Boyle’s rescue of the Romanian deputies was just one of numerous exploits he undertook in a lifetime that singles him out as one of the most fascinating characters to jump off the pages of history. As a biographer of Queen Marie put it: “An exaggeration of a man, Colonel Boyle reads today like a fictional hero created by his contemporaries to lighten the frustrations of defeat. Were it not for the corroborating memoirs of his partner, Captain George A. Hill of the British Secret Service, we would write Boyle off as the wish fulfillment of a desperate queen looking for a twentieth-century Lancelot.” And Captain Hill himself described Boyle as “a man whose equal I have encountered neither before nor since.”15
This larger-than-life hero was born in Ontario in 1867, of Irish stock. Though his exploits were to take him to the remotest corners of America and Europe, “he was,” as one biographer has put it, “as Canadian as is possible.”16 Physically, Colonel Boyle would have impressed any woman. Tall and powerful, blunt and outspoken, Boyle epitomized the rugged, self-made, energetic creature that gave legend to the man of the Wild West. The colonel was also an astute observer and a powerful speaker, who could put his gifts of persuasion to good use in critical times.
Having made his fortune in the Klondike Gold Rush of the late nineteenth century, and having married twice and fathered four children, Boyle turned his energies to Europe. Among many extraordinary exploits, this largely forgotten Canadian aided the Russian cause in 1916 by getting desperately needed men and matériel to the war front and preventing a famine in Moldavia. After discovering and diverting a German plan to murder the Allied Military Missions in Stavka, Boyle spirited out of Russia much of the Romanian Foreign Office archives and paper currency worth millions of dollars. It was a difficult feat, as the 1,500-mile journey from Moscow to Jassy involved dodging marauding gangs through Bolshevik territory. But Boyle succeeded.
Far from just an adventurer who took to her cause, Klondike Boyle, like Marie herself, was a person with a strong altruistic streak. He spent his own money to help rebuild the lives of destitute villagers in Romania and became an inspiration to his friend, ten-year-old Princess Ileana. Boyle, in short, possessed all the qualities that a woman like Marie needed in a man. He was, in many ways, the queen’s equal.
Marie’s frankness and admiration more than flattered Boyle, though he was not easily susceptible to flattery. He came to love her sincerely, harboring a kind of courtly love for the queen. Marie treasured their unique friendship, coming as it did at a time of near hopelessness for her. “I can honestly say,” she recorded, “that during that dark period of my life, Joe Boyle often kept me from despairing.…This strong, self-reliant man had been as a rock on a stormy sea.”17
Marie kept an anxious eye on military and political developments, her source for news was the ever devoted Barbo Stirbey As Stirbey and Boyle both had Romania’s fate uppermost in their minds, Marie brought them together. Never far from the action, Marie joined the two men as they saw to it that famine relief was maintained and kept King Ferdinand on the right track. It was a curious trio. Romanians, though suffering under a cruel master in the form of the Germans, nevertheless had much to be thankful for in these champions of their cause. But just as hope appeared with Allied victories on the Western Front, a new and perplexing crisis arose: Crown Prince Carol, Romania’s next sovereign, had defied all sense and eloped with a Romanian commoner, “Zizi” Lambrino.
At the time of his marriage, Crown Prince Carol was twenty-four years old, a handsome, mustachioed young man with large blue eyes, straight eyebrows, and blond hair that was clearly inherited from his mother. Carol’s bride, the dark-haired, dark-eyed Joana Marie Valentina Lambrino, was nineteen, a native of Moldavia, though in keeping with her society status she had been educated at a convent school in France. Like Helene Vacarescu years before, who had captured the heart of Crown Prince Ferdinand and nearly married him, Zizi moved in court circles, inevitably catching the crown prince’s eye. Unlike Ferdinand and Helene, however, Carol and Zizi’s budding romance during the war led to the altar.
