"'Mourning and brilliants--absurd,' whispered Wilhelm Wiseacre. But
Uncle Majesty either did not see, or knew less than his talented son,
and Auntie escaped a scolding that time."
"Scolding a Queen. You are joking," cried Barbara.
Before the Krupp heiress could speak, Martha delivered herself of a few
"_Mein Gotts_."
"Oh," she said, "royal ladies are just like other girls' mammas."
"Like Aunt Pauline and Rosa?"
"Well, yes. They have a husband, children and an allowance."
"An allowance? I thought they were wallowing in gold pieces like you,
sister," said Barbara, loojving up admiringly at the older girl.
"I suppose Auntie Majesty has about a million per year to dress on,"
said Bertha loftily.
"A million," repeated Frau Martha contemptuously. "Fraulein ought to
have heard some of the stories the maids told me about Auntie Majesty's
lingerie. One of them used to be dresser to a French diva, whatever
that is, and on the Q.T.----"
Bertha was anxious to change the subject, and remarked, with a hard look
upon Martha: "And the troubles they have with servants! One afternoon
on _Bal-Pare_ night Auntie's _coiffeur_ did not show up--sickness, or
something of the kind--and the Baroness did her hair. 'How very frail,'
I thought, particularly as Auntie was going to wear the grand tiara with
the Regent diamond. However, the head-dress, being so very heavy, is
put on only before she enters the royal box.
"Her Majesty was fully dressed when Uncle's _Jaeger_ handed in a
dispatch from Queen Victoria, asking about Prince Joachim. She
immediately sat down to write an answer, and as she leaned over the
paper--for she is rather short-sighted--the whole _coiffure_ came down
in a heap. I never saw her cross before, but I tell you----" Bertha
checked herself.
"Now about the jewellery," cried Barbara. "She has wagon-loads of them,
has she not?"
"Of her own, no more than Mamma, I guess, for those you read so much
about on festive occasions belong to the State, and the Baroness is
responsible for their safety. Once, I was told, she left a valise
containing several Crown jewels and some of Auntie's own in the Imperial
saloon carriage when they were going to Stuttgart. Through the
stupidity of a guard the valise got misplaced, and was discovered only a
month later in an out-of-the-way railway station. That time Uncle
Majesty himself lectured the Baroness, ordering her at the same time to
use her own baronial fingers to sew the diamond buttons on Her Majesty's
dresses. Furthermore, to make sure that the fastenings of ear-rings,
brooches, bracelets and chains, etc., were intact."
Barbara wanted to know whether the Berlin Crown jewels were as fine as
Queen Victoria's in the Tower of London.
"Not quite," said Bertha thoughtfully.
The child nodded. "I know, for when I asked Miss Sprague whether the
Regent was as beautiful as the Koh-i-noor, she said: 'You might as well
liken your shabby German South-West Africa to the Indian Empire, Miss
Barbara.'"
"Don't let the War Lord hear that!" Frau Martha raised a warning finger.
"Now about the dresses! She wears a new one every day, doesn't she?"
"At least she never wears the same twice unaltered."
"What jolly shopping!" cried Barbara. "Does she go round herself? I
would."
"That's the ladies'--the Baroness and the Mistress of the
Robes--business, of course. She sees the fashion through their eyes
and, when Auntie is ill-dressed, the blame really attaches to her women.
One morning Auntie called me in and said: 'Bertha, what do you think of
my dinner toilet for to-night?'
"The gown on the _mannequin_ was of light red silk with white flounces
and blue train, set off by rosebuds."
"Kakadoo!" laughed Barbara.
"That's how it struck me," said Bertha. "But there stood the Baroness
pleased as Punch about the new 'creation,' and certainly expected me to
say something nice. I was in despair, but Auntie Majesty came to my
rescue. 'It's quite impossible,' she said, 'isn't it? Tell
Schwertfeger and Moeller----'
"She did not finish, but took up the Alnumach de Gotha lying on the
dressing-table. 'I thought so--Wilhelmina's colours. If Wilhelm had
seen me in this, he would have said: "You are rushing things, Dona.
Wait till we annex Holland."' Then she turned to the Baroness: 'Have it
unripped at once. The silks shall be used any way except in this absurd
combination. I will wear white this evening.'"
"To bed at once; enough for to-night," ordered Frau Martha, turning back
the clothes on Barbara's bed.
*CHAPTER XXI*
*THROTTLING BAVARIA*
The Etiquette of Dress--Buelow in a Fix--That "Place in the
Sun"--"That Idiot Bismarck"--Prussianize the British Empire
In the grandchamber where Bismarck sat so long enthroned and Caprivi,
the general "commanded to the office," as he might have been ordered to
occupy a bastion, spent troublesome years; at the desk where Prince
Hohenlohe's thoughtful face shone between colossal oil-lamps; in the
very chair where the Iron One swore lustily at petty kings, sat Bernhard
von Buelow, Chancellor and Major-General.
Don't forget the Major-General, for the War Lord had more trouble making
him that than conferring the Imperial Chancellorship. Military titles
are sadly embroidered with precedents and rules and things.
