Arsenal Prison Diary (May 18-28, 1946)
Mircea Vulcănescu, a major figure in Romanian culture, was a dominant force in philosophy, theology and economics during the third, fourth and part of the sixth decade of this century, before his death in prison. Mircea Vulcănescu was undersecretary of State at the Ministry of Finance under Antonescu when he was arrested for the first time in 1946. He spent ten days in prison and kept a diary, which is being published for the first time now in our journal. The diary is accompanied by two sketches of the place of detention made by the author: a plan of the Arsenal prison and a plan of the detention room. It’s worth mentioning that at the time, the communists hadn’t yet gained full control and the king hadn’t been forced to leave the country. As a result, political prisoners were only deprived of their freedom, not other basic rights like the right to a bed. This is something that was taken away under the communist regime.
Excerpts
18 May 1946
I woke up at 5 a.m. I’d just had a dream that made my head spin. I was all over the place, emotionally speaking. On the one hand, I’d heard about Marshal Antonescu’s harsh sentence. On the other, I was facing an uncertain future because of it. […] The Marshal spoke to them directly from the box. He was representing some of the invalids who had been brought into the hall in protest. He said:
– “Soldiers, do any of you feel sorry for having given your blood and your arms for Basarabia and Bucovina?”
This was a question that those who had been plotting to exploit the situation lowered their heads. […] And it’s pretty disgraceful that the harshness of the verdict comes after all the attempts to ridicule the Marshal’s actions and the expectation that things would calm down and get softer after the hatred and revenge that’s been going on in Romanian politics since the slap given by Manciu to Codreanu in Iași twenty or so years ago.
[…] To be honest, since the Marshal’s Trial started, only half of my soul has been here and seems to be wandering. The other half is with him. I’m one of the few people who admire and love the Marshal, even though he treated people unfairly and harshly. I admire him for assuming his tragic role as the nation’s tragic cover with such profound simplicity. It was a bad moment. His good intentions, which he put at the service of a higher purpose, ultimately led him astray. I once described his role as a cover for mistakes and a payer of other people’s policies. “Greatness in a crisis!”
[…] As I try to read again through the open window of the living room, I hear two human voices asking clearly: “Mr. Mircea Vulcănescu?” “Does he live here?”
I suddenly understood. I’ve been waiting for them to arrive! I’ve been waiting for this since January 1941, when I was appointed minister. I get up and head out. I put on my dressing gown and open the back door.
“Who are you?”
“Search warrant!” says a polite young man, who I guess is a security guard. I tell him, “Here you go.” I know why you’ve come. I had a feeling this was going to happen. “Please come upstairs.” (Meanwhile, another agent had shown up).
– I’ll be right back. “Just give me a moment to get dressed.”
They ask me to witness everything I do. I ask them if they really want to search too. I know it’s just a pretext. I ask one of them to come with me to the bathroom, where I take a cold shower. I tell Marguerite, who’s got up in the meantime, “They’re here” and ask her to stay with one of them while the other one watches over me. I had a quick shower. I shave at my leisure. I ask if I should make a quick exit. He says, “You’ve got plenty of time.” They’re there to help the arrested with anything they need.
The regulations say that the person being arrested should be restrained so that they don’t run away or harm themselves. My calm and collected manner helps to win their trust. The truth is that, although I expected to see them, I’m actually a bit nervous. I’m trying to seem calm, but I’m trembling a little, just like I did during the bombings. It’s interesting how our animal instincts don’t always align with our inner spirit. The tremor in my hand is now a source of joy, and I’m learning to embrace it. I start singing, without realising it, while I’m shaving. It’s the amazing melody from the second theme of the first part of the Beethoven concerto that I heard Yehudi Menuhin play on the radio yesterday.
I’ll be thinking about this motif for the rest of the day. I get dressed and finish getting ready. I have a quick chat with the agents, who are unsure whether I should go to make a statement or if they should advise me to take my luggage for longer. They recommend that I take a suitcase. […] I turn down the breakfast Marguerite offers me, but I drink a glass of water “like the Romans” in the morning. I tell myself, “This is a lustral morning,” in my mind. I tell Marguerite when she comes back: “I’d rather not wake the girls.” She asks me, “What should I say?” “Just do whatever you think is best. No need to say anything in the morning. Just let them know at lunchtime. Marguerite comes up for a quick kiss. I take her hand and give it a little kiss, then do the same with both her cheeks.
We head out. I’m feeling totally calm now and I’m singing the Beethoven concerto theme again, louder this time. It’s as if a flower is opening in ecstasy, simultaneously majestic and gentle.
As I walk away towards Dimineții Street, where the car is waiting with the driver asleep on the bench (the third agent was waiting in front of the house), I think of Mishu Polihroniade, on the spur of the moment. Mary used to tell me that he left one spring morning!
