There is a streak of malignity in the best of women. Maybe the younger
girl has nothing but praise for another a few years her senior, but she
will add that naturally "age" inspires respect. Helen has the most
beauteous eyes, the daintiest figure, the most transparent complexion,
the softest colour, the most exquisite feet, the sweetest smile and the
most delightful air of superiority, and when her friend tenders her a
box at the Play she will invite some girl conspicuously deficient in
most of these excellences--human nature, or just plain, ordinary
devilry. So Bertha's mother took a sort of grim satisfaction in the
poor taste Bertha displayed in selecting her Court gowns.
"He taught her to ignore her mother even in matters of dress; serves him
right if her appearance jars on his sense of beauty," she said to
herself more than once when superintending the packing of Bertha's many
trunks.
The Baroness had never visited the Berlin Court, and her conception of
its splendours resided in her own imagination.
As a matter of fact, the Berlin Court is the home of bad taste; plenty
of fine shoulders, but draped with ugly and inappropriate material. Some
few _petite_ feet against an overwhelming majority too large and
clumsily shod. Some fine arms and hands, since such are subjects of the
War-Lord's appreciation, but faces broad, plain and uninteresting.
The taste of a man who allows his wife to keep a bow-legged attendant is
necessarily deplorable; a king permitting that sort of thing, despite
prevailing fashions, is inexcusable.
An anecdote in point.
When, in the 'nineties, the Medical Congress sat in Berlin, the learned
gentlemen were commanded to a reception at the Palace, and in their
honour the whole contingent of Court beauties was put on exhibition.
"Did you ever see an uglier lot of women?" asked a Russian professor
afterwards, addressing a table full of colleagues. All shook their
heads sadly, depressed by the remembrance of what they had witnessed.
Into this _milieu_ of hallowed ugliness and organised _ennui_ dropped
the Krupp heiress like a pink-cheeked apple among a lot of windfalls.
As we know, she was not pretty from the stand-point of the
English-speaking races. Her complexion was good, but it lacked the
Scottish maid's transparency; her hair was fair to look upon, but there
are a thousand English girls travelling on the Underground daily whose
glossy tresses are to be preferred; her figure was a little too full,
like that of Jerome Napoleon's Queen, Catherine of Wuertemberg, whose
finely chiselled bosoms scandalised the Tuileries when she was scarcely
sixteen. She had the heavy gait of the German woman, and the vocabulary
of them all: "_Oh Himmel_," "_Ach Gott_," "_Verdammt_," and so forth, a
dreadful inheritance, which even the "Semiramis of the North" could not
shake off after fifty and more years' residence in Imperial Russia.
Her Majesty's maid of honour, Countess von Bassewitz, went to the
station with Count Keller, a minor gold stick, to receive and welcome
Bertha. Bassewitz was young and pretty--"the only happy isle in an ocean
of inelegancy," as Duke Gonthier of Schleswig used to say. Her sole
perceptible defect was indifferent hands, but, strange to say, this very
blemish got her the position at Court.
The War Lord had declared that he wouldn't have more of the "hideous
baggage" (meaning Her Majesty's ladies) that "made his house a
nightmare," and that the next Dame du Palais to be appointed was to be
good-looking, or must wear a bell, so that he could keep out of her way.
His Queen, who regards all women through the jaundiced lorgnette of
jealousy, was in despair. In her mind's eye she saw the Schloss peopled
with Pompadours, Du Barrys and Dianes de Poitiers.
The War Lord had instructed the Court Marshal to demand photographs of
applicants for the vacant post, and Countess von Bassewitz's he
considered the most promising. "Wire her to report to-morrow morning at
eight," he ordered. She arrived while the War Lord was busy lecturing
his Council of Ministers on international law, and Her Majesty saw the
candidate first. She couldn't help admitting to herself that Ina was
comely in the extreme, and that it would require a vast deal of intrigue
to induce her husband not to appoint the young girl forthwith. Then a
happy thought struck her. "You may remove your gloves," she said
condescendingly.
Countess Ina blushed and grew pale in turn; conscious of her weak point,
she was afraid it would work her undoing.
But, instead, Her Majesty smiled benignly upon those unlovely hands.
