Cultural Memory and Identity in Times of Conflict: Analysing the Bulgarian Campaign of 1913 Through Romanian Soldiers’ Memoirs

Abstract

The formation of collective identity and cultural memory is deeply influenced by the historical context and the area in which they develop. Memorial writing entails the reconstruction of the realities of the age under focus, drawing on the author’s objective and especially subjective memories. It is influenced by the one who analyses the events, the language and the underlying values. Thus, the boundary between fiction and reality is often indistinct, as memory gaps are filled with the aid of imagination, without diminishing the documentary value of the text. Since memoirs represent a crossover between history, identity, and literature, an armed conflict can be narrated in many ways. This is also true for Romania’s military campaign in 1913, a moment that is not sufficiently explored by Romanian historiography and literature. Those who serve as chroniclers of the time, enduring endless marches through hostile environments and encountering a largely unfriendly population, contribute to Romanians’ discovery of a reality of the country south of the Danube River that is both similar to and different from theirs. Writers, historians, and publicists fill their pages with memories of a campaign where almost no shots were fired but which resulted in over 5000 victims killed by cholera.

1. Introduction

The Balkan Wars (1912–1913) marked a turning point in the modern history of Southeastern Europe, reshaping borders and alliances, and serving as a prelude to the global conflict later known as the First World War. The limited literature analysing Romania’s course of action in taking control of southern Dobruja after the Treaty of Bucharest, signed in August 1913, also references various moments of the military campaign in Bulgaria. Although it appeared to be merely a show of force, or nothing more than a “pleasure march” across the Danube followed by a triumphant return, the reality was far from this assumption. Through the military actions of July 1913, Romania expressed its ambition to become the “arbiter” of the Balkans. After the Peace of Bucharest, which marked a symbolic milestone in the development of national prestige and identity—especially considering Romania was a relatively new state at the time—this dream became a reality. Paradoxically, the victory, achieved almost without a shot being fired, was marred by the tragedy of soldiers decimated by cholera.

The memoirs of the 1913 Bulgarian Campaign, while largely unfamiliar to the Romanian public and relatively little known within cultural circles, can serve as a lens to examine the intersection of cultural memory and personal experiences of war. Considering the national narratives of the communist era that emphasised the peaceful nature of the Romanian people—disseminated through scholarly works as well as films and television—this gap in Romanian historiography contrasts with the broader European scholarship on war and memory. European scholarship has aimed to highlight the various ways of shaping collective identities through remembrance of conflict, with influential contributions from Maurice Halbwachs, Pierre Nora, and Jan Assmann.

This paper aims to examine who the Romanian soldiers were that participated in the Bulgarian Campaign of 1913, how they represented their experiences, and what contributions their narratives make to our understanding of the event. It explores how the memoirs portray the writers’ relationship with the cultural “other” and the emotions that influence their recollections.

By examining soldiers’ memoirs as cultural texts rather than mere historical accounts, this study highlights that the formation of collective identity and cultural memory is profoundly shaped by the historical context and the environment in which they are created and shared. Memoirs are characterised by the author’s subjective reconstruction of the realities of the era in which they are written, influenced by the individual’s specific identity—such as their language, values, traumas, or traditions. Consequently, the narrative often mirrors both personal experiences and significant historical events, and the line between reality and fiction frequently becomes blurred, as gaps in memory can be filled with imagination without undermining the text’s documentary value. Ultimately, memoirs serve as a space for dialogue between history, identity, and literature, a domain where it is possible to explore how these elements intersect within the context of remembering war or conflict; thus, “memory is understood as being firmly grounded in its links to place and identity, but also to the role of power in representations of memory.” (Drozdzewski et al. 2019, p. 253).

Methodologically, this research employs discourse analysis and contextual interpretation, focusing on themes, metaphors, and narrative strategies.

The discussion unfolds in two principal sections. The first places the history of the Bulgarian Campaign within the political and cultural context of early twentieth-century Romania, analyzing how it was portrayed in official rhetoric. The Section 2 focuses on the soldiers’ memoirs themselves, highlighting dominant themes such as the contrast between civilization and barbarism, the rhetoric of moral superiority, and the tension between pride and disillusionment.

2. Historical Context

The Balkan Wars of 1912–1913 marked a successful effort by the Christian states of the Balkan Peninsula to remove the Ottoman Empire from Europe. While Serbia, Bulgaria, Montenegro, and Greece initially fought against the Ottoman forces in the first conflict, the situation changed dramatically when Bulgaria attacked its own allies to expand its territory. In this tense context, the prime minister of the Kingdom of Romania, Titu Maiorescu, decided to “send private scouts” (Maiorescu 1995, p. 36) to King Ferdinand of Bulgaria, with the stated aim of “initiating talks on the rectification of the border from Turtucaia to the Black Sea, between Euxinograd and Cavarna” (Maiorescu 1995, p. 36).

