THE BOOTMAKER'S ROYAL WOOING
When the Essen doctor advised Maria Hussmann, Frederick Krupp's "lady
housekeeper," to try a course of thermal baths at Aix-la-Chapelle she
was only too glad to do so. Maria was a typical German woman, heavy,
solid, and, as she was in the late thirties, fond of boasting of her
respectability. She styled herself "a noble lady," and she was in the
habit of explaining to her acquaintances that she only "condescended"
to manage Herr Krupp's domestic staff for him, having been tempted by
an enormous salary, the latter being a tribute to her excellence and
her social position. She always carried herself with great dignity, and
Krupp, who had a comic admiration for what in Germany passes for good
breeding, was rather proud of his employée's pride.
Of course, he readily granted her permission to make the journey to
the favourite resort, and to stay there for at least a month. Maria,
therefore, packed up her trunks, and started for Aix-la-Chapelle. The
woman had a fairly large sum of money saved, and, anxious to meet the
best people, she put up at a first-class hotel, and placed herself
under the care of a physician with a European reputation. In this
way she acquired position at once in the hotel, and while carefully
suppressing the fact that she was the Cannon King's housekeeper she
let it be known that she derived her means from him.
Everybody thereupon assumed that she was a relation of Krupp's, and
after that expressed no surprise that she should be so rich.
The tall woman with the red face, who looked so grotesque in her
fashionable clothes, was most assiduous in following her doctor's
orders, and she was soon a well-known figure amongst the patients,
who came from all parts of the world. When the scores of impecunious
German officers heard that she was actually related to the millionaire
Krupp they crowded round her, and the widow took their admiration as
due entirely to her personal charm! Every day she had more invitations
to lunch than she could accept, and there was keen competition for the
honour of escorting her to the theatre or opera. This was, indeed,
life, and, large as was Frederick Krupp's monthly cheque, she began to
look forward to the time when she would be independent of it, and would
have an officer husband--the ambition of every German woman--and a home
of her own to manage.
Then suddenly she met, purely by accident, a man who raised her
ambitions even higher. Hitherto she had considered it bliss to hear a
young officer of the Prussian Guards whisper insincerities into her
ear, but once she became acquainted with a future King she forgot all
other men.
It was a very hot afternoon in mid-August, 1897, when Maria, walking
slowly between an avenue of trees, slipped on a piece of orange-peel,
and she would have met with a serious accident had not a gentleman
caught her in time. The shock, however, gravely affected her, and
her rescuer had to escort her to a friendly seat to give her time to
recover. There he waited politely until she signified that she was
better, and it was only then that she took notice of him. She saw
a man above medium height with a saturnine countenance, dark eyes
and a black moustache. She noticed that the expression of his mouth
hovered between a sneer and a scowl, and somehow his grey suit and
light Homburg hat failed to give a touch of relief to an exterior not
at all pleasing. However, Maria was too great a "perfect lady" not to
feel grateful for the service he had rendered her, and she thanked him,
ending up by revealing her identity.
"I am charmed, madame," said the stranger, speaking in French. "My
name is--but, no, I must respect my incognito. I am Count d'Este. You
can know me by that." A profound bow followed, and the next moment the
count had disappeared.
Marie went back to her hotel with the words "incognito" and "count"
ringing in her ears. She was sure that the stranger had been impressed
by her, and she was equally certain that he was a great man, for
only monarchs and their heirs talked of travelling "incognito." He
was undoubtedly something better than a count, although Maria had an
exaggerated veneration for any title of nobility.
Of course, the "lady housekeeper from Essen" procured an _Almanach
de Gotha_ at the hotel, but as it was not illustrated, she could not
identify the mysterious gentleman, and she might have given up the
task had she not met him again at the same place the following day. On
this occasion he came straight up to her, and in the most charming and
natural manner entered into conversation, carefully inquiring first if
she had suffered any ill-consequences from the previous day's mishap,
and expressing the greatest delight when she declared that she was
quite well again.
