CHAPTER XXIII
Ferdinand of Sigmaringen becomes heir to the throne--He is a good soldier and a favourite with his officers--The friend of the Allies--His marriage with Princess Marie--The Princess’s home-coming: a lonely stranger--A gala performance--The Prince’s mission to Germany--Roumanian officers meet half a dozen Herr “Mahlzeits.”
As the late King Carol of Roumania had no children (his little daughter having died young), he chose, with the consent of the Roumanians, his nephew Ferdinand of Sigmaringen as his successor. The latter, like his uncle, was a Roman Catholic, and to this the Roumanians made no objection, only stipulating that in the event of his marriage his children should be baptised into the Greek Church--a very natural condition, I think.
The present King of Roumania has many characteristics of his race, is a great stickler for etiquette and a good soldier, but is not so versed in the art of diplomacy as King Carol. On account of his soldierly qualities he is a great favourite with the officers of his army. His accession to the throne was not looked forward to with universally confident feelings, but he has surprised most people by the manner in which he has adapted himself to the position. He carries himself much more assuredly, and has a dignified bearing that impresses the Roumanians. He was, I believe, entirely at one with his people as regards the late war.
He married Princess Marie of Edinburgh, and well do I remember the day of the bride’s entrance into Bucarest. It was an awkward moment for her arrival, as Queen Elizabeth was just then absent from the country and there was really no one to initiate her into the mysteries of Court life in Roumania. It was said that the Duchess of Edinburgh had wished her daughter to be accompanied by an English maid-of-honour; but on that point King Carol was very obstinate, and would not allow it on any account. It must have been a lonely time for the young girl of seventeen, in a strange country and surrounded by strangers. Even the King and Prince Ferdinand came under this description, as I believe she had seen very little of them before her marriage.
The day of her state entrance into the capital was one of great excitement. The streets were decorated; a profusion of flowers was in evidence, and of course the national colours, red, blue, and yellow, were to be seen everywhere. I had a place on a balcony near the royal palace, from which I had a splendid view.
Everyone was eager to see the Princess, and as the time approached for the procession to leave the railway station the excitement became intense. Finally some mounted police made their appearance in order to clear the way, after them a detachment of cavalry, then at last the royal carriage. It was a state carriage, glass on all sides, and it was simply embowered in flowers. Princess Marie, looking rather pale and scared, was seated beside King Carol, whilst Prince Ferdinand occupied a back seat. It seemed rather hard lines for the newly-made husband to be relegated to a solitary back seat, but naturally it could not be arranged otherwise in the Queen’s absence. The procession went straight to the Métropole, where the marriage service was performed for the third time. In the evening there was a gala performance at the National Theatre.
Some friends and I shared a box, from which we had a good view of the royal box. Princess Marie looked charmingly sweet and girlish, with her turquoise ornaments on throat and hair. Prince Ferdinand on this occasion had a front seat, as the King was not present. The latter very rarely attended a theatre.
When the present King was simply Prince Ferdinand, he was sent on a mission to Germany by King Carol. In his suite were three or four officers who had no acquaintance whatever with the German language.
On the day of their arrival at S---- the Prince and his suite were entertained to a banquet by the officers of the garrison. The Roumanian officers entered the anteroom before the Prince appeared, and were somewhat at a loss. Now all travellers know that Continental people in such circumstances introduce themselves by mentioning their names. Those acquainted with Germany will also know that the invariable greeting at dinner is “Mahlzeit,” an expression which, whilst it literally means “meal-time,” is really equivalent to _bon appetit_. So it came about that when a German officer with his hand on his heart approached a Roumanian, and bowing said “Mahlzeit,” the latter responded with “Bibescu,” as he warmly shook hands. To the greeting “Mahlzeit,” tendered by another of their hosts, a second Roumanian officer murmured “Greciano,” and Florescu and others followed suit.
Later, in conversation with Prince Ferdinand, the puzzled Roumanians commented upon the curious fact that their hosts all belonged to the same family and bore the name of “Mahlzeit.” The officer who told me the story said that when the Prince fairly understood what had occurred he roared with laughter. “I have never,” my friend said, “seen the Prince so relax his reserve. He simply could not contain himself for some minutes, and for a long time he made a point of greeting us with ‘Mahlzeit’ upon every possible occasion.”