Next day and the next I accompanied the prosperous cinema proprietor upon his daily vigil, but in vain, until his reluctance to tell me the reason why I had been sent to Paris annoyed me considerably.
On the fifth afternoon, just before five o'clock, while we were strolling together, smoking and chatting, the Baron's eyes being fixed upon the door of the small single-fronted shop, I saw him suddenly start, and then make pretence of utter indifference.
"Look!" he whispered beneath his breath.
I glanced across and saw a young man just about to enter the shop.
The figure was unfamiliar, but, catching sight of his face, I held my breath. I had seen that sallow, deep-eyed countenance before.
It was the young man who, two months previously, had sat eating his luncheon alone at the "Esplanade," apparently fascinated by the beauty of little Elise Breitenbach!
"Well," exclaimed the Baron. "I see you recognize him—eh? He is probably going to buy more paper for his scurrilous screeds."
"Yes. But who is he? What is his name?" I asked anxiously. "I have seen him before, but have no exact knowledge of him."
The Baron did not reply until we were back again in the cosy room in Neuilly. Then, opening his cigar-box, he said:
"That young man, the author of the outrageous insults to His Majesty, is known as Franz Seeliger, but he is the disgraced, ne'er-do-well son of General von Trautmann, Captain-General of the Palace Guard."
"The son of old Von Trautmann!" I gasped in utter amazement. "Does the father know?"
The Baron grinned and shrugged his shoulders.
Then after I had related to him the incident at the "Esplanade," he said:
"That is of greatest interest. Will you return to Berlin and report to the Emperor what you have seen here? His Majesty has given me that instruction."
Much mystified, I was also highly excited that the actual writer of those abominable letters had been traced and identified. The Baron told me of the long weeks of patient inquiry and careful watching; of how the young fellow had been followed to Angers and other towns in France where the letters were posted, and of his frequent visits to Berlin. He hadentered a crack regiment, but had been dismissed the Army for forgery and undergone two years' imprisonment. Afterwards he had fallen in with a gang of clever international hotel thieves, and become what is known as arat d'hôtel. Now, because of a personal grievance against the Emperor, who had ordered his prosecution, he seemed to have by some secret means ferreted out every bit of scandal at Potsdam, exaggerated it, invented amazing additions, and in secret sown it broadcast.
His hand would have left no trace if he had not been so indiscreet as to buy his paper from that one shop close to the Rue de Provence, where he had rooms.
On the third night following I stood in the Emperor's private room at Potsdam and made my report, explaining all that I knew and what I had witnessed in Paris.
"That man knows a very great deal—but how does he know?" snapped the Emperor, who had just returned from Berlin, and was in civilian attire, a garb quite unusual to him. He had no doubt been somewhere incognito—visiting a friend perhaps. "See Schunke early to-morrow," he ordered, "and tell him to discover the link between this young blackguard and your friends the Breitenbachs, and report to me."
I was about to protest that the Breitenbachs were not my friends, but next instant drew my breath, for I saw that the great War-Lord, even though he wore a blue serge suit, was filled with suppressed anger.
"This mystery must be cleared up!" he declared in a hard voice, reflecting no doubt upon the terrible abuse which the writer had heaped upon him, all the allegations, by-the-way, having contained a certain substratum of truth.
Next morning I sat with the bald-headed and astute Schunke at the headquarters of the detectivepolice in Berlin, and there discussed the affair fully, explaining the result of my journey to Paris and what I had seen, and giving him the order from the Kaiser.
"But, Count, if this woman Breitenbach and her pretty daughter are your friends you will be able to visit them and glean something," he said.
"I have distinct orders from the Emperor not to visit them while the inquiry is in process," I replied.
Schunke grunted in dissatisfaction, stroked his iron-grey beard, but made no further comment.
We walked out together, and I left him at the door of the Etat-major of the Army in the Königsplatz.
Later that same morning I returned to the Marmor Palace to report to the Crown-Prince, but found that His Highness was absent upon an official visit of inspection at Stuttgart. The Marshal of the Court, Tresternitz, having given me the information, laughed, and added:
"Officially, according to to-day's newspapers, His Highness is in Stuttgart, but unofficially I know that he is at the Palace Hotel, in Brussels, where there is a short-skirted variety attraction singing at the Eden Theatre. So, my dear Heltzendorff, you can return to the Krausenstrasse for a day or two."
I went back to Berlin, the Crown-Princess being away at Wiesbaden, and from day to day awaited "Willie's" return.
In the meantime I several times saw the great detective, Schunke, and found that he was in constant communication with Baron Steinmetz in Paris. The pair were evidently leaving no stone unturned to elucidate the mystery of those annoying letters, which were still falling as so many bombs into the centre of the Kaiser's Court.
Suddenly, one Sunday night, all Berlin was electrified at the news that General von Trautmann, Captain-General of the Palace Guard—whom, truth to tell, the Crown-Prince had long secretly hated because he had once dared to utter some word ofreproach—had been arrested, and sent to a fortress at the Emperor's order.
An hour after the arrest His Majesty's personal-adjutant commanded me by telephone to attend at the Berlin Schloss. When we were alone the Kaiser turned to me suddenly, and said:
"Count von Heltzendorff, you will say nothing of your recent visit to Paris, or of the authorship of those anonymous letters—you understand? You know absolutely nothing."
Then, being summarily dismissed by a wave of the Imperial hand, I retired, more mystified than ever. Why should my mouth be thus closed? I dared not call at the Alsenstrasse to make my own inquiries, yet I knew that the police had made theirs.
When I returned to my rooms that evening Schunke rang me up on the telephone with the news that my friends the Breitenbachs had closed their house and left early that morning for Brussels.
"Where is Seeliger?" I inquired in great surprise.
"In Brussels. The Breitenbachs have gone there to join him, now that the truth is out and his father is under arrest."
The Emperor's fury was that of a lunatic. It knew no bounds. His mind, poisoned against the poor old General, he had fixed upon him as the person responsible for that disgraceful correspondence which for so many weeks had kept the Court in constant turmoil and anxiety. Though His Majesty was aware of the actual writer of the letters, he would not listen to reason, and openly declared that he would make an example of the silver-haired old Captain-General of the Guard, who, after all, was perfectly innocent of the deeds committed by his vagabond son.
A prosecution was ordered, and three weeks later it took placein camera, the Baron, Schunke and a number of detectives being ordered to give evidence. So damning, indeed, was their testimony that theJudge passed the extreme sentence of twenty years' imprisonment.
And I, who knew and held proofs of the truth, dared not protest!
Where was the General's son—the real culprit and author of the letters? I made inquiry of Schunke, of the Baron, and of others who had, at the order of the All-Highest, conspired to ruin poor Von Trautmann. All, however, declared ignorance, and yet, curiously enough, the fine house in the Alsenstrasse still remained empty.
Later, I discovered that the Crown-Prince had been the prime mover in the vile conspiracy to send the elderly Captain-General to prison and to the grave, for of this his words to me one day—a year afterwards—were sufficient proof:
"It is a good job, Heltzendorff, that the Emperor rid himself at last of that canting old pest, Von Trautmann. He is now in a living tomb, and should have been there four years ago!" and he laughed.
