public profession as a courtesan in order to fulfil the requirements as
a spy. The Amsterdam authorities stoutly maintained the cigar-selling
myth, although it immediately betrayed the pseudo-salesmen. In Mata
Hari’s case, however, it served a much better purpose to have an illicit
occupation, since it brought her into direct relations with public men
in a way which made investigation a matter of great delicacy.
Even when she did come under suspicion, her rôle enabled her to escape
detection time after time, to the intense annoyance of the Second
Bureau, who were convinced of her guilt long before they could secure
the material evidence which made a conviction reasonably certain.
_Chapter Eight_
On the day when war was declared between Germany and France Mata Hari
was in Berlin. She lunched at the famous Adlon with her friend, the
chief of the secret police, and since the hotel was the favourite resort
of high officials, who now became popular idols in the enthusiasm of
war, Mata basked in the reflected glory of her illustrious protector.
The excited throng, hungering for a sight of their national heroes,
surged about the famous restaurant to catch a glimpse of the leaders who
happened to be eating there that day. Every minute saw the waiting crowd
increase in size and the cheering swell in volume. When the time came
for Mata Hari to emerge the crowd was in its best humour and gave Herr
von Jagow, the prominent police officer, a rousing reception as he
departed with the lady on his arm. But not all the population of the
capital crowded into the street before the Adlon. Other, not less
enthusiastic, groups paraded the streets singing songs of war. For once
the active restraint of the Berlin police was relaxed, they took
holiday. So did their chief. In an official car he made a tour of the
excited city for the amusement of his companion, whom he proudly exposed
to the populace, and, incidentally, to the foreign agents, who did not
miss this indiscretion.
Shortly after this occurrence Abteilung III began to have an uneasy
suspicion that all was not well with their organization in Britain. For
years the English people had grumbled in impotent anger against an
indifferent police who permitted German agents to work unmolested in
that country. Responsible officials received complaints of audacious
spies with an airy disregard which amounted to a cynical indifference
for the safety of the realm, much to the indignation of certain
well-meaning people who missed no opportunity to draw attention to the
alarming danger accompanying this apparent neglect. It was notorious
that there was a considerable body of active spies operating with
impunity in England. Yet as the first anxious days went by the Berlin
authorities became aware of a paralyzing lethargy which had descended
upon their agents. There was an absence of information relating to the
mobilization of British troops and their departure for France. It had
been taken for granted that the invasion of Belgium would cause these
troops to be landed at one of the northern channel ports and would be
attended with considerable risk if the right wing of the invading army
moved expeditiously enough. The places of the anticipated landing were
watched carefully without any sign of the expected enemy. As he
approached these ports von Kluck threw out a cavalry corps to check any
advance from that direction, but no sooner had his cavalry got into
movement than the main German advance came up against a surprising
enemy—British troops.
The Germans had guessed wrong.
Modern miracles in military strategy are frequently no more than the
logical deductions from fragments of information furnished by spies,
filtered through the special knowledge of the Intelligence officers and
supplied to the high command for guidance. In this case the German
Intelligence service did not have any secret source of supply to assist
in the performance of miracles. Their long-established source had, in
fact, miraculously dried up through the totally unexpected intervention
of the notoriously complacent London police.
During the night which succeeded Sir Edward Grey’s announcement of
Britain’s intention to support her engagements to the extent of going to
war, Scotland Yard had been fingering over its files, furbishing up its
memories, and visiting its German acquaintances. Some time previously,
when the Emperor William had last visited Buckingham Palace, he was
accompanied by certain high officials, one of whom left the Palace to
visit a barber in an obscure district. The mere fact that an important
German official should make this strange visit puzzled the police
because there is little in common between Buckingham Palace and the
Caledonian Road. The statesman’s host proved to be a barber called
Ernst, technically an Englishman by birth, but German by parentage. The
police watched the barber very carefully for some time and found that he
was the German Foreign Office’s “letter-box.” That is to say, he
received from Berlin a bundle of letters with English stamps already
affixed, which he distributed among various post offices in the city.
These letters were instructions to spies.
Incidentally, Ernst was paid £1 (or $5) a month for his services.
Through this discovery the British authorities were able to ascertain
all the spies employed by the Foreign Office, work out the cipher used,
and read all the instructions. When the time for action arrived all the
British police had to do was to visit the addresses of these agents and
put them under lock and key. One, and one only, escaped. The entire
system of German espionage in England was in eclipse.
Suppose a similar _coup_ had been achieved in France!
Nothing but the most fortuitous circumstances prevented the German spy
system in France from failing as completely as did their British system.
Only a stroke of fortune which they had no right to expect saved them.
