Le Roi S'amuse. Ii: The Diary of King Ferdinand's Secretary

SOFIA, Thursday, August 18, 1910. — Sofia: that name, to me, means walks about the marketplace and glances at — the costumes of the women, who are abominably ugly, with their Tartar jaws and their Kalmuck cheek-bones. Some wear wide breeches, baggy and many-colored, which look more like flowing skirts, fastened back by a pin or a seam between the knees. Sofia also means Biblical filling of pitchers at the fountain, or a young woman acting as cup-bearer to an old Jewish merchant perched between two enormous tin saddle-bags — on top of an apparently unstable pack-saddle which overhangs his donkey. But it means also, alas! many newspapers to be read.

We take the train for Cettigné at eight in the evening, for Ferdinand is to pay a visit to old Prince Nikita on the occasion of his approaching elevation to royal dignity.¹ Decidedly there is a race for royalty in the Balkans! It seems to me that of late every sovereign there, in turn, has received, or, rather, has appropriated, promotion.

FIUME, Friday, August 19. — We traveled all day. After leaving Serbia behind us and passing through Belgrade, we went up the Save, rode through Sclavonia, then through the whole of Croatia, stopping hardly anywhere except at Agram, where an excellent meal was ready for us at the buffet. The ride down to Fiume, through the marvelous forests of the Karst, is unique of its kind. Ferdinand is in his element: he is in a railroad car and looking through the window! That would be enough to put him in a good humor if he were out of temper. He acknowledges that he has always adored traveling, but never so much as since it has been, because of his ‘profession,’ less easy for him to move about. ‘Nevertheless,’ he adds, ‘I believe I travel more than any other sovereign in Europe. I often do two thousand kilometres a month, sometimes more.’

ABOARD SHIP, Saturday, August 20. — Last night we embarked on a steamer of the Ungarisch-Kroatisch coast line; but we spent the night at anchor off Abbazia, for Ferdinand rejected the idea of a night-cruise, so that he may lose none of the landscape of the Dalmatian Islands through which we have been steaming slowly all day. We made land nowhere during the day, except at Zara Vecchia, to satisfy the pressing demands of the chef for fresh fish. Several Italian fishermen came alongside, quarreling as to which should receive the patronage of the royal customer, and Ferdinand, who insisted on doing his own marketing, with the chef at his side, had some difficulty in choosing. He could not help arousing jealousies, but — let us render unto Cæsar the things that are Cæsar’s — the fish served at dinner was delicious and almost boneless.

A little before sunset Ferdinand sent for me, to read to him from the Temps the annual address of M. Lavisse at the distribution of the Le Nouvion prizes. He said that he enjoyed M. Lavisse’s prose very much, and praised his ‘patriotism without chauvinism ’ — as if he himself were an enlightened French patriot. Is he really one? Does he really feel that he is? I do not know, but I persist in believing him to be more European than French, and more ambitious than European. I always have the impression that he is too much in love with his own throne not to wish to enlarge its boundaries and to extend its prerogatives. He is a Frenchman with the French, but is he not an archduke at Vienna and a Saxon prince at Coburg?

CETTIGNÉ, Sunday, August 21.—The end of our cruise was worthy of its happy beginning. We were all up this morning at half-past four, at which time —just before sunrise — we might expect to see Ragusa Vecchia. We were impressed with the wild and genuinely Byronic picturesqueness of this old maritime town, set proudly upon its cliffs, encircled by a chaos of ancient fortifications, and dominated by a campanile of the true Venetian type. The harbor is majestic, and yet it seems so ridiculously small, despite its proximity.

Late in the afternoon, as we were approaching the Montenegrin coast, a yacht, dressed with flags, came toward us, to the strains of the Bulgarian anthem. It was the Crown Prince Danilo, coming to greet the august visitor, under a leaden sun. After waiting a while, we were put ashore in small boats on a tiny pier, and betook ourselves to the princely castle — I was going to say the princely hovel — of Topolitza, which is only a few steps away. However, the site is admirably chosen: on one side, the dining-room looks upon a sea of sparkling blue; on the other, upon mountains more than fifteen hundred metres in height, which rise almost vertically about a kilometre from the coast.

We had no sooner arrived safely, than we had to rush at our trunks, change, and attend the grand official dinner given at the palace of the prince, soon to be king. With its white rough-cast walls and its rows of little rectangular windows, this palace looks more like a Lilliputian barracks.

The banquet was sumptuous. Is it true, as the Secretary of Embassy, Tchaprachikoff, whispered in my ear, that the whole dinner, and those of the following days, were ordered from Vienna, and simply warmed up at Cettigné? For my own part, I regard it as a joke.

