Once there was a kingdom -- rustic, frequently divided politically, yet possessing an undoubted and even magical charm -- like very few which had existed before it. It was a new nation, with no aristocracy and no landed gentry. All of its people, more or less, were from the same peasant origins. To most outsiders, it was an almost unknown, enticingly beautiful, and mysterious realm which only a relatively few western travellers had ever penetrated.

In modern times, until the victory over the Serbs at Slivnitza in 1885, not all of the people had considered themselves a nation. But they learned and adopted a future king, Ferdinand, despite widespread Russian and European disapproval of their independence of mind.

Now it came to be that Ferdinand, though few will deny that he was a patriot in his own way, was also admittedly an autocratic ruler of the old European type. The royal palace in Sofia was the sight of daily pomp and ceremony on a lavish scale. Not far from the capital was the luxurious country estate of Vrana, and the Black Sea royal estate at Euxinograd possessed impressive buildings and grounds.

And yet it might be concluded with some justification that Bulgaria, with its fairy-tale forests, its alpine-like valleys, its once unspoiled Black Sea beaches, and its relative lack of social class distinctions among the people, inexorably exerted a leavening influence on the pride and majesty of its rulers, for the successor to Ferdinand would be entirely different. Despite his Germanic heritage he would be Orthodox in religion. Despite his aristocratic ancestry, he would be known as the "citizen king" -- king of all the people, of all the classes of society, of all religions and races. He was Boris III, who considered himself, somewhat whimsically perhaps, to be the last pro-Bulgarian.

In the first year of his reign, after the abdication of his authoritarian father who had ruled Bulgaria between 1897 and 1918, Boris, the veteran of three wars, told his palace secretary, Pavel Gronev, who had not served at the Front:

As long as he lived, Boris stayed true to his oath, and would exert every effort to avoid sending Bulgarian soldiers into action -- despite the arm-twisting of the mighty Third Reich, which by 1938 had made Bulgaria an economic captive, notwithstanding abandonment by Russia, which had concluded a non-aggression pact with Hitler, and in the face of British, American, and French indifference.

By training and education, it is true that Boris brought certain qualifications to his position. He spoke Bulgarian, French and German perfectly, Italian and English very well, and had a good grasp of Turkish, Russian, Greek and Albanian. He was well-read in matters of history and science, and he had a positive passion for mechanical engines, as well as botany and zoology.

As a king, he was entirely the opposite of his father. Stories abounded in the 1920's about the young bachelor king who, driving alone in his automobile, stopped to help stranded motorists with mechanical troubles, or who surprised the poor with money or gifts, or who put in unannounced appearances in remote villages alone to chat with the locals. On one of his motoring trips, he encountered Grandmother Yonka. Groueff relates the story thus:

Boris, it seemed, liked almost everyone, and almost everybody appeared to have liked him, even when they did not expect to do so. For example, in 1918 the agrarian antimonarchist Stambolisky came to power in Bulgaria. Imprisoned for years by Ferdinand, the brilliant leader was a bitter anti-royalist foe who forced Ferdinand into exile. A man proud of his peasant roots, he had little sympathy with aristocrats. Yet by 1921, even Stambolisky would show a rare paternal side which astounded his colleagues; of Boris he once remarked:

In turn, Boris came to look upon the agrarian almost as a father. Years after Stambolisky’s assassination in 1923, Boris was heard to lament with genuine anguish, "the poor man. The poor great man."

When Boris’ car was ambushed by anarchists in 1925 on the Aruba Konak pass, it turned out that even the first ambusher who started shooting was in fact a man who had recognized the king at the last moment and was actually attempting to save the monarch by firing warning shots. Boris, it appeared, had freed his father from imprisonment during the First World War. The next day, after Boris’ escape, the London Times reported on April 21, 1925 that:

After the end of World War I, Bulgaria had been bled white by reparations payments to the victors. But, starting in 1926, Boris pleaded his country’s cause throughout Europe, a campaign which eventually brought some relief to and sympathy towards Bulgaria. Almost every foreign critic seemed to succumb to the onslaught of this royal "salesman" for Bulgaria. Within eight years the tide had been turned against the economic depression, and the young country was set on the path towards greater economic stability. Everyone, from the British royal family to the rulers of the new Nazi regime in Berlin, were bemused by the humble demeanor of a king like few others they had ever encountered.

Yet Boris’ greatest delight arose from mixing with his own common people. For example, after seeing the train of King Edward VIII of Britain off in 1936, Stoyan Petrov-Tchonakov wrote that Boris moved with ease through the throng of townspeople at Dragoman, shaking hands and chatting:

When the time approached for the wedding of the bachelor king and Princess Giovanna of the Italian royal house in 1930, Boris met with unexpected opposition from the Bulgarian government. The king had requested that, for the sake of economy, wedding expenses be kept to a minimum and lavish ceremonies be avoided, but Prime Minister Liapchev and the cabinet unanimously turned down the royal request.

