ROUMANIA

His Majesty King Charles of Roumania.

CHAPTER IBUCHAREST OF TO-DAY

My friend the spy—How I was watched through the Balkans—An exciting half-hour—The Paris of the Near East—Gaiety, extravagance, and pretty women—Forty years of progress—The paradise of the idler—Husbands wanted!

My friend the spy picked me up at Rustchuk.

He was a well-dressed, middle-aged man, in a black overcoat with a velvet collar. His face was sharply cut and intelligent, but his dark eyes were set rather too closely together to suit me. Suddenly I recollected having seen the same man in the streets of Sofia a week before. Indeed, I saw him frequently when in the Bulgarian capital, but until I met him that night upon the Danube steamer, between Rustchuk and Guirgevo, the thought never occurred to me that the fellow was persistently following me.

Then, like a flash, each of the occasions I had seen him came back to me. Not only had he followed me in Sofia, but I now recollected having seen him in Belgrade and in Zimony. The fellow was a spy—Austrian without a doubt. It was not my first acquaintance with spies. I had met many of them in the course of my wanderings up and down Europe. Some, indeed, are among my personal acquaintances.

Until you travel in the Balkans, and more especially if you are having interviews with Ministers and officials, you can have no idea of the audacity and activity of Austria’s secret agents. They swarm everywhere. The Grand Hotel at Belgrade is full of them, and in Sofia they also flourish as part of the great secret army which the Austrian Governmentkeeps in the East, from Zimony right down to Constantinople.

It was a bitterly cold night, with slight drizzling rain. The spy was standing on deck in the shadow at a little distance from me. The recollection that I had with me a quantity of official documents given and lent to me by the Servian and Bulgarian Governments was the reverse of reassuring. I felt in my pocket for my revolver. Yes, the handy little weapon was ready for use, in case of necessity.

There were only four or five passengers, and I knew that across the Danube the Roumanian train taking me on to Bucharest would be practically empty. And so it proved, for after landing, getting my passportvisédand my baggage through the Roumanian Customs, I walked to the train, to find it empty, lit only by dim flickering oil-lamps, which gave scarcely sufficient light to see into the corners of the compartments.

I looked back, and yes, surely enough, the spy was following me! I was alone, for I had sent my servant on to Bucharest by the morning train. I got into a compartment, and presently, after some manœuvring, he got in with me. I was annoyed, but I had my weapon in my outside pocket, and intended to fire through my pocket if he attempted to attack me, or get at my despatch-box on the seat at my side.

Calmly he lit a cigarette, then inquired in French—which he spoke excellently—

“M’sieur is going on to Bucharest? Ah! what a wretched train service—eh? I suppose you go on to Constantinople?”

I looked him straight in the face and replied—

“My destination is no affair of yours, m’sieur. And I have neither desire nor intention that you should follow me any farther. You must think I’m blind. I saw you in Servia a dozen times, and in Bulgaria afterwards, and here you are in Roumania! Your game may be interesting to yourself, but it is annoying to me, I can assure you—very annoying.”

Snap-shots in Bucharest.

The fellow looked aghast. He was not clever at all; for he stammered something in Hungarian, and then, in French,declared that he had never followed me. We had met and re-met by accident, he assured me. That was all.

“Well,” I said, pretty sternly, “just take care that we don’t meet again by accident after to-night. You understand?” The train was moving, so he was compelled to travel in the same compartment with me to the next stopping-place on the fifty-mile run that separates the Danube from the Roumanian capital.

“I know,” I went on, “that you think I have some official documents with me that would be extremely interesting to your employers. Yes, I admit I have had some, but I’m scarcely such a fool as to travel about with them. They would be interesting reading to you, but fortunately they are already safe in London. So you are really only wasting your valuable time, my dear monsieur.”

“M’sieur quite misunderstands me—he takes common politeness for inquisitiveness.”

“Well, I don’t want any of your polite attentions,” I declared very bluntly; “and if you don’t get out at the next station I shall just kick you out. You understand that?”

He saw I had my hand in my jacket-pocket all the time, and doubtless guessed what I had there.

“I shall stay here,” he answered defiantly.

“Excellent,” was my response. “And when we get to the next station I shall call the gendarmes and have you arrested as a foreign secret agent.”

“You’ve made a great mistake,” he declared resentfully.

“Very well. Let’s see. You remain here, and I’ll call the police.”

