CHAPTER XXIIPAYING THE PRICEWhat Edward VII. Thought—No Room for Art—A Vision of Threadneedle StreetBülow, who loved being Chancellor, hated Phili Eulenburg.However, the Imperial ex-Ambassador at the Hofburg was then in the zenith of his ill-gotten empire over Majesty, and to incur his displeasure spelt disgrace or enforced resignation.At the moment the grand old man's thunderbolts were under lock and key in Harden's Grunewald villa, and the exalted personages marked for lightning carried things with a high hand, using the German Empire like an entailed estate.Pretty evenly parcelled out thisfidei commissumfavoured by the Prussian Constitution, which makes suffrage a mockery. Phili, of late enriched by Hertefeld, the Rhenish domain that guarantees him an independent income of £5,000 sterling a year and by a couple of millions cash, which Baron Nathan Rothschild, of Vienna, left him. Phili was practically the overseer of the Government personnel, and of the diplomatic corps in particular. His card index of prominent men and women, reinforced by reams and reams of correspondence, characterised each person—diplomats, deputies, ministers, councillors, governors, politicians, commanding generals and aspirants for high honours in the army or navy—according to his own viewpoint, the avowed object being to people the highest offices within the gift of the Crown with people like-minded with himself.And it must be admitted that Phili pretty thoroughly succeeded, since the War Lord, seeing everybody through Eulenburg's eyes, selected in the main only persons of mediocre intellect, or plain bullies, as his representatives abroad and at home. The reference to Eulenburg's optics, by the way, recalls another Bismarck sally: "One look at Phili's eyes is enough to spoil the most elaborate dinner for me!"Could gourmet-gourmand express himself more emphatically? What the Iron Chancellor thought of ambassadors appointed under that régime has already been quoted; it coincides with the reputation for clumsiness and inefficiency the War Lord's diplomatic servants have in all quarters of the world. Inante bellumdays few of them were "honest men sent abroad to lie"; the great majority were liars intent upon bulldozing or deceiving the personages who mistook them for gentlemen. Of course, "like master, like servant." The late King Edward maintained that Wilhelm was vulgar and ungentlemanly; hence Baron H or Count Y might think it presumptuous to be otherwise. Besides, the Berlin Foreign Office will employ nobles only, and we have the authority of Gunther, Count von der Schulenburg, Lord of Castle Oest, Rhineland, for the illuminating fact that every tenth German aristocrat is unspeakable. So much for the German diplomatic service.General Count Kuno von Moltke presided over another self-gratifying clique—that of the Army; and if Germany had invaded Belgium ten years previous to toying with the scrap of paper, she would probably have been overthrown in short order, for at that time the Commander of Imperial Headquarters held the same sinister sway over the military as Phili did over the civil branches of the Government."Lovey," "sweetheart," "my soul," "my all" (Kuno Moltke's epistolary titles for Majesty), "hears as much of affairs as I want him to know, no more," was Moltke's boast, according to the sworn evidence of Frau von Ende, Count Moltke's former wife, in the famous Harden slander case.Yet though Moltke lost his case, the War Lord declared "there is nothing definite against Moltke, but he must remain on half-pay."Can you imagine King George V. so flaunting the decisions of Old Bailey and thereafter saddling the British public with a life pension of about £500 per annum in favour of the guilty party?Can you imagine why such "sweet affection for the All Highest" should make up for lack of military qualities in a general officer slated for supreme command in the field?For his crusade Maximilian Harden won much praise from English writers, but if he had let it flourish in high places for a decade longer, Great Britain would be richer in blood and treasure.Another of these coteries of men who dispensed high offices among themselves for their own ends existed in the Imperial Court—aye, it lodged there, not in the Schloss or Neues Palais exactly, but—oh, irony!—in the Princess's Palace, the hideousdependanceof the Crown Prince Palais, Unter den Linden, the apartments granted for life to Royal Chamberlain Count von Wedell being its headquarters.Oh, the jolly tea-parties they enjoyed in the great high-ceilinged rococo chambers, full of discarded furniture and appointments of the Frederick the Great and Watteau period; Louis Quatorze and Quinze, Boule and Chippendale, Empire, here and there—antique regularity and capriciousbizarrerie, gems of Art some, also pieces chipped and disjointed.Carlyle called Frederick "the last of the Kings"; he was certainly the last of Prussian kings possessed of an appreciation of the beautiful. The present War Lord kicked from his palaces—none were built since the eighteenth century—allobjets d'artthat would please the eye of anybody not a German boor, substituting unmentionables of the goose-step type, square-jointed, clumsy, coarse, and whollymauvais goût.What the "majestic" chambers lack, then, those of the Excellenciesnolens volensboast. Wedell's rooms in particular contained a variety of eighteenth centurychef d'oeuvresselected by the Count himself from heaps of "ancient rubbish" sent from the Neues Palais and Sans-Souci by order of Court Marshal von Liebenau, a corporal dignified by a gold stick.No doubt the Knights of Wedell's Round Table enjoyed what was "caviareto the general." At any rate, their tea-parties seem to have been a delight to "high and low," for no one admitted to the charmed circle ever sent his regrets.We find there General of Cavalry Count Wilhelm von Hohenau, son of the War Lord's uncle, the late Prince Albrecht of Prussia, and Sailor Trost, of His Majesty's yachtHohenzollern; the gentleman already introduced, Count Kuno von Moltke, also Lord of the Cathedral and Private Riedel of the Uhlans; Count Lynar, brother-in-law of the Grand Duke of Hesse and Colonel of His Majesty's Horse Guards, and Gus Steinhauer, midshipman; Count Frederick von Hohenau, brother of Wilhelm, and Court Councillor Kestler, who rose from the ranks to gentlemanly estate and high honours in His Majesty's service; His Serene Highness Prince Philip of Eulenburg, Right Honourable Privy Councillor to the Prussian Crown, member of the House of Lords, etc., and Raymond Lecomte, French chargé d'affaires. These men were regular attendants, under the presidency of the noble-born host, of course, but there was a fair sprinkling of counts and barons and so on in this royal palace connected by a covered archway with the town residence of the Crown Prince and his family!That was strange enough—audacity to the point of recklessness, one might call it—but stranger still is the fact that all these men were in the War Lord's good graces, if not on intimate terms with him like Eulenburg.With the Hohenaus he was on "Willy" and "Freddy" footing; Count Johannes von Lynar he called "Jeanie"; and His Excellency Lieutenant-General Kuno von Moltke was his "Tütü"—with dots over both u's, if you please.Nor were Wedell and Moltke the only tea-party members admitted to high positions at Court. Wilhelm Hohenau was governor to His Imperial Highness the Crown Prince, and, on Moltke's recommendation, Count Lynar was about to be gazetted personal adjutant to His Majesty—an office giving him apartments at the royal residence—when he was vulgarly "pinched" and lugged off to jail for the crime of—being found out.Because he was the War Lord's "Jeanie," Lynar would not listen to "Tütü's" and "Willy's" and "Freddy's" hints about the Bank of England as a safe depository."Some day," he used to bluster, "a few weeks or a month after 'The Day,' I will ride up Threadneedle Street and straight into the vaults of that venerable pile, and leap my charger over mountains of gold—will be quite a change, don't you know, from jumping fences at Hoppegarten."As to the others, Sailor Trost and ditto Gustav Steinhauer each enjoyed a meteoric career, rising in quick order to petty officership—impossible to advance them higher, because they were men without education; and whenever and wherever an excuse could be found for employing them in that extraordinary capacity, they were given charge of the Imperial person. Thus Gustav Steinhauer always acted as chief guardian of the War Lord's lodging in Castle Liebenberg when the Majesty visited his beloved Phili.Kestler was a miserable subaltern, destined to starve on a daily wage of four marks, when Eulenburg discovered and introduced him to Majesty. Under the War Lord's favour, he was transferred to a more lucrative department in the service, and decorated!Yet why thePour le Meritefor Kestler, and for Eulenburg, Wedell, etc.? Whatweretheir peculiar merits? Has anyone ever been able to discover?To-day Eulenburg, twice tried, is a prisoner for life on his estate; the two Hohenaus are banished from Germany, and dare not come back on pain of arrest; Count Kuno von Moltke is a pensioner of the German people on foreign soil; Count Wedell forfeited the two gold buttons on the tails of hisfracand his residence at the Princess's palace.Why did they get off so easily in comparison when the crash came?The answer is obvious enough. These persons had been careful to deposit in London, E.C., the letters they had received from a certain exalted party who shall be nameless, and Count Lynar, prisoner No. 5429 at Siegburg Jail, had neglected that simple precaution.CHAPTER XXIIIHOW VON BOHLEN WAS CHOSENThe First Step—Prussian Manners—The War Lord Finds His Man—Putting Bülow to the Test—Discussing the Husband to Be—von Bohlen is ChosenOn the morning after the Bavarian debate in the Chancellor's palace the War Lord and Prince Phili met early in Sans-Souci Park for an hour's horseback exercise and scandalmongering. Be sure thatchronique scandaleusewas thoroughly discussed, as well as the personnel of Phili's favourites, and if there was anybody at Court and in Society, in high official places and in the royal theatres whose ears did not tingle with the calumnies or malicious tittle-tattle launched, the gossipers' memory was at fault, not their capacity for impertinent innuendo.These personages were walking their horses in a secluded avenue of the woods beyond Klein Glienecke when they heard galloping behind. "My courier," said the War Lord; "we'll wait." They drew rein, and presently a red-coat shot by them in a parallel road. When some fifty paces ahead, the courier leaped his horse across the intervening ditch, then stopped short at the imminent risk of being thrown, and waited, hat in hand."Get the mail bag," commanded Wilhelm curtly, after the style of Napoleon, who thought nothing of ordering a king to see how dinner was progressing. Phili trotted off, and presently returned with a red morocco leather portfolio. A silver-gilt key dangling on the War Lord's bracelet gave access to the contents: two letters, both postmarked Essen."From Bertha," said the War Lord, glancing at the bigger envelope, and put it into his pocket. The other he tore open in great haste. "Wonder what the Baroness wants from me?" he muttered.Phili having returned the portfolio, the courier was dismissed by a wave of the hand, and Wilhelm plunged into the epistlesans cérémonie."The devil!" he cried, before he had finished the first page, and drove his horse so hard against Eulenburg's side that Phili could not suppress an outcry."Listen to this: Bertha has fallen in love with Franz, sort of foster-brother, you know; they were children together.""The electrical expert you told me about?""Precisely. But I won't allow it; she might as well aspire to be wife No. 777 to our friend Abdul. But here comes the Baroness and pleads that the dear child may have her way, Franz being such a good young man; marriages are arranged in heaven, and her blessed Frederick will be tickled to death, etc., and more tommy rot like that.""You don't think Franz exactly the right person?""Phili," cried the War Lord, "if you were not such