Dorothy Hibbard's visit to Romania in 1921

[Introductory note: My grandmother, Dorothy Whyte née Hibbard (1899-1979), was born in America but spent most of her life in Europe. I remember her "working on her memoirs" when I was a child; the entire set of memoirs fills half a dozen box files, and includes a few chapters separately labelled and set aside from the main narrative, of which this is the longest. The text here is a revision, probably from the 1970s, of a 1960s original, apart from the last paragraph which is from the earlier version. I remember my grandmother once recounting her description of the Romanian women carding wool to us rather uncomprehending grandchildren, and also commenting once that she had caught up with old friends from Romania who had fallen on hard times. Apart from that, the details of her visit to Romania in 1921 were unknown to me before August 2001.

While she was living in Paris in 1920-21, Dorothy Hibbard shared an apartment with Colette ("Col") Blanc and also got to know her sister Marie-Louise ("Moriţ"). This is the story of how she spent the summer with them and their fearsome mother, Madame Procopiu, at the court of Queen Marie in the Romanian mountain resort of Sinaia. (Oddly enough my own first visit as an adult to Romania was to a conference in Sinaia, held in the Pelisor castle, now a hotel, in July 1999.) She only hints at the rather complex domestic situation of the royal family. Queen Marie was estranged from King Ferdinand, hence her separate court; Crown Prince Carol (later King Carol II) had made an "unsuitable" marriage to Zizi Brandino in 1919 which was formally annulled by the Romanian parliament before he was properly paired off with Princess Helen of Greece, whom he divorced anyway a few years later. The present claimant to the Romanian throne, King Michael, was the baby whose arrival was imminent in the summer of 1921. Carol II was twice forced to abdicate in favour of his son; Prince Nicholas, whose flirtation with my grandmother is recorded below, acted as regent during King Michael's minority in the late 1930s. Incidentally my own name was a favourite one in my grandfather's family; there is no chance whatever that I was named after the Prince!

I have found out very little of the rest of the people mentioned below, all of whom must now be long dead. Madame Procopiu's papers are in the Romanian Collection of the Hoover Institution. The others - the murderous Dr Lazovert, Johnny Economos with his castle at Rosnov (now called Roznov), Dinu Butculescu, Mustic and Emil Berendei, Bébé and Dina Petrescu, and the rest - have vanished without a trace (though any information would be welcome). Mr Hansell has gained a bit more prominence since I first put this page on-line after being played by John Sessions in the BBC TV drama, The Lost Prince, and my grandmother was able to reminisce about him to another former pupil who she met two years later. In 2002 I was delighted to receive an email from Philip Bateman's son (by a later marriage) in South Africa, filling in a few more details. It is indeed a small world.

Some day I will try and edit this down - it is probably twice as long as it should be - but for now I have have kept entirely to the original text and mostly to the original spelling, including "Rumania" and "Jugo-Slavia" rather than what are now the usual forms, "Romania" and "Yugoslavia". - Nicholas Whyte, August 2001; last updated January 2004]

As we hadn't been to bed at all the night before, Col and I were exhausted when we caught the 5.30 Orient Express at the Gare de Lyons on July 12th. Madame Procopiu had asked Dr Lazovert to keep an eye on us, and I think it was at dinner that first evening that he told us, with some pride, that he was one of the murderers of Rasputin. It sounds as though I were very stupid and ignorant, but I had no idea who Rasputin was; it seemed to me rather odd, though, that a murderer should have been asked to look after us.

Col and I shared a wagon-lit, and next morning we slept on and on. The attendant got quite worried and went to tell Dr Lazovert that he couldn't wake us, but as the doctor knew that we'd had no sleep the night before, he wouldn't disturb us and we slept till lunchtime.

He and I had to get off the train at Salzburg with our luggage but Col had a diplomatic passport. My luggage, incidentally, would seem quite preposterous now; I had a huge trunk and also a large square hat-trunk, and several suitcases as well. But porters were plentiful and one never thought of travelling with less. If you went to stay in an English country house from Friday to Monday you took quantities of luggage and in addition to the car or carriage that met you at the station, there was always some sort of conveyance for your luggage, and for your maid, if you had brought one - and most people who stayed in country houses did bring maids and valets.