He did not reply. For half an hour he sat quite silent, while I, fearing treachery, kept my hand upon the trigger of my weapon, for as a matter of fact I had with me some papers of the very highest importance to Austria—papers that would have compromised certain highly-placed persons in the Balkans. The spy was evidently aware of this, and it was the motive of his strenuous endeavour to seize an opportunity to get hold of the confidential statements in question. In Roumania, as inServia, they treat foreign spies with scant courtesy, and the fellow’s manner belied his defiant words.

That half-hour was an exciting one, until at last, after what seemed an interminable period, the train slowed down and came to a standstill, when my inquisitive friend of evil intentions descended, and without a word disappeared in the darkness.

I thought I had rid myself of his surveillance, but I was mistaken. Next day I met him in the streets of Bucharest, and so persistently did he follow me that I was compelled to lodge a complaint with the police. As soon as I had done that, I saw him no more. My own belief was that he was arrested. He may be in prison now, for all I know. In any case, he disappeared as completely as though the earth had swallowed him up.

This little incident, both annoying and exciting at the time, was my first adventure on entering Roumania, but it was soon forgotten amid the gaieties of smart Bucharest.

The Roumanian capital is a place apart. Roumania is not a Balkan State in any sense of the word, and has progressed so rapidly during the forty odd years of its freedom that in Bucharest to-day, save for Roumanian names over the shopfronts, one may easily believe oneself to be in Paris or in Brussels.

Indeed, some of the buildings, notably the new Post Office, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and the Academy, are unequalled not only in Brussels, but even in Paris. Bucharest is a gay city of external glitter, bright, merry, and highly amusing after some of the dull, half-civilised country towns in the Balkans. Smart cafés and confectioners, expensive hotels, shops that charge double prices of those in Paris, and theatres where one pays a sovereign for a stall, are all to be found in Bucharest. The boulevards are broad and full of life and movement, and the Calea Victoriei, the Boulevard Carol, and Strad Lipsicani are as busy as any thoroughfare of a Western capital.

Nearly every public building has a dome, while the chief object of a Roumanian seems to be to build for himself awonderfully ornate house and gild the railings in front. Many of the façades of the private houses are marvels of florid bad taste. Again, though in the streets, in drawing-rooms and at cafés and theatres, I met hundreds upon hundreds of officers, crowds of lieutenants, swarms of captains and a good sprinkling of generals, all in wonderful uniforms, yet I was four days in Bucharest before I discovered a real soldier—and then quite by accident. He wore a brown uniform, and I mistook him for awagon-litconductor.

Bucharest is a city of vivid contrasts—a wildly gay, go-ahead city, which justly bears the reputation of being one of the most expensive in the world. For the poor it is the cheapest; for the rich, the dearest. Prices, for instance, at the Hotel du Boulevard are higher than at the Savoy or Carlton in London, yet everything is excellent, the sterlet quite as good as at the Hermitage at Moscow, and the caviare such as one only gets in the best restaurants in Russia.

As one wanders in the streets the Western eye meets many quaint sights. For instance, thebirjas, or cabs, are open victorias drawn by a pair of long-tailed Russian horses, and driven by men wearing great padded overcoats of blue-black velvet—huge affairs that give them very portly proportions. Around the waist is worn a piece of gaily coloured satin ribbon,and on the head the round Balkan cap of astrachan. Most of the drivers are Russian refugees, and form a distinct class apart. Cabs are extremely cheap, and the rate at which one is driven would be reckless were it not that the men have such perfect control over their horses.

The British colony is not a large one. Its head is, of course, our Minister, Sir Conyngham Greene, in whose able hands British interests in Roumania have recently been placed. Keen and active, he has already rearranged our Consular service in Roumania, and placed the Legation on the same footing as those of the other Powers. While every other European nation owns a Legation house in Bucharest, we have none; and while I was in the Roumanian capital he was a fellow-guest at the Hotel du Boulevard. It is understood, however, that the Foreign Office—or the Treasury—haverecently been shamed into the necessity of buying a house, and very soon Sir Conyngham will have a fitting residence, as the other representatives of the Powers.

Nobody ever deigns to walk in Bucharest. Everybody takes cabs, therefore the streets are filled with vehicular traffic till far into the night. At evening, indeed, Bucharest is at her best. Smart restaurants, with pretty, well-dressed women, cosy theatres, flash café-chantants, and noisy garish cafés abound all over the town, while outside, notably at the Villa Regala, in the centre of a park, smart dinners and suppers are given.