Frederick the Great used to own silk mills, therefore his ministers of
State were compelled to wait upon him in satin breeches and long-tailed
satin coats, and no man who loved his job would appear more than six
times in the same garments before the Majesty, since the royal merchant
would have considered himself cheated out of the sale of so many ells.
Frederick's descendant, the War Lord, is interested in army cloth--hence
his dislike for mufti.
Jovial, talkative, on good terms with himself, Bernhard felt quite
guilty in his velvet jacket--a present from the Princess, his wife--when
he heard a sharp voice call out his name. It came from the garden path
adjoining the high French windows.
"Must be coming from the War Ministry. What's up?" thought the
Chancellor, ringing frantically for a dress coat. If those sentinels
would only challenge Majesty, there might be time to change.
In the summer of 1905 the proverbial Buelow luck was still in full
swing. At the moment it sent Phili Eulenburg to the rescue, for the
ex-ambassador, still undisgraced, was, as usual, in attendance upon the
War Lord.
"Fine chap, that," said Phili, pointing to one of the sentinels who
guarded the inner court of the Chancellor Palace; "may I put him through
the paces just to show I did not get my epaulettes for form's sake?"
"Anything as long as you don't make me ridiculous, Phili." Maybe the
War Lord was curious to see whether his friend had any military talents.
Perhaps he remembered that Bismarck, talking to Maximilian Harden or
Moritz Busch, let drop a remark to the effect that persons of the
Eulenburg type made great generals--sometimes, _vide_ Alcibiades,
Caesar, Peter the Great, Frederick, etc.--good diplomats never!
"Advance," "retreat," "right," "left," "charge," "about face," crowed
Phili, repeating the last order several times.
"_Pack ein_" ("Cheese it!"), said the War Lord, "if these are the only
commands you remember." However, when the pair entered through the
glass doors, Bernhard, to his intense satisfaction, was resplendent in a
frock-coat, with the ribbon of the Red Eagle in buttonhole, Majesty
missing the chance to scold him for a sybarite. To Wilhelm's mind, male
humanity is "nude" when unaccoutred with knapsack and bayonet, or else
unshrouded in evening dress at nine a.m. Buelow had flatly refused to
array himself _en frac_ in daytime, and in his hussars' breeches he
always fidgeted "in a nerve-racking way." So he must be allowed a
Prince Albert coat--Chancellor's exclusive privilege, of course!
Bismarck used to ride to the old Kaiser's palace in a fatigue cap, but
at the door donned the steel helmet. But let none of lesser rank and
importance imitate these worthies.
"Here's a pretty kettle of fish," said the War Lord, acknowledging
Buelow's respectful greetings by a wave of the hand. "Phili tells me
that Victor will require pretty strong proof it's defensive before he
joins our war. And Udo has secured tell-tale correspondence to the same
effect, which will be sent to you presently."
"Italy making demands before she has even lost a battle?" cried Phili,
without indicating quotation marks.
Buelow knew of course that the _bon mot_ was Bismarck's, but the War
Lord thought it original. "Don't repeat that to the Princess, please,"
he said to Buelow, "lest she put our Phili on her index. As to Victor,
what do you think of the ingrate?"
"With Your Majesty's permission, I rather think that the information"
(Buelow looked straight at Eulenburg, then thought better of it)
"of--Count Wedell is not well founded. Your Majesty knows how such
rumours arise. Maybe King Victor has, at one time or another, expressed
himself to the effect that he meant strictly to adhere to the
stipulations of the Triple Alliance, whereupon some person in the secret
found out that the Triple Alliance obliges Italy to take up arms only in
case Germany or Austria are attacked. Presto, the mischief-maker
concludes that King Victor is not in sympathy with Germany's world
politics, etc. etc."
"Maybe, but Udo's and Phili's reports must be sifted to the bottom,"
commanded the War Lord. "I told Wedell to put a man of pronounced
political instinct on the work--an Italian, of course; there shall be a
wrestling match between Dago cunning and German political shrewdness."
Up to then the War Lord had spoken quite to the point. Now he indulged
in one of those _saltomortales_ of uncontrolled thought that tends to
incoherency.
"We must get rid of Otto," he said abruptly, pounding his knee with his
terrible right.
Prince Bismarck's Christian name had been Otto, and Wilhelm got rid of
him. Count Buelow, perceiving no connection with matters discussed,
wondered whether the War Lord had reference to the former occupant of
the Chancellor Palace, or maybe to a dog or horse. So, to be on the
safe side, he smiled broadly and asserted: "Precisely, Your Majesty."
"Of course, there is that _Schweinhund_ (pig-dog) Ruprecht."
Buelow began to scent a connection; however, the War Lord saved him
further cogitation by doing all the talking.
"A madman, this Ruprecht; thinks his petty State an Indian Empire.
Period: Thirteenth century, or thereabout. Dwells longingly on such
scenes as Mohammed Toghlak enacted, having hundreds of rebels tossed
about by elephants on steel-capped ivories, and then trampled to death
to the sound of trumpets and beating of drums. 'I would like to treat
our Socialists that way,' he told me time and again."