Madame Procopiu, Colette's mother, had married again after the death of the father of Colette and her sister Marie-Louise. She had another daughter, Lila, then about nine or ten. Her second husband had died and she was now a lady-in-waiting to Queen Marie of Rumania. As the Queen was not in Sinaia, but was travelling with another lady-in-waiting, Madame Procopiu was on holiday and was able to come to meet us at the station in Sinaia, bringing little Lila with her, and we went to the Capritsa, the villa where they lived when in Sinaia. It was a comfortable large house; that is to say, the rooms were large but there weren't many of them. Col and I shared an enormous one between us.

As we were tired and grubby after the long journey the first thing we wanted was to have baths and wash our hair. The bath water was heated by a wood-burning stove, which took a great deal of attention, and for rinsing our hair we had water in which ashes had been boiled to soften it. There seemed to be quantities of servants, most of whom came to kiss our sleeves when we arrived. It was a semi-oriental atmosphere. The big rooms downstairs had porcelain stoves, as in Germany, and fine rugs and carpets on the floors, and still finer ones hanging on the walls. Of course, as it was summer and very hot, we had no need of stoves and indeed we lived a great deal out of doors.

Though the Queen herself was away, the Crown Prince and his beautiful wife, Princess Helen of Greece, were in Residence at the Foisor. There were three royal palaces in Sinaia, the huge Castel Peles, the much smaller Pelisor, and the Foisor. The Peles was seldom used except on very grand occasions; we sometimes played hide and seek there, and I was most interested to see it. The rooms for visitors were like little flatlets, with a bathroom and sitting-room as you went in, and a bedroom above. I suppose there must have been really magnificent suites of rooms for the more important guests, but I never saw them - I think they were kept locked.

The Queen, when she was there, lived in the Pelisor and so did her unmarried children. Princess Elizabeth had already married the King of Greece, and Prince Carol was of course married, but there was still Princess Marie - always called Princess Mignon - and Prince Nicholas, an Eton schoolboy, and little Princess Ileana, then about ten years old. Prince Nicholas - who, for some reason, was called Jeffy by his friends - hadn't yet come back when we arrived. Princess Ileana was of course still a child, with a governess, doing lessons and playing games. Princess Mignon, who must have been about 25, was rather lonely, in spite of her lady-in-waiting. Moriţ - that was Marie-Louise's nickname - was a friend of Princess Mignon, and the latter talked to her freely, always in English, whether other people were there or not. I remember her saying that she did not want to marry a reigning king, as it would be so much easier to be a Crown Princess and learn about the country you were going to live in. But unfortunately there was no suitable Crown Prince available, and so it looked as though she would have to choose between A and B. Someone told me later that A was Alexander of Jugo-Slavia, and B was Boris of Bulgaria. In the event, she chose the former.

We saw a good deal of her; she came to tea, and we went there, and once at least I remember her coming while we were still at Luncheon; she had already had hers, but she just sat in the room with us till we had finished, and one realised how lonely she must be. But although we all liked her, Moriţ and Col didn't much want to include her in all our various excursions. Once when we were going on a picnic Madame Procopiu said we must take Mignon too, and there was a wail from Moriţ and Col.

"Mais la pauvre gosse, qu'est-ce que vous avez contre elle?" exclaimed Madame Procopiu.

The only thing we had against her, really, was that when she came her lady-in-waiting had to come too, and the Princess's car must always lead, and her chauffeur was definitely on the slow and cautious side.

She was too fat, but she had a perfect skin and very blue eyes. She was to have a sad life, poor Princess Mignon, and I don't think she was very happy then.

Prince Carol was a heavy young man, and I seldom heard him say anything at all, but his wife, Princess Helen, was beautiful and had great charm. They both came to many of the dances we went to, but as she was expecting a baby she didn't dance, and neither did the Prince. He seemed very fond of her and everyone was so pleased that he had settled down with so charming a wife and that an heir was expected.

One evening they came to dinner and neither of the girls nor I were ready to receive them, only Madame Procopiu, who sent frantic messages to us to come down at once. I was ready first, so I went down and curtsied to them both, but when Moriţ and Col came a little later they didn't bother. Afterwards their mother was quite cross with them and said that I was the only one with any manners. But of course they had been brought up with the royalties, and it must be quite difficult to remember to treat people with respect when you have played with them from the time you were very small. As I wasn't used to them I found the etiquette rather amusing, like an elaborate game. Incidentally, whatever yearnings after being royal myself I might ever have had were completely dispersed by seeing so much of their lives that summer. Being a queen had great advantages in the past, no doubt, but in the modern world it has few, or so it seems to me.