an old sinner and bald-headed and married and the father of children of marriageable age, I would order you to marry her.""Another woman—are there none but women in the world?" groaned the ex-ambassador. "Besides, I have not the least talent for bigamy; try Kiderlen-Waechter.""Would be the right sort, but he is nearly as old as you."Once more Extase's flank squeezed Phili. "I've got it," Wilhelm exclaimed suddenly. "When you get back home, browse for an hour or two on your card index, picking out the most desirable and up-to-date Benedicts in the thirties or thereabout, preferably men in the diplomatic service. Got everybody's photo up there, haven't you?""At Your Majesty's service, the whole gallery.""Pictures and personalia you'll bring to the Neues Palais this afternoon, and maybe I will run over to Essen in the night to show thecrème de votre crèmeto the Baroness. This folly about Franz must be nipped in the bud, and with a girl the better and handsomer man does the trick every time."The War Lord wheeled his horse around and trotted off in the direction of his residence. He never takes the trouble of telling his riding companions of his intentions. "Let them keep their eyes open and do as I do." The Queen herself fares no better when out riding with him. If her harness gets out of order or something of that sort, and she has to dismount, Wilhelm presses on unconcernedly. "Let the Master of Horse look after her."Phili, arrived at his apartments, had no sooner got into his dressing-jacket of flowered silk, when the telephone rang furiously. "I command," admonished a hard voice."Here, Phili, at Your Majesty's service.""Are you at work on the cards?""Head over heels," lied Phili."And in this connection—has nothing occurred to you?"The obsequious courtier was in a quandary. Woe to him if he attempted to be wiser than his master!"The old story; I have to think of everything," the War Lord thundered. "Can't you see you must take your selection of names to Bülow and pretend to get advice on the candidates from him? If you don't, he will be offended.""Like the old woman he is," ventured Eulenburg."Don't you criticisemyChancellor." There was a brutal emphasis on the "my," and Phili stuttered a dozen excuses for his slip of the tongue."Never mind, to work, Prince! It was Louis XIV. who almost waited on one particular occasion. Remember, Phili, I don't want to repeat his experience."Phili rang for Jaroljmek, his secretary."I do wish Majesty could get along without me for a day or two," he said. "More pressing business. All the young men in the diplomatic service to be inquired into, liver and kidneys. At once, of course! Beastly bore unless I may count on your assistance.""Of course, Serene Highness.""Have the maids bring in the card index, then.""With Highness's permission, I will ask the butler to help me. It's too heavy for girls.""Not at all. Women were put into the world to wait on such as you and I. The woods are full of girls, while nice boys are few and far between. And you vulgarise a high-stepping horse by hard work."So two nine-stone girls were ordered to carry in from an upper storey the great wooden case weighing a hundredweight, while His Highness and secretary looked on and, moreover, increased their task by foolish directions."The smaller legations where I am sending the unlicked cubs—fellows without an inkling of Greek art and antique beauty—we'll go through those first," said the Prince."May I ask Highness the purpose of our research?""Majesty is trying to find a hubby for—Nomina sunt odiosa. However, you know the party.""Rich?""Wealthiest girl in the world.""Old Frederick's daughter! I heard some queer stories about Papa.""Naughty boy!" with an indulgent smile from Phili. "Well, Majesty wants a Benedict for Bertha who will paddle the War Lord's canoe even more enthusiastically than his wife's baby-carriage.""Why doesn't Majesty consult von Treskow and Kopp?" said the secretary."Don't mention those rude plebeians."And so the pretty pair went on. They selected a round dozen should-be aspirants for Bertha's hand.These the Emperor examined later."Receding chin," announced the War Lord disdainfully, reviewing the first few while the friends sipped their China tea."All the ear marks of the wife-beater," he commented on an attaché accredited to the Court of St. James's. "That fellow is sure to give trouble," he commented on photo No. 4. No. 5 was dismissed with a contemptuous: "Meddlesome snout." He continued to throw the photographs on the carpet, but suddenly sat up straight as a bolt."My man!" he cried. "Get Bülow on the 'phone. No; order Augustus to have an extra train ready for the Chancellor to leave Potsdamer Bahnhof in half an hour at the latest."The Court Marshal 'phoned back that a regular train was leaving at the time prescribed, and that a saloon carriage might be attached for Count Bülow."Very well, but express—Neues Palais first stop. Now call up Bülow." The War Lord was continually filling his teacup and absorbing large quantities of cucumber sandwiches. He had his mouth full when the red disc annunciator reported Bülow at the other end, and emptied it with a gulp.Yes—immediately. Most important. Would not he bring the Princess? His wife would be delighted.In an hour's time a royal landau and four set Chancellor von Bülow and his Princess down in the Sandhof, the War Lord stepping from one of the tall door-windows of his study on to the terrace to welcome them, and Countess Brockdorff, Mistress of the Robes, receiving Her Serene Highness on Her Majesty's behalf.Do these august ladies love each other? Assuredly—after the fashion of Empress Eugenie and Princess Pauline Metternich. The Princess thought herself as good as the Empress any day, and never hesitated to say so, and when on one occasion Eugenie's tantrums were excused on the plea that she had an uncle in the strait-jacket, Pauline quickly responded: "There are a few lunatics in my family too."So the Princess Camporeale, whose husband was to be "princed" a few weeks hence, regarded herself as good as thenéeSchleswig-Holstein, arguing that the Beccadello were more ancient than Her Majesty's family. And her Margraviate of Altavilla was worth more in lires and centimes than Her Majesty's title of Margravine of Brandenburg.So the Princess Maria told Countess Brockdorff she could not move until the ladies of her Court arrived from the station, and the House Marshal was warned that Her Highness's lackeys must not be allowed in the palace canteen. German beer and sausage always upset them.Four exceedingly pretty Italian women came in the second carriage. "My governess, Marchesa ——." "My reader, the Countess ——." "My maids of honour, Contezzina —— and Baroness ——"—all members of former sovereign or semi-sovereign houses.Bülow beamed in his animated fashion when he did not see Eulenburg, whom he rather expected to find, since he was always where least wanted."And what may be Your Majesty's pleasure?" he asked in his courtly way, when they were alone in the study."I want your opinion on the husband I've selected for a certain young lady." The War Lord had quite forgotten his own admonition to Phili. "Look!" He laid a hand partly over the photograph on the table, allowing only the forehead to be seen."Good, capable forehead," observed Bülow; "something behind that.""No obstinacy, I hope," said the War Lord. Next he let the photograph's eyes be seen."Cold, steadfast, may be some disposition for cruelty," was Bülow's verdict."A good nose, mouth disdainful, somewhat high cheekbones—it's von Bohlen und Halbach!" cried the Chancellor."You know him?""To some extent, both officially and unofficially. Never had any chance to distinguish himself, but decidedly adaptable, yet not lacking executive ability, I believe."The War Lord was delighted with the endorsement his own views received."Look at that chin," he said; "firm isn't the word for it—bulldog, regular bulldog. He will lead you the deuce of a dance, Bertha!"At the mention of the name the Chancellor winced perceptibly. "I endorsed his capacity for business; I know nothing about his personal character," he ventured, adding: "He must be at least fifteen years older than Bertha."The War Lord consulted Phili's notes. "Old enough to vote, as they say in the States—to vote for me,nota bene, at directors' meetings. Call up your office and find out what kind of subordinate he is.""I looked at his papers only the other day. He seems to give his chief no trouble, carrying out orders punctually and painstakingly; never harasses the minister with original suggestions, but is quite content to do his duty and say naught about it.""Is his family good enough?""Gentle born," explained the Chancellor; "father was Baden Minister, mother not of noble birth—Sophie Bohlen—but she had money, I believe. The present Councillor of Legation is university bred, of course, and belongs to the Guard Hussars,Landwehr, Chef d'escadron, says the army 'Who's Who.' Nevertheless," concluded the Chancellor in his most persuasive style, "I don't think him the right sort of husband for Bertha.""Right sort forme," cried the War Lord.Bülow, conscious that His Majesty at the time could not afford to quarrel with him, risked a none too gentle rebuke by disregarding the interruption."She is so young," he went on, "and, as I pointed out before, there is the making of a cruel master in his face. Think of the wealthiest girl in the world tied to a man who will not let her have her own way—a sort of drill-sergeant husband. Your Majesty is too whole-hearted, too generous, too gallant," he added with a smile, "to impose a husband of that kind upon your ward."In response the War Lord dropped the high falsetto of command which had marked his interruptions, and said in a more conciliatory tone: "There is not a man alive against whose choice as a husband objections may not be marshalledà la advocatus diaboli. Now, for a change, listen to theadvocatus Dei, please: It goes without saying that I have my ward's happiness very much at heart. Indeed, if she was of my own flesh and blood, I could not cherish more tender feelings for her. I love her like one of my own children, and haven't I accepted Cecile much as I loathe her mother? But with Bertha it's not a mere matter of getting married and preserving her unexampled wealth, if you will——" The War Lord stopped short, but after a moment's thought continued: "It will be more public spirited for Bertha to marry the man of my selection than to imperil the Fatherland's right arm. Where would we be if she chose for lord and master one of those fool-pacifists, some von Suttner milksop, seeing that without Krupp's loyal co-operation our great war would go to pot—that even a mere defensive war would better be avoided.""If Fraulein Krupp or her husband went to extremes, the State could step in and take over the Krupp works," objected the Chancellor."And do you suppose that our agents in Brussels, Lisbon, Rome, the South Americas and so forth would be allowed to buy guns from the King of Prussia?" The War Lord answered his own question with an emphatic "No!" then suggested slyly:"To sell the enemy war materials is part of our ante-war programme, is it not?"After walking the length and breadth of the room, he planted himself firmly before Bülow, whom, by the way, he had not asked to be seated."I command," he said with an air of finality; "Bohlen is the man. Your own suggestion, you can't escape from it," he quickly added, when Bülow protested. "You said the fellow, though capable, is not self-opinionated—no swelled head—always obeys orders—in short: adaptable. That kind of man we need at the head of the Krupp establishment to do the Fatherland's work according to my directions—hence Bertha will marry him and no one else."Then, to forestall further arguments: "Let's join the ladies now."He rang for an orderly. "The Grand Master," he commanded.Count Augustus zu Eulenburg had evidently anticipated that he would be wanted, as he stood waiting in the Shell Grotto, facing the park. The walls and ceiling of this gorgeous entrance hall are clad with semi-precious stones in their natural growth: mountain-crystal and malachite, coral trees and amethyst rocks, agate