The young Prince Ferdinand had received almost daily lessons from his mother on the part that women were apt to play in his life. She, the Princess Clementine, his own mother, shrank from no sacrifice when advancing his pursuit of some vacant throne. She held no claim to consideration as compared to the great life object she set before him and herself. And she was determined that no woman breathing should live to become a hindrance to the quest.

Imagine, then, what teaching Ferdinand received, when still an innocent child, about women from the lips of one of the cleverest women that ever lived. No illusions for him, no charming boyish enthusiasm for angels of earth. He had it drilled into him at every hour of the day that for the benefit of great princes like him all women existed—yes, even his own mother. Women were to be courted, wheedled, used, seduced; but not honoured. No tender feeling was ever to enter his mind in connexion with a woman, for that way led to the path of self-sacrifice. And Ferdinand must sacrifice others, never himself.

The weaker side of feminine character was exposed to him by many an object lesson, for the young Ferdinand was brought up in an atmosphere almost essentially feminine. At sixteen he was more cynical about the sex than many a rouÉ of sixty. The doctrine of woman’s eternal pursuit of the male had been so drummed into his ears that he regarded everything in petticoats as a prospective burden upon himself. He told himself everlastingly that he must allow no tender feeling for any woman to occupy his mind, else he would be saddled with a burden for life.

He went from capital to capital with his mother, glancing appraisingly at women of every degree in life, and having his premature adventures with the precautions and blasÉ indifference of a tired man of the world. He formed a style of conversation for feminine company, in which a brilliant form of double meaning predominated. He wielded his weapon so skilfully that a pure woman, even an understanding one, had no defence against it. The other kind were dazzled by the proficiency of this mere youth in innuendo of the vilest kind, wrapped up so skilfully that even the most alert mind hesitated before its ambiguities.

He shocked, but he also captivated; and he was firm in never himself becoming a captive. He soon earned the reputation he sought, he was credited with being as fickle as he was successful in love affairs. He left behind him in the capitals of Europe a trail of broken hearts and broken promises; and his mother approved the firmness of his procedure. She never had to accuse him of one generous impulse, where women were concerned. In this matter he was her devoted pupil.

So he came to the throne of Bulgaria with no encumbrances at all; no favourite to offend the ladies of the Bulgarian Court, no dancer in a gorgeous villa very near the Palace. The rÔle of a bachelor Prince suited him admirably, and he settled down at Sofia and Varna in that capacity.

Of course, there were scandals. The Prince wished above all things to become possessed of the secrets of the most powerful of his subjects. What better way of worming them out than by means of a love affair with a wife here or a sister there? It was so easy afterwards, when the required information had been gained, to explain that his passion had been simulated and that the lady had deceived herself. Then affairs of State would call Ferdinand to Paris or Carlsbad, where there was fresh wooing to be done. In the meantime the little affair at Sofia had time to blow over.

But chickens have a habit of coming home to roost, even in the palaces of princes. The very real indifference which Ferdinand displayed to all women when his end had been won was well calculated to arouse the deepest sentiment in the minds of some of the sex. He had more difficulty in shaking off some of his conquests than he had ever expected, and remote as the city of Sofia is, and undesirable to women of the gay world, he could not escape the attentions of his infatuated cast-offs even there.

In some cases the result was expensive to a Prince who inculcated generosity in others by refusing any display of it on his own part. In at least one instance, an adventure begun lightly enough by him ended in a tragedy which cast a shadow on the throne itself. Ferdinand owns large estates in Hungary, where he loves to go for hunting expeditions, under the title of Count Murany, a favourite alias of his. In Budapest he encountered and wooed Anne Simon, one of the most beautiful actresses of her day, and a great favourite in the Hungarian capital.

Ferdinand ended the adventure after his approved style, leaving the lady with a jeer at her credulity, and a compliment at the high art of her tragic acting. The passionate gipsy woman pursued him to Sofia, and refused to be shaken off. Soon her claim upon the bachelor prince, and the open eagerness with which she pressed it, became the scandal of Sofia.

The task of getting rid of her he confided to his aide-de-camp, Captain Boitscheff, who bungled the business sorely. Anne Simon raised such violent objection and resistance to the peaceful abduction which the aide-de-camp had planned that he lost his temper. Next day the dead body of the actress was found in a mean street of Sofia, disfigured by knife wounds.

Anne Simon had many friends, including some at the Austrian Court, and Ferdinand’s pursuit of her had been a matter of notoriety in Hungary. Sofia, then as now, teemed with Austrian Secret Service men, and the whole story was known to the Emperor within three days of the tragedy. Francis characterized Ferdinand as a felon, with whom no decent person could associate. He went further, and demanded the arrest and trial of the captain.

The latter took refuge in the palace itself, and was dragged to prison from the very table of his princely patron. The trial was a stern one, and as the evidence was indisputable he was sentenced to death. The sentence was commuted by Ferdinand to imprisonment for life, and that sentence the aide-de-camp is still nominally serving. But he entertains his friends at elaborate luncheon parties, and may be seen in the box of the theatre or in any gay resort of Sofia that may happen to attract him. His name has not been removed from the Bulgarian army list, and every one knows that his sentence of imprisonment is a long-played farce.

So for eight years, Ferdinand played the congenial rÔle of the bachelor Prince. His character was well known to his own subjects, though he contrived to prevent the worst of the stories against him from general circulation in Europe. The methods he employed were cynically effective. A prominent gutter journalist of his capital accused him in print of sins unmentionable here, and compared to which the conduct I have sketched is mere youthful indulgence. Ferdinand put him on the pension list and closed his mouth forever.

His predecessor, Prince Alexander of Battenberg, had married an actress, and as long as he lived, Ferdinand had nothing to fear from rival aspirants to his throne. But the time came when that unhappy Prince paid the debt of his bravery and his rash virtues; and the death of Alexander pointed attention to the fact that there was no heir to the throne on which Ferdinand was now firmly seated.

Clementine said it was time that he married, and, like a dutiful son, Ferdinand set off with her in search of a princess. All the humiliations he had previously endured were as nothing compared to the slights heaped upon the Fat Charmer in search of a wife.