As I look through my diary of that summer it seems an unending round of tennis parties, lunches, teas, dinners, dances. Many of the names I mention mean nothing to me now. Dinu Butculescu was there, and Simone, whom he was to marry - though at that time he was in love with Col; he had been in Paris studying all the winter before, and we had seen a lot of him. But some of the others - Jean, Robert, Ionel - I didn't write down their surnames and now I have no idea who they were, though I evidently saw a great deal of them. Many of the others I'd known in Paris; Henri Aslan, known as Riri, Mustic and Emil Berendei - we had seen a lot of them. Dina Petrescu was there, and her cousin Bébé Petrescu, always known as Bébé Pet - I have no idea what his real Christian name was.

Different people came to stay, and bachelors were usually put into the annex, a little cottage just across the road. We all met for breakfast in pyjamas and dressing-gowns on the verandah; I remember Johnnie Economos in black crêpe-de-chine pyjamas and heavy black silk kimono, and Bébé Pet in white - these weren't the things they had slept in, they were put on specially for breakfast, and we girls also put on our prettiest and most becoming pyjamas and dressing gowns and did our faces and hair most carefully.

When Philip Bateman arrived, early in August, and was told to come to breakfast in pyjamas, he did so. But of course he hadn't brought any special ones, he just appeared as if he had got out of bed. Madame Procopiu was horrified, and Moriţ tried in vain to make her understand that when people stayed with you in England everyone dressed for breakfast and so of course he wasn't prepared. In any case he would never never have appeared in white or black crêpe-de-chine! Madame Procopiu was worried over the whole thing; she thought Moriţ was becoming much too free and easy - at that time Moriţ had been studying medicine at Edinburgh University, and of course had had all the freedom of any English or Scottish girl, which she would never have had in Rumania. She spoke perfect English, easy and idiomatic, with no accent at all.

So, as Madame Procopiu saw it, the only thing was for Moriţ and Philip to marry at once, before Moriţ could get herself talked about in Rumania. Left to themselves, they hadn't meant to marry till Philip had a better job, and I for one believe that they never would have married in the end, though they were very much in love then. But they had really little in common except their love for each other, and though that is a great bond while it lasts, one needs something more to fall back on when the glamour wears off.

What a crazy young lot we were. There were so many of us, always tearing about in cars, going to Capsa for the wonderful cakes they had there, playing tennis and dancing; under it all there were some sorrows and heart-breaks, no doubt, but we seemed gay enough.

Col wasn't too strong; in fact there was some fear of her developing TB and so she was supposed to lead rather a quiet life and not stay out late in the evening. But I went, whether she did or not, which doesn't sound very amiable of me, at that time I think I was wholly selfish and bent on getting the most amusement out of life that I possibly could.

One thing which made it very pleasant for me was that all the "bande" as we called ourselves spoke French; the others all spoke Rumanian too, but my Rumanian was scanty in the extreme, though I had studied it a bit with Col the winter before. It is a Latin language, but has so many Slavic and Turkish words that Latin isn't the help that it is with French or Spanish or Italian. However I could understand a certain amount, and say what was necessary in shops or to the servants, who spoke no French. But the young people spoke French among themselves a good deal anyway, and it was no trouble for them to keep it up all the time while I was there, and it was certainly more fun for me to be able to rattle away and join in all the many jokes we had. Alone with Col I usually spoke English, and also with Moriţ, and of course with Philip.

One day we started to drive to Busteni with Johnny Economos. The road ran beside a deep narrow gorge with a river at the bottom, and then turned sharp right over a bridge. Instead of straightening out on the bridge - perhaps he was going too fast to do so - Johnny drove straight into the parapet of the bridge on the right. A lot of the stones on the parapet gave way but the bottom ones held firm and the front axle jammed on them. For a few seconds it was touch and go. If we had plunged over there was a big drop - twenty feet or more - to the river-bed below; it was almost dry with sharp rocks sticking out, and it is doubtful is any of us would have survived intact. I for one was feeling very shaken, and when we got out I lit a cigarette, which was hailed as an example of British phlegm, but was really anything but.

