The initials under which I write these confessions are not those of
my real name, which I could not disclose without exposing myself
to the revenge of formidable enemies. As it is, I run a very great
risk in making revelations which affect some of the most powerful
personages now living; and it is only by the exercise of the utmost
discretion that I can hope to avoid giving offence in quarters in
which the slightest disrespect is apt to have serious consequences.
If I should be found to err on the side of frankness, I can only
plead in excuse that I have never yet betrayed the confidence placed
in me by the various Governments and illustrious families which have
employed me from time to time. The late Prince Bismarck once honoured
me by saying: ‘To tell secrets to Monsieur V---- is like putting them
into a strong box, with the certainty that they will not come out
again until one wants them to.’
In these reminiscences it is my object to recount some of the
services I have rendered to civilisation in the course of my career,
while abstaining as far as possible from compromising exalted
individuals or embittering international relations.
That I am not a man who opens his mouth rashly may be gathered
from the fact that, although at any time during the long struggle
between Briton and Boer for the mastery in South Africa, I might
have completely changed the situation with a word, that word was not
uttered while a single Boer remained under arms.
In order to explain how I came to be concerned in this affair, I had
better begin by giving a few particulars about myself, and the almost
unique position which I hold among the secret service bureaus of
Europe and America.
By birth I am a citizen of the United States of America, being the
son of a Polish father, exiled on account of his political opinions,
and a French mother. From my childhood I showed an extraordinary
aptitude for languages, so that there is now scarcely a civilised
country outside Portugal and Scandinavia in which I am not able to
converse with the natives in their own tongue. At the same time, I
was possessed, ever since I can remember, with a passion for intrigue
and mystery. The romances of Gaboriau were the favourite reading of
my boyhood, and it was my ambition to become a famous detective, the
Vidocq of America.
Fired by these visions, I ran away from the insurance office in which
my parents had placed me, when I was little more than sixteen, and
applied for admission to the ranks of the famous Pinkerton Police.
Although my youth was against me, my phenomenal command of languages
turned the scale in my favour, and I was given a trial.
Very soon I had opportunities of distinguishing myself in more than
one mission to Europe, on the track of absconding criminals; and in
this way I earned the favourable notice of the heads of the detective
police in London, Paris, Berlin, and other capitals.
At length, finding that I possessed unique qualifications for
the work of an international secret agent, I decided to quit the
Pinkerton service, and set up for myself, making my headquarters in
Paris. From that day to this I have had no cause to repent of my
audacity. I have been employed at one time or another by nearly every
Government in the world, and my clients have included nearly every
crowned head, from the late Queen Victoria to the Dowager Empress of
China. I have been sent for on the same day by the Ambassadors of two
hostile Powers, each of which desired to employ me against the other.
On one occasion I acted on behalf of a famous German Chancellor
against his then master, and on another on behalf of the Emperor
against his Chancellor; and neither had cause to complain of my
fidelity. I have been instrumental in freeing a Queen renowned for
her beauty from the persecution of a blackmailer set on by a foreign
court; and I have more than once detected and defeated the plots of
anarchists for the assassination of their rulers.
In this way it has come about that I enjoy the friendship and
confidence of many illustrious personages, whose names would excite
envy were I at liberty to mention them in these pages; and that few
events of any magnitude happen in any part of the globe without my
being in some measure concerned in them.
Often, when some great affair has been proceeding, I have felt myself
as occupying the position of the stage manager, who looks on from the
wings, directing the entrances and exits of the gorgeously dressed
performers who engross the attention and applause of the ignorant
spectators on the other side of the footlights.
* * * * *
The true story of the famous telegram which may be said to have
rendered the South African War inevitable is one which strikingly
illustrates the extent to which the public may be deceived about the
most important transactions of contemporary history.
Every one is familiar with the situation created by that celebrated
despatch. For some time previously all England, and, in fact, all
Europe, had been agitated by the intelligence that Johannesburg was
on the eve of insurrection, that the Boers were drawing their forces
together about the doomed city, that Dr. Jameson had dashed across
the frontier with five hundred followers in a mad attempt to come to
the aid of the threatened Outlanders, and that his action had been
formally disavowed by the British Government.
Close on the heels of these tidings came the memorable day on which
London was cast into gloom by long streams of placards issuing from
the newspaper offices bearing the dismal legend, ‘Jameson Beaten and
a Prisoner!’
While the populace were yet reeling under the blow, divided between
distress at this humiliation for the British flag, and indignation
at the criminal recklessness which had staked the country’s honour
on a gambler’s throw, there came the portentous news that the head
of the great German Empire, the grandson of Queen Victoria, had sent
a public message of congratulation to the Boer President, rejoicing
with him in the face of the world over an event which every
Englishman felt as a national disaster.
That hour registered the doom of the Pretorian Government. Jameson
was scornfully forgotten. The British people, as proud as it is
generous, made up its mind that the forbearance so long extended to
a vassal of its own, could no longer be shown with honour to the
_protégé_ of a mighty European Power.
On the very day on which this celebrated despatch appeared as the
chief item of news in all the newspapers of the world, I received
an urgent cipher message from the Director of the Imperial Secret
Service, Herr Finkelstein, demanding my presence in Berlin.
My headquarters, as I have said, are in Paris, and fortunately I
was disengaged when the summons arrived. I had merely to dictate a
few dozen wires to my staff, while my valet was strapping up the
portmanteau which always stands ready packed in my dressing-room, and
to look out my German passport--for I have a separate one for every
important nationality--and in an hour or two I was seated in the
Berlin express, speeding towards the frontier.
From the bunch of papers which my attentive secretary had thrust into
the carriage, I learned something of the effect which the German
Emperor’s interference in the affairs of South Africa had produced
on the public mind in England. It was evident that the Islanders were
strongly roused, and were preparing to pick up the gage of battle
which had been thrown down. No sooner had I reached German territory
than I found evidences of an even greater excitement. The whole
nation seemed to have rallied round the Kaiser, and to be ready to
back up his words with martial deeds.
By this time I had little doubt that I had been sent for in
connection with the outbreak of hostile feeling between the two
Powers. But it was impossible for me to anticipate the actual nature
of the task which awaited me.
On reaching Berlin I was met by a private emissary of Finkelstein’s,
who hurried me off to the Director’s private house. The first words
with which he greeted me convinced me that the business I had come
about was of no ordinary kind.
‘Do not sit down,’ he said to me, as I was about to drop into a
chair, after shaking hands with him. ‘I must ask you to come to my
dressing-room at once, where you will transform yourself as quickly
as possible into an officer of the Berlin Police. The moment that is
done, I am to conduct you to the Palace, where his Majesty will see
you alone.’
As I followed the Director into the dressing-room, where I found a
uniform suit laid out ready for my wearing, I naturally asked: ‘Can
you tell me what this is about?’
Finkelstein shook his head with a mysterious air.
‘The Kaiser has told me nothing. But he warned me very strictly not
to let a single creature in Berlin know of your arrival, and from
that fact I have naturally drawn certain conclusions.’
I gazed at Finkelstein with some suspicion. We were good friends,
having worked together on more than one occasion, and I knew he would
have no wish to keep me in the dark. On the other hand, if he had
been instructed to do so, I knew he would not hesitate to lie to me.
The secret service has its code of honour, like other professions,
and fidelity to one’s employer comes before friendship.