"Using wild boars instead of elephants, I suppose," said Phili. The
sally caused the War Lord much merriment.
"Egad," he laughed, "your mileage from Liebenberg is not thrown away;
you liquidate the bill by _bons mots_ every time."
"I dare you tell the Reichstag," cried Phili.
"Buelow shall," said the War Lord; "but"--facing the Chancellor once
more--"those muttons! With Italy a possible _quantite negligeable_, we
must make doubly sure of Bavaria's unquestioned and enthusiastic support
of Berlin. Now, Phili, who has been living there many years, tells me
that the Bavarian people as a whole----"
"The great unwashed," put in Phili, who will live up to his reputation
as a wit or burst--in Germany one need not be a Mark Twain to succeed.
"The Bavarian unwashed," repeated the War-Lord, "do not like Prussia.
The only means of gaining national support for our war in Bavaria, then,
is by favour of the Crown. Otto's is a harlequin's cap, and you can't
ask people to rally around a War Lord more beast than man, and certainly
as crazy as a march-hare. It follows: we need a sane man in Munich,
Buelow--nothing short of a sane man will serve our purpose. I
understand that Maximilian Joseph, 'the creature of that upstart,
Napoleon,' had a royal diadem built which has never been used. Pull it
from the vaults of the Munich Hofburg, Buelow, and place it on
Luitpold's head, and if he persists in his silly refusal, on Ludwig's."
"Majesty knows these gentlemen's objections: 'There can be no real king
in Bavaria, they say, until the constitutional incumbent is dead,'"
spoke the Chancellor gravely.
"Then kill Otto," cried the War Lord. "What, miss our place in the sun
for a madman! Not if I know Wilhelm, Imperator Rex. Briefly, Buelow, as
there is no king in Bavaria, we must make one--one who recognises that
he is _Rex Bavariae par la grace de Roi de Prusse_ and, accordingly, is
willing to do the King of Prussia's bidding."
"But the people, will they rally to a standard bearer of that kind?"
asked the Chancellor.
"The mob," cried the War Lord. "What has the mob to do with it? We
show him a puppet in ermine and purple with Maximilian Joseph's unused
crown on his silly pate, and 'hurrah,' '_Heil Dir im Siegeskranz_.'"
"With the aid of the loyal Press," suggested Phili.
"Of course, the Press bandits are part and parcel of the plebs; let
Koeniggraetzerstrasse see to them at once. And, Buelow," continued the
War Lord, "the _Norddeutsche Allgemeine_--not a word!"
"That's where Majesty shows his wisdom," said Phili, nearly doubling up
in a profound bow. And as the War Lord seemed to enjoy the compliment,
he added: "I am not the bird to befoul his own nest; but if it be true,
as the London papers sometimes assert, that Germany produces no real
diplomats, I point to Your Majesty and say: Here stands the greatest of
them all, greater than Cavour and Bismarck, Talleyrand and Wotton."
"Talleyrand was a great liar," mused the War Lord.
"And preserved Prussia." This from the Chancellor.
"My motto," said Wilhelm, "is: 'Keep a silent tongue where one's own
interests are concerned, lest the itch of controversy produce a scab
that even the unknowing may perceive.' He was boldly plagiarising
Wotton, but if his auditors noticed the theft they were wise enough to
keep it to themselves.
"Your Majesty's idea is that, in case Italy prove disloyal, Bavaria must
act the buffer, the people offering stubborn resistance."
"---- stubborn!" cried the War Lord, striding toward the great wall
where a series of maps were displayed on rollers. Of course Phili got
ahead and pushed the button. "---- stubborn!" repeated Wilhelm. "Look
at the Bavarian frontier--as naked of fortresses as a new-born babe of a
dinner dress--no defensive works to speak of. If the Italians make good
their threats against Austria and reach Innsbruck, good-bye Munich! The
whole of Bavaria would be at the mercy of the Dago dogs of war!
Buelow," cried the War Lord, "Phili brought documents to show that the
Italian General Staff is mapping out a road to Berlin via Munich,
Leipzig, Potsdam. That idiot Bismarck," he added, with an oath, "the
question of collars and epaulettes was not the only one he decided in
favour of the Bavarians. Four years previously he failed to squeeze
Bayreuth out of them--Bayreuth, one of the Hohenzollerns' earliest
possessions. With small pressure he might have regained the
principality in 1866 in place of the miserable few millions of thalers
as war indemnity that the Bavarians had to pay. We could have made
Bayreuth-land an armed camp, a second Heligoland, as it-is-to-be!"
The "collars and epaulettes affair," to which the War Lord referred,
cropped up in November, 1870, during the _pourparlers_ for the
Bavarian-Prussian treaties. King Ludwig insisted that Bavarian army
officers should continue to wear the badge of their rank on their
collar, while King Wilhelm said their shoulder straps were the correct
place. The Chancellor, Bismarck, saved the situation by arguing: "If in
ten years' time, perhaps, the Bavarians are arrayed in battle against
us, what will history say when it becomes known that the present
negotiations miscarried owing to collars and epaulettes?"