The old Prince, tightly strapped in the new Montenegrin uniform, seemed to feel very ill at ease. The princess, his wife, seemed quite embarrassed, and did not utter a word. The princes, Danilo and Mirko, have extraordinarily strong and manly features, but manners slightly caddish. Their sisters, the princesses Xenia and Vera, are nobodies, which cannot be said of certain of their ladies-in-waiting, one of whom — an Englishwoman — is a superb creature. It is odd to see a lady of the English aristocracy transplanted thus to Cettigné. In fact, Ferdinand and his sons overpower the whole Montenegrin dynasty, as well by their physique as by their bearing and their marked personality.

After dinner, etiquette demanded the personal introduction of the members of the Tsar’s suite to the Prince and the Princess. Then groups were formed in the salon, the stiffness diminished, the Prince shook hands lavishly, the officers conversed freely with us. Among them there was only one who wore the old Montenegrin uniform: the military attaché at Paris who has just arrived from France, and has had no time to order the new costume. How much better he looked! The national dress is so much more becoming! It consists of baggy trousers gathered in at the waist by a broad belt, from which the barrel of a pistol protrudes swaggeringly; an amaranth jacket bespangled with gold and provided with two pairs of sleeves, one pair falling behind the shoulders; and, lastly, a coquettish little lowcrowned, round cap, without visor.

CETTIGNÉ, Monday, August 22. — The Tsar is quartered at the Bulgarian Legation (they have had the greatest trouble to arrange a temporary bathroom for him), but the suite sleeps in the War Department. That sufficiently indicates the scanty comfort at our disposal. For fear of tumbling into the crudest realism, let us pass it over and return to our kings and princes.

The arrival of the King and Queen of Italy in the morning, and, later, of Prince George of Serbia, stirred up the enthusiastic Jiveos of the Cettigné populace, which had impressed me the day before by its great courtesy and pleasant faces — though the women lack beauty. The latter made graceful reverences to the Tsar all along the road.

Victor Emmanuel fades at once into the background beside his wife, Queen Helena, who bears herself like a queen. I confess to having kissed her hand without the least displeasure.

In the evening, a grand official dinner in honor of the King and Queen of Italy, and then the inevitable reception. Ferdinand played me the trick of sending me to Princess Vera on the pretext that she wanted to discuss ‘affairs in France’ with me. Growing more facetious, he forced upon me as the starting-point of the interview, when we were left tête-à-tête, the famous address on the distribution of the Le Nouvion prizes, of which he evidently thinks a good deal. The princess had read it in the Temps with pleasure, she said. From Lavisse she passed quickly to Marcel Prévost, one of her favorites, asking me if I knew his Jardin Secret. To which I prudently answered in the negative, in order to afford her the pleasure of analyzing it and advising me to read it.

Tuesday, August 23. — This morning a grand review of the Montenegrin troops. They marched past the three sovereigns, very seriously, about three thousand strong, in their new khaki uniforms, which lack distinction, are ill-fitting, and worn with ill grace. The poor devils look exceedingly awkward thus disguised àla Europe. They are tall, lean, bony fellows. Their sentiments seem to be extremely loyalist — royalist, even, because there is a king, or will be within five days.

The afternoon brought an invitation to the Crown Prince’s skating-rink— that is to say, a sort of garden-party. We looked on at the evolutions of the princes and princesses, and the neartumbles of their ladies-in-waiting, who are not yet nearly as sure of themselves as their mistresses. I certainly did not expect to find a skating-rink here in Cettigné, of which the diplomats, when they leave for the West, say unkindly that they are starting for Europe.

I was struck with the unsociableness of the Bulgarian officers in the Tsar’s suite, particularly of General Nicolaieff, Minister of War, and General Paprikoff, Minister of Foreign Affairs, who did not open their mouths the whole afternoon. I wonder whether this shyness is natural, or whether it is deliberate.

In the evening the Tsar in his turn gave a grand gala dinner-party at the Bulgarian Legation. Frantic excitement on the part of Monsieur and Madame Koloucheff, who had me make out, unmake, then make out again a diagram of the order in which the guests were to be seated. We had to feel our way, before deciding on a final scheme.

After dinner we took leave officially of the good people of Cettigné, who seemed so happy to welcome us, and who are — as the Tsar himself said to me — so much less reserved and so much better talkers than his ‘ill-bred generals.’

