Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the Dying Emperor

by Thomas A. Turley

  “I suspected that Mr. Sherlock Holmes’ true interest might lie elsewhere. In fact, Watson, there is a subject in the political line that I should like to discuss with both of you as soon as possible.”

  “Come with me now, then. I’m sure that Holmes would welcome a distraction. He has just returned from a rather trying visit to the Chancellery.”

  “No, it cannot be tonight. He did not like to say so in front of you, but Sir Morell is not happy with the Emperor’s breathing. I don’t know whether you noticed, but there was a distinct rasping sound coming through the canula.”

  “I did notice, Hovell, but it hardly seemed my place to comment.”

  “We fear that the wall of the trachea is collapsing and pressing on the canula’s rear opening. Its front portion seems to be extruding from the wound. If His Majesty has trouble breathing in the night, I must try to adjust it.”

  “Ah, night duty! The bane of the locum tenens, as I discovered in my early days. Hard luck, old man.”

  “As the junior, it’s often my sad lot. Oddly, both Their Majesties seem to find my presence comforting.[67] Perhaps it’s because I don’t remind them of their eldest son!”

  With a laugh, we said good-bye and went our separate ways, having little inkling that disaster would befall us on the morrow.

  55 Baedeker’s description of Berlin’s hotels is found on pp. 2–3. In a later era of the city’s history, the corner on which this one stood (as can be verified by Google Maps) became famous as the site of Checkpoint Charlie.

  56 Although of German ancestry, Ernst von Bergmann (1836–1907) was born in Riga, Livonia (now Latvia), one of the Baltic governorates of the Russian Empire. As Mycroft discovered, he had been Professor of Surgery at Dorpat and Würzburg before arriving in Berlin (1882), where he held the same post for the rest of his career. Von Bergmann had gained considerable experience as a military surgeon, serving in Bismarck’s wars with Austria and France as well as the Russo-Turkish War (1877–1878). Besides the achievements Watson cites, he developed an improved procedure for treating gunshot wounds and wrote classic works on head injuries and brain surgery. See his biographical article in Wikipedia (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ernst_von_Bergmann). As he informed Watson, von Bergmann was “a liberal in politics, and a friend of the Crown Prince” (Ponsonby, p. 225), facts which make his conduct of the case - from the British point of view, at least - all the more ambiguous.

  57 Founded in 1709, the Charité-Universitätsmedizin Berlin is today Europe’s largest university clinic. It was first established outside the city walls (in anticipation of an outbreak of bubonic plague) and later became a charity hospital for the poor. After the founding of the University of Berlin (Humboldt University by 1888), the Charité was integrated into the university as a teaching hospital in 1828. Besides von Bergmann, other luminaries who taught there at the time of our story included Rudolf Virchow and the Nobel Prize winners Emil von Behring, Paul Ehrlich, and Robert Koch. Besides Wikipedia’s article (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charit%C3%A9), see Baedeker, pp. 22–23. The Charité was also the subject of a six-part German television miniseries, set in “The Year of the Three Emperors” and shown on Netflix in 2018.

  58 Properly speaking, the “Chariot of Victory” is a quadriga, a four-horse chariot used in Greek mythology by gods and heroes (in this case, the goddess of victory). Installed when the Brandenburg Gate was constructed as a monument to peace (1789–1793), it was taken to Paris by Napoleon after Prussia’s defeat in 1807, but restored to Berlin when the Corsican Tyrant fell in 1814. Although the boulevard Unter den Linden was laid out in the 16th century, it was “The Great Elector” Frederick William who planted its linden or lime trees (not the fruit-bearing variety) in 1647. The American travelogue writer and lecturer John L. Stoddard (1850–1931) likewise noted the trees’ decline in his lectures on Wilhelminian Berlin, published in 1901. Stoddard also wrote of the triumphal parade through the Brandenburg Gate in 1871, “when the old Emperor, the Crown Prince, Bismarck, and Von Moltke, together with many of the war-scarred veterans who had so recently beheld, as conquerors, the Arch of Triumph [in Paris] ... [were] welcomed by thousands of admiring relatives and friends” (http://chestofbooks.com/travel/germany/berlin/John-Stoddard-Lectures/Berlin-Part-2.html). For more on Unter den Linden during Holmes and Watson’s visit, see Baedeker, pp. 20–25; and Wikipedia articles on Unter den Linden (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Unter_den_Linden) and the Brandenburg Gate (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brandenburg_Gate).