The years which ensued after the mid 1930's were by far the most stressful of Boris’ life, and yet the popularity of his family did seem to grow. On June 16, 1937, a 101-gun salute boomed over Sofia. Crown Prince Simeon of Tarnovo, heir to the throne of Bulgaria, had been born. For several days the country was in a state of uproar and euphoria. Crowds from the provinces converged on the palace, bringing gifts of fruit, lambs, and calves. Several times every day the royal family was obliged to appear on the palace balcony and acknowledge the enthusiasm of the multitude. Taxpayers who were delinquent were forgiven, four thousand prisoners were released, and the marks of all school children were raised by one point.

But the clouds of war would soon hang over Bulgaria, and the government of the day would feel compelled to yield to German demands and join the Axis powers. Greece and Albania had been ravaged by war. Russian and German troops had entered Rumania, and Turkey was massing forces on the Bulgarian border. By February, 1941, 680,000 German troops were concentrated in Rumania. Could Bulgaria resist the pressure? The government of Prime Minister Filov believed that it could not. The pact with Germany was signed, but, at the same time, Boris commenced a rather adept high-wire balancing act calculated to keep the country out of the war. Hitler, while admiring Boris personally, privately compared the king to a fox.

Despite the German invasion of Russia, Boris’ high-wire act met with fair success. Diplomatic relations with Russia continued unbroken as before. To German requests that Bulgaria join the offensive in the East against the Russians, Boris delayed, found excuses, then flatly refused; the sole contribution of the country to the war in the East was a Red Cross train, and even Bulgarian volunteers were forbidden to serve against the country’s traditional ally.

Yet it is obvious today that, despite his apparent political and diplomatic success, the threat to the high-wire acrobat was increasing steadily. Powerful enemies were being made who would forget and forgive nothing. The reign of Boris was all but over.

The king’s showdown with Hitler was not long in coming. After a summons to the Fuehrer’s headquarters in Rastenburg, Boris told his oldest advisor, Strashimir Dobrovitch, about his confrontation with the leader of the Third Reich. On August 16, 1943, Dobrovitch, then dying of throat cancer, received his king at the advisor’s bedside. Boris, little realizing that he had less than two weeks to live, related the tale:

Boris told Dobrovitch that once more he had overcome German pressure to intervene militarily in the war. "I saved you," the king said, "even if I have to pay for it."¹²

On August 28, 1943, the king of the Bulgarians died of causes which have never been fully explained. It may be true that for years the monarch had battled pressures which taxed to the limit his mind and body, but it is doubtful that we will ever know with certainty what struck down this relatively healthy 49-year-old with such swiftness.

Across the land the death of Boris unleashed a tidal wave of public grief which convulsed the country from end to end. Immense crowds flowed past the open casket of the king, dressed in a general’s uniform with his most prized decoration, the Order of Saints Cyril and Methodius, appended. Men and women alike cried openly. Dignitaries from home and beyond attended the funeral, and thousands of ordinary people of all ages lined the sides of the railway tracks to wait for the train which bore the body of their king to the monastery at Rila. The most popular leader in the history of modern Bulgaria was dead.

Today, after the lapse of more than half a century, what may we consider to be the legacy of the reign of Boris III? Physically, of course, little remains. The royal palace still stands as an empty shell in the middle of Sofia, a relic of a vanished era. In 1946 the final resting place of Boris had become such an object of pilgrimage that the authorities, unwilling to countenance a shrine to the former leader, exhumed the body and transferred it from the monastery at Rila to the estate at Vrana; since then there have been numerous rumours about defilement of the site and removal of the coffin. The location of the king’s remains today are uncertain.

And yet, from what we know of Boris, it is doubtful that these circumstances would distress him overmuch. The land is still there, of course -- the mountains, valleys and forests which Boris, as a hiker, hunter, and motorist, learned to love passionately. The people, somewhat more sophisticated than in earlier years perhaps, still retain their basic generosity of character and a quiet and courageous capacity for endurance. And the nation has survived, still in a fragile state, still lacking full prosperity, and still facing an uncertain future.

But survive Bulgaria has, and for this accomplishment some measure of credit is owed to the man who never wanted the job of king. It is perhaps in his example of patriotism, duty, and selfless public service that a legacy of Boris to his countrymen may be found. King Boris was a humble man who would probably be content to be entirely without monuments, and remembered solely for ideals such as these. He provided an example which can never perish, for ultimately it is ideas and not the puny works of man which truly stand the test of time.

For much of this brief account, the debt owing to Stephane Groueff’s Crown of thorns, with its excellent archival research, must be gratefully acknowledged.