and garnets, gold and silver ore; presents from royal friends for the most part."I'll leave for Essen to-night. Wire Frau Krupp to expect me for breakfast. The small entourage, and warn messieurs my humble servants not to take too many lackeys. I am tired of carting their households around.""At Your Majesty's orders." The Marshal bowed low. Then in a whisper: "Is Phili to be of the party?""Certainly not," replied the War Lord so Bülow might hear him. "Report to me later," he added in an undertone."Later" the followingtripotagewas overheard:War Lord: "Phili hasn't left?""He is awaiting Your Majesty's further commands.""Tell him to get ready for Essen.""He begs to remind Your Majesty that he is not in the Baroness's good graces.""Am I not painfully aware of that? She would prefer the measles to a morning call from Phili.""Then he is to stay on the train while Your Majesty visits Villa Huegel?""Until I require him. He may be needed to quicken her ladyship's decision about matters in hand, as under pressure of his presence she will consent more readily, just to get your precious cousin out of the house."CHAPTER XXIVTHE WAR LORD'S DAY IN ESSENThe Krupp Free Hotel—The War Lord and the Cinder—Bertha's Little Surprise—The Blue Ribbon of the Son—A Mad Idea—The War Lord Apes the Expert—Enter the Pawn—A Wily Game—Disposing of Franz"A wonderful country, the United States," said the War Lord to Chief-Engineer Franz; "it produced two Maxims. The British War Office captured Hiram, but there is another, Hudson, who seems to know as much about explosives and guns as his more celebrated namesake. I want you to take a year's leave and study him—him and Pittsburgh. Your salary goes on, of course, and there will be a suitable allowance for expense. I will arrange this with the Director-General."Franz bowed his thanks, for Wilhelm, big with his subject, showed plainly that he meant to do all the talking."Hudson Maxim," he continued, "claims priority as inventor of half a hundred discoveries that would seem to spell success in war. He knows a lot about dynamite, torpedoes, and detonating fuses too, and is great in chemistry. Try and learn all he knows by fair means or—foul," he added. Then, musingly:"I have lately looked into some recipes suggesting chemical preparations for means of attack. The War Office will furnish details. Consult Hudson Maxim and other American authorities on the subject, using the utmost discretion, of course, for I don't quite trust those Yankees. They manage to cover up their British sympathies, but I have had a peep or two beneath the surface. I know Armour." His mind took a sudden leap. "How soon will you start?" he demanded. "Do you want a week's time? Very well.""May it please Your Majesty, Frau Krupp invited me to accompany herself and daughters on their jaunt—sort ofmaréchal de logis——" ventured Franz."Duty, sir! Fatherland first. Tuesday's French liner, then; and don't fail to investigate whether steamers of this class are liable to be of use as auxiliary vessels in case of war. Ballin and the Norddeutscher Lloyd people pronounce them veritable men-of-war. But, to my mind, Ballin and Company are after subsidies."Thus was Franz politely requested and cruelly coerced to leave Villa Huegel. It was on the eve of the day after the interview between War Lord and Chancellor. Events had moved swiftly since then.A comfortable night on Majesty's trainde luxe, preceded by a variety performance by Phili Eulenburg, star impersonator.Breakfast, 9 A.M., at the Krupp villa, better and more plentiful than at home.A drive next? No; Uncle Majesty would not allow Bertha to handle the ribbons of the four-in-hand. Never doubted her ability, of course—yet that experience of his at Count Dohna's. No amateurs on the box for him. "His little girl was to sit by his side," and they were to discuss "grave business matters."Wilhelm, who always looks for chances to combine business with pleasure, asked to be driven to theEssener Hof, a hotel in the city of Essen proper, where intending buyers of guns and ammunition are lodged, and, it may be added, wined and feasted at the War Lady's expense. Be sure that the Krupp hostelry is never lacking in guests pretending to be unsatisfied with the tests of war material conducted for their benefit as long as there is the slightest excuse for delay in going home, since, once satisfied, they must buy, and, the deal concluded, give up their comfortable apartments at theHof.Wilhelm left half a dozen of his large, ugly visiting-cards at the door of the hotel for the Jap, Chinese, Turkish and other representatives, bending down the lower right-hand corner of the pasteboards to indicate his regrets that he had failed to find the gentlemen in."If any of them attempt to pay me a return visit, I shall put them under 'old Fritz' and pulverise their yellow bones," he said to Bertha.But before they had finished laughing at the piece of raillery the War Lord uttered a cry of anguish. An infinitesimal cinder or a bit of soot had got into his left ear, causing him the most excruciating pains."Home," he gasped piteously. "Let's pick up a physician on the way." (For some reason or other no doctor was included in the small Imperial party.)Dr. Shrader was dumbfounded when the royal chasseur, in feather hat, broadsword at his side, summoned him. "My consulting hour; dozens of people waiting," he protested. The chasseur bent over the doctor's ear and whispered, whereupon Shrader ran into the street in his dressing-gown, apparently to interview the gutter, for, in his anxiety to pacify the War Lord with stammered excuses, his nose was close to the stream of mucky water running down the hill.Naturally, the humour of the thing did not appeal to Wilhelm, racked with pain as he was. He rose from the seat, and, pushing the obsequious doctor aside, jumped up the steps, saying: "Attend me, I command." Of course, in the meanwhile the doctor's household had got wind of the royal radiance, and flocked from parlour, bedrooms and scullery, males and females and children, all eager to prostrate themselves in hall or on staircases, wherever they might be.The War Lord turned to Shrader: "Send them upstairs; lock them in if necessary." And, with a look through the glass door of the waiting-room: "These people must leave instantly; I won't be theirGrossebeest."He let himself drop into the doctor's ample desk-chair."The ear-pump and antiseptics!" he commanded with a cry of pain. Then, as the doctor approached with the instruments: "Oh, take off that dirty dressing-gown first. Roll up your sleeves. Wash your hands."More insulting orders were thundered at the man of science by a supposed gentleman, but their execution gave Shrader time to recover.He handled the ear-pump with consummate ease, as he happened to be a specialist in the line, and soon had the satisfaction of showing the War Lord the annoying fragment of cinder which his skill had discovered and extracted."May it please Your Majesty, it would be well to clear all the passages by blowing air through them," he humbly suggested."Do all that's necessary, doctor."Shrader produced another instrument fitted with a spiral trumpet and a long rubber tube, and went to work vigorously. By the time the War Lord was ready to leave the doctor laid down his microscope: "I congratulate Your Majesty; no evidence of putrefaction, hence no gangrenous inflammation.""Who said there was?" demanded the War Lord severely."I meant to submit to Your Majesty that the ear will give no further trouble.""That's better," said Wilhelm in a pleasant voice. He strode through the hall at such a pace that the chasseur had hardly time to open the door for him.The street was black with people. "Hochs!" resounded from a thousand throats, basso, tenor, soprano, what not. A good many people had been talking to Bertha—all at once, of course. "Prating of their misfortunes—the usual racket," suggested the War Lord, with a look of contempt, as he sat down beside the heiress. And when the carriage was clear of the mob he added: "You ought to have walked the horses up and down in the neighbourhood while I was with the doctor.""I thought of that, likewise that the carriage might not have been on hand when you wanted to start, Uncle Majesty. You told me the remark of the French king: 'I almost waited,'" replied Fraulein Krupp.Dr. Shrader had indeed relieved the Majesty, who felt fresh and buoyant after the invigorating ride over the hills and along the shooting-ranges. The latter, while fully manned, were silent, for the chasseur had telephoned to Count Helmuth von Moltke, and the adjutant had countermanded all trial practice."Let's look at 'old Fritz' again," said the War Lord, after refreshments. Unlike Charles V., the War Lord is never awakened during the night to swallow some favourite dish, but five meals a day are his rule, and to revive his animal spirits he takes a number of raw eggs in a glass of cognac after the slightest exertion, when at home, i.e. at his own expense, while more substantial and elaborate provision is expected at friends' houses.At Villa Huegel he is never disappointed. Even if he brought those "forty scientist friends" he once imposed upon Dom Carlos of Portugal, poor man!—indeed, even if he asked Frau Krupp to lodge and feed a whole regiment of gold-laced or fringe-trousered nobodies or impostors, there would be the most generous response on her part and no questions asked."When I heard you were coming, Uncle Majesty, I planned a little surprise," said Bertha, when showing the War Lord a short cut to "old Fritz's" habitat. She led the way to a section of the armour-plate department, whose employés burst into feverish activity at their approach. No doubt they were expected."Eighty tons," said Bertha, pointing towards the huge crucible steel block being placed under a giant hydraulic press."How will you move a cannon of that size?" queried the War Lord, who is liable to get his figures mixed."But it is not going to be a cannon, Uncle Majesty," explained the mistress of the works."You are going to roll it out into an armour-plate for Chimborazo, then?""Once more Uncle Majesty is pleased to be mistaken.""Maybe it's a statue of England's lord high admiral you are making?""Burning," said the smiling Bertha; "it has something to do with the sea."There was more guessing and repartee during the first half of the thirty minutes required to coax and squeeze and handle and form the block and drag its slow length along—150 feet of it. Seeing that, the War Lord no longer could master his curiosity."What is it to be, Bertha?" he asked in a tone that would not be denied, and the wonder is that he did not add the polite: "I command!" of average Prussian bully ship."The shaft of a big steamer, Uncle Majesty; the biggest——""I know, I know," shouted the War Lord above the din of machinery, "for Ballin. Wants to snatch the speed record from Bremen. Fetch the superintendent, Bertha."To the official, who was undecided whether he ought to drop dead with devotion or burst with pride, he said in the tone of an ancient Father of the Church: "Work of the utmost importance is entrusted to you—in a measure you are the guardian of the Fatherland's supremacy at sea. England is building a giant steamship to steal our speed record. Her new ocean greyhound is to be ready for passenger service in 1907. Pray to God fervently, asking Him to grant you success that you may help to defeat the enemy of German commerce and our development as a sea power. To assist in taking the blue ribbon of sea power away from Great Britain should be the aim of all good Germans, even as it is your War Lord's duty to secure for the Fatherland the ocean coast-lines she needs." He dismissed the man with a wave of the hand.It is interesting to note here that this speech was delivered a month before Wilhelm met King Edward at Wilhelmshohe to spout "his sincere wishes for a frank understanding with Great Britain" and for the "desirability of common action" where German or British interests were involved.Meanwhile the shaft had been completed, a towering, solid mass, and the War Lord, walking round it, remarked admiringly: "Fine, looks as if come out of Vulcan's own smithy. What next?" he added, with his customary impatience.The young girl was anxious to show her familiarity with the business. Had she not undergone much coaching by Franz for this very reason?"Extracting the kernel," she answered, with an air of superiority."I should like to see the removal of the kernel," ordered the War Lord, as if the idea were original with him. Bertha pulled his sleeve and whispered again, after which Wilhelm admonished the superintendent: "Take care that it comes out in one piece."No doubt the man would have died of mortification if the well-known "cussedness" of "inanimate objects" had played him a trick; but, luckily for him, it refrained, which encourages the thought that the supposed "inanimation" is not quite so hopeless after all. Maybe in this case the "inanimate object" was intent upon beating the War Lord out of a chance to scold and air his views on mechanics."Any more novelties?" asked Wilhelm, disappointed because the machinery worked to perfection."The hydraulic shears are busy in the next shop," said Bertha.There the War Lord saw sections of armour-plates for one of his Dreadnoughts cut as if they were so many enormous Swiss cheeses."Some fine day," he commented, "we will mount one of these shears on the Calais coast, and next to it a giant magnet." He paused, contemplating the picture of his imagination."Yes, yes, Uncle Majesty!" cried the eager Bertha."The magnet," continued the War Lord, "will pull the English Dreadnought fleet out of the Channel, and toss ship after ship over into the jaws of the shears to be made mincemeat of. Fine heap of scrap-iron for you, Bertha.""But the sailors!" cried the young girl."Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori," declared the War Lord, shrugging.Next they looked at some enormous presses capable of bending armour-plates to any shape desired. This amused the Majesty hugely. He likes to bend men and things."Any shape desired?""Any Your Majesty will be pleased to command.""Very well. Model one on the left half of my moustache."The supervisor shouted orders and the machinery stopped for a little while, then turned out the desired shape with photographic accuracy. But the War Lord would not have it: "The point's missing," he declared."I leave it to Fraulein," murmured the superintendent, wincing under the rebuke. And with the vivacity and carelessness of youth Bertha divined the situation, and instantly came to her employé's rescue."Herr Grier is right; Your Majesty's moustaches are not trimmed alike. The left one is much shorter."Wilhelm put his hand up to his cheek. "So it is," he admitted grudgingly. "I remember I set fire to it last night on the train lighting a cigarette." This was addressed to Bertha. He was too small a person to excuse his rudeness to the superintendent."There is a ninety-ton block of steel making. Would Uncle Majesty like to see how it's done?" said Bertha, on the way back to Villa Huegel."Ninety tons! What a cannon that would make! Of course I would like to see it."Bertha led the way to the crucible works, where at that moment fifty pairs of workers were engaged in carrying about on long bars white-hot crucibles of metal. They were acting with the utmost precision, and one shudders to think of the wounds and mutilation that would have ensued had either one of them stumbled or been seized by sudden illness. As each couple of men advanced and tilted the glowing mass into the mould, the War Lord observed:"Much too long-winded and laborious. I will talk to the Director-General about that, Bertha."And, turning to the supervisor, he demanded curtly: "The composition of the mixture?"The man bowed to the ground to hide his confusion, and once more Bertha jumped into the breach."He doesn't know—nor do I. Secret formula of Grandfather Frederick. Don't press him, Uncle Majesty, for even to speculate on these technicalities means dismissal and disgrace for an employé." Though she spoke in a pleading tone of voice, the War Lord continued to frown."Perhaps he is allowed to explain why no shorter process is used."The supervisor fairly beamed with readiness and satisfaction. "May it please Your Majesty, our way—I beg Fraulein's pardon, the Krupp way—is the only absolutely sure method to forestall bubbles and flaws.""And a flaw, is it a serious matter?" asked the War Lord, very much alert."Indeed, Your Majesty, for it may cause the shattering of a shaft, the breakdown of machinery, the bursting of cannon.""And all cannon turned out by the works have the benefit of this process?""All without exception, Your Majesty."A bystander says he heard the War Lord mutter under his breath: "What rot!" And there is a further report that he burst into the Director-General's room, and roared: "Fine kettle of fish I discovered. Guarding against flaws in cannon intended for enemy countries! Why not turn over to France and England and Russia all the secret plans of the German War Office?"But no authoritative record of Wilhelm's sayings relating to this particular point has been obtainable. As a matter of fact, it isn't worth the pains of special research. It is to be noted, however, that after the Turkish defeat at Lule Burgas and Kirk Kilisse Bertha's husband was moved to say that the stories about the "inefficiency of Krupp guns and Krupp workmanship" were "fables," and that he was ready at any time "to take the field against all comers with Krupp guns and Krupp armour."After tea the War Lord had a long, serious talk with Frau Krupp. Happily her ladyship had been mistaken. Bertha was not actually in love with Franz; just a sort of sisterly attachment, momentarily intensified by girlish longings. So much the better, since the right sort of husband for his ward had been found: Doctor von Bohlen und Halbach, the young diplomat, distinguished, well-bred, sound business head and ambitious. "Highest ambition to serve his king.""Supposing Your Majesty understood Bertha correctly with respect to Franz, her change of heart does not mean that she will fall in love with Your Majesty's candidate for her hand," said Frau Krupp."Preparing to jump," thought Wilhelm; "I wish Phili were here." And as accident would have it, His Highness was announced that very moment. Eulenburg, or Hohenzollern luck?The Baroness opened her mouth to deny herself to the visitor on the plea of unavoidable business, but Wilhelm got ahead of her. "The Prince is most welcome," he said to the major-domo.There is no denying that His Highness, ten or more years ago, was a striking personality and had a peculiar charm. As Murat knew more about the art of dressing than Napoleon, so Eulenburg overshadowed Wilhelm as a glass of fashion, avoiding the latter's all-too-apparent striving for effect and pretence.Despite their close relations, he greeted Wilhelm without a trace of familiarity and kissed Frau Krupp's hand."Just in time," cried the War Lord. "I was telling the Baroness about the Chancellor's young friend, von Bohlen. Bülow told me he would ask you to allow him sight of your records concerning the diplomat. Was he satisfied? Tell us all you know about Bohlen?"That he was well aware of Frau Krupp's loathing for him need not be reiterated, and that in her ladyship's eyes praise from Sir Phili spelt the worst of condemnation for the party approved of he fully realised, and framed his answer accordingly:"I am pained to acknowledge that I have no personal acquaintance with the young man who rejoices in the great Pontiff's love and friendship——""You have Pius's own opinion," cried the War Lord. His astonishment was equalled only by his appreciation of the lie told."At Your Majesty's service—through the kindness of the papal legate. When Majesty commissioned me to get reliable information about our foreign representatives, I went to headquarters—may it please Your Majesty.""It pleases me immensely. What did the Pontiff say?""Exemplary habits, God-fearing, able and ambitious—these few words sum up the Holy Father's estimate of Bohlen.""Did you hear that?" asked Wilhelm, addressing Frau Krupp. "We will get the details from Bülow." And turning to Phili, he said: "You wanted to meet my ward. I will summon her, and she shall show you over the house and grounds. Beats Liebenberg," he added in an undertone.Phili beamed. "His Majesty is joking," he said to Frau Krupp. "To compare my poor Tusculum to Villa Huegel and surroundings is to put my Skalde songs next to the immortal ballads of Beranger."Frau Krupp dared not object to Wilhelm's arrangements. She played into the War Lord's hands."I will meet you and His Highness at the fountain in five minutes," she told Bertha—a welcome cue to Uncle Majesty."Aside from the Pope's estimate, does the Chancellor himself approve of Herr von Bohlen?" asked Frau Krupp."Enthusiastically. Bohlen's record in Washington and in Peking equalled his success at the Holy See.Gnädige Frau," added Wilhelm in a tone of conviction, "let's hope that the estimable young man's heart is still free. I have no doubt that he would be adieu-donnéto Bertha, yourself and—Essen.""And Your Majesty desires me to broach the matter to my daughter?""What isgnädige Frauthinking of? Do you suppose I would have wooed Augusta if I had known that Bismarck wanted me to marry her? No, no; matters of that kind must be left to accident, or apparent accident. This is the time for diplomatic furloughs. Tell me where you want to take the girls on their holiday, and I will have your son-in-law-to-be introduced quite casually. Bülow will manage.""Bertha spoke of having another look into Rome before the hot season," said the Baroness."Fate," cried Wilhelm (if he was a Catholic he would have crossed himself). "God's will," he corrected his lapsuslinguæ. "Herr von Bohlen und Halbach will be ordered not to leave his post until further notice. When you are in Rome he will present himself with Bülow's compliments, offering to act as my ward's cicerone. This will give you abundant opportunity for intimate observation and Bertha a chance to fall in love if she cares."All's arranged, then," he added in the finality vein peculiar to his nature, when he kissed Frau Krupp's hand at the door, which he had opened for her. In the Teuton Majesty's eye this was a great and almost overpowering act of condescension; the twentieth-century Prussian-en-chef rather prides himself on such mannerisms, fondly mistaking them for dignity.Well satisfied with the success of his stratagem, Wilhelm rang for his adjutant and dictated to him a long dispatch to the Chancellor, giving a well-coloured version of the interview with Frau Krupp and instructing Count Bülow how to answer the lady's forthcoming inquiries."The holiest of the holies, of course," ordered Wilhelm, referring to the telegraphic code. "I don't trust these Essen fellows," he deigned to explain; "the Chasseur shall take the message to Düsseldorf and personally hand it to the President to be sent over the official wire."Afterwards he joined the ladies and Phili, finishing up the day's strenuous work of intrigue and sight-seeing with the talk to Franz, recorded at the opening of this chapter.Just before leaving Villa Huegel he had anothertête-à-têtewith Frau Krupp. "I have conferred signal honours on your protégé" (meaning the chief engineer), he said. "I am sending him to the States to study new inventions and investigate patents relating to war materials—greatest chance that ever came to a young man. If he does as well as I expect, I will make him special representative of my General Staff. Is your Ladyship satisfied now?"Frau Krupp breathed her humblest thanks. What else could she do?
CHAPTER XXII
PAYING THE PRICE
What Edward VII. Thought—No Room for Art—A Vision of Threadneedle Street
What Edward VII. Thought—No Room for Art—A Vision of Threadneedle Street
Bülow, who loved being Chancellor, hated Phili Eulenburg.
However, the Imperial ex-Ambassador at the Hofburg was then in the zenith of his ill-gotten empire over Majesty, and to incur his displeasure spelt disgrace or enforced resignation.
At the moment the grand old man's thunderbolts were under lock and key in Harden's Grunewald villa, and the exalted personages marked for lightning carried things with a high hand, using the German Empire like an entailed estate.
