters, 95, 101; visits
Russia, 1 13, 1 17; project of marriage
of, 1 17, 13 1 ; works for author, 134,
138-9, 148; visits regiment, 141; visits
hospitals, 176, 207; and Albert Thomas,
181; drives author, 191, 260, 262; at
the front, 199, 216; returns from front,
202, 222; inspects battlefield, 208; and
General Grigorescu, 210; and Averescu,
222; indisposition of, 228-9, 231; and
peace with Germany, 258-9; and Jorga,
273; and decorations for doctors, 286;
and Crown Council, 313-4; and death
of Sister Pucci, 33-4; commands regi-
ment, 366-7; character of, 377-8; and
Hungarian, 381-2; and return to Buda-
pest, 414

Carp, Peter, 173-4; and Central Powers,
8; favours Germany, 48, 50-51; trea-
son of, 283; votes for German dynasty,
306-7; author and, 307
Casin, convent of, 169, 241, 337
Calargi, Henry, 162
Catargi, Lili, 359, 368, 384, 398
Catargi, Madame Henri, 56
Central Powers, 54; Roumania and, 8,
9-10

Cerbu, Mos, 391-4
Cerisoaia, 333

Cernowitz, 27, 195, 197; Russian failure
near, 228
Cetajuia, 202
Championere, Dr., 233
Chiroin, 403
Chitila, 63

Chrissoveloni, Jean, 95, 206; and Regina
Maria organizations, 127, 168, 362;
and plans for evacuation, 201 ; visits
hospitals, 209; builds author’s house,
2 1 1-2; author and, 226
Chrissoveloni, Nicky, 95

Chrissoveloni, Sybil, 93, 208, 211, 212,
300-301, 302; hospital of, 94, 205-6;
character of, 94-5; visits hospitals, 207,
209; author’s house, 21 1
Ciachleu, Mt., 369, 392
Cincu, Madame Constance, 20, 263
Ciocanesti, 43, 56
Clegea, 335

Clemenceau, Georges, 395-6
Clunet, Dr., 140, 158, 412; author and,
88; illness of, 152; death of, 153-4
Clunet, Madame, 158
Coanda, General, 399, 403
Coanda, Madame, 195, 291, 367
Coburg, 20, 362, 406
Coltea, hospital, 58
Comanesti, 75, 333
“Conseil de la Couronne,” 50
Constantinescu, Alecco, 113, 119; and
families of soldiers, 21; character of, 22;
at Cotofinesti, 247; author and, 263;
and Ferdinand, 267

Constantinople, 164, 410; Prince Ernie
Hohenlohe at, 20; and Russia, 51; fall
of, 55, 395: Allies march on, 394
Constantza, 66-7
Copaceni, 44-5
Copou, 159
Costachi, Lupu, 306
Costescu, 134-5, 139, 348
Costinescu, Dr., 337, 367
Costinescu, Madame, 337, 367
Cotescu, General, 80

Cotofanesti, 209-10, 217, 227, 241, 255,
266-7, 355, 367, 400; author’s house at,
223-4, 337, 345-6, 352, 360; author
leaves, 233, 261; author at, 245, 247,
355, 358-60, 380; cemetery at, 251
Cotroceni, 47, 87, 153, 243, 349; author
at, 21; General Arthur Paget at, 23; as
military centre, 52; hospital at, 54-5;
air raids at, 57-9; burial of Mircea at,
73; author parts from, 84; Mos Cerbu
at, 393; author’s return to, 416
Crainicianu, 131
Craiova, 81

Crimea, the, 144, 364, 399
Crown Prince of Germany, 136, 402, 406
Curtea de Arges, 80; Carmen Sylva at, 12;
bishop of, 13; funeral of Carmen Sylva
at, 13, 15; orphanage at, 17; funeral of
King Carol at, 13; Kaiser at, 233
Cuza, 122, 188
Czernin, Otto, 9

Czernin, Count Ottokar, 8-10, 309-10-11
D

Danube, the, 44, 54, 69. 109, 415; Rou-
mania’s frontiers along, 26; as natural

422

INDEX

barrier, 26-7; bridge over, 66; Allies on,
394-5; Allies cross, 403
Dardanelles, Roumania and, 25; defence
of, 26; attempt to force, 35-6 n.; and
Russia, 51; surrender of Turks at, 397
Decies, Lady, 237
Dedeagaci, 394

Delavrancea, Barbu, 308, 314, 358, 412
Delavrancea, Celia, 226, 228-9, 231, 247,
271; at Cotofanesti, 358; with author,
at cemetery, 41 1 ’

Deleni, 234

Denize, Mr., 64; and Mircea’s illness, 68;
with author, on train, 85, 87; and illness
of Nicolas, 260
Devaux, Dr., 233

Diamandi, 150, 176; Grand Duchess Kyrill
and, 242; sent from Petrograd, 294
Dniester, River, 27-8
Dobrugea, 54, 66, 79
Don, River, 201
Dorohoi, 238, 261
Dragalina, General, 71
Dubois, Colonel, 412
Duca, Jean, 231, 341
Ducky, see Kyrill, Grand Duchess
Duhonin, General, 270
Dumbr&veni, 159-60
Dumeni, 261
Dumetru, 356-7
Durau, 373~4

