I have remained alone in an impossibly difficult position. Everything is expected of me, but what power have I in my hands? What effective, real power? None! Only just my own prestige and even that prestige each one of you can attack, besmirch, discredit according to your own passions. And now as you say yourself, all your hopes are still concentrated upon my one remaining son, whose part will not be over when at 18 his nephew comes to the throne. I built as many ramparts against dangers as I can. But although I am eternally on guard, although my son is fundamentally clean and good, how can I prevent his being polluted, spoilt, destroyed by Romanians. Because it comes to thus. We, our kind will not destroy him, but what of all those disgusting little serpents lying in wait for him at every corner. We a sort of self–preservation the boy makes no friends, he has no comrades, no born–companions, but he is young, he is human, he developed more slowly than the boys in this Latin country, we are not Latin, we are Anglo–Saxon–Germans, the boys development began at the same moment as his crucifixion to State duties. Can I keep love from his, physical love? The very doctors tell me that a boy needs that natural outlet at his age. But did I make the Romanian women designing little friends, eternally on the watch to destroy their Princes. Must I come after these long [years] in which I have learnt to love you, to the conclusion that there is no good in anyone. That I and mine are destined to go down because of the impurity, intrigues and want of honor and decency of those we came to rule over? Be careful, don’t tell me too much against everybody or I too finally might reach the point when I would consider que le jeu ne vaut pas la chandelle. it is not worth the try. - Queen Marie to VintilÄ BrÄtianu, Cotroceni June 8th 1929
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