"His Majesty!" announced the valet de chambre.
"Be gloved, my child; hurry."
The War Lord didn't know what to make of it when "Dona" approved of his
selection.
"She is mysteriously confiding," he said to his crony, Maxchen (the
Prince of Fuerstenberg). But he changed his mind when, a week or two
later, he had induced Ina to take off her gloves in his presence.
The War Lord had instructed Bassewitz and Keller to treat Bertha "like a
raw egg," saying: "Her income is bigger per minute than that of all you
Prussian Junkers per annum"--a gratuitous slap, the more ungenerous
since the old Kings of Prussia gobbled up a goodly part of their landed
possessions, as Bismarck once pointed out to Frederick William IV.
Berlin pomp and circumstance! Three flags, paper flowers on lanterns, a
much-worn red carpet leading from the spot where Bertha's saloon
carriage was to draw up to the royal reception room in the station.
As Bertha, though Grand-Lady-Armouress-of-the-World, has no place in the
Army List, she must be content with walking through lines of royal
footmen in black and silver, on which account the War Lord sincerely
pitied the girl. "Twenty marks for a precedent to endow her with a
uniform," but even the obsequious Eulenburg failed to discover an
excuse.
Inside the Royal waiting-room: red-plush furniture, with covers removed,
in garish glory; a bouquet of flowers from the Potsdam hothouses; a
silver teapot steaming; on a silver platter four bits of pastry, one for
each person and one over to show that we are not at all niggardly--oh,
dear, no!
The stationmaster enters in some kind of uniform, a cocked and plumed
hat above a red face, toy sword on thigh. "The train is about to draw
into the station, Herr Graf, and may it please Her Ladyship."
Countess von Bassewitz starts for the door. "One moment, pray,"
admonishes gold stick, "the noblesse doesn't run its feet off to greet a
commoner even if she is laden with money."
Courtiers suit their vocabulary to their lord and master. Countess
Bassewitz is young and hearty. Never before had she reflected on the sad
fact that Bertha lacked birth, but now that a gold stick had mentioned
it, a mere maid of honour must needs bow to superior judgment.
So the richest girl in the world was left standing in the doorway of her
saloon carriage for a good half-minute before their Majesties' titled
servants deigned to approach. "Will take some of the purse-pride out of
her," observed Count Keller.
Then, hat in hand and held aloft, three bows, well measured, not too
low, for high-born personages' privileges must not be encroached upon.
"Aham, Aham" (several courtly grunts, supposed to be exquisitely
_recherche_), "Fraulein Krupp, I have the honour--Count Keller--Countess
von Bassewitz, dame to Her Majesty. Had a pleasant journey I hope,"
delivered in nasal accents. In Germany, you must know, it is considered
most aristocratic to trumpet one's speech through the nose after the
fashion of bad French tenors chanting arias.
Countess von Bassewitz, amiable and enthusiastic, spouted genuine
civilities. "Fraulein looks charming!" "What a pretty frock!" "I will
show you all around the shops," and more compliments and promises of
that kind.
Childlike, Bertha had expected a coach-and-four. Another disappointment!
The carriage at the royal entrance was of the most ordinary kind--a
landau and pair of blacks, such as are driven about Berlin by the dozen.
"If you please," said Count Keller, bowing her into the coach. She
planted herself boldly in the right-hand corner, facing the horses.
Bassewitz looked horror-stricken at the heiress's cool assumption of the
gold stick's place, and to smooth him over attempted to take the rear
seat; but Bertha pulled her to her side. "Don't leave me," she
whispered, with a look upon the ruffled face of the Count, who marvelled
that there was no earthquake or rain of meteors because he was obliged
to ride backwards, with a "mechanic's daughter" in the seat of honour.
*CHAPTER VII*
*IN THE CROWN PRINCE'S PRIVATE ROOM*
A Talk with the Crown Prince--Matrimonial Affairs--Bertha
Discussed--The Empress and Her Sons
The War Lord had not taken any notice of Frederick the Great's
injunction against "useless beggar princes." At the time of Bertha's
visit six of them, ranging from twenty-one to thirteen years of age,
were roaming the palace, and there was a little girl of eleven besides.