[…] The car heads to Negustori. It’s a lovely spring day. I can tell. The streets are pretty quiet at this time of day. Then we go through Domniței Boulevard, along the boulevard, and we’re heading towards Mihai Voda Bridge. […] The car now goes up the hill on September 13. We’re now passing the old grey building, which looks like a kind of broken-down old toy fort from the Arsenal. It was converted into a penitentiary in 1942 with money from Marshal Antonescu’s fund, as the Ministry of Finance refused to give 80 million for a transformation that would put a prison in the middle of the city. […]
The car stops in front of the half-open gate. We get out and head inside. I grab my suitcase. We make our way through the courtyard, past the numerous sentries in two rows and among the barbed wire rafters. We come to a gate in a wire fence of this kind on the left. We go through it, down an alley, then down a private road next to some huts. Once more, we come across a corral; on the left, there’s a pigsty. In front of me, there’s a staircase. I run up the steps and find a door open in a red brick wall. I go down the hall with a staircase down to the cellar and see a new door open on the right into a large hall. I walk in and get hit by a strong, unpleasant odor of decomposed ammonia. In the hall, there’s a low-ranking soldier at a desk in the middle, typing away.
He’s looking for any reason to take action against the agents who brought me in. While this is going on, I’m sitting on a bench against the left wall. I’m enjoying the show! I also recognised the familiar faces of Ministers Cretzeanu and Netta. Cretzeanu had an English air about him, looking very smart in an impeccable grey suit, while Netta was in a serious black suit with white linings.
Gheron Netta offers me his hand with a smile, as if we’re catching up after work. He asks, “What else do you know?” with a smile. “As much as I shouldn’t, I’m really happy to see you here with us.” It suddenly dawned on me that an optimistic outlook can have a positive impact on so many aspects of life. He tells me about the tragic circumstances in which he was taken from the bedside of his little girl, who is suffering from infantile paralysis. Thanks to the doctors from the American mission, she is able to live in the “iron lung” they brought by air. Her parents had been trying to keep her alive for four months by giving her artificial respiration. The officers who brought me here have finished the formalities and are coming to say goodbye. They were really polite, so I shook their hands. One of them says to me, “I’d like you to stay here for as little as possible.” I say, “Thank you.” That’s all I needed to know. It seems that the last link I had to the outside world is breaking. (We’ll be looking at this again soon).
[…] They come in one after the other. General Jienescu was calm and had the same English bearing and firm gestures as General Rosetti, who was a great storyteller with the same English education. They were both well-educated and related to Cretzeanu, so they teamed up immediately. He’s here with his son, who’s going to get the things he needs to stay a bit longer. Next up is Fințescu, who’s dressed in a beige suit. In this grey atmosphere, he stands out as a man from the eighteenth century, a stark contrast to his surroundings. He shakes my hand and smiles, and I smile back. Why are we smiling? I catch myself wondering this, unsure of myself. I bet he’s wondering the same thing. On the other hand, this smile is good for you… And we have a bit of a laugh.
I’m not sure exactly when I arrived, but I know it was in order. Georgică Leon, boiled; then Mircea Cancicov, in a navy blue suit with a matching shirt, no collar. He looks like a racehorse in the stall before the race, nervous and impetuous. He stands out from the crowd of relatively inexperienced and uncertain individuals. Cancicov has a knack for playing big, and his approach captivates you from the outset. You can tell straight away that he’s a man of high class. He’s a pro at what he does, but you can tell he’s got some experience.
Then they turn up. General Iliescu is calm, down-to-earth and seems a little worried, but he has a gentle, reassuring demeanor. Then there’s General Şova, who’s calm but also decisive and imposing, with a simplicity that’s really impressive. I have to say, these generals are pretty impressive! Maybe it’s also a professional thing, their upbringing forcing them to stay calm in all situations… The civilians, apart from a few of them, are less relaxed.
Enric Otetelișanu, who is unwell, looks troubled. The architect I. D. Enescu has an olive face, but you can see he’s worried. Petrovici is the same, but he manages to bring equal humour to his personality through his usual pathos, just as he does in Cancicov, the morgue. Petrovici always seems to know he’s important and thinks carefully about what he says and does. He’s been arrested here before, so it’s nothing new to him. He recalls that the Marshal used to call him “Mr. Dean” at the Councils, as the oldest of the ministers, and he embraced this role with good humour.
General Georgescu arrives now, looking calm and relaxed, as if he’s surprised to be here, just as he was surprised to be in government on 27 January 1941. General Constantin arrives, joking but a bit surprised by this sudden change in circumstances. Just three days ago, on 24 August, he was in charge of defending Bucharest!
Here comes Ghiolu, calm, handsome, elegant and distinguished, with an air that immediately resembles those of the English-educated group.
