Ferdinand of Bulgaria: The Amazing Career of a Shoddy Czar

This is a concise but comprehensive bio of the Russian czar. From the intro: ""WHO is that evil-looking Dago?" asked an Australian friend; "he looks as though he had never been outside a horse in his life." We were gazing at the procession of royalties who followed the body of King Edward VII through his mourning capital. The Dago in question was Ferdinand, Czar of the Bulgarians; and one could not but recognize the truth of the Colonial's brutal description. He wore, it may be remembered, an Astrakan cap and coat; and the day was a warm one. His fat figure swayed from side to side in the saddle, and he looked thoroughly frightened of the magnificent horse he bestrode with so ill a grace. The perspiration dropped down his flabby cheeks. He was not in the sort of company where he was calculated to shine. All around him were princes who would not be seen speaking to him. The London crowd hardly knew who he was, and betrayed less interest in him than it would have shown in the latest coloured monarch from the wilds of Africa. His bright, shifty eyes turned here and there, vainly seeking something friendly and familiar. No doubt but Ferdinand made a poor showing on his last visit to London; the very last, possibly, that he will ever be allowed to pay to the capital of the British Empire. But I ventured at the time to predict to my friend from the Antipodes that he would one day hear a good deal more of Czar Ferdinand than he had hitherto learned. For though he was then an unconsidered personage in English-speaking countries, he already enjoyed quite another reputation upon the Continent of Europe. I explained that he was half a Frenchman, and that in Paris, where notabilities are summed up more surely than anywhere else in the wide world, he was esteemed by no means a negligible quantity. Berlin, I said, had already put him down as a man with a price, and was only seeking to find how great was the price that must be paid. Austria-the new Austria, as represented by the clever heir to the throne, Franz Ferdinand-still looked askance at him, but was determined to make him a friend before he should have returned to amity with Russia. Russia had against his name the big black cross that is never obliterated in the secret archives of the White Empire, if the gossips of the Chancelleries are to be believed. Finally, in the Balkan States, still the slums of Europe by force of circumstances, he was the man to whom politicians looked for the next move."