Passing to other matters, he suddenly asked me bluntly what I thought of Madame de S——. What could I answer except that I thought her charming? But he shrugged his shoulders and protested: ‘What, you think her charming, with her horrible falsetto voice? I can’t understand how S— could marry a woman with such a voice. How she does get on my nerves! ’

Wednesday, August 24. — Having gone to bed at one in the morning, we got up before three, so that our motors could land us at Cattaro at eight. Those four hours of dust were very interesting. At first we rose above Cettigné, passing through a genuine chaos of rocks. Nothing can give a better idea of it than a curious legend which pretends to explain this volcanic phenomenon. On one of the very first days of the Creation, Saint Peter went, by order of the Lord, to distribute all over the world, in equal proportions, rocks, stones, and pebbles, of which he carried a bagful on his shoulder. Hardly had he passed Cettigné when the bag burst — to the great despair of the apostle. Hence this inextricable mass of rocks.

We continued downhill to the Montenegrin village of Niegus, where we had early tea at the foot of Mount Lovcen. One turn, two turns, and the bay of Cattaro opened before us. We gazed in open-eyed admiration. I shall not attempt to give the slightest description of the majestic panorama which passed and passed again before our eyes with the incessant winding of the road — an excellent road, which, it seems, owes its existence to Marshal Marmont, and was built about 1810. It is, therefore, just a hundred years old!

The arrival of our procession of motors at Cattaro was comical to the last degree: our eyelashes, eyebrows, ears, beards, moustaches, were absolutely white with dust. We dusted ourselves as well as we could, amid shouts of laughter, in which the Tsar condescended to join.

A small steamer took us to Zelenika, through narrow passages branching off from the harbor. A slight incident made this short trip very amusing. As I strolled about the deck, I discovered General Markoff, aide-de-camp to the Tsar, General Nicolaieff, and General Paprikoff sitting at a table, or, rather, sprawling over it, in a small salon, and snoring shockingly in concert. I hastened to point out this historic scene to Prince Boris, who almost had convulsions, and in a low tone called Stancioff (a younger brother of the minister) to the rescue, with his camera. Thus were immortalized in their ignominious attitude those whom the prince humorously dubbed ‘the three Graces.’ I have rarely seen anybody more crestfallen than the three Graces when they woke, surrounded by a laughing group, who thereupon indulged themselves to their heart’s content.

At Zelenika, a train de luxe was awaiting us on a narrow track. In this train we are to travel through the whole of Herzegovina and Bosnia.

After contemplating for the first few hours a landscape altogether like that of Montenegro, with the difference, however, that shrubs grow between the rocks, we entered the gorges of the Narenta, which are as fine in their kind as the descent to Cattaro. The Tsar never left the window, and did not tire of admiring the countless springs which gush from the walls of the cliffs in abundant jets of dazzling foam and find their way down even to Narenta. Now and then, a widening of the valley retards the vertiginous current, and peoples its winding bed with sand-banks, reeds, crouching washerwomen, little bathers black as negroes, long-billed herons, and, at times, even goats. Half an hour’s stop at Mostar gave us time to hire carriages and drive between two rows of fezes and veiled women to admire the old bridge to which Mostar owes its name. The population is Slav by race, but has turned Mohammedan, to the great disgust of all the Christian Slavs, especially of Commandant Naoumoff, who spat with disdain when he saw those renegades crowding round our carriages.

Thursday, August 25. — Certain officials were awaiting the Tsar at the Sarajevo station, although he is traveling incognito. They escorted us, in motors, first to the municipal palace, which is in no wise remarkable; then to a height not far from the town, from which there is a most extensive and most beautiful view. Serajevo is built in a valley, whose slopes it climbs with its houses, its gardens, and especially with its numerous mosques, which give it the aspect of a genuine Arabian town. Returning to the town, we visited the principal one of these mosques, which dates from the sixteenth century.

After a luncheon as late as it was hurried, we returned to our cars. Tomorrow we shall be at Budapest.

PLESZO, Friday, August 26. — Not until this morning, in the station at Budapest, did I know of our new destination — Pleszo. We arrived this evening, rather late. Long live Pleszo! and a room where one has more space than in a swaying car, and a possibility of getting a good wash! Three successive days of traveling are a little too much for a fellow.

Sunday, August 28. — I am leading my ordinary life at Pleszo, that is to say, I read newspapers, work now and then for an hour with the Tsar, when he summons me, or stroll in the forest, usually with Rotmistr Bogdanoff while Ferdinand motors to Pustopolje, Pohorella, or Murany, always in quest of flowers or insects. Sometimes I go trout-fishing in the neighboring stream, some Bistritza or other. In Slav countries, one can safely say that one river in every two is called the Bistritza!