I’m surprised to see someone I don’t know. A slim, handsome, well-groomed young man joins us. He’s wearing a vindiake, with a sack on his back, a tourist’s hat and a tripod chair in his hand. It’s Horia Cosmovici, who used to be an undersecretary to the presidency, at one point under the Legionnaires. I’ve heard of him, but I didn’t know him personally. Cretzeanu says he’s a great guy and looks really nice. He was imprisoned on several occasions after 23 August. He knows all the ins and outs of prison life and is eager to share his experience with others, which makes him a hit with everyone. He’s one of the key figures here. He’s got a kind of detached, almost angelic look about him.
Andi Neagu is on his way. He looks pretty annoyed! He’s annoyed, bored and blaming the people who’ve arranged for him to be taken away from his usual preoccupations and sickbed to come here… […] General Stoenescu is here now, as usual, with a lot of luggage and determined to make his stay as comfortable as possible! As soon as he sees me, he says, “Did I tell you?” “Have you packed your things?” I laugh and say that I haven’t. He gives me a bit of a telling-off and says, “See?” I tell him, in a low voice, that I feel like I’m at the mercy of fate. He has a different opinion. He’s got all the necessary ”paperwork” in his bag and is annoyed that I didn’t bring my own. “It’ll be along shortly,” I reply.
Andi Neagu is understandably upset to have been brought here. What bothers him, in a way, is what excites me. I’m still dealing with one of the many differences of opinion I’ve had with him over the years. He addresses everyone, including me, one by one. He shows me, at first in a depressed way, then gradually more and more vehemently, what seems absurd to him in his presence here. […] I irritate him by trying to show him that in life, reasonable things matter less than you might think, and that chance and accidental causes matter a lot more. He could find an explanation for his arrest on this ground, not on rational grounds. As a final straw, I suggest he read Voltaire’s Candide, which I specifically asked for here.
[…] We’re taking a look around. Aside from us, there are lots of other prisoners involved in trials before the People’s Tribunal. They’re mostly cowards, it seems. They’re looking into our case. Some of them say they’ve been forgotten about, even going back to August 23, 1944. Apparently, they were picked up on the simple statement of some Jews in the street: “This guy told the police where a Jew was staying.”
There’s a strong smell of ammonia coming from the hall where the chapel is, and where the road leads to the cells and dormitories.
We’re getting new iron beds. A few rooms have been set aside for us.
Now the detainees are sharing rooms or cells, with two or three of them in each. There are 12 people in the dormitory.
I wait for the oldest to make their choice, and then I head off to the dormitory [1] . There’s a bed by the door that’s free. I pick it, even though I guess the smell isn’t great whenever the door is opened. I’m the youngest, and I’m not going to do anything to make my stay here easier. The others asked for mattresses and sheets. It looks like Cretzeanu and General Rosetti are getting ready for a proper camping trip. One of the prisoners, who I immediately see as a kind of surveillance agent, offers to serve us. He’s hammering nails by everyone’s beds. We hang up our coats and clothes.
[…] After the meal, the guessing game begins: Who’s here? Who’s not here? What’s the purpose of this meeting? Who are we, exactly? And from this, the more inquisitive try to figure it out.
Not everyone is here. There are quite a few more things missing. Are they going to show up? We’re also missing Atta Constantinescu, who says he was “Homo regius” in the government and one of the reasons for the 23 August coup d’état. (That’s interesting! I always thought he was a Germanophile and Malaxa’s man! Oh, the clever ones!) Negel is also missing, of course, for the same reasons. Ovid Vlădescu is also protected by Dina Cocea, as it is said, alongside Lucrețiu Pătrășcanu.
Some are clearly more favoured than others. So they haven’t all been arrested? Is that everything? Or maybe the others haven’t had time to get here yet? Can you tell me who arrested us? And who is responsible for sorting this out? From what I can see, it looks like the government hasn’t been informed yet. Can you tell me if we’ve been arrested by order of the People’s Tribunal or the Ministry of the Interior? And then, bit by bit, they go through the different stages of what we’re going through: the ‘Government Decision’, the first hurdle, where they’ll decide who will be prosecuted.
If the idea of collective responsibility, as advocated by Constantinescu, wins out, it should be all of them. And that’s not what’s happening. If they choose one by one, how will they decide who goes first? There are ministers who served before and after the declaration of war. Even before 6 September, some people: Take Leon, for instance. There are military and civilian personnel. I’m trying to identify a few different groups in the mix [2]: the military, intellectuals, financiers (especially liberals), landowners. These can form smaller groups with specific responsibilities.
So, let’s take a look at the documents together. Was this just a precaution against the Marshal’s conviction? Or was it an act of intimidation? Some people think it was a sign that some government members were losing their heads. It seems that a communist minority wanted to confront the government with a fait accompli. Others link our arrest to the external situation, while others link it to the domestic situation. There are events on the horizon: elections in the country, foreign conflicts. Maniu’s gesture at the trial [3], the events of 10 May [4], the Russians’ anger may have contributed to our arrest. In any case, we’ll see what happens.
