The Secret Memoirs of Bertha Krupp

"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 crème de votre crème 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 Bülow 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 attaché 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 Bülow 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 Bülow.

"Very well, but express – Neues Palais first stop. Now call up Bülow." 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 Bülow 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 Bülow 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 née 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.

Bülow 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 Bülow; "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 Bülow'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.

Bülow, 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 à 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 Bülow, 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 Bülow 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."

Then, to forestall further arguments: "Let's join the ladies now."

He rang for an orderly. "The Grand Master," he commanded.

Count Augustus zu Eulenburg had evidently anticipated that he would be wanted, as he stood waiting in the Shell Grotto, facing the park. The walls and ceiling of this gorgeous entrance hall are clad with semi-precious stones in their natural growth: mountain-crystal and malachite, coral trees and amethyst rocks, agate and garnets, gold and silver ore; presents from royal friends for the most part.

"I'll leave for Essen to-night. Wire Frau Krupp to expect me for breakfast. The small entourage, and warn messieurs my humble servants not to take too many lackeys. I am tired of carting their households around."

"At Your Majesty's orders." The Marshal bowed low. Then in a whisper: "Is Phili to be of the party?"

"Certainly not," replied the War Lord so Bülow might hear him. "Report to me later," he added in an undertone.

"Later" the following tripotage was overheard:

War Lord: "Phili hasn't left?"

"He is awaiting Your Majesty's further commands."

"Tell him to get ready for Essen."

"He begs to remind Your Majesty that he is not in the Baroness's good graces."

"Am I not painfully aware of that? She would prefer the measles to a morning call from Phili."

"Then he is to stay on the train while Your Majesty visits Villa Huegel?"

"Until I require him. He may be needed to quicken her ladyship's decision about matters in hand, as under pressure of his presence she will consent more readily, just to get your precious cousin out of the house."

CHAPTER XXIV

THE WAR LORD'S DAY IN ESSEN

The Krupp Free Hotel – The War Lord and the Cinder – Bertha's Little Surprise – The Blue Ribbon of the Son – A Mad Idea – The War Lord Apes the Expert – Enter the Pawn – A Wily Game – Disposing of Franz

"A wonderful country, the United States," said the War Lord to Chief-Engineer Franz; "it produced two Maxims. The British War Office captured Hiram, but there is another, Hudson, who seems to know as much about explosives and guns as his more celebrated namesake. I want you to take a year's leave and study him – him and Pittsburgh. Your salary goes on, of course, and there will be a suitable allowance for expense. I will arrange this with the Director-General."

Franz bowed his thanks, for Wilhelm, big with his subject, showed plainly that he meant to do all the talking.

"Hudson Maxim," he continued, "claims priority as inventor of half a hundred discoveries that would seem to spell success in war. He knows a lot about dynamite, torpedoes, and detonating fuses too, and is great in chemistry. Try and learn all he knows by fair means or – foul," he added. Then, musingly:

"I have lately looked into some recipes suggesting chemical preparations for means of attack. The War Office will furnish details. Consult Hudson Maxim and other American authorities on the subject, using the utmost discretion, of course, for I don't quite trust those Yankees. They manage to cover up their British sympathies, but I have had a peep or two beneath the surface. I know Armour." His mind took a sudden leap. "How soon will you start?" he demanded. "Do you want a week's time? Very well."

"May it please Your Majesty, Frau Krupp invited me to accompany herself and daughters on their jaunt – sort of maréchal de logis– " ventured Franz.

"Duty, sir! Fatherland first. Tuesday's French liner, then; and don't fail to investigate whether steamers of this class are liable to be of use as auxiliary vessels in case of war. Ballin and the Norddeutscher Lloyd people pronounce them veritable men-of-war. But, to my mind, Ballin and Company are after subsidies."

Thus was Franz politely requested and cruelly coerced to leave Villa Huegel. It was on the eve of the day after the interview between War Lord and Chancellor. Events had moved swiftly since then.

A comfortable night on Majesty's train de luxe, preceded by a variety performance by Phili Eulenburg, star impersonator.

Breakfast, 9 A.M., at the Krupp villa, better and more plentiful than at home.

A drive next? No; Uncle Majesty would not allow Bertha to handle the ribbons of the four-in-hand. Never doubted her ability, of course – yet that experience of his at Count Dohna's. No amateurs on the box for him. "His little girl was to sit by his side," and they were to discuss "grave business matters."

Wilhelm, who always looks for chances to combine business with pleasure, asked to be driven to the Essener Hof, a hotel in the city of Essen proper, where intending buyers of guns and ammunition are lodged, and, it may be added, wined and feasted at the War Lady's expense. Be sure that the Krupp hostelry is never lacking in guests pretending to be unsatisfied with the tests of war material conducted for their benefit as long as there is the slightest excuse for delay in going home, since, once satisfied, they must buy, and, the deal concluded, give up their comfortable apartments at the Hof.

Wilhelm left half a dozen of his large, ugly visiting-cards at the door of the hotel for the Jap, Chinese, Turkish and other representatives, bending down the lower right-hand corner of the pasteboards to indicate his regrets that he had failed to find the gentlemen in.

"If any of them attempt to pay me a return visit, I shall put them under 'old Fritz' and pulverise their yellow bones," he said to Bertha.

But before they had finished laughing at the piece of raillery the War Lord uttered a cry of anguish. An infinitesimal cinder or a bit of soot had got into his left ear, causing him the most excruciating pains.

"Home," he gasped piteously. "Let's pick up a physician on the way." (For some reason or other no doctor was included in the small Imperial party.)

Dr. Shrader was dumbfounded when the royal chasseur, in feather hat, broadsword at his side, summoned him. "My consulting hour; dozens of people waiting," he protested. The chasseur bent over the doctor's ear and whispered, whereupon Shrader ran into the street in his dressing-gown, apparently to interview the gutter, for, in his anxiety to pacify the War Lord with stammered excuses, his nose was close to the stream of mucky water running down the hill.

Naturally, the humour of the thing did not appeal to Wilhelm, racked with pain as he was. He rose from the seat, and, pushing the obsequious doctor aside, jumped up the steps, saying: "Attend me, I command." Of course, in the meanwhile the doctor's household had got wind of the royal radiance, and flocked from parlour, bedrooms and scullery, males and females and children, all eager to prostrate themselves in hall or on staircases, wherever they might be.

The War Lord turned to Shrader: "Send them upstairs; lock them in if necessary." And, with a look through the glass door of the waiting-room: "These people must leave instantly; I won't be their Grossebeest."

He let himself drop into the doctor's ample desk-chair.

"The ear-pump and antiseptics!" he commanded with a cry of pain. Then, as the doctor approached with the instruments: "Oh, take off that dirty dressing-gown first. Roll up your sleeves. Wash your hands."

More insulting orders were thundered at the man of science by a supposed gentleman, but their execution gave Shrader time to recover.

He handled the ear-pump with consummate ease, as he happened to be a specialist in the line, and soon had the satisfaction of showing the War Lord the annoying fragment of cinder which his skill had discovered and extracted.

"May it please Your Majesty, it would be well to clear all the passages by blowing air through them," he humbly suggested.

"Do all that's necessary, doctor."

Shrader produced another instrument fitted with a spiral trumpet and a long rubber tube, and went to work vigorously. By the time the War Lord was ready to leave the doctor laid down his microscope: "I congratulate Your Majesty; no evidence of putrefaction, hence no gangrenous inflammation."

"Who said there was?" demanded the War Lord severely.

"I meant to submit to Your Majesty that the ear will give no further trouble."

"That's better," said Wilhelm in a pleasant voice. He strode through the hall at such a pace that the chasseur had hardly time to open the door for him.

The street was black with people. "Hochs!" resounded from a thousand throats, basso, tenor, soprano, what not. A good many people had been talking to Bertha – all at once, of course. "Prating of their misfortunes – the usual racket," suggested the War Lord, with a look of contempt, as he sat down beside the heiress. And when the carriage was clear of the mob he added: "You ought to have walked the horses up and down in the neighbourhood while I was with the doctor."

"I thought of that, likewise that the carriage might not have been on hand when you wanted to start, Uncle Majesty. You told me the remark of the French king: 'I almost waited,'" replied Fraulein Krupp.

Dr. Shrader had indeed relieved the Majesty, who felt fresh and buoyant after the invigorating ride over the hills and along the shooting-ranges. The latter, while fully manned, were silent, for the chasseur had telephoned to Count Helmuth von Moltke, and the adjutant had countermanded all trial practice.

"Let's look at 'old Fritz' again," said the War Lord, after refreshments. Unlike Charles V., the War Lord is never awakened during the night to swallow some favourite dish, but five meals a day are his rule, and to revive his animal spirits he takes a number of raw eggs in a glass of cognac after the slightest exertion, when at home, i.e. at his own expense, while more substantial and elaborate provision is expected at friends' houses.

At Villa Huegel he is never disappointed. Even if he brought those "forty scientist friends" he once imposed upon Dom Carlos of Portugal, poor man! – indeed, even if he asked Frau Krupp to lodge and feed a whole regiment of gold-laced or fringe-trousered nobodies or impostors, there would be the most generous response on her part and no questions asked.

"When I heard you were coming, Uncle Majesty, I planned a little surprise," said Bertha, when showing the War Lord a short cut to "old Fritz's" habitat. She led the way to a section of the armour-plate department, whose employés burst into feverish activity at their approach. No doubt they were expected.

"Eighty tons," said Bertha, pointing towards the huge crucible steel block being placed under a giant hydraulic press.

"How will you move a cannon of that size?" queried the War Lord, who is liable to get his figures mixed.

"But it is not going to be a cannon, Uncle Majesty," explained the mistress of the works.

"You are going to roll it out into an armour-plate for Chimborazo, then?"

"Once more Uncle Majesty is pleased to be mistaken."

"Maybe it's a statue of England's lord high admiral you are making?"

"Burning," said the smiling Bertha; "it has something to do with the sea."

There was more guessing and repartee during the first half of the thirty minutes required to coax and squeeze and handle and form the block and drag its slow length along – 150 feet of it. Seeing that, the War Lord no longer could master his curiosity.

"What is it to be, Bertha?" he asked in a tone that would not be denied, and the wonder is that he did not add the polite: "I command!" of average Prussian bully ship.