This afternoon I was lucky. I caught a trout every five minutes. I offered the yield of my rod to the Tsar, who scolded me for having run the risk of taking cold by standing motionless on the bank of my river. Nevertheless, that did not prevent our feasting on trout for dinner, he more than anybody. It is not the first time that I have noticed how afraid he is of colds and of anything contagious.

To-day, August 28, the Montenegrin kingdom is being proclaimed. The Tsar had me write two telegrams of congratulation, to the new King and the new Queen. At the same time I called his attention to a stupid article which appeared in the Neue Freie Presse on the subject of his visit to Serajevo. The Tsar, according to the author, made the return journey from Montenegro through Bosnia solely because he wanted to show his sons the capital of the provinces annexed by Austria, which annexation alone had made possible the proclamation of the independence of Bulgaria and its erection into a kingdom. In addition, the article had some unkind remarks on the sentiments of Slavic solidarity expressed so emphatically in his toast at Cettigné, by a Viennese ‘who must nevertheless have some love for Vienna left at the bottom of his heart.’ Now, his distaste for Vienna and his distaste for Bulgarians in general are among the sentiments which the Tsar conceals least of all.

I must add that, at Cettigné, Ferdinand bore terribly hard on the Slav pedal. I should not be surprised if at the present moment a Serbian-Bulgarian-Montenegrin rapprochement were being arranged, which would naturally be directed against Turkey, and upon which Austria would look unfavorably. That would explain the bad humor of the journalist of the Freie Presse.

I hear that I have been made a chevalier of the 5th class of the Danilo Order, at the request of the Tsar. It seems that Nikita has decorated the whole of Ferdinand’s suite in a lump. Funny business!

Monday, August 29. — Grand excursion on horseback to Szmreczyna, a hunting-lodge, and soon-to-be residence of Tsar Ferdinand, situated about 12 kilometres from Pleszo, at an altitude of fourteen hundred metres. From the dining-room there is a wonderful view of the Tatra, which unfortunately wore a hood of mist the greater part of the day. A whole new wing is being built, and will be finished by the end of the week. I should not be surprised if Szmreczyna, which is sunnier and higher, and has such a magnificent view, were destined by next year to supplant Pleszo, which, being too umbrageous and too damp, is only rented.

SOFIA,September 1. — Here we are once more, back in Sofia, after some very agreeable last days at Pleszo. Ferdinand made a great part of the trip through Hungary by motor, while I traveled by rail with Zlataroff, the comptroller of the civil list. Ferdinand ‘leaves me in peace’ (those are his own words) for ten or twelve days. He is to visit the battlefields of the TurcoRussian war of 1877, with the Duc d’ Orléans and General Bonnal; then to hunt chamois in the Rhodopes. I asked his permission to spend a few days at Constantinople, but fate willed that he should read this morning in the paper that two cases of cholera have been reported at Stamboul; and he is so afraid of my bringing back the terrible disease, that he dissuaded me from going there. This is a polite way of forbidding me to take the journey. What luck! To console me, he invited me to use his library freely.

Thursday, September 8. — The Tsar’s library is very beautiful. History seems to predominate. I was, however, surprised to find many books of which the pages have not been cut at all, or only partially. The fact is that Ferdinand — as M. Paléologue told me — has read very little. Indeed, when could he find the time to read? If his knowledge is encyclopedic, he owes it almost entirely to conversation and to his talks with specialists in every branch. To my mind, it is his greatest merit to have known how to take the fullest advantage of the innumerable opportunities of learning quickly and thoroughly which present themselves automatically to every king or son of a king. Has he a taste for ornithology? He is immediately brought into relation with distinguished ornithologists, who are only too glad to be able to communicate to him the better part of their science. Does he set foot in a museum? The attendant instantly telephones to the director, who hastens in person to place himself at the disposal of his august visitor. Ferdinand has known how to make use of all these ‘scholastic facilities’ which do not fall to the lot of the common mortal. Moreover, the daily rubbing of elbows with ambassadors and prominent men has been for him the most wonderful of teachers of history. As he has a memory which borders on the miraculous, he has remembered much. As he takes delight in his knowledge, he freely shares it with his entourage. He feels a little like a chance possessor of a treasure of knowledge, the enjoyment of which he deems himself bound to pass on to others. That is the fine side of his character, even if one takes into account his indisputable penchant toward vanity. For my part, I am very grateful to him for the many things he has taught me.

Saturday, September 10. — This afternoon I amused myself by taking a walk down the avenue leading to the garden of the Kniaz Boris. All the beauties of Sofia are accustomed to show themselves there between six and seven. Gracious heaven! How ugly they are, and what a fuss they make! There is nothing more ridiculous than a Bulgarian lady doing her utmost to adjust her stride (which is naturally very long) to the diameter of her narrow skirt.

