By the employment of commercial travellers, the translation of their catalogues, if not into Bulgarian, at any rate into French or German, the use of the metric system of weights and measures, the conversion of sterling into francs and centimes, and by giving longer credit—by these means only can British merchants hope to compete successfully with their foreign rivals.
The Bulgarian Sobranje.
CHAPTER III
WILL BULGARIA DECLARE WAR?
A sitting of the Sobranje—Declarations by the Prime Minister and Dr. Stancioff—The new Minister of Foreign Affairs—A sound progressive government—Strong army and firm policy—Will the deplorable state of Macedonia still be tolerated?—Ominous words.
It was a bitterly cold November evening when, accompanied by Sir George Buchanan, I entered the Sobranje, or Bulgarian Parliament, to hear the Ministerial statement upon the future policy of Bulgaria and her attitude towards Turkey.
A great high-roofed square chamber, enamelled entirely in white and picked out with gold. At one end a high, red-carpeted daïs with the throne, behind which hung a full-length portrait of Prince Ferdinand. Upon an escutcheon above, the Bulgarian lion on a crimson shield. Below the empty throne, a long red-covered table, where sat the President, a short, grey-haired little man, who from time to time rang a musical gong; and in the arena, on a scarlet carpet, rows of horse-shoe benches half filled by deputies. On the right, at a table placed at an angle, sat the Ministers. First was Monsieur Petkoff, the Prime Minister, the most prominent man in Bulgaria, and who has, alas! since shared the fate of his friend the late Stambouloff; next Dr. Stancioff, the newly appointed Minister for Foreign Affairs; the Minister of War in a dark blue uniform with a white cross at his throat; and the Ministers of Justice, Commerce, and Finance.
Above, around three sides of the huge white-and-gold hall, the galleries were crowded by the public, while over all big arc lamps shed their white brilliancy. With us in the diplomats’ gallery sat the Prince’s confidential secretary, M. Dobrovitch, the German Minister, the representatives of Turkey and Roumania, Colonel H. du Cane, the British military attaché, and numbers of other diplomats.
The House was silent. Every ear was strained to catch the Premier’s words, for it was he who was now speaking. A rather short, grey-bearded figure, just past the prime, whose left hand as he gesticulated only showed a stump. He lost it at the Shipka, and as patriot and politician he was leader of his party—a party of progress, that has been four years in power with an overwhelming majority.
For the past four hours he had been speaking fluently, easily, without interruption, forecasting the future policy of Bulgaria—the policy which is designed to lead the country to prosperity. Bulgaria had long waited for this, and every word was now being listened to with rapt attention.