The Second Bureau of the War Department, which is the nerve centre of
the army and responsible for counter-espionage in France, followed the
example of their Allies and drew up a list of undesirable aliens, which
was presented to the civil police for action. The Minister of the
Interior, who was head of the civil police, refused to have these
potential and actual spies arrested.
It has been asserted repeatedly that this Minister (M. Malvy) was one of
Mata Hari’s victims. He has been charged with criminal co-operation in
her defence and was actually exiled because of his neglect of the most
elementary precautions at a moment of national crisis. Let us hasten to
say that we do not attribute any treacherous intention to the Minister.
He shared with another Minister (Messimy, at the War Department) the
extraordinary distinction of possessing a name which began with M and
ended with Y, and it has been said that letters bearing the signature of
MY which were found in Mata Hari’s apartment formed part of the evidence
wrongfully attributed to prove his guilt. This is wrong. At Mata Hari’s
trial some letters were read which left no doubt about the writer; it
was Messimy, and the mention of his unpopular name was received with
unconcealed glee among the younger officers who had little cause to like
him. It may further be added that these letters contained nothing which
could have condemned anyone except, probably, in a breach-of-promise
action. Having exculpated M. Malvy of any criminal relation with the
spy, we cannot, however, entirely discharge him of all responsibility
for aiding her.
If Mata Hari never was the accepted mistress of M. Malvy, there was a
very well-founded suspicion that Mlle. Nery Beryll was, and the two
women were intimate friends. It was through this intimacy that Mata Hari
was able to secure privileges which secured for her the reputation of
the most dangerous spy discovered during the war. But she must not be
charged with having prevented the arrest of the undesirables at the
beginning of the war. Credit for that accomplishment belongs to
Almeyreda. Had M. Malvy ever taken the trouble to arrange the names on
this sinister list in alphabetical order, he would have found that of
his friend Almeyreda at the head. Yet this man actually persuaded the
Minister that it would be bad policy to arrest these foreigners because
it would cause a panic in France. It was a piece of superb effrontery
and saved the entire German spy system operating in France. It was a
piece of good fortune which must have created exquisite delight in
Berlin, but for the unhappy Second Bureau it was only a foretaste of the
intense difficulties under which they had to work until the entire
Ministry of obstruction was cleared out.
The position of these spies appeared to be founded upon such an
intricate web of intrigue, involving men of the highest position, that,
after this good opening, to expose one or two agents would mean the
almost inconceivable participation of public functionaries in an
anti-national conspiracy. It is not suggested that all those who
subsequently suffered prosecution—men like Caillaux, Humbert, and
Malvy—were actually in the pay of the German authorities or were
actually aware that they were tools of the Berliners. But if their acts
were not criminal in the accepted sense of the word, their ready
acceptance of friendship with less innocent people like Almeyreda and
Bolo, their indifference to treacherous intrigue, and their rejection of
advice from the secret police, rendered them not unworthy of the active
hatred of those who placed power in their hands. When it is recalled
that, forty years before, Germany had placed the Prussian Baroness von
Kaula in a position where she gained the confidence of the War Minister
in Paris, the least that might have been expected of contemporary French
statesmen was to guard against a repetition of the betrayal.
Even with their agents so well placed that an exposure would have
resulted in a revelation of political shallowness and corruption which
would have shaken the French nation to its very foundations, the German
secret service had not entirely covered the field of their activities.
There was an urgent need for current military information to supplement
the work of the terrorists and defeatists, and Mata Hari was the spy
best qualified to obtain it.
It never was an easy matter for neutrals to pass from one belligerent
country to another during the war. Harassed police agents at the
frontiers and ports of entry suspected everyone, demanding absolute
proof from all travellers that their journey was of a wholly innocent
nature. To elude the vigilance of these officials the German secret
service had organized a highly efficient forgery department whose duty
it was to produce at short notice all the necessary proofs of identity
required to enable a neutral to circulate freely among the nations at
war. In Mata Hari’s case no forged papers were necessary. She was a
neutral, a distinguished dancer of established reputation with many
influential friends who were able to smooth over many difficulties which
beset the less fortunate traveller. But even so a very good reason had
to be furnished for her desire to visit Paris, so to the French
representatives in Holland she offered the plausible excuse that she
wished to dispose of her property at Neuilly. This satisfied them when
the application was supported by the head of the Dutch Cabinet and by
powerful French officials, and Mata Hari was granted the papers
necessary for her journey to Paris.
The head of the German secret service provided her with 30,000 marks (at
that time $7,500) for her expenses. Unfortunately, this financial
transaction was made known to the English Intelligence Department, who
passed on their information to the Second Bureau in Paris as soon as it
was known that the French capital was her destination. At a later date
Mata Hari had an uneasy moment when she was taxed with receiving this
payment and asked for an explanation. She treated her questioner with
disdain and the question with a lack of gravity which only equalled her
want of modesty.