E

Edinburgh, Duchess of, 3, 399; in Ger-
many, 21; and author’s childhood, 28;
and author, 102, 203, 362; and collapse
of Germany, 406
Ekaterinoslav, 106

Elisabeth, Queen of Roumania (Carmen
Sylva), 51, 61, 66, 178, 217; death of,
11, 13; widowhood of, 1 1 ; burial of,
13-14; character of, 15-16; memories
of, 16-17; and Elisabetta, 18-19; her
belief in Germany, 47; Kaiser and, 233
Elisabetta, Princess of Roumania, 77, 113,
115, 188, 194, 217, 257, 265, 346-7, 369;
and Carmen Sylva, 13, 18-19; and
Mircea’s illness, 68; distributes pro-
visions, 142, 144; at Botosani, 196; at
Russian hospital, 204; and author, 216;
injury to knee of, 219, 221; indisposi-
tion of, 222, 223, 227, 228, 251, 395; at
Stanca, 235; at CotSfSnesti, 245; at
Roman, 265; at Villa Greerul, 267; and
children’s canteen, 273; and Celia, 358
Elise, 283

Ellis, Dr., 247-50, 326
Eltcherninoff, General, 224, 230
Enescu, Fotin, 399

Enescu, Georges, 13; as musician, 236, 277,
284, 293, 318-19

England, author’s belief in, 8, 10, 28; and
Roumania, 25-6, 47, 53-4, 222, 283,
315; and Bulgaria, 36; entry of, into
war, 50; games from, 180; author wel-
come in, 266; Roumanian Red Cross in,
274; Hungary and, 382

Entente, Triple, 57, 286; author’s con-
fidence in, 29; Bulgaria and, 35 n., 53;
Roumania and, 47, 376; mistakes of,
299; luck on side of, 370

F

Fasciotti, Signor, 99-100, 308

Ferdinand, King of Bulgaria, 35, 389

Ferdinand, King of Roumania (Nando),
4, 5> 30; and Liberals, 4; his dependence
on author, 5-6, 8, 22, 26; and foreign
politics, 6—7 ; and Carmen Sylva, 11, 16-
17; and Prince Ernie Hohenlohe, 20;
and German Emperor, 22, 41 1; and the
war, 24, 40, 63; attempts to stir up
feeling against, 29, 39; drives with
author, 42-5, 197-8. 335. 364. 3^9!
birthday of, 46, 216; and entry of Rou-
mania into war, 47 et seq., 53; and his
ministers, 50-1, 298; popularity of, 52,
179, 268; at Cotroceni, 54; and author’s
letter to Tsar, 62; and military situa-
tion, 66, no, 193-4; an<J Mircea’s ill-
ness, 68; retreats into Moldavia, 87;
at Headquarters, 92-3, 95; talks with
author, 94, 135, 394; and opening of
Parliament, 100, 104-5; and Grand
Duchess Kyrill, 105; and plan for author
to visit Tsar, in; at Jassy, 113, 122,
125, 140; at Zorleni, 117; decorates
troops, 121, 178, 336; and suspected
treachery of Sturdza, 132; suggested
visit to Russia, 140; and Tsar’s abdica-
tion, 145; at Villa Greerul, 152; and
agrarian question, 154, 156, 170; at
front, 158; and Gutchkoff, 162; Russian
soldiers and, 170; and Jews, 174; returns
from front, 183, 215; and coalition
government, 186; and Transylvanian
troops, 186; decorates Dr. Campbell,
187; decorates Madame Camarasescu,
200; holds war council, 203; and change
of command, 204; and Averescu, 222-3,
227; visits hospital, 227, 229, 232; and
Russian situation, 238, 256-7; and Pro-
fessor Masaryk, 241 ; and author’s birth-
day, 243, 396-7; and peace with Ger-
many, 258-9; and plan to leave Jassy,
267; and plan to leave Roumania, 271,
281; and parting with children, 276;
decorates Ragosa, 278; and Tcher-
bacheff, 281; and Bolsheviks, 281-2;

INDEX

decorates officers, 284; and author’s
fairy tale, 285; Russian plot to kill, 286;
silver wedding of, 289-91; sends tele-
gram to George V, 294; and new Govern-
ment, 297-8; Entente and, 298-9; pro-
motes Grigorescu, 300; and German-
ophiles, 306; and Czernin, 309-11; and
peace conditions, 309-15; and Crown
Council, 311-14; author has painful
scene with, 313; author and Carol try
to persuade, 317; says good-bye to
French Mission, 321; and Marghiloman
Government, 328, 365, 374-6, 383; and
Bessarabians, 338-9; allows author to
leave Jassy, 345, 352; disagrees with
author, 345, 36475; and generals, 370;
and author’s visit to battlefields, 378;
and family tragedy, 386-8; and Costica
Arion, 389; proclaims universal suffrage,
401; receives author at Jassy, 403-4;
returns to Bucarest, 407, 413-15; Bu-
covina’s address to, 410; and unity of
Roumania, 413
Ferigo, Colonel, 94
Ferikidy, 102, 183