  59 Stoddard reported that “[o]ccasionally, one finds in Germany ‘American Bars,’ where every kind of fancy drink known in the United States is advertised to be made ... but these are little patronized, save by a few American travelers. ...” (http://chestofbooks.com/travel/germany/berlin/John-Stoddard-Lectures/Berlin-Part-7.html). This hotel was an obvious exception. Watson had already encountered American-style bars, of course, in San Francisco.

  60 Von Bergmann’s account of his conversation with the Empress is confirmed by her letter to Queen Victoria (February 26, 1888), Ponsonby, p. 277. After the events of April 12, the surgeon repeated to Frederick von Holstein his opinion “that an early death as a result of an affection of the lung would be the best thing” for the Emperor. See Pakula, p. 481, quoting Holstein’s diaries.

  61 Von Bergmann wrote of his April 8 examination of the Emperor in Case of Emperor Frederick III, p. 78. On pp. 82–83, he reiterated his theory that cancerous disintegration of the larynx was responsible for the Emperor’s breathing problems on the night of April 11, as well as the fever and purulent discharge he suffered after von Bergmann’s intervention on the 12th. Earlier, Dr. Felix Semon had independently concluded from the British Isles that the bleeding that afflicted Crown Prince Frederick after his tracheotomy was “coming from the cancer itself” and was not due (as Mackenzie claimed) to Dr. Bramann’s canula. See his letter to Herbert Bismarck, Röhl, pp. 780–782.

  62 Both Baedeker (pp. 73–74) and Stoddard (http://chestofbooks.com/travel/germany/berlin/John-Stoddard-Lectures/Berlin-Part-11.html) offer good descriptions of the Thiergarten (as the word was Anglicized) and its zoological garden. The latter source includes several contemporary photographs. Watson’s romantic afternoon with Constance took place in San Francisco’s Woodward’s Gardens.

  63 Coincidentally, Granada Television’s 1986 adaptation of “The Man with the Twisted Lip” had Edward Hardwicke’s grumpy Watson make this rejoinder to a similar lament from Jeremy Brett’s Holmes, as they pursued game afoot too early in the morning.

  64 Although its original, sexual meaning is far older, the slang idiom “to be had,” in the sense of duped or cheated, originated very early in the 19th century and was used in the underworld on both sides of the Atlantic. Sources include Eric Partridge in A Dictionary of Slang and Unconventional English (Fifth Edition, 1961) - who quotes in turn G. Harrington’s The New London Spy - and Robert Chapman and Barbara Kipfer, Dictionary of American Slang (Third Edition, 1995). See the article at: https://english.stackexchange.com/questions/104480/what-is-the-origin-of-the-idiom-have-been-had).

  65 Early in May, 1888, Mackenzie made a point of noting that “the vegetations around the tracheal orifice, which at the suggestion of Professor Bardeleben [von Bergmann’s successor after he retired from the case] had been treated with bismuth, had completely disappeared - a proof that they were not cancerous growths as had been positively stated by von Bergmann” (p. 164). He neglected to add, however, that the growths - whether cancerous or not - reappeared a few days later and began to decompose. See Bardeleben’s case notes for May 9, 19, and 21, 1888 in Case of Emperor Frederick III, pp. 88–89.

  66 Mackenzie described his non-invasive procedure to extirpate Crown Prince Frederick’s tumor on p. 35. Watson’s clumsy attempt to employ the laryngoscope was similar to Dr. Bramann�
�s, as described on pp. 75–76. Sir Morrell pityingly chronicled Dr. Kussmaul’s “adventures as a laryngologist” on pp. 113–114.

  67 The Empress wrote of Mr. Hovell: “One feels such absolute security when he sits up all night!” (letter of June 8, 1888 to Queen Victoria ; Ponsonby, p. 312).

