italy’s queen has a wonderful reputation the world around for her heroism and daring. more than once she has rendered signal and distinguished service when great disasters have visited her country, so that this reputation is not undeserved.
i have some personal knowledge of this side of her character and it is a privilege to give her full credit. there are other sides of her life as a queen, however, in which she falls lamentably short of her position. of these i shall have to speak also.
queen elena and the king were in rome at the time of the great earthquake which devastated southern calabria and the western tip of sicily. no sooner had the first authentic reports reached their majesties than they started for messina, travelling to naples by special train and then by the italian cruiser regina elena. as it happened, i arrived at messina, also by sea, at almost the same moment as the flagship. i was put ashore, to visit the wrecked city, in a small boat, and not one hundred yards away a little drab launch was bouncing over the rude waves toward what was left of a slanting stage, bearing king victor em{262}manuel. on the deck of the regina elena, anxiously watching each rise and fall of the little boat, stood the queen. from almost the same angle i could watch the progress toward shore, only when the king stepped ashore i was much nearer, and therefore could see more distinctly the panic-stricken survivors hurling themselves madly at the feet of their king, and could hear much better the wild shouts: “vive vitorio emmanuele!” it was a strange, weird hurrah, coming from the lips of the bereaved, the sorely stricken, the wounded, the dying. certainly it impressed me deeply. later, from an officer aboard the cruiser, i heard that the queen was moved as never before in her life, and well she might be. before her, in endless panorama, lay the ruined, smoking city. the king, and the crowd he attracted, loomed big on the quay, the foreground. behind, stretching to the orange and lemon clad hills which after a mile rise abruptly to a great height, lay the biggest pile of human suffering, of dead bodies and pinioned, starving living that the world has known in many centuries. yet out of this ghastly picture arose the cry: “long live the king!” “long live queen elena!” truly it was overpowering. the queen stood it as long as she could, and then with her hands pressed to her face she went sobbing to her cabin.
after an hour the king returned to the ship. the queen met him at the gangway. now her tears were dried. she wore a long nurse’s apron,{263} and from that hour, so long as she remained near the scene of disaster, queen elena worked as a nurse. with her own hands she bandaged the bleeding. she assisted at amputations and other serious operations and from time to time she visited other ships that were caring for the injured and spoke the cheering words, which, coming from the sovereign, meant so much more than any stimulant.
in connection with this dire catastrophe there was at least one incident that was full of humour. m. tardieu, a french journalist, had occasion to visit the minister of marine who was of the royal party aboard the flagship. when tardieu had finished his business, the minister, pointing to a parrot which was occupying a prominent place on the deck, related this story:
“a squad of italian soldiers at work among the ruins heard a voice crying ‘maria,’ ‘maria.’ they dug for hours getting nearer, but always the voice cried unceasingly ‘maria,’ ‘maria.’ at last when they reached the room from which the sounds were coming they found not a human being but a parrot. but, in the adjoining room was maria, a young girl, alive and well. when the queen heard of this she sent to have both the parrot and its mistress brought aboard the flagship.” as the minister finished relating the story, m. tardieu doffed his cap to the bird and began a garrulous speech of congratulations. at that moment the king appeared on deck and seeing the french{264}man addressing the parrot in all solemnity and dignity he paused to listen. tardieu, looking up and seeing the king, again removed his hat and salaamed low. whereupon the king advanced smiling, with extended hand. he chatted with the french journalist for a few moments and sent an informal message to the french people. the account of the adventure tardieu published under the clever caption: “how a parrot introduced me to the king.” this girl was only one of many whom queen elena became interested in in messina, and who have become her special charges now in rome—wards of the queen.
the example set by queen elena in going to messina was followed by scores of ladies of the italian court, who left their homes, and, boarding warships and joining relief expeditions, served as volunteer nurses. they established field hospitals all along the devastated coasts and among the hill villages. it was splendid, heroic service and must be so recorded. between the work of the ladies of the court and the work of the queen was this difference only. the queen remained for five or six days, while the others remained four or five weeks. the queen was decorated by half the monarchs of europe—not so the others. but being the queen, and having gone there at all, setting the example of personal service, her mite (comparatively) counted for more than the actual work of all the others combined.
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when vesuvius vomited forth its torrents of flaming destruction a few years ago, queen elena and the king at once set forth in an automobile upon the same mission of comfort and mercy. and again, when calabria was visited by a lesser earthquake, in 1905.
italy, one is sometimes tempted to believe, was the last place god made, and he has never rested satisfied with his handiwork. no country that i know has a more tragic history. death in horrible forms is forever sweeping over some portion of the land, while geological changes under the earth are shaking, jostling and altering her surface contour. ever since elena became queen she has worked with zeal during the dark days of these numerous calamities. fate has been strangely, rudely kind to her, too, in ordaining that she should be near at hand on many occasions when accidents have befallen—railroad accidents, fires, as well as dire disasters. always has the queen hurried to the danger point and risen to the crisis.
when a collision took place between two trains one dark night, at “castel-giubileo,” the queen, immediately informed, was the first ready to run to the spot of the catastrophe. the horrible scene that appeared, the painful screams of the wounded, the great number of victims, brought tears to her eyes. but the anxiety which possessed her, could not make her forget her duty. while the king himself was organising the help, she, the young queen, was stooping over the wounded, encouraging and comforting them. a{266} woman, whose limbs were broken to pieces, was lying on the road. the queen rushed to her, kneeled down, kissed her and tried to encourage her to fortitude. she pursued all the night her consolatory work and left “castel-giubileo,” only after she was satisfied that not a single victim had been forgotten under the remains of the ruined trains.