22.05.1946 for 18.05.1946
I’m happy to say that I was right about the untruth of Dante’s famous statement: “There’s no greater pain than remembering happy times when you’re in a bad situation.” Mr. Fințescu says this loudly, lying on his bed after lunch.
No, no, no. I disagree! It’s a great thing to have memories, and perhaps the most unassailable power in misery. I think about how these memories help us to step back from our own thoughts, to get back on track and to get back to normal. It’s impossible to understand how the present is affected by memories.
Mr. Popovici laughs at me for being overly classificatory because I made Alexandru Marcu a theory about the four categories of accused in the trial: the military, the economists, the intellectuals, and those with racial laws. The seriousness of the situation for each group depends on their position. The first are covered by orders, the second by figures, the third only by attitudes, and the last only by excuses and mitigations.
I came up with this theory to cheer him up. It shows that the fate of the “intellectuals” in the trial doesn’t depend on what they’ve said, but on what they’re going to say next.
Mr Petrovici says I’m scaring him… So, classification is a weapon of destruction! I hadn’t considered that. But I’ve always been in favour of the usefulness of this system of classification in the real world. As in the enclosure, fecundity is not that of the enclosure, but of the game that falls into it.
Andi Neagu told me that when he came to see me in Paris, he found a general scheme for classifying all human knowledge spread out on the walls.
22.05.1946
General Rosetti, who is a great storyteller, tells us about his adventures at the end of the last war. He was sent to England on a mission by the King, and he set off in the “Take Ionescu” train for the west. He gives us the lowdown on what went down during that time, including visits to the King of England, how he hid the message, how he delivered it, how he got people riled up about the Bucharest Treaty, the statement of a prominent German that they were nothing compared to what was going to be imposed on England, and the statement he reported to London.
How he (General Rosetti) saw Balfour, his classical culture, how he was advised to go to the Chamber, among the Romanians, to defend the cause to Wilson who would impose peace, how he accomplished this mission towards the Romanian Committee in Paris, how he entered the French army, what hardships he encountered, how he fought in Champagne, how he then went to Salonika with Berthelot, his role in Bulgaria in foiling General Christian’s plans (? ), by which Molinof hoped to create a fait accompli in Dobrogea by taking advantage of the troubled situation, the first contacts with the country, the reconnaissance and crossing of the Danube, other missions in Bulgaria, the personality of Franchet d’Esperay, the later incident at St. James-Club, why Franchet d’Esperay was not decorated with the “Michael the Brave” cl. I, the role of the French army in the East, the intentions to draw the Romanians into Churchill’s crusade, Brătianu’s refusal, the missions in the West, the occupation of Transylvania, Berthelot’s exhortations to make the deed accomplished, how the occupation of Transylvania was done. The suppression of Karoly’s project to recruit Hungarian armies in occupied Transylvania, to send them against Budapest. The events in Banat, and so many others, which will appear in his memoirs about which he gives us an account…
In the evening, Marcu, Cosmovici and General Rosetti got together to discuss religious sentiment in the world today and the organisation of education. After Cosmovici told Cretzeanu what he saw in Russia, they had a long discussion.
I spent the whole day working on Stoenescu’s paintings, and they’re finally ready.
After lunch, I had a long chat with Cancicov about young economists and our friends. Paul, Răsmeriță, Pandele, Nicolescu, the guys from the ministry. I was surprised to hear that Paul had to resign. It seems that Cruțescu threatened to purge him because of… Mária Tănase, his girlfriend, had nothing but good things to say about Paul (I don’t know if they had any other connection other than what he might have heard from Silber).
I run through my theory as to why Nicolescu should be sent to Paris, for the good of the country. His friendship with Couve de Murville, who is now deputy foreign minister, and with Alphons – they’re so close that when Couve fled to Algeria from Vichy, Mircea Nicolescu, was one of the few who knew in advance (he was just at the negotiations in France) – would have given the government a great piece of information. On top of that, his brother-in-law is the UN secretary. This is particularly relevant when we consider that Durma, who had the same connections, never left.
It backs up my feeling that Paris is more important than London today, as well as showing that Stoilov isn’t around and that the one who led the legation with a real passion for the cause is Neculcea.
Then we chatted about Răsmeriță. I fill him in on what I know. He knew them too, but he was probably listening to me to keep an eye on the sources…
Of all those who are here, Mircea Cancicov and Stoenescu are the ones who have kept their entire network intact, even in this situation…
May 22, 1946 – around 6
“Look at the birds in the sky”…
One of the other prisoners threw a few shells of porridge down the ladder at the bottom of the pen where we are imprisoned.