Ferreyrolles, Dr., 188-90, 239; at Galata
hospital, 265
Fifield, Miss, 235, 294
Filipescu, Nicu, 41, 42, 412
Finland, 213, 298, 310
Fitzwilliam, Dr., 163, 265; takes leave of
author, 279

Flers, Robert de, 175, 223, 395, 407
Flondor, Iancu, 410
Florescu, Mile., 395
Focsani, 203, 205, 273
Fournier, Admiral, 82; author and, 92-100
France, and Russian promises, 24-5; Rou-
mania as ally of, 47; German advance
into, 50-51; Roumanians and, 180; Eng-
lish success in, 263; honours author, 305,
404

Franz Ferdinand, Archduke, 8
Frumoasa, 125, 193
Fuller, Loe, 172

G

Galata, 156, 200, 265
Galatz, 103, 231, 264-5
Gavanescu, General, 241
George V, King of England, and author,
23; author writes to, 23-8, 53-4, 325;
sends wire to author, 266, 325-6, 329,
397; sends wire to Ferdinand, 293;
Ferdinand wires to, 294; writes to au-
tor, 394

George, David Lloyd, 293
Georgescu, General, 53
Georgescu, Major, 158, 184, 214, 273, 348;
and Mircea’s illness, 68; and flight from

423

Buftea, 86; at Jassy, 89; and canteens
for children, 237, 260
Germany, author’s ties to, 7; and Italy,
23; and Roumania, 24, 25, 26, 47, 310;
Roumanian party in favour of, 48; King
Carol and, 50; offensive of, in Roumania,
57; danger of invasion by, 60; and sub-
marines, 128; America declares war on,
158; and Bolshevik Russia, 270; breaks
off armistice, 295; sends ultimatum, 296;
and Ukrainian corn, 303; Austria and,
397; abandoned by allies, 400; defeat of,
401; declared a Republic, 405; Kaiser
flies from, 406
Gerota Sanatorium, 54
Ghidigeni, 186, 195, 196, 206, 231, 267,
282; author at, 205, 208, 301; Mignon
at, 216, 228

Ghyca, Prince Leon, 151-2, 186, 234

Ghyca, Princess, 234

Giurgevo, 44

Glynn, Captain Carr, 23

Goodsell, Mr., 203

Goutel, Mile, de, 412

Grajduri, 86, 194

Grecianu, Demetre, 102, 104, 119

Grecianu, Elise, 152

Grecianu, Madame Demetre, 235

Grecianu, Madame Lucie, 159

Grecianu, Pierre, 152

Green, nurse, 178

Griffith, Evans, 278

Grigorescu, General, 168, 210, 280, 353;
and Russian troops, 206; author and,
208, 212, 284, _ 299-303, 308, 327; at
Council of Ministers, 272; Ferdinand
decorates, 291; promotion of, 300; as
Minister of War, 400, 405; and Ferdi-
nand, 416
Grosesti, 336
Gutchkoff, 161-2

H

Hansen, Dr., 27
Hantesti, 15 1
Herling, 293

Hohenlohe, Prince Ernie, 20-1
Horez, 79
Hornesti, 159-60
Humber, Dr., 161, 176
Hungary, and Roumania, 24, 26; returned
prisoners from, 336; and England, 381—
2; Ferdinand of Bulgaria in, 389; de-
clares Republic, 399

I

Ileana, Princess, 81, 102, 186, 198, 346,
364; and Mircea, 21; at author’s hos-
pital, 61-2; author and, 64, 130, 277; at

424

INDEX

Jassy, 89; illness of, 119, 130; and the
poor, 135, 391, 402; pony of, 139, 150;
at Ghidigeni, 195; pets of, 196, 222;
charm of, 213; at Deleni, 234; and au-
thor’s birthday, 243; an earnest pupil,
257; at English Legation, 283; and
Christmas Day, 284; author wi tes story
for, 285; birthday of, 288; at English
Mission, 316; and Colonel Boyle, 354,
371, 374-5; and peasants, 355, 358, 359,
372-3; at CotSfane§ti, 360-1
Ionescu, Take, 104, III, 1 19
Italy, 293; neutrality of, 23; and Rou-
mania, 24, 48; alarming news from, 248

J

Jancovescu, General, 197, 242
Jassy, author at, 74, 88-9, 104-5, 116-8,
215, 222, 233, 240, 251, 271, 296, 362,
398, 403, 408; author’s flight to, 86;
service in church at, 101; railway from,
105; condition of hospitals at, 118-20;
Headquarters at, 122-3; wood-cutting
near, 125; degradation of general in,
132-3; misery in, 140, 150, 159; poor of,
147, 159, 287; danger of infection in,
147-8; Jews in, 185; country round,
191; author leaves, 223, 345, 352, 366;
epidemic of jaundice at, 227, 229; Carol
leaves for, 231, 383, 395; author’s
birthday at, 243; Russian troops march-
ing against; 281; plot to kill Ferdinand
in, 286; distribution of bread in, 287;
Ukrainians in, 305; author’s dislike of,
345. 348, 352; demobilization in, 350-51 ;
Requiem for King Carol in, 390; French
aviator at, 394
Jijia, River, 191
Joan, 205

