Six months of feverish activity in the Essen works, of tests and
measuring velocities, of experimenting with ingots, hardening processes,
chilled iron castings and compound steel--who knows or cares for the
technique of murder machinery save generals of the staff? As Mark Twain
at one time labelled a book, "There is no weather in this," so the
present author will not burden his pages with figures and statistics of
any sort. It would be a tantalising undertaking at best, for the War
Lord himself was directing, and insisted that his every misunderstood,
mis-stated and often wholly untenable whim be immediately gratified by
the ready servility of Krupp employes--"his people."
Up to the time under discussion the Emperor Wilhelm had devoted nearly
all his energies to drill, political intrigue and uttering platitudes.
To dabble in formulary details, with nobody to dispute his opinion or
correct his errors, flattered him in the proportion as his judgment
about ordnance construction became more and more fantastic.
He was always going about with a half-dozen professors at his heels,
losing no opportunity of propounding nebulous and remarkable theories to
their startled but complaisant ears.
At the beginning of the present century the German professor was a
hundred years behind the times in his dress, manners and social habits.
The German Punch had rudely caricatured him into a new habitat, where
soap and water, clean collars, unfrayed trousers and non-Cromwellian
headgear held sway. Up to that period, he had bathed occasionally, had
curled his hair now and then, and thereafter relapsed into that state of
slovenliness which is labelled scientific preoccupation by the German
mob, and stands in awe of learning, be it ever so badly digested and
wrongfully applied.
The War Lord had an English mother; he is a Barbarian fond of the tub.
He perceived that professors might be made useful to him. But how make
them presentable?
A visit to England gave him the clue.
And forthwith the new order of Court dress was launched: short clothes
and pumps, silk stockings and jabot-shirts; and the official Press
rudely informed those "entitled to the uniform" that bathing was
imperative before getting into it.
The brotherhood of science furthermore received hints to patronise the
War Lord's own barber in regard to their flowing beards. "But Admiral
von Tirpitz wears a forked beard too," pleaded some. "No precedent,
Herr Professor, his Excellency has Majesty's special permit!"
With the superfluous hair, the professors likewise had to shed their
accustomed hyperbole.
"Don't speak until spoken to." "Answer in as few informatory words as
can be managed." "Invariably make your answer meet the Imperial
wishes." "Never contradict," were the Grand Master's instructions, and
the scientific men abiding by them soon found themselves in clover,
because they were "useful," while the rest were discarded.
In particular, experts in chemistry were exploited by the War Lord.
"They must help to feed my army and people"--in case war lasts longer
than expected. "They must invent new weapons of destruction"--for while
powder and lead are well enough in their way, they do not spell the end
of things.
German scientific men are very fond of power and have an enormous idea
of their own importance, but their notions are subject to fits of
extravagant humility if policy, or personal advantage, can be served by
Uriah Heepisms. The keener ones in the Imperial entourage found that it
would pay to cater to the mobility in the War Lord's ideas while there
was a certain degree of logic. And if, perchance, he happened to drop
into incoherency or extravagance, was it the professor's business to set
him right? Court usage registered an emphatic negative.
Such were the beginnings of the partnership between War Lordism and the
perversion of German science into an instrument of destruction. "Science
to the rescue of the lame and halt"--an out-of-date notion. Science
makes them by the hundreds of thousands.
The professors were powerful assistants to the War Lord in maintaining
his grip on the Krupp throat and acquiring further business concessions
from the firm; but, of course, as to realising the technical chimeras of
the War Lord's mind with respect to new-fangled war machinery, there was
more pretence than activity, for dividends had to be considered, and the
War Lord would have been the first to make an outcry if his earnings
were reduced by the fraction of a per cent.
Franz maintained his position as chief experimenter, and, his expert
judgment in gunmaking as well as in electricity being unquestioned, he
was able openly to frustrate some of the War Lord's most bloodthirsty
plans by proving them impracticable to the satisfaction of the board of
directors, which put a stop to their execution for the time at least.
"Uncle Majesty is very wroth with you," said Bertha to her relative one
evening, when the War Lord had returned to Berlin after one of his
unofficial visits to the Ruhr metropolis. He was in the habit of coming
to Essen every little while now, unheralded and incog. Likewise in
mufti; and what discarding of regimentals and associated fripperies
meant to him few people can imagine.
His uniforms are built to make him appear taller and more imposing,
while affording a ready background for all sorts of decorative
material--ribbons, scarfs, stars, crosses and medals galore.
"Wroth with me?" queried Franz.
"Yes, with you," replied the child; "and I heard him dictate a long
letter, giving you a terrible talking to. I just signed it," added
Bertha with a satisfied grin.
"And why am I hauled over the coals?" asked Franz.
