The King Who Abdicated

No, Not That One. The Other One.

The monarchy of Romania – a country occupying a relatively small but significant territory in Eastern Europe – had a few things in common with its British counterpart in the early part of the 20^th century. Both reigning families were of German origin. Thanks to Europe’s royal marriage market, they shared family ties across several different countries. And by the 1930s, both had the same problem: a king embroiled in a scandalous affair with an ‘unsuitable’ woman. Y’all know the story of Edward and Wallis; today, we are going to talk about Carol and Elena. Buckle up!

Because of its strategic location, Romania’s fate has always been firmly kept in the hands of larger political players: the Ottoman Empire, the Austro-Hungarian Empire, Imperial Russia, the British Empire, the Soviets … the list goes on and on. And so it came to pass that, in the 1860s, after the modern state of Romania was formed by union of the principalities of Moldavia and Wallachia, its formal head of state was not a native of either of those places. It was a German dude – a second son from the senior branch of the House of Hohenzollern, Karl Eitel of Hohenzollern-Sigmaringen. He was not the first choice. Romanians had initially approached the brother of king Leopold II of Belgium for the job, but he turned it down due to French opposition. It was Napoleon III of France, in fact, who suggested Karl Eitel. Romania looked up to France, so the advice was taken to heart. Karl Eitel’s nepo baby ties to the ruling Prussian dynasty helped too. And, so, it came to pass. Initially, Romania was merely a principality, but in 1881, it became a kingdom with Karl Eitel as its first king: King Carol I.

Despite the many links between the British monarchy and German nobility, I can’t find any direct ties between Carol I and Queen Victoria – probably because the Sigmaringen-Hohenzollerns were Catholics, unlike most of their relatives who were Protestant (and, therefore, eligible to marry into the British monarchy).  But that all changed in the next generation when Carol’s successor, his nephew Ferdinand, married one of Victoria’s most fascinating granddaughters.

Princess Marie (“Missy”) Alexandra Victoria of Edinburgh was born in October 1875, daughter of Prince Alfred (Duke of Edinburgh and later of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha) and the Grand Duchess Maria Alexandrovna of Russia. Her pedigree could not have been more impeccable and, on top of it, Marie was a beautiful blonde with “sparkling blue eyes”. Not surprisingly, she had plenty of royal suitors including the future George V of England. It would have been a brilliant match for Marie – one favoured by her beloved grandmama (and inveterate matchmaker) Victoria – but two immovable objects stood in its way: Marie and George’s respective mothers. The Grand Duchess, in particular, was implacable in her opposition. She didn’t want Marie to live in England (a country which the Grand Duchess despised) or marry a first cousin (which George was) AND she disliked George’s mother, Alexandra the Princess of Wales. Pure snobbery was at the root of the Grand Duchess’ antipathy: Alexandra’s father had been a minor German prince before being elevated to the Danish throne, which galled the proud Grand Duchess (daughter of a TSAR, thankyouverymuch) who had to give Alexandra precedence at the English court as a result.

Marie was spirited and feisty but at the age of 16, she was no match for her mama. So when Prince George proposed to her, she turned him down. Queen Victoria’s comment on the whole affair was that “Georgie lost Missy by waiting & waiting” but the truth was closer to a Grand Duchess. Perhaps it was just as well; George dodged a real bullet by not having the Grand Duchess as his mother-in-law, let’s be honest.

It was the Grand Duchess who set in motion Marie’s eventual marriage when she suggested that Marie meet Ferdinand, then Crown Prince of Romania. The choice was not as obscure as it might sound. Ferdinand was German and the Grand Duchess loved Germans. Ferdinand’s marriage to Marie would also please the Grand Duchess’ Romanov family, who wanted to extend its influence in the Balkans. And the powerful Hohenzollerns would be thrilled (and grateful) to get one of the most eligible princesses in Europe as a bride for their heir.   

Ferdinand’s most distinguishing physical characteristics were his large ears, but apart from that he was considered a “fine-looking young man”. He was shy and amiable, and Marie quickly decided that was good enough. His timidity aroused her “motherly feelings”. Well, that doesn’t exactly scream Passion Ahoy, but Marie had been brought up in complete ignorance of the, ahem, physical reality of marriage so she probably didn’t know what she was missing. [When she got pregnant shortly after the wedding, a lady-in-waiting had to enlighten her as to what her morning sickness actually meant.] For his part, Ferdinand was still in love with another woman when he was pushed by his relatives to propose to Marie, but he was a dutiful heir and did what was expected of him. The only truly happy person at their wedding was the Grand Duchess, who got one over on her (hated) English in-laws.

