Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the Dying Emperor

by Thomas A. Turley

  74 “Not again!”

  75 In his report on the Emperor’s case, von Bergmann admits that the royal messenger, who arrived “about three o’clock in the afternoon ... had not found me at home but at a consultation in a hotel in the city” (p. 79). He does not specify the hotel’s name or the nature of the consultation.

  76 In Frederick the Noble (p. 145), Sir Morell included this additional justification for calling in von Bergmann.

  77 Haydn’s Gott erhalte Franz den Kaiser (God Save the Emperor Francis) was composed in 1797 as the anthem of the Holy Roman (later Austrian) empire, serving until that realm’s demise in 1918. No doubt to Metternich’s disgust, it had been employed (with new lyrics by August Heinrich Hoffmann von Fallersleben) in the cause of German economic and political unity prior to the revolutions of 1848. Although never officially the Hohenzollern empire’s anthem, Deutschland über alles (sung to Haydn’s tune) gained fame when regiments filled with German students sang it while being slaughtered on the Western Front. Even more ironically, it was the Weimer Republic that adopted Deutschland über alles as Germany’s official anthem in 1922. Only the first verse of Fallersleben’s song - emphasizing unity, protection, and defense - was accepted by the Nazis, who dropped later references to justice, freedom, wine, women, and song. Conversely, the third stanza - “unity and justice and freedom” restored - was approved in 1991 as the reunified German Republic’s anthem. Somehow, Haydn’s music survived all these transmutations without change. See Wikipedia at: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Deutschlandlied.

  78 In regard to the events of April 12, the writings of Mackenzie (pp. 145–150) and von Bergmann (pp. 79–82) are so irreconcilable that at least one of them is obviously lying. Both accounts are more circumspect than Watson’s, for reasons to be explained later in the story. Although it is impossible to know for certain what happened in that room, one witness had no reason to be less than truthful. On the night of April 12, the Emperor Frederick recorded in his diary: “Bergmann for consultation ... but he immediately took Mackenzie’s place and with brutal strength forced in another cannula. Respiration easier but was very worn out after this business and stayed in bed that [sic] afternoon.” (See Pakula, p. 480). Sir Frederick Ponsonby noted that “Bergmann’s roughness was never forgotten by the Emperor.” “[A] pathetic proof of the agony [he] endured” was contained in a message Frederick wrote three days before his death. In answer to a question about a canula, His Majesty replied: “the same [one] Hovell tried before Bergmann ill-treated me.” (p. 308) Mackenzie was not allowed to quote this evidence in his own defense, although he referred to it obliquely on p. 149.

  79 Needless to say, in his account von Bergmann insisted that he had, “as may well be understood, thoroughly disinfected my hands in a basin containing a solution of carbolic acid. ...” (p. 81). If so, none of the other doctors present witnessed it; and it is difficult to credit that Watson, at least, would have misrepresented what took place. Although Mackenzie had hinted that the Professor “was not at the time in a condition to observe things accurately” (p. 149), only long after both men’s deaths did Mark Hovell reveal von Bergmann’s drunkenness. “[T]here was no doubt whatever in his mind,” wrote Sir Morell’s biographer, “that von Bergmann had been drinking and that he swayed from side to side as he tried to insert the cannula.” (Stevenson, p. 123).

  80 See Frederick the Noble, pp. 148–149. Von Bergmann officially retired from the case on April 30. The reports of Dr. Bardeleben, who attended the Emperor for the rest of his life, are found in Case of Emperor Frederick III, pp. 87–91. For the Professor’s own assessment of the situation, see pp. 84–86.

  81 Bismarck surprised the imperial couple by arranging this generous settlement from the estate of William I. Less graciously, he advised the Empress “to invest this money safely abroad as soon as she received it.” It was indeed on the night of April 12 that Frederick III gave the glad news to his wife, so the “fatal day” ended on something of a high note. See Röhl, p. 794.

  82 Count Radolinski had also expressed such sentiments in a letter to Holstein in November 1887. Although he often worked to undermine Victoria, he recognized that her determined cheerfulness resulted from a “superhuman struggle” to keep up her husband’s spirits. Radolinski even declared his intention “to see that [Frederick] remain[s] on the throne as long as possible.” (Röhl, p. 702) Thus, despite his position as a spy for Bismarck, the Hof-Marschall was not without sympathy for the couple he disloyally served.

  Chapter 6: The Founding of the German Empire

  In contrast to the previous morning, Friday, the thirteenth of April, began with a knock upon my door by Sherlock Holmes. It was hard to imagine the new day, for all its evil reputation, being any more ill-omened than its predecessor. My friend, however, seemed to have put the disasters of the twelfth behind him, and even to have reached an accommodation with our adversaries.

  “Good morrow, friend Watson,” he hailed me cheerfully. “I have just returned from an amiable stroll into the capital with Major Lyncker. After I despatched my telegram to London, he treated me to Frühstück in our favourite café. There he regaled me with the morning papers. It looks as though the Bismarck clique has wasted no time in reinterpreting yesterday’s events to their own satisfaction.”