Another day I lunched at the Foisor with Princess Helen and Princess Mignon; luncheon was most elaborately served by a procession of footmen, directed by a major-domo. The wines were superb, Greek wines - though I have never had anything like them in Greece - which had been a wedding present from the Greek people.

At one of the dances I wore the Jenny dress which Bunnie had given me, and Madame Procopiu told me it was too short. This upset me, and when Col told her mother that the dress had been a present from my aunt, Madame Procopiu was sorry that she had said anything, and apologised to me very nicely, but I was very ungracious; or so Col thought. Madame Procopiu could hardly have been expected to approve of me; she definitely did not like my free and easy ways and indeed I don't blame her, I doubt if I should like myself if I could catch a glimpse of the past as it really was.

I think I was wearing the Jenny dress when I won a prize for the best danseuse, and another together with a partner, Emil Berindei.

Then Prince Nicholas came from Eton and we saw a lot of him; he came on all our excursions and picnics. At Eton one of his greatest friends was Gerry Wynn, whom I had known in London, so we had something in common to start with. He was only sixteen, but very precocious - one might have thought him twenty at least. But to me, at twenty-two, even twenty would have seemed young; to him, on the other hand, my being six years older probably added to such charms as I had in his eyes. Anyway from the beginning he paid me a great deal of attention, and I sat by him in his car on all our excursions. One of his amusements was to take the royal standard off the car and drive at full speed past the sentries, so that they had no time to present arms; he thought that very funny. In spite of his sophistication he was very much of a boy at times. I believe he had been a spoilt child; I was told stories of how, as a little boy, he used to wait at a window over the front door of the royal palace in Bucarest and squirt down water on the hats of aristocratic ladies who were coming to tea with his mother. Probably the Queen didn't know that, though of course she might have thought it as funny as he did. From his pictures he must have been a pretty child, and at sixteen he was good-looking; not tall, but with a good figure and a great look of distinction. He was fair, with blue eyes, and usually wore a pale blue uniform which was most becoming. He had high spirits and was full of fun. But I was really horrified at his lack of control when he was annoyed; if someone didn't get out of his way when he was driving he would go into an absolute rage, and I scolded him for it - I don't remember his resenting anything I said, but I don't remember that it did any good either.

Col was quite upset.

"You shouldn't talk to him like that, Doffy. Poor Jeffy, you haven't any business to find fault with him, he is a prince, he has a perfect right to do what he likes."

But I didn't agree; the fact that he was a prince made it all the more important for him to behave better than other people, it seemed to me; I had a great feeling for noblesse oblige.

Mr Hansell was his tutor; very tall, gentle, in his fifties then, he had been tutor to the Prince of Wales and Duke of York for years, and Queen Marie was glad to have him come to look after her youngest son that summer. But it cannot have been very amusing for him, so much older than all of us. The first time I remember seeing him was soon after they had arrived; we young ones were dancing and he was sitting alone, watching, and I asked who he was. He looked so nice and it seemed so gloomy for him to be sitting there alone that I went and talked to him, and we became quite good friends. He was relieved to find someone whose native language was English; his French was good and correct, but I don't think he ever rattled away in it as we did - but then he didn't do much rattling in English either. He had to come on all our excursions, of course, but no one ever minded; he was so kind and gentle, and if he was very much bored he never showed it.

One expedition we made was to Rosnov, a huge place owned by the Economos family. Col and another girl went on in advance the day before with Johnny Economos and Bébé Pet; then on the 8th of September the rest of us followed, leaving at eight in the morning. I went in Jeffy's car, but I sat in the back with Madame Procopiu and Mr Hansell.

For by this time Madame Procopiu was getting a little worried over Jeffy's attentions to me. She had somehow been involved in Prince Carol's first marriage - later declared null and void - with Zizi Romalo (was that her name? I'm not sure [it was Zizi Brandino - NW]). They used to meet at Madame Procopiu's house, I think, though of course she had no idea of what was going on. Anyway this time she was determined that nothing should happen, and she kept a stern eye on me. Really she needn't have worried; it was the mildest of flirtations. I was flattered, of course, but young and silly as I was, I knew perfectly well that it all meant nothing, and certainly I had no desire to become any sort of royalty. Yet if Jeffy hadn't been royal I doubt if I should have paid any attention to him at all. It was such fun taking part in all the pomp of royalty, with no responsibility and knowing it was just for a short time. When I realised that Madame Procopiu was taking it all seriously I was quite amused. Of course I didn't understand that for her it was really important; perhaps if Moriţ or Col had explained it to me earnestly I might have avoided Jeffy. Yet I don't know; it wouldn't have been easy. If he had thought that I was avoiding him it might have made him keener than ever; he was very spoilt and used to having his own way.