Tuesday, September 13. — The Tsar, who has just returned, gives audience to-day to the ministers of Greece and Italy, recently accredited to Sofia. The speeches which he has to make on receiving their credentials have given me any amount of trouble. Yet they are very short. How the words have to be weighed! How the polite phrases must be toned down, for fear that they may produce the effect of a request for friendship! I retouched my rough drafts half a dozen times before the Tsar let me make my final copy. A phrase which might be considered a little too friendly to Greece had to be approved by the Minister of Foreign Affairs, Paprikoff, before being definitively inserted in the speech.²

The Tsar asked me if I cared to accompany him to the grand manœuvres. I expressed my desire to do so, and he immediately selected my mount. We are to start to-morrow evening.

Thursday, September 15. — I woke at Stara-Zagora, the last station before Nova-Zagora, where we were to leave the train.

The first thing I heard on getting up was that the Malinoff ministry had resigned the previous day. I understand now why we did not leave Sofia till midnight, instead of at ten, as we had intended.

Two or three kilometres in four-horse coaches, through the inundated streets, full of mud-holes, of Nova-Zagora, brought us to the spot from which we were to watch the military operations. Ten more minutes on horseback, and we had overtaken the staffs, the umpires, the military attachés, etc., all grouped on an elevation overlooking the plain.

Those four hours of stationary observation did not seem to me too long. In the first place, I had the good fortune to meet several Bulgarian officers whom I knew, and one of whom, at least, Major Naoumoff, a Macedonian, has a keen sense of humor. Then I made the acquaintance of our military attaché, Captain Tabouis, to whom M. Paléologue had mentioned my name. He did not seem to be highly entertained. Lastly, I sought distraction by searching with my glass the successive bare crests of the Karadja Dagh, which rise rapidly to a height of a thousand metres, and behind which one divines rather than sees, farther north, the whole Balkan range.

As for our little hill, it seemed so isolated in the surrounding plain, that I wondered if it were not simply a tumulus. I believe that if one should dig into it, one would find something.

I will say nothing of the manœuvres, for I did not understand much about them. Besides, Captain Tabouis assured me that their whole interest resides in the large number of troops engaged (50,000 — a number which has never before been reached in the records of the Bulgarian grand manœuvres), and in the working of the supply and administration services.

Friday, September 16. — We watched the manœuvres to-day from two observatories, for they fought till very late, and one of the parties was continually advancing. Our second location was about twenty kilometres from the first, and we covered the distance at a sharp trot. Ferdinand, who had been described to me as a poor horseman, has a very good seat. What impairs his reputation as a rider is evidently the fact that he needs help to get into the saddle because of his gout and his corpulence.

The artillery and the machine-guns were busy all day. The general assault on a hill near the banks of the Tundja brought the business to an end by six o’clock. This assault was very praiseworthy as the last effort of these soldiers, who had been manœuvring for more than twelve hours, had traversed nearly sixty kilometres in less than thirty-six hours, and were still suffering the unpleasant effects of a night spent in the open air in a pelting rain. From these manœuvres I carry away the general impression that the Bulgarian soldier is very well disciplined and of an endurance equal to any test. That is a great deal to say of any soldier.

Saturday, September 17. — Once more we spent the night in our train, standing in the midst of the oak forest at the gates of Sliven. The track being, of course, single, the branches touched the windows of our dining-car on both sides, and the grasshoppers, deafening but always musical, provided us with the finest of orchestras.

I shall remember the day as the most picturesque which I have passed for a long time, at least, from an artistic point of view. Accompanied by the Bulgarian director of railroads and by M. Karakachef (the former is very shrewd for a Bulgarian), I visited the old town of Sliven; and how interesting it is! It seems to be the best preserved town on this side of the Balkans. The director, who spent two years of study here a quarter of a century ago, and who has not been back since then, finds literally no other change than the addition of an occasional water-spout, from which the water gushes out among the gullies (to call them ‘ streets ’ or ‘ lanes ’ would be inaccurate) which separate the two irregular rows of houses. These little low houses are charming.

One of the villagers told us that, some years ago, the Tsar, then styled Prince, charmed, as I was, by a glance through the half-open doorway, entered the courtyard and inspected the interior, leaving a souvenir for the children and one fig less on the fig tree. The director still remembers the marriage of the proprietress some thirty years ago. She is a widow now. We too pick some figs upon her invitation. They are exquisite. We kept on through the same crooked alleys, — which closely resemble ravines, so abruptly does the village scale the side of the hill, — loitering before a shoemaker’s shop or taking a snapshot of a kolpak merchant, crouching before his behatted forms and glaring at his apprentice, who is about as tall as a pint pot.