“It is true that I received 30,000 marks from my friend who is head of
the espionage department but it was not the salary of a spy. It was the
price of my favours, for I was his mistress.”
“Yes, we know of your intimate relations with the officer,” was the
unfeeling retort, “but he must have been unusually generous to treat you
so liberally.”
“Thirty thousand marks generous! That was my usual price. My lovers
never offered me less.”
Decidedly Mata Hari had her moments of pride, but there was a time when
she had to admit that the same officer paid for the same services with
only half the amount.
As we have said, no sooner did Mata Hari arrive in London en route for
Paris than the English warned their French allies of the spy’s journey.
It might be asked why they did not arrest her, knowing that she was a
highly dangerous spy going into a friendly country to practise her
treacherous calling.
The explanation is simple. A spy enjoys the customary privilege of being
innocent until there is material proof of guilt. No one accused of
spying can be punished by a court of law without the production of
conclusive orthodox evidence, because, in the case of a foreigner, or
more particularly of a neutral, the national representatives make
energetic efforts to release them, so that in principle the freedom of
movement of their nationals will not be restricted. Circumstantial
evidence is worthless.
Substantial evidence was made more than ever necessary during the war,
when German spies adopted the ruse of pleading guilty to secondary
offences, such as smuggling, in order to avoid the major charge of
spying, which might involve a death sentence. In the case of Mata Hari
there was no direct evidence. She was known as a police “stool pigeon,”
not as an active agent either collecting or transmitting information,
and for that reason the special branch of Scotland Yard was powerless to
prevent her from proceeding on her journey. They could only hope that
her liberty might induce her to make some false move which would betray
either the mission she had been sent on or some of her fellow spies with
whom she would come in contact. Their hopes were not realized, but for
the moment she was courteously treated in order to prevent arousing any
presentiment of the danger she was running, or any suggestion that the
English authorities knew of her work.
Immediately she was installed in Paris, Mata Hari began to extend her
circle of friends.
There was still the faithful band of old followers to whom she had
awarded her favours in the past and could be of use to her yet on
occasion. Among these were the permanent head of the Ministry of Foreign
Affairs, who had been her first lover in Paris and who retained an
ardent passion for her to the bitter end, and General Messimy, the
amiable if not too brilliant old soldier who held the important post of
War Minister. These men and the sycophants who invariably hover about
the presence of persons of influence would serve to provide her with a
rich field from which to extract information as well as personal gain.
It was her liaison with the first mentioned of these officials that
permitted Mata Hari to perform a feat which would enhance the joy and
gratification of the most successful secret agent. Some of her reports
to the espionage chiefs in Holland were written on the official
notepaper of the Minister of Foreign Affairs, sure proof of her
successful penetration into these exclusive official circles. But if
these, and other, leaders of opinion were never judged to have been
rather more than usually indiscreet, if no actual guilt was proved
against them, surely Mata Hari’s close intimacy with these men enabled
her to benefit from the confidence of their subordinates, who, human
nature being what it is, must have occasionally been coaxed or persuaded
to reveal confidential knowledge to a woman who could predispose their
chiefs in their favour.
When the London authorities obligingly “signalled” the approaching
arrival of Mata Hari in Paris, she was taken under the closest
surveillance of the Second Bureau; but the strictest scrutiny of her
actions and correspondence failed to reveal any material evidence of her
complicity in espionage. Certainly she was known to have friends among
some of the women who also were known to act as carriers for their
lovers employed in the German secret service in Spain and Switzerland,
but it was found on most reliable authority that she was completely
ignorant of this employment. It was only a similarity of social tastes
which brought them together. Not only did Mata Hari resume her former
standards of depraved morality which she called her pleasures, but she
sank to lower depths of degradation than ever before.
Paris was throughout the war the Mecca of many a sorry pilgrimage for
those who had faced the inferno of the advanced posts with its horror of
death and mutilation, its filth and abomination, its monastic
deprivations from the soft and endearing charms of gentle companions. It
is futile to blame these men, whose eyes still carried the reflection of
death, for their excesses. To be deprived of their womenfolk was one of
the severest strains to which they were exposed; the loss of their
charming restraints caused many a decent and healthy-minded man to seek
gratification for the feeling of unbounded relief which Paris leave
afforded in the smiles and enchantments of that mocking, laughing
cherubim of hell. Who shall blame them? Did not St. Anthony try to solve
the problem in his own way? And no one credits him with achieving any
great happiness through his solution.
