to speak six languages, and she certainly
speaks Roumanian, French, German, and English. We do not know what the
other two may be, but if she speaks the four languages here named as
fluently and with as little foreign accent as she does our own, she may
fairly claim to be an accomplished linguist. All educated Roumanians
speak French, and most of them German, besides their own tongue; indeed
French is almost the universal language of the middle classes, whilst
those who have been educated here, especially the younger men, naturally
speak English well, and therefore the Queen is in this respect only
somewhat ahead of her more accomplished subjects. But, as we have
already stated, she is a poetess, and her verses are often marked by
great depth of feeling. She possesses, too, considerable scientific
knowledge and great taste in art, and one of her chief desires is to
promote national industry. She sets the example by wearing the national
costume (in which her portrait is usually taken) whilst in the country,
and requires it to be worn on State occasions, her main object being, we
were told, to encourage the peasant women who make these costumes in
their own homes. But whilst in these matters, as in her devotion to
public duty, the Queen identifies herself with the Roumanian people and
their interests, she would not be a German if she had forgotten the
'Fatherland.'

'Land of greenwood and of vine,
Sparkling wavelets of the Rhine,
Hushed thy song, afar thy gleam.
All to me, now, but a dream.

'Oft when I these eyelids close,
Purling sounds haunt my repose,
Vessels in the sunlight's ray,
'Fore the wind, speed on their way.

'Lovely home on German plain
Once my own, but ne'er again,
Thou wilt be to mem'ry dear
Till they place me on my bier.'[194]

[Footnote 194: The first three verses of the dedication in _Rumaenische
Dichtungen_, by Carmen Sylva (the Queen's _nom de plume_), Leipzig, W.
Friedrich, 1881. Lest our halting verse should prejudice the illustrious
authoress, we append the original for those who know German:--

'Du Rebenland, du gruener Wald,
Du Rhein mit deinem Schimmer:
Dein Glanz ist fern, dein Sang verhallt,
Ich bin entflohn fuer immer!

'Oft, oft schliess' ich die Angen zu,
Dann hoer' ich's singen, rauschen,
Seh' Schiffe zieh'n in sonn'ger Ruh',
Den Wind die Segel bauschen.

'Dass ich die schoenste Heimath hab'