Thejeunesse doréeare an effeminate and extravagant crowd. Gambling permeates the whole of society, and large sums are lost and won every evening. I know personally one member of the Roumanian Cabinet who thinks nothing of losing or winning a couple or three thousand pounds each week at cards. He plays every afternoon at the Club, and is always open to play any comer for any stake proposed, no matter what it may be.

Bucharest is a typical capital of a wealthy, easy-going country. The people are charitable, and spend freely—when they have it. The shop-windows, where the most expensive table delicacies are displayed, show the foreigner the Roumanians’ extravagance in eating, while the dresses one sees on the giddy women-folk are as up to date as any that one notices in the Champs Elysées, the Bois, or at the Opera. Yet amid all this up-to-dateness the old horse-tram still survives and jogs along, and the patient white oxen toil slowly through the streets, dragging their heavy springless carts.

Unlike Sofia, or in Belgrade, peasants are seldom met with in the streets of Bucharest. One may go a whole week without coming across a woman in national costume, unless, of course, the market is specially visited. I, however, met, in Bucharest, Mr. Harold Hartley, one of the directors of the Earl’s Court Exhibition, and we made many pleasant excursions into the country together. To the traveller from Western Europe the city is highly interesting and full of curious types, especiallyof the young elegant, whose present fashion, it seems, is to shave only the front of his chin and cheeks and grow a beard all round, very similar in cut to that of a monkey.

The Royal Palace: Bucharest.

Boulevard Elisabeta: Bucharest.

When one recollects that about forty years ago Roumania was a semi-civilised nation, and Bucharest a little Oriental town, its present size and splendour are astounding. To King Charles’ rule much of this progress is due, and in order to celebrate the fortieth year of his reign there has recently been held a very pretty Exhibition, a miniature of the great Exhibition of Paris. It was, I found, most interesting, and fortunately it has been decided to preserve several of the more important buildings, including a really excellent replica of a Roman amphitheatre. The gaming-room is also to be preserved, of course, for the “little horses” have great attraction for the merry people of Bucharest.

Yes, this Paris of the East is indeed a strange place, especially to those used to Western morals and manners. Everyone lives far above his income, for there seems no limit to extravagance. Prices are often extortionate. As an example, I was charged at one restaurant half a crown for a whisky-and-soda! At a shop across the street the charge for the same whisky was 6 fr. 50 c. a bottle.

Several of the restaurants are excellent, notably the Enescu, behind the royal palace, a big place, where the best Tzigane music in Roumania is provided gratis. The gipsy band is under one Christache Ciolac, a famous violinist, who one day will no doubt make his mark in London. The orchestra of the Enescu ought to be imported to one of our smart restaurants and it would create a great sensation, for our present so-called Roumanian music cannot be compared with the real thing. Here, at Enescu’s, there is no dressing up in fancy costumes—not even dress-coats. But the music is there, the strange weird gipsy melodies and dances that run in one’s head for days afterwards.

The cookery at Enescu’s, too, is perhaps the best in the Roumanian capital. Next to it is the restaurant of the Boulevard, where at luncheon there is a table set apart for the diplomats, and is always occupied by the various youngattachés and secretaries. After that, comes Capsa’s. The feminine element in the restaurants at dinner is much the same as it is at home, except that one often sees a mother and two, or even three, daughters dining alone—dining in public, so that they may be seen by some stray swain who is desirous of marriage. One night at Enescu’s, at the table next to us, sat an Italian duchess of ancient lineage married to a Roumanian aristocrat, with her three pretty dark-eyed daughters of varying ages, eating solemnly, the mother ever watchful to see whether any man had his eye upon them. We afterwards saw them near midnight at a café solemnly sippingsiropsand looking mournful and woebegone. A diplomat who was with me told me that her Grace had been in Bucharest staying at an hotel for the past six months, trying to get her daughters off her hands, and was now beginning to be disgusted at her non-success.

The Roumanian has a great hatred of the Jew. Perhaps it is because his extravagance brings him so often into their hands. But the country is full of Hebrews. The capital is not over-burdened with them, but in some towns in Northern Moldavia Jews are in the majority. Indeed, their total number in the united provinces exceeds 300,000, or about one-twentieth of the entire population, a larger ratio than in any other country in the world. In most provincial towns they have the monopoly of selling strong drinks, and are of course ever ready to lend money to the peasant-proprietors. Were it not for the fact that the law forbids any Jew from holding landed property—or any foreigner, for the matter of that—half the soil would probably soon be in their hands. The Moldavian Jews speak a different language, wear a different dress, and keep themselves aloof from their neighbours, just as do the picturesque cabmen of Bucharest.