Carol married Zizi in German-held Odessa in September 1918, after fleeing from Jassy In defying his country’s constitution and deserting his regiment, Marie’s son had gravely erred, for “by law the one act could cost him the throne; the other his life.”18 Carol’s shocking elopement had in effect caused a “triple crisis”—in the family, dynastic, and national sense.19 Years afterward, Marie still found it hard to discuss the incident in detail, though the queen did describe Carol’s desertion and elopement as “a staggering family tragedy which hit us suddenly, a stunning blow for which we were entirely unprepared.”20 When Marie first heard that Carol had bolted and eloped, she privately confessed: “I felt myself turn very sick. Carol! My honest big boy, at such a moment when the country is in such a state, when all our moral courage is needed, when we, the Royal family, are the only thing that holds it together. I was completely crushed…only Boyle and Barbu knew.”21
Carol’s elopement and his abandonment of his military post threatened the dynasty, already buffeted by propaganda and plots, although King Ferdinand and Queen Marie continued to enjoy their people’s affection. But in spite of his parents’ unimpeachable behavior as sovereigns during the war, Carol’s actions had negative repercussions. Aided by Stirbey and Boyle, Marie and Ferdinand sprang into action to limit the damage done by their son. The king punished Carol, imprisoning him for two and a half months at a mountain monastery for deserting his regiment. There, in a painful reunion, King Ferdinand denounced Carol as a traitor while Marie sobbed. Annulment was the only answer to this predicament, the parents determined. Marie visited Carol again, but could not talk him into forsaking Zizi. It was left to Joe Boyle to convince the prince that an annulment of the marriage was the only answer. When Boyle returned to the queen after talking with Carol, Marie recorded that “Boyle was as near tears as a man can be, it was a cruel and sickening victory.…Nando and I both thanked Boyle with emotion.”22
This tragedy in Marie’s life played itself out as signs of progress in the war could finally be glimpsed. In the autumn of 1918, the Austro-Hungarian monarchy disintegrated after Bulgaria’s capitulation. The tide had sufficiently turned in Romania’s favor so that King Ferdinand was confident enough to proclaim war against Germany on 8 November. That same month, Hungary descended into near anarchy, paving the way for Transylvania to join in union with Romania. With Bukovina and Bessarabia also voting for union with Romania, the dreams of a Greater Romania stretching from Transylvania to the Black Sea seemed almost concrete reality.
However promising things looked on the war front, Marie did not let her guard down and break out prematurely into celebration, thanks to the ever astute and loyal Stirbey, who outlined the dangers still facing the nation if hungry peasants were to succumb to Bolshevik propaganda and bullying. Marie related her concerns to Joe Boyle: “The main two dangers and difficulties are, as it seems, the famine danger and a strong Bolshevik propaganda conducted by the Germans in the occupied territories, a ruthless propaganda because they carry with them whatever could be carried, and the empty stomach doesn’t reason. The theory is: if they will fall, they want Romania to sink first, to be totally destroyed under all aspects; but we don’t want it destroyed, do we?”23
King Ferdinand granted land reform for the peasants and universal suffrage, and in the process helped to stop Romania’s slide toward revolution and probable anarchy. “I am pleased he has done this without Bratianu or Averescu [both MAMMA REGINAZl ) prime ministers] in power,” wrote Marie, “so that it should be his name alone which will remain attached to these reforms; the name of the modest, timid, doubting but honest and unselfish Ferdinand I. If he can also realize the unity of the Roumanians, then indeed he will find his recompense for the great sacrifice he made when he declared war. “24 When Marie and Ferdinand met again at the Jassy train station after these momentous reforms were proclaimed, the queen went straight into Nando’s welcoming arms.
