One of Ferdinand’s own stories is of a village teacher whom he met under such circumstances, and whom he graciously invited to come and see him if ever he visited Sofia. There was a grand levee at the palace, the story goes, and everybody was attired for the most formal of Ferdinand’s formal evenings. When the revelry was at its height, a rough man in baggy brown trousers and a country coat came to the door and asked to see the King. He was promptly told to go away. But he refused, and said he had been invited. Then a squabble took place, the rustic insisting on being allowed an entry.
In the midst of the trouble the King put in an appearance and cordially greeted his visitor. Shaking him heartily by the hand he led him through the brilliant throng to his study where he gave him refreshment. Then he conducted him about the palace, introducing him to this one and that.
That is a story that Sofia scoffs at, and that is believed by bucolic Bulgaria. And ninety per cent. of the Bulgarians are essentially bucolic.
Ferdinand takes the interest in his family that might have been expected of such a man. He has insisted that each of his four children shall have a hobby, and is more than a little proud of the electric bells which Prince Cyril has installed in the Vrana Palace. He alleges that this feat proves that the younger of his sons has a great mechanical genius, in which he takes after his father, who can drive a locomotive to perfection. It is an established theory, therefore, that eventually Prince Cyril shall succeed his father as Lord High Admiral of the handful of torpedo craft which constitute the Bulgarian fleet.
The Princesses have been taken in hand by the Czarina, and have effectually seconded her in the works of mercy that have so occupied her leisure of recent years. Both are pretty girls resembling their gentle mother rather than Ferdinand; indeed, there is little resemblance shown to the Balkan Czar by any of his family.
Ferdinand also goes in for sport in a mild sort of way. One cannot expect many such remarkable feats as the “valorous” shot that brought down the eagle which he has had stuffed and mounted in his den. But he does considerable execution among the little birds along the seashore, when the dare-devil fit comes upon him. He has also a rooted antipathy to owls, and will go to the utmost trouble to put one of these birds out of action.
The reason is a superstitious one. He declares that when any misfortune is about to overtake him, warning is given by the circumstance of an owl settling on the flagstaff of his Euxinograd Palace. The fewer owls, of course, the less opportunity of giving warnings, and so the less likelihood of misfortune overtaking the Balkan Czar. It is a fine piece of reasoning, which involves its originator in conduct which in a man less kind-hearted might almost be accounted as cruelty.
But he makes up for his harshness to owls by a great tenderness to birds that have bright plumage or sing sweetly. To all such the Euxinograd estate is a sanctuary, and is consequently the resort of feathered visitors from the whole country around. They, and the beautiful collection of caged birds which he maintains, form another interest to his life at this retreat.
And so, amid his tame peasants and tame birds in the seclusion of his beautiful gardens, Ferdinand waited for the home storm to blow over, and for the storm to rise without his kingdom. We understand now that he knew as well as anyone what was preparing, for he was deep in the councils of his friend Franz Ferdinand, and not without an inkling of what was in the mind of his friend’s friend, the Kaiser. The scheme of these two dark-minded men to attack Russia through Serbia was now in course of execution.
Ferdinand was still leading the simple life when the world was startled and horrified by the assassination of Franz Ferdinand at Sarajevo. Who can say where the guilt of that bloody act really lies? Its effect can be discerned by the most superficial observer. While Franz Ferdinand lived there was in Austria a rival to the Kaiser in intellect, in force of character, in the art of concentrating national effort to the furtherance of his ambitious schemes.