Roumania can boast one artist who is really great, whose name is N. J. Grigoresco. I was shown some of his works, the property of Mr. Ernest Goodwin, of the Roumanian Bank, and found that they were of the Barbizon school, which is very natural, as he was a fellow-worker with Millet. Without exception the work was excellent, and Ibelieve there is some idea of having an exhibition of it in London.

In Bucharest there is none of the laziness or languor of the Orient. Everyone is bent on business or upon pleasure, and life for the idler is perhaps even more pleasant there than in any other capital of Europe. Yes, Bucharest of to-day astounds one in many ways.

CHAPTER IIROUMANIA’S AIMS AND INTENTIONS

Monsieur Take Jonesco, Minister of Finance—The smartest man in Roumania—An interview with General Lahovary, Minister of Foreign Affairs—Secret aims of Roumania—A better frontier wanted—Germany’s insincerity—Some plain truths—The question of a Balkan Federation—Oil wells waiting to be exploited by British capital.

I had a number of interviews with the members of the Roumanian Cabinet,[2]General Jacques Lahovary, Minister for Foreign Affairs, and M. Take Jonesco, Minister of Finance, being both particularly helpful to me in my inquiries regarding Roumania’s political aims and aspirations.

2. Since this volume has been completed the Roumanian Cabinet has resigned on account of the recent peasant rising, which, by the way, was greatly exaggerated by the Austrian press.

With the President of the Council, with General Manu, Minister of War, and with M. Jean Lahovary, Minister of Commerce, I also had long and interesting conversations.

M. Take Jonesco struck me as by far the strongest and shrewdest man in the present Cabinet. Keen, quick, and far-seeing, he has of recent years played a prominent part in bringing his country into its present satisfactory state. Essentially a man of action, a smart politician, and a patriot, he is nevertheless very English, for he has an English wife, and his beautiful home is essentially English. Unlike most statesmen in the East, he is frank and outspoken. He speaks his mind fearlessly, and the Opposition hold him in terror. Through his good offices I was afforded facilities for studying various questions and forming my own conclusions. GeneralLahovary, too, is a strong and brilliant man politically, of essentially military bearing, with a clever countenance, a long grey moustache, and wears a monocle with a tortoise-shell rim.

His ExcellencyGeorge Cantacuzen,Roumanian Prime Minister.His ExcellencyTake Jonesco,Roumanian Minister of Finance.Photo] [Elliott & Fry.

His ExcellencyGeorge Cantacuzen,Roumanian Prime Minister.

His ExcellencyTake Jonesco,Roumanian Minister of Finance.Photo] [Elliott & Fry.

My audience with him was of an essentially confidential nature. He told me many interesting things which, for the present, it would be injudicious to publish, in view of the strained relations between Bulgaria and Turkey. The Ministry of Foreign Affairs is a millionaire’s palace—huge white-and-goldsalons, with polished floors, fine pictures, and beautiful gilt-and-red damask furniture. A showy millionaire built it as his residence, and died soon afterwards. Then the Government bought it for an old song, with the result that the Ministry is housed in more gorgeous quarters than any other Ministry in Europe.

From my inquiries in various political quarters in Bucharest, both among members of the Government and the Opposition, I found one unanimous view, that war between Turkey and Bulgaria over Macedonia must come at an early date. In Roumania the opinion is that even though a European prince be appointed Governor-General of Macedonia, the war between the two countries would only be postponed. It is believed that Bulgaria is strong, and that the Stancioff policy will be to resist the Turk by arms within a very few months.

As Bulgaria hates the Turk, so does Roumania. But the latter will not assist Bulgaria unless she gets somequid pro quo. This fact became very forcibly impressed upon me. Bulgaria cannot attack Turkey without Roumania’s consent, so the Roumanians declare. And moral support will only be given on one condition. That is, if Bulgaria, as the result of the war, annexes any Macedonian territory—as she naturally would do—then she should cede to Roumania that portion of her territory lying between the Danube and the Black Sea, taking a line from a little east of Rustchuk to a little east of Varna. Such condition is certainly not to be viewed in Bulgaria with any satisfaction, yet as its acceptance would mean the extension of Bulgaria to the Adriatic, the settlement of the Macedonian question, and the final destruction of effete Turkey as a powerin Europe, the Bulgarian Cabinet are considering it very carefully.

Roumania is not over-anxious to extend her territory, but her present frontier between Rustchuk and the Black Sea is one which she knows it would be impossible to defend in case of hostilities. She therefore desires a better frontier, in order that she can hold her own in time of war. Besides, she naturally will want some of the spoils when the Turks and Greeks are driven from Macedonia.