Romania was worried about the shifting balance of power in the Balkans and Bulgaria’s increasing military strength, which appeared to have revisionist aims towards Dobruja.

In the context of Sofia’s unexpected attack on its former Christian allies, Bucharest chose to intervene militarily. On 10 July 1913, the Romanian minister in Sofia sent Romania’s declaration of war to the Bulgarian authorities. The troops crossed the Danube and advanced swiftly into Bulgarian territory without facing armed resistance. Bulgarian soldiers who were taken prisoner were very surprised that they were not massacred, as had been customary in battles between former allies in the Balkans. They were treated kindly and released quickly, provided they promised not to fight against the Romanian army. Memoirs of the 1913 campaign recount many episodes where Bulgarians expected to be shot by Romanian soldiers, as was customary in Macedonia.

Crown Prince Ferdinand issued a proclamation to the Bulgarian population in the areas of operation, stating: “The Romanian army has entered Bulgaria to put an end to an oppressive state of affairs for the inhabitants of this country. Our troops have not therefore entered with hostility towards the Bulgarian people […] Orders have been given that everything taken for the army is to be paid for and taken only through the local administrative authorities. […] Bulgarian troops who have surrendered to us have been set free, allowing the people to go to their homes. Such conduct on the part of our army requires the Bulgarian population not to show hostility towards Romanian troops” (Parfeni 1915, p. 15).

Romania’s entry into the conflict would settle the issue once and for all, and Bulgaria would ask for peace. The armistice negotiations began in Niš and continued with discussions between the belligerents in Bucharest, where the Peace Treaty was signed, confirming the new territorial changes in the Balkans. Through the Treaty of Bucharest, Romania annexed the territory known as New Dobruja or the Quadrilateral into its borders. The region covered 7726 square kilometres and had a population of over 280,000. The largest ethnic group was the Turkish Tatars, followed by the Bulgarian population, which had been settled in the region after 1878.

3. Campaign Memoirs

Romania’s war effort in 1913 was supported by every family that sent one or more soldiers to the front. They included peasants, workers, teachers, young politicians, officers, writers, and journalists, and, for most of them, this was their first encounter with a different culture, language, and people. This is why, beyond the general enthusiasm and fear of what the future might hold (war is a deadly business), they viewed the realities of the country south of the Danube with great curiosity. Some described, in vivid colours, this “strange war,” in which confrontations with the enemy were almost non-existent, yet the number of victims was extremely high. The soldiers had the chance to compare two cultures that appeared very similar. The most talented among them immortalised their war memories in works that appeared throughout Romania.

Analysing the memoirs of the Bulgarian Campaign, these notes have been grouped into three categories: memoirs of journalists and writers who served as officers (Mihail Sadoveanu); war memories belonging to journalists and writers present in a semi-official capacity across the Danube (Nicolae Iorga); and writings by those mobilised of lower ranks. Each of these three categories of writings, although exploring the same themes, adopts a different approach, but they reflect not only their personal experiences but also the political and ideological aims of shaping a Romanian national identity.

Thus, Iorga tends to describe his days in Bulgaria with detailed accounts of places and landscapes, human types, including both villagers and Romanian soldiers.

Unlike Iorga, Mihail Sadoveanu, who lacked similar facilities, was more willing to highlight the problems and needs of his soldiers, as well as his interactions with them and the Bulgarian population. Sadoveanu depicts the places he passes through and shares the life stories of the Bulgarians he encounters along the way.

The memoirs of non-commissioned officers and soldiers emphasise the hardships of the campaign, such as long marches, dehydration, heavy backpacks, poor food, and the inhumane treatment by some non-commissioned officers and officers. They also detail interpersonal relations among the soldiers and their interactions with the Bulgarian population, among other topics.

Mihail Sadoveanu authored two books about the Balkan Wars: Războiul Balcanic (The Balkan War), published by Adeverul S.A., Bucharest, 1923, and 44 de zile în Bulgaria (44 Days in Bulgaria), published by Minerva, Bucharest, 1925. In the former, the author concentrates on the tragic events unfolding across the Balkan Peninsula. The spectre of war becomes almost obsessive in Sadoveanu’s account. The entire Romanian society feels connected to the events: “In the Balkans, the hurricane of war rages, while we are filled with worry and thoughts. Newspapers are eagerly awaited at daybreak; everyone’s eyes rush to the telegrams that report in short, mournful sentences about the bloody battles in which the men of the five nations beyond the Danube are dying. Everywhere, on trains, in carriages, in bustling beer halls and cafes, on city streets, in the homes of townspeople, in the quiet villages of peasants, people talk feverishly, waiting for the hour when our country will raise its armies.” (Sadoveanu 1923, p. 13).