Pretty evenly parcelled out thisfidei commissumfavoured by the Prussian Constitution, which makes suffrage a mockery. Phili, of late enriched by Hertefeld, the Rhenish domain that guarantees him an independent income of £5,000 sterling a year and by a couple of millions cash, which Baron Nathan Rothschild, of Vienna, left him. Phili was practically the overseer of the Government personnel, and of the diplomatic corps in particular. His card index of prominent men and women, reinforced by reams and reams of correspondence, characterised each person—diplomats, deputies, ministers, councillors, governors, politicians, commanding generals and aspirants for high honours in the army or navy—according to his own viewpoint, the avowed object being to people the highest offices within the gift of the Crown with people like-minded with himself.
And it must be admitted that Phili pretty thoroughly succeeded, since the War Lord, seeing everybody through Eulenburg's eyes, selected in the main only persons of mediocre intellect, or plain bullies, as his representatives abroad and at home. The reference to Eulenburg's optics, by the way, recalls another Bismarck sally: "One look at Phili's eyes is enough to spoil the most elaborate dinner for me!"
Could gourmet-gourmand express himself more emphatically? What the Iron Chancellor thought of ambassadors appointed under that régime has already been quoted; it coincides with the reputation for clumsiness and inefficiency the War Lord's diplomatic servants have in all quarters of the world. Inante bellumdays few of them were "honest men sent abroad to lie"; the great majority were liars intent upon bulldozing or deceiving the personages who mistook them for gentlemen. Of course, "like master, like servant." The late King Edward maintained that Wilhelm was vulgar and ungentlemanly; hence Baron H or Count Y might think it presumptuous to be otherwise. Besides, the Berlin Foreign Office will employ nobles only, and we have the authority of Gunther, Count von der Schulenburg, Lord of Castle Oest, Rhineland, for the illuminating fact that every tenth German aristocrat is unspeakable. So much for the German diplomatic service.
General Count Kuno von Moltke presided over another self-gratifying clique—that of the Army; and if Germany had invaded Belgium ten years previous to toying with the scrap of paper, she would probably have been overthrown in short order, for at that time the Commander of Imperial Headquarters held the same sinister sway over the military as Phili did over the civil branches of the Government.
"Lovey," "sweetheart," "my soul," "my all" (Kuno Moltke's epistolary titles for Majesty), "hears as much of affairs as I want him to know, no more," was Moltke's boast, according to the sworn evidence of Frau von Ende, Count Moltke's former wife, in the famous Harden slander case.
Yet though Moltke lost his case, the War Lord declared "there is nothing definite against Moltke, but he must remain on half-pay."
Can you imagine King George V. so flaunting the decisions of Old Bailey and thereafter saddling the British public with a life pension of about £500 per annum in favour of the guilty party?
Can you imagine why such "sweet affection for the All Highest" should make up for lack of military qualities in a general officer slated for supreme command in the field?
For his crusade Maximilian Harden won much praise from English writers, but if he had let it flourish in high places for a decade longer, Great Britain would be richer in blood and treasure.
Another of these coteries of men who dispensed high offices among themselves for their own ends existed in the Imperial Court—aye, it lodged there, not in the Schloss or Neues Palais exactly, but—oh, irony!—in the Princess's Palace, the hideousdependanceof the Crown Prince Palais, Unter den Linden, the apartments granted for life to Royal Chamberlain Count von Wedell being its headquarters.
Oh, the jolly tea-parties they enjoyed in the great high-ceilinged rococo chambers, full of discarded furniture and appointments of the Frederick the Great and Watteau period; Louis Quatorze and Quinze, Boule and Chippendale, Empire, here and there—antique regularity and capriciousbizarrerie, gems of Art some, also pieces chipped and disjointed.
Carlyle called Frederick "the last of the Kings"; he was certainly the last of Prussian kings possessed of an appreciation of the beautiful. The present War Lord kicked from his palaces—none were built since the eighteenth century—allobjets d'artthat would please the eye of anybody not a German boor, substituting unmentionables of the goose-step type, square-jointed, clumsy, coarse, and whollymauvais goût.
What the "majestic" chambers lack, then, those of the Excellenciesnolens volensboast. Wedell's rooms in particular contained a variety of eighteenth centurychef d'oeuvresselected by the Count himself from heaps of "ancient rubbish" sent from the Neues Palais and Sans-Souci by order of Court Marshal von Liebenau, a corporal dignified by a gold stick.
No doubt the Knights of Wedell's Round Table enjoyed what was "caviareto the general." At any rate, their tea-parties seem to have been a delight to "high and low," for no one admitted to the charmed circle ever sent his regrets.
We find there General of Cavalry Count Wilhelm von Hohenau, son of the War Lord's uncle, the late Prince Albrecht of Prussia, and Sailor Trost, of His Majesty's yachtHohenzollern; the gentleman already introduced, Count Kuno von Moltke, also Lord of the Cathedral and Private Riedel of the Uhlans; Count Lynar, brother-in-law of the Grand Duke of Hesse and Colonel of His Majesty's Horse Guards, and Gus Steinhauer, midshipman; Count Frederick von Hohenau, brother of Wilhelm, and Court Councillor Kestler, who rose from the ranks to gentlemanly estate and high honours in His Majesty's service; His Serene Highness Prince Philip of Eulenburg, Right Honourable Privy Councillor to the Prussian Crown, member of the House of Lords, etc., and Raymond Lecomte, French chargé d'affaires. These men were regular attendants, under the presidency of the noble-born host, of course, but there was a fair sprinkling of counts and barons and so on in this royal palace connected by a covered archway with the town residence of the Crown Prince and his family!
That was strange enough—audacity to the point of recklessness, one might call it—but stranger still is the fact that all these men were in the War Lord's good graces, if not on intimate terms with him like Eulenburg.
With the Hohenaus he was on "Willy" and "Freddy" footing; Count Johannes von Lynar he called "Jeanie"; and His Excellency Lieutenant-General Kuno von Moltke was his "Tütü"—with dots over both u's, if you please.
Nor were Wedell and Moltke the only tea-party members admitted to high positions at Court. Wilhelm Hohenau was governor to His Imperial Highness the Crown Prince, and, on Moltke's recommendation, Count Lynar was about to be gazetted personal adjutant to His Majesty—an office giving him apartments at the royal residence—when he was vulgarly "pinched" and lugged off to jail for the crime of—being found out.
Because he was the War Lord's "Jeanie," Lynar would not listen to "Tütü's" and "Willy's" and "Freddy's" hints about the Bank of England as a safe depository.
"Some day," he used to bluster, "a few weeks or a month after 'The Day,' I will ride up Threadneedle Street and straight into the vaults of that venerable pile, and leap my charger over mountains of gold—will be quite a change, don't you know, from jumping fences at Hoppegarten."
As to the others, Sailor Trost and ditto Gustav Steinhauer each enjoyed a meteoric career, rising in quick order to petty officership—impossible to advance them higher, because they were men without education; and whenever and wherever an excuse could be found for employing them in that extraordinary capacity, they were given charge of the Imperial person. Thus Gustav Steinhauer always acted as chief guardian of the War Lord's lodging in Castle Liebenberg when the Majesty visited his beloved Phili.
Kestler was a miserable subaltern, destined to starve on a daily wage of four marks, when Eulenburg discovered and introduced him to Majesty. Under the War Lord's favour, he was transferred to a more lucrative department in the service, and decorated!
Yet why thePour le Meritefor Kestler, and for Eulenburg, Wedell, etc.? Whatweretheir peculiar merits? Has anyone ever been able to discover?
To-day Eulenburg, twice tried, is a prisoner for life on his estate; the two Hohenaus are banished from Germany, and dare not come back on pain of arrest; Count Kuno von Moltke is a pensioner of the German people on foreign soil; Count Wedell forfeited the two gold buttons on the tails of hisfracand his residence at the Princess's palace.
Why did they get off so easily in comparison when the crash came?
The answer is obvious enough. These persons had been careful to deposit in London, E.C., the letters they had received from a certain exalted party who shall be nameless, and Count Lynar, prisoner No. 5429 at Siegburg Jail, had neglected that simple precaution.
CHAPTER XXIII
HOW VON BOHLEN WAS CHOSEN
The First Step—Prussian Manners—The War Lord Finds His Man—Putting Bülow to the Test—Discussing the Husband to Be—von Bohlen is Chosen
The First Step—Prussian Manners—The War Lord Finds His Man—Putting Bülow to the Test—Discussing the Husband to Be—von Bohlen is Chosen
On the morning after the Bavarian debate in the Chancellor's palace the War Lord and Prince Phili met early in Sans-Souci Park for an hour's horseback exercise and scandalmongering. Be sure thatchronique scandaleusewas thoroughly discussed, as well as the personnel of Phili's favourites, and if there was anybody at Court and in Society, in high official places and in the royal theatres whose ears did not tingle with the calumnies or malicious tittle-tattle launched, the gossipers' memory was at fault, not their capacity for impertinent innuendo.
These personages were walking their horses in a secluded avenue of the woods beyond Klein Glienecke when they heard galloping behind. "My courier," said the War Lord; "we'll wait." They drew rein, and presently a red-coat shot by them in a parallel road. When some fifty paces ahead, the courier leaped his horse across the intervening ditch, then stopped short at the imminent risk of being thrown, and waited, hat in hand.
"Get the mail bag," commanded Wilhelm curtly, after the style of Napoleon, who thought nothing of ordering a king to see how dinner was progressing. Phili trotted off, and presently returned with a red morocco leather portfolio. A silver-gilt key dangling on the War Lord's bracelet gave access to the contents: two letters, both postmarked Essen.
"From Bertha," said the War Lord, glancing at the bigger envelope, and put it into his pocket. The other he tore open in great haste. "Wonder what the Baroness wants from me?" he muttered.
Phili having returned the portfolio, the courier was dismissed by a wave of the hand, and Wilhelm plunged into the epistlesans cérémonie.
"The devil!" he cried, before he had finished the first page, and drove his horse so hard against Eulenburg's side that Phili could not suppress an outcry.
"Listen to this: Bertha has fallen in love with Franz, sort of foster-brother, you know; they were children together."
"The electrical expert you told me about?"
"Precisely. But I won't allow it; she might as well aspire to be wife No. 777 to our friend Abdul. But here comes the Baroness and pleads that the dear child may have her way, Franz being such a good young man; marriages are arranged in heaven, and her blessed Frederick will be tickled to death, etc., and more tommy rot like that."
"You don't think Franz exactly the right person?"
"Phili," cried the War Lord, "if you were not such an old sinner and bald-headed and married and the father of children of marriageable age, I would order you to marry her."