They parted after half an hour, the count in a sad voice informing
her that owing to fear of being recognized and his incognito not
being respected he could not ask her to be his guest at a restaurant.
The remark fired her curiosity, and she went at once to the public
library, and within a quarter of an hour was surrounded by a score of
books on the royal families of Europe. It took her, however, nearly
two hours to solve the mystery, and it was a bound volume of the Paris
_Figaro_ that gave her the clue she was seeking.
"He's the Archduke Francis Ferdinand," she whispered to herself,
and her body vibrated. "The heir to the throne! And we're such good
friends! Now I'll have no difficulty in being received into the society
that I've always longed to enter."
When she reached her hotel there was a retired German colonel waiting
to take her for a promenade, and at any other time Maria would have
given half her fortune to be seen in his company, but now she almost
condescendingly begged him to excuse her, and as she lumbered up the
stairs the colonel could only stand in the hall, stare after her, and
mutter curses expressive of his surprise and anger. He had planned to
marry the wealthy relative of Frederick Krupp, and so save himself
from bankruptcy. But Frau Hussmann had no use for common colonels now.
She could think only of her august friend, the heir to the throne of
Austria; no one else mattered.
It was her intention to keep her discovery to herself, but when on the
third day she found the "count" obviously waiting for her she could not
restrain herself when after five minutes' promenading together she had
yet to hear a word from him. The "count" was in one of his melancholy
moods, but since seeing him last she had read in several papers
how addicted he was to pessimism, and she had already come to the
conclusion that her mission in life was to save him from melancholia,
and give him a new interest in life.
"Your Imperial and Royal Highness"--she began.
But he started convulsively, and laid a warning hand on her arm.
"Ah, I see you have discovered my secret," he said with a most anxious
expression. "Trust a woman's wit to get to the truth. You pierced my
incognito, madame. But I am not angry. It is proof that you take an
interest in an unhappy man. I thank you for it."
"Unhappy?" she echoed in amazement. "Your Royal Highness----"
"My name is Franz--to my friends," he said, looking at her steadily,
"and we are friends, are we not?"
Maria could scarcely speak, so excited was she by the honour. The
Archduke Francis Ferdinand was so natural and such a delightful
companion! That very day he told her how his uncle, the Emperor, was
trying to force him to marry an archduchess he did not love, and he
recounted scenes in the Hofburg at Vienna which simply enthralled
Krupp's lady housekeeper, who felt that she was, indeed, taking a peep
into the most exclusive Court in Europe.
"I can go nowhere without being pestered," said the melancholy
archduke. "I have no real friends. The Czar and the Kaiser only invite
me to their palaces to introduce me to princesses. I am considered
merely a pawn on the chessboard of Europe, and they never seem to
think that I have a heart like other men, and that I long for a sweet,
sympathetic wife."
He pressed her hand and looked into her eyes, and Maria Hussmann had
difficulty in keeping on her feet, so overcome was she by emotion as
she walked in that shady avenue and knew that she was being made love
to by the future Emperor of Austria and King of Hungary.
"You understand now why I am in Aix-la-Chapelle," he resumed after a
pause. "I can experience a little liberty here, and by paying cash for
everything I have no need to reveal my identity. Of course I dare not
draw cheques on my bankers, for that would give me away completely.
Oh, madame, I am thankful that I came here, for I have never been so
happy since I met you."
The courtship was not a long one: indeed, it was much too short for the
romantic woman. Nearly every afternoon she met the archduke, and he
always had some fresh story to tell her of the Hofburg--the Kaiser's
secret visits there, the drawing up of important treaties at midnight,
the "removing" of political enemies, and the real meaning of various
public actions of the emperor's. Incidentally he enlightened Marie as
to the real character of Frederick Krupp. He was, of course, very sorry
to have to draw the line at the millionaire, he said, even if Madame
was a relative of the Cannon King's; but Marie hastened to dissociate
herself from her "relation," explaining that she had a fortune
independent of him, and that if ever she married she would not want to
see too much of the Kaiser's friend.