I made no response. Instead, I thought of the quiet, innocent old courtier languishing in prison because he had somehow incurred the ill-will of the Emperor's son, and I confess that I ground my teeth at my own inability to expose the disgraceful truth.
About six months after the secret trial of the unfortunate General I had accompanied the Crown-Prince on a visit to the Quirinal, and one afternoon while strolling along the Corso, in Rome, suddenly came face to face with the dainty little figure of Fräulein Elise Breitenbach.
In delight I took her into Ronzi's, the noted confectioner's at the corner of the Piazza Colonna, and there, at one of the little tables, she explained to me how she and her mother, having become acquainted with Franz Seeliger—not knowing him to be the General's son—they suddenly fell under the suspicion of the Berlin Secret Police, and, though much puzzled, did not again come to Court.
Some weeks later mother and daughter chanced to be in Paris, and one day called at Seeliger's rooms in the Rue de Provence, but he was out. They, however, were shown into his room to wait, and there saw upon his table an abusive and scurrilous typewritten letter in German addressed to the Emperor. Then it suddenly dawned upon them that the affable young man might be the actual author of those infamous letters. It was this visit which, no doubt, revealed to the Baron the young man's hiding-place. Both mother and daughter, however, kept their own counsel, met Seeliger next day, and watched, subsequently learning, to their surprise, that he was the son of General von Trautmann, and, further, that he had as a friend one of the personal valets of the Emperor, from whom, no doubt, he obtained his inside information about persons at Court.
"When his poor father was sentenced we knew that the young man was living in Brussels, and at once went there in order to induce him to come forward, make confession, and so save the General from disgrace," said the pretty girl seated before me. "On arrival we saw him alone, and told him what we had discovered in the Rue de Provence, whereupon he admitted to us that he had written all the letters, and announced that he intended to return to Berlin next day and give himself up to the police in order to secure his father's release."
"And why did he not do so?" I asked eagerly.
"Because next morning he was found dead in his bed in the hotel."
"Ah, suicide."
"No," was her half-whispered reply. "He had been strangled by an unknown hand—deliberately murdered, as the Brussels police declared. They were, of course, much mystified, for they did not know, as we know, that neither the young man's presence nor his confession were desired in Berlin."
Fearing the Emperor's wrath, the Breitenbachs,like myself, dare not reveal what they knew—the truth, which is here set down for the first time—and, alas! poor General von Trautmann died in prison at Mulheim last year.
The truth of the dastardly plot which caused the downfall of the unfortunate and much-maligned Imperial Princess Luisa Antoinette Marie, Archduchess of Austria, and wife of Friedrich-August, now the reigning King of Saxony, has never yet been revealed.
I know, my dear Le Queux, that you had a good deal to do with the "skittish Princess," as she was called, and her affairs after she had left the Court of Saxony and went to live near you in the Via Benedetto da Foiano, in Florence. You were her friend, and you were afterwards present at her secret marriage in London. Therefore, what I here reveal concerning a disgraceful conspiracy by which a clever, accomplished, and generous Princess of the blood Royal was hounded out of Germany will, I think, be of peculiar interest to yourself and to those readers for whom you are setting down my reminiscences.
As you know, before being appointed to my recent position in the Crown-Prince "Willie's" household, I was personal-adjutant to His Majesty the Emperor, and in that capacity accompanied Der Einzige (the One) on his constant travels. Always hungry for popular applause, the Emperor was ever on the move with that morbid restlessness of which he is possessed, and which drove him from city to city, hunting, yachting, unveiling statues, opening public buildings, paying ceremonial visits, or, when all excuses for travel became exhausted, he presented new colours to some regiment in some far-off garrison.
Indeed, within that one year, 1902, I accompanied "William-the-Sudden" and his host of adjutants, military and civil secretaries, valets, chasseurs and flunkeys, to twenty-eight different cities in Germany and Scandinavia, where he stopped and held Court. Some cities we visited several times, being unwelcome always because of the endless trouble, anxiety and expense caused to the municipal authorities and military casinos.
I, of course, knew the charming Imperial Highness the Crown-Princess Luisa of Saxony, as she often came on visits to the Kaiserin, but I had never spoken much with her until at Easter the Emperor went to visit Dresden. He took with him, among other people, one of his untitled boon companions, Judicial Councillor Löhlein, a stout, flabby-faced hanger-on, who at the time possessed great influence over him. Indeed, he was really the Emperor's financial agent. This man had, some time ago, very fortunately for the Emperor, opened his eyes to the way in which Kunze had manipulated the amazing Schloss Freiheit Lottery, and had been able to point out to the All-Highest One what a storm of ridicule, indignation and defiance must arise in Berlin if he attempted to carry out his huge reconstruction and building scheme.
I was present in the Emperor's room at Potsdam when old Löhlein, with whom sat Herr von Wedell, openly declared to the Emperor that if he prosecuted his pet building scheme great indignation must arise, not only in the capital, but in Hanover, Wiesbaden, and Kassel.
The Kaiser knitted his brows and listened attentively to both of his advisers. I well remember how, next day, the Press, in order to allay the public dissatisfaction, declared that the huge building projects of the Emperor never existed. They had been purely imaginary ideas put forward by a syndicate of speculative builders and taken up by the newspapers.
Without doubt the podgy, fair-haired man in gold-rimmedspectacles, the Judicial Councillor Löhlein, by crushing the Kaiser's mad scheme gained considerable popularity in a certain circle. He was, however, a man of exceptional craft and cunning, and during the eight years or so he remained the intimate friend of the Emperor he must have, by advising and looking after the Imperial investments, especially in America, amassed a great fortune.
On the occasion of our Easter visit to the Saxon Court—a Court which, to say the least, was a most dull and uninteresting one—we all went, as is the custom there, to the shoot at the Vogelschiessen, a large wooden bird made up of pieces which fall out when hit in a vital part. The bird target is set up at the Easter fair held close to Dresden, and on that afternoon the whole Court annually go to try their skill at marksmanship. We were a merry party. The Emperor went with the old King and Queen of Saxony, being accompanied by the Crown-Prince Friedrich-August and the Crown-Princess Luisa, merry, laughing, full of spirits, and unusually good-looking for a Royalty.
The Saxon Royal Family all shot, and, thanks to her father's tuition, the Crown-Princess knocked a piece out of the bird at the first shot, which sent the public wild with enthusiasm.
Luisa was the most popular woman in Saxony, and deservedly so, for hers had been a love match. Her father, Ferdinand IV., Grand Duke of Tuscany, had, at the suggestion of the Emperor Francis Joseph, endeavoured to arrange a match between the Princess and the man now known as "foxy" Ferdinand of Bulgaria. With that object a granddîner de cérémoniewas held one night at the Imperial Castle of Salzburg, and at that dinner Luisa, suspecting the conspiracy, publicly insulted the Ruler of Bulgaria, which for ever put an end to the paternal plans.