No wonder Prince Pless (Hans Henry XI., late father-in-law of Princess
Mary, _nee_ Cornwallis-West) said to the Iron Chancellor: "Really, if at
the time we were discussing the criminal code we had known what sort of
people these Sovereigns are, we should not have helped to make the
provisions against _lese-majeste_ so severe."
"Now if Bayreuth were in our hands," continued the War Lord, "the
Italians could whistle for the new road to Berlin, as the English can
for the promenade to Hamburg, since Salisbury, good old man--God rest
his soul--presented us with that little islet in the North Sea."
"Maybe Bavaria could be induced to fortify her frontiers on the Austrian
border," suggested the Chancellor.
"And _I_ postpone my war until half a dozen Lieges and Namurs and Metzs
and Strassburgs are built--man alive," thundered the War Lord. "Life is
short, and the longer England and France are left in possession of the
best colonies, the harder it will be for us to Prussianise them when
things are being adjusted to our liking."
"Prussianise England and France, excellent idea, _tres magnifique_!"
crowed Phili the irrepressible.
"Not quite so fast," said the War Lord. "I was thinking of India and
Ceylon, of Cochin China and Tonking, of Algeria, Hongkong, the Straits
Settlements and the French Congo, of Madagascar and Natal, of Rhodesia,
Gibraltar, the Senegal and other dainties in the colonial line."
"Even so--a jolly mouthful for Prussianisation, Majesty."
"You don't suppose I would tolerate the loose discipline encouraged by
Downing Street and Quai d'Orsay," cried the War Lord. "Subject peoples
and tribes must have a taste of the whip and spur. Where would Poland
be without them--yes, and Alsace-Lorraine! But those Bavarians, Buelow.
I hope I made it perfectly clear that Otto must go and that severest
pressure must be brought on Luitpold."
"Together with the Italian problem, the matter shall have my closest
attention," said the Chancellor.
"And don't forget that they are a crazy lot at best, and hand and glove
with Franz Ferdinand's black masters."
"Matters can't be hurried, though," ruminated Buelow, "and I am afraid
there is little store to be set by Luitpold."
"His ambition is to go thundering down the ages as the man who refused a
crown," sneered Phili.
"Thank Heaven he is eighty-four," said the War Lord piously.
"And Ludwig tickled to death with the idea of becoming king," added
Eulenburg.
The War Lord was making his adieux, when he suddenly turned upon Buelow.
"What are you going to do with Ruprecht?"
"Promise him a field marshal's baton in our war."
"The right bait," assented Wilhelm, "but I pity the country under his
supreme command. Do you know," he added, "that the lowest of his
subjects would not permit him to cross his threshold?"
*CHAPTER XXII*
*PAYING THE PRICE*
What Edward VII. Thought--No Room for Art--A Vision of
Threadneedle Street
Buelow, who loved being Chancellor, hated Phili Eulenburg.
However, the Imperial ex-Ambassador at the Hofburg was then in the
zenith of his ill-gotten empire over Majesty, and to incur his
displeasure spelt disgrace or enforced resignation.
At the moment the grand old man's thunderbolts were under lock and key
in Harden's Grunewald villa, and the exalted personages marked for
lightning carried things with a high hand, using the German Empire like
an entailed estate.
Pretty evenly parcelled out this _fidei commissum_ favoured by the
Prussian Constitution, which makes suffrage a mockery. Phili, of late
enriched by Hertefeld, the Rhenish domain that guarantees him an
independent income of L5,000 sterling a year and by a couple of millions
cash, which Baron Nathan Rothschild, of Vienna, left him. Phili was
practically the overseer of the Government personnel, and of the
diplomatic corps in particular. His card index of prominent men and
women, reinforced by reams and reams of correspondence, characterised
each person--diplomats, deputies, ministers, councillors, governors,
politicians, commanding generals and aspirants for high honours in the
army or navy--according to his own viewpoint, the avowed object being to
people the highest offices within the gift of the Crown with people
like-minded with himself.
And it must be admitted that Phili pretty thoroughly succeeded, since
the War Lord, seeing everybody through Eulenburg's eyes, selected in the
main only persons of mediocre intellect, or plain bullies, as his
representatives abroad and at home. The reference to Eulenburg's
optics, by the way, recalls another Bismarck sally: "One look at Phili's
eyes is enough to spoil the most elaborate dinner for me!"
Could gourmet-gourmand express himself more emphatically? What the Iron
Chancellor thought of ambassadors appointed under that regime has
already been quoted; it coincides with the reputation for clumsiness and
inefficiency the War Lord's diplomatic servants have in all quarters of
the world. In _ante bellum_ days few of them were "honest men sent
abroad to lie"; the great majority were liars intent upon bulldozing or
deceiving the personages who mistook them for gentlemen. Of course,
"like master, like servant." The late King Edward maintained that
Wilhelm was vulgar and ungentlemanly; hence Baron H or Count Y might
think it presumptuous to be otherwise. Besides, the Berlin Foreign
Office will employ nobles only, and we have the authority of Gunther,
Count von der Schulenburg, Lord of Castle Oest, Rhineland, for the
illuminating fact that every tenth German aristocrat is unspeakable. So
much for the German diplomatic service.