Mihail Sadoveanu’s war experience is recounted in the book 44 Days in Bulgaria. Sadoveanu, a lieutenant (reserve), was called up for military service in June 1913 to the 15th Infantry Regiment “Podul Înalt” in Piatra Neamț and, according to his words: “I was lucky enough to travel through part of Bulgaria in the vanguard brigade, I got very far, I crossed the great Balkans and stopped with my regiment one day’s march from Sofia” (Sadoveanu 1925, p. 3). The book, conceived as a letter to an imaginary friend, aims to talk “about the mobilization of the Romanian armies, about the difficult marches in the July heat, about crossing the Balkans, about the great misfortune of Bulgaria and about the spectre of cholera that suddenly rose before us” (Sadoveanu 1925, p. 4).

The author admits that he knows the reader would like to hear about heroic moments, about battles in which the Romanian army defeated thousands of Bulgarians. However, “you will not be given this Homeric epic to read. It was written somewhere, in the stars, that the blood of this country’s children would be spared for a greater cause” (Sadoveanu 1925, p. 5).

Every moment of the campaign is ingrained in the author’s memory and described in detail. The mobilisation, followed by the journey to the Danube, holds a significant place in Sadoveanu’s descriptions.

Sadoveanu dwells on the forced march of the Romanian troops, “[…] dozens of infantry regiments advance fiercely towards the great mountains in the distance. In the scorching July heat, through lands parched by drought and devoid of water, tens and hundreds of thousands of men march in single file, under the crushing weight of their knapsacks. They are often hungry and always thirsty” (Sadoveanu 1925, p. 6). The author empathises with the soldiers: “My people, most of whom were sturdy mountain folk, accustomed only to the coolness of the Bistrița River and the fir forests, now walked with their heads bowed, their cheeks flushed and drenched in sweat” (Sadoveanu 1925, p. 83).

After crossing the Danube, the first people Sadoveanu encounters are Romanians, who gaze curiously at the soldiers. “The first Bulgarian, an old, bearded man in shabby clothes and a round cap on his head, was herding cattle nearby and seemed not to notice us. ‘Hey, are you Bulgarian?’ ‘Bălgar! Bălgar!’ he replied. He was quiet, gloomy, and sad” (Sadoveanu 1925, p. 82).

Sadoveanu recounts that the first village they reached had locked gates. As they entered a courtyard, “three women with dishevelled hair emerged from the shadows, screaming and clutching their heads, making desperate gestures as if they wanted to tear their hair out.

“Stop, men!” shouted the captain, raising his arm. “Ho, country!” he added, then in Romanian. Mir, bre, mir! That means peace, he told me, in a different voice […]”

(Sadoveanu 1925, p. 91).

After the soldiers find a fountain, “[…] the women, who had been shaken by the terror of death, remained standing near the gate, stunned and silent. […]”

“You saw,” said the captain. “This is what people know here: that the army must plunder, burn, and kill.”

“But what have we got to do with the women and children?” muttered the soldier Mihăilă, right next to me

(Sadoveanu 1925, p. 92).

Despite the hardships of the campaign, the author depicts amusing incidents. In one village, Lieutenant Sadoveanu’s orderly attempted to buy a chicken, but no one understood him. The ensuing exchange between the orderly and a housewife observing the soldiers passing by is delightful.

“A chicken! Don’t you have a chicken for sale?” asked Mr. Ion.

“No!” replied the woman, without understanding […].

“No, a chicken!” shouted the orderly loudly.

“None!” added the woman immediately, shrugging her shoulders.

Then, in desperation, Mr. Ion, […] taking on a curious attitude with his arms raised and his fingers spread, stared at the woman and began to cluck softly and fearfully:

“Cluck! Cluck!”

The Bulgarian woman rushed back toward the gate, terrified at first, then she stopped, saw Mr. Ion laughing, and began to laugh too, reconciled and finally understanding what it was all about.

“Aha! Hen! Hen!” […]

“Yes! Hen!” replied Mr. Ion proudly.