Gheron Netta and I watch the sparrows come to nibble on the food. They come. They quickly drop down from above, hop from one step to another, fill their crops, and flutter them into the poplar across the road, where it looks like they have their nest, because there’s a shaking in it as if it were going flaky… One sparrow came with two chicks. She left them two steps down from the last shell. She climbs up the steps, fills her mouth and then descends to the two chicks, which she feeds. The chick nibbles at his beak. It’s a lovely thing to see. Gheron Netta suggested I write something about this for the girls.
[…] But in the evening, the rats showed up. And it’s the same again. The little chickens climbed up the stairs, gathered up the dried porridge shells (the birds had stopped nibbling on them) and carried them quickly under the stairs, where their young were waiting.
23.05.1946 for 18.05.1946 in the morning (To put in order)
”Behold the lilies of the field”…
There’s an ash blossom in the prison garden. It’s the only one. Its colour evokes a sense of calm, reminiscent of the sky on the grass.
22.05.1946 around 9 in the morning
Above my head, as we stood outside talking, a rose bloomed.
May 20, 1946
I woke up at 5 again, still thinking about something. As the morning wore on, I noticed the moon making its way up through the bars of the window in front of me. Then it fades before the sun rises.
As soon as I wake up, I run by some ideas about defence that I’ve been thinking about during the night to Mr. Fințescu, who’s sleeping next to me and has also woken up.
I then head to the laundry room to shave and shower. Given the state of the place next door, being able to shower with pressurised water is a real blessing. It’s something everyone appreciates. I do my gym workout in my bedroom, where I go back to and where almost everyone is up and where some get their morning snack.
Andi, who has woken up, comes to my bed to talk to Fințescu and picks up where he left off the night before. “What’s he doing here?” I try to joke, “Dolci et decorum…” but Andi gets upset again and rushes me, which makes me angry. I think my reactions annoy him, and I’m going to try to control them in future. Anyway, I find him rather authoritarian.Why should we all be the same with each other?
I’m going to write down what I think are the main differences between us. My fatalistic, contemplative realism, as opposed to his active, rationalist idealism. What bothers him is exactly what I find fascinating because it suggests the existence of a reality that goes beyond our thoughts. He’s frustrated that things don’t make sense and that one thing you want to do doesn’t lead to the same result as you expected. For instance, he’s accused of helping the Germans, who brought him here, even though he hates them. He only entered the government at the request of Ică Antonescu, who told him that the Germans had lost the war and asked him to help prepare the country for the challenges ahead.
This is why he was in the government, this is what he campaigned for, and he has proof that he did everything he could to influence the King, Stirbey, Durma (who he sent to Ankara), and various political figures from the west with whom he had contact. He had nothing but contempt for the Marshal and made sure everyone knew it. He thinks of him as a shady adventurer. He remembers his part in the discussions that led to the March 1944 concentration camps. He, Costin Stoicescu and Romnicescu asked the Marshal not to let any soldiers cross the Milcov. He only gave the money that the General Staff asked for on the understanding that General Șteflea would take it to them. He did this in front of General Pantazi, who then took it to the General Staff in front of me and Generals Mardare and Borcescu. He left the government when he found out that Ică had tricked him and that some of the units were deployed in Moldova. He says he’ll stand up at the trial and say this because, given what we know and can prove, his whole approach to the negotiations with the Germans in 1944 was complacent. It made it easier for them to deceive us and led to the act of 23 August. And after leaving the government, he continued to campaign in the same vein.He’ll ask for Tătărăscu’s testimony, but he’s afraid he won’t come to testify at the trial. […]
General Rosetti is coming to read on the air.. As my seat on the bench is in the shade, I offer it to him. I say good morning to Mr. Cosmovici, who is reading a book on the spiritual life with a preface by Garrigou Lagrenge in another part of the courtyard, and go into the bedroom. I’m called out twice. I was also given a book to look at: I get a note from M. saying that we haven’t been put on trial yet. This backs up what we thought yesterday and what the others have learned. It looks like we’ll have to wait and see for now. There are a few stages to go through first: the instruction stage, the stage where the Council of Ministers will decide whether we’re put on trial, the trial stage, and finally, the appeal stage. Knowing that there are still some unknowns in terms of what the future holds has a positive effect on everyone’s mood. The atmosphere in the dormitory is really more positive today. Mr. Fințescu is just joking. Mr Cancicov seems less concerned. Andi’s in good spirits too. He’s found General Stoenescu a rational sounding board who reassures him by pointing out what can be gained from each doubtful case. He’s got an amazing method and a great spirit of organisation and foresight. From the amazing “sterlet” he got at lunch to the “grounds of appeal” he’s already looked at, General Stoenescu has almost everything ready to go. Any order that’s given out is photocopied with the relevant attachments. I helped him out with one area, but it’s still a bit disorganised because I’m not the most active person. The figures he needed have arrived, so I get to work filling them in and checking the calculations. I run through with him how to present them and he tells me what he wants me to do. I promise. He gives me the note on the purging commission at the Ministry and the general note on Romania’s economic policy from 1940 to 1944, which Andi asked for.