General Count Kuno von Moltke presided over another self-gratifying
clique--that of the Army; and if Germany had invaded Belgium ten years
previous to toying with the scrap of paper, she would probably have been
overthrown in short order, for at that time the Commander of Imperial
Headquarters held the same sinister sway over the military as Phili did
over the civil branches of the Government.
"Lovey," "sweetheart," "my soul," "my all" (Kuno Moltke's epistolary
titles for Majesty), "hears as much of affairs as I want him to know, no
more," was Moltke's boast, according to the sworn evidence of Frau von
Ende, Count Moltke's former wife, in the famous Harden slander case.
Yet though Moltke lost his case, the War Lord declared "there is nothing
definite against Moltke, but he must remain on half-pay."
Can you imagine King George V. so flaunting the decisions of Old Bailey
and thereafter saddling the British public with a life pension of about
L500 per annum in favour of the guilty party?
Can you imagine why such "sweet affection for the All Highest" should
make up for lack of military qualities in a general officer slated for
supreme command in the field?
For his crusade Maximilian Harden won much praise from English writers,
but if he had let it flourish in high places for a decade longer, Great
Britain would be richer in blood and treasure.
Another of these coteries of men who dispensed high offices among
themselves for their own ends existed in the Imperial Court--aye, it
lodged there, not in the Schloss or Neues Palais exactly, but--oh,
irony!--in the Princess's Palace, the hideous _dependance_ of the Crown
Prince Palais, Unter den Linden, the apartments granted for life to
Royal Chamberlain Count von Wedell being its headquarters.
Oh, the jolly tea-parties they enjoyed in the great high-ceilinged
rococo chambers, full of discarded furniture and appointments of the
Frederick the Great and Watteau period; Louis Quatorze and Quinze, Boule
and Chippendale, Empire, here and there--antique regularity and
capricious _bizarrerie_, gems of Art some, also pieces chipped and
disjointed.
Carlyle called Frederick "the last of the Kings"; he was certainly the
last of Prussian kings possessed of an appreciation of the beautiful.
The present War Lord kicked from his palaces--none were built since the
eighteenth century--all _objets d'art_ that would please the eye of
anybody not a German boor, substituting unmentionables of the goose-step
type, square-jointed, clumsy, coarse, and wholly _mauvais gout_.
What the "majestic" chambers lack, then, those of the Excellencies
_nolens volens_ boast. Wedell's rooms in particular contained a variety
of eighteenth century _chef d'oeuvres_ selected by the Count himself
from heaps of "ancient rubbish" sent from the Neues Palais and
Sans-Souci by order of Court Marshal von Liebenau, a corporal dignified
by a gold stick.
No doubt the Knights of Wedell's Round Table enjoyed what was "_caviare_
to the general." At any rate, their tea-parties seem to have been a
delight to "high and low," for no one admitted to the charmed circle
ever sent his regrets.
We find there General of Cavalry Count Wilhelm von Hohenau, son of the
War Lord's uncle, the late Prince Albrecht of Prussia, and Sailor Trost,
of His Majesty's yacht _Hohenzollern_; the gentleman already introduced,
Count Kuno von Moltke, also Lord of the Cathedral and Private Riedel of
the Uhlans; Count Lynar, brother-in-law of the Grand Duke of Hesse and
Colonel of His Majesty's Horse Guards, and Gus Steinhauer, midshipman;
Count Frederick von Hohenau, brother of Wilhelm, and Court Councillor
Kestler, who rose from the ranks to gentlemanly estate and high honours
in His Majesty's service; His Serene Highness Prince Philip of
Eulenburg, Right Honourable Privy Councillor to the Prussian Crown,
member of the House of Lords, etc., and Raymond Lecomte, French charge
d'affaires. These men were regular attendants, under the presidency of
the noble-born host, of course, but there was a fair sprinkling of
counts and barons and so on in this royal palace connected by a covered
archway with the town residence of the Crown Prince and his family!
That was strange enough--audacity to the point of recklessness, one
might call it--but stranger still is the fact that all these men were in
the War Lord's good graces, if not on intimate terms with him like
Eulenburg.
With the Hohenaus he was on "Willy" and "Freddy" footing; Count Johannes
von Lynar he called "Jeanie"; and His Excellency Lieutenant-General Kuno
von Moltke was his "Tuetue"--with dots over both u's, if you please.
Nor were Wedell and Moltke the only tea-party members admitted to high
positions at Court. Wilhelm Hohenau was governor to His Imperial
Highness the Crown Prince, and, on Moltke's recommendation, Count Lynar
was about to be gazetted personal adjutant to His Majesty--an office
giving him apartments at the royal residence--when he was vulgarly
"pinched" and lugged off to jail for the crime of--being found out.