(Sadoveanu 1925, pp. 95–96)

A separate chapter in Sadoveanu’s work is titled The Turks of Ghighen: “In Ghighen, I saw only Turkish households up close on the bare ground, where women and children slept at night, under the stars. Now, during the day, the women were gone. Among the large huts, still decorated with white flags, boys in fez hats and girls in shalwar pants were walking around. […] Men with large turbans, belts, enormous shalwar pants, and bare feet, in their imines, were busy with their household chores” (Sadoveanu 1925, pp. 100–1).

Sadoveanu, accompanied by the captain, is invited into a Turkish hut where the inhabitants speak Romanian. They are both impressed by the cleanliness inside. The hosts and guests engage in a lengthy discussion about peace and war, atrocities of all kinds, and how the former rulers of these lands had become second-class citizens, with the Bulgarians seeking revenge for centuries of humiliation.

Thirst started to become obsessive for everyone on the march. Even Sadoveanu could not escape it: “I was tormented by thirst. […] I had despised the shade of a tree so many times and stopped at a spring so many times and drunk its cold water, without thinking about this moment […]” (Sadoveanu 1925, p. 119).

Lieutenant Sadoveanu becomes immersed in the world of Bulgarian villages, providing highly detailed descriptions of simple, similar houses that contain only the bare necessities. The people are also quite interesting. In the evening, “around the fire, huddled together, hunched over, twisting on their tiny stools, while the old woman prepared dinner, the captain, Second Lieutenant M, and old Andrei engaged in a fascinating conversation. […] Andrei liked politics. The discussions at the café, despite the absence of a cup of coffee due to its high price, had kept him informed about all the latest domestic and foreign political developments. […]” (Sadoveanu 1925, p. 128).

The drama of “the other” is rendered in tragic hues by the author. Lieutenant M asks a Bulgarian who had approached the council if he has children. He had one, but he had died. “And suddenly, Stoico’s mask contorts even more horribly. He puts his black, calloused, hairy hands to his cheek and bursts into tears, into an uncontrollable roar. He holds his cheek tightly covered and moans hoarsely, shaking his head from side to side. […] Dediu Andrei sighed, and the old woman bowed her head toward the embers, her round glasses wet with tears” (Sadoveanu 1925, pp. 132–33).

Continuing the story of the long marches, Lieutenant Sadoveanu recounts the encounter with the captured Bulgarian soldiers, who were quickly released by the Romanian army. “The returnees were welcomed cheerfully in the villages, and especially the grieving old men and unhappy women now looked at our army differently: we were the liberators of their husbands and children from a senseless slaughter. […] However, we were still enemies, and the young men looked at us without a smile from under their thick eyebrows, and in their eyes, at least I felt enmity for trampling on their land and humiliating their people.” (Sadoveanu 1925, p. 150).

The description of the houses, the faces and customs of both the Bulgarians and the Turks are not just ethnographical, but civilizational. They provide the background of a cultural gradient of sorts, in which the Romanians are cleaner, orderly, disciplined and closer to Europe than the “other” peoples that are still stuck in “the Orient”.

In Etropole, soldiers of Lieutenant Sadoveanu’s regiment learnt that Bulgaria had requested an armistice. However, until it is signed, the troops are to continue marching “to cross the Balkans and occupy the Zlatița region and the road to Sofia. […] The peace terms were harsh, and with negotiations failing, Sofia had to be occupied. We would have had the honour of being the first to set foot in the enemy’s capital […]” (Sadoveanu 1925, p. 190). Happy, the soldiers joked among themselves that they would be welcomed in Sofia with hot pies and tobacco.

Crossing the Balkans is challenging, but the troops escape the intense heat and find plenty of water in waterfalls and springs. Upon reaching Zlatița, the soldiers grew more concerned about a cholera outbreak. “We began to look at the water brought by our orderlies with suspicion, as if it were mixed with poison. […] Strict orders were given to the troops to drink water only from certain springs and not to touch cornelian cherries, which were the only fruit in the area […]” (Sadoveanu 1925, p. 204).

The announcement of the retreat stirred new feelings, as the soldiers began to recall their loved ones at home. “[…] I know that no one slept that night. The fires burned and the comrades chatted until the shepherd’s star rose.” (Sadoveanu 1925, p. 245). The return journey is swift. “The marches back are made with unspeakable vigour. Every time, after unbearable rest periods, the order to leave is given, shouts erupt, and whistles start playing dance tunes.” (Sadoveanu 1925, p. 254).

Sadoveanu, like many soldiers, had the misfortune of contracting cholera: “[…] I, too, felt the poisonous bite of the beast that had entered me unbeknownst to me. After a restless sleep, on a scorching afternoon, I felt the terrifying pain. With my eyes downcast, I examined and understood it with cold despair” (Sadoveanu 1925, p. 257). His comrades looked at him with fear, which left a mark on Sadoveanu: “I understood that I had become an apocalyptic beast to them” (Sadoveanu 1925, p. 258). No one reached out to him as he left for a military hospital.