The Roumanian policy is one of peace, combined with firmness. General Lahovary is not a vacillating statesman. His policy is one of progress, as his action towards Greece over the ill-treatment of Roumanians in Macedonia has shown. It is intended, no doubt, that the much-vexed question shall not be settled without Roumania having a hand in it. As is well known, Germany protects Roumania’s interests in Macedonia. Through her, the Roumanian schools have been established in Salonica, Monastir, and other places; but quite recently the good relations with Germany have been somewhat lessened owing to some friction regarding the exploitation of the Roumanian oil wells by a German syndicate. The German intention was to make a trust, which Roumania promptly quashed by passing a special Act directed against them. It is a curious fact that since this friction Germany has stood by and witnessed the terrible atrocities committed by the Greek bands upon the Roumanians in Macedonia without raising her voice in protest. This, in itself, is sufficient to make one doubt Germany’s sincerity, and certainly the eyes of the Roumanians are already pretty wide open to the machinations of Berlin in the Balkans.

His ExcellencyGeo. G. Mano,Roumanian Minister of War.Sir Conyngham Greene,British Minister at Bucharest.Photo] [Bassano.

His ExcellencyGeo. G. Mano,Roumanian Minister of War.

Sir Conyngham Greene,British Minister at Bucharest.Photo] [Bassano.

The conflict between Roumania and Greece—whatever may be thought of the very recent discovery of Roumanians in Macedonia—is quite simple. There are in Macedonia undoubtedly a small percentage of the population which speaks Roumanian, and who are appealing to their brothers for protection to allow them to remain Roumanians. In face of this appeal there are two courses of action possible. One is to reply, “You are of no importance; you are sofew; you are too far away; you cannot expect us to embroil ourselves in foreign politics for your sake. And besides, our ideals and our aspirations are different.” The other reply is to adopt the course which, for the past forty years, all Roumanian Governments have adopted, namely, to protect and support their subjects abroad and look after their general interests. Roumania has already done this in Macedonia. She obtained an irade from the Sultan recognising the Roumanians in Turkey as a nation apart, and giving them the right to live as Roumanians. And what has been the result? Bands of Greekantartesat once crossed into Macedonia and began to assassinate and torture every Roumanian subject they could lay hands upon. Is it therefore any wonder that diplomatic negotiations should be broken off between Bucharest and Athens?

The action of Roumania in pressing for the rights of Roumanians in Macedonia and in obtaining the irade has, of course, been the subject of much criticism in the European press. M. Take Jonesco has been personally criticised as having been the prime mover of the agitation of the past two years. I mentioned it to him, and he denied that Roumania had any ulterior motive in Macedonia save to protect her subjects there and to allow them their own language, their own religion, their own education, and give them freedom to live as Roumanians. It was absurd, he declared, to suggest that Roumania intended to acquire territory in Macedonia, or that the Roumanian Valachs were of only recent discovery. Their geographical position refuted the first suggestion; and as to the second, he proved to me that geographers and travellers had written about them a century ago, one proof being that the English traveller Leake had mentioned them in his book, published in 1814, saying that the race in question were undoubtedly Roumanians. Leake also says: “The Valachs occupy the centre of Macedonia and Thessaly, and nearly all the Pindre, forming three principal groups.” The Finance Minister also showed me the evidence collected by the Roumanian writer, Nicholas Papahagi, and recently issued under the titleLes Roumains deTurquie. To me he proved most conclusively that the Roumanian contention was at least well founded, and that the European critics were incorrect in supposing that Roumania wants territory in Macedonia. She may have her eye upon that little strip of Bulgaria in order to strengthen her frontier, and, I think, quite naturally. She knows that “a big Bulgaria” is bound to arise. She can never hope to be of equal strength with the Bulgar. Therefore she wants to entrench herself now that there is a forthcoming opportunity.

Both General Lahovary and M. Take Jonesco were quite frank with me in their explanation of Roumania’s future policy. Roumania knows that nowadays right, if not supported by force, is not might. Grand words, if not sustained by bayonets, bring serious men into ridicule. During the past two years the Roumanian army has been improved, consolidated, and brought into perfection. But their intentions are entirely pacific, even though they have not hesitated to augment the war budget, and will still augment it if necessary. Roumania intends to remain passive in the present Balkan complications, but if she finds it necessary for the protection of her compatriots in Macedonia she will, like Bulgaria, take arms against the Turk and drive him back into his capital, and across into Asia Minor—which is surely the best place for him.