We didn't get to Rosnov till 9.30 that evening; we had a picnic lunch by the roadside. I expect we had those huge pickled cucumbers that Rumanians like so much, but which were about the only things they had which I simply couldn't eat. When we got to Rosnov it was dark, so we couldn't see the place at all. We danced after dinner that evening.

Next morning I was up early and met Johnny Economos, who rather surprisingly was up and about already. He took me for a walk before breakfast. The house itself was enormous; only a little bit of one wing had been opened up for us, though there were at least ten or twelve of us. It was two-storied, built round a series of courtyards, the way the Louvre is built, though hardly on such a majestic scale as the Louvre. Outside it was whitewashed with wood carvings round the doors and windows. There were smooth lawns intersected with paths and clipped hedges, all very formal. The family didn't come there often; they lived chiefly in Paris. Johnny had one sister, Sonia.

We went to the little village and he showed me the church, which I thought lovely. The street outside it was very wide but had never been properly surfaced. Johnny complained that it was no longer possible to keep it as it had been in the past, when the local landlord used to drive the peasants back and forth, barefoot, over it till it was as smooth as a tennis court; he said regretfully that now that one could no longer do that it was getting uneven. He said the former owner had chosen Sunday morning after Mass for this exercise.

The Rumanian attitude towards their priests surprised me. Once as we drove into a village the local priest, very drunk, jumped up on the running-board and one of the men in the party pushed him off; I think he fell on his back in the road, but we didn't stop to see. At other times if we met a priest when we were driving all the men in the car spat on the road to avoid ill-luck. Most of the Rumanians I knew were nominally orthodox, but seemed to pay little or no attention to their religion, though Madame Procopiu herself was devout, and there were some others. The few times I went to the church in Sinaia there were no seats except for the royal family; other people walked about and talked - always excepting the few like Madame Procopiu.

We all had breakfast together - though Madame Procopiu took care that I didn't sit near Jeffy - and then we set out to drive to some monasteries. On the way Jeffy's car broke down but he borrowed another from the prefect of the nearest town and we all went on to Vãrãtac Monastery. I should myself have called it a Convent, as it was inhabited by nuns; they sang for us and gave us jam and coffee. The jam was a conserve of rose leaves; it was brought in on a large tray; a jar of jam, a glass with spoons in it, and glasses of water, as many as there were guests. One took a spoon, dipped it into the jam, licked the spoon well, and then drank the water. It was very good jam, one could taste the scent of the roses that had gone to make it.

Next we went to the monastery of Agapia; more nuns, more singing, more jam, and also a carpet factory to see. After that we drove back to Rosnov for dinner, after which we danced.

The following morning after breakfast there were many changes of plans - I think it was that some people wanted to go straight back to Sinaia and others didn't; I know that Col, Jeffy, Johnny and I were among the ones that didn't, because after it had been decided that we needn't go back at once someone took a picture of the four of us all standing on one leg with outstretched arms shouting "Victoire!"

So then we drove to Bucasi where we lunched at the Queen's house and went on to Borsac for the night; I shared a room with Dina Petrescu - or was it Dina Berindei? - one or the other. Col and some others had gone back to Rosnov after lunch.

That evening at Borsac Philip, Moriţ, Jeffy and I went for a walk in the moonlight - how was it that we were allowed to do that, I wonder? Could it be that Madame Procopiu had gone back to Rosnov with the others?

We had a glorious drive to Sinaia next day, through lovely mountainous country. We lunched at Cicsarida; I said in my diary that this was the only time I had sat next to Jeffy at a meal.

At one village we stopped and went to walk round the market. We stopped in front of an old woman, a big shapeless old peasant woman, and she looked up at us and asked Jeffy who he was. He said he was one of the princes, and she asked:

"Which prince?"

"Nicholas," he said, and she nodded, and looked then at me.

"Is the young lady a princess?" she asked.

"No, she's an American," Jeffy explained, and at that the old woman sat up straight and looked at me with great interest; evidently an American was more interesting than a prince, however royal.