But we had to hurry back to our ambulant home, and prepare for the review which closed the manœuvres. There is nothing to say of it except that the soldiers marched past correctly, as any soldiers of any other European army would have done on a similar occasion.

I prefer to dwell longer on the evening, and especially on the half-hour preceding the gala-banquet, given in honor of the military attachés: it was rich in incidents of a nature to throw a vivid light on the habits, at times disconcerting, of the Tsar.

Now, we had been hearing all day of a military banquet of 120 covers to be given at the officers’ club of the garrison. Being the only civilian allowed to watch the manœuvres, was I or was I not to take part in this ceremony? I expected not, and so, a little before halfpast eight, hearing nothing more about the speech which I had prepared for Ferdinand two days before, and had sent him the night before, and having received no orders from him as to my participation in the banquet, I was quietly walking back and forth beside the train. Seized with a last doubt, I consulted General Markoff: he knew nothing, and sent me to LieutenantColonel Stoyanoff, who knew nothing either, and who sent me to Comptroller Ankoff. Having succeeded in finding the latter, I learned from him at halfpast, eight — without excitement, for I am beginning to get accustomed to these surprises — that I certainly was to attend the banquet, ‘ by order of His Majesty.’ He apologized profusely for not letting me know before. I rushed to my compartment, where I had taken out my dress clothes as a matter of precaution, and was busy buttoning my patent-leather shoes, when the Tsar sent me word that I was to wear a frockcoat. Everything had to be begun all over again. So I began, but had hardly unbuttoned my shoes when Stoyanoff appeared in my compartment, armed with the famous speech which was to be delivered presently. ‘The Tsar has corrected it; you must copy it, and legibly: there is very little time; the Tsar is ready and waiting.’

I knew that my hand was much too shaky to copy my speech legibly, although, by the way, it had hardly been changed. So I sent Stoyanoff to get the telegraph operator, to write at my dictation. A new difficulty arose: somebody had taken my inkstand, or to be more exact, — it was the last straw, — Ankoff had borrowed it for the Tsar. So, I, in my turn, borrowed one next door, not without difficulty, and the telegraph operator copied slowly and carefully, while I put on my coat and arranged my necktie.

And that was not all. The lieutenantcolonel and the general appeared. ‘The Tsar is getting impatient; it is five minutes past nine.’ What else could I do than continue my dictation to the last word, with the greatest equanimity? Was it my fault that the Tsar did not read my rough draft till half an hour before he had to make the speech, and that he got it into his head to have it recopied at the last minute because of a few corrections?

At ten minutes past nine we were at the club, and Ferdinand, with the speech in his pocket, made his appearance among a hundred or more Bulgarian generals and colonels in white jackets, and ten or twelve military attachés. The oldest of the attachés was an English colonel, whose red dolman was beside Ferdinand’s white tunic at the table. I sat next to Weich (he too in uniform), who was in fine feather, and told me all sorts of racy Viennese jokes. The dishes for His Majesty and the military attachés had been prepared by the Tsar’s cook in the car; on the other hand, the scullions of the club were entrusted with the mess of the small fry among the Bulgarian colonels and generals. I tasted it out of curiosity, but was careful not to repeat the experiment. Weich followed my example: he stopped, as they passed us, the dishes with which the Tsar had been served.

Among all these Bulgarian officers I noticed few interesting countenances — at most, some faces of men of action. The predominant expression of almost all is brutality and lack of refinement. What a contrast between the Tsar, so aristocratic and so distinguished, and his people, so plebeian, so coarse! I had never been so struck by it.

When the moment arrived, the Tsar read his toast, or, rather, recited it, slowly and faultlessly. It is a pleasure to French ears to hear such pure French tones. Little inclined to chauvinism by nature, that evening I was almost proud that our language thus takes precedence of all others, even in this remote corner of the East.

After dinner Ferdinand shook hands in turn with all his guests, talking two or three minutes, sometimes longer, with at least half of his officers. Under a deluge of shrill tones, — how intolerable and noisy the military music was, which did not give us a moment’s truce the whole evening! — in an overheated and pestilential atmosphere, standing for at least an hour and a half after a tiresome meal, the Tsar succeeded in preserving his amiability, chatted familiarly with one, talked promotion with another, military regulations with a third. I admire him. To be sure, it is his trade. To perform one’s duties decently as king, it is at least as necessary to know how to flatter one’s subjects as to invite their flattery.

