The King Who Never Arrived
Notes on powder kegs, dynasties, alliances and war. (I)
Finland today is one of the world’s most successful countries, consistently ranked near the top of the UN Human Development Index. It is also since 2023 a NATO ally: by treaty, an attack on Finland is an attack on the United States.
Yet few Americans know that Finland once aspired to become an independent Monarchy.
For more than a century it had been the Grand Duchy of Finland, an autonomous state within the Russian Empire. Its Monarch was the Russian Tsar himself—most recently Nicholas II, of House Romanov.
When the Russian Revolution erupted in 1917, Finland seized the opportunity and declared independence. But the new nation quickly plunged into civil war. The Socialist “Reds,” supported by Soviet Russia, fought the Conservative “Whites,” who received decisive military help from the German Empire, in the middle of World War I.
The Whites prevailed.
In 1918 the Finnish Parliament made a remarkable decision: Finland would become a Kingdom. The Crown was offered to Prince Friedrich Karl, of House Hesse, the brother-in-law of German Emperor Wilhelm II, of House Hohenzollern.
The King-elect—nicknamed “Fischy” by relatives—accepted the throne. He was married to Princess Margaret of Prussia, of House Hohenzollern, herself the granddaughter of Queen Victoria of the United Kingdom, of House Hanover.
Finland had a King and a Queen.
At least on paper.
Then history intervened. The German Empire collapsed at the end of World War I, Emperor Wilhelm II lost his throne, and having a German King in Helsinki suddenly became politically impossible.
King-elect Friedrich Karl never traveled to Finland, never wore the Crown, and soon quietly renounced the throne.
In 1919 Finland became a Republic.
Monarchy or Republic is a debate for another day.
But it is fascinating to remember that a country we now know as an allied Nordic Republic almost became a Kingdom—with a King who never arrived.
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Back in my mining days, I worked once with a geophysics contractor who was a Finn. One day in camp after work, he was regaling us with tales of going hunting on skis in winter with his brothers, when he was a kid back in Finland.
“Cool,” I responded innocently, “what were you hunting, caribou, moose?”
“Oh no,” he replied, “we’d hunt Russians.”