I talked quite a lot to Mr Hansell that day, and liked him more and more. We stopped for a bit in Brasov coming back, and had coffee there and saw the old church. Brasov was in Transylvania, which had been part of Hungary. The Hungarian peasants there bitterly resented the Rumanian dominion. With their slow ox-carts they would keep to the left, as they had done in the days of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, and when a car came along on the right and sounded its horn at them, they would wait for the last possible minute before slowly swinging across the road; it was a wonder there were not more accidents than there were, and there were a good many. Years before the Empire had planted colonies of Saxons along the Transylvanian border, but further on there were Rumanians. Most places had two very different names; Brasov was called Kronstadt by the German-speaking inhabitants, and looked very like a German town, with lath and timber buildings and high-pitched gables. The houses of the Rumanian peasants were usually one-story, long and simple, white-washed, with carved wooden shutters and trimmings, brightly painted, and all different.

We finally got back to Sinaia at about eight in the evening, but Col didn't get back from Rosnov till midnight.

Another day we drove again to Brasov, and then on to Braun, a lovely castle which the Rumanian people had given to Queen Marie - or so we were told, but I wonder how they gave it? By voluntary subscriptions, or how? Anyway it was a fascinating place, a story-book palace where the Sleeping Beauty might easily have been found. Not, however, exactly a cosy place, with its high stark walls over a sheer rock precipice. [Bran Castle now markets itself as being the sinister home of Count Dracula! - NW]

We came through Brasov again on our way home; I was in Jeffy's car with Mr Hansell. The car broke down - that happened fairly often! - and though we got it patched up somehow the lights weren't working well. We stopped at the house of some friends in Brasov and they tried to persuade us to stay the night with them and go home next day; to get to Sinaia we had to go over some of the foothills of the Carpathians, where the road wound through dark forests, and they said there were brigands lurking there. However we decided to go on, so these friends lent us a revolver. Mr Hansell took it; he was alone in the back of our car, and I was sitting with Jeffy in front - there were other cars following us but as far as I know they had no firearms. Not that the one we had was very reliable; Mr Hansell confided to me later that he hadn't shot for a long time and that he thought anyway the revolver would have exploded if he had tried to fire it.

On the way back, after we had come down from the foothills and the forests to the plain, we heard a burst of shooting along the road ahead of us; we stopped at a village and were told that it was only some soldiers who had been celebrating and were firing from pure light-heartedness. Mr Hansell was indeed relieved that we all got back safely.

More people came to stay, and one evening Jeffy took a whole crowd of us to Busteni, where we drank mulled wine, and that evening we danced at the Pelisor.

Then on September 14th Jeffy left - no doubt to Madame Procopiu's great relief. We all had tea and danced at the Pelisor, and played hide and seek, and I talked again with Mr Hansell, who was of course leaving too. Later, after dinner, we all danced at the Capritsa, and Jeffy and Mr Hansell left about one in the morning.

That evening I wrote in my diary, speaking of Jeffy:

"Shall I ever see him again, I wonder? At least a bon souvenir always."

In a way, I suppose we all missed him, but on the other hand there were so many of us and so much to do that we couldn't miss anyone much. I complained that my tennis was worse than ever, but it was never good. The weather was still fine and sunny but it began to be very cold; we were quite high up in the mountains.

We made one really interesting expedition to a village in the mountains whose name I have forgotten if indeed I ever knew it. One morning early we drove for some miles to a place where mountain ponies were waiting for us, and set off up the mountain trails where only men and donkeys and ponies could go. We were a party of about sixteen; it was too difficult a trip for Madame Procopiu, but there was one older woman - perhaps as much as thirty-five, which of course seemed old to us - and Radu Cutarida was there. All that day we went up higher and higher, stopping for lunch, and for an occasional rest; the men didn't all ride, some of them walked at least part of the time, but we girls rode. At last as it was growing dusk we reached the village. It was a tiny place; there were less than a dozen houses round a small open space. The men were shepherds, and the women carded and spun the wool, and wove it into garments.

That first evening we dined at a long table set up in the open space; we had brought food with us, but the people of the village supplied tuica, the strong liquor made from plums; the tuica they had really tasted of plums and was very good. Of course we excited great interest, especially among the women. From the time a girl came to one of these villages as a bride, she probably never left it for the rest of her life. Once a year some of the men of the village went to the nearest market town to sell the wool and the things the women had made; that meant a day's journey down to the main road, with their pack ponies and donkeys, and then many hours along the road to the nearest town where there was a market. There they stayed until everything was sold and they had laid in supplies of tea and sugar and salt and other things they couldn't produce themselves. It sounds like a very narrow and restricted life, yet they all looked happy and healthy.