Queen Victoria, ever gossipy, ever bitchy – a woman after my own heart – wrote to another granddaughter that “[Ferdinand] is nice & the Parents are charming – but the country is very insecure & the immorality of the Society at Bucharest is quite awful.” And she was right on most counts! Marie’s in-laws were not easy to get along with, Ferdinand was nice but dull, and Marie was left isolated and miserable with nothing to do except make babies … until she discovered the other consolations on offer at the licentious Romanian court in Bucharest. The upper class liked to party and didn’t allow Victorian-style morality get in their way. A decade or so into her marriage, Marie began a romantic and steamy liaison with a Romanian nobleman, Prince Barbo Stirbey, who would remain her devoted companion for most of her life. They even had a child together, whom Ferdinand obligingly accepted as his own. Marie went on to develop something of a cult following in Romania, especially after she became Queen. She demonstrated more mettle and better diplomatic acumen than her husband during and after WWI. Marie personally led the Romanian delegation’s negotiations at the Paris Peace Conference, which resulted in Romania getting significant additional territories at the expense of bigger powers like Russia. Y’all know I don’t like to throw that word around, but that is a Boss B*tch move!

It is important to have a sense of who Marie was because, though she is not the focus of our story today, she is an important player. One of Marie’s greatest misfortunes – apart from being Queen of a country whose 20^th century political destiny was absolutely terrible for reasons far too complicated to explain here – was being a devoted mother to an unsatisfactory son. Everyone knows about Edward VIII’s abdication crisis and the absolute havoc that wreaked on his family and country. Well, Marie’s son effectively abdicated not one, but twice.

Carol was born in October 1893, a little over 9 months after his parents’ marriage. As heir, Carol was spoiled from the go. He was also separated from his parents by his grand-uncle (King Carol I) which meant that any positive influence which Marie might have had on his character development was lost. The people put in charge of Carol’s education did more harm than good. Carol grew up to be monumentally arrogant and selfish; one of his mother’s friends wrote that he was “absolutely convinced that he knows everything, and that he is superior to humanity in general.” Carol’s good qualities – he was bright, “blessed with natural curiosity” and a voracious reader – were overshadowed by his egotism. By his teens, Carol’s conduct left a lot to be desired even by playboy prince standards; a stint with his father’s old military regiment in Germany did not manage to instill any discipline in him. So perhaps it’s not surprising that in 1914, as WWI was kicking off, Carol was busy falling in love with an unsuitable young woman instead of focusing on, oh I don’t know, a literal world war on his country’s doorstep.

Zizi Lambrino came from an aristocratic Romanian family, but she was not an eligible match for Carol because the Romanian Constitution prohibited marriage between members of the royal family and any Romanian subjects. Once she became aware of the romance, Marie tried to keep the lovers apart and Carol on his best behaviour – again, keep in mind that this was during WWI when Marie and Ferdinand had more pressing matters to worry about. In the end, it didn’t make a difference; in August 1918, 24-year old Carol ran away to Russia to marry the 20-year old Zizi without permission. To make matters worse, he deserted his army post in order to do so – an act of treason punishable by death.

To say this was NOT a good look is an understatement. Carol’s actions seriously undermined the Romanian monarchy, whose position was already precarious following the war. It didn’t help that he initially tried to lie and equivocate his way out of the scandal. Marie was furious at Carol for his selfishness and hurt that he had not confided in her before running off, but she was also unwilling to accept that he was the one fundamentally at fault. Instead, she blamed the ‘scheming young woman’ she thought was responsible for trapping her ‘poor baby’. The family managed to convince Carol to annul his marriage after 6 months in order to save face and avoid a constitutional crisis, but he and Zizi continued to live together. Their son, Mircea, was born in January 1920. But, by then, the romance was over. Shortly after Mircea’s birth, Carol informed Zizi via letter that they could not marry again, and running away together was out of the question. Exit Zizi.