Only the eldest boy was provided for, by the Crown Prince's Endowment
Fund; the rest were booked to live by the grace of their father's
munificence and such moneys as could be squeezed out of the public in
the shape of military and administrative perquisites, unless they
contracted advantageous marriages; for while the Prussian allows himself
to be heavily taxed for the Civil List, that jolly institution, grants
for His Majesty's sisters, cousins and aunts has no place in his
catalogue of loyalty.
Talking one day to his heir, the War Lord broached the subject of a
money-marriage.
"But mother didn't have any money," the _bete noire_, Crown Prince
William, had the temerity to interpose.
"No cash, it's true; but our marriage quasi-legitimatised our
acquisition of Schleswig-Holstein, and those provinces are worth
something."
"Perhaps I had better marry Alexandra or Olga Cumberland," suggested
young William, "so that the possession of Hanover can no longer be
disputed. These girls have coin besides."
"Don't speak of them--there are reasons."
"Or a Hesse girl of the Electoral Branch."
"And turn Catholic like Princess Anna," cried the War Lord furiously.
"Shut up about that Danish baggage. I myself will get you a wife. Trust
father to find you the _comme il faut_ wife--_comme il faut_ in every
respect: politics, family, religion and personal attractiveness, for we
want no ugly women in our family."
The Crown Prince opened his mouth for a pert reply, but William
forestalled him by an imperious gesture.
"I am preparing a message for the Ministerial Council."
In the evening William invited his younger brothers--Eitel, Albert,
Augustus and Oscar--to his rooms, providing a bottle of beer and two
cigarettes per head. Having attained his majority and consequently
succeeded to the Dukedom of Oels, the Brunswick inheritance, he might
have offered the boys a real treat, champagne and tobacco _ad lib._, but
such would have been against Prussian tradition, which stands for
parsimony at home and display where it spells cheap glory.
"Joachim wanted to be of the party," said Augustus.
"And tell Mamma all--not if I know myself. It's time the kid was in bed
anyhow," said the Crown Prince with fine scorn, for Joachim was only
thirteen years old at the time.
"He will tell all the same," suggested Albert.
"And will get a thrashing for his pains. Besides, I shall withdraw my
allowance of three marks per week. Tell him so; that will settle the
mamma-child."
"He shall have it straight from the shoulder; you can rely on that, Duke
of Oels," said Eitel.
"Oels," repeated Eitel, "why didn't you inherit Sibyllenort too? The
idea, giving Sibyllenort to those sanctimonious Saxons."
"Rotten, to be sure. But old William was eccentric, you know, like his
brother, the Diamond Duke," said the Crown Prince.
"The Diamond Duke; wasn't he the chap who made some Swiss town erect him
a monument, omitting the proviso that it must not tumble down?" asked
Albert, who sets up as a scholar.
"Precisely so, and the monument is dust."
Prince William shook with laughter. "But that's not the question before
the house." Willy assumed the oratorical pose favoured by Herr
Liebknecht, the Socialist. "Boys," he continued, actually using the
German equivalent for the familiar term, "what do you think? Father
presumed to find me a wife--me!"
He repeated the personal pronoun three or four times with increasing
emphasis, while beating the board with his clenched fist--a very good
imitation of the War Lord himself.
"I am not beholden to him financially like you, not at all," cried the
Crown Prince. "He can keep his miserable fifteen thousand thalers per
annum.
"No," he added quickly, after reflection; "it will be the greater
punishment to take his money."
The Crown Prince continued: "And if father dares propose wife-finding
for _me_, what will he do to you, boys? If he has his way, you won't
marry the girl of your choice, but some political or military
possibility. There is only one way to prevent it," insisted the Crown
Prince. "We must all stand together, declaring our firm determination
to do our own wooing without interference from father. He will plead
politics, interests of the Fatherland. But for my part, I won't have
father impose a wife on me, even if the alliance gained us half of
Africa or Persia."
"And I won't marry a Schleswig," said Eitel.
"Nor I a Lippe, no matter how much Aunt Vicky cracks up Adolph's
family."