After her marriage to the Saxon Crown-Prince the Kaiser, in one of his whimsical moods, became greatlyattached to her because of her frankness, her love of outdoor life, and her high educational attainments, hence we often had her visiting at Potsdam or at the Berlin Schloss. She was known to be one of the few feminine Royalties in whom the Kaiser took the slightest interest.
After our return from the public shooting to the Royal Palace in Dresden, a banquet was, of course, held in honour of the Emperor in that great hall where, on the walls, the four estates are represented by scenes from the history of the Emperor Henry I.
At the grand ball afterwards I found myself chatting with Luisa, who, I recollect, wore a most charming and artistic gown of sea-green chiffon,décolleté, of course, with pink carnations in her hair and a few diamonds upon her corsage, as well as the Order of St. Elizabeth and her magnificent rope of matched pearls, which went twice round her neck and reached to her knees—a historic set which had once belonged to Marie Antoinette. She looked very charming, and, in her frank way, asked me:
"How do you like my dress, Count? I designed it myself," she added.
I complimented her upon it, but I afterwards heard that the old King of Saxony had been horrified at the lowness to which the bodice had been cut, and, further, that every yard of green chiffon in Dresden had been sold out before noon next day and the dress copied everywhere.
As we stood chatting in a corner of the room, watching the scene of unusual brilliancy because of the Kaiser's presence, the Princess, turning to me, said suddenly:
"Do you believe in omens, Count von Heltzendorff?"
"Omens!" I exclaimed, rather surprised at her question. "Really, I'm afraid I am a little too matter-of-fact to take such things seriously, your Highness."
"Well, a curious thing happened here about a month ago," she said. "I was——" At that instant the Emperor, in the uniform of the 2nd Regiment of Saxon Grenadiers, of which he was chief, and wearing the Order of Crancelin of the House of Saxony, strode up, and, standing before us exclaimed:
"Well, Luisa? What is the very interesting topic of conversation, eh?" He had evidently overheard her words about some curious thing happening, for, laughing gaily, he asked; "Now, what did happen a month ago?"
Her Imperial Highness hesitated, as though endeavouring to avoid an explanation, but next second she waved her lace fan quickly and said:
"Well, something remarkable. I will tell your Majesty if you really wish to hear it."
"By all means, Luisa, by all means," replied His Majesty, placing his sound hand behind his back and drawing himself up very erect—a habit of his after asking a question.
"Well, recently Friedrich-August and myself have moved into rooms in the older wing of the Palace—rooms that have not been occupied for nearly forty years. They are old-world, charming, and remind me constantly of Augustus the Strong and the times in which he lived. Just about a month ago the King and Queen of Roumania were paying us a visit. We were at dinner, and while we were all laughing and talking, for 'Carmen Sylva' had been telling us one of her stories, we heard a great clatter of horses' hoofs and the heavy rumble of wheels, just as though a stage coach was crossing the Small Courtyard. All of us listened, and in the silence we heard it receding quite distinctly. I at once sent my lady-in-waiting to ascertain who had arrived or departed, four-wheeled coaches being quite unusual nowadays. It seemed just as though the coach had driven out of the Palace gate. The message brought back from the guardroomwas that no carriage had entered or left. I told this to those around the table, and the Queen of Roumania, who had taken much interest in omens and folk-lore, seated opposite me, seemed much impressed, and even perturbed."
"Then the noise you heard must have been quite an uncanny one, eh?" asked the Emperor, deeply interested.
"Quite. Two of the women at the table declared that it must have been thunder, and then the conversation proceeded. I, however, confess to your Majesty that I was very much puzzled, and the more so because only two nights ago, while we sat at dinner Friedrich-August and myselfen famille, we heard exactly the same sounds again!"
"Really!" laughed the Emperor. "Quite uncanny. I hope, here in Dresden, you are not believing in spooks, as London society believes in them."
"Not at all," said the Princess earnestly. "I don't believe in omens. But, curiously enough, the King told me yesterday that his two old aunts, who formerly lived in our wing of the Palace, had sometimes heard the clatter of horses' hoofs, the jingle of harness, the grinding of the brakes, and the rumbling of heavy carriage wheels."
"H'm!" grunted the Emperor. "I've heard that same story before, Luisa. The departing coach means trouble to the reigning family."
"That is exactly what the King said to me only last evening," answered Luisa frankly. "Does it mean trouble to me, I wonder?"
"Certainly not," I declared. "Your Imperial Highness need not worry for one moment over such things. Nobody nowadays regards such phenomena as presage of evil. There is no doubt some perfectly natural explanation of the sounds. Every old palace, castle, and even private house, has its traditions."
"Quite right, Heltzendorff," laughed the Emperor, "especially in England and Scotland. There theyhave white ladies, grey ladies, men with heads like stags, lights in windows, the sound of mysterious bells ringing, and all sorts of evil omens. Oh, those dear, superstitious English! How ready they are to take up anything unpractical that may be a pleasant change to the senses."
"Your Majesty does not believe in omens?" I ventured to remark.
"Omens!" he exclaimed, fixing his gaze upon me. "No; none but cowards and old women believe in them." Then, turning to the Princess, he smiled, saying: "If I were you, Luisa, I would give your chief of police orders to question all the servants. Somebody rattled some dishes, perhaps. You say it was during dinner."
But the pretty Crown-Princess was serious, for she said:
"Well, all I can say is that not only did I myself hear, but a dozen others at table also heard the noise of horses, not dishes."
"Ah, Luisa! I see you are a trifle nervous," laughed the Emperor. "Well, as you know, your Royal House of Saxony has lasted from the days of Albert the Courageous in the early fifteenth century, and the Dynasty of the Ravensteins has been prosperous from then until to-day, so don't trouble yourself further. Why, you are really quite pale and unnerved, I see," His Majesty added, for nothing escapes those shrewd, wide-open eyes of his.
Then the Emperor, after acknowledging the salute of Baron Georg von Metzsch, Controller of the Royal Household—a tall, thin, crafty-eyed man, with hair tinged with grey, and wearing a dark blue uniform and many decorations—changed the topic of conversation, and referred to the Saxon Easter custom which that morning had been carried out.
The Kaiser was in particularly merry mood that night. He had gone to Dresden against his inclination, for he had long ago arranged an Easter reviewon the Tempelhofer Feld, but the visit was, I knew, for the purpose of a consultation in secret with the King of Saxony. A week before, in the Berlin Schloss, I had been sent by the Emperor to obtain a paper from his table in the upstairs study, and in looking for the document in question—one that he had signed and wished to send over to the Reichsamt des Innern (Office of the Interior)—I came across a letter from King George of Saxony, begging the Emperor to visit him, in order to discuss "that matter which is so seriously threatening the honour of our House."
Several times I wondered to what His Majesty of Saxony had referred. That morning Emperor and King had been closeted alone together for fully three hours, and the outcome of the secret conference seemed to have put the All-Highest into a most excellent mood.
He left us, accompanied by Baron von Metzsch and Judicial Councillor Löhlein, and I noticed how both men were talking with the Emperor in an undertone. To my surprise also I saw how Löhlein cast furtive glances towards where I still stood with the Crown-Princess.
