The Prince
Prince Alexandru Ioan Cuza looked with narrowed eyes at the map that lay spread out below him on the table. His two hands were clenched in fists, the left resting on the border between Serbia, which belonged to the Ottoman Empire, and Walachia, the right on the Russian city of Kishinev, not far from the border of the Principality of Moldavia. Bucharest… Iași… The prince's eye travelled back and forth between the capitals of the two principalities he had united into the United Principalities of Moldavia and Walachia. Mihail Kogălniceanu, his closest adviser, was in the room with him. And as always when the prince was silent and had put on a look like this, Mihail knew that he would do well not to disturb him. What he didn't know was that the prince's mind was not on the revolution, as Mihail had assumed. The prince watched his realm from above, but instead of thinking of the tremendous tasks that lay ahead of him and his followers, his thoughts turned to the dream he had dreamed the night before and which left him no longer in peace. Restlessness had spread in him since those hours when he had awakened from the dream. A strange thought crossed his mind: had he woken at all? How could he be sure that he wasn't still dreaming? He frowned at the thought and turned his attention to the document on the table.