&
nbsp; Jubilant crowds greeted the royal couple that day, for it was a historic one: Armistice Day, 11 November 1918. In recognition of Marie’s bravery and loyalty to France, the French minister to Romania presented the queen with the Croix de Guerre. Many Romanians felt equally proud of their queen’s actions during the war. “I humbly thank God for having allowed our time of humiliation and oppression to have such a marvellous end,” noted Marie, “but it will take time before I can consider myself ‘the Great Queen’ they are so eager to call me.” Marie knew that part of the success she and Ferdinand enjoyed as sovereigns was attributable to the indefatigable and wise help offered by Prince Stirbey “Yes, we owe him a great deal,” she recorded. “Much of the good which has come to us to-day is thanks to his fidelity.”25
In espousing Romania’s cause and throwing herself wholeheartedly into the country’s struggle to survive during the Great War, Queen Marie identified completely with the Romanians, partaking in their hardships and later sharing in their joys in triumph. An indissoluble bond emerged between the queen and her people, one that would withstand later tragedies to come. Marie had truly turned out to be Romania’s “Mamma Regina,” the mother queen of her people. Her grandson, King Michael, believes that this was her greatest legacy to her country—and this from a monarch who has dedicated his own life to the service of his country, at great cost.2
But for all her devotion to Romania, Queen Marie’s attachment to her beloved England never wavered. Nor did her devotion to her old flame, King George V. In November 1918, Marie poured forth her emotions in her first letter to George after years of trial:
Jassy 12/5th Nov. 1918
My Dear George,
Your dear letter…you cannot imagine the pleasure it gave me. I never doubted but that you would be a faithful friend and uphold our country and its interests, but to hear it again from you yourself after the awful silence that had fallen upon us for about 9 months was a wonderful moment of happiness.
I can only tell you dear George that I held firm as only a born Englishwoman can. Nothing shook me, neither threats, nor misery, nor humiliation nor isolation. At the darkest hours when no news reached us I clung firmly to my belief in your strength and fidelity. I knew you would win and I kept my people from giving way even at a moment when many had become doubters, luck having been from the beginning so dead set against us. And even if you had not been victorious, I would have stuck to you, for me there are not two forms of fidelity. Forgive me for talking so much of myself, but I have been so insulted and flouted since we were given over into the enemy’s hands that really it is my hour now!27
With the end of the war, Queen Marie and King Ferdinand returned to Bucharest after a two-year absence. The city erupted in celebration as the royal family—including Crown Prince Carol—was welcomed back in a colorful and joyous parade through the main streets, awash in red, yellow, and blue. King Ferdinand, in a moving tribute to his wife, asked her to ride with him at the head of the Allied and Romanian troops for their triumphant entry into the capital. Riding her horse, Jumbo, dressed in military uniform, Marie received the ovation of her people, who jammed the streets and balconies of Bucharest, free at last from subjugation.
Queen Marie, though well aware of the pivotal role she played during the war, was nevertheless keen that her husband’s work should also be recognized; she quietly suggested that Ferdinand be given a field marshal’s staff. When, upon leaving the cathedral after the service of thanksgiving, a Romanian general approached the unsuspecting king with the offer, Ferdinand was taken aback and deeply moved. Ferdinand and Marie had become a formidable team, who never allowed personal hurts or differences to stand in the way of their mutual desire to serve their country. Some years earlier, Carmen Sylva had written an article about marriage. Though the eccentric poetess-queen was notorious for her high-flown ways, her advice certainly appeared to apply to Marie and Ferdinand’s marriage:
Most people fancy they possess the right, especially in the matrimonial state, to bear only themselves in mind, and great is the damage which they cause mankind thereby, for they are here for the sole purpose of giving to the world more perfect, purer, nobler beings than they themselves are. If, then, we could bring ourselves to look upon marriage as a holy sacrifice, an act of perfect self-abnegation, we should make much greater progress. We might not add much or indeed, anything to the sum of our happiness, but that is quite another question; indeed, it is problematical whether we are on the earth at all for the purpose of attaining happiness….