"Now then, all together," declaimed the Crown Prince. "We, Princes
Wilhelm, Eitel, Albert, Augustus and Oscar of Prussia, solemnly swear
not to have wives imposed upon us for reasons of State or politics,
father's threats, entreaties and personal interests notwithstanding."
The boys repeated the impromptu troth word for word. "Shake on that,"
said Wilhelm, holding out his hand. And the agreement was so ratified.
Then another round of beer on the Duke of Oels.
As the Princes were draining their _Seidels_--conspicuous for the emblem
of the Borussia Students' Club of Bonn University on the cover--a low
whistle was heard outside.
"The mater," whispered Oscar.
"Push the _Seidels_ into the centre," commanded the Crown Prince,
helping vigorously. He pushed a concealed button and the centre of the
table with its contents disappeared through an opening in the floor,
while another set with glasses of lemonade and cakes shot into its
place, the floor likewise filling up again.
The Princes were petrified with amazement. "Duplicate of the Barbarina
_table de confiance_," explained the big brother; "had it secretly
copied and installed without my Grand Master being the wiser."
This sort of table was invented by Frederick the Great for _tete-a-tete_
confidences with Barbarina, the famous Italian beauty.
The sight of the lemonade made the Empress radiant. "And I had been
told that you were up to all sorts of tricks," she said apologetically.
And to the Crown Prince: "I am so glad you are setting your younger
brothers a good example."
"Always, mother, always," vowed Wilhelm. "Believe me, if these boys were
as abstemious as I, they would save fortunes out of their lieutenant's
allowance."
"I came to prepare you for our visitor, Fraulein Bertha Krupp," began
the Empress.
"A mere kid, isn't she?" cried Eitel in his most blase air.
"Don't let your father hear that," said the Empress severely; and again
addressing the Crown Prince, she continued: "She is quite a young lady,
well educated and excellently well brought up. Father wants us all to be
particularly nice to his ward--treat her as one of the family."
"I say, mother," interrupted Eitel, "is there to be anything in the way
of a matrimonial alliance between a Hohenzollern and the granddaughter
of the Essen blacksmith? If so, mark me for the sacrifice. Judged by
her photos, Bertha is a bonnie girl, with plenty of life; wouldn't I
have a thousand and one uses for her money. To begin with, I would buy
myself a hundred saddle horses and a gold wrist-watch, such as English
officers wear, also a yacht."
"Not a word about _mesalliance_!" The Empress had grown red in the
face, and Eitel made haste to apologise. Putting his arm around his
mother's shoulders, he kissed her on the cheek and pleaded: "Mother,
fancy his Royal Highness, Prince Eitel Frederick of Prussia, marrying
anyone not of the blood royal! Of course I was joking. Just tell us,
Willy and me, what ought to be done about that little commoner due
to-morrow, and big brother and I will see to it that your commands are
obeyed to the letter." This with a threatening look upon the younger
boys.
"I thought father's injunction to treat her like one of the family would
suffice. It means that you must not let her see the gulf between such
as she is and Royalty. Show her the sights, but don't boast of anything
we've got. Father says she can duplicate the Schloss and Neues Palais,
all our palaces with all they contain, without considerable damage to
her purse."
"But if none of us is going to marry the little-big gold mine, and as
papa is her guardian and can do as he likes with Bertha, what's the use
of truckling to her?" asked Augustus, who has a logical mind.
The Empress who, as a rule, is not good at repartee, immediately replied
as if she had foreseen the question. As a matter of fact, the War Lord
had thoroughly coached her in what to say.
"Augustus," she replied, "of course your father's will is law with
Bertha as with everybody else; but in this case he would rather coax
than otherwise, for in a few years, you see, she will attain her
majority, and might insist upon taking the bit between her teeth, if in
the interval she had been driven too hard."
"Eminently correct," said the Crown Prince. "I endorse every word you
say, Mother, and if these youngsters don't want to understand they
needn't. They will be made to do as you suggest."
*CHAPTER VIII*
*STORIES OF COURT LIFE*
Musical Honours for Bertha--Bertha in a Temper--Luncheon at
Court--A Tantalizing Procedure--A British Experience
"Call out the guards when Fraulein Krupp drives up," 'phoned the War
Lord to the officer _du jour_ from the Council Room between writing a
treatise on a scrap-of-paper policy and making an outline of his speech,
"An Appeal to Royalism," later delivered at Koenigsberg.