The cold night-air had never seemed so delicious to me as when, some time after midnight, we crossed the club garden to our motors. Ferdinand must have experienced a pleasure analogous to mine, for his first utterance, as we went toward the car was this, word for word: ‘Good Lord! How my generals’ boots stunk!’

A quarter of an hour later our train carried us off toward Sofia.

SOFIA, Sunday, September 18. — I woke at the station of Philippopolis. We made rather a long stop, for, true to his custom, the Tsar left the train to hear mass.

Breakfast in the dining-car was absolutely abnormal. Never have I seen Ferdinand so silent, so little concerned about concealing his political anxieties. All that he said was a few words as to ‘the hell’ which awaited him at Sofia. However, everybody knows that Ferdinand does not dislike to complain of the drudgery and the worry which dog his steps.

The ministerial crisis which seemed so to preoccupy him was soon to be settled: at eight o’clock in the evening, before going up to the dining-room of the Dobrovitch palace, I was told that the new cabinet had been formed without great difficulty, still under the presidency of Malinoff. Paprikoff and Salla bachoff, being left out of the new arrangement, are consoled by receiving, the former the post of Bulgarian minister to Petrograd, the other, the corresponding post at Vienna or Berlin. Malinoff goes to Foreign Affairs; Mouchanoff (the one of the ministers who speaks the best French, and was most popular in Paris during the Tsar’s last visit) passes from Public Instruction to the Interior. Of the two new ministers, Molloff and Slaveicoff, I know nothing except that they are said to be rather dull. Indeed, as I hardly know these various personages, and am entirely ignorant of their relations with the Tsar, I should have been very much embarrassed to comment upon all the changes, if M. Paléologue had not enlightened me as to their significance. It would seem that the dismissal of Paprikoff, the Tsar’s confidential man, is a personal set-back for Ferdinand, a blow aimed at his omnipotence, hitherto undisputed, in the Department of Foreign Affairs. The accession to that department of a man like Malinoff, who is not trustworthy and is an object of suspicion to the Tsar, may be interpreted as a step toward a Balkan war and toward the end of personal government.³

Monday, September 19. — I was invited, by a cabinet circular, to appear ‘in frock-coat and silk hat’ at the orthodox service, to be celebrated on the broad Alexander Square in front of the palace, in commemoration of the twenty-fifth anniversary of the reunion of Northern and Southern Bulgaria. (I remember the energetic and persistent snubs of Lieutenant-Colonel Stoyanoff, when, with the naïveté of a reader of atlases, I ventured to mention ‘Eastern Roumelia’ as a Bulgarian province. He would not listen to it. ‘There is no Roumelia, there is a Southern Bulgaria,’ he repeated. So much do they loathe that which recalls the Turkish domination, even though it was merely nominal!)

A platform of boards, and a few poles decorated with flags and bundles of pine branches — such was the sanctuary where this picturesque open-air service was performed. Five or six popes, longbearded as becomes their profession, dressed in their sacerdotal garments of crimson and gold, recited their litanies and psalms confusedly, pausing from time to time to allow a discordant childrens’ choir to sing. Then they had the Tsar kiss the sacred book, and — when she at last arrived — the Queen. The few words which the Tsar whispered in Eleanor’s ear, if I may judge by the angry glance which he simultaneously cast at her, looked to me like a scolding for her tardiness.

A march past of troops and clubs of veterans and gymnasts, who placed wreaths on the monument of Tsar Alexander II, the Liberator, held us up for some time at the park gate. The Tsar exchanged a few words with all his ministers, particularly with his two ‘new ones’; then he beckoned to the Queen, who took his arm, stooping with him to examine the flowers in blossom. Does that not say clearly to anybody who chooses to understand, that the inanimate flowers of the park are more attractive to him than all the Bulgarian subjects in creation?

They are already discussing our approaching departure. Autumn hunting furnishes the Tsar with a pretext for another trip to Hungary. But I cannot take part in it, for I am due in England within a few days. So I shall leave the royal train at Budapest.

VIENNA, September 23, 1910. — The special train, which wars supposed to leave Sofia on the 21st at two o’clock, did not in fact get under way until four in the afternoon. Shortly after breakfast, the Tsar sent for me to come to his study, and, after thanking me in a few words for my‘loyaland intelligent services,’ and advising me in the most serious way ‘to employ my mental gifts in works of charity and philanthropy,’ he handed me two jewel-cases, and asked me, with infinite charm of manner, to ‘wear these two jewels in memory of me.’