I spoke with several Roumanian statesmen upon the idea of a Confederation of the Balkan States. Most of them were in accord that such a thing was within the bounds of possibility, but that it was very unlikely that Roumania would ever enter such a Confederation. Roumanians are fond of declaring that their country is not a Balkan State, yet if such Confederation were formed it seems difficult to see how Roumania could hold aloof.

Gen. Jacques Lahovary, Roumanian Minister of Foreign Affairs.

It is perhaps premature to talk seriously of such a Confederation. In the various political quarters where I referred to the question, I found that Roumanians considered it at present very difficult of arrangement, and very dubious whether Roumania could ever enter it. Events of the last thirty years have considerably altered the map of Europe,and in each case smaller States have been amalgamated into kingdoms and empires, such as Italy and Germany. The saying of King Corvin that “The kingdom which has not one language is a mad kingdom” is, in our days, no longer true, Austria being an example. The Serbs, the Bulgars, the Greeks, and the Roumanians are widely separated by language and by race. Yet, threatened on the one side by Germany and the other by Austria, they may, in the near future, find it judicious to combine, as the only way of preserving their territory and independence. The difficulties of the problem are, however, many. The Greeks and Bulgars are at drawn swords, the Roumanians and Greeks have broken off diplomatic negotiations, and between the Serbs and Bulgars the feeling is not really so friendly as it should be. At the bottom of all, too, we find the everlasting question of Macedonia, which, in itself, must prevent a Confederation. But if it is ever accomplished, then it will take a high place in the general politics of Europe. Besides, it is improbable that the Confederation could ever be formed without objections being raised by the Powers, and it is very likely a great war might result. In Roumania, therefore, the idea of a Balkan Confederation is not regarded with great favour. The first question of all is Macedonia—ever Macedonia, and “the terrible Greek.”

As regards the internal politics of Roumania, they are not within the scope of this present volume. Both the finance and commerce of the country seem to be in an excellent state notwithstanding the recent dissatisfaction of the peasantry. Thanks to the efforts of M. Jonesco, the finances of the country are now in a thoroughly sound condition, and every day sees greater prosperity. As I found in Servia and in Bulgaria openings for British capital, so there is in Roumania also many openings for British industrial enterprises, especially weaving. The climate is not favourable for cotton-spinning, but for weaving there are many enterprises that would pay good dividends.

In the petroleum wells there have been, since their discovery fifteen years ago, about 150,000,000 francs of foreigncapital invested. Greater part of this is German, but there is also a French, Italian, and Dutch element in the various companies exploiting the wells. The Standard Oil Company of America have about 15,000,000 francs invested, but there is no British enterprise. The oil is refined in Roumania, but a good deal of crude oil is sent to France, as well as great quantities of benzine.

From Turn Severin, on the western border of the country, the petroleum zone can be distinctly traced at the foot of the Carpathian Mountains, skirting them in their course through the country towards Bukovina and Galicia on the north-east. Along the whole length of this zone are primitive hand-dug wells, the workings prior to 1873, when the American oilfields were discovered. Since 1895, however, a new stimulus was given to the industry by the modification of the mining laws, and from that date the oil industry has been gradually increasing, and only awaits the introduction of British capital to develop the enormous oil-fields.

It is claimed that the Roumanian petroleum contains 14, 15 and 25 per cent. more pure oil than American, Galician, or Caucasian oils respectively. The total production in 1905 was 602,000 tons, or double the production of four years ago, while the export has nearly doubled in the past two years. The Deutcher and Dresden Banks and the Disconto Gesellschaft have about three million and a half pounds invested in it, while a new company, called the “Trajan,” with a capital of £200,000, has recently been formed, of which Marmorosch, Blank, & Co. of Bucharest, the principal promoters, have taken two-fifths. It will absorb the “Helios” and several other minor companies.