Fortunately, Sadoveanu quickly returns to his regiment, but the return journey is harrowing; more and more soldiers fall ill with cholera. Over 30 of them die and are buried in the fields and valleys of Bulgaria. Everywhere along the road, signs announce: “This place is infected with cholera.” Leaving the town of Lovcea, “with tears in our eyes, we see the Danube in the distance.” Beyond sickness and death, the Romanian soldiers were returning home.

Undoubtedly, Nicolae Iorga’s book, Romania’s Military Action in Bulgaria with Our Soldiers, is among the most intriguing memoirs of the Balkan War and the Romanian army’s role in the Bulgarian Campaign. Iorga sought and obtained King Carol I’s approval “to freely follow all military operations” (Iorga 1913, p. 22). Consequently, Iorga became a semi-official chronicler of the campaign. As a result, he enjoyed a higher standard of living during his stay in Bulgaria, as he was exempt from military obligations and duties.

Across the Danube, in the first villages, the women “laugh a little and, through tears, shyly allow themselves to be photographed by amateur officers. And near Plevna, an old woman, who was shaking the hands of the princes, said from the depths of her conviction: ‘You were here in 1877, and you left like fools; will you be so foolish as to leave now?’” (Iorga 1913, pp. 129–30).

Iorga recounts how the officers captured at Ferdinandovo by General Bogdan were guests of the Romanian officers. “Carried with difficulty, they first rested and feasted lavishly on one of the Danube monitors, and today, at lunchtime, they make their entrance, the whole room stands up to honour these devoted soldiers, whom fate has cast among the unfortunate prisoners and the betrayal of their soldiers” (Iorga 1913, p. 131).

Iorga notes that the Romanian officers were courteous. “Poor boys! was heard around the table” (Iorga 1913, p. 131). The next day, upon King Carol I’s order, all prisoners, including officers, non-commissioned officers, and soldiers, were released unexpectedly, as they had anticipated a lengthy imprisonment.

What we can understand from the accounts of both Iorga and Sadoveanu is that the image of the Romanian soldier is one of humanity, temperance, and civilisation, because they do not rob, kill, or destroy senselessly. Even as they enter Bulgarian villages, their reaction is one of pity, not hate. This narrative builds upon a myth of the Romanian civilizing mission, specific to the post-1877 discourse, renewed here in a moral register.

Along the road to Biela-Slatina lie Bulgarian villages. Iorga describes one such village, which he considers representative of all Bulgarian villages: “[…] an irregular cluster of curious houses, made of old clay, with shuttered windows and barred doors, lined up along a pothole-ridden road where geese and piglets rummage through the dirt. The crowd watching us from afar, distrustful and hostile, is held in check by a guard in a very imposing military uniform” (Iorga 1913, p. 140).

After the armistice is announced, life begins to return to normal in Bulgarian villages and towns. “The gates are still locked, but women of all ages stand in the doorways from morning until night. There are older women with crutches, and well-dressed children, very robust, clean, with rosy cheeks. They wear headscarves with bariz on their heads, in Turkish fashion, and they stand and watch everything that passes by” (Iorga 1913, pp. 145–46).

Iorga departs for Orhanie, where General Musteață’s cavalry is stationed. The area is of vital importance for Sofia’s supplies. On his way to Orhanie, Iorga passes through villages whose names evoke his homeland: Novacianie (Novăceni), Scrădlenii. In these villages, there are Bulgarians who speak Romanian very well. Even Orhanie, a larger town, does not leave a particular impression on Iorga: « […] a very poorly maintained kindergarten […] the school building, with sad, bluish-painted walls, cramped rooms and no light […] a single larger street with very modest shops […] most of the doors and windows are boarded up; a tavern, which is the officers’ mess […], a barber and a blacksmith are the only ones who remain open » (Iorga 1913, pp. 152–53).

The civilians and Bulgarian military were utterly astonished: not only did the Romanian soldiers refrain from harming the population, but they also liberated the Bulgarian soldiers who had been taken prisoner. “On their way back to their homes, they encountered Romanian soldiers and shouted: ‘Long live Romania!’” (Gheorghe 1915, p. 30). “For many ordinary Bulgarians who had been drafted into the army, the months of war and its horrors were traumatic. They saw their villages destroyed and their families dying of hunger. Under these circumstances, many viewed the Romanians as liberators. After a day or two in captivity, Bulgarian soldiers were given passes certifying that they promised they would not raise their weapons against the Romanian army” (Gheorghe 1915, p. 31). This kind of narrative seeks to erase any sense of imperialistic guilt, framing the 1913 intervention as a peacekeeping mission of almost providential nature.