To have fifty men under a lieutenant exercise their feet on a given spot
to the tune of fife and drum for the benefit of a person not born to the
purple seems to William the highest honour conferable, a delusion bred
by militarism. In the same spirit, the War Lord of Bismarck's time sent
his Chancellor the patent of lieutenant-general. "That won't buy me a
postage stamp," remarked Bismarck.
The Iron One would have preferred a pipe of tobacco, while his War Lord
went about for three days patting himself on the back for his act of
generosity and telling everybody within reach of the good fortune which,
thanks to his grace, had befallen Bismarck, "really a mere civilian."
Bertha was too young to see the absurdity of the gratuitous manoeuvre,
"the sausage intended to knock the side of bacon off the hook," as they
say in Hamburg. It cost the War Lord nothing, made healthy exercise for
the soldiers, and Bertha, still a child in experience and mode of
thought, was impressed when Count Keller, pricking up his ears at the
sound of the drum like an old army horse in a tinker's cart, shot out of
his seat, raised his hat and bowed low.
"Signal honour, upon word, Fraulein; unprecedented--almost," he added in
an undertone.
And Countess von Bassewitz, rolling her eyes in loyal ecstasy, squeezed
Bertha's arm. "Majesty must be exceeding fond of his godchild to treat
you like an equal--almost," she too added.
Drum and fife still made for ear-splitting discord when Count Keller
handed Bertha out of the carriage. His lordship, by the way, was now
congratulating himself on having been deprived of the seat of honour.
Small doubt, if he had taken it, it would have been reported to the War
Lord, and Majesty, bent on showering Royal honours on the commoner,
would have been furious.
Two lackeys at the door, more at the bottom of the stairs, still more on
the first landing--men-servants seem to be the only commodity lavishly
provided at the Berlin Court.
"_Kammerherr_, the Noble Lord von ----" (mentioning some Masurian
village) "commanded to the sublime honour--Fraulein Krupp's service"
(long intervals between half-sentences to show that the speaker was
really a Simon-pure Prussian aristocrat) "beg to submit--with Fraulein's
permission--I will conduct Fraulein to her apartments."
Bertha did not understand half the titled personage trumpeted in nasal
cacophony, but a word or two from little Bassewitz explained. Then
ceremonious leave-taking, as if it was for years; assurances of
"unexampled pleasure experienced," of "more in store," and "Majesty is
so graciously fond of Fraulein--she ought to be so happy"; in fact,
there wasn't a girl "in the wide, wide world so favoured," and more
polite fiction of the sort.
Up two flights of stairs; corridor thinly and shiningly carpeted;
electric bulbs few and far between. Ante-room, saloon and bedchamber.
In the first threadbare, red plush furniture. The bedchamber was hung
in cretonne of doubtful freshness.
"I trust Fraulein's slightest wishes are anticipated. Princess von
Itzenplitz last had these apartments, and was graciously pleased to
express her highest satisfaction," boasted the _kammerherr_.
Her Grace of Itzenplitz may have done so, but the richest girl in the
world was not inclined to put up with such third-class hotel
accommodation!
When the _kammerherr_ had bowed himself out Bertha sat down on the edge
of the bed and had a good cry. Received like a princess, and housed
like a charwoman! But she wasn't going to stand it, not she, Bertha
Krupp.
Her assertiveness, newly acquired, but all the stronger for that, made
her give a vicious pull to the bell-rope. She hardly noticed that it
came off in her hand when a lackey, scenting baksheesh, responded.
"My servants, quick!" she ordered.
"Beg Fraulein's pardon, they haven't yet arrived from the station."
"Didn't Count Keller provide a conveyance for them?" she demanded
peremptorily, hoping that her words would reach that worthy. "They must
be sent for instantly."
There were sounds of carriage wheels in the courtyard below.
"Wait," cried Bertha; "there they are at last!" She handed the servant
a small gold coin. "For the driver; let him keep the change."