In the service of humanity! That should form the first thought of the bridal couple before the altar, instead of dreams forecasting how happy both may become.28
The conference set up in 1919 by the victorious powers to reshape the map of postwar Europe was destined to be mired in conflicting and complex issues that were bound to work against Romania. Dominated by the Big Four—Woodrow Wilson of the United States, David Lloyd George of Great Britain, Vittorio Orlando of Italy, and Georges Clemenceau of France—Romania, their erstwhile ally, having signed a separate peace with Germany, was in trouble. Dreams of a Greater Romania were bound to go unrealized. It did not take long for the Big Four, though at odds with one another over other issues, to act in unison in treating Romania harshly. Romania’s prime minister at this time was none other than the wily but heavy-handed Ion Bratianu, who failed to make any headway in Paris with his country’s erstwhile allies. Romania’s statesmen realized that drastic action was needed. The answer came by way of the country’s greatest weapon: its beguiling queen. The idea of sending Queen Marie to the Paris Peace Conference early in 1919 originated in the minds of two of her champions, the French ambassador, the comte de Saint-Aulaire, who had marveled firsthand at her dedication and work during the war, and Colonel Joe Boyle. The offer to appear on the international stage stunned Marie, but she accepted this latest challenge.
Accompanied by her daughters, Queen Marie arrived in Paris in March to a tumultuous welcome. Her reputation for bravery and steadfastness had preceded her, and Paris was at her feet. From her twenty-room suite at the Ritz Hotel, the queen held court. She had come prepared, carefully tutored by Prince Stirbey Marie, ever the coquette, was also ready to do battle in another way. “There were in all some sixty gowns, thirty-one coats, twenty-two fur pieces, twenty-nine hats, and eighty-three pairs of slippers. ‘Perhaps it seems a good many’ piped Marie. ‘Still, I feel that this is no time to economize. You see, Roumania simply has to have Transylvania. We want so much Bessarabia too. And what if for the lack of a gown, a concession should be lost?’ “29
Her choice of French blue over a petticoat of silver brocade obviously worked on the irascible Georges Clemenceau. Though France and Romania shared a common Latin heritage, and though Romanians often looked up to France culturally, sending their elite to be educated there, Clemenceau had little patience with Romania. When he met Marie, the man known as “the Tiger” bluntly roared, “I don’t like your Prime Minister,” to which the queen parried with a smile, “Perhaps then you’ll find me more agreeable.”30 He did. When the French president, Raymond Poincaré, met with the queen, he confirmed as much, telling her: “Clemenceau’s attitude towards Romania has changed since you have represented your country”31 David Lloyd George, the irascible British prime minister, proved no less difficult to cajole into conversation than Clemenceau. Then, after a week in the French capital, Queen Marie crossed the Channel and stayed as a guest of King George and Queen Mary at Buckingham Palace.
Long accustomed to the chaos and intrigue of Romania, Marie found to her surprise that George and Mary’s court was a touch too diffident and conventional for her taste. Nevertheless, she launched into her own whirlwind schedule on behalf of her nation, begging George’s indulgence for her unconventional ways. From her Buckingham Palace headquarters, Marie embarked on a frenetic round of socializing, with the goal of acquiring as much goodwill for Romania as she possibly could. From working breakfasts to evening receptions, Marie was on the go.
No one was immune from the queen’s attentions, from the British king and queen, to Lord Curzon, Winston Churchill, Waldorf and Nancy Astor, business tycoons, diplomats, reporters, and even the confused servants at Buckingham Palace, who did not understand her need to entertain at nine in the morning. She also found time to act as interpreter between King George and Bratianu, and to visit her son, Nicky, then in school at Eton.
Marie was thrilled to be back in England after the long hard years of the war. “It was a tremendous emotion to arrive in London,” she remarked, “and to be greeted at the station by George and May, with a crowd of officials and many, many friends. As in a dream I saw familiar faces smiling at me, faces from out of the past and faces belonging to the near present.”32
Born to Rule: Five Reigning Consorts, Granddaughters of Queen Victoria Page 39