After a period of suspicion, the Bulgarians regained their skills as merchants. As people realised that forced requisitions were no longer a threat, markets began to fill once more with goods. Nicolae Iorga reported: “Hospitality was often offered wholeheartedly. Moreover, even in remote areas, Romanian is spoken well. The Bulgarian from Orhanie who hosted me later wrote to me in Bucharest, telling me that his children were asking him where I was and if I was well. Old people from the time of the romantic Racovschi, who had spent many years as a tireless conspirator in Romania, where Marin Drinov’s first History of the Bulgarian People appeared in Brăila, told me of their old links with our country. They thanked me for not being among the warriors of 1912 and acknowledged that I had not come to them intending to rob them of their national rights” (Iorga 1932, p. 159).

These words were written “almost a month after leaving home, in the dim light that the sultry day sent through the small windows, in the smell of fresh basil from the bunch of flowers that the hostess’s little girl, with her pigtails at the back, smiling, had placed on the table with an apology for disturbing my work, as if in a Bucharest drawing room” (Iorga 1932, pp. 167–68).

Nicolae Iorga describes the conclusion of the armistice, which brought joy to the troops. The soldiers were thinking about returning home, happy that they had not been wounded. “In the general peaceful atmosphere, however, hostile gestures were not long in coming. A motorcycle lieutenant in the Romanian army was found hanged. The perpetrators were never found. Members of a cavalry patrol were beheaded, and another patrol had to use their weapons to escape an ambush” (Negoiță 2008, p. 159).

“Those most pleased with the presence of the Romanian army were the Turks living in Bulgaria. Many of them were shepherds who had nothing left of the former greatness of their people, and they welcomed the Romanian soldiers with joy, knowing that they would thus be protected” (Negoiță 2008, pp. 159–60). They said: “You, Romanians, are good people. You don’t cut our throats like the Bulgarians! […] You speak well to everyone, you pay for eggs and chickens, you do not harm anyone […] Here, where there are little children and fearful wives, you do nothing and speak kindly! […] We will ask your lordships to let us settle in Dobrogea too!” (Sadoveanu 1925, pp. 115–16).

George Topîrceanu was another author who was mobilised and followed the Romanian army into Bulgaria. His impression was that “the villages were deserted of young men” (Topîrceanu 2014, p. 7) and that “Romanian troops were falling upon them like locusts” (Topîrceanu 2014, p. 7). George Topîrceanu’s war memories are much more extensive when he discusses the First World War, the Battle of Turtucaia, and his long imprisonment, which took him to Macedonia, a source of great pain and disappointment.

The poet and translator Haralamb G. Lecca also took part in the 1913 campaign. After crossing the Danube, the scene was bleak: “unknown steppes, instead of roads, slopes, with ruts as deep as furrows. Mud and water, plenty. Cattle, ditto. Bulgarians, not even chickens” (Lecca 1913, p. 3). Lecca highlights the scarcity of water, “[…] when we arrived in Rahovița, the previous lack of wells caused a terrible rush at the tavern gates and a delirious assault on the taps” (Lecca 1913, p. 11). Rahovița “is the first Bulgarian village seen up close, and in its entirety. Desolate, crowded, with ragged old people, not a woman in sight, living only through the shutters of a few inns, where the owner sold wine, brandy, and cognac through the shutters” (Lecca 1913, pp. 11–12).

The author concludes, like Sadoveanu and Iorga, that despite their wealth, Bulgarians live extremely modestly: “A single bed; only one table; chairs, few and far between; mattresses, even rarer; ragged blankets—nothing that promised the abundance of their appearance. Every peasant is a miser who saves in order to endure” (Lecca 1913, pp. 13–14).

Both Sadoveanu and Iorga had observed patriotic lithographs in the Bulgarian home where they were staying. Haralamb Lecca would later make the same remark: “What struck me first was finding, in a shop that had been turned into an office, yet another proof that there is no one in Bulgaria who has not received a patriotic education. An illustration taken from a newspaper was nailed to the wall with four rusty nails, depicting their tsar as Jupiter Tonans, He thundered from a heavenly quadriga upon the terrified crescent moon, decapitating minarets and destroying Muslims. Petre Sârbul stood on his right, the late Gheorghe on his left, and old Nichita below” (Lecca 1913, p. 29).