Jorga, Professor, 114, 158, 171, 274, 314;
author and, 99, 176; and news of ar-
mistice, 273; New Year wishes of, 293

K

Keller, General, 128

Kerensky, 171, 242; as “Generalissimo,”
224; and Korniloff, 231; flight of, 250
Kharkov, 106
Kherson, 113, 123
Kief, 270, 409
Kirilianu, 241
Kishinev, 293, 338
Kopkov, Madame, 89, 283, 345
Korff, Baron von, 41

Korniloff, failure of, 224; Kerensky and,
230-31; escape of, 270
Kropotkim, Prince, 157, 288; and author,
197; at Adjud, 227
Krylenko, sub-lieutenant, 270

Kiihlmann, 293

Kyrill, Grand Duchess, of Russia (Ducky),
22, 91, 103, 1 18, 150, 153, 157, 200, 203,
264, 274, 399; author writes to, 29, 30,
1 75; writes to author, 30, 213; in Rou-
mania, 103-7,^124, 193; and plan for
author to visitsjTsar, m-13; and revo-
lution in Russia, 142, 175-6; and Em-
press Alexandra, 144; helps Major
Georgescu, 158; in Finland, 213, 298,
310; Sir George Buchanan and, 242;
and Bolsheviks, 362
Kyrill, Grand Duke, 150

L

Lahovary, Simone (Simky), 20, 50, 93,

95. 108, 153, 169, 316, 398; and author,

96, 138; illness of, 135; in Persia, 181
Lascar, 249

Laurier, Dr. le, 152, 21 1, 231 ; verses com-
posed by, 247
Laycock, Captain, 274, 286
Lecinsky, General, 122
Lenin, 268, 286, 305
Leonte, Dr., 76, 188
Lille, 396

Locker-Lampson, Commander, 222, 233
Lowenfeld, Baron von, 41
Lupu, Lieutenant Georges, 253
Luynes, Due de, 203, 223

M

Macedon, loan, 348
Macedonia, 387
MacGregor, Miss, 279
Mackensen, 350
Macsut, 235
Maioresco, 51

Mamulea, Dr., 149, 185, 292, 324; works
with author, 263; and Red Cross, 273;
and feeding poor, 367; illness of, 391
M&rasesti, battle of, 192, 205, 209, 242,
400; ambulances at, 212; enemy attacks
weaken at, 215; author at, 299
Marghiloman, 191; advocates neutrality,
51 ; forms cabinet, 324, 328; and author,
330, 338-9. 377. 387-8; and Ferdinand,
365. 375-6, 383; Ileana and, 373; and
Germans, 374; fall of, 399
Marginianu, General, 254, 353
Maria, 356, 360, 381

Marie, Dowager Empress of Russia, 91;
hospital train organized by, 88; in Cri-
mea, 364; plans to rescue, 399
Marie, Princess, of Roumania (Mignon),
100-101, 153, 179, 184, 187, 309, 327,
370, 399; and Carmen Sylva, 19; char-
acter of, 21; and Mircea’s illness, 68;
her work at hospitals, 113, 135, 186, 196,

INDEX

425

205-207, 226; visits regiment, 141; at
Ghidigeni, 195, 212, 216; visits battle-
fields, 208, 378-80; illness of, 228, 241,
245, 256, 346; and Soeur Pucci, 267;
birthday of, 289; her name day, 381;
rides with author, 385
Marie, Queen of Roumania, and Rou-
mania, 3; diary of, 4, 46, et seq., 52; Fer-
dinand’s dependence on, 5-6, 7, 9, 23,
36; character of, 5-7, 1 16; and Germany,
7; her dislike of neutrality, 22; writes to
George V, 25-8, 53-4. .325; writes to
Grand Duchess Vladimir, 29-8; writes
to Grand Duchess Kyrill, 29-30; Nic-
olas’s letter to, 31-4; letter from British
Military Attache in Sofia to, 35; letter
from Bratianu to, 36, 37-40; becomes
owner of Copaceni, 44; and entry of
Roumania into War, 46 et seq. ; and her
hospital, 52, 61, 70, 76, 82, 83-4, 88, 96;
visits hospitals, 54-6, 1 13, 154-5, 156,
160, 163, 164, 167-8, 173, 176-7, 184,
187, 189, 193-4, 2°5> 206-208, 209-210,
214, 218-19, 224-6, 228-30, 239-40, 265,
300-302 ; and air raids, 57-9, 77-8 ; writes
to Tsar, 62-3, 107; and illness of Mircea,
66-73; birthday of, 70, 72, 243, 396; and
her regiment, 69, 108-9, 232; and death
of Mircea, 72, 77, 244, 416; and Russian
soldiers, 74-5, 136-7, 165-6, 204, 248-9;
tours Moldavia, 74-6 ; receives bad news,
78, 82, 89, no, 250, 303; at Campu-
Lung, 80; and flight from Buftea, 82 et
seq.; parts from Cotroceni, 84; her life
on a train, 86-8; and Russian hospital
train, 88-9, 118-19; Headquarters,
93-4; prayer of, 97-8; audiences of,
99-100, 240, 264-5, 350. 382. 407;. and
Nicolas’s name day, 101; and coalition
government, 104; plans to visit Tsar,
107-8, no-11, 131; and situation of
hospitals, 1 17-19, 126, 147-8; and