A few moments later, however, a smart officer of the Prussian Guard, whom I recognized as Count von Castell Rudenhausen, a well-known figure in the gay life of Berlin, came forward, and, bowing, invited the Princess to waltz.
And a moment later Luisa was smiling at me across the shoulder of her good-looking cavalier.
Suddenly, while waltzing, her magnificent rope of historic matched pearls accidentally caught in the button of a passing officer, the string snapped, and many of the pearls fell rattling upon the polished floor.
In a moment a dozen officers in tight uniforms were groping about to recover them from the feet of the dancers when, during the commotion, I heard the voice of Judicial Councillor Löhlein remark quite loudly:
"Ah! now we can all see who are the Crown-Princess' admirers!"
Luisa flushed instantly in anger and annoyance, but said nothing, whilst her lady-in-waiting in silence took the broken rope of pearls, together with those recovered from the floor, and a few moments later the significant incident ended.
The Saxon Crown-Prince and his wife were at that time a most devoted couple, though all of us knew that the modern ideas Luisa had brought to Dresden from the Hapsburg Court had much shocked old King George and his consort. The Saxon Court was unused to a pretty woman with buoyant spirits rejoicing in life with a capital "L." According to the Court whisperings, trouble had started a few days after marriage, when the King, having given his daughter-in-law a tiara of diamonds, a Royal heirloom, with strict injunctions to wear them just as they were—a style of the seventeenth century—he one evening at the opera saw her wearing the stones re-set in that style known asart nouveau. The King became furious, and ordered them to be set again in their original settings, whereupon Luisa coolly returned the present.
Such was the commencement of the old King's ill-feeling towards her.
The State ball that night was certainly a brilliant one for such a small Court, and next day we all returned to Potsdam, for the Emperor had suddenly cancelled a number of engagements and arranged to pay a visit to Wilhelmshaven, where the Kaiserliche Werft (Imperial Dockyard) contained certain naval secrets he wished to see.
Before we left Dresden, however, I met the Crown-Princess in one of the corridors. It was nine o'clock in the morning. She wore her riding-habit, for, being a splendid horsewoman, she had just come in from her morning canter.
"Well, Count!" she laughed. "So you areleaving us unexpectedly! I shall be coming to pay another visit to Potsdam soon. The Emperor invited me last night. Au revoir!" And after I had bent over her small white hand she waved it merrily and passed the sentry towards her private apartments, wherein she had heard the ghostly coach and four.
Her Imperial Highness paid her promised visit to the Empress at the Neues Palais in July.
At the time of her arrival the Emperor had left suddenly and gone away to Hubertusstock. When anything unusual upset him he always went there. I overheard him the day before his departure shouting to Löhlein as I passed along one of the corridors. The Judicial Councillor seemed to be trying to pacify him, but apparently entirely without avail, for the Emperor is a man not easily convinced.
"You are as sly as all the rest!" I heard the Emperor declare in that shrill, high-pitched tone which always denotes his anger. "I'll hear none of it—no excuses. I want no fawning, no Jew-juggling."
Then, fearing to be discovered, I slipped on past the door.
The next I heard was that the Kaiser had left for that lonely retreat to which he went when he wished to be alone in those periods of crazy impetuosity which periodically seized the Mad Dog of Europe; and, further, that he had taken with him his crafty crony, Löhlein.
During that mysterious absence—when the tinselled world of Potsdam seemed at peace—the good-looking Saxon Crown-Princess arrived.
I was on duty on the railway platform to bow over her hand and to welcome her.
"Ah! Count von Heltzendorff! Well, did I not say that I should not be very long before I returned to Potsdam, eh?" she exclaimed. Then, in a whisper, she said with a merry laugh: "Do you remember those clattering hoofs and my broken rope of pearls? Nothing has happened yet."
"And nothing will," I assured her as, with a courtier's obeisance, I conducted Her Imperial Highness to the Royal carriage, where the Crown-Prince "Willie" was awaiting her, chatting with two officers of the Guard to while away the time.
Three days later an incident occurred which caused me a good deal of thought, and, truth to tell, mystified me considerably.
That somewhat indiscreet journal, theMilitär Wochenblatt, had published a statement to the effect that Friedrich-August of Saxony and the handsome Luisa had had a violent quarrel, a fact which caused a great deal of gossip throughout Court circles.
Old Von Donaustauf, who at that time was master of the ceremonies at the Emperor's Court, busied himself by spreading strange scandals regarding the Crown-Princess Luisa. Therefore, in the circumstances, it struck me as strange that Her Highness should have been invited to the puritanical and hypocritical circle at Potsdam.
That afternoon, soon after the guard had been changed, I chanced to be writing in my room, which overlooked the big central courtyard, when I heard the guard suddenly turn out in great commotion, by which I knew that His Majesty had suddenly returned from Hubertusstock.
Ten minutes later my telephone rang, and, passing the sentries, I went by order to His Majesty's study, that chamber of plots and secrets, hung with its faded pale green silk damask, its furniture covered with the same material, and its net curtains at the windows threaded with ribbons of the same shade.
The moment I entered the Emperor's countenance showed me that he was very angry. His low-bowing crony, Löhlein, always a subtle adviser, had returned with him, and stood watching the Emperor as the latter impatiently paced the room.
I saluted, awaiting orders in silence, as was my habit, but so preoccupied was His Majesty that hedid not notice my presence, but continued his outburst of furious wrath. "Only see what Von Hoensbroech has reported!" he cried, suddenly halting against one of those big buhl chests of drawers with grey marble tops—heavy pieces of furniture veneered with tortoise-shell in which the Emperor keeps his official papers. "I am being made a laughing-stock—and you know it, Löhlein! It has been said of us that a woman, a whim, or a word will to-day raise any person to high rank in our Empire! That blackguard, Harden, has actually dared to write it in his journal. Well, we shall see. That woman—she shall——"
As the Kaiser uttered those words he suddenly realized that I was present, and hesitated. Next second both his tone and his manner changed.
"Heltzendorff—I—I—wish you to go to Dresden and take a private letter. It will be ready in half an hour. Say nothing to anyone concerning your departure, but report to me here at"—and he glanced at the small bronze clock on the overmantel between two elegant candelabra—"at four o'clock."
As commanded, I reported, but the Kaiser was with the Empress, who, in one of her private apartments, was holdingpetit cercle, the Princess Luisa being present. Indeed, as I entered that semi-circular salon the Kaiser was standing astride before Luisa's chair laughing gaily with her. Surely none who saw him at that moment would ever have believed that not half an hour before his face had been blanched by anger. He could alter his moods just as he changed his three hundred odd uniforms.
There was something mysterious in the wind—of that I felt absolutely convinced. The atmosphere of that faded green upstairs room was always one of confidential conversations, intimate conferences and secret plots—plots despicable and vile, as has since been proved—against the peace of the world.
The Emperor, noticing that I had entered theImperial presence, came forward, and I followed him back into the softly-carpeted corridor. Then his action further aroused my curiosity, for he took from the inner pocket of his tunic an envelope of what you in England call "court" size—linen-lined, as are all envelopes used by the Emperor for his private correspondence. I saw it had been sealed in black by his own hand. Then, as he handed it to me, he said:
"Go to Dresden as quickly as possible and obtain a reply to this."