"I'm sure I don't know," replied the child. "'One of the things little
girls cannot understand,' said Uncle Majesty. But I do know that you
must--I said _must_--not do it again. I won't let you, do you hear? I
mean Uncle Majesty won't."
Franz raised his hat and knocked his heels together, military fashion.
He was about to withdraw when Bertha caught him by the arm. "You are
not angry with me, Franz?" she pleaded.
"No, my chief."
"Say 'no, _liebe_ Bertha.'"
"No, _liebe_ Bertha."
At this moment a messenger caught up with the two young people on the
road to Villa Huegel and handed Franz an official-looking envelope. The
engineer looked inquiringly at Bertha. "May I?"
Instead of answer the Krupp heiress picked up her skirts with both hands
and ran towards the house.
Her letter informed Franz that the task of completing the Belgian guns
had been entrusted to other hands. Secondly, that, in future,
communications about experiments ordered by the War Lord must be
addressed to the heiress direct, not to the board of directors.
*CHAPTER V*
*HOW THE WAR LADY WAS CAJOLED*
An Intoxication of Vanity--Barbara's Plain Words--A Shameful
Memory
The Imperial Chief-Court-and-House Marshal, Count Eulenburg, has
the honour to command Fraulein Bertha Krupp to attend upon their
Imperial and Royal Majesties, His Majesty the Emperor and King,
and Her Majesty the Empress and Queen, during the Christmas and
New Year's festivities at the Schloss, Berlin.
A royal equipage will await Fraulein Krupp's pleasure at the
station, meeting the early morning train of December 22nd.
_Dress_: Silks, Velvets and Laces.
_Attendance_: Wardrobe mistress and maid; A footman.
The invitation, copperplated on an immense sheet of rather cheap paper
and sent through the mail free, created much excitement in Villa Huegel,
the more so as it was wholly unexpected, the War Lord never having
intimated that an honour of that kind was in store for his godchild.
In the meantime Bertha had risen to the dignity of opening her own
letters and using her discretion as to divulging their contents, or not,
as she saw fit, or rather as the War Lord saw fit. This was strictly
opposed to native custom; but isn't the King above the law? And certain
reports, such as those ordered to be addressed to Bertha direct--Franz's
for instance--All-Highest wouldn't have communicated to any save
himself, not even to Frau Krupp. Hence his command that the Krupp
heiress keep her own counsel in regard to her correspondence.
Bertha broke the great seal of the Court Marshal's office and her eyes
became luminous as she read the printed words and angular script. She
sat staring at the latter for a minute or two, while the Baroness,
chafing under her impotency, pretended to be busy with an orange.
Finally Barbara tiptoed behind her sister's chair and looked over her
shoulder. The fourteen-year-old girl being well up in Court
lore--having seen dozens of such letters addressed to her late
father--applied herself to the essentials, skipping the merely
decorative lines.
"Christmas and New Year's festivities at the _Schloss_, Berlin," she
read aloud. Then higher up: "Fraulein Bertha Krupp."
"Oh, Mamma!" she cried, "we are not invited, you and I. Isn't that mean
of Uncle Majesty?" She stamped her foot. "But he shan't kiss me when
he comes again--see if I let him kiss me."
"Hold your tongue, naughty child."
Bertha spoke with an air of unwonted authority. She folded up her
letter.
"Just see how high and mighty we are!" mimicked Barbara. "'Naughty
child,' and what are you? I shouldn't wonder if Uncle Majesty spanked
you sometimes, when you are alone with him; you always come away full of
humility to him and of arro--arro--" (she couldn't find the word) "the
other thing to us--to Mamma and me, I mean."
The Baroness put out her arm as if she expected the children to resort
to fisticuffs. "Barbara," she called half pleadingly.
"She will go to her room," insisted Bertha, ringing. The butler
responded so promptly that there was no doubt he had been listening
behind the portieres.
"Fraulein Barbara's governess," Bertha ordered. And as the man was
going out: "My secretary shall report at once in my council room."
"Are you mad?" cried Frau Krupp, when the curtains had dropped behind
the servant. Bertha seemed so unlike herself--unlike what her child
ought to be.
The Krupp heiress disdained to answer.
"Since I am to be their Imperial and Royal Majesties' guest, I must
prepare for the honour," she deigned after a little while; "in half an
hour I'll leave for Cologne. You may accompany me, if you like,
Mother."
The Baroness grew white under the lash of Bertha's patronising tone.
"You shall not go," she said hotly.
"If you will come to the council room you can see in black and white my
authority to go where and when I please," replied Bertha, going out.
Barbara and her mother looked at each other in blank amazement, the
child not understanding, the mother understanding but too well. Bertha
was lost to her; the supreme egotist had gained a strangle-hold on her
flesh and blood.