"Another woman—are there none but women in the world?" groaned the ex-ambassador. "Besides, I have not the least talent for bigamy; try Kiderlen-Waechter."
"Would be the right sort, but he is nearly as old as you."
Once more Extase's flank squeezed Phili. "I've got it," Wilhelm exclaimed suddenly. "When you get back home, browse for an hour or two on your card index, picking out the most desirable and up-to-date Benedicts in the thirties or thereabout, preferably men in the diplomatic service. Got everybody's photo up there, haven't you?"
"At Your Majesty's service, the whole gallery."
"Pictures and personalia you'll bring to the Neues Palais this afternoon, and maybe I will run over to Essen in the night to show thecrème de votre crèmeto the Baroness. This folly about Franz must be nipped in the bud, and with a girl the better and handsomer man does the trick every time."
The War Lord wheeled his horse around and trotted off in the direction of his residence. He never takes the trouble of telling his riding companions of his intentions. "Let them keep their eyes open and do as I do." The Queen herself fares no better when out riding with him. If her harness gets out of order or something of that sort, and she has to dismount, Wilhelm presses on unconcernedly. "Let the Master of Horse look after her."
Phili, arrived at his apartments, had no sooner got into his dressing-jacket of flowered silk, when the telephone rang furiously. "I command," admonished a hard voice.
"Here, Phili, at Your Majesty's service."
"Are you at work on the cards?"
"Head over heels," lied Phili.
"And in this connection—has nothing occurred to you?"
The obsequious courtier was in a quandary. Woe to him if he attempted to be wiser than his master!
"The old story; I have to think of everything," the War Lord thundered. "Can't you see you must take your selection of names to Bülow and pretend to get advice on the candidates from him? If you don't, he will be offended."
"Like the old woman he is," ventured Eulenburg.
"Don't you criticisemyChancellor." There was a brutal emphasis on the "my," and Phili stuttered a dozen excuses for his slip of the tongue.
"Never mind, to work, Prince! It was Louis XIV. who almost waited on one particular occasion. Remember, Phili, I don't want to repeat his experience."
Phili rang for Jaroljmek, his secretary.
"I do wish Majesty could get along without me for a day or two," he said. "More pressing business. All the young men in the diplomatic service to be inquired into, liver and kidneys. At once, of course! Beastly bore unless I may count on your assistance."
"Of course, Serene Highness."
"Have the maids bring in the card index, then."
"With Highness's permission, I will ask the butler to help me. It's too heavy for girls."
"Not at all. Women were put into the world to wait on such as you and I. The woods are full of girls, while nice boys are few and far between. And you vulgarise a high-stepping horse by hard work."
So two nine-stone girls were ordered to carry in from an upper storey the great wooden case weighing a hundredweight, while His Highness and secretary looked on and, moreover, increased their task by foolish directions.
"The smaller legations where I am sending the unlicked cubs—fellows without an inkling of Greek art and antique beauty—we'll go through those first," said the Prince.
"May I ask Highness the purpose of our research?"
"Majesty is trying to find a hubby for—Nomina sunt odiosa. However, you know the party."
"Rich?"
"Wealthiest girl in the world."
"Old Frederick's daughter! I heard some queer stories about Papa."
"Naughty boy!" with an indulgent smile from Phili. "Well, Majesty wants a Benedict for Bertha who will paddle the War Lord's canoe even more enthusiastically than his wife's baby-carriage."
"Why doesn't Majesty consult von Treskow and Kopp?" said the secretary.
"Don't mention those rude plebeians."
And so the pretty pair went on. They selected a round dozen should-be aspirants for Bertha's hand.
These the Emperor examined later.
"Receding chin," announced the War Lord disdainfully, reviewing the first few while the friends sipped their China tea.
"All the ear marks of the wife-beater," he commented on an attaché accredited to the Court of St. James's. "That fellow is sure to give trouble," he commented on photo No. 4. No. 5 was dismissed with a contemptuous: "Meddlesome snout." He continued to throw the photographs on the carpet, but suddenly sat up straight as a bolt.
"My man!" he cried. "Get Bülow on the 'phone. No; order Augustus to have an extra train ready for the Chancellor to leave Potsdamer Bahnhof in half an hour at the latest."
The Court Marshal 'phoned back that a regular train was leaving at the time prescribed, and that a saloon carriage might be attached for Count Bülow.
"Very well, but express—Neues Palais first stop. Now call up Bülow." The War Lord was continually filling his teacup and absorbing large quantities of cucumber sandwiches. He had his mouth full when the red disc annunciator reported Bülow at the other end, and emptied it with a gulp.
Yes—immediately. Most important. Would not he bring the Princess? His wife would be delighted.
In an hour's time a royal landau and four set Chancellor von Bülow and his Princess down in the Sandhof, the War Lord stepping from one of the tall door-windows of his study on to the terrace to welcome them, and Countess Brockdorff, Mistress of the Robes, receiving Her Serene Highness on Her Majesty's behalf.
Do these august ladies love each other? Assuredly—after the fashion of Empress Eugenie and Princess Pauline Metternich. The Princess thought herself as good as the Empress any day, and never hesitated to say so, and when on one occasion Eugenie's tantrums were excused on the plea that she had an uncle in the strait-jacket, Pauline quickly responded: "There are a few lunatics in my family too."
So the Princess Camporeale, whose husband was to be "princed" a few weeks hence, regarded herself as good as thenéeSchleswig-Holstein, arguing that the Beccadello were more ancient than Her Majesty's family. And her Margraviate of Altavilla was worth more in lires and centimes than Her Majesty's title of Margravine of Brandenburg.
So the Princess Maria told Countess Brockdorff she could not move until the ladies of her Court arrived from the station, and the House Marshal was warned that Her Highness's lackeys must not be allowed in the palace canteen. German beer and sausage always upset them.
Four exceedingly pretty Italian women came in the second carriage. "My governess, Marchesa ——." "My reader, the Countess ——." "My maids of honour, Contezzina —— and Baroness ——"—all members of former sovereign or semi-sovereign houses.
Bülow beamed in his animated fashion when he did not see Eulenburg, whom he rather expected to find, since he was always where least wanted.
"And what may be Your Majesty's pleasure?" he asked in his courtly way, when they were alone in the study.
"I want your opinion on the husband I've selected for a certain young lady." The War Lord had quite forgotten his own admonition to Phili. "Look!" He laid a hand partly over the photograph on the table, allowing only the forehead to be seen.
"Good, capable forehead," observed Bülow; "something behind that."
"No obstinacy, I hope," said the War Lord. Next he let the photograph's eyes be seen.
"Cold, steadfast, may be some disposition for cruelty," was Bülow's verdict.
"A good nose, mouth disdainful, somewhat high cheekbones—it's von Bohlen und Halbach!" cried the Chancellor.
"You know him?"
"To some extent, both officially and unofficially. Never had any chance to distinguish himself, but decidedly adaptable, yet not lacking executive ability, I believe."
The War Lord was delighted with the endorsement his own views received.
"Look at that chin," he said; "firm isn't the word for it—bulldog, regular bulldog. He will lead you the deuce of a dance, Bertha!"
At the mention of the name the Chancellor winced perceptibly. "I endorsed his capacity for business; I know nothing about his personal character," he ventured, adding: "He must be at least fifteen years older than Bertha."
The War Lord consulted Phili's notes. "Old enough to vote, as they say in the States—to vote for me,nota bene, at directors' meetings. Call up your office and find out what kind of subordinate he is."
"I looked at his papers only the other day. He seems to give his chief no trouble, carrying out orders punctually and painstakingly; never harasses the minister with original suggestions, but is quite content to do his duty and say naught about it."
"Is his family good enough?"
"Gentle born," explained the Chancellor; "father was Baden Minister, mother not of noble birth—Sophie Bohlen—but she had money, I believe. The present Councillor of Legation is university bred, of course, and belongs to the Guard Hussars,Landwehr, Chef d'escadron, says the army 'Who's Who.' Nevertheless," concluded the Chancellor in his most persuasive style, "I don't think him the right sort of husband for Bertha."
"Right sort forme," cried the War Lord.
Bülow, conscious that His Majesty at the time could not afford to quarrel with him, risked a none too gentle rebuke by disregarding the interruption.
"She is so young," he went on, "and, as I pointed out before, there is the making of a cruel master in his face. Think of the wealthiest girl in the world tied to a man who will not let her have her own way—a sort of drill-sergeant husband. Your Majesty is too whole-hearted, too generous, too gallant," he added with a smile, "to impose a husband of that kind upon your ward."
In response the War Lord dropped the high falsetto of command which had marked his interruptions, and said in a more conciliatory tone: "There is not a man alive against whose choice as a husband objections may not be marshalledà la advocatus diaboli. Now, for a change, listen to theadvocatus Dei, please: It goes without saying that I have my ward's happiness very much at heart. Indeed, if she was of my own flesh and blood, I could not cherish more tender feelings for her. I love her like one of my own children, and haven't I accepted Cecile much as I loathe her mother? But with Bertha it's not a mere matter of getting married and preserving her unexampled wealth, if you will——" The War Lord stopped short, but after a moment's thought continued: "It will be more public spirited for Bertha to marry the man of my selection than to imperil the Fatherland's right arm. Where would we be if she chose for lord and master one of those fool-pacifists, some von Suttner milksop, seeing that without Krupp's loyal co-operation our great war would go to pot—that even a mere defensive war would better be avoided."
"If Fraulein Krupp or her husband went to extremes, the State could step in and take over the Krupp works," objected the Chancellor.
"And do you suppose that our agents in Brussels, Lisbon, Rome, the South Americas and so forth would be allowed to buy guns from the King of Prussia?" The War Lord answered his own question with an emphatic "No!" then suggested slyly:
"To sell the enemy war materials is part of our ante-war programme, is it not?"
After walking the length and breadth of the room, he planted himself firmly before Bülow, whom, by the way, he had not asked to be seated.
"I command," he said with an air of finality; "Bohlen is the man. Your own suggestion, you can't escape from it," he quickly added, when Bülow protested. "You said the fellow, though capable, is not self-opinionated—no swelled head—always obeys orders—in short: adaptable. That kind of man we need at the head of the Krupp establishment to do the Fatherland's work according to my directions—hence Bertha will marry him and no one else."
Then, to forestall further arguments: "Let's join the ladies now."
He rang for an orderly. "The Grand Master," he commanded.
Count Augustus zu Eulenburg had evidently anticipated that he would be wanted, as he stood waiting in the Shell Grotto, facing the park. The walls and ceiling of this gorgeous entrance hall are clad with semi-precious stones in their natural growth: mountain-crystal and malachite, coral trees and amethyst rocks, agate and garnets, gold and silver ore; presents from royal friends for the most part.
