On the eastern shores of the Adriatic, nestling between the unfamiliar Provinces of Herzegovina and Albania, lies the Kingdom of Montenegro. It is a tiny spot on the map and until very recently was rated as a Principality. The entire population of Montenegro would make only a small American city, yet the Montenegrans are a proud nation, with an engrossing and noble history, and perhaps no country in Europe has had a more romantic past. They are an aggressive people, these Montenegrans, always armed, ever ready to fight for the cause of freedom, a liberty-loving people, a staunch folk. The denizens of Montenegro have always been daring and bold; withal a poetic people. Nicholas, their Prince, is the first warrior in the kingdom and also the first poet. He is a picturesque figure, familiar to Europe and more or less known to America, for much has been written about him. Some years ago, some one had the temerity to inquire of Prince Nicholas, as he then was called, what were the exportations of Monte{220}negro, to which question he gave answer, “My daughters.” The daughters of King Nicholas have indeed been a wonderful asset to this little nation. One married a Russian Grand Duke, thus securing the friendship of Russia. Another married a Servian, who at the present time reigns over that Kingdom. While another, Elena, married a Prince who presently became a King, making his spouse Queen of a great nation.
The story of the romance of the Montenegran Elena and the Italian Prince, son of the late King Humbert, and now known as King Victor Emanuel III, is one of the most romantic stories connected with the Court life of Europe. Princess Elena was the fourth child of King Nicholas, and she, perhaps more than any of the children, inherited many of her father’s noble qualities.
Many times as I have watched her driving through the streets of Rome, deftly holding the reins and guiding the great black horses up and down the hilly, badly paved streets, or leisurely reposing in one of the magnificent Royal automobiles speeding up the Pincio or through the lovely gardens of the Villa Borghese, complacently acknowledging the salutes of the people, I have tried to fancy the little black-eyed Princess among her native hills—bounding like a chamois from rock to rock among the tallest crags and peaks, rejoicing in the high air, the free life, the glorious rapture that comes only to the mountain-born. In fancy I have{221} pictured her returning to her simple Cittenje home at night, her hands holding delicious bunches of Alpine flowers, her arms laden with flower branches. A strange girlhood this, for a future Queen. But so Elena lived as a child—naturally, spontaneously, freely.
And now—beside this fancy-memory I have to place a recollection of another phase of her life, when I saw her as Queen, in the midst of the horrors of Messina, nursing the wounded and comforting the dying. The night she was injured during a panic following one of the earthquake shocks I was standing on the deck of a ship lying so close to the Italian flagship that I could watch the wild rush of refugees across the decks, many of them to the rails as if to throw themselves into the sea. One afternoon I was on a British warship when Queen Elena came aboard to visit the wounded who were about to be conveyed to Naples. She spent more than an hour among the cots and stretchers and spoke a personal word to each and every one. All this was fine—a kind of work Queens rarely do. It was dramatic, too. For during the days immediately succeeding the first shock, earthquakes were constantly recurring and there were a hundred dangers to which all were exposed. But when we know of Queen Elena’s early years we understand the instinct which took her so promptly to Messina, and we understand many of the other qualities which distinguish her from the other Queens of the world.{222}
Elena’s grandfather was called Prince Mirko, a name renowned in the history of Montenegro, for when Mirko was a very young man, long before he had become the idol of the Montenegran people, he was serving in a war against Turkey. One day Mirko and a comrade became detached from their regiment and fell into an ambush. The situation looked desperate. Pausing for an instant the two young officers made a vow that if they both survived the day, and eventually got back to their homes that they would one day seal their friendship and the memory of that experience, in blood. Some years later Mirko having married, became the father of a son whom he called Nicholas. When the boy Nicholas was seven years old, Mirko’s old comrade of the Turkish war became the father of a daughter whom he named Melena. These two children became betrothed when Melena was still in her cradle and when she was only thirteen years old she and Nicholas were married. The fortune of life was so ordered that in time Nicholas became the ruler of the little principality, and Melena, his wife and consort, from the very first shared the responsibilities of administration with him. So complete a helpmeet has Melena been to Nicholas that from time to time when the Prince has of necessity quit Montenegro to visit his friend and ally the Tsar of Russia, or his son-in-law, the King of Servia, he has left all the reins of rulership to Melena, who has ever discharged her duties wisely. Besides all this she has borne
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QUEEN MILENA OF MONTENEGRO, THE MOTHER OF QUEEN ELENA.
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him thirteen children. Elena was their fourth child. It was no inconsiderable thing when she was picked by the Prince of Naples to be his bride, because this meant she would eventually be a great Queen. Elena was born fairly in the lap of romance, and Fate has been extraordinarily generous to her in supplying her with exceptional romantic and dramatic episodes which, ever since she came into her own have served to bring her before the eyes of the world.
No Queen in Europe to-day, save the Tsaritsa and Queen Victoria Eugenie, looks more a Queen than Elena. She is stately and tall, with a statuesque poise that anywhere singles her from the throng. Her hair is as black as midnight forest depths, her eyes as luminous as live coals. Her skin is like unto olives, and her hands firm and strong and large. Her shoulders are broad and she holds them squarely. The impression the woman gives is of unusual physical strength. Nor could this well be otherwise in view of her athletic training. As a child she was always a devotee of Nimrod, given inordinately to the chase. Long after her marriage she continued to hunt,—to shoot deer and birds,—to ride to hounds, and play tennis. A modern Diana might she in verity be called. But her training was not restricted to sports and outdoor activities. Far from it. These were but natural incidentals t............