THE COMPLEAT BACHELOR
The young Prince Ferdinand had received almost daily lessons from his
mother on the part that women were apt to play in his life. She, the
Princess Clementine, his own mother, shrank from no sacrifice when
advancing his pursuit of some vacant throne. She held no claim to
consideration as compared to the great life object she set before him
and herself. And she was determined that no woman breathing should live
to become a hindrance to the quest.
Imagine, then, what teaching Ferdinand received, when still an innocent
child, about women from the lips of one of the cleverest women that
ever lived. No illusions for him, no charming boyish enthusiasm for
angels of earth. He had it drilled into him at every hour of the day
that for the benefit of great princes like him all women existed—yes,
even his own mother. Women were to be courted, wheedled, used, seduced;
but not honoured. No tender feeling was ever to enter his mind in
connexion with a woman, for that way led to the path of self-sacrifice.
And Ferdinand must sacrifice others, never himself.
The weaker side of feminine character was exposed to him by many an
object lesson, for the young Ferdinand was brought up in an atmosphere
almost essentially feminine. At sixteen he was more cynical about the
sex than many a roué of sixty. The doctrine of woman’s eternal pursuit
of the male had been so drummed into his ears that he regarded
everything in petticoats as a prospective burden upon himself. He told
himself everlastingly that he must allow no tender feeling for any
woman to occupy his mind, else he would be saddled with a burden for
life.
He went from capital to capital with his mother, glancing appraisingly
at women of every degree in life, and having his premature adventures
with the precautions and blasé indifference of a tired man of the
world. He formed a style of conversation for feminine company, in which
a brilliant form of double meaning predominated. He wielded his weapon
so skilfully that a pure woman, even an understanding one, had no
defence against it. The other kind were dazzled by the proficiency of
this mere youth in innuendo of the vilest kind, wrapped up so skilfully
that even the most alert mind hesitated before its ambiguities.
[Illustration: At the age of 22.]
[Illustration: At the Coronation of Czar Alexander III.]
[Illustration: At the time of his election as Prince of Bulgaria.]
[Illustration: At the opening of the first Sobranje.]
He shocked, but he also captivated; and he was firm in never himself
becoming a captive. He soon earned the reputation he sought, he was
credited with being as fickle as he was successful in love affairs. He
left behind him in the capitals of Europe a trail of broken hearts and
broken promises; and his mother approved the firmness of his procedure.
She never had to accuse him of one generous impulse, where women were
concerned. In this matter he was her devoted pupil.
So he came to the throne of Bulgaria with no encumbrances at all; no
favourite to offend the ladies of the Bulgarian Court, no dancer in a
gorgeous villa very near the Palace. The rôle of a bachelor Prince
suited him admirably, and he settled down at Sofia and Varna in that
capacity.
Of course, there were scandals. The Prince wished above all things to
become possessed of the secrets of the most powerful of his subjects.
What better way of worming them out than by means of a love affair with
a wife here or a sister there? It was so easy afterwards, when the
required information had been gained, to explain that his passion had
been simulated and that the lady had deceived herself. Then affairs of
State would call Ferdinand to Paris or Carlsbad, where there was fresh
wooing to be done. In the meantime the little affair at Sofia had time
to blow over.
But chickens have a habit of coming home to roost, even in the palaces
of princes. The very real indifference which Ferdinand displayed to all
women when his end had been won was well calculated to arouse the
deepest sentiment in the minds of some of the sex. He had more
difficulty in shaking off some of his conquests than he had ever
expected, and remote as the city of Sofia is, and undesirable to women
of the gay world, he could not escape the attentions of his infatuated
cast-offs even there.
In some cases the result was expensive to a Prince who inculcated
generosity in others by refusing any display of it on his own part. In
at least one instance, an adventure begun lightly enough by him ended
in a tragedy which cast a shadow on the throne itself. Ferdinand owns
large estates in Hungary, where he loves to go for hunting expeditions,
under the title of Count Murany, a favourite alias of his. In Budapest
he encountered and wooed Anne Simon, one of the most beautiful
actresses of her day, and a great favourite in the Hungarian capital.
Ferdinand ended the adventure after his approved style, leaving the
lady with a jeer at her credulity, and a compliment at the high art of
her tragic acting. The passionate gipsy woman pursued him to Sofia, and
refused to be shaken off. Soon her claim upon the bachelor prince, and
the open eagerness with which she pressed it, became the scandal of
Sofia.
The task of getting rid of her he confided to his aide-de-camp, Captain
Boitscheff, who bungled the business sorely. Anne Simon raised such
violent objection and resistance to the peaceful abduction which the
aide-de-camp had planned that he lost his temper. Next day the dead
body of the actress was found in a mean street of Sofia, disfigured by
knife wounds.
Anne Simon had many friends, including some at the Austrian Court, and
Ferdinand’s pursuit of her had been a matter of notoriety in Hungary.
Sofia, then as now, teemed with Austrian Secret Service men, and the
whole story was known to the Emperor within three days of the tragedy.
Francis characterized Ferdinand as a felon, with whom no decent person
could associate. He went further, and demanded the arrest and trial of
the captain.
The latter took refuge in the palace itself, and was dragged to prison
from the very table of his princely patron. The trial was a stern one,
and as the evidence was indisputable he was sentenced to death. The
sentence was commuted by Ferdinand to imprisonment for life, and that
sentence the aide-de-camp is still nominally serving. But he entertains
his friends at elaborate luncheon parties, and may be seen in the box
of the theatre or in any gay resort of Sofia that may happen to attract
him. His name has not been removed from the Bulgarian army list, and
every one knows that his sentence of imprisonment is a long-played
farce.
So for eight years, Ferdinand played the congenial rôle of the bachelor
Prince. His character was well known to his own subjects, though he
contrived to prevent the worst of the stories against him from general
circulation in Europe. The methods he employed were cynically
effective. A prominent gutter journalist of his capital accused him in
print of sins unmentionable here, and compared to which the conduct I
have sketched is mere youthful indulgence. Ferdinand put him on the
pension list and closed his mouth forever.
His predecessor, Prince Alexander of Battenberg, had married an
actress, and as long as he lived, Ferdinand had nothing to fear from
rival aspirants to his throne. But the time came when that unhappy
Prince paid the debt of his bravery and his rash virtues; and the death
of Alexander pointed attention to the fact that there was no heir to
the throne on which Ferdinand was now firmly seated.
Clementine said it was time that he married, and, like a dutiful son,
Ferdinand set off with her in search of a princess. All the
humiliations he had previously endured were as nothing compared to the
slights heaped upon the Fat Charmer in search of a wife.
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THE BROKEN-HEARTED PRINCESS
“_If any woman ever died of a broken heart, it was the Princess Marie
Louise of Bulgaria._” —“SVOBODA.”
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