With the strange intuition that often moves children to do the right
thing at the right time when grown-ups are at their wits' end, Barbara
seemed to divine what passed in her mother's mind and, burying her face
in the Baroness's lap, she sobbed out convulsively words of consolation,
of endearment and unbounded affection. Frau Krupp bent over the child's
head and kissed her again and again. "My little girl, my Barbara, won't
discard Mother, will she?" she said in broken tones.
"Not for ten thousand Uncle Majesties," cried Barbara fiercely; and, as
if the words had freed her from a spell, she rose of a sudden and
planted herself in front of Frau Krupp.
"---- Uncle Majesty," she said, clenching her little fists.
Then, overcome by her breach of the conventions, she ran out of the room
and into the arms of her governess.
Frau Krupp would not have had the heart to scold Barbara even if she had
not run away. "---- him!"--her own sentiments. With such reflections
she leaned back in her great arm-chair, undecided whether she should
follow Bertha to the council room or not. Her motherly dignity said
"No," while anxiety for her child urged her to go to her.
"To think of him playing the bully in my own house," she deliberated;
"the coward, setting a child against her mother! But I know what it's
done for. He wants her like wax in his hand--the hand getting ready to
choke the world into submission."
The butler entered with soft step.
"Fraulein begs to say that she will leave for Cologne at 10.30 sharp,
and she desires your ladyship to get ready."
"Thank you, my maid shall lay out the new black silk costume. Did you
order the horses?"
"Fraulein's secretary is attending to everything," said the butler in a
hurt voice. "I don't know by what authority he assumes my duties," he
added.
"He shall not do so again, Christian," promised the Baroness.
Three hours later Frau Krupp and Bertha were going the rounds of
Cologne's most exclusive shops. The Hochstrasse is too narrow to permit
the use of a carriage; the ladies were followed, then, by a train of
commissionaires laden with boxes, for Bertha was buying everything in
the line of frocks, costumes and millinery that was pretty and
expensive. Consult her mother? Not a bit of it. The Court Marshal's
instructions were silk, velvet, laces; nothing else mattered.
The shopkeepers, of course, knew Frau Krupp; they had known Bertha
familiarly ever since she was in short frocks. The girl of seventeen
had blossomed into the richest heiress of the world, yet it would have
been almost indecent not to consider the elder woman first.
So the best chair was pushed forward for the Baroness, and man-milliners
and _mannequins_ fell over each other trying to win her applause for the
goods offered. The widow of the Ironmaster smiled and talked vaguely
about their merits, but announced that Bertha was to do her own
choosing.
Bertha went about her task like an inexperienced country lass suddenly
fallen into a pot of money. The girl seemed to be working under a sense
of assertiveness, tempered by responsibility to a higher power. That
higher power regarded her mother of no consequence. Though of a
naturally dutiful and kindly nature, Bertha assumed an air of
independence unbecoming to so young a woman.
Indeed her want of respect was of a piece with her "Uncle Majesty's"
behaviour in a little Italian town, when his father lay dying there.
The War Lord, then a junior Prince, had crossed the Alps as the
representative of his grandsire, head of the State, and instantly
presumed to lord over his mother, who was the Princess Royal of an
Empire, compared with which his own patrimony is a petty _Seigneurie_.
He arrived on a Saturday night, and at once ordered divine service for
seven o'clock next morning, an hour suiting his restlessness and most
unsuited to his parent, worn out with night vigils and anxieties.
However, to humour him, and also to gain more time to spend with her
ailing husband, the Imperial Mother acquiesced in the arrangement; but
imagine her surprise when in the morning she learned at the last moment
that, at her son's behest, the House Marshal had not provided carriages
as usual, and that she was expected to walk three-quarters of a mile to
the chapel.
Meanwhile the official procession of church-goers had started. At the
head a platoon of cuirassiers, followed by the Prince's Marshal and
staff. Next, his adjutants and a deputation of officers from his
regiment; his personal servants in gala livery; finally, himself,
walking alone, the observed of all observers.
The father's own household was commanded to fall behind. So were his
mother and sisters; the Prince was not at all interested in them. His
Royal Mother might lean on the arm of a footman for all he cared.
Here we have an exaggeration of the most repulsive traits of egotism,
self-indulgence, callousness, coarseness, cruelty and deceitfulness,
for, as intimated, Wilhelm had been careful to keep his parent in
ignorance of the affront to be put upon her.
Small wonder that a person so constituted, having vested himself with
full charge of a girl's soul and mind as she approached mental and
physical puberty, upset her filial equilibrium, while her actions
reflected the impress of his own arrogance.
*CHAPTER VI*
*FRAULEIN KRUPP INVITED TO COURT*