I clicked my heels together, and, saluting, left upon my secret mission to the Saxon Court.
The letter was addressed to Baron Georg von Metzsch at Dresden.
Next day, when I presented it to the tall, thin Controller of the Household, who sat in his small but cosy room in the Royal Palace, I saw that its contents greatly puzzled him.
He wrote a reply, and as Imperial messenger I returned at once to Potsdam, handing it to the Emperor as he strode alone from the Shell Saloon, through which he was passing after dinner.
He took it from my hand without a word. The All-Highest never bestows thanks upon those who obey his orders. It is, indeed, said to-day that Hindenburg has never once, during his whole official career, been verbally thanked by his Imperial Master.
The Emperor, with impatient fingers, tore open the envelope, read its contents, and then smiled contentedly, after which I went to old Von Donaustauf's room, and, tired out by the long journey, smoked a good cigar in his company.
Next day we were all back at the Berlin Schloss—for we never knew from day to day where we might be—Hamburg, Stuttgart, Düsseldorf or Danzig.
During the morning His Majesty inspected the Berlin garrison in the Tempelhofer Feld, and the Princess Luisa rode with him. That same afternoon, while I was busy writing in the long roomallotted to me in the Berlin Schloss, Her Imperial Highness, to my surprise, entered, closing the door quietly after her.
"Count von Heltzendorff, you have been on a secret mission to that spy, Von Metzsch, in Dresden, have you not?"
I rose, bowed, and without replying courteously offered her a chair.
"Why do you not admit it?" she asked quickly.
"Princess, if the Emperor gives me orders to preserve secrecy, then it is my duty to obey," I said.
"I know," she answered, and then I realized how upset and nervous she seemed. "But Von Metzsch hates me, and has put about all sorts of scandalous reports concerning me. Ah! Count," she sighed, "you do not know how very unhappy I am—how I am surrounded by enemies!"
These words caused me much surprise, though I had, of course, heard many unsavoury rumours regarding her unhappy position at the Saxon Court.
"I much regret to hear that," I said. "But Your Imperial Highness has also many friends, of whom I hope I may be permitted to number myself."
"Ah! it is extremely good of you to say that—very good. If you are really my friend, then you can help me. You are in a position to watch and discover what is in progress—the reason the Emperor exchanges those constant confidences with Von Metszch, the man who has twisted my husband around his little finger, and who has, with my Lady-of-the-Bedchamber, Frau von Fritsch, already poisoned his mind against me. Ah!" she sighed again, "you have no idea how much I have suffered!"
She seemed on the verge of a nervous crisis, for I saw that in her fine eyes stood the light of unshed tears, and I confess I was much puzzled, for I had certainly believed, up to that moment, that she was on excellent terms with her husband.
"But surely His Highness the Crown-Prince ofSaxony does not believe any of those wicked reports?" I said.
"Ah! Then you have heard. Of course, you have. Von Metzsch has taken good care to let the whole world know the lies that he and the Countess Paule Starhemberg have concocted between them. It is cruel!" she declared in a paroxysm of grief. "It is wicked!"
"No, no. Calm yourself, Princess!" I urged sympathetically. "I am at least your friend, and will act as such should occasion arise."
"I thank you," she sighed in relief, and she put out her hand, over which I bent as I took it in friendship.
"Ah!" she exclaimed in a low voice. "I fear I shall require the assistance of a friend very soon. Do you recollect my broken pearls?"
And a few moments later she left my room.
Through all that day and the next I wondered what sly, underhand work could be in progress. I pitied the good-looking, unconventional Imperial Princess who, because of her somewhat hoydenish high spirits, had aroused the storm of anger and jealousy in the Saxon Court. But the Hapsburgs had ever been unfortunate in their loves.
On the day before the Crown-Princess's visit to the Berlin Court was due to end, at about six o'clock in the evening, I passed the sentries and ascended to the Emperor's study with some papers I had been going through regarding the reorganization of the Stettin garrison. I was one of the very few persons ever admitted to that wing of the Palace.
As I approached the door, treading noiselessly upon the soft carpet, I heard voices raised excitedly, the door being slightly ajar.
Naturally I halted. In my position I was able to hear a great deal of Palace intrigue, but never had I listened to a conversation that held me more breathless than at that moment.
"Woman," cried the Emperor, "do you, then, openly defy my authority?"
"What that crafty sycophant, Von Metzsch, has told you is, I repeat, a foul and abominable lie," was the reply.
And I knew that the unfortunate Princess was defending her reputation, which her enemies at the Court of Saxony had torn to shreds.
"No woman ever admits the truth, of course," sneered the Emperor. "I consider you a disgrace to the Dresden Court."
"So this is the manner in which you openly insult your guests!" was the Princess's bitter retort. "You, who believe yourself the idol of your people, now exhibit yourself in your true light as the traducer of a defenceless woman!"
"How dare you utter those words to me!" cried the All-Highest One, in fury.
"I dare defend myself—even though you may be Emperor," replied Luisa, in a cold, hard tone of defiance. "I repeat that your allegations are untrue, and that you have no right to make them. Surely you can see that my enemies, headed by the King of Saxony, are all conspiring to effect my downfall. I know it! I have written proof of it!"
"Bosh! You say that because you know that the statements are true!"
"You lie!" she cried fiercely. "They are not true. You cannot prove them."
"Very well," answered the Emperor in that tone of cold determination that I knew too well. "I will prove the charges to my entire satisfaction."
I was startled at the manner in which the Princess had dared to call the Emperor a liar. Surely nobody had ever done so before.
I drew a long breath, for as I crept away unseen I recollected the Kaiser's unrelenting vindictiveness.
Poor Princess! I knew that the red talons of theHohenzollern eagle would sooner or later be laid heavily upon her.
She left Berlin two hours later, but half an hour before her departure I found a hurriedly-scribbled note upon my table explaining that she had had "a few unpleasant words with the Emperor," and that she was leaving for Dresden a day earlier than had been arranged.
A fortnight passed. Twice Baron von Metzsch came to Potsdam, and was on each occasion closely closeted with the Emperor, as well as having frequent consultations with Judicial Councillor Löhlein. I had strong suspicion that the vile conspiracy against the lively daughter of the Hapsburgs was still in progress, for I felt assured that the Kaiser would never forgive those words of defiance from a woman's lips, and that his vengeance, slow and subtle, would assuredly fall upon her.
I did not know at the time—not, indeed, until fully three years later—how the blackguardly actions of Von Metzsch, who was a creature of the Kaiser, had from the first been instigated by the All-Highest, who, from the very day of the Prince's marriage, had, notwithstanding his apparent graciousness towards her, determined that a Hapsburg should never become Queen of Saxony.
For that reason, namely, because the Emperor in his overweening vanity believes himself to be the Heaven-sent ruler of the destinies of the German Empire, was much opposed to an Austrian princess as a potential queen at Dresden, he set himself the task to ruin the poor woman's life and love and to arouse such a terrible scandal concerning her that she could not remain in Saxony with every finger pointing at her in opprobrium and scorn.