troops, 121, 140-41, 148, 150-51, 159-
60, 184, 194, 220-21, 330, 333; and sani-
tary organization, 124-5, 127, 148; and
“Regina Maria” organization, 127, 129,
164, 168, 177; illness of, 128, 131-6, 171-

2; and degradation of General S , 132-

3; and Russian revolution, 142—5; and
poor of Jassy, 147, 159-60, 287; and ill-
ness of Dr. Clunet, 152, 153-4; visits
Colonel Rossetti, 156; and Roumania’s
National Day, 178; and Transylvanian
troops, 186, 198, 248-9; and news of
Russian retreat, 194, 198, 206; and plans
for evacuation, 201-4, leaves for front,
205; inspects battlefields, 208, 219-21,
333-7, 378-80; and her house at Cot5-
fanesti, 210-12, 223-4, 228, 250-2, 334,
345-7, 352, 380-1; at orphan’s home,
214-15, 263; decorates chasseurs, 220;

and American Red Cross, 234, 235-6,
241; and canteens for children, 235,
236, 248, 260-2, 273; visits sanatorium,
238-9; visits first line trenches, 245-7;
visits General Mofoiu, 252-3; optimism
of, 256-7, 267-8; and illness of Nicolas,
256-60, 264; and peace with Germany,
258; receives telegram from George V,
266; and plans for leaving Roumania,
269, 271, 274, 280-1; and suggestion of
armistice, 273, 275, 278; and meeting of
Allies, 280; message from British Gov-
ernment to, 283; her writing, 285; and
decorations for doctors, 286; silver wed-
ding of, 289-92; and treating for peace,
296-7. 306; receives new ministers, 304;
despair of, 304-5, 312, 316, 318, 327;
France honours, 305-6, 404; and condi-
tions of peace, 311-15, 3!6, 326, 341-2,
351; Allies take leave of, 315-22; and
peasants, 336-7, 347, 355-8, 359, 367,
368-9, 371-3, 376-7, 380-1, 384, 403;
and Marghiloman Government, 341,
364-6, 383; attends Requiem for sol-
diers, 348; at Bicaz, 366 et seq.; and
death of Emperor Nicolas, 367-8; and
site for dream house, 369; name day of,
373; visits monasteries, 374, 385; Hun-
garian article about, 376-7; great grief
of, 386-7; and Mos Cerbu, 391-4; and
opening of Dardanelles, 397; and “Great-
er Roumania,” 400, 410; reception of, in
Jassy, 403-4; and ministers, 405-6;
enters Bucarest, 407-9, 41 1, 413-16;
and duputations from Transylvania and
Bucovina, 410; visits cemetery, 411-12
Marincovitch, 200
Marshal, Colonel, 152, 176, 321
Maruzi, Princess Marie, 127
M&rzecu, Dr., 99, 163, 2x4
Masaryk, Professor, 241
Massar, Dr., 244

Mavrodi, Madame Helene, 20, 155-6, 159,
200, 236, 238, 240; and tour through
Moldavia, 74; injured in car accident,
75; at Campu-Lung, 80
Metropolitan, the, 289; and refugees, 90,
181

Michael, Grand Duke, of Russia, 143-4
Michailovitch, Grand Duke George, 103,
126, 13 1 ; in Roumania, 105, 106, 125
Mignon, see Marie, Princess
Mihai, Madame Radu, 300
Mills, Mr., 238

Milne, Miss Leila, 30, 187, 214, 264, 394;
and Mircea’s illness, 68; and author’s
birthday, 243; visits Sceur Pucci, 267;
and children’s canteen, 273; leaves Rou-
mania, 279

Mircea, Prince, of Roumania, 84, 130,
153. 176, 274. 285. 349. 3971 character

INDEX

426

of, 21; author and, 62, 116, 250, 416;
illness of, 64, 66-73, 243 ; death of, 72,
77, 81, 85, 95, 109, 168, 199, 244, 272,
321; grave of, 84, 90, 174, 285; and Na-
tional Day, 178-9; anniversary of death
of, 283

Mircea Hospital, 77, 208, 214, 265
Misu, M., 324, 388, 401; at Bicaz, 369,
371 ; author and, 374
Mogosoia, 43, 81, 188, 413
Moldavia, 27, 90; author's tour through,
74, 150; retreat of Roumanian Army
into, 88

Moore, Miss, 260
Moruzi, Colonel, 117
Moruzi, George, 232
Moruzi, Princess Marie, 188
Mosanoia, 227, 254, 354
Moscow, 294, 308

