Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the Dying Emperor

by Thomas A. Turley

  27 Charlottenburg Palace was commissioned by Sophie Charlotte, the wife of Elector Friedrich III of Brandenburg and later the first Queen of Prussia. Designed in the baroque style by Johann Arnold Nering, it originally consisted of one wing, built in 21/2 storeys with a central cupola. First completed in 1699, Charlottenburg was enlarged in 1706 “and provided with its effective dome.” A wing on the right was added in 1742, “while the theatre at the end of the left wing [which also contained the Orangery] and the belvedere in the park were erected ... in 1788.” The opposing wings were barracks. Charlottenburg’s beautiful gardens were originally “laid out by the eminent French landscape-gardener Le Nôtre,” but in 1787 they were converted from baroque to English landscape style. A mausoleum on the grounds contains the tombs of King Frederick William III and Queen Louise of Prussia, as well as those of Emperor William I and his Empress Augusta. All quotations here are from Baedeker’s Northern Germany, pp. 75–76. Other sources used include the Wikipedia article for Charlottenburg Palace (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charlottenburg_Palace) and the Trip Advisor page “Dinner at the Orangery, Charlottenburg Palace” (https://www.tripadvisor.com/ShowUserReviews-g187323-d242760-r290393243-Charlottenburg_Palace-Berlin.html). I am particularly indebted to the latter site, which contains over 2,500 photographs of the palace’s exterior, interior, and grounds.

  28 According to Wikipedia (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Adolf_Stoecker), Adolf Stoecker (1835–1909) attended university despite being born the son of a prison guard. Gifted with a charismatic personality, he became “one of Germany’s best loved and most respected Lutheran clergymen.” After a sermon attributing Prussia’s victory in 1870 to the will of God, Emperor William I appointed him court chaplain. Stoecker’s Christian Social Party, founded in 1878, advocated social reforms; but he urged the working classes to remain loyal to “throne and altar” and accept their lot under the God-ordained social order. After 1879, Stoecker began to blame Germany’s problems on the Jews, specifically “Jewish capital” and “the Jewish press.” His anti-Semitism became overtly racial and, while not directly advocating violence, he implied that “the ancient contradiction between Aryans and the Semites” could only end with the extermination of one group or the other. Ironically, Stoecker’s status as a venerated cleric made anti-Semitism respectable in Germany, paving the way for another Adolf later on. As Röhl notes in Young Wilhelm (pp. 712–740), Prince William publicly hailed Stoecker in November 1887 as “a second Luther,” leading to a reproof from Bismarck and the first breach between the two. The court chaplain lost his office, along with the Bismarcks and Count Waldersee, when the new Kaiser began his personal rule during 1890–1891.

  29 Like “Dr.” Mortimer in The Hound of the Baskervilles, T. Mark Hovell (d. 1925) was not an M.D., but a “humble” M.R.C.S. (Member of the Royal Colleges of Surgeons), although by 1901 he had become a Fellow. At the time our story opens, Hovell was senior surgeon at Mackenzie’s Hospital for Diseases of the Throat. He joined his chief in treating the Crown Prince in the summer of 1887, remaining with the imperial party while Mackenzie came and went. The Germans’ dislike of Sir Morell did not at first extend to Hovell; even Prince William wrote of him: “The assistant doctor from England who is attending my father is said to be satisfactory in every way, and makes a quiet, modest, yet energetic impression.” (Röhl, p. 673). During the controversy after Frederick’s death, which ultimately discredited Mackenzie, Hovell tried to save his mentor by excising the most injudicious parts of Frederick the Noble before its publication (Stevenson, p. 147). Later, Hovell provided invaluable insights to Sir Morell’s biographer and, four years before his own death, joined Stevenson and Mackenzie’s daughters in laying a wreath upon his grave (Stevenson, p. 4).

  30 Watson’s description is similar to that in Frederick the Noble, pp. 125–126. Mackenzie first encountered the Gardes du Corps on the night of Frederick III’s arrival at Charlottenburg, which occurred during “a blinding snowstorm” in March 1888.

