The Holsteins
I first knew Augusta of Schleswig-Holstein shortly after her marriage
with Prince William of Prussia. I saw her later as German Empress at the
Court of Berlin.
It was not easy to find favour in her sight; not that she was a
malicious woman, but her narrowness of mind and her pretensions to the
perfections of German virtues made her no friendly judge of women.
A pessimist and a martinet, she was wholly given up to her domestic
duties and her worship of the God of Luther, whom she served with a zeal
inimical to other gods, and with such piety that she edified Germany.
But she had no conception of the immense pity and the infinite splendour
of the true God. Always a sentimental country, Germany thoroughly
admired this wife and mother, her husband and their children, who, when
seen at a distance, really constituted a magnificent family.
But let us judge the tree by its fruits. There were in this Royal ménage
no intimate dramas, no moral conflicts; everything seemed to proceed
decently and in order. But none of the children born of the union
of William II and Augusta of Schleswig-Holstein has deserved any
consideration at the hands of men. And in pity for them I will say no
more.
I was familiar with the old Court of Berlin, that of William I. I have
often seen the old and infirm Empress Augusta, who always appeared to be
very tightly corseted, installed on a sofa in the Imperial Salon close
to a curtain which was drawn aside, and the Court circle then formed
round her. She was invariably kind to me, and spoke to me in excellent
French. The Emperor, William I, wandered simply and affably from one
person to another.
The Crown Prince Frederick gave me the impression of being good, well
read, noble and spiritual, and his wife, the daughter of Queen Victoria,
was attractive owing to her candid and pleasant demeanour and her
remarkable intelligence.
Count von Bismarck and Marshal von Moltke were the two lions of this
unceremonial Court. Being young, I examined both curiously. Count
Bismarck was noisy; he spoke loudly, and often indulged in a certain
coarse gaiety. Marshal von Moltke said nothing; he seemed embarrassed
with it all. But his piercing eyes made up for his lack of words, and
for my part I had no desire to offend this sphinx-like person.
With the accession of William II, the patriarchal Court of William I and
the Anglo-German but ephemeral Court of Frederick the Noble gave place
to a Court of another kind. The ceremonial of official presentations was
increased and became more frequent. The new Emperor wished to
surround himself with warlike pomp, but the presence of Augusta of
Schleswig-Holstein always reduced the most solemn ceremonies of the last
Court of Berlin to commonplace grandeur. At this period the Empress
had much trouble to gown herself and to dress her hair with taste. Her
presence on the throne sufficed to transform it into a bourgeois sofa.
Later, her taste in chiffons improved.
When William II came to Vienna he was received with the honours due
to his rank. I took especial pains with my toilette in order to do him
honour.
Accustomed as I was to his ponderous sallies, I did not expect to hear
him say to me in French, which he spoke excellently, even in its boldest
gallicisms: "Do you get the style of your coiffure and your gowns in
Paris?"
"Sometimes in Paris, but generally in Vienna," I answered. "I represent
the fashion, and I design my own dresses."
"You ought to choose Augusta's hats and help her with her gowns. The
poor dear always looks shabby."
So this is the reason why the German Empress patronized the same shops
which I patronized, and bought dresses which I helped design. The
question of hats bristled with difficulties, because she has one of
those big heads which are so hard to suit. But I succeeded, it appears,
in fulfilling the wish of her husband by rendering this small service to
his wife. He thanked me amiably, although he was one of those who never
forgive us for benefits received.
The Holsteins, from whom the Empress was descended, had, as one knows,
lost their Duchy, which was in former times Danish, and which had fallen
into the hands of the Prussians. As a wife for the prince who one
day would be William II, Count von Bismarck suggested Augusta of
Schleswig-Holstein, who possessed an equable temperament, and whom he
judged would balance the flights of fancy peculiar to a young and ardent
husband.
This marriage had the merit of uniting the Holsteins to the House of
Berlin by other means than by the sword. It regularized, in the eyes
of Europe, the somewhat brusque method by which Prussia had annexed the
Duchy. The political value of this marriage was well worth the dowry
which Augusta certainly lacked.
The tall and fair future Empress was neither pretty nor ugly, but pretty
rather than ugly. Her piety was well advertised, but there are
pieties which had better be dispensed with if they spring from a false
foundation. This was the case as regards the religious zeal of Augusta
of Holstein, who when she became Empress began to regard her husband
as the Head of the Protestant Church--a man who, lacking eclecticism,
talked nonsense about the Roman Church, the Christian religion and
Latinity. But he should have been restrained and made to observe the
outcome of his Lutheran ramblings, which were mixed with invocations to
Wotan and the god Thor.