We all slept that night on straw in one room; the room was quite empty except for the straw. Radu had seen to it that it was well scrubbed and also washed with petrol, to get rid of as much as possible of the animal life in it; even so things kept crawling up the wall and people kept squashing them; next morning the walls were covered with dead insects. I don't remember being bitten myself, but some of us were. We all woke early, and had time for a look at the village before we left.

One large room was put apart for the women to work in, and we all went to see them. Some of them were carding the wool, and it looked so easy. They took a handful of wool from a great heap on the floor, plunked it down on a thing that looked something like a hairbrush with sparse nails instead of bristles, gave it one or two strokes with another similar instrument, and there you had lovely long silky strands of wool. Of course we wanted to try it too, but the result was just a hopeless tangled bird's-nest of wool, fit for nothing but to be made into felt - they made a lot of felt, which the shepherds all wore when it was made into cloaks. You can imagine the shouts of laughter from the women of the village; here were these grown-up girls who couldn't even card wool! They thought it was the funniest thing they had ever known. But they were fascinated by us in other ways, and found our clothes extraordinary. We girls were all in riding things, and I suppose they had never seen girls in breeches. They themselves wore the lovely Rumanian peasant dress - embroidered blouses and heavy skirts, also embroidered around the hem, and little sleeveless jackets. The young women and girls were very pretty, with soft dark eyes and smooth olive skins, but they aged very fast. Someone told me that in the winter they shut up their houses as tightly as possible, and never took off their clothes till spring. I wish I had taken some pictures in that village, but I think I had no camera with me, and though I saw pictures of other things, taken by different people, I have none of that place.

Philip and Moriţ were to be married on September 25th, and I was to be a bridesmaid - but it was to be very different from being one in England or America. The evening before was called the "Soirée de beteala" - but I don't now remember what that means. In my diary I said that I sat beside Princess Mignon and we talked and "made beteala". Was it some sort of wreath or garland? I have a vague idea that it was.

Next morning there was the civil marriage, to which I didn't go; I worked at "arranging the house". Col and I lunched at the Butculescus, came back, finished arranging house, and dressed Moriţ; I saw that she had "something old and something new, something borrowed and something blue" though that wasn't a Rumanian custom. I sewed her veil to her hair, so it would stay on.

The wedding was in the monastery church at Sinaia. The Queen had just come back - it was the first time I'd seen her - and she and Prince Carol, Princess Mignon and Princess Ileana were there. It was an impressive ceremony, but very long. Moriţ and Philip wore crowns and he looked so silly and self-conscious. He always wore his hat tilted over one eye and the crown tilted forward in just the same way. As the altar was in the middle of the church, and the bridesmaids with their attendant cavaliers stood in a semicircle behind it, while the bride and groom faced it, we had an excellent view of them. I couldn't understand a word that was said; I believe the service was in some archaic tongue.

After the ceremony the bridesmaids went among the crowds - for the church was crowded - distributing flowers; we had huge bunches of flowers for this, but even so mine ran out before everyone had been given more. Mustic Berendei was my cavalier and helped me.

Then we all went back to the Capritsa and helped Moriţ to change into her going-away clothes. She and Philip drove off, and the rest of us had a buffet supper and danced. That evening I wrote solemnly in my diary that I felt responsible for the marriage and hoped all would be well. But really I don't see how I could have been responsible; admittedly I had introduced them, and it is unlikely that they would ever have met otherwise, but still one doesn't expect everyone who is introduced to someone to marry them! And certainly I couldn't in any way have prevented the marriage, once they had fallen in love.

By now it was nearly tile for me to leave and I started packing. Two days after the wedding Col and I went to tea with Princess Mignon. While we were having tea two of the Queen's ladies-in-waiting came in and sat down on a sofa against the wall; no one paid any attention to them. We were talking English and I don't think they spoke it. For some reason we were rather uproarious, talking and laughing, and I think we were actually throwing bits of bread at each other when suddenly the door opened and everyone stood up.