  31 Described in Baedeker, p. 75.

  32 Contrary to most accounts, Crown Prince Frederick was not entirely voiceless after his tracheotomy in February 1888. Mackenzie noted soon afterward that “on closing the [tracheotomy] tube His Imperial Highness was able to sound his voice very fairly. He did not, however, at all like the tone of it.” See Frederick the Noble, p. 104.

  33 There are several versions of this incident. Radolinski reported his to Frederick von Holstein, éminence grise of the German foreign office, for whom he also spied. See Hannah Pakula’s An Uncommon Woman: The Empress Frederick (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1995), p. 473. Crown Prince William mentioned his parents’ dispute in a letter to the Duke of Saxe-Coburg (Röhl, p. 804).

  34 Thanks to Radolinski and his fellow spies (two military attachés: Majors Kessel and Lyncker; and Countess Hedwig von Brühl, whom Queen Victoria called “that odious Hedwig”), there were indeed rumors, during Crown Prince Frederick’s tour of the Alps and Italy in 1887, that his wife was conducting an affair with her court chamberlain, Count Götz von Seckendorff, nicknamed “the English Sportsman.” For all Holmes’ willingness to entertain the notion, there was almost certainly no affair, although Seckendorff remained a loyal friend of the Empress until her death in 1901. The author of the joke was Frederick Nietzsche! See Pakula, An Uncommon Woman pp. 446–447; and Röhl, pp. 666–671.

  35 When Dr. Heinrich von Waldeyer found cancer “nest cells” in Frederick’s sputum (March 4, 1888) the diagnosis was at last established beyond reasonable doubt. Although Mackenzie had reluctantly agreed that cancer was present in November 1887, the Crown Prince’s remission in December encouraged him to rethink this diagnosis. By February 1888, he was reminding the Crown Princess that “the first pathologist of the world [Virchow] has found nothing of the kind! What I see of the larynx points in the opposite direction ...” Buoyed by these assurances, the Crown Princess retained hope even after “Waldeger’s” discovery. See her letters to Queen Victoria on February 26, March 7, and March 16, 1888 (Ponsonby, pp. 277–278, 280, and 293). As late as March 24, Mackenzie was still writing to Sir James Reid that the morbid process in the Emperor’s throat (in which sloughs from his larynx and trachea were expectorated) “may after all possibly be limited” to perichondritis, an inflammation of connective tissue surrounding (in this case, laryngeal) cartilage (Stevenson, p. 114).

  36 In October 1870, with his troops besieging Paris and unification clearly imminent, the future Frederick III laid out the liberal agenda for Germany he and his wife inherited from Prince Albert. It envisioned a nation “that ... should march at the forefront of civilization and be in a position to develop ... all noble ideas of the modern world, so that ... the rest of the world should be humanized, manners ennobled and people diverted from those frivolous French tendencies. In such a State we should gain a bulwark against Socialism ... [and] be delivered from the oppression of bureaucracy, despotism and priestly domination. ... Once we Germans were recognized as honest champions of such convictions, an alliance might well be attained with England, Belgium, Holland, Denmark and Switzerland against Russia and France, and thereby peace could be assured for many a day.” In time, Germany would be reconciled “with France and ... [share] rich resources in the domain of Science, Art, and Commerce. ...” See The War Diary of the Emperor Frederick III, 1870–1871. Edited by A.R. Allison, M.A. Reprint edition. New York: Howard Fertig, Inc., 1988 [1926]), p. 168.

  37 The apparently superfluous Waldersee and Puttkamer will appear later in the story. Along with Adolf Stoecker, they were part of the ultra-conservative, anti-Semitic, militaristic cabal around Crown Prince William. General Count Alfred von Waldersee (1832–1904) was Deputy Chief of the General Staff to the ancient Helmuth von Moltke, architect of Prussia’s victories over Austria and France. Despite having served as Prince William’s military mentor, Waldersee fell from grace
in 1891. His diaries are a major source for John Röhl’s biography of the last Kaiser. Robert von Puttkamer (1828–1900) was the Prussian Minister of the Interior. He restricted strikes and public meetings and was highly unpopular with German liberals. With Bismarck’s tacit support, Frederick III removed Puttkamer from office on June 8, 1888, a week before his death. William II later reinstated the fallen politician.