Another point no less grave was that the Holsteins, who were ruined or
nearly so, were obliged to try and replenish their fortunes. Augusta was
forced to think of this, and primarily to establish her brother Gunther,
who led the life of a German officer of a noble family without having
the means to do so. William II arranged matters from time to time, but
he did not display much enthusiasm. In no case does money play a greater
part than with people who are attached to a Court. Without money nothing
is of value, because this class of people are only measured by the money
which they spend.
This was not the case with Gunther of Schleswig-Holstein. He possessed
intelligence and culture. It has also been said that he was well
posted in business matters. He has taken the chair at congresses in
the capacity of a man of knowledge, and if during the war he did not
particularly distinguish himself as a soldier, he has nevertheless shone
as a financier. As a young officer these practical qualities were not
apparent. It was necessary for him to make a good marriage. He failed
in many attempts at matrimony. Presentable enough as a young man, he
did not improve with age. When I saw him at various shooting parties
in Thuringia, at the beginning of his career at Court, he was not
bad-looking. When Gunther of Schleswig-Holstein asked for my daughter
Dora in marriage, and we had given our consent, he asked me to fix the
date. I could not help saying:
"What!... Do you seriously contemplate leading my daughter to the altar
without having that dreadful nose of yours attended to?"
As a matter of fact he had a red nose of a many-sided, uncertain shape.
Everyone is not like the Prince of Condé or Cyrano. A misshapen nose is
certainly inconvenient.
His sister pressed for his marriage with my daughter. The same idea had
struck her at Berlin as that which twenty years earlier had brought the
Prince of Coburg to Brussels. The immense fortune of the King of the
Belgians was by now undisputed. Calculations were made as to his income,
and people talked of a thousand million francs to be divided one day
between three heiresses. This aroused ardent speculative ideas, because
even in those days one thousand million francs counted as something.
The Duke of Holstein, having improved the appearance of his nose, again
spoke of his marriage with my daughter.
Dora was still young. At this time my husband and I had reached the
tragic point of an almost definite rupture. I hoped that it would
take place quietly. It was not I who let loose all the scandals. It so
happened that we had decided to stay away from Vienna for a year. We
therefore left for the Riviera. Gunther of Holstein went with us. Thence
we went to Paris, where I brought my household. This was looked upon
as a crime. People seemed to forget that my husband formed part of my
household.
His company, rare as it was, was only irksome to me, and doubtless mine
was no more agreeable to him. When difficulties arose between us I
found constant consolation in the society of my daughter. Her mother
was everything to her; my child was everything to me. At least Dora
was mine. Her brother had long left me, so I kept my hold on her. I
protected her; I made as much of her as I could. But having now reached
the point of the story of my daughter's marriage with a relation of the
Hohenzollerns, and the influence which the Court of Berlin was destined
to have on Dora's future and on my own, I cannot deny myself the
pleasure of portraying in these pages the ideal man of my devotion, who,
having secured my moral safety, also gave me a new lease of life.
I will not deny it. According to the ordinary laws of the world, his
presence at that time on the Riviera and afterwards in Paris offended
all the traditions of ordinary respectable conventions.
Certain situations can only be judged in a manner suitable to them. If
it is true that owing to my entreaties--the entreaties of a desperate
woman who found herself isolated, and at the mercy of the man who was
still her husband--the Count of Geza Mattachich was at the Côte-d'Azur
at the same time as myself, and mixed with my entourage on the footing
of a man of honour (as is the custom in the households of princesses),
then I beg my readers to agree that my future son-in-law had no fault to
find. This statement I think suffices.
Gunther of Holstein showed the count both respect and friendship, and
further to prove this he asked him to act as his second in an affair
of honour which he was able to arrange. But what was still more
unfortunate, Dora, who had apparently some kind of instinct as to the
troublesome times in store for her at Berlin, returned her ring to her
fiancé and released him from his engagement.
Gunther of Holstein begged Count Mattachich to intercede with me to
prevent the rupture, and I consented.
For this kindness I was destined to be basely repaid.