Very large areas of the Roumanian oil-fields are the property of the State, and have hitherto been unworked, but the Minister of Commerce, when I questioned him upon the subject, informed me that a law recently passed by the Chamber provides for the leasing of these lands to private companies, though important provisos are introduced in order to prevent monopolies. The Minister explained to me the chief points of the new laws, and as they may interest British capitalists,I give them. It appears that the Government may now lease for a period of fifty years prospected or unprospected land of maximum areas of 100 and 1000 hectares respectively. The concession is granted to the party offering the highest rent. No more than three lots can be leased to one concessionaire. The capital, which must be at least 2,000,000 francs for every 100 hectare lot of prospected land or 1000 hectares of unprospected land, must be deposited. Amalgamation or assignment is illegal, and any secret fusion involves loss of the concession. The State reserves to itself the exclusive right of working all means of transport for petroleum, and will take a compensation of at least 10 per cent. on the gross profit of the working. Over and above that rent, the State participates in the net profits of the working as follows: (1) one-third should the net profit fluctuate between 10 and 30 per cent.; (2) from 30 and more per cent., the share of the State is 50 per cent. of the net profits. The State levies upon concessionaires a lease-charge of 20 francs per hectare, and in addition the general taxes are to be paid. All concessions are subject to Roumanian laws and regulations, and the State assumes no responsibility for the profitableness of land leased.

These conditions are certainly onerous, yet there is no doubt a big field for British capital in Roumanian oil. The Minister of Commerce impressed upon me this fact, and declared that he would give every facility to intending concessionaires, providing they were properly introduced, and were persons who meant serious business.

In the words of our Consul-General at Galatz, “It is not very easy to account for the apathy of British capitalists in seeking openings in Roumania. Perhaps its position in the remote corner of Europe, and perhaps the difficulties of language have something to do with it.” Anyhow, there is a big future before the oil industry in Roumania, and it is amazing that no one has yet had the courage to try the business under the new conditions. As the Minister pointed out, “The American Standard Oil Company are already firmly established in Roumania. Why should not an English company also work the fields?”

The future, and not a far-distant one, will no doubt see many of the wells exploited by British capital.

In Roumania there are also salt mines sufficient to supply the whole world. The coal deposits are not numerous, but iron and copper are known to exist, though they are not yet exploited.

I had an opportunity of examining the commercial statistics for the present year, not yet published, and they showed on the exports an augmentation on each of the past six years of considerably over 100 million francs. This, in itself, speaks volumes for the prosperity of this the most civilised and progressive nation of the Orient, which has, no doubt, a greater and far more brilliant future before it.

Her Majesty the Queen of Roumania.

CHAPTER IIIA CHAT WITH THE QUEEN OF ROUMANIA

The royal drawing-room—Her Majesty’s greeting—Her kind words of welcome—Roumania not in the Balkan States—We talk politics—The name of “Carmen Sylva”—The Queen’s deep interest in the blind—She shows me some photographs—Public interest in the new institution—I visit it next day.

I was standing one Sunday evening in the great drawing-room of the royal palace at Bucharest, chatting with Madame Zoe Bengesco, lady-in-waiting to the Queen of Roumania.

Madame Maurojeni,grande-maîtresseof Her Majesty’s Court, had appointed my audience for half-past six, and as the bowing liveried servants had conducted me through the great entrance and up the large red-carpeted horse-shoe staircase, I was struck with the old-fashioned comfort, combined with taste, everywhere displayed.

While chatting with Madame Bengesco, who was inquiring after some mutual friends in Belgrade, I glanced around the great salon or salons—for there are two of equal proportions, the one running at right angles with the other. Splendid old brocade-covered furniture, tables with interesting knick-knacks, a grand piano, the fine organ upon which Her Majesty so often plays, beautiful hangings, magnificent paintings upon the walls and old Persian rugs upon the polished floor, all combined, under the soft electric light, to produce a harmony of quiet taste and luxury.

The salons were huge, high-ceilinged, and splendid, yet there was an air of homeliness about them, and indeed aboutthe whole palace, that I have not found in other royal palaces of Europe wherein I have been received. The great quiet room bore traces of the artistic hand of Her Majesty herself.

I had asked for audience not without some misgiving, for His Majesty the King was lying very ill, and the Queen—the “Carmen Sylva” of European literary fame—was at his bedside always, administering to her sick husband’s wants, nursing him, and reading aloud to him for hours each day. For weeks she had given audience to no one, therefore it was a pleasant surprise when Madame Maurojeni told me that the Queen was going to make an exception in my case.

I was chatting with Madame Bengesco, and suddenly turned to find Her Majesty—a tall, fine figureen décolletée, a sweet smile of welcome upon her face—standing before me. She wore a very handsome gown of pale dove-greycrêpe-de-chine, but no jewellery save a single gold bracelet and one or two very fine rings.

“So you have come to see our country, Mr. N——?” Her Majesty exclaimed in English, smiling pleasantly, after I had made my obeisance, and she had shaken hands with me. “Come, let us sit over in that corner. It is more cosy.” And she conducted me to a luxurious little corner of the salon, while the lady-in-waiting retired.