Because he was the War Lord's "Jeanie," Lynar would not listen to
"Tuetue's" and "Willy's" and "Freddy's" hints about the Bank of England
as a safe depository.
"Some day," he used to bluster, "a few weeks or a month after 'The Day,'
I will ride up Threadneedle Street and straight into the vaults of that
venerable pile, and leap my charger over mountains of gold--will be
quite a change, don't you know, from jumping fences at Hoppegarten."
As to the others, Sailor Trost and ditto Gustav Steinhauer each enjoyed
a meteoric career, rising in quick order to petty
officership--impossible to advance them higher, because they were men
without education; and whenever and wherever an excuse could be found
for employing them in that extraordinary capacity, they were given
charge of the Imperial person. Thus Gustav Steinhauer always acted as
chief guardian of the War Lord's lodging in Castle Liebenberg when the
Majesty visited his beloved Phili.
Kestler was a miserable subaltern, destined to starve on a daily wage of
four marks, when Eulenburg discovered and introduced him to Majesty.
Under the War Lord's favour, he was transferred to a more lucrative
department in the service, and decorated!
Yet why the _Pour le Merite_ for Kestler, and for Eulenburg, Wedell,
etc.? What _were_ their peculiar merits? Has anyone ever been able to
discover?
To-day Eulenburg, twice tried, is a prisoner for life on his estate; the
two Hohenaus are banished from Germany, and dare not come back on pain
of arrest; Count Kuno von Moltke is a pensioner of the German people on
foreign soil; Count Wedell forfeited the two gold buttons on the tails
of his _frac_ and his residence at the Princess's palace.
Why did they get off so easily in comparison when the crash came?
The answer is obvious enough. These persons had been careful to deposit
in London, E.C., the letters they had received from a certain exalted
party who shall be nameless, and Count Lynar, prisoner No. 5429 at
Siegburg Jail, had neglected that simple precaution.
*CHAPTER XXIII*
*HOW VON BOHLEN WAS CHOSEN*
The First Step--Prussian Manners--The War Lord Finds His
Man--Putting Buelow to the Test--Discussing the Husband to
Be--von Bohlen is Chosen
On the morning after the Bavarian debate in the Chancellor's palace the
War Lord and Prince Phili met early in Sans-Souci Park for an hour's
horseback exercise and scandalmongering. Be sure that _chronique
scandaleuse_ was thoroughly discussed, as well as the personnel of
Phili's favourites, and if there was anybody at Court and in Society, in
high official places and in the royal theatres whose ears did not tingle
with the calumnies or malicious tittle-tattle launched, the gossipers'
memory was at fault, not their capacity for impertinent innuendo.
These personages were walking their horses in a secluded avenue of the
woods beyond Klein Glienecke when they heard galloping behind. "My
courier," said the War Lord; "we'll wait." They drew rein, and
presently a red-coat shot by them in a parallel road. When some fifty
paces ahead, the courier leaped his horse across the intervening ditch,
then stopped short at the imminent risk of being thrown, and waited, hat
in hand.
"Get the mail bag," commanded Wilhelm curtly, after the style of
Napoleon, who thought nothing of ordering a king to see how dinner was
progressing. Phili trotted off, and presently returned with a red
morocco leather portfolio. A silver-gilt key dangling on the War Lord's
bracelet gave access to the contents: two letters, both postmarked
Essen.
"From Bertha," said the War Lord, glancing at the bigger envelope, and
put it into his pocket. The other he tore open in great haste. "Wonder
what the Baroness wants from me?" he muttered.
Phili having returned the portfolio, the courier was dismissed by a wave
of the hand, and Wilhelm plunged into the epistle _sans ceremonie_.
"The devil!" he cried, before he had finished the first page, and drove
his horse so hard against Eulenburg's side that Phili could not suppress
an outcry.
"Listen to this: Bertha has fallen in love with Franz, sort of
foster-brother, you know; they were children together."
"The electrical expert you told me about?"
"Precisely. But I won't allow it; she might as well aspire to be wife
No. 777 to our friend Abdul. But here comes the Baroness and pleads that
the dear child may have her way, Franz being such a good young man;
marriages are arranged in heaven, and her blessed Frederick will be
tickled to death, etc., and more tommy rot like that."
"You don't think Franz exactly the right person?"
"Phili," cried the War Lord, "if you were not such an old sinner and
bald-headed and married and the father of children of marriageable age,
I would order you to marry her."
"Another woman--are there none but women in the world?" groaned the
ex-ambassador. "Besides, I have not the least talent for bigamy; try
Kiderlen-Waechter."
"Would be the right sort, but he is nearly as old as you."
Once more Extase's flank squeezed Phili. "I've got it," Wilhelm
exclaimed suddenly. "When you get back home, browse for an hour or two
on your card index, picking out the most desirable and up-to-date
Benedicts in the thirties or thereabout, preferably men in the
diplomatic service. Got everybody's photo up there, haven't you?"
"At Your Majesty's service, the whole gallery."
"Pictures and personalia you'll bring to the Neues Palais this
afternoon, and maybe I will run over to Essen in the night to show the
_creme de votre creme_ to the Baroness. This folly about Franz must be
nipped in the bud, and with a girl the better and handsomer man does the
trick every time."