I go back to my bedroom and use the statistical communications published after 6 March 1945 to prove what the alleged “plundering” of the country consisted of. I think the “demonstration” has the same reassuring effect on the listeners as it had on me. The official figures completely disprove the looting hypothesis, which some of us were genuinely convinced of. I remember how it felt when I realised that the truth matched up with what the government had been trying to achieve. […]
As a joke, Mr. Fințescu suggests that we appoint me as “public defender” to help resolve the situation.
That evening, one of the inmates, who we think might be in the army, brings us the newspapers that are criticising us in public. Everyone’s getting pretty wound up.
Andi, who is trying to make sense of it all, has changed his mind about why we were arrested. He now thinks it’s because of the elections, which is what the noon newspapers and Sevastos’ article “The Verdict” are saying. Sevastos says there are more guilty people than convicted people, and that they can be let off if they agree to the “new order”. He now links the measures taken to the possible external crisis against which insurance measures are being taken. On the one hand, he’s more optimistic, saying, “We’ll be out in a year.” But on the other hand, he’s also more pessimistic, saying, “If we get out by then…” I think both are probably partly conditional.
I fall asleep more worried, with lots of thoughts racing through my mind about the judgement.
23.05.1946
I’ve ended up taking on a bit of a “secretary of defence” role. I take each one through it, show them the situation. Not many people know the truth. They’re always surprised when I tell them. I’ve got the statistics and I show them to them. Not many have compared it to the situation before.
I run through two points with them: Romanian exports include oil, cereals, wood, livestock and animal products. Apart from oil, which makes up about 80% of Romania’s exports, which saw a slight recovery in 1941 but then fell back to below the volume of the years before, the rest of the exports are pretty insignificant. Cereals: 23 thousand wagons in 1941, 16 thousand in 1942, 13 thousand in 1943. That’s compared to the normal average of 180 thousand wagons. The total exports across all three years are less than half of what they would normally be. Wood exports were only one-tenth of the usual amount. The third category is animals and animal products. Fințescu listens and is amazed. The man who had sounded the alarm in a famous report was surprised to find out what was really going on.
But when we look at imports, and factor in the usual drop in colonial goods, it seems that rubber still accounted for about a third. It’s the same story with textiles, at between a third and a quarter. But in other sectors, like coal, iron and steel, other metals and metalloids, machinery and appliances, vehicles, chemicals and pharmaceuticals, the statistics published after 6 March 1945 show record figures, higher than those of the last decade.
In terms of balances, after a deficit of 5 billion in 1941 and another of half a billion in 1942, the balance with Germany showed an import surplus of 21 billion in 1943! And overall, the 18 billion deficit from the first two years is also made up in 1943. Is that what you call looting?
I’ll also be looking at the question of armament, which is included in these figures. Just to note, these figures only include armaments brought into the country, not those delivered to the Eastern Front. The majority of these supplies arrived in 1943, after Stalingrad. They were used in the second campaign, from the west, for the occupation of Transylvania, as planned. I remember the 1943 minutes on this topic. We were able to mobilise 17 divisions in the west with all the necessary equipment. The Sănătescu government told General Stoenescu that without this material, Romania wouldn’t have been able to carry out the military clauses of the armistice.
I should also mention the gold that was brought in: 13 wagons, which increased the BNR’s stock from 11 to 24 wagons. In the middle of the war, we brought in more gold than we did during the period of neutrality before the other war. This gold has been a topic of much discussion among historians of our economic history! And they talk of enslavement? I think this gold is a symbol of economic independence.
As I go through this, I can see that people are getting more confident.
Some people say the judges won’t understand or, even if they do, they’ll be ordered to condemn. Others say the defence is not for themselves but for the country.
I also had a quick word with General Constantin. I gave him the lowdown on his activity stats. He told me about all his concerns. He was in charge of defending Bucharest from 24 to 27 August! The Germans called him General, but that’s not right. Claudius didn’t even shake his hand. They decorated him “behind his back” without any ceremony. He also told me how he broke up German companies. He thinks he was fired over it!
25.05.1946. Morning
Our lives have gradually become structured around certain routines. I usually get up around five o’clock, or even earlier, and watch the moon, which is now fading, peeking through the window.
The only other person who gets up with me is General Rosetti, who is followed by Enric Otetelișanu, who leaves the room for a few minutes to attend to other business, then returns to bed.