A fresh light, however, was thrown upon what I afterwards realized to be a dastardly conspiracy by the receipt of a cipher message late one November night at Potsdam. I was at work alone with theEmperor in the pale green upstairs room, reading and placing before him a number of State documents to which he scrawled his scribbly signature, when the telegram was brought.
"Decipher that, Heltzendorff," he commanded, and went on with the work of reading and signing the documents, while I sat down with the red leather-covered personal code book which bore the Imperial coronet and cipher, and presently found that the message, which was from Dresden, read:
"Frau von Fritsch to-day had an interview with Giron, the French tutor to the Crown-Princess's children, but unfortunately the latter refuses to admit any affection for Luisa. Giron angrily declared his intention to leave Dresden, because of Von Fritsch's suggestion. This course, I saw, would be unfortunate for our plans, therefore I urged the King to induce Luisa to request him to remain. She has done so, but to no avail, and Giron left for Brussels to-night. May I be permitted to come to discuss with your Majesty a further elaboration of the plan?—Von Metzsch."
"Frau von Fritsch to-day had an interview with Giron, the French tutor to the Crown-Princess's children, but unfortunately the latter refuses to admit any affection for Luisa. Giron angrily declared his intention to leave Dresden, because of Von Fritsch's suggestion. This course, I saw, would be unfortunate for our plans, therefore I urged the King to induce Luisa to request him to remain. She has done so, but to no avail, and Giron left for Brussels to-night. May I be permitted to come to discuss with your Majesty a further elaboration of the plan?—Von Metzsch."
The Emperor read the secret message twice. Then he paused, with knit brows, and brushed his moustache with his hand, a habit of his when perplexed.
"We go to Erfurt to-morrow, do we not?" he said. "Telegraph in cipher to Von Metzsch to meet us there to-morrow evening at seven. And destroy that message," he added.
I obeyed his orders, and afterwards continued to deal with the State papers, much enlightened by the news transmitted by the Emperor's creature.
The Imperial hand was slowly destroying the conjugal happiness of a pair who really loved each other, even though they were of the blood royal. The long arm of the Emperor was outstretched to crush and pulverize the soul of the woman who haddared to defend herself—who had defied the imperious will of that man whose hand he had, with awful blasphemy in addressing his Brandenburgers, declared to be the hand of God.
I confess that I felt the deepest sympathy for the helpless victim. At the Schloss, high above the old-world town of Erfurt, the sneaking sycophant Von Metzsch had a long conference with the Emperor but I was unable to overhear any word of it. All I know is that the Controller of the Saxon Household left Erfurt for Dresden by special train at midnight.
A quarter of an hour after the Saxon functionary had departed I was with the Emperor receiving orders for the following day, and found him in high spirits, by which, knowing him so intimately, I knew that he was confident in his ultimate triumph.
Poor, defenceless Luisa! You, my dear Le Queux, to whom the Princess a few months afterwards flew for advice, know well how sterling, how womanly and honest she was; how she was one victim of many of the unholy, unscrupulous intrigues by which the arrogant War-Lord of Germany, aided by his devil's spawn, has until the present managed to retain his now tottering throne.
Well, I watched the course of events; watched eagerly and daily. Twice I had received letters from Her Imperial Highness, short notes in her firm, bold handwriting.
From Von Metzsch came several cipher messages to the Emperor after we had returned to Potsdam, but Zorn von Bulach, my colleague, deciphered all of them, and, as he was not my friend, I did not inquire as to their purport. I knew, however, that matters in Dresden were fast approaching a crisis, and that the unfortunate Hapsburg Princess could no longer sustain the cruel and unjust pressure being put upon her for her undoing. That a hundred of Germany's spies andagents-provocateurswere busy I realized from the many messages by telephone and telegraphpassing between Berlin and Dresden, and I felt certain that the ruin of poor Princess Luisa was nigh.
A significant message came to Potsdam late one December night—a message which, when I deciphered it and handed it to the Emperor, caused him to smile in triumph.
I bit my lip. The Princess had left Dresden!
Three days later, on December 9th, a further cipher telegram came from Von Metzsch, the Emperor's sycophant in Dresden, which read: "Luisa has learnt of the Sonnenstein project, and has left Salsburg for Zurich, her brother accompanying.—Von Metzsch."
Sonnenstein! That was a private lunatic asylum! I held my breath at the awful fate which the Emperor had decided should be hers.
In a few moments the Kaiser had summoned, by his private telephone, Koehler, then chief of the Berlin secret police, and given orders that the Princess was to be watched in Switzerland. Half an hour later three police agents were on their way to Zurich to follow and persecute the poor, distracted woman, even beyond the confines of the Empire.
She was, no doubt, in deadly fear of being sent to a living tomb, so that her mouth should be closed for ever.
The Emperor, not content with casting her out of Germany, intended to wreak a terrible and fiendish revenge upon her by closing her lips and confining her in an asylum. She knew that, and seeing herself surrounded by enemies and spies on every hand—for even her brother Leopold, with whom she had travelled to Switzerland, now refused to assist her—she adopted the only method of further escape that at the moment presented itself.
Alone and without anyone to advise her, she, as you know, took a desperate resolve, one, alas! fraught with disastrous consequences.
The iron had indeed entered the poor Princess's soul.
Note by William Le Queux
The dénouement of this base intrigue of the Emperor's will be best related in Her Imperial Highness's own words. In one of her letters, which I have on my table as I write, she says:
"I saw before me in those never-to-be-forgotten days all the horrors of a 'Maison de Santé.' What could I do? I was friendless in a strange hotel. Even Leopold seemed disinclined to be further troubled by a runaway sister. I knew Frau von Fritsch, that unscrupulous liar, had accused me falsely of having secret love affairs, and that the Emperor had directed the whole plot which was to culminate in my confinement in an asylum. Suddenly a solution occurred to me. I remembered that Monsieur Giron, who had already suffered greatly through his friendship with me. If he joined me, then my flight from Dresden would be considered as an elopement, and I should escape a living death in a madhouse! Monsieur Giron was at that moment my only friend, and it was for that reason that I telegraphed to him at Brussels. Well, he joined me, and by doing so completed the Emperor's triumph."
The subtle, ever-scheming Madman of Europe, warped as he is in soul as in body, had, with his true Hun craftiness and unscrupulousness, aided by Judicial Councillor Löhlein and the spy Von Metzsch, succeeded in hounding down an honest, defenceless woman as high born as his own diseased self, and casting her in ignominy and shame out of his now doomed Empire.
The clever intrigues of Frau Kleist were unknown to any outside the Court circle at Potsdam.
She was indeed a queer personage, "only less of a personality than His Majesty," as that shiftiest of German statesmen, Prince Bülow, declared to me one day as we sat together in my room in the Berlin Schloss.