Mosoiu, General, 254, 294, 335, 336, 353;
author and, 251-3; present to author
from, 264

Mossoloff, General, 144; author and, 91,
93, 108, 1 12, 1 13, 123
Munich, 207

N

Napier, H. D., 35

National Coalition Government, 100

Nauen, 316

Neamtz, 203

Negroponte, 336

Nenitescu, 306

Nevruze Khan, Mde., 164, 214-15, 265-6
Nicolai, 233
Nicolaita, 286, 289, 303
Nicolaivitch, Grand Duke Nicolas, 143
Nicolas, Emperor of Russia, 90-1, 96,
101 , 107-8, 1 17, 131, 204, 207, 305; and
author, 23; author writes to, 28; fac-
simile letter from, 31-4; letters from au-
thor to, 62-3, 100, 107; Grand Duchess
Kyrill and, 106; feeling for, in Russia,
125; suggested visit from Ferdinand to,
140; abdication of, 143-4, 162; letter
from, to Ferdinand, 145-6; sent to To-
bolsk, 263; and Dmitry Pavlovitch,
263; portrait of, 302; in Siberia, 364;
murder of, 367-8

Nicolas, Prince, of Roumania, 77, 79, 108,
123, 194, 214, 222, 264, 364, 395, 397,
399; and tutor, 64; and Mircea’s illness,
68, 153; and air-raid at Buftea, 78; and
flight to Jassy, 86, 88; his name day,
101-2; visits hospitals, 1 14, 215; in
Jassy, 1 15; and convalescents, 180; and
author, 193, 351; at CotSf&nejti, 223,
227; illness of, 229-31, 264-5, 267; at
Macsut, 235; at English Legation, 283;

Nini and, 284; at English Mission, 316;
visits battlefields, 377; rides with au-
thor, 385; and entry into Bucarest, 414
Nicolescu, Madame, 282
Nini, nurse. 284, _ 346, 358; and tour
through Moldavia, 74
Nish, 390

Norton-Griffiths, 128
Notara, 114, 293

O

Ocna, 204

Odessa, 113, 123, 201, 344; food from, 264

Odobescu, Goey, 277

Oituzl, 204-5, 215, 336

Oldenburg, Prince, 119

Olga, Grand Duchess, of Russia, 131, 264

Oltenia, 79, 81

Omejti, 121, 167, 219-21, 232, 334, 360;

author at, 245, 345-6
Otetelesanu, Pauline, 225

P

Paget, General Arthur, 23, 35
Paget, Lady Muriel, 274
Palestine, 387, 391
Palianowsky, Count, 41
Panaitescu, Professor, 230, 232, 240-1;
and author, 269, 278, 390; and author’s
writing, 277, 309; and Christmas calen-
dar, 288

Pantazi, Captain, 339
Papiniu, Mr., 306

Paris, 242, 255, 396; bombardment of, 330

Paris, Captain, 227

Pascani, 187

Pau, General, 35

P&unejti, 248, 293

Pavlovitch, Dmitry, 112, 264; exile of,
263

Perkins, Dr., 241, 266
Persia, 181, 263
Perticari, Ellen, 314
Perticari, Helene, 236, 350
Perticari, Ioana, 234

Petala, General, 248, 293; and author, 79,
362

Peters, Landrat, 41
Petersburg, see Petrograd
Petrachi, 216

Petrograd, 28, 41, ill, 113, 123, 131, 264,
294; Carol in, 1 17 ; revolution in, 142-3
Philippopolis, 35 n.

Piatra, 203, 217, 238-9, 271, 390, 403
Pitesti, 81, 90
Plagino, 303
Plagino, Colette, 226

INDEX

427

Poklevski, 89, 201, 399
Polisu, M., 235
Polisu, Madame, 235
Poltava, 106
Popovici, Mihai, 403
Popp, Dr., 237

Popp, Madame, 148; and station triage,
236-7; organizes "refuge,” 294
Portocala, General, 196
Pralea, 252

Prezan, General, 119, 130, 138, 140, 31 1;
at Comanesti, 75; ability of, 92; promo-
tion of, 96; author and, 100, 159, 216,
317, 405; Ferdinand decorates, 291; and
possibility of mobilization, 376; and re-
turn of author to Bucarest, 414
Prezan, Madame, 159
Procupiu, Madame Irene, 20, 108, 182, 213;

author and, 256
Prodan, General, 109
Propican, 273
Protopopoff, 143
Pruncu, Mile., 202

Pruth, the, 28, 191; Roumania’s frontiers
along, 25-6
Psychas, M., 99
Psychas, Madame, 99
Pucci, Sceur, 88, 139-40, 152, 227, 41 1;
leaves for Odessa, 201; at CotSf&nesti,
245, 250, 257; author visits, 267; illness
of, 298; death of, 324, 327, 330, 331
Purichkevich, 109

R

Raben, Gretchen von, 202
Racovita, 136, 138
Radoslavov, Mr., 35
Rafaila, 128

Ragosa, General, 218; arrest of, 270; Fer-
dinand decorates, 278
Ramnic, 59

Rasputin, 109; murder of, 1 12-13, 263-4;