Carol was once again an eligible bachelor and, this time, Marie was determined to make sure he made a royal match. The chosen bride was Princess Helen (Elena) of Greece and – plot twist!! – it was a love match. Yeah, I know; I was surprised too. Carol was said to be “desperately in love” with Helen – a tall, elegant brunette, 3 years his junior (he was 27). Helen was also smitten. Over 6 feet tall, broad shouldered and not saddled with unusually large ears, Carol possessed the kind of looks that “would have been considered ordinary in a commoner [but] passed for handsomeness in a future king.” Well, when you put it like that … but, listen, the two of them were happy, so who are we to judge. Carol and Helen got married in March 1921 in Athens and their only child, son Michael (Mihai), was born 7 months later. If you’re wondering how that math is mathing, you’re not the only one.

But the passion quickly fizzled out. Initial physical attraction aside, Carol and Helen were too different to get along in a domestic capacity for long. Carol liked to drink and party and disliked formality and protocol. Helen was an aristocratic wallflower who was not impressed by Carol’s ‘bohemian’ antics. Predictably, Carol began embarking on a series of affairs almost immediately. The Romanian court really was as licentious as advertised – which came as a shock to the prim and proper Helen. But the marriage didn’t fully collapse until the arrival on the scene of Elena Lupescu.

Elena was, in the parlance of the day, a rapacious social climber who “parlayed flaming red hair, green eyes, white flesh and sauntering hips” first into a marriage with a military officer and then, more audaciously, an affair with the Crown Prince. She strategized to get herself invited to a party that Carol was attending, get his attention, and subsequently secure his romantic interest – and just like Wallis Simpson, was wildly successful on all counts. Most historians like to emphasize that Elena was actually ‘not all that’ – not especially pretty, not especially thin (unlike the aristocratic Helen), and vulgar to boot – but none of that mattered because Carol was well and truly hooked. He was drawn to her “self-assured vulgarity” and her flamboyance, and she knew how to handle him and his decadent lifestyle. They started carrying on a red-hot love affair that was an open secret to everyone except Carol’s mother. Poor Marie.

It’s worth pointing out that Elena’s parents had been Jewish (before converting to Catholicism); Romanian society was virulently anti-Semitic and this certainly would have influenced how Elena was perceived and talked about. Elena came to be hated by the public, who saw her as an evil femme fatale who had stolen Carol away from his loving and patient wife. This was not strictly true since Carol wasn’t exactly a model husband anyway but it was a narrative with irresistible pull, then as now (exacerbated by the aforementioned anti-Semitism). Elena was also hated for her assumed political influence over Carol, but this was greatly exaggerated; she was certainly self-interested and enjoyed accumulating money and having her expensive tastes indulged by Carol – royal mistress protocol through most of history –  but she had no interest in politics or foreign affairs and Carol was perfectly capable of making terrible decisions in those realms all by himself. Elena had no ambitions to be queen, provided she got to live in the lap of luxury as Carol’s main squeeze.

But let’s circle back to 1925. That November, Carol went to England to attend Queen Alexandra’s funeral in London as his family’s representative. Instead of returning home as planned afterwards, he met up with Elena in Paris and they set off for Italy together. Carol wrote home telling his family that he wasn’t coming back, painting himself as a misunderstood victim who had been pushed away by his family and state. In reality, he was an unlikable, hedonistic playboy with an overweening sense of self-importance who didn’t like being told “no” under any circumstances. In December 1925, he formally renounced his right to the throne in favour of his young son, Michael (who became King in 1927 upon Ferdinand’s death).

The resulting scandal was one of massive proportions. The Zizi Lambrino affair had been more or less hushed up, but this one could not be swept under the rug. Carol and Elena were living together openly in Paris, even though Carol was still married. This time, Carol had no intention of giving up his mistress and coming home with his tail between his legs. He pestered Helen until she eventually agreed to a divorce in 1928, but he was still not satisfied. Life as an average citizen – however luxurious – didn’t suit Carol’s self-image. He began plotting for a return to power almost immediately.