The footman withdrew with a broad smile. No doubt he robbed the cabman
of half the generous tip.
Torrents of "Ohs!" and "_Ach Gotts!_" when the Essen contingent came in.
They had waited more than half an hour for the expected royal carriage,
and then in despair took the only public vehicle available.
Bertha's tirewoman inspected the apartment while giving vent to her
outraged feelings. "Darling Fraulein can never sleep in that bed. It's
as hard as rocks."
"I know," said Bertha. "But what is to be done?"
"I will send Fritz to fetch in the car your own bed, all except the
frame," decided the tirewoman after reflection.
"But wouldn't that be an insult to my hosts?" Bertha asked.
"Rubbish! The late Queen Victoria always carried her bed along, even
when she came to visit her own daughter in Berlin. Besides, we can
plead doctor's orders," said Frau Martha; and when the heiress still
seemed doubtful she added: "On my own responsibility, of course; you
don't know anything about it. The Baroness will back me up, I'm sure."
The Krupp footman was accordingly dispatched, and returned two hours
later with the bed-furnishings.
Meanwhile Bertha, all in white silk--according to the Court Marshal's
command--was waiting upon Her Majesty, who fondly kissed her and
inquired most affably after her mother--a regular set of questions
afterwards repeated by the War Lord, all his sons, and daughter. They
are not very original, these Hohenzollerns.
The Krupp heiress, who, as intimated, was first inclined to be rather
proud that the guards were called out in her honour, loathed herself for
that weakness ten minutes after penetrating the Imperial circle, for the
incessant reference about that piece of pomp made by the royal family
and their titled attendants was simply maddening. "Unheard-of honour";
"Must remember it to the end of your days"; "Most unique spectacle in
Europe"; "How thoughtful of Majesty"; "Too bad madame, your mother,
didn't witness it," were among the least stupid comments assailing
Bertha's ears on all sides. The War Lord himself went into raptures of
delight, being as pleased with his surprise, as he called it, as a
schoolboy with a new top, and then forestalled possible further
speculations on the matter of his dispensations of honour by announcing
that, in honour of Bertha, he would partake of the family luncheon.
More effusions of delight, more congratulations showered on Bertha: "He
must love his godchild very dearly"; "He wouldn't have done that for the
Emperor of China." ...
Luncheon at Court! Bertha had pictured to herself a grand function:
courtiers in gold lace, swords at their side; ladies in grand toilettes;
swarms of servants in showy liveries; a dozen or more courses, under the
direction of the Lord Steward of the Household; golden dinner service a
la American multi-millionaire; "heavenly music," and so forth.
Alas! And Bertha had brought her appetite along, the appetite of a
growing, young, country lass from a food-worshipping household!
The ladies were dowdy, the gentlemen in ordinary uniform or dressed in
abominable Berlin taste; over-loud music, with which the War Lord
persistently found fault with both time and execution. The average
_Kapellmeister_ "had not the shadow of a perception" of the composer's
artistic intentions. His views were "plebeian, necessarily--maybe his
mother was a washerwoman, poor wench"; and, after all, the War Lord
himself must conduct to "get proper results." Of course, everybody was
"convinced" of that.
"Majesty" was too "lenient." It was "truly heartrending" to hear music
so "butchered," etc.
"_En famille_," they called it, and Bertha sat at the end of the table
between two cadets, younger sons of a principality not much larger than
Richmond Park.
"Fraulein," whispered one, forgetting, under the impetus of youthful
confidences, to speak through his nose; "Fraulein has dined beforehand,
of course?"
"Why, no," she replied innocently, "and I am powerfully hungry."
"Then you will stay so"--this from the loquacious petty prince.
At that moment the soup was put before the War Lord, and he fell to
demolishing it at starving bricklayer's rate. When he had about half
finished, the family and guests were served, and when he was through,
his plate was removed and so were the rest. Bertha had had two
spoonfuls, and the petty prince, who had gulped down four or five,
grinned broadly.
Fish, entree and fowl were offered, and ruthlessly yanked away in the
same rapid gunfire fashion. To an empty stomach this teasing with
coveted food was uncanny!