In the doorway, posed as though for her picture, one had raised on the side of the door, stood the Queen. She was wearing one of her peasant outfits; that is, it was the same style of dress the peasant women wore, but made of finer materials and beautifully embroidered. I was presented, and curtseyed, but Col told me later that I should have kissed the Queen's hand, and that I had been expected to do so. However, I didn't.

The Queen came in and sat down and told us to go on with our tea. Then she began questioning me; who was my father, what did he do, where did he live, and so on. For some reason - I suppose I must have been nervous - I answered rather loudly; Col told me later that she thought I must have had the idea that the Queen was deaf, which wasn't the case at all. The questions went on for some time. Then Her Majesty went out of the room and the ladies-in-waiting went too. At the time I was thrilled with it all; but later, thinking it over, I was more critical - in fact, if it hadn't been a queen who was asking me all these questions, I might have found them rather impertinent.

That evening, after an early dinner, Col and I left for Bucarest, intending to stay with Dina Petrescu, near Ploesti, on the way. We went by train, but there was a hitch and we weren't met, as we should have been, at the station nearest to Dina's, and had to wait for ages while a man went to fetch a peasant's cart. We never arrived till two next morning. Next day we were fairly quiet, but in the course the course of it a number of people, quite a deputation, arrived to see Dina. She was an only child and had been running the place since her father's death, and the peasant came to her for everything. This time it was to ask if she would attend the wedding of a couple in the village, and also be god-mother to the child expected shortly. They already had children, but it was explained to me that they thought it necessary to have a tremendous wedding with all possible trimmings which they couldn't afford when they were first married - well, perhaps married isn't the word, but when they first set up house together. So they worked hard, and the babies came, and they saved every penny they could, and at last they were able to be married. Perhaps if there were no babies there was no wedding either; I should think that was probable.

Next morning Col and I went on by train to Bucarest. We stayed in her mother's flat, and saw some of our friends, and shopped, and went to the Exposition, and a whole crowd of us rowed on the lake. Everyone wanted to know what I thought of Bucarest, and asked if it didn't remind me of Paris. Some of it did, slightly, but it seemed to be very much of a mixture and there were some very slummy parts.

That evening we dined with Monsieur Butculescu at the Jockey Club, and he asked me to pay Nicu's fees in Paris in case he was late getting back - I did pay them, but can't now remember which school it was.

Early next morning, September 30th, I left on the Orient Express seen off by Madame Procopiu, Col, and lots of other friends. I actually wept at leaving, but then I cried rather easily.

I shared a wagon-lit with a young American Jewess named Konowitz; we were the only females on the train, I think. But there were several men I knew, including Robert Lange and Jean Crissofelloni; we had some of our meals with them. Once Jean came to tell me that one of my trunks had been put off the train - we had stopped at a station in Jugo-Slavia and there it was, sitting all alone on the platform and looking very deserted and forlorn. But we got someone who could speak the language and found it was all right, they were just rearranging things in the luggage van, and in due course the trunk was put on the train again.

There was some difficulty with Miss Konowitz's passport; she hadn't all the transit visas she should have had, I think - at that time you had to have a visa for every country you went through however briefly. But I got one of my friends to help and all went well at the frontiers, though I don't know how it was managed. The she was rather afraid of not having enough money, and I had none to lend her, but she found she could manage all right as far as Venice, where she was getting off. She told me that she would be quite all right there as she had only to go to the Chief Rabbi and he would look after her - I was very much impressed by that. Later it occurred to me that perhaps she knew the Rabbi personally, but at the time I understood that any Jew, anywhere, had only to appeal to a Rabbi to get help.

From Venice I was alone in my compartment till Paris, but I talked all afternoon with Jean Crissofelloni and dined with him, so I was neither lonely nor bored.

[Paragraph from the first draft not incorporated into the final text:]

Just the other day I was told that Nicholas told his mother that he wanted to marry me! He was still at Eton, and of course it was absurd and I wouldn't have thought of marrying a mere boy. But it explains the interest the Queen took in me and all the questions she asked me - what my father did, where we lived, and so on. Perhaps if we had been millionaires she wouldn't have minded the connexion, but we definitely weren't. Anyway no one said anything to me about marriage, and I went back to Paris having thoroughly enjoyed my visit to Rumania but not expecting ever to see Prince Nicholas again.



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This page published 19 October 2001; last modified 4 January 2004