Frau Kleist was the Court dancing-mistress, whose fastidious judgment had to be satisfied by any young débutante or officer before they presumed to dance before Royalty at the State balls. Before every ball Frau Kleist held several dance rehearsals in the Weisser-Saal (White Salon) at the Berlin Schloss, and she was more exacting than any pompous General on parade. Perhaps she was seventy. Her real age I never knew. But, friends that we were, she often chatted with me and deplored the flat-footedness of the coming generation of Teutons, and more than once I have seen her lift her skirts and, displaying neat silk-stockinged ankles on the polished floor of the Weisser-Saal, make, for the benefit of the would-be débutantes, graceful tiptoe turns with a marvellous grace of movement.
Truly Frau Kleist, with her neat waist and thin, refined face, was a very striking figure at the Berlin Court. The intricacies of the minuet and gavotte, as well as those of the old-world dances in which she delighted, were taught by the old lady to Prince Joachim and Princess Victoria Luise, both of whom always went in deadly fear of her caustic tongue and overbearing manner.
The Emperor never permitted any dancing at Courtwhich was not up to a high standard of excellence, and all who sought to dance were compelled to pass before the critical eye of the sharp-tongued old lady in her stiff silken gown.
Once, I remember, certain young people of the smart set of Berlin sought to introduce irregularities in the Lancers, but they soon discovered that their cards were cancelled.
Whence she had come or who had been responsible for her appointment nobody knew. One thing was quite certain, that though at an age when usually rheumatism prevents agility, yet she was an expert dancer. Another thing was also certain, that, if a débutante or a young military elegant were awkward or flat-footed, she would train them privately in the Terpsichorean art, especially in the old-world dances which are so popular at Court, and, accepting a little palm-oil, would then pass them—after squeezing them sufficiently—as fit to receive the Imperial command to the Court balls.
The old woman, sharp-featured and angular as became her age, with her complexion powdered and rouged, lived in considerable style in a fine house close to the Glienicke Bridge at Potsdam, beneath the Babelsberg, a power to be reckoned with by all who desired to enter the Court circle.
Regarding her, many strange stories were afloat. One was that she was an ex-dancer, the mother of the famous Mademoiselle "Clo-Clo" Durand,première danseuseof the Paris Opera, and another was that she had been mistress of the ballet at the Imperial Opera in Petrograd in the days of the Emperor Alexander. But so great a mystery were her antecedents that nobody knew anything for certain, save that, at the age of nearly seventy, she had access at any hour to the Kaiser's private cabinet. I have often seen her whisper to His Majesty strange secrets which she had picked up here and there—secrets that were often transferred to certain confidentialquarters which control the great Teuton octopus.
Those at Court who secured the benignant smiles of Frau Kleist knew that their future path in life would be full of sunshine, but woe betide those upon whom she knit her brows in disapproval. It was all a question of bribery. Frau Kleist kept her pretty house and her big Mercédès car upon the secret money payments she received from those who "for value" begged her favours. With many young officers the payment to Frau Kleist was to open the back door to the Emperor's favour.
We in the Neues Palais (New Palace) knew it. But surely it did not concern us, for all of us looked askance at those who strove so strenuously and eagerly for "commands" to Court functions, and really we were secretly glad if the parvenus of both sexes were well bled before they were permitted by Frau Erna to make their obeisance before Royalty.
The palace world at every European Court is a narrow little world of its own, unknown and unsuspected by the man in the street. There one sees the worst side of human nature without any leaven of the best or even nobler side. The salary-grabber, the military adventurer, the pinchbeck diplomat, the commercial parvenu, and the scientist, together with their heavy-jowled, jewel-bedecked women-folk, elbow each other in order to secure the notice of the All-Highest One, who, in that green-upholstered private room wherein I worked with him, often smiled at the unseemly bustle while he calmly discriminated among men and women according to their merits.
It is in that calm discretion that the Emperor excels, possessing almost uncanny foresight, combined with a most unscrupulous conscience.
"I know! Frau Kleist has told me!" were the words His Majesty used on many occasions when I had ventured perhaps to express doubt regarding some scandalous story or serious allegation. ThereforeI was confident, even though a large section of the entourage doubted it, that the seventy-year-old dancing-mistress, whose past was a complete mystery, was an important secret agent of the Emperor's.
And what more likely? The Kaiser, as ruler of that complex empire, would naturally seek to know the truth concerning those who sought his favour before they were permitted to click their heels or wag their fans and bow the knee in his Imperial presence. And he had, no doubt, with that innate cunning, appointed his creature to the position of Court dancing-mistress.
The most elegant, corsetted Prussian officer, even though he could dance divinely, was good-looking and perfectly-groomed, would never be permitted to enter the Court circle unless a substantial number of marks were placed within the old woman's palm. It was her perquisite, and many in that ill-paid entourage envied her her means of increasing her income.
In no Court in Europe are the purse-strings held so tightly as in that of Potsdam. The Emperor and Empress, though immensely wealthy, practise the economy of London suburbia. But at every Court bribery is rife in order to obtain Royal warrants and dozens of other small favours of that kind, just as open payment is necessary to-day to obtain titles of nobility. The colour of gold has a fascination which few can resist. If it were not so there would be no war in progress to-day.
On October 17th, 1908, I had returned with the Emperor and his suite from Hamburg, where His Majesty had been present at the launching of one of Herr Ballin's monster American liners, and at three o'clock, after the Kaiser had eaten a hurried luncheon, I was seated at the side table in his private room in the Berlin Schloss, taking down certain confidential instructions which he wished to be sent at once by one of the Imperial couriers to the commandant of Posen.
Suddenly Von Kahlberg, my colleague, entered witha message that had been taken by the telegraphist attached to the Palace, and handed it to His Majesty.
Having read it, the Kaiser at once grew excited, and, turning to me, said:
"The Crown-Prince sends word from Potsdam that the American, Orville Wright, is flying on the Bornstedter Feld. We must go at once. Order the cars. And, Von Kahlberg, inform Her Majesty at once. She will accompany us, no doubt."
Quickly I placed before His Majesty one of his photographs—knowing that it would be wanted for presentation to the daring American—and he took up his pen and scrawled his signature across it. Afterwards I placed it in the small, green-painted dispatch-box of steel which I always carried when in attendance upon His Imperial Majesty.
Within a quarter of an hour three of the powerful cars were on their way to Potsdam, the Emperor with Herr Anton Reitschel—a high German official at Constantinople—and Professor Vambéry, who happened to be at the Palace at the time, in the first car; the Kaiserin with her daughter, Victoria Luise, and the latter'sober-gouvernante(governess), with one of the Court ladies, in the next; while in the third I rode with Major von Scholl, one of the equerries.
Cheers rose from the crowds as we passed through the Berlin streets, and the Emperor, full of suppressed excitement at the thought of seeing an aeroplane flight, constantly saluted as we flew along.
On arrival at the Bornstedter Feld it was already growing dusk, and a great disappointment awaited us. The Crown-Prince rode up to inform us gravely that the flying was over for the day. At this the Kaiser grew angry, for he had been out once before upon a wild-goose chase, only to find that Orville Wright had gone home, declaring the wind to be too strong.
At his father's anger, however, "Willie" burst out laughing, declaring that he was only joking, and that all was in readiness. Indeed, as he spoke the aviator,in his leather jacket, came up, and I presented him to His Majesty, while from everywhere soldiers and police appeared, in order to keep back the crowd to the road.