In the laundry room, where I go on mornings when I don’t get a chance to write, like today, the other morning people, Mircea Cancicov, Aurel Pană, Ghiolu, Cretzeanu, Fințescu… usually in the same order, start to come in turn. We all have our own way of laughing, using our usual tools and sometimes even each other’s mirrors.
I head out to the courtyard. It’s a bit cool, but the sun has risen on the side of the road, so it’s shining on the greenery over there, which is pretty endless. The roses that started blooming the day after we got here are now looking lovely in their pink and brightly coloured attire. (To avoid damaging them and using their flowers on the icons in the chapel, we’ve decided to put flowers there from our own people who come from the city.) So the rose is always in bloom. I can only imagine what the roses will be like in Cișmigiu, or in the alleys leading to the lakes.
In the courtyard, there’s just Mr Sandu, like a fluttering bird on a bench. All around him, the birds are chirping loudly, and he is silently thinking about what led to his current situation. Looking at him as he sits alone and sad under the flight of birds, like a St. Francis by Giotto or Paolo Ucello, I am surprised not to see him covered with feathers and not singing!….
[…] Until 11, we’re all working, writing and reading. Every morning, I walk with Jienescu. It’s a brisk pace! We walked for 30 minutes today, but tomorrow we’ll walk for 40 minutes. We walk at a leisurely pace, chatting about this and that. On the way, we chat about where we ended up: the highway, the Arc de Triomphe, Baneasa… The exercise gets the blood moving, but the pavement in the courtyard is pretty bad. The stones are uneven and tough on the feet. From time to time, we notice a dark odour coming from the windows of the cells where the common law inmates are kept, overlooking the courtyard. This makes us avoid the regular brick passage along the building.
After that, I work with General Stoenescu for an hour or two. He takes a methodical approach, gathering all the elements and discussing each one in turn. Then he makes a note of everything.
[…] Around 11, relatives and acquaintances start to arrive. Contact with the outside world begins. Everyone brings something along. Sometimes, at this hour, there are “visitors”, but it’s mostly “parcels” of food, brought by soldiers, who also bring a letter. The person sending the parcel waits outside at the end of the courtyard, on the other side of the fence.
[…] After 5:00, all the latest news from the city starts to come in. They pass from one person to another, shared briefly in whispers, and then get mixed up with your own news or news from elsewhere. As the sun sets, a glimmer of hope emerges over the prison. The little facts that we all gather, corroborate, judge and then mix with our own judgments and impressions are colored by our individual temperaments and feelings of hope or care. They blend together to create a tapestry of soul reactions that define the atmosphere of the day. In these moments, we understand each other right away, even when we’re not speaking much.
Each of them has their own character, but there’s a common atmosphere that pervades them all. It follows them when they disperse, some to work in their cells, some to play chess in the yard, some to read in the dormitory, some to talk, some to think, and others to walk up and down the yard at a regular pace.
As the evening progresses, the bustle of the dinner hour fades as darkness descends over the courtyard. As the evening progresses, a new atmosphere settles over the prison. As the day winds down, we start to think about whether we’ve covered everything. Everyone who has heard the news and made it seem like something really exciting is about to happen, with the feeling that it’s going to happen very soon, now wonders if he has been a slave to an illusion. The feeling that he is the focus of constant attention from everyone outside is making him question things. Is that really the case? Could he not be deluding himself? Is he going crazy? For no apparent reason, as night falls, his hopes start to fade. He now feels like he’s been forgotten by everyone else. He wonders if there’s anyone here or beyond the wire fence who can grasp his problem, or at least has the potential to understand it. The man’s face darkens as he returns to himself, silent and perplexed. His confusion now finds expression in the language of the heart, which materialises itself in the language of evening prayers.
Evening prayer has a simple, sweet atmosphere. In the makeshift shrine at the end of the corridor in front of the entrance door, towards the “speaker”, the prison inhabitants gather silently, one by one. It’s the only time, just like in our Orthodox Church, that people from all walks of life, at all stages of life and with all kinds of concerns, come together without distinction and form a community. You can tell who’s more at ease and who’s carrying a heavier burden. Some people who have done something they regret come and worship here and there throughout the day, on their own, lost in their own thoughts. But in the evening, they’re not on their own. You can tell that their souls are open and ready to connect with others.
Evening prayer is pretty straightforward. It starts with ‘the resurrection of Christ seeing’ (it’s between Easter and Ascension) and ends with ‘Christ is risen’. Someone reads it in a book by candlelight. It sounds like a psalm. It’s about the struggles we face, the challenges we encounter, and the despair that can overwhelm us. It’s about the hope we cling to and the forgiveness we seek, even when we feel undeserving.
Once the song has finished, the prisoners head to their collective cells. They walk through the long, high, vaulted, dimly lit hall, which suddenly seems like a cathedral apse.
There’s a simple, almost monastic quality to it all.