Mata Hari knew that in the dens of iniquity to which these foreign
officers, and French officers, too, released from rigorous discipline
and nervous strain, sought a temporary oblivion from their restraints,
much valuable information could be obtained if one shared in the task of
brightening the few days of leave and profited by the moments of
intoxicated relaxation. The author of the standard work on the
prostitution in Paris during the war mentions having encountered Mata
Hari in several popular brothels frequented by soldiers on leave. In
their efforts to purify her character some ardent admirers have
protested against unguarded use of this statement because the medical
man who makes it omits to mention whether she visited the establishments
as a client or as an employee. Although we fail to appreciate the fine
difference between the status of the two characters, let us say at once
that we believe she went in the more dignified (if that is the word)
character of client, frequenting the places for the express purpose of
extracting from drunken soldiers information they would have sacrificed
their tongues to have retained.
However, it is fairly certain that her visits were not without personal
recompense and that she carried her worship of the god Siva into these
hells, because the official investigator received several jealous
complaints from other _habitués_ of these houses that Mata Hari got more
than her share of their trade. “The Hindu is a perfect devil,” they
angrily declared. At this time she was making other, more severe calls
upon the assistance of Siva, the god of evil.
The information of Allied military affairs she gleaned did not all come
from this tainted source. In point of fact, much of the material so
gathered was inclined to be very deceiving unless substantiated, because
the wild rumours which circulated where large groups of people were
congregated only confused the issue, and in matters of military policy
the officers who came down from the front line were the worst possible
judges. But the circles round her Ministerial friends furnished the
correctives. It can be acknowledged that whatever material Mata Hari
collected, trustworthy or not, and dispatched to her chiefs in Holland,
remained her own and their secret for many a month. The exasperating
feature of her activities, from a counter-espionage point of view, was
that they defied detection. The Second Bureau had cleverly introduced
some of its ablest agents into the intimacy of her private life without
being able to surprise her secret. They were convinced of her guilt, yet
unable to expose it. And Heaven alone knows she was not idle.
Having obtained admission to France under the pretext of selling her
Neuilly property, she could not afford to neglect this duty without
arousing suspicion of her real mission. An amusing story arises from
this task of selling her possessions, which shows that she still enjoyed
making people’s flesh creep with stories of her savage nature. Among her
most cherished possessions in the villa was a valuable collection of
Dresden china which had been accumulated through the efforts of various
lovers to emulate each other in their generosity. As a collection it was
of considerable interest, but as a readily realizable asset it was
comparatively worthless, since no one was wishful to acquire such
fragile property when Fokkers were destroying cathedrals of more
substantial construction. Again her official friends came to her aid.
There were the national collections with funds for the acquisition of
such treasures.
Accordingly, Mata Hari was given an appointment with the curator of one
of these institutions, a scholarly, cultured gentleman whose thoughts
were remote from deeds of destruction. She explained the urgent need for
disposing of her possessions so that she might return to Holland, and
regretfully told how she had been compelled to part with things which
were a part of her life. She had even been compelled to sell her stable,
and this is a very significant fact, since ownership of a private
carriage in those days was as much the hallmark of success as possession
of a Rolls-Royce or a Hispano is to the light lady of today.
“However,” she added with a sigh of regret, “I could not think of my
dear pony Vichna falling into strange hands. This morning I killed him
myself, thrusting a golden stiletto into his heart.”
Still, the times were trying for a lady with such expensive tastes. So
many former friends had been compelled to leave Paris to serve with
their regiments, others no longer gave the voluptuous entertainments
which were out of place in a society which was stricken with grief over
personal losses and national danger. The very rooms where she had
previously lounged in indolent languor were filled with the groans of
wounded men. The cost of living was rising, too, so there remained no
alternative but a new and wealthy companion who would be responsible for
maintaining her in the style she desired. There was always the old
friend in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and, through him, a
considerable number of minor diplomatists who might be depended on for
discreet entertainment. But a wealthy protector had to be found
somewhere.
Major Massard tells of one candidate who had acquired great wealth in
profits arising from trading in war materials. He aspired to a
reputation as a _boulevardier_, but had not achieved his ambition,
through lack of a mistress sufficiently notorious and beautiful to match
his great possessions. This man cast admiring glances in Mata Hari’s
direction because she had the reputation of being the most extravagant
woman in Paris and therefore designed to do him credit as a man of
position and riches. As her own glance was ever charged with warm
promises, the affair progressed so favourably that the infatuated man
gave a splendid dinner in one of the most delightful and correspondingly
expensive restaurants in the Bois, which had all the air of a wedding
feast. The festivity was marked by all the luxury and ostentatious
display of a wealthy man proudly displaying his conquest before his and
her friends, and all went happily until the _maître d’hôtel_ offered a
box of expensive cigars to the host. With a gesture of disdain he waved
them aside as worthy of the more delicate palates of his refined guests.