The War Lord wheeled his horse around and trotted off in the direction
of his residence. He never takes the trouble of telling his riding
companions of his intentions. "Let them keep their eyes open and do as
I do." The Queen herself fares no better when out riding with him. If
her harness gets out of order or something of that sort, and she has to
dismount, Wilhelm presses on unconcernedly. "Let the Master of Horse
look after her."
Phili, arrived at his apartments, had no sooner got into his
dressing-jacket of flowered silk, when the telephone rang furiously. "I
command," admonished a hard voice.
"Here, Phili, at Your Majesty's service."
"Are you at work on the cards?"
"Head over heels," lied Phili.
"And in this connection--has nothing occurred to you?"
The obsequious courtier was in a quandary. Woe to him if he attempted to
be wiser than his master!
"The old story; I have to think of everything," the War Lord thundered.
"Can't you see you must take your selection of names to Buelow and
pretend to get advice on the candidates from him? If you don't, he will
be offended."
"Like the old woman he is," ventured Eulenburg.
"Don't you criticise _my_ Chancellor." There was a brutal emphasis on
the "my," and Phili stuttered a dozen excuses for his slip of the
tongue.
"Never mind, to work, Prince! It was Louis XIV. who almost waited on
one particular occasion. Remember, Phili, I don't want to repeat his
experience."
Phili rang for Jaroljmek, his secretary.
"I do wish Majesty could get along without me for a day or two," he
said. "More pressing business. All the young men in the diplomatic
service to be inquired into, liver and kidneys. At once, of course!
Beastly bore unless I may count on your assistance."
"Of course, Serene Highness."
"Have the maids bring in the card index, then."
"With Highness's permission, I will ask the butler to help me. It's too
heavy for girls."
"Not at all. Women were put into the world to wait on such as you and
I. The woods are full of girls, while nice boys are few and far
between. And you vulgarise a high-stepping horse by hard work."
So two nine-stone girls were ordered to carry in from an upper storey
the great wooden case weighing a hundredweight, while His Highness and
secretary looked on and, moreover, increased their task by foolish
directions.
"The smaller legations where I am sending the unlicked cubs--fellows
without an inkling of Greek art and antique beauty--we'll go through
those first," said the Prince.
"May I ask Highness the purpose of our research?"
"Majesty is trying to find a hubby for--_Nomina sunt odiosa_. However,
you know the party."
"Rich?"
"Wealthiest girl in the world."
"Old Frederick's daughter! I heard some queer stories about Papa."
"Naughty boy!" with an indulgent smile from Phili. "Well, Majesty wants
a Benedict for Bertha who will paddle the War Lord's canoe even more
enthusiastically than his wife's baby-carriage."
"Why doesn't Majesty consult von Treskow and Kopp?" said the secretary.
"Don't mention those rude plebeians."
And so the pretty pair went on. They selected a round dozen should-be
aspirants for Bertha's hand.
These the Emperor examined later.
"Receding chin," announced the War Lord disdainfully, reviewing the
first few while the friends sipped their China tea.
"All the ear marks of the wife-beater," he commented on an attache
accredited to the Court of St. James's. "That fellow is sure to give
trouble," he commented on photo No. 4. No. 5 was dismissed with a
contemptuous: "Meddlesome snout." He continued to throw the photographs
on the carpet, but suddenly sat up straight as a bolt.
"My man!" he cried. "Get Buelow on the 'phone. No; order Augustus to
have an extra train ready for the Chancellor to leave Potsdamer Bahnhof
in half an hour at the latest."
The Court Marshal 'phoned back that a regular train was leaving at the
time prescribed, and that a saloon carriage might be attached for Count
Buelow.
"Very well, but express--Neues Palais first stop. Now call up Buelow."
The War Lord was continually filling his teacup and absorbing large
quantities of cucumber sandwiches. He had his mouth full when the red
disc annunciator reported Buelow at the other end, and emptied it with a
gulp.
Yes--immediately. Most important. Would not he bring the Princess?
His wife would be delighted.
In an hour's time a royal landau and four set Chancellor von Buelow and
his Princess down in the Sandhof, the War Lord stepping from one of the
tall door-windows of his study on to the terrace to welcome them, and
Countess Brockdorff, Mistress of the Robes, receiving Her Serene
Highness on Her Majesty's behalf.
Do these august ladies love each other? Assuredly--after the fashion of
Empress Eugenie and Princess Pauline Metternich. The Princess thought
herself as good as the Empress any day, and never hesitated to say so,
and when on one occasion Eugenie's tantrums were excused on the plea
that she had an uncle in the strait-jacket, Pauline quickly responded:
"There are a few lunatics in my family too."
So the Princess Camporeale, whose husband was to be "princed" a few
weeks hence, regarded herself as good as the _nee_ Schleswig-Holstein,
arguing that the Beccadello were more ancient than Her Majesty's family.
And her Margraviate of Altavilla was worth more in lires and centimes
than Her Majesty's title of Margravine of Brandenburg.
