Of the continued wars and dissensions in Wallachia, during the reign of
Mircea it is unnecessary to speak. He ruled with varying fortunes until
1418 A.D., and there is no doubt that the State was much better
organised for defence, although his wars entailed great misery upon the
peasantry. It is clear, not only from the Treaty of Nicopolis, but from
other records, that the general condition of the country somewhat
resembled that of England in the Saxon period. The prince was elected by
the boyards,[131] or barons spiritual and temporal, and by the nation
(probably through representatives), and there was a general Council of
State. There were probably freemen and serfs, although some writers
maintain that there was perfect equality until after Mircea's wars
commenced; then it is universally admitted that absolute slavery
existed.

It has been said that Mircea kept a standing army of about 18,000 foot
and 17,000 cavalry; but whether that was so or not, he certainly
maintained a force sufficiently well organised to cope with his powerful
adversaries the Turks and the Hungarians.[132] That these latter were
still a fierce and untamed race is very probable, as were, no doubt, the
followers of Mircea, and they committed ravages by their inroads, which
have caused modern writers to class them with the barbarians whose rule
had ceased. Whatever may have been his faults and vices (and his
desertion of the Christians at Nicopolis, and the number of illegitimate
children left by him, prove that he had both), his patriotism and
courage endeared him to posterity, and his deeds are commemorated in
the national poems of the present century. Here is a graphic picture of

MIRCEA IN BATTLE.
By D. BOLENTINEANU (1826-1872).

Countless hosts of Magyars desolate the lands,
E'en the sun in terror sees their roving bands;

But the aged Mircea, firm and undismayed,
With his braves, a handful, meets the furious raid.

Knows, full well, to save the homestead's all but vain,
Calmly still determines duty to maintain.

Ah! the days of heroes surely now are fled,
When, at duty's summons, Roumains nobly bled!

Speaks the hoary chieftain: 'Hearken, brothers all,
'Tis the will of God, as Roumain I should fall.'

Dedicate thy life-blood, saviour of a nation;
'Tis a puny flamelet in a conflagration.

What is one poor lifetime in th' eternal day?
'Tis a single blossom in a gorgeou