Ferdinand in the national costume of Bulgaria.
This beard goes well with his favourite costumes. One of them is the Bulgarian national costume, which he has elaborated into a creation of fine linen and silks, with many a feminine touch in bright colours and delicate trimmings. The other is that of an admiral of the Bulgarian Navy, in which he was wont to receive British visitors of distinction, as being peculiarly suitable to the honour of a great Naval Power. Needless to say that Ferdinand becomes atrociously seasick if ever he trusts himself out of sight of land.
But Ferdinand’s talent for designing costumes is so remarkable that he excited the envy and admiration of the most celebrated of Parisian man milliners, who was privileged to witness him at work with his silks and velvets. This artist has ever since cherished a malignant wish that the long-expected reverse might overtake the Bulgarian Czar, and that cruel fate might at the same time deprive him of his extensive inheritance. In that case, real scope might be found for his remarkable talents, and the women of the world would be the happier because of a Bulgarian revolution.
I have already told of the disgust of Stambuloff at the Prince’s coronation creation of purple velvet and ermine. That is only one of the many triumphs Ferdinand has achieved with rich stuffs and anxious thought. He now has a special costume of his own design, suitable to every feast and holy day.
Thus for the Easter feast he prepared a long mantle of crimson velvet of the order of St. Alexander, to mark the fact that he was a younger son. On St. George’s Day, April 23, he sports a robe of blue velvet slashed with silver; for in Bulgaria this day is the fête day of the military order of bravery, in which Ferdinand takes high rank.
These creations are the result of many anxious days spent in his assassin-proof den, surrounded by his tame birds and the modest wild flowers from which he draws inspiration. His boyish hobbies were for flowers and birds, and with the mature man these tastes have become a veritable passion. His aviaries are reputed the finest in the world, and he can still occupy himself with the woes of a pet canary when all Europe is bathed in blood, and his rough adopted people are dying by tens of thousands.
The flower gardens he has installed at his Palaces of Varna and Euxinograd are veritable wonders. Trees and plants from every clime have been acclimatized under the warm sun and in the virgin soil of rude Bulgaria. In his Japanese garden he has reproduced the ponds and terraces of the Orient, and by a miracle of care has bred the butterflies of far Japan in the same environment, so that they hover among the Japanese blooms and complete the resemblance.
This is only one among the thousand wonders he has contrived with birds, beasts and insects. He is at his best when showing these beauties with unaffected enthusiasm. It is then he tells his visitors how, when his compeers were deep in the drill-book and the practice of arms, he devoted his hours to the study of natural history and botany, and the cultivation of a sensitive soul.
Ruder monarchs have played coarse jests upon that sensitive spirit, and have merited a well-earned and long-treasured resentment. For instance, at a time of great anxiety to Ferdinand, when the world looked very black, and a kind word meant so much, he was greatly cheered by the announcement that his sovereign lord, the Sultan of Turkey, was sending him a royal present as a mark of goodwill.