A fortnight after the accident the archduke formally asked Marie to
be his wife. She had been expecting the proposal for days, but she
was surprised almost into hysterics when he actually made the offer.
It seemed too good to be true. Aix-la-Chapelle was then crowded with
beauties of all sorts and conditions. Some of the loveliest heiresses
in Europe were to be seen daily in the town. The archduke had only
to reveal himself to be flattered and courted by them, and yet he
had chosen her! It was undoubtedly the greatest compliment she could
possibly receive.
In the faintest of tones she said "Yes," and the archduke bowed over
her hand, and impressed a respectful kiss upon it. "Just like one would
expect from a prince," said the lady housekeeper later when describing
that moment of blissful triumph.
"Of course, we'll be married at once," said Franz Ferdinand, who was
the most attentive and enthusiastic of lovers. "Until you are my wife
I shall not know a moment's peace, for if the Emperor got to know of my
matrimonial plans he would have you kidnapped, Maria, and I should be
left to mourn your loss."
The idea of the Emperor abducting this sixteen stone of solid German
flesh would have struck anyone but Maria as comic. She, however, was
too great an admirer of herself and too romantic to see anything absurd
in the idea.
"I am ready for you at any time, Franz," she said in a flutter. "You
know I am yours for ever now."
How delightful it was to meet the archduke every day after dusk and
discuss the question of immediate marriage! They made plans, only to
unmake them at their next meeting. Once for a period of three days
Krupp's housekeeper had to live without seeing her fiancé, but, as he
explained on his return to Aix-la-Chapelle, he had been unexpectedly
recalled to Vienna to take part in a Council of State at the Hofburg.
"Again the Emperor talked of my marrying one of my cousins," he said
with a scowl. "He little realizes that I am about to wed the girl of
my heart, and one whom I mean to make my Empress when the right time
comes."
Once more they fell to discussing the best place to get married in.
Various Continental cities were mentioned, but rejected, and eventually
the archduke's suggestion that they should travel to London at once,
go through the marriage ceremony at a register office, and then in
the presence of a priest, and afterwards return to Aix-la-Chapelle,
was adopted. From there Francis Ferdinand was to inform his uncle as
to what had happened, and prepare for his entry into Austria with his
bride by his side.
"Once you are mine, even the Emperor will not be able to separate us,"
he assured her confidently, "and you can always rely upon my love and
protection. I am sure the Austrians and Hungarians will take my lovely
bride to their hearts."
With the venue settled upon there was only one thing more to do, and
that was for the archduke to send for "a few thousand marks" for the
expenses of their wedding and subsequent honeymoon. He spoke so glibly
of his immense fortune that poor Maria did not dare to refer to the
fifty thousand marks she had in the bank at Essen. However, he spared
her any embarrassment by laughingly advising her to take whatever
money she had out of the German banks in case "the Emperor, my uncle,
should try to deprive you of it." Maria accordingly sent instructions
to her bankers, and shortly she had two thousand five hundred pounds in
her possession, but only for a short time, for she handed it over to
"Franz" for safe keeping on his suggestion.
The portly housekeeper and the melancholy archduke stole out of
Aix-la-Chapelle late one night, and, travelling by a circuitous
route, reached London two days later. They were both dead tired, but
nevertheless very happy, and for the time being the Austrian heir
seemed to have become another man. He could laugh and joke and talk
rapturously of the love he bore his bride, and he was all impatience
for their brief journey to the register office in the neighbourhood of
the Strand.
London was crowded at the time. In the previous June Queen Victoria had
celebrated her Diamond Jubilee, and if all the royalties had departed
there were sufficient notable sight-seers from all corners of the earth
to make the great city more than usually interesting.