"I'll leave for Essen to-night. Wire Frau Krupp to expect me for breakfast. The small entourage, and warn messieurs my humble servants not to take too many lackeys. I am tired of carting their households around."
"At Your Majesty's orders." The Marshal bowed low. Then in a whisper: "Is Phili to be of the party?"
"Certainly not," replied the War Lord so Bülow might hear him. "Report to me later," he added in an undertone.
"Later" the followingtripotagewas overheard:
War Lord: "Phili hasn't left?"
"He is awaiting Your Majesty's further commands."
"Tell him to get ready for Essen."
"He begs to remind Your Majesty that he is not in the Baroness's good graces."
"Am I not painfully aware of that? She would prefer the measles to a morning call from Phili."
"Then he is to stay on the train while Your Majesty visits Villa Huegel?"
"Until I require him. He may be needed to quicken her ladyship's decision about matters in hand, as under pressure of his presence she will consent more readily, just to get your precious cousin out of the house."
CHAPTER XXIV
THE WAR LORD'S DAY IN ESSEN
The Krupp Free Hotel—The War Lord and the Cinder—Bertha's Little Surprise—The Blue Ribbon of the Son—A Mad Idea—The War Lord Apes the Expert—Enter the Pawn—A Wily Game—Disposing of Franz
The Krupp Free Hotel—The War Lord and the Cinder—Bertha's Little Surprise—The Blue Ribbon of the Son—A Mad Idea—The War Lord Apes the Expert—Enter the Pawn—A Wily Game—Disposing of Franz
"A wonderful country, the United States," said the War Lord to Chief-Engineer Franz; "it produced two Maxims. The British War Office captured Hiram, but there is another, Hudson, who seems to know as much about explosives and guns as his more celebrated namesake. I want you to take a year's leave and study him—him and Pittsburgh. Your salary goes on, of course, and there will be a suitable allowance for expense. I will arrange this with the Director-General."
Franz bowed his thanks, for Wilhelm, big with his subject, showed plainly that he meant to do all the talking.
"Hudson Maxim," he continued, "claims priority as inventor of half a hundred discoveries that would seem to spell success in war. He knows a lot about dynamite, torpedoes, and detonating fuses too, and is great in chemistry. Try and learn all he knows by fair means or—foul," he added. Then, musingly:
"I have lately looked into some recipes suggesting chemical preparations for means of attack. The War Office will furnish details. Consult Hudson Maxim and other American authorities on the subject, using the utmost discretion, of course, for I don't quite trust those Yankees. They manage to cover up their British sympathies, but I have had a peep or two beneath the surface. I know Armour." His mind took a sudden leap. "How soon will you start?" he demanded. "Do you want a week's time? Very well."
"May it please Your Majesty, Frau Krupp invited me to accompany herself and daughters on their jaunt—sort ofmaréchal de logis——" ventured Franz.
"Duty, sir! Fatherland first. Tuesday's French liner, then; and don't fail to investigate whether steamers of this class are liable to be of use as auxiliary vessels in case of war. Ballin and the Norddeutscher Lloyd people pronounce them veritable men-of-war. But, to my mind, Ballin and Company are after subsidies."
Thus was Franz politely requested and cruelly coerced to leave Villa Huegel. It was on the eve of the day after the interview between War Lord and Chancellor. Events had moved swiftly since then.
A comfortable night on Majesty's trainde luxe, preceded by a variety performance by Phili Eulenburg, star impersonator.
Breakfast, 9 A.M., at the Krupp villa, better and more plentiful than at home.
A drive next? No; Uncle Majesty would not allow Bertha to handle the ribbons of the four-in-hand. Never doubted her ability, of course—yet that experience of his at Count Dohna's. No amateurs on the box for him. "His little girl was to sit by his side," and they were to discuss "grave business matters."
Wilhelm, who always looks for chances to combine business with pleasure, asked to be driven to theEssener Hof, a hotel in the city of Essen proper, where intending buyers of guns and ammunition are lodged, and, it may be added, wined and feasted at the War Lady's expense. Be sure that the Krupp hostelry is never lacking in guests pretending to be unsatisfied with the tests of war material conducted for their benefit as long as there is the slightest excuse for delay in going home, since, once satisfied, they must buy, and, the deal concluded, give up their comfortable apartments at theHof.
Wilhelm left half a dozen of his large, ugly visiting-cards at the door of the hotel for the Jap, Chinese, Turkish and other representatives, bending down the lower right-hand corner of the pasteboards to indicate his regrets that he had failed to find the gentlemen in.
"If any of them attempt to pay me a return visit, I shall put them under 'old Fritz' and pulverise their yellow bones," he said to Bertha.
But before they had finished laughing at the piece of raillery the War Lord uttered a cry of anguish. An infinitesimal cinder or a bit of soot had got into his left ear, causing him the most excruciating pains.
"Home," he gasped piteously. "Let's pick up a physician on the way." (For some reason or other no doctor was included in the small Imperial party.)
Dr. Shrader was dumbfounded when the royal chasseur, in feather hat, broadsword at his side, summoned him. "My consulting hour; dozens of people waiting," he protested. The chasseur bent over the doctor's ear and whispered, whereupon Shrader ran into the street in his dressing-gown, apparently to interview the gutter, for, in his anxiety to pacify the War Lord with stammered excuses, his nose was close to the stream of mucky water running down the hill.
Naturally, the humour of the thing did not appeal to Wilhelm, racked with pain as he was. He rose from the seat, and, pushing the obsequious doctor aside, jumped up the steps, saying: "Attend me, I command." Of course, in the meanwhile the doctor's household had got wind of the royal radiance, and flocked from parlour, bedrooms and scullery, males and females and children, all eager to prostrate themselves in hall or on staircases, wherever they might be.
The War Lord turned to Shrader: "Send them upstairs; lock them in if necessary." And, with a look through the glass door of the waiting-room: "These people must leave instantly; I won't be theirGrossebeest."
He let himself drop into the doctor's ample desk-chair.
"The ear-pump and antiseptics!" he commanded with a cry of pain. Then, as the doctor approached with the instruments: "Oh, take off that dirty dressing-gown first. Roll up your sleeves. Wash your hands."
More insulting orders were thundered at the man of science by a supposed gentleman, but their execution gave Shrader time to recover.
He handled the ear-pump with consummate ease, as he happened to be a specialist in the line, and soon had the satisfaction of showing the War Lord the annoying fragment of cinder which his skill had discovered and extracted.
"May it please Your Majesty, it would be well to clear all the passages by blowing air through them," he humbly suggested.
"Do all that's necessary, doctor."
Shrader produced another instrument fitted with a spiral trumpet and a long rubber tube, and went to work vigorously. By the time the War Lord was ready to leave the doctor laid down his microscope: "I congratulate Your Majesty; no evidence of putrefaction, hence no gangrenous inflammation."
"Who said there was?" demanded the War Lord severely.
"I meant to submit to Your Majesty that the ear will give no further trouble."
"That's better," said Wilhelm in a pleasant voice. He strode through the hall at such a pace that the chasseur had hardly time to open the door for him.
The street was black with people. "Hochs!" resounded from a thousand throats, basso, tenor, soprano, what not. A good many people had been talking to Bertha—all at once, of course. "Prating of their misfortunes—the usual racket," suggested the War Lord, with a look of contempt, as he sat down beside the heiress. And when the carriage was clear of the mob he added: "You ought to have walked the horses up and down in the neighbourhood while I was with the doctor."
"I thought of that, likewise that the carriage might not have been on hand when you wanted to start, Uncle Majesty. You told me the remark of the French king: 'I almost waited,'" replied Fraulein Krupp.
Dr. Shrader had indeed relieved the Majesty, who felt fresh and buoyant after the invigorating ride over the hills and along the shooting-ranges. The latter, while fully manned, were silent, for the chasseur had telephoned to Count Helmuth von Moltke, and the adjutant had countermanded all trial practice.
"Let's look at 'old Fritz' again," said the War Lord, after refreshments. Unlike Charles V., the War Lord is never awakened during the night to swallow some favourite dish, but five meals a day are his rule, and to revive his animal spirits he takes a number of raw eggs in a glass of cognac after the slightest exertion, when at home, i.e. at his own expense, while more substantial and elaborate provision is expected at friends' houses.
At Villa Huegel he is never disappointed. Even if he brought those "forty scientist friends" he once imposed upon Dom Carlos of Portugal, poor man!—indeed, even if he asked Frau Krupp to lodge and feed a whole regiment of gold-laced or fringe-trousered nobodies or impostors, there would be the most generous response on her part and no questions asked.
"When I heard you were coming, Uncle Majesty, I planned a little surprise," said Bertha, when showing the War Lord a short cut to "old Fritz's" habitat. She led the way to a section of the armour-plate department, whose employés burst into feverish activity at their approach. No doubt they were expected.
"Eighty tons," said Bertha, pointing towards the huge crucible steel block being placed under a giant hydraulic press.
"How will you move a cannon of that size?" queried the War Lord, who is liable to get his figures mixed.
"But it is not going to be a cannon, Uncle Majesty," explained the mistress of the works.
"You are going to roll it out into an armour-plate for Chimborazo, then?"
"Once more Uncle Majesty is pleased to be mistaken."
"Maybe it's a statue of England's lord high admiral you are making?"
"Burning," said the smiling Bertha; "it has something to do with the sea."
There was more guessing and repartee during the first half of the thirty minutes required to coax and squeeze and handle and form the block and drag its slow length along—150 feet of it. Seeing that, the War Lord no longer could master his curiosity.
"What is it to be, Bertha?" he asked in a tone that would not be denied, and the wonder is that he did not add the polite: "I command!" of average Prussian bully ship.
"The shaft of a big steamer, Uncle Majesty; the biggest——"
"I know, I know," shouted the War Lord above the din of machinery, "for Ballin. Wants to snatch the speed record from Bremen. Fetch the superintendent, Bertha."
To the official, who was undecided whether he ought to drop dead with devotion or burst with pride, he said in the tone of an ancient Father of the Church: "Work of the utmost importance is entrusted to you—in a measure you are the guardian of the Fatherland's supremacy at sea. England is building a giant steamship to steal our speed record. Her new ocean greyhound is to be ready for passenger service in 1907. Pray to God fervently, asking Him to grant you success that you may help to defeat the enemy of German commerce and our development as a sea power. To assist in taking the blue ribbon of sea power away from Great Britain should be the aim of all good Germans, even as it is your War Lord's duty to secure for the Fatherland the ocean coast-lines she needs." He dismissed the man with a wave of the hand.