  38 The Empress’s remarks during Holmes and Watson’s audience were similar to her correspondence over the preceding months. See her letter to Mary, Lady Ponsonby, on October 5, 1887 (Ponsonby, p. 248), as well as her letters to Queen Victoria on September 27, 1887; January 5, 1888; February 8, 1888; March 6, 1888, and June 8, 1888 (Ponsonby, pp. 247, 272, 274, 278–79, and 312–313). Also of interest is a memorandum written by the then-Dowager Empress in 1889, quoted by Röhl, p. 804. Her desire to use the Battenberg marriage against Russia by establishing an Anglo-German presence in the Balkans is covered by Röhl (pp. 523–525), as is Bismarck’s use of the marriage crisis of 1888 to heal the breach between himself and Crown Prince William (pp. 713–740, 800–805). See also Pakula, pp. 447, 472–478.

  39 In his biography of Mackenzie (p. 107), Stevenson also compared Counts Radolinski and Seckendorff to the hapless Shakespearian duo.

  Chapter 3: Frederick the Noble

  Bright sunlight filtered through my window the next morning, and I awoke to find a tray of coffee, rolls, and liverwurst upon the bedside table. My ubiquitous valet, it seemed, had come and gone again in silence.

  Stifling a yawn (for it was half past seven), I looked down upon the palace gardens, which had not been visible the night before. They were designed to replicate an English landscape park, having been converted from the baroque style a century before. Beyond the central fountain lay a placid lake and wooded paths along the Spree. A fine place for a ramble, I decided, sadly recalling morning walks with Constance through the gardens near Kensington Palace. Alas, those walks had ended all too soon, for my bride now rested in a churchyard by the sea in Brighton. Already our early days together seemed very long ago.

  I was rescued from my reminiscences by the sight of a lone figure striding briskly towards the palace, which I first mistook for Sherlock Holmes. No, despite the Inverness cape and soft grey hat,[40] the man was hardly tall enough to be my friend. I surmised that it must be Mackenzie, as I could not imagine any German dressed in such a way. At the same moment, there came a knock upon my door, and I opened it to find Holmes likewise wearing a checked Inverness, along with his deerstalker. I could not withhold an incredulous chuckle.

  “Well, either you ran up several flights of stairs, or you have a Doppelgänger in the garden!” I led him to the window, but the caped walker had already disappeared.

  “No, Doctor,” Holmes answered with a slightly puzzled frown, “I came in from the street. I walked to town early this morning, hoping to elude the vigilance of Radolinski’s spies. Someone did follow me - likely one of the military attachés - but I lost him before catching a tram into Berlin. There I visited the telegraph office[41] and remained to see the message sent; it was a report to Ponsonby on last night’s meeting with the Empress. No doubt Bismarck’s agents will bribe or bully the operator into giving them a copy, but at least the report cannot be lost or altered. I see that you have been a slugabed, as usual!”

  “By no means; I have consumed an excellent breakfast and half a pot of coffee! Would you like a cup?”

  “No, thank you. I enjoyed Frühstück in a Charlottenburg café. Do finish dressing quickly, Watson. I expect another interview to occupy our morning.” He left me and returned to his own room. I had finished shaving and was knotting my necktie when another knock sounded on the door.

  “Dr. Watson?”

  This time, it was our new friend Hovell. Having heard him, Holmes soon joined us as well. The assistant surgeon had come to take us to his chief, who, as I suspected, had just returned from an early-morning walk.

  After the usual ascents, descents, and wanderings, we arrived in a part of the palace I had not visited before. Here we entered a small but exquisitely shelved and panelled library, which Mackenzie - who had been in residence, of course, for several weeks - had turned into a replica of his consulting-room. Besides his medical treatises, it was adorned with pictures of his family, which vied for space on the handsome desk with a plethora of case notes. Holmes and I sank into a pair of plush armchairs to await the great man’s pleasure. He did not keep us waiting long.