Then, while we stood alone in the centre of the great, sandy plain, Mr. Orville Wright clambered into his machine and, rising, made many circuits high above us.
The Emperor stood with Herr Reitschel and the shaggy old Professor, straining his eyes with keenest interest. It was the first time His Majesty had seen an aeroplane in flight. Much had been promised of old Von Zeppelin's invention, yet the German public had, until those demonstrations by the American aviator, taken but little heed of the heavier-than-air machine. At that time, indeed, the Emperor had not taken up Von Zeppelin, and it was only after seeing Orville Wright's demonstrations that he entered with any enthusiasm into aeronautical problems.
High above us against the clear evening sky, wherein the stars had already begun to twinkle, the daring American rose, dipped, and banked, his machine droning like a huge gad-fly, much to the interest and astonishment of the Emperor.
"Marvellous!" he exclaimed, as I stood beside him, with the Empress on his right. "How is it done?"
The crowds went wild with enthusiasm. The sight of a man flying in the air, manœuvring his machine at will, rising swiftly, and then planing down with the engine cut off, was one of the most amazing spectacles the loyal Potsdamers had ever seen. Even the Emperor, with all his wild dreams of world-power, could never for a moment have foreseen what a great factor aeroplanes would be in the war which he was so carefully plotting.
At last Wright came down in a spiral, banked slightly, steadied himself, and then came lightly to earth within a few yards of where we stood, having been the first to exhibit to the great War-Lord how completely the air had been conquered.
Then, quiet, rather unassuming man that he was, he advanced to receive the Imperial congratulations, and to be handed the signed photograph which, at the proper moment, I produced like a conjurer from my dispatch-box. Afterwards, though it had now grown dark, the Emperor, by the powerful headlamps of the three cars, thoroughly examined the American's aeroplane, the aviator explaining every detail.
From that moment for months afterwards the Kaiser was constantly talking of aviation. He commanded photographs of various types of aeroplanes, together with all literature on the subject, to be placed before him. Indeed, he sent over to Britain, in secret, two officers to attend the aeroplane meetings held at Doncaster and Blackpool, where a large number of photographs were secretly taken, and duly found their way to his table.
Indeed, it would greatly surprise your English friends, my dear Le Queux, if they had only seen the many secret reports and secret photographs of all kinds regarding Britain's military, naval, and social life, which I have found upon the Emperor's table.
During my appointment I had through my hands many amazing reports concerning the financial and social position of well-known English politicians and officials, reports made with one ulterior motive—that of attempted bribery. The Emperor meant war, and he knew that before he could hope for success he must thoroughly "Germanize" Great Britain—with what result we all now know.
I have recalled the Emperor's first sight of an aeroplane in flight, in company with Herr Anton Reitschel and Professor Vambéry, because of an incident which occurred that same day. Just before midnight the Emperor, seated in his room in the Berlin Schloss, was giving me certain instructions to be sent to Carlton House Terrace, when the door opened without any knock of permission, and uponthe threshold there stood that arch-intriguer, Frau Kleist, in her stiff black silk gown, and wearing a gleaming diamond brooch, the glitter of which was cold as her own steely eyes.
"Have I Your Majesty's permission to enter?" she asked, in her high-pitched voice.
"Of course, of course," replied the Emperor, turning in his chair. "Come in and close the door. It has turned quite cold to-night. Well?" he asked, looking at her inquiringly.
The Emperor is a man of very few words, except when he tells a story.
The Court dancing-mistress hesitated for a second. Their eyes met, and in that glance I saw complete understanding.
"May I speak in confidence with Your Majesty?" she asked, advancing into the room, her stiff, wide skirts rustling. Except the Court ladies she was the only female at Court whom the sentries stationed at the end of the corridor allowed to pass to His Majesty's private cabinet.
But Frau Kleist had access everywhere. Her eyes were the eyes of the Emperor. Many a diplomat, financier, military or naval commander has been raised to position of favourite because he first secured—by payment, of course, according to his means—the good graces of theex-ballerina. And, alas! many a good, honest man has been cast out of the Potsdam circle into oblivion, and even to death, because of the poisonous declaration of that smiling, bejewelled old hag.
"Of what do you wish to speak?" inquired the Emperor, who, truth to tell, was very busy upon a most important matter concerning the building of new submarines, and was perhaps a little annoyed by the intrusion, though he did not betray it, so clever was he.
"Of the Reitschel affair," was the old woman's low reply.
At her words the Kaiser frowned slightly, and dismissed me. I bowed myself out, and closed the door upon the Emperor and his clever female spy.
That she should have at that late hour come from Potsdam—for, looking down into the courtyard, I saw the lights of her big Mercédès—showed that some underhand work was in progress.
Only a week before I had been discussing Anton Reitschel and his position with my intimate friend, old Von Donaustauf, Master of Ceremonies, who was supposed to control the ex-dancer, but who in reality was in a subordinate position to her, because she had the ear of the Emperor at any hour. Petty jealousies, dastardly plots, and constant intrigues make up the daily life around the Throne. Half the orders given in the Emperor's name are issued without his knowledge, and many an order transmitted to the provinces without his authority.
By handling, as I did, hundreds of those secret reports which reached the Emperor I had learned much concerning Herr Anton Reitschel, and from old Von Donaustauf I had also been able to obtain certain missing links concerning the intrigue.
Reitschel, a burly, round-faced, fair-haired Prussian of quite superior type, held the position of Chief Director of the German-Ottoman Bank in Constantinople. His duty for the past three years had been to conciliate the Sultan and to lend German money to any industrial enterprise in which any grain of merit could possibly be discovered. He had been singled out, taken from the Dresdner Bank, and sent to Constantinople by the Kaiser in order to play Germany's secret game in Turkey—especially that of the Bagdad Railway—and to combat with German gold Great Britain's diplomacy with Tewfik Pasha and old Abdul Hamid, in view of "The Day," which the Emperor had long ago determined should soon dawn. Was he not the War-Lord? And must not a War-Lord make war?
As old Von Donaustauf had put it, between the whiffs of one of those exquisite cigarettes, a consignment of the Sultan's own which came from the Yildiz Kiosk to Potsdam weekly:
"Our Emperor intends that, notwithstanding Britain's policy in the Near East, Germany shall soon rule from Berlin to Bagdad. Herr Reitschel is in reality charged with the work of "Germanizing" the Ottoman Empire."
That I already knew by the many secret reports of his which arrived so constantly from Constantinople, reports which showed quite plainly that though the great German Embassy, with its huge eagles of stone set at each end, might have been built for the purpose of impressing the Turks, yet the shrewd, farseeing Herr Anton, as head of that big financial corporation, held greater sway at that rickety set of offices known to us as the Sublime Porte than did his Excellency the Ambassador, with all his beribboned crowd of underlings.
Truly the game which the Emperor was playing in secret against the other Powers of Europe was a crooked and desperate one. On the one hand the Kaiser was making pretence of fair dealing with Great Britain and France, yet on the other his agent, Herr Reitschel, was ever busy lending money in all directions, and bribing Turkish officials in order to secure their favour in Germany's interest.