Lecca does not like Bulgarian peasants, whom he described as “bony and frowning, swaying their brown trousers, the same emaciated women, without even a single garment of their own, but rather some shabby skirts […] and the same contrast between the abundance on the outside and the stinginess on the inside. Everything young and clean had fled to the mountains, and food was rotting, hidden in cellars and pits. Hostility was everywhere. It was a miracle that they did not poison the wells” (Lecca 1913, p. 30).

Cholera was the most severe problem confronting the Romanian army. “The Romanian soldiers soon became gripped by a death psychosis that struck when no one expected it. Research has established that the microbes were carried by Bulgarian soldiers returning home from captivity. The disease spread rapidly among the Romanian army” (Negoiță 2008, p. 160). Just as quickly, trench folklore gave rise to the idea that Bulgarian doctors had infected the waters of the Isker with cholera microbes (Gheorghe 1915, p. 43).

Nicolae Iorga remarked: “We suspect 35 cases of cholera in the large camp of the First Division. […] It would not be surprising if the dreaded plague were to spread to us. In addition to the numerous infected, most dwellings are alarmingly unhygienic” (Iorga 1913, p. 168). In fact, “cholera had been ravaging Bulgaria for some time, and the Romanian army’s health service was caught off guard. […] However, at that early stage of the war, no one, from general to the lowest soldier, suspected that the battle would be fought against cholera. No one discussed cholera, no one had any knowledge of it, the commander was not informed of its presence in Bulgaria, so no measures were implemented, no instructions were issued to the troops concerning the dangerous disease” (Barbu 2013, p. 156).

Many regiments had left for the campaign without sufficient medical supplies. Some officers accused the doctors of “drinking coffee and playing cards all day long.” Soldiers were given mouldy bread with worms in it, and the horses were fed… straw! (Iorga 1913, p. 244). “Gastroenteritis, contracted by many soldiers after prolonged consumption of unwashed fruit (sour cherries), was another enemy of the Romanian army in the Bulgarian campaign” (Negoiță 2008, p. 160). Romanian soldiers contracted tuberculosis, anthrax, and typhoid fever.

Constantin Argetoianu, politician and publicist described the tragedy caused by cholera to the Romanian army: “They loaded them up as they found them and, piling them on top of each other, took them to large mass graves filled with lime, where they buried them without coffins and in the absence of God” (Argetoianu 1991, p. 33).

Haralamb Lecca describes the drama of the cholera epidemic: “In addition to the initial mistake of not vaccinating the troops on the Romanian bank of the Danube before departure, there was also the miserable sanitary service, combined with a lack of food. Let alone that no bread arrived for days on end, and later, upon arrival, it was mouldy, thus forcing the peasant, who was unruly by nature, to eat poorly cooked wheat and berries with pits […] But the most painful disaster was that the ambulances were fighting over packages of cotton wool and a litre of carbolic acid, or a small box of citric acid, so well-equipped were they […]” (Lecca 1913, p. 38).

Lecca visits Orhanie and Etropole. Both towns leave a good impression on him. In Ceranovița, “[…] the first inoculation was carried out, with the long-awaited vaccine, promising miracles […] When it was time for the second, scratch! There wasn’t enough, and many regiments remained half-virgins” (Lecca 1913, p. 60).

On the return journey to the homeland, good news arrives: the cholera has “subsided”. The crossing of the Danube is painted in vivid colours: “[…] we walked for about three hours, neither sad nor happy, with something indistinct in our souls […], and we saw, first from above, the Danube overflowing, as if it had swollen to welcome us […] far below, the bridge with Welcome, peacemakers!—a bridge crossed with emotions other than those of departure, the emotions of the returning exile—and finally, beyond, our land. Our country, Romania, for which we would give ten lives each, all ten of them” (Lecca 1913, p. 104).

The publicist G. Millian Maximin (Pascu-Mendel Grimberg) recounted his experiences in Bulgaria in the book Peste Dunăre Însemnările unui mobilizat (Across the Danube: Notes of a Mobilised Soldier). “With the bayonet at my side and the rifle on my shoulder, I will cross the Danube, and these two deadly weapons will be both my defence and my victory” (Millian Maximin 1913, p. 7), says the author at the beginning of his work. Maximin describes all the preparations for departure, the impact of the dapper Bucharest resident on the peasants coming to join the army, the reception at the barracks, the boots that were too big or the weight of the knapsacks, and the first drops of sweat on the soldiers’ faces. To the surprise and horror of some, the soldiers had been crammed into the holds of ships crossing the Danube and stopping at Ostrov, from where they were to leave for Silistra. But Silistra had fallen, and the soldiers’ attitude was fitting: “All the caps flew into the air, caught and thrown back dozens of times. Long live the Romanian army! Hurrah! Hurrah! Some soldiers embraced each other; we all looked at each other with warm, almost tearful eyes.