  He deposited a pile of well-thumbed newsprint beside my breakfast tray. “As you know quite well,” I grumbled, “my German is hardly up to making sense of these.”

  “My apologies, Doctor,” murmured Holmes. “Let me translate for you a few of the relevant paragraphs quoted by the military attaché. He seemed to take a great delight in them, although I fear that our medical cohorts will be less pleased.

  “Here is the latest from the Kölnische Zeitung, one of the Chancellor’s most reliable supporters. It accuses our friend Hovell of injuring the Emperor’s trachea on the night of the eleventh, while trying to adjust the canula. ‘Diseased matter was forced into the patient’s lungs, leaving him at the point of suffocation for the next fifteen hours.’”

  “Impossible-” I began, but my friend raised a hand to halt the interruption.

  “‘Fortunately,’ the article continues, ‘Professor von Bergmann arrived in time to snatch His Imperial Majesty from the jaws of death, rectifying the criminal ineptitude - or worse - shown by the English doctors.’”

  “But that is monstrous, Holmes!”

  “Is it? Then let us try The Times. Ah, that distinguished journal’s Berlin correspondent has simply reprinted an item from the Cologne Gazette. ‘It was resolved,’ the British public are informed, ‘to insert a new and larger cannula, and this was deftly done’ - deftly, mind you, Watson - ‘by Professor von Bergmann himself.’”

  “‘Deftly?’” I cried in outrage.

  “Indeed. Now for the Kreuz-Zeitung, the organ of the Prussian court party. It accuses Sir Morell of being utterly rathlos (or, loosely translated, ‘at his wit’s end’) when confronted by the Emperor’s alarming state. ‘Care has now been taken,’ we are told, ‘to have either Professor von Bergmann or Dr. Bramann always at hand in future, so as to obviate such accidents.’”[83]

  Imagining how the laryngologist would react to this report, I could only join Holmes in helpless laughter. “What barefaced effrontery! How can any reputable newspaper print such lies? It’s downright libellous!”

  “No, Doctor, it is merely the manipulation of compliant editors by politicians highly skilled in controlling information. Remember, Ponsonby warned us of Prince Bismarck’s ‘vast, corrupt influence on the German press.’ I have no doubt that von Bergmann - or, more likely, Bramann - quickly reported yesterday’s fiasco to Count Radolinski, and that clever fellow set the wheels in motion to transfer the blame. Poor Hovell was an obvious scapegoat: His Majesty’s only attendant on the night of the eleventh, save for von Bergmann’s spy.”


  We decided to visit Hovell and Mackenzie and offer our condolences. However, on arriving at the Emperor’s quarters, we encountered neither the English doctors nor the Emperor himself, only Drs. Wegner and Bramann. Those gentlemen simply stared at us disdainfully, turning their backs when we enquired as to their colleagues’ whereabouts. More auspiciously, the pretty maid who followed us into the corridor informed my friend that “der junge Engländer” was walking in the palace gardens. We found Mark Hovell slumped upon a bench beside the central fountain, staring at the pond as though contemplating his immediate immersion. Nevertheless, he accepted our words of commiseration with a rueful smile.

  “If you think I am angry, gentlemen, you should talk with Sir Morell. He would happily consign every reporter on the planet to the fires of Hell, starting with the Times’ correspondent, Mr. Lowe. ‘This, too, shall pass,’ no doubt, but my chief is determined to write The Times a letter of rebuttal.”

  “Speaking of Mackenzie,” queried Holmes, “what has become of the laryngologist and his imperial patient?”

  A mien of care returned to the young surgeon’s face. “They have taken a drive into Berlin,” he said reluctantly. “His Majesty felt well when he awoke this morning, but he was running a slight fever. Even von Bergmann advised against the trip-”

  “Von Bergmann?” I nearly shouted. “He had the nerve to show his face?”

  “Oh, yes, although the Emperor refused to see him. Naturally, he arrived before we had seen the morning papers! He wanted Sir Morell to issue a bulletin announcing the successful changing of the canula. Sir Morell thought it better to quiet public anxiety by having His Majesty make an appearance in the capital.[84] Tomorrow,” he added bitterly, “they are visiting the Thiergarten!”

  “Once again,” snarled Sherlock Holmes, “the patient’s welfare is imperilled merely to preserve the reputations of his two physicians! In this matter, Mr. Hovell, your chief has no less to answer for than does his German rival.”

  Hovell nodded unhappily but made no reply, and we sat for a long while in silence.

  “But what does it all mean?” the detective finally blurted. “The Emperor Frederick is doomed. Even if he lives another year - even if he implements the liberal reforms that he envisions, those reforms can easily be undone by his successor. Why attack him now, merely to shorten a life that cannot last much longer? And why, Mark Hovell, make you the scapegoat of this needless plot?”

  The junior surgeon smiled and rose, his equanimity restored. “I believe that I can answer at least your second question, Mr. Holmes. Walk with me, gentlemen, and I will tell you a story.

  “As late as last December,” Hovell recounted as we strolled beside the Spree, “there was still reason to hope that