Empress Alexandra and, 143-4
Ratchitch, 266
Rattigan, Mr., 235
Rattigan, Mrs., 204, 235
Regina Maria, motor school, 95; ambu-
lances, 127, 129, 206, 212, 245, 255, 362;
organizations, 164, 223, 251, 367; hos-
pitals, 167, 177, 210-12, 225, 245; mis-
sion, 231

Reindre, Pierre, 231, 255 Stakes leave of
author, 320
Reverchon, Dr., 251
Rigaud, 230
Rivali, 108

Rochefort, Comte de, 233, 320
Romalo, Dr., 130, 258-9
Romalo, Nindi, 266

Roman, 99, 122, 162; author at, 74, 163,
214, 265-6; Russian soldiers at, 165; ar-
rest of Russian staff in, 270
Rossetti, Colonel Radu, 155, 159. 172, 394.
402; severe wound of, 215-6; and au-
thor’s birthday, 243; and entry into
Bucarest, 41 1, 414

Rossetti, Theodor, opposition of, to Al-
lies, 50
Rostoff, 201

Roumania, 61, 105, 152, 169, 180, 238, 240,
285, 336, 357; author and, 3, 8-10; neu-
trality of, 4, 26-7; and Allies, 8, 9, 29,
275; and Central Powers, 8, 9-10; Franz
Ferdinand and, 8; and death of King
Carol, 15; and France, 23, 47; Rights
of, 23, 32, 402; and England, 24, 26, 36,
283, 394; and Germany, 25, 51; and
Russia, 24-5, 27, 29, 30, 51, 250, 341;
and Bulgaria, 35; entry of, into war, 47
et seq., 51; suggestion to withdraw Rus-
sian troops from, 140; beauty of, 206;
heat in, 210; Russia declares armistice
in, 270; Wilson and, 293; women of, and
peace conditions, 314; fate of, 315; con-
ditions of peace accepted by, 316;
French soldiers leave, 319-20; and Al-
lies, 326, 361; and Bessarabia, 337-91
Robert de Flers and, 407; victory of, 415
Roumania, Greater, 400, 410, 413
Ruginesti, 371
Ruginoasa, 187-8
Rujinski, Colonel, 169, 245
Russia, 20, 30, 100, 105-6, 112, 1 13, 122,
153. 158, 175. 182, 187, 19 1. 240, 247,
399, 407, 409; and Roumania, 24-7, 28,
34. 48, 53, 95, 142, 195. 332, 412; Rou-
mania’s frontier against, 27; and Rou-
mania’s claims to Transylvania, etc.,
32-3; prisoners in, 41, 185; and Dar-
danelles, 51; plan for author to go to,
107-8, 131; evacuation into, 113, 201;
Carol visits, 213; Bratianu goes to, 1x3,
172; situation in, 124, 170, 175, 213, 224,
231, 244, 279, 297; suggested visit of
Ferdinand to, 140; revolution in, 142-3,
158, 250, 341; provisions from, 149;
threat of, 191; important events ex-
pected in, 193; German advance in, 194;
rumours about, 197; disorder on rail-
ways in, 236; General Jancovescu’s
impressions of, 242; alarming news
from, 248, 286; and peace with Ger-
many, 258; author plans journey
through, 259, 275; Bolsheviks in, 270;
declares armistice, 270-71; downfall of,
278; and Germany, 296; end of war in,
303; disruption of, 305, 338; news of
Tsar from, 364
Russki, 143
Rustuk, 394

428

INDEX

s

St.-Aulaire, M. de, 203, 406; author and,
240, 298; and Coanda Government, 400;
decorates author, 404
Salcea, 151-2

Salonica, 180, 274, 394, 407
San Francisco, 202
Santoni, Dr., 412
Sarrail, General, 48
Siscut, 227
Sassonov, 30, 32, 34
Scroviste Peris, 52, 68
Semlin, 26

Serbia, 54, 175, 293; Roumania as ally of,
47; Allies in, 391
Siberia, 238, 339, 364
Sigmaringen, 283
Simky, see Lahovary, Simone
Sinaia, 21, 90, 92; death of King Carol at,
14; Carmen Sylva at, 18; author at, 49;
Kaiser at, 233
Siret, River, 208, 210, 299
Slatineanu, 125
Sofia, 31, 389, 391
Sophie, Queen of Greece, 41
Soutzo, Lise, 203, 217-19, 362; author at
house of, 239
Spain, 128

Stafka, 106, 140, 143; murder of Duhonin
in, 270

Staicovitch, Dr., 126, 194
St<tnca, 235, 351
Stance, 356

Statilescu, General, 221
Stefan, 355

Stefanescu, Madame, 380-1
Steinbach, 84, 349-50
Steinboch, General, 238
Stephanesti, 196, 261
Stere, 306, 338 _