I began by thanking Her Majesty for giving me audience at such a time of anxiety.

“I have just left the King to come to you,” she answered. “He is very much better, I am thankful to say, and yesterday took a little nourishment. Ah yes, it has been a most anxious time for me. You will forgive me if I am a little tired, won’t you? When I heard you were in Bucharest I determined to meet you. I have heard of you, long ago, you know! Now, tell me, what brings you to Roumania?”

I explained that my confidential mission was to inquire into the future of the Balkans, whereupon she interrupted me with that sweet laugh that is one of her characteristics, saying—

“Ah, you must never include us in the Balkan States, recollect! We Roumanians speak another language; theDanube separates us from the Balkans, and we have nothing in common with the races on the other side of the river. The reason why we are not taking part in this year’s Exhibition at your Earl’s Court is because they have called it ‘The Balkan Exhibition.’”

I laughingly promised to be very careful on the point in future. As she sat before me, the handsome, thoughtful countenance, the white hair brushed straight back, and the soft and very becoming head-dress, Her Majesty was surely the most picturesque, the most interesting, and perhaps the most accomplished and intelligent of the Queens of Europe.

I told her of my journey through Northern Albania, in which she was deeply interested, and asked me lots of questions. Then I explained how I was on my way to Constantinople and through Macedonia, whereupon she made a quick gesture with her hands, and exclaimed—

“Then you are studying Macedonia! Ah, what a very difficult task you have! We have Roumanians in Macedonia, as you know—and, poor people, they are being treated very badly. What the outcome of it all is to be, who can tell? There are so many conflicting peoples, so many conflicting interests, so much jealousy among the Powers.”

“Ah! I see that your Majesty takes an interest in politics!” I exclaimed.

“No. You are mistaken,” she answered. “I, of course, know the general outlines of most of the subjects, but I am a woman, and am not expected to be a politician. My sphere lies in endeavouring to do good to the people, to ameliorate their sufferings, and to look after my various charitable institutions.”

Surely the name of Carmen Sylva—that sweet-faced, womanly woman who, though a queen, is so charming and unassuming—is synonymous with all that is good and charitable. For Roumania, she has done what no other woman has done. Nearly all the charity of the country has been initiated, and partly supported, by her efforts. She lives her life for the poor and needy, and has worked hard for years on their behalf.

In society in Bucharest I had heard some talk of her greatinterest in the blind, and that one of her protégés, himself a blind man, had invented a machine by which the Braille type for blind-books could be printed by type, instead of, as hitherto, being embossed by hand. This subject I referred to, when at once her eyes shone with enthusiasm and she said—

“Then if you would like to know all about it, Mr. N——, I’ll tell you. It all came about in this way. Some years ago I had, as copyist, a servant, quite a poor man. His young wife and his children had died, and, poor fellow, he was in the greatest depths of despair when I took him into my service. So I gave him very hard work to do, in order that his mind should be occupied and he should forget. Well, time went on, and I was always much interested in the welfare of the blind, when one day this servant came to me and told me that a certain blind man named Theodorescu, whom we had rescued, was making experiments whereby the Braille books could be multiplied by printing, and thus place reading and instruction in the hands of every blind person in the world. This, I saw, would mean light in the darkness of the afflicted, so we provided the poor fellow with means to perfect his invention, with the result that he produced a rough and somewhat incomplete process. This was then taken over by Mr. Monske, an old servant of mine, who worked here in a room in the palace for over a year trying to perfect the machine. We made no mention of it to a soul, but kept it a dead secret, until at last success came, and now it is patented over the whole world—the first complete machine for printing books for the blind!”

“Have you many blind in Roumania?” I asked.

“They say we have twenty thousand. But I believe we have many more, because already in Bucharest the police have discovered for me many more than were shown upon their statistics. But let me tell you what the outcome of this invention is, and what it will be,” the Queen went on. “I have recently started a small blind institution, where the books will eventually be printed. I might tell you that some time ago, before the invention was perfected, we sent for an American machine, a cumbersome affair, which cost three thousand francs. Our machine will cost only three hundred francs. A Viennafirm wished to manufacture them, but I preferred that they should be made here, in Roumania. Well, our small institution—which is under the direction of Mr. Monske and his wife—is already in working order. See”—and she rose and took me across the salon, where there were a number of photographs arranged in a big frame surmounted by the royal crown and cipher, copies of which are reproduced in these pages.

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