It was not the joy of escaping a battle, but the genuine, heartfelt joy that the Bulgarian city, which had been talked about so much, was finally in the hands of our army, and that the Romanian tricolour flag was flying there,” (Millian Maximin 1913, p. 55).

Once disembarked in Bulgaria, the exhausting marches began, and the author describes them in dramatic terms: “Our gaze was cloudy, exhausted, we could barely see because of the dust and sweat that dripped from our foreheads into our eyes, blinding us […] The hills had killed us. When we climbed another almost straight slope, the straps of our backpacks and the bags full of cartridges strangled us, and we breathed with a gasping sound. […] We climb, we climb with difficulty, our legs buckle and tremble. Stumbling, we bump into trees and trip over dry branches lying on the ground” (Millian Maximin 1913, pp. 74–75).

This story about the suffering of Romanian soldiers, deprived of the comforts enjoyed by Nicolae Iorga, and even by Second Lieutenant Mihail Sadoveanu, is realistic and cruel: “Those Bulgarian hills, how they tormented us” (Millian Maximin 1913, p. 100).

Millian Maximin speaks beautifully about the Bulgarians: “In one village, all the women, dressed in their Sunday best, were celebrating the memory of their sons, brothers, or husbands who had left home to fight and never returned, and who would never return […] When the Bulgarian priest stretched out his hands and blessed the dishes prepared with the labour of the mothers’ and wives’ of enemies, to feed us, their enemies, this blessing […] I wished in my heart that it would contain the fruitful seed of an eternal blessing of love and peace.” (Millian Maximin 1913, pp. 208–9).

The soldiers were delighted to hear the news of the armistice and their journey home. “They were so happy that the war was finally over and that they could return home that there was no room in their hearts for sorrow or hatred” (Millian Maximin 1913, p. 237).

In addition to the writers and journalists mentioned above, some participants in the military campaign describe their exploits in arms, though with varying degrees of talent. Nicu Borgovan dedicated his work: “to the heroes of the Romanian people, who, with tears hidden between their eyelashes and moans of pain, saw their bodies bloodied and crushed in their sacrifice for their country […]” (Borgovan 1937, p. 3), while Constantin Paul and Aurel Marcu, in the preface to their book, declared that they wanted to leave to posterity “[…] impressions gathered from the expedition field in Bulgaria, and clarifications in the light of which the events appear clear—as clear as they can appear in the history of the present moment” (Paul and Marcu 1913, p. 3). Dimitrie Dimiu, in turn, depicted the horrors of war and empathised with the Bulgarians: “How much bitterness this house must have swallowed and how much poverty must have beaten against its walls since last autumn, when the farmer went to war” (Dimiu 1914, pp. 45–46).

4. Conclusions

Analysing war memoirs related to a specific historical event is quite uncommon in Romanian historical research. The data presented in this paper demonstrate that the “strange war” fought by the Romanian army in Bulgaria in 1913 has been discussed in numerous works of varying scope. Each author referred to their own campaign experience, with different levels of hardship and events that affected or revolted them. Life for a soldier was much tougher than for an officer or “war chronicler” such as Nicolae Iorga. Therefore, there are differences in tone, level of drama, and severity of life experiences, depending on each author’s social and military status.

Although on a surface level, the memoirs seem to have a factual, matter-of-fact tone, full of descriptions and lacking ideological intent, a second glance reveals that these texts articulate a genuine national identity policy, transforming the experience of a minor military intervention into a form of Romanian self-definition. The recounts create the image of a civilized and humane Romanian, in contrast to the “other” inhabitants of the Balkans that it encounters, described as violent, primitive, and driven by instinct.

When it comes to the cholera epidemic, we can observe that it served as an equalising force, a humanising moment between the Bulgarians and the Romanian armed forces. The shared experience of suffering seemed to generate compassion in the hearts of the conquering soldiers, who became carriers of an almost moral and civilising mission—liberators rather than conquerors. Romania itself appears to be a moderate power, ruled by reason rather than imperialist ambitions. Through this discourse, the memoirs participate in the symbolic legitimisation of Romanian territorial expansion in the region. Given the context of the conflict, in the absence of military heroism, these texts almost heroise morals and civility, presenting temperance, empathy, and order as defining moral virtues of national identity. Thus, behind the seemingly neutral accounts, a subtle rhetoric of moral and cultural superiority is concealed, used by writers of the time to contribute to the myth of a civilising, European, and just Romanian people in a chaotic and archaic space.