I did not fail to thank him as best I could, but I was decidedly touched. I cannot conceal from myself that the strength of his personality has drawn me to him more than I have been willing thus far to acknowledge. I judge him as I would judge anybody else. But at heart I find myself in sympathy with him, at times against my own judgment. Thus, I thought the solemnity of his manner during this short interview rather ridiculous; but that very solemnity moved me.

After dinner, as we were approaching Nisch, the Tsar sent for me again, this time because he wanted me to read him some French. He chose for this purpose three articles which, according to his custom, he commented briefly upon: ‘The European Banker and his Eastern Customers,’ by Gaulis, published in L’Opinion; a pretty little sketch by Marcel Prévost, in Le Figaro, on the civilizing influence of the earth (it was suggested therein, that, when armies are abolished, a year of ploughing and agriculture, should replace a year of military service); and, lastly, a short biography of M. Nelidoff, who had died two days before in Paris. Ferdinand seemed to think highly of this Russian diplomat. He considered him to some extent as his pupil, for M. Nelidoff had once been chief of the Russian legation at Sofia, and Ferdinand prides himself upon having ‘trained,’ in his capital, a whole phalanx of foreign diplomats, who were afterwards summoned to shine in that career, and to hold the most prominent posts.

This hour’s tête-à-tête with the Tsar was delightful in every respect. He was more cordial, more familiar than ever, and I availed myself of the opportunity to tell him how grateful I, a young student, was for all that he had taken the trouble to explain to me and to teach me. He actually went so far as to apologize for the few moments of ennui which inevitably intruded themselves in my days, otherwise so full, and begged me not to bear him a grudge on that account, for it was not his fault. He also expressed a hope to see me again some time — and with that I left him. Truly, when Ferdinand chooses to be amiable, he is so to the highest degree.

Why should I not finish these notes with the fine achievement as a naturalist of which the Tsar proudly gave us an account at the last dinner of which I partook with him?

He remembered, it seems, that, in the days of his youth, on the Côte d’Azur and in the Esterel, he caught some butterflies of a tropical species very rare in Europe, and that they were hovering about some flowering arbutus. Now, during our recent journey to Herzegovina, between Zelenika and Gravesa, he noticed from the car-window a superb clump of arbutus in full flower, beside the railway embankment.

His entomologist’s scent at once gave him an idea that butterflies like those of his youth might be found there; but the train was going at high speed, and we were already late — when were we not? So the Tsar did not order the train stopped, although he was dying to do so. But as soon as he was back in Sofia, he sent for two students of natural science whom he knew, gave them some money, and asked them, while they were making a more general investigation and collecting specimens of Bosnian and Herzegovinian flora, to find the famous clump of arbutus and search it, to see if his conjecture was well founded. The two students started, botanizing and naturalizing from morning till night, and sending back to the palace bags filled with flowers and plants. When they reached the clump of arbutus, which they found without difficulty, they had only to stoop to discover a nest with seven butterflies of the precise species mentioned by the Tsar. They succeeded in capturing five, the finest of which they placed in a little box made especially for traveling butterflies. Three days later the Tsar received it, alive, in his cabinet at Sofia. Ferdinand was overjoyed; he was never tired of admiring its bright coloring and its aimless fluttering from one piece of furniture to another and from hangings to curtain.

The day of our departure for Hungary arrived: the Tsar was to leave Sofia a few hours later. Quick, a telephone to Sytniakovo, and Prince Boris hurried from the Rhodopes by motor, to take charge of the precious creature! On Prince Boris’s arrival, great excitement! They shook the curtains; they knelt to look under the tables; they flattened themselves under the sofas. No butterfly ! Despair of the Tsar and the prince, who parted with death in their souls — or almost that.

Nor was that the end of the adventure: at Tsaribrod, near the Serbian frontier, as he was sending back to Sofia the Secretary of Embassy, Tchaprachikoff, whom he had kept several hours ‘on the gridiron,’ Ferdinand received a telegram from Prince Boris, who meanwhile had found the butterfly and was returning in triumph to the Rhodopes with his facetious insect. And his father sent him a return telegram, giving him the most impassioned instructions, and the most minute information as to the diet of his winged ward: it must be fed exclusively on prunes dried in the sun and very slightly decayed peaches. Perhaps the little creature may have been able to live a week or two in this way. History is silent on the point.

And in the train which bore me away toward England I found myself meditating on the enigmatic and captivating personality of Tsar Ferdinand. I returned constantly to this ticklish alternative: Is Ferdinand a tsar led astray by his studies of plants and insects, or a naturalist led astray by the preoccupations of a throne ? He will be a very clever man who can answer this question.