THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING
When Ferdinand was elected Prince of Bulgaria by the Sobranje, and
signed the Constitution, no one of the Powers of Europe recognized his
sovereignty. On the other hand, the Sultan of Turkey declared his
position illegal within a week of his signing the Constitution, and
none of his Royal relatives and supposed backers disputed the attitude
of the Turk.
Now to be King in one’s own country, even if outsiders do not recognize
the kingship, is at least a position of importance. And, more common
still, to be recognized as king by the whole world when the kingship is
bounded by the mere title is at least honorific. But Ferdinand, having
accepted a position as reigning Prince, was not recognized as Prince
outside his own realm, and had only those attributes of Royalty in
Bulgaria which he chose to assume for himself. The real ruling was done
by a fat, cross man, who treated him with open contempt.
The position was an intolerable one for Ferdinand, and for his proud
mother as well. Together they plotted how they might end it, and for
years left no stone unturned to obtain recognition from the Powers of
Europe. They knew the way quite well; it was only necessary that one
Great Power should recognize his position, and the rest would follow as
a matter of course.
Behold our Ferdinand, then, flitting from Court to Court of Europe in
search of a friendly lead.
Austria seemed to him and his mother the most likely place, but the
Emperor Francis Joseph proved a stiffer obstacle than they had reckoned
for. When he was earnestly approached on the subject, the Emperor gave
an uncompromising refusal couched in the most compromising terms.
“Besides being an Emperor, I am also an honest man; and I deal only
with honest men.”
Then he swung to the other extreme of the pendulum, and paid his court
to Russia. The result of this manœuvre was a blunt intimation that he
must not even seek a pretext for paying a visit to Petrograd. There
were many reasons why Russia should desire to keep him among the
outsiders, and the religious one was among the most obvious. Ferdinand
was a superstitious, if not a devout, Roman Catholic, ruling a people
whose official religion was the Orthodox Church. He had been refused
allegiance by the head of the Bulgarian Church, the Patriarch Clement,
who had suffered imprisonment in consequence.
With a sigh, mother and son admitted there was small hope at present of
Russia.
Then they turned hopeful eyes on England. He had a sentimental claim
upon Queen Victoria, as a Coburg Prince who was born in the very year
in which the Prince Consort died. Be sure, this little sentimental
memory was kept alive by the astute Princess Clementine. As a small
boy, he wrote childish letters in the best English he could muster, and
at frequent intervals. As a man, he employed to her his best bedside
manner, which few old ladies could resist, and which impressed her so
strongly that at his wedding she described him as an “enjoleur”—a
beguiler. Wherefore he has since borne the nickname of the “Fat
Charmer.”
But he got very little out of shrewd Queen Victoria, except a present
of a pug dog, of which he made a great fuss. He had it fattened beyond
even the stoutness and wheeziness of the ordinary pug, and declared
that it was his mascot. Whenever he entertained English notabilities,
he made a point of speaking with affectionate reverence of “Her Most
Gracious,” as he used to call her. And, as he pronounced the words, a
tender moisture obscured his light blue eyes, and just enough huskiness
gave them a reverential flavour that was most impressive.
His worldly mother entertained greater hopes of King Edward, then
Prince of Wales. The pair used to lay in wait for him at Marienbad,
where our late King regarded them in the same light as the mineral
water—unpleasant, but part of the cure. He entertained them and was
entertained, but those who knew him most intimately could not master
their smiles when any significance was attached to this complaisance.
Tactful and wise as he ever was, our King Edward gave no offence, but
raised no hopes.
He even went to Constantinople, where he had to wear a red fez as a
symbol of the Sultan’s overlordship.
Paris, too, saw a great deal of him through these years of seeking
recognition. Each year he spent some time in the French capital,
behaving in an effusive manner, that on one occasion nearly involved
him in a sound kicking. His mother still had great influence in the
city of her birth, but it was the wrong kind of influence for
Ferdinand. He was more admired than liked by the French, who were the
first to appreciate the real nature of his character.
It was in Paris that he incurred the snub that made him vow that he
would never set foot in the city again; and part of the bitterness was
contained in the fact that the snub was administered by his own uncle,
the Duc d’Aumale. He had left the opera, and betook himself to a very
exclusive café for some of those good things of life which he knows
well how to appreciate. Amid the brilliant company assembled, he
noticed the Duc d’Aumale, whom he approached familiarly, holding out
his hand with easy confidence.
The old nobleman looked at him curiously, as at a stranger whom he had
never before seen.
“What, uncle, don’t you know me?” he cried. “It is I, your nephew
Ferdinand.”
“What! My nephew Ferdinand! But it is so long since I have seen you
that, like the Powers, I did not recognize you.”
So Ferdinand wandered from one Court to another, seeking the friendly
lead, and meeting with nothing but much sly laughter. At home in
Bulgaria he knew better than to expect any sympathy. His strong man
Stambuloff was intent in holding off Russia on one side and Turkey on
the other, with a watchful eye between whiles on Austria. He did not
care whether the Prince of Bulgaria were recognized or not, so long as
Bulgaria itself remained intact and progressive.
Sometimes he interfered with Ferdinand’s schemes when they seemed to
him to endanger his own. For instance, Ferdinand, on some pretext or
other of state, sought to impose himself on the Court at Petrograd at a
time most inconvenient for Stambuloff. The innkeeper’s son warned the
Coburg Prince most promptly that if he crossed the frontier outwards he
would most certainly not be allowed to cross it on the return journey.
So Ferdinand stayed in Sofia.
Then Clementine had an inspiration; Ferdinand, now a bachelor in the
thirties, must marry. A good marriage would give him strong enough
influence in some particular direction to force the recognition which
was now her whole reason for continuing to exist.
Whereupon the Fat Charmer set out on a new pilgrimage. Ferdinand in
search of a wife.
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THE COMPLEAT BACHELOR
“_Ferdinand is like the traditional British sailor: he has a wife in
every one of his ports of refuge._” —STAMBULOFF.
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