I did not wish to be separated from my daughter before her marriage,
and especially to leave her in Vienna at the Coburg Palace. When we were
leaving for the Riviera, I had told the assembled servants with tears
in my eyes that I should never return there again, and the prince had
listened without saying a word to contradict my assertion. I was afraid
of the influence of Vienna, where my unfortunate son finally perished,
and where owing to his misconduct he was destined to end his days in
a horrible manner. A fearful punishment for his faults, and the moral
parricide which he committed in disowning his mother. No! at all costs
Dora must remain with me.
However, the Duke of Holstein insisted that Dora ought to be introduced
to his family and to the Hohenzollerns. He gave me his word of honour
to bring her back if I would allow her to go to Berlin for a few days
accompanied by her governess. I made this soldier of Berlin swear this,
but "vanquished is he who pushes the wheel of the conqueror's chariot,"
and I let her go.
She did not return. She was kept far away from me. This was the open
avowal of the plot of which the melancholy vicissitudes were about to be
precipitated.
I only learnt of the marriage of my daughter to Gunther of
Schleswig-Holstein from the newspapers, when I was incarcerated in the
Doebling Asylum at Vienna. I had just been taken there.
This plot--have I mentioned it?--was one of the vilest of plots--it was
a plot which concerned money.
I was not mad, but my enemies thought that I should most certainly
become mad in the midst of lunatics. Madness is contagious. My
destruction had been determined. For as insane, or passing as such,
I should be incapable of managing my own affairs. I should possess no
civil rights, and my representatives could do as they pleased with my
property. The King was old, and doubtless it would not be long before
he "passed over." It was then certain that each of his children would
inherit about three thousand millions. Was I to be allowed to inherit
such a fortune, which I was sure to surrender into inimical hands, and
which would then be squandered?
It is not to be wondered that my son, my daughter's husband, perhaps
even my daughter herself, who was then a prisoner where William II and
his wife ruled, agreed with the wishes of the Prince of Coburg, who was
anxious to revenge himself for the bitter feelings which he had inspired
in my heart.
[Illustration: _Photo: E. Bieber_
DUKE GUNTHER OF SCHLESWIG-HOLSTEIN]
Besides, his vengeance would not fall on me alone. It would overtake and
crush the count, whom he hated for his presumed influence over me. And
this influence, how could they possibly understand it? People see only
what they want to see. It is beyond their miserable comprehension to
understand superior beings with lofty souls and aspirations, and they
describe as infamy what in reality is sacrifice.
I will pass rapidly over the shame and the sorrow, and I will only
relate as much as is necessary to make known to the world the high and
pure character of the count, who, a Bayard without fear and without
reproach, dauntlessly confronted a military tribunal.
I will confine myself to stating that in the unprecedented drama of
incessant persecutions which I was forced to endure from the year 1897
until the victory of the Entente, the Imperial Houses of Berlin and
Vienna were the prop and support of the different attacks, pressure,
outrages, defamations and calumnies which would assuredly have
overwhelmed me if public opinion had not instinctively revolted thereat.
And the public knew nothing of the rights and wrongs of the case.
Strengthened by public sympathy, I have been able to resist oppression.
Justice is slow but sure.
The principal Austrian mental specialists refused to certify me as
insane, and an asylum in Germany was found where I was destined to serve
a life sentence. I then said to William II:
"As an accomplice of this crime, you will be eventually punished."
I reflected at this time that the man who was a party to the crime of
thrusting a sane being into the abyss of madness was capable of
other abominations. I did not believe that God would permit him to go
unpunished.
He has been punished.
The same blow has struck the companion of his life, the wife who was so
intolerant of the faults of others, so uncompromising from the height
of her unchristian-like virtue. As the enemy of her neighbour, her
influence would have been enough to bring about the war, since the worst
of warlike tendencies is the spirit of intolerance.
It is not sufficiently well known, but it is a fact, that the awful
conflict of 1914-1918 was simply the result of the pitiless and inhuman
hate of Lutheran Prussia, which was devoured by the wish to dominate, to
govern and to oppress.
Disbelief caused the war. Belief only will bring about lasting peace.
Belgium and France must understand that, although Prussia held and
enriched Germany, Germany never liked Prussia.
Germany can only be won by confidence and by affection.
The Catholic section, who are no less generous than the Socialists, who
although the greater part are sincere, are indifferent to Divine will,
should show an example of reconciliation. The bishops would then have
a great rôle to perform. Religious conferences and pilgrimages might
afford occasions of meeting on a better footing, and before I die I
should like to see Germans, Belgians and French united in the presence
of the God of Love, in the same faith and in the same hope, and through
the Love of His Law they would then exchange the kiss of peace.