"It is the best time for us," said the archduke, beaming upon Maria
as they prepared to leave the hotel for the register office. "These
Londoners have had so much royalty in their midst lately that they
won't trouble to bother about me."
The dingy register office seemed to Maria Hussmann a veritable
Fairyland setting for her romance when she stood beside Francis
Ferdinand, and the wheezy official turned them into man and wife in
the most matter-of-fact manner. She regretted that they had to give
false names, but she was well aware that that small fraud would not
invalidate the marriage.
A couple of clerks, called in, and rewarded with half a sovereign each,
officiated as witnesses, and then Maria and her princely husband went
out into the sunshine and tried to realize that the wonderful event had
happened.
They had a merry little lunch for two at the Savoy Hotel, and in the
afternoon they went for a drive through London. At night they had a
box at one of the principal theatres, and Francis Ferdinand talked of
taking her down to Windsor to see the Queen.
"Her Majesty has a womanly heart, and she will sympathize with us," he
declared. How Maria's heart beat when she listened to him talking so
familiarly of the crowned heads of Europe! "She'll stand by us, and
she's the most powerful woman in the world. I know Wilhelm will bluster
and Nicholas shed tears over my supposed loss of dignity, but I don't
care."
Maria had agreed to keep their marriage a secret until her husband had
chosen the right moment to break the news to his uncle, the Emperor
Francis Joseph, and what with daily drives, visits to the theatres,
and exciting plans for a tour of the Courts of Europe, she let a whole
week go by in London without having broken her promise. Yet she wished
that she could tell some of the people at the _Savoy_, especially
those fashionable dames who were in the habit of regarding her with
unfavourable looks. It would make them treat her respectfully. It was
all very well for Francis Ferdinand to wish for privacy, but she was
crazy with anxiety to astonish Europe with news of her exploit.
She must have dropped hints in the hearing of her maid, for between
lunch and afternoon tea at the _Savoy_ one mild September day she found
a pleasant-mannered gentleman beside her, who opened a conversation,
and deftly extracted a statement from her concerning her husband. This
person happened to be a journalist, and, the same day, the wires were
busy conveying the startling information that the heir to the throne of
Austria had married Maria Hussmann, Frederick Krupp's lady housekeeper!
Meanwhile the bridegroom had also read the statement in a London
paper, and without a trace of annoyance had questioned his wife. Maria
confessed that she had been unable to resist the temptation to proclaim
her pride and happiness, and he did not reprove her harshly. It was
only human, after all, he said, for girls do not marry archdukes every
day, so he kissed her and went downstairs, and she never saw him again.
A third person read about the affair with, perhaps, more interest than
anybody else, and he was the real Francis Ferdinand. He was staying at
his palace in Hungary, and the announcement of his marriage tickled
even his dormant sense of humour. Three years were to elapse before he
was to become the husband of the Countess Sophy Chotek, later Duchess
of Hohenberg, and seventeen ere their double murder was to precipitate
the greatest of all wars.
There was no difficulty in exposing the fraud, but when a detective
from Scotland Yard called at the hotel he found only a weeping bride.
Her husband had disappeared, and she was desolate. The truth was broken
to her, and a benevolent lady in London made arrangements for her to
return to Essen. The authorities had no use for her now. Their energies
were concentrated on discovering the retreat of the impostor.
His history was a peculiar one. Johann Schmidt--his real name--was the
son of a Berlin bookmaker, who after numerous terms of imprisonment
had become an inmate of a criminal lunatic asylum. He escaped from this
prison by impersonating one of the doctors, and, having made his way to
Aix-la-Chapelle, wooed and won the impressionable lady housekeeper from
Essen.
The impostor was not, however, brought to trial, as Maria would not
prosecute him. All she wished was to be allowed to bury herself in
obscurity. But she was scarcely more annoyed than the Chauvinistic
German journalists that her husband was not the real Simon Pure.
"No wonder he could pose so successfully as Francis Ferdinand," one of
them wrote, "he was for six years in a lunatic asylum."