Stirbey, Catherine, 194, 200-2
Stirbey, Marie, 395

Stirbey, Prince Barbo, 7, 81, 93-95, 117,
142, 158, 162, 1 71 , 230, 269, 286, 312,
327, 381. 388, 394-5- 397- 401, 402;
sends messages to author, 49, 87, 374;
at Buftea, 40, 85; and author’s hospital,
52; and Washburn, 61; and death of
Mircea, 73; and air-raids at Buftea, 78;
and flight from Buftea, 82; takes house
in Jassy, 85; and King, 100; and coali-
tion government, 104, 186; brings bad
news, no, 201, 304, 376; and plan for
author to visit Tsar, in; author’s talks
with, 135, 138, 232, 256-7, 271, 280,
318, 370, 389, 394; rides w-ith author,
153; and agrarian question, 154, 161;
head of Crown Domains, 184; and Rus-
sian retreat, 195-6; and plans for evacu-
ation into Russia, 202; and news of

French victory, 242; and author’s birth-
day, 243; and news from Russia, 250;
and possibility of Russian peace with
Germany, 258; and author’s car, 265;
and plan to leave Jassy, 267; and au-
thor's silver wedding, 291; and telegram
to George V, 294; and Grigorescu's pro-
motion, 300; and Czernin, 310; Germans
and, 343; and feeding of poor, 367; and
Marghiloman Government, 383; and
Bolshevism, 398; and Coanda Govern-
ment, 400; character of, 401; faithful
service of, 404; attacks on, 407
Stirbey, Princess Nadejde, 43, 81; and air-
raid at Buftea, 78; with author, on train,
85, 87; at Brancovan Hospital, 213
Stoica, 230, 241

Sturdza, Colonel Alexander, 13 1-2
Sturdza, Demetre, 13 1
Sturdza, Olga, 90, 236
Surikoff, General, 231
§usita, River, 253
Sweden, Crown Prince of, 310
Sylva, Carmen, see Elisabeth, Queen of
Roumania

T

Tanescu, Colonel, 148
Tarcau, 367

Targu Neamtu, 366, 382
Targu Ocna, ’220, 228, 333-4, 378-9; au-
thor at, 75; destruction of, 245
Tcherbacheff, General, 216, 231; anxiety
of, 250, 266; and Entente Ministers, 269;
declares armistice, 270; and Bolsheviks,
281

Tecuci, 207-8, 242, 299, 327, 336
Temesvar, Banat of, 26, 33
Tereshenko, 250
Tetcani, 74

“The Country that I Love,” 153, 170, 176

Theiss, River, 26-7

Theodoroiu, Catherine, 102

Thomas, Albert, 180-3

Thomson, General, 96, 180

Tibanesti, 173

Tiflis, 409

Timoc, 26, 28

Titulescu, M., 197

Litulescu, Madame, 197

Tobolsk, 213

Tooes, Mr., 299

Transylvania, Roumania and, 24, 26, 48;
Russia and Roumania’s claims to, 33;
Filipescu and, 40; Roumanian advance
into, 52; German troops in, 57; union
of, with Roumania, 409-10
Trepoff, 1 13
Trotsky, 303

INDEX

429

Trotus, River, 75, 1 58, 211, 223, 235, 252,
357

Tsarskoe, 142-3, 367

Turkey, 35 n., 388, 391; and defence of
Dardanelles, 26; and Roumania, 310;
overthrow of Government in, 390
Turtucaia, 53, 64
Tutova, 105, 301

U

Ugarov, Count, 364
Ukrainia, 303

United States, 128, 158, 172, 237
Ural, the, 409

V

Vaitoianu, General, 210, 220, 333, 335-6,
353; and author, 245, 255, 280, 288, 329,
390; Ferdinand decorates, 291; in cabi-
net, 399

Vaitoianu, Madame, 231
Vaitoianu, Sylvia, 248
Valea Babei, 253
V&leanu, General, 226
V&natori, 261

Vartejianu, 242; brother of, 207, 213

Vasili, 286, 289, 303

Vaslui, 265

Vaudescale, Dr., 233

Vaudescale, Anne Marie, 201, 245, 257

Vaux, Dr. de, 321

Ventura, Mile., 316; and author’s birth-
day, 243; performance for prisoners, 258
Verblunski, General, 324, 331

Vescan, Ion, 403
Veuillet, Dr., 249
Vidin, 394
Vienna, 51, 283, 311

Villa Greerul, 152-4, 158, 172; author at,
267; Dr. Clunet buried at, 412
Vladimir, Grand Duchess, 28-9, 41
Voine^ti, 159, 161, 176
Vopika, M., 299, 406

W

Walton, Captain, 269
Washburn, 60, 61, 112
William II, Emperor of Germany, and
Ferdinand, 23, 41 1; wires to Queen of
Greece, 41; in Roumania, 233; abdica-
tion of, 402-3, 405; ieaves Germany, 406
Wilson, President Woodrow, 293; and
peace, 389; Germany and, 3^6; and
Roumania, 401-2
Woevre, 100

Woodfield, nurse, 21, 178, 243
Wrangel, General, 127

Y

Yusupoff, M., 1 12, 263

Z

Zadic, General, 335
Zaharoff, General, 100, 105, 140
Zimnicea, 82, 151

Zorleni, 95, 100, 105, 140; author at, 117-
18