  Chapter 5: A Fatal Day[68]

  Soon after I awakened the next morning, Hovell sent a note advising me that the Emperor’s breathing had worsened in the night. His adjustments of the canula had not prevailed; and Sir Morell, now deeply concerned, was consulting his remaining German colleagues. Sherlock Holmes did not answer to my knock, so I assumed that he was either out upon some mission or still enshrouded in tobacco smoke, oblivious to my presence and all other non-essential factors as he ruminated on the case. After I had dressed and eaten, I retraced my steps to Frederick’s suite and, receiving a nod from Mackenzie, joined in the consultation.

  “Good day, Dr. Watson,” the specialist said cordially, with no trace of the reserve he had exhibited the night before. “I believe that you have not met Dr. Krause, my fellow laryngologist, or His Majesty’s personal physician, Dr. Wegner.”[69] I nodded to these gentlemen and greeted Hovell, who looked tired and worried.

  “We tried the effect of a shorter canula,” he told me, “but it seemed to do no lasting good. Sir Morell is about to go into Berlin to retrieve several new ones he had ordered. He thinks their design will better suit the fragile condition of the Emperor’s trachea.”

  “His Majesty is perfectly well for the present,” Mackenzie assured us, his confident words belied by the anxiety in his demeanour. “Please look in upon him, Dr. Watson, if you wish. I shall be gone no more than an hour.” His departure was regarded with misgivings by Drs. Krause and Wegner. They exchanged some words in German, bowed to us, and re-entered the Emperor’s bedchamber.

  “Do you want to go in, Watson?” Hovell asked. His tone revealed that my presence would be merely a distraction.

  “No, I should probably report to Holmes. Is there indeed no danger?”

  “I think not, although old Wegner says that Frederick has complained of pressure in his chest. His breathing is still noisy, but freer than it was earlier this morning. That rascal Beerbaum has absconded, by the way. You and Mr. Holmes are welcome to attend at any time. I’ll send you word when Sir Morell returns.”

  Feeling rather like the fifth wheel on the coach, I walked back to my own part of the Schloss, where I found Holmes pacing up and down the hall outside our rooms.

  “Where were you, Watson?” he greeted me impatiently. “I looked for you before I went into Berlin. This time, I made my way to the telegraph office without being followed. Ponsonby will be glad to have Mackenzie’s prognosis that His Majesty is likely to survive another year.”

  “Let us hope that prognosis has not changed.” I quickly apprised him of the crisis. Holmes seemed less disturbed by the Emperor’s condition than by Beerbaum’s disappearance. “It was he, you say, who reported Frederick’s worsened breathing?”

  “So Hovell told me in his message. It seems His Majesty had a sudden coughing fit just after midnight, when Hovell left the room and Beerbaum was on duty.”

  “Indeed? That is suggestive, though hardly conclusive. And then von Bergmann’s agent fled his post - off, no doubt, to take the tidings to his master.”

  It was now past noon, and I had received no word from Hovell. Being somewhat at loose ends, Holmes and I occupied an hour by walking in the palace gardens. I had no expectation, naturally, that we would discuss the case. Instead, I was treated to a disquisition on the waterfowl inhabiting the Spree. My friend’s vast store of arcane knowledge was often used to foil my curiosity about more relevant concerns.

  On emerging from our ramble, we found a messenger waiting with a note informing us that Mackenzie had at last returned. We departed at once for the Emperor’s chambers, Holmes accompanying me as a matter of course. Sir Morell, who stood talking with Hovell in an ante-room, looked displeased to see my friend. However, he voiced no objection, directing his remarks to me.

  “There you are, Dr. Watson. As I was telling Mr. Hovell, the canulae I ordered in Berlin were not yet ready. I have instructed the instrument-maker to make a temporary one of lead, so that it can be re-shaped quickly if the need arises. It will be delivered by mid-afternoon. Meanwhile, I have written to invite Professor von Bergmann to attend the new tube’s fitting. It will be a different model than any we have used before.”

  “Is his presence essential?” I involuntarily blurted, appalled at my own temerity. Before Mackenzie could respond, my friend said quietly, “I should advise against that invitation, Sir Morell.”