It is interesting to note here that this speech was delivered a month before Wilhelm met King Edward at Wilhelmshohe to spout "his sincere wishes for a frank understanding with Great Britain" and for the "desirability of common action" where German or British interests were involved.
Meanwhile the shaft had been completed, a towering, solid mass, and the War Lord, walking round it, remarked admiringly: "Fine, looks as if come out of Vulcan's own smithy. What next?" he added, with his customary impatience.
The young girl was anxious to show her familiarity with the business. Had she not undergone much coaching by Franz for this very reason?
"Extracting the kernel," she answered, with an air of superiority.
"I should like to see the removal of the kernel," ordered the War Lord, as if the idea were original with him. Bertha pulled his sleeve and whispered again, after which Wilhelm admonished the superintendent: "Take care that it comes out in one piece."
No doubt the man would have died of mortification if the well-known "cussedness" of "inanimate objects" had played him a trick; but, luckily for him, it refrained, which encourages the thought that the supposed "inanimation" is not quite so hopeless after all. Maybe in this case the "inanimate object" was intent upon beating the War Lord out of a chance to scold and air his views on mechanics.
"Any more novelties?" asked Wilhelm, disappointed because the machinery worked to perfection.
"The hydraulic shears are busy in the next shop," said Bertha.
There the War Lord saw sections of armour-plates for one of his Dreadnoughts cut as if they were so many enormous Swiss cheeses.
"Some fine day," he commented, "we will mount one of these shears on the Calais coast, and next to it a giant magnet." He paused, contemplating the picture of his imagination.
"Yes, yes, Uncle Majesty!" cried the eager Bertha.
"The magnet," continued the War Lord, "will pull the English Dreadnought fleet out of the Channel, and toss ship after ship over into the jaws of the shears to be made mincemeat of. Fine heap of scrap-iron for you, Bertha."
"But the sailors!" cried the young girl.
"Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori," declared the War Lord, shrugging.
Next they looked at some enormous presses capable of bending armour-plates to any shape desired. This amused the Majesty hugely. He likes to bend men and things.
"Any shape desired?"
"Any Your Majesty will be pleased to command."
"Very well. Model one on the left half of my moustache."
The supervisor shouted orders and the machinery stopped for a little while, then turned out the desired shape with photographic accuracy. But the War Lord would not have it: "The point's missing," he declared.
"I leave it to Fraulein," murmured the superintendent, wincing under the rebuke. And with the vivacity and carelessness of youth Bertha divined the situation, and instantly came to her employé's rescue.
"Herr Grier is right; Your Majesty's moustaches are not trimmed alike. The left one is much shorter."
Wilhelm put his hand up to his cheek. "So it is," he admitted grudgingly. "I remember I set fire to it last night on the train lighting a cigarette." This was addressed to Bertha. He was too small a person to excuse his rudeness to the superintendent.
"There is a ninety-ton block of steel making. Would Uncle Majesty like to see how it's done?" said Bertha, on the way back to Villa Huegel.
"Ninety tons! What a cannon that would make! Of course I would like to see it."
Bertha led the way to the crucible works, where at that moment fifty pairs of workers were engaged in carrying about on long bars white-hot crucibles of metal. They were acting with the utmost precision, and one shudders to think of the wounds and mutilation that would have ensued had either one of them stumbled or been seized by sudden illness. As each couple of men advanced and tilted the glowing mass into the mould, the War Lord observed:
"Much too long-winded and laborious. I will talk to the Director-General about that, Bertha."
And, turning to the supervisor, he demanded curtly: "The composition of the mixture?"
The man bowed to the ground to hide his confusion, and once more Bertha jumped into the breach.
"He doesn't know—nor do I. Secret formula of Grandfather Frederick. Don't press him, Uncle Majesty, for even to speculate on these technicalities means dismissal and disgrace for an employé." Though she spoke in a pleading tone of voice, the War Lord continued to frown.
"Perhaps he is allowed to explain why no shorter process is used."
The supervisor fairly beamed with readiness and satisfaction. "May it please Your Majesty, our way—I beg Fraulein's pardon, the Krupp way—is the only absolutely sure method to forestall bubbles and flaws."
"And a flaw, is it a serious matter?" asked the War Lord, very much alert.
"Indeed, Your Majesty, for it may cause the shattering of a shaft, the breakdown of machinery, the bursting of cannon."
"And all cannon turned out by the works have the benefit of this process?"
"All without exception, Your Majesty."
A bystander says he heard the War Lord mutter under his breath: "What rot!" And there is a further report that he burst into the Director-General's room, and roared: "Fine kettle of fish I discovered. Guarding against flaws in cannon intended for enemy countries! Why not turn over to France and England and Russia all the secret plans of the German War Office?"
But no authoritative record of Wilhelm's sayings relating to this particular point has been obtainable. As a matter of fact, it isn't worth the pains of special research. It is to be noted, however, that after the Turkish defeat at Lule Burgas and Kirk Kilisse Bertha's husband was moved to say that the stories about the "inefficiency of Krupp guns and Krupp workmanship" were "fables," and that he was ready at any time "to take the field against all comers with Krupp guns and Krupp armour."
After tea the War Lord had a long, serious talk with Frau Krupp. Happily her ladyship had been mistaken. Bertha was not actually in love with Franz; just a sort of sisterly attachment, momentarily intensified by girlish longings. So much the better, since the right sort of husband for his ward had been found: Doctor von Bohlen und Halbach, the young diplomat, distinguished, well-bred, sound business head and ambitious. "Highest ambition to serve his king."
"Supposing Your Majesty understood Bertha correctly with respect to Franz, her change of heart does not mean that she will fall in love with Your Majesty's candidate for her hand," said Frau Krupp.
"Preparing to jump," thought Wilhelm; "I wish Phili were here." And as accident would have it, His Highness was announced that very moment. Eulenburg, or Hohenzollern luck?
The Baroness opened her mouth to deny herself to the visitor on the plea of unavoidable business, but Wilhelm got ahead of her. "The Prince is most welcome," he said to the major-domo.
There is no denying that His Highness, ten or more years ago, was a striking personality and had a peculiar charm. As Murat knew more about the art of dressing than Napoleon, so Eulenburg overshadowed Wilhelm as a glass of fashion, avoiding the latter's all-too-apparent striving for effect and pretence.
Despite their close relations, he greeted Wilhelm without a trace of familiarity and kissed Frau Krupp's hand.
"Just in time," cried the War Lord. "I was telling the Baroness about the Chancellor's young friend, von Bohlen. Bülow told me he would ask you to allow him sight of your records concerning the diplomat. Was he satisfied? Tell us all you know about Bohlen?"
That he was well aware of Frau Krupp's loathing for him need not be reiterated, and that in her ladyship's eyes praise from Sir Phili spelt the worst of condemnation for the party approved of he fully realised, and framed his answer accordingly:
"I am pained to acknowledge that I have no personal acquaintance with the young man who rejoices in the great Pontiff's love and friendship——"
"You have Pius's own opinion," cried the War Lord. His astonishment was equalled only by his appreciation of the lie told.
"At Your Majesty's service—through the kindness of the papal legate. When Majesty commissioned me to get reliable information about our foreign representatives, I went to headquarters—may it please Your Majesty."
"It pleases me immensely. What did the Pontiff say?"
"Exemplary habits, God-fearing, able and ambitious—these few words sum up the Holy Father's estimate of Bohlen."
"Did you hear that?" asked Wilhelm, addressing Frau Krupp. "We will get the details from Bülow." And turning to Phili, he said: "You wanted to meet my ward. I will summon her, and she shall show you over the house and grounds. Beats Liebenberg," he added in an undertone.
Phili beamed. "His Majesty is joking," he said to Frau Krupp. "To compare my poor Tusculum to Villa Huegel and surroundings is to put my Skalde songs next to the immortal ballads of Beranger."
Frau Krupp dared not object to Wilhelm's arrangements. She played into the War Lord's hands.
"I will meet you and His Highness at the fountain in five minutes," she told Bertha—a welcome cue to Uncle Majesty.
"Aside from the Pope's estimate, does the Chancellor himself approve of Herr von Bohlen?" asked Frau Krupp.
"Enthusiastically. Bohlen's record in Washington and in Peking equalled his success at the Holy See.Gnädige Frau," added Wilhelm in a tone of conviction, "let's hope that the estimable young man's heart is still free. I have no doubt that he would be adieu-donnéto Bertha, yourself and—Essen."
"And Your Majesty desires me to broach the matter to my daughter?"
"What isgnädige Frauthinking of? Do you suppose I would have wooed Augusta if I had known that Bismarck wanted me to marry her? No, no; matters of that kind must be left to accident, or apparent accident. This is the time for diplomatic furloughs. Tell me where you want to take the girls on their holiday, and I will have your son-in-law-to-be introduced quite casually. Bülow will manage."
"Bertha spoke of having another look into Rome before the hot season," said the Baroness.
"Fate," cried Wilhelm (if he was a Catholic he would have crossed himself). "God's will," he corrected his lapsuslinguæ. "Herr von Bohlen und Halbach will be ordered not to leave his post until further notice. When you are in Rome he will present himself with Bülow's compliments, offering to act as my ward's cicerone. This will give you abundant opportunity for intimate observation and Bertha a chance to fall in love if she cares.
"All's arranged, then," he added in the finality vein peculiar to his nature, when he kissed Frau Krupp's hand at the door, which he had opened for her. In the Teuton Majesty's eye this was a great and almost overpowering act of condescension; the twentieth-century Prussian-en-chef rather prides himself on such mannerisms, fondly mistaking them for dignity.
Well satisfied with the success of his stratagem, Wilhelm rang for his adjutant and dictated to him a long dispatch to the Chancellor, giving a well-coloured version of the interview with Frau Krupp and instructing Count Bülow how to answer the lady's forthcoming inquiries.
"The holiest of the holies, of course," ordered Wilhelm, referring to the telegraphic code. "I don't trust these Essen fellows," he deigned to explain; "the Chasseur shall take the message to Düsseldorf and personally hand it to the President to be sent over the official wire."
Afterwards he joined the ladies and Phili, finishing up the day's strenuous work of intrigue and sight-seeing with the talk to Franz, recorded at the opening of this chapter.
Just before leaving Villa Huegel he had anothertête-à-têtewith Frau Krupp. "I have conferred signal honours on your protégé" (meaning the chief engineer), he said. "I am sending him to the States to study new inventions and investigate patents relating to war materials—greatest chance that ever came to a young man. If he does as well as I expect, I will make him special representative of my General Staff. Is your Ladyship satisfied now?"
Frau Krupp breathed her humblest thanks. What else could she do?