A POT-HOUSE PRINCE
“The Prince of Bulgaria, if there exists in the world a being unfortunate enough to take up that position.” —Bismarck.
CHAPTER I
A POT-HOUSE PRINCE
One day in December, 1886, there slouched into Ronacher’s Circus, a well-known Vienna beer garden, three weary Bulgarian politicians. Some weeks before they had left Sofia full of importance, and very pleased with themselves. In their ears were ringing the injunctions of Stambuloff, the “Bismarck of Bulgaria,” and they were under no kind of misapprehension as to their mission.
They were to come back with a Prince, and not until they had got one dare they show their faces in Sofia again. He was to be a presentable Prince, young, wealthy, a soldier, and, above all, powerfully connected. It seemed easy enough to them, for they were patriotic Bulgarians, and thought that all the unoccupied Princes of Europe would compete for so proud a position as that of Prince of Bulgaria. Possibly their phantasy was not shared by the wise old man who sent them out on their mission; for it is recorded that he grinned sardonically as he saw them go.
From Court to Court they went, hawking the vacant principality and receiving the most surprising rebuffs. They offered the place to the Grand Duke Vladimir of Russia, and he refused it with a rude promptness. Valdemar of Denmark listened to all they had to say, and said he would write and let them know. His answer was in the negative. From Prince Carol of Rumania they received a refusal startling in its emphasis. They rubbed their heads, and decided to try more tentative measures.
Hither and thither they went, hinting at the great opportunity that offered for an enterprising young Prince. Their overtures were everywhere received with a chilliness that was rigid in its iciness. They thought of grim old Stambuloff waiting at home for news, and trudged manfully on to another Court. Soon they realized that they were the laughing-stock of Europe.
So they found their way to Vienna, which was as near home as they dared to venture, and determined to spend a little time in a well-earned vacation from the task of Prince-hunting. Their steps were guided to the famous beer garden by a very pleasant acquaintance they had made in the Austrian pleasure city; and there they rested, well content with a cool drink and a friendly chat.
And while they rested, there came on the scene a Major Laabe, to whom they were introduced by their Viennese friend, who was a smooth-spoken individual of slightly Jewish appearance. Major Laabe was an individual of quite another type, a dashing Austrian cavalry officer who knew everybody and everything. He was sympathetic to the travel-worn Bulgars, and over a bottle or two of wine they confided to him their mission, and its lack of result.