As the day winds down, thoughts and conversations gradually come to an end. One by one, they head off to bed. One lamp is turned off, then another. Once the visitors have gone back to their dorms or left for the day, it’s time for everyone to get some sleep. The dorms and the whole prison are quiet again. From time to time, you can hear the sentry’s voice. “Wait a minute!” “Wait a minute!”
(Memoria magazine no. 5, pp. 18-32)
Note images: the sketches with the plan of the Arsenal prison, as well as the plan of dormitory no. 12, were executed by Mircea Vulcănescu himself, between May 18-28, 1946, and clandestinely taken out of the prison.
[1] Starting from the door, to the right, going around the room, are listed: Mircea Vulcănescu, I. Fințescu, S. Ghiolu, General N. Șova, General V. Iliescu, I. Petrovici, Gh. Otetelișanu, Gh. Leon, M. Canciov, A. Pană, General I. Sichitiu, G. Cretzianu, g-ral Rosetti, Al. Neagu.
It’s worth mentioning that this was back in 1945, when the communists hadn’t yet taken over completely, the king was still in the country, and political prisoners were deprived only of their freedom, not of other basic rights like the right to a bed. The prison was still what you might call “bourgeois” – it hadn’t yet become the terrible communist prison (1948, after the king’s expulsion), where political prisoners were killed.
[2] Mircea Vulcănescu was judged by the Court of Appeal – Bucharest 9th section (file no. 1921/1947): the Court was composed of: Mihai Popovici, Vasile Istrătescu and Gheorghe Donea – counselors; prosecutors: Nicolae Stavrescu and Ion Porra; on February 6, 1948, Criminal Decision No. 27 was handed down, pronouncing the convictions. There were others in the batch with M.V.. Here, below, is a list of them in the order in which the judges pronounced their verdicts:
1 – Mircea Cancicov, aged 60; university professor; Minister of National Economy in the Antonescu government; 20 years heavy imprisonment; died in prison;
2 – Grigore Georgescu, aged 61; General, Minister of Public Works and Communications; 3 years heavy imprisonment;
3 – loan Sichitiu, aged 68; General, Minister of Agriculture and Domains; 10 years in prison;
4 – loan Marian, 65 years old; Minister of Agriculture and Domains; 10 years heavy imprisonment;
5 – Mircea Vulcănescu, 43; Undersecretary of State at the Ministry of Finance; 8 years heavy imprisonment; died in prison;
6 – Alexandru Marcu, 55; university professor; Undersecretary at the Ministry of Propaganda; 12 years heavy imprisonment; died in prison;
7 – Gheorghe Jienescu, 52; Air Force General; Undersecretary at the Ministry of Air and Navy; 20 years heavy imprisonment; died in prison;
8 – Stavri Ghiolu, 48; teacher at the Polytechnic; Undersecretary at the Ministry of National Economy; 8 years in prison;
9 – Ovid Vlădescu, 34 years old; Undersecretary at the Ministry of Romanization, Colonization and Inventory; sentenced in absentia to hard labor for life;
10 – Constantin Șt. Constantin, 57 years old; General, Undersecretary at the Ministry of Supply; 10 years hard imprisonment; died in prison;
11 – Ion C. Petrescu, 54 years old; university professor; Undersecretary at the Ministry of National Education; 6 years heavy imprisonment;
12 – Victor lliescu, 63; General; Undersecretary at the Ministry of National Education; 10 years in prison;
13 – Nicolae Șova, 61 years old; General; Undersecretary at the Ministry of National Defense, Navy Department; 10 years heavy imprisonment;
14 – Ioan D. Enescu, 63 years old; architect; Undersecretary at the Ministry of Labor; 10 years heavy imprisonment;
15 – Petre Strihan, 48 years old; university professor; Undersecretary at the Ministry of Internal Affairs; 10 years heavy imprisonment;
16 – Ion Arbore, 55 years old; General; Undersecretary at the Ministry of Army Supply and Civilian Population; 10 years heavy imprisonment; died in prison, blind;
17 – Gheron Netta, aged 66; university professor; Minister of Finance; 10 years hard imprisonment; died in prison.
[3] At the trial of Marshal Antonescu, Luliu Maniu, called as a witness, saw fit, out of respect for the defeated, but also as an elementary act of politeness, to extend his hand to the Marshal. This simple human act provoked an avalanche of imprecations in the communist press against Iuliu Maniu, who was mocked with typical communist violence. (ed.).
[4] “The entry into the capital on May 10, 1866 of Prince Carol I and the proclamation on the same day of the country’s independence (1877) and its elevation to the rank of kingdom (1881), made May 10 Romania’s national day. For decades it remained so.
Until the communists came to power (March 6, 1945), when they abolished it. However, Romanians did not give up and that very year, 1945, there was a large spontaneous demonstration throughout the country, with a massive participation of young people, in which the dominant slogan was “Fatherland and the King”.