"I hope you have dined well," said the Empress, after the party
adjourned to the "Cup Room" for coffee. "Was the service satisfactory?"
"Excellent," lied Bertha.
The coffee had an abominable oily taste. "From my colonies," explained
the War Lord. "Mighty good, when one gets used to it."
But Bertha noticed that while his guests were served _en bloc_, he
brewed coffee for himself and wife in a silver Vienna machine.
Desultory conversation: church building, social reform, Bismarck,
orphans, knitting socks for soldiers' children. Ill-concealed yawns.
The War-Lord would have a game of billiards, and then off to the park on
Extase (his favourite saddle-horse).
"Ride or drive, which do you prefer, Bertha?" he said to the Krupp
heiress, going out.
"As Uncle Majesty commands," lisped the young girl, very much
embarrassed.
"I promised Louise a sleigh ride. Perhaps she would like to go with
her," suggested the Empress.
"All right. Two horses and outrider."
An outrider--something, to be sure, but going to the park "with that
kid."
Princess Victoria Louise was eleven then, and intellectually no more
advanced than a child of four. Poor child! her father's ear trouble
seemed only one of the dreadful inheritances that stamped her a sufferer
from Hohenzollern disease. And Bertha had fondly imagined that she was
to be classed with grown-ups!
"Did Fraulein enjoy her lunch?" asked the motherly Frau Martha, when
summoned to help her young mistress change for the outing.
"Plenty to eat, but no chance to eat it," replied the Krupp heiress
sullenly. "Get me a sandwich or two, or I shall faint."
"We were told," wailed Frau Martha, "that lunch was dinner for servants,
and this was the menu: half-bottle of small beer each, yellow peas in
the husks, three inches of terribly salt boiled beef, three potatoes
each, two carrots, and no bread."
The Krupp servants, it seems, were no better treated than those of the
Prince of Wales (afterwards King Edward) and the untitled attendants of
other royal highnesses and majesties, those of the King and Queen of
Italy, for instance.
In the 'nineties it was common report in Berlin diplomatic circles that
the Prince of Wales kept away from Berlin because he "could not induce
any of his favourite servants to be of the party," these favourite
servants being the same whom the then Court Marshal, von Liebenau--a
drill sergeant with a gold stick--designated "as the hungriest and most
impudent set of menials" he ever had the misfortune to encounter in the
exercise of his duties.
Why the epithets?
His Royal Highness's valet and his grooms had politely asked for eggs
and bacon for breakfast, and they would not have cold pork and potato
salad for supper, even though that be the Empress's favourite menu to go
to sleep on.
And those "impudent Englishmen" had the temerity to ridicule the
solitary bottle of small beer graciously allowed them by His Prussian
Majesty; and about this and more the first groom of His Britannic
Highness and the Berlin excellency had an exciting passage of words,
memorised, rightfully or wrongfully, as follows:
The Englishman: "The other attendants and myself cannot possibly worry
along on the breakfasts furnished, rolls and bad tea; and salt pork and
lentils for dinner is not what we are used to."
The Prussian Bully: "Nor do you seem to be used to household discipline.
But I will have no more of your English impudence. I will inform the
Prince of his servants' unruly behaviour."
The Chief Groom: "Thank you. His Royal Highness will then engage board
for us at a hotel, and there will be an end to starvation diet."
On another occasion pease pudding, pork, roast potatoes and beer were
sent to the rooms of Queen Marguerite's chief tirewoman for dinner, at
the Neues Palais, a couple of hours before she was expected to dress Her
Majesty for a State banquet. The dame refused it, and sent for the
Empress's chief titled servant, Baroness von Hahnke, stating in plain
terms that, unless she were furnished with food suitable to her rank and
station, she would drive into town to dine, even at the risk of being
late for Her Majesty's service.
The Baroness, frightened out of her wits, told the Empress the facts,
and the Imperial lady gave Count Puckler (responsible for the sins of
the kitchen) a terrible talking-to before her other titled servants. At
the same time she ordered a suitable dinner for the Italian lady from
her own cuisine--a dinner the extras of which upset the budget for some
weeks to come.
*CHAPTER IX*
*WHAT THE MAID SAW AND HEARD*