His first attempt at a coup, shortly after his father’s death in 1928, was not successful. But thanks to the mad rollercoaster of Romanian politics, he was able to return to the country and get reinstated as King in June 1930 with the support of the then-government. His subsequent track record as monarch was the opposite of stellar. One historian described Carol as “the most cynical, corrupt and power-hungry monarch who ever disgraced a throne anywhere in twentieth-century Europe.” He was certainly all of those things but, in fairness, he fit in well with the rest of the prominent Romanian political figures of the time. Carol tried to build up a personality cult – largely unsuccessfully – but couldn’t compete with the growing influence of the fascist Iron Guard movement. The more he jockeyed for power, the more things spun out of his control. The decade leading up to WWII was a wild and terrible ride for Romania, a descent into xenophobic ultra-nationalism which Carol did nothing to forestall. Unlike the anti-Semitic, death-culty Iron Guard, Carol didn’t subscribe to any particular political ideology save for the belief that he was the only man fit to rule Romania. Unfortunately for him, his dictator-y ambitions far outstripped his actual ruling abilities or power base.

One of the conditions for the government’s original offer to reinstall Carol as king was that he put aside Elena and reunite with his former wife. Carol agreed until he got his foot in the door, then immediately broke his word. He kept Elena hidden away in a luxurious villa in Bucharest’s most prestigious neighborhood because he knew that she was deeply unpopular with both the populace and his erstwhile political allies – and could therefore only damage his public image – but he continued to see her regularly and lavish extravagant amounts of money on her, despite the country’s desperate economic situation through the 1930s. He was also very nasty to Helen, eventually separating her from their son and forcing her into exile in Italy. He wasn’t much nicer to his mother, either. Marie died in 1938 with, it’s safe to say, her illusions about her oldest son fully shattered. Her popularity with Romanians helped to bolster the prestige of the monarchy – shaky at best thanks to Carol’s antics – and her death was a blow. Not that Carol, secure in his belief that he was superior to all, realized that.

And so, we come to 1940 and the second of Carol’s abdications. It will surely not come as a shock when I tell you that Carol did not distinguish himself as a leader during WWII. Romania’s position, sandwiched between the territories of the Axis Powers and Russia, undermined from within by the Iron Guard, and without any real allies willing to come to its defence, was pretty dire. Carol was not the man to save that day or any day; if anything, he could be counted on to make a bad day worse. His second abdication was not a choice like the 1925 affair, but a matter of necessity: Carol got pushed out because everyone hated his guts. His manner of leaving was very much on brand, as they say. In the middle of the night, following the announcement of his abdication, he snuck out of the country with Elena on a train filled with millions of dollars’ worth of art, jewelry, and crates of gold – all of it state property. As the train crossed the Romanian borders, soldiers fired at the train in an attempt to stop it. Some say that Carol threw himself on top of Elena to protect her from the bullets. Less generous accounts say he threw himself into the train’s tin bath to protect himself. Either way, an ignominious exit for a king.

Carol and Elena made their way first to Mexico and, after WWII, to Brazil where they got married. Elena was supposedly on her deathbed at the time of their wedding but made a miraculously speedy recovery immediately after. If Carol felt tricked into his 3^rd marriage, he didn’t seem to mind too much. The pair eventually relocated permanently to Portugal – the haven for ex-royalty – where they lived in style on the money stolen from the Romanian state. Carol remained a selfish jerk to the end. In 1953, his son Mircea sent Carol a wire informing him that Mircea’s mother (Carol’s first wife), Zizi Lambrino, had died and there was no money for her funeral. Carol didn’t even bother to respond. But karma’s a bitch. When Carol himself died later that year, neither of his sons attended his funeral.

After Carol’s abdication, his son Michael became King for the second time. By this point, he was merely a figurehead, a pawn in the hands of the ruling party – first the fascists, later the communists. Originally aligned with Hitler, Romania finished the war on the Allied side, a puppet of the new Soviet state. The political machinations and coups that swung the country so radically from one end of the spectrum to the other left the population decimated and impoverished. King Michael was himself forced to abdicate in 1947 and went into exile in Switzerland, ending the relatively short and turbulent reign of Romania’s monarchy.

And that brings us to the end of Nothing But The Naughty Bits, for now. The newsletter will be going on a little hiatus but I’ll be back soon with new frivolous and juicy topics to divert you. And! I am now accepting requests! If there is a topic, genre, or discussion you’re dying to get my (snarky) comments on, leave a comment.

Selected Bibliography

Hannah Pakula, The Last Romantic: The Life of the Legendary Marie, Queen of Roumania, the Most Famous Beauty, Heroine and Royal Celebrity of Her Time

Julia P. Gelardi, Born to Rule: Five Reigning Consorts, Granddaughters of Queen Victoria

Paul Kenyon, Children of the Night: The Strange and Epic Story of Modern Romania