So the Princess Maria told Countess Brockdorff she could not move until
the ladies of her Court arrived from the station, and the House Marshal
was warned that Her Highness's lackeys must not be allowed in the palace
canteen. German beer and sausage always upset them.
Four exceedingly pretty Italian women came in the second carriage. "My
governess, Marchesa ----." "My reader, the Countess ----." "My maids of
honour, Contezzina ---- and Baroness ----"--all members of former
sovereign or semi-sovereign houses.
Buelow beamed in his animated fashion when he did not see Eulenburg,
whom he rather expected to find, since he was always where least wanted.
"And what may be Your Majesty's pleasure?" he asked in his courtly way,
when they were alone in the study.
"I want your opinion on the husband I've selected for a certain young
lady." The War Lord had quite forgotten his own admonition to Phili.
"Look!" He laid a hand partly over the photograph on the table,
allowing only the forehead to be seen.
"Good, capable forehead," observed Buelow; "something behind that."
"No obstinacy, I hope," said the War Lord. Next he let the photograph's
eyes be seen.
"Cold, steadfast, may be some disposition for cruelty," was Buelow's
verdict.
"A good nose, mouth disdainful, somewhat high cheekbones--it's von
Bohlen und Halbach!" cried the Chancellor.
"You know him?"
"To some extent, both officially and unofficially. Never had any chance
to distinguish himself, but decidedly adaptable, yet not lacking
executive ability, I believe."
The War Lord was delighted with the endorsement his own views received.
"Look at that chin," he said; "firm isn't the word for it--bulldog,
regular bulldog. He will lead you the deuce of a dance, Bertha!"
At the mention of the name the Chancellor winced perceptibly. "I
endorsed his capacity for business; I know nothing about his personal
character," he ventured, adding: "He must be at least fifteen years
older than Bertha."
The War Lord consulted Phili's notes. "Old enough to vote, as they say
in the States--to vote for me, _nota bene_, at directors' meetings.
Call up your office and find out what kind of subordinate he is."
"I looked at his papers only the other day. He seems to give his chief
no trouble, carrying out orders punctually and painstakingly; never
harasses the minister with original suggestions, but is quite content to
do his duty and say naught about it."
"Is his family good enough?"
"Gentle born," explained the Chancellor; "father was Baden Minister,
mother not of noble birth--Sophie Bohlen--but she had money, I believe.
The present Councillor of Legation is university bred, of course, and
belongs to the Guard Hussars, _Landwehr, Chef d'escadron_, says the army
'Who's Who.' Nevertheless," concluded the Chancellor in his most
persuasive style, "I don't think him the right sort of husband for
Bertha."
"Right sort for _me_," cried the War Lord.
Buelow, conscious that His Majesty at the time could not afford to
quarrel with him, risked a none too gentle rebuke by disregarding the
interruption.
"She is so young," he went on, "and, as I pointed out before, there is
the making of a cruel master in his face. Think of the wealthiest girl
in the world tied to a man who will not let her have her own way--a sort
of drill-sergeant husband. Your Majesty is too whole-hearted, too
generous, too gallant," he added with a smile, "to impose a husband of
that kind upon your ward."
In response the War Lord dropped the high falsetto of command which had
marked his interruptions, and said in a more conciliatory tone: "There
is not a man alive against whose choice as a husband objections may not
be marshalled _a la advocatus diaboli_. Now, for a change, listen to
the _advocatus Dei_, please: It goes without saying that I have my
ward's happiness very much at heart. Indeed, if she was of my own flesh
and blood, I could not cherish more tender feelings for her. I love her
like one of my own children, and haven't I accepted Cecile much as I
loathe her mother? But with Bertha it's not a mere matter of getting
married and preserving her unexampled wealth, if you will----" The War
Lord stopped short, but after a moment's thought continued: "It will be
more public spirited for Bertha to marry the man of my selection than to
imperil the Fatherland's right arm. Where would we be if she chose for
lord and master one of those fool-pacifists, some von Suttner milksop,
seeing that without Krupp's loyal co-operation our great war would go to
pot--that even a mere defensive war would better be avoided."
"If Fraulein Krupp or her husband went to extremes, the State could step
in and take over the Krupp works," objected the Chancellor.
"And do you suppose that our agents in Brussels, Lisbon, Rome, the South
Americas and so forth would be allowed to buy guns from the King of
Prussia?" The War Lord answered his own question with an emphatic "No!"
then suggested slyly:
"To sell the enemy war materials is part of our ante-war programme, is
it not?"
After walking the length and breadth of the room, he planted himself
firmly before Buelow, whom, by the way, he had not asked to be seated.
"I command," he said with an air of finality; "Bohlen is the man. Your
own suggestion, you can't escape from it," he quickly added, when Buelow
protested. "You said the fellow, though capable, is not
self-opinionated--no swelled head--always obeys orders--in short:
adaptable. That kind of man we need at the head of the Krupp
establishment to do the Fatherland's work according to my
directions--hence Bertha will marry him and no one else."