  “It is required by professional courtesy,” the laryngologist insisted.[70] “An elementary rule of civilised medical practice, Mr. Holmes, is that all those associated in a case be acquainted with any new treatment that is carried out. May I remind you, sir,” he added, “that you claim to be here as a political observer. It is not your place to intervene in the discussions of His Majesty’s physicians on an issue of medical procedure.”

  The detective bowed. “On your own head be it,” he said coldly before stalking to the window. Hovell and I exchanged unhappy glances, but Sir Morell seemed unperturbed as he turned back to me.

  “If you wish to be useful, Dr. Watson, you may take this message and ask Count Radolinski to provide a mounted courier. He should ride ventre à terre[71] to reach von Bergmann’s house as soon as possible.

  “Now, Mr. Hovell,” he concluded, after handing me the note, “I think it is time that you and I returned to our patient. Good afternoon, gentlemen.”

  With a nod in our direction, Mackenzie marched to the Emperor’s bedroom, trailed by his mortified assistant. Sherlock Holmes and I were left standing like a pair of schoolboys dismissed by the headmaster.

  “Well, Watson,” my friend sighed glumly, “we have made a pretty mess of things. In our defence, I doubt the British medical profession could produce a greater ass. Surely he is more than capable of killing Frederick without his rival’s aid!”

  “Why,” I asked, as we made our way down now-familiar corridors, “were you opposed to calling in von Bergmann?”

  “Why were you?” retorted Holmes. “It was an instinct, Doctor, and one you would do well to cultivate. The Professor’s conduct is the one inconsistent factor in this case, and that inconsistency makes him suspect in my eyes. A surgeon who insists upon the safety of an operation which three experts assure us means almost certain death? A liberal who consults with minions of the Iron Chancellor? A friend of the still-reigning Emperor who speaks of ‘accustoming ourselves to a new order?’ And his henchman in the palace was alone with Frederick when he took his sudden turn.”

  “Well, you have convinced me, Holmes. Perhaps I should tear up this note.”

  “No, Doctor, we had best play the cards we have been dealt. That stubborn fool would only send another, and we should be excluded henceforth from his councils. If, indeed, we are not already banished!”

  We found the Hof-Marschall at his post and made Mackenzie’s wishes known. Holmes - still smarting from his wasted visit to the Chancellery - treated the Count with some asperity, but Radolinski remained as glibly courteous as ever. To my surprise, he seemed genuinely distressed about the Emperor; hence (my friend remarked) we could be reasonably certain the message would be delivered to von Bergmann’s home and not to Paris or East Prussia. A rider was immediately summoned and took off at a gallop. When an hour passed and neither he nor the German surgeon had appeared, Holmes’ patience (never bottomless) had nearly reached its limit. At that moment, happily, the instrument-maker arrived from Berlin with the new canula; so we took the opportunity to escort him to the doctors. It was I, in fact, who took the last few steps, for Holmes prudently remained outside the door.

  I was greeted by the anxious Hovell, while
Sir Morell, without acknowledging me, began to inspect the leaden canula. “No word?” I asked.

  “None.” The young surgeon shook his head in exasperation. “I telephoned the house.[72] The royal messenger had been there, but the Professor’s servants were unsure of his whereabouts. I left a message urging him to make all haste.” He lowered his voice, although Mackenzie and the workman were deep in conversation. “Frankly, Watson, I am seriously worried. His Majesty’s breathing is no better, and to my mind he shows signs of oxygen depletion. Sir Morell is still convinced there is no danger. Do you think we could persuade him to proceed without von Bergmann?”

  “I have another idea that might be more successful. I met von Bergmann yesterday at a hotel where he apparently spends quite a bit of time. Suppose that Holmes and I look for him there? If we don’t find him and he still has not arrived, I’ll do whatever I can to help you with Mackenzie.”

  It was so agreed, and I slipped from the room without further notice. Holmes likewise acceded to my plan, and we hired a diligence outside the palace gates. Though I had proposed that borrowing horses would be faster, my friend (who considered the creatures “dangerous at both ends and crafty in the middle”) demurred.[73] He urged our driver not to spare his own, however, and we came to the Hôtel S_____ L_____ shortly before three o’clock.

  With his habitual caution, Holmes dismissed our cab well down the street, and we approached the place on foot. As we turned onto the Zimmer-Strasse, he seized my arm to halt my progress.