  Sir Morell Mackenzie was at that time aged fifty. He was spare of face and figure, a bright-eyed, dapper man with thinning hair and the side-whiskers typical of our profession. Although of cheerful countenance, he looked tired and overworked, and I thought that I detected signs of the asthmatic. Hovell told me later that Mackenzie seldom got a full night’s rest.[42] I noted with amusement that he appeared to be wearing the order the Emperor had presented him the night before.

  “Ah, gentlemen,” he greeted us. “I regret that I was not on hand to welcome you last night, but quite unexpectedly I was afforded an audience with His Imperial Majesty. He has - as you see here - honoured me with the Hohenzollern cross and star, which will now accompany my knighthood from the Queen.”

  After Holmes and I had dutifully expressed our congratulations, Sir Morell politely dismissed his subordinate to attend upon the Emperor. “As you know, Mr. Hovell, he should be dressed by now and will no doubt wish to go down to the Orangery.[43] These gentlemen and I shall join you there presently.” He settled himself comfortably behind his desk, regarding us as though we were prospective patients, or perhaps applicants for a position on his staff.

  “I understand, Mr. Holmes,” Mackenzie said to my companion (who had watched his pontifications with a sardonic eye) that upon arriving last evening you were subjected to an unfortunate reception by a rabble in the street! Was it, as I was told, an anti-Semitic demonstration?”

  “It was,” the detective replied gravely, “although we ourselves were not initially its targets. I regret, Sir Morell,” he added with an impishness that only I discerned, “that several crude placards carried by the mob referred to you as ‘Moritz Markovicz.’”

  “That is ridiculous, of course!” the doctor snorted. “Dr. Krause - my one remaining German colleague - is in fact a member of that remarkable race, but my own ancestry is Highland Scots. Nevertheless, gentlemen, I for months have been a victim of the same hostility that you encountered. At the time of the Emperor’s accession, there were actual threats upon my life! The Kölnische Zeitung has claimed I am afraid to venture from the palace, because the German people would either tear me to pieces or stone me to death! Well, Mr. Holmes, I did accompany the Emperor when he visited his capital at the end of March. Naturally, he was greeted with tremendous enthusiasm, and I myself was met by the populace with both kindness and respect. Men took off their hats to me, and ladies bowed in the most friendly way. We really should not pay too much attention to these ravings of the reptile press!”[44]

  Having delivered himself upon that subject, Sir Morell suggested that we proceed to the business of our meeting. “While I am delighted to see you in Charlottenburg, I must confess to having no idea of the purpose of your visit.”

  “Her Majesty’s ministers,” said Holmes, “have asked us to investigate one or two diplomatic matters that have recently arisen in Berlin, due to their possible impact upon the Queen’s intended visit, which will occur later in the month.”

  “Yes,” Mackenzie mused, “there has been a good deal of public excitement over Princess Viktoria’s proposed marriage. But if your concerns are purely political,” he added, “what is another doctor doing here?” His smile of polite enquiry held a touch of frost. Before I could answer, my companion smoothly intervened.

  “Dr. Watson’s presence provides a ‘cloak of plausibility’ for our political investigation. He is here, Sir Morell, merely
to observe, not to consult with you professionally or to participate directly in the Emperor’s treatment.”

  “I assumed that was the case. Otherwise, London might have been expected to send someone more qualified.” For the first time, Mackenzie spoke to me directly. “Forgive me, sir, but I understand that you are simply a retired army surgeon.”

  Sir Morell probably intended no offense, so I decided to show none. “Your understanding is correct, sir. I served in the late Afghan war. Until recently, I also maintained a private practice.”

  “Have you any knowledge of, or experience in laryngology?”

  “I once examined a suspected case of laryngeal cancer.”

  “Indeed? How did you undertake to treat the patient?”

  “Not feeling myself sufficiently versed in the disease, I sent him to a specialist.”

  “Very wise of you. And did the gentleman survive?”

  “I believe he died, Sir Morell, a short time after I referred him to you.”

  “To me? What was the gentleman’s name?”

  I told him. “Strictly speaking, he was not a gentleman, but a factory worker. As such, I was told he found himself unable to afford your fee.”

  “How unfortunate!” To my surprise, Mackenzie seemed genuinely pained. “I make a point of reducing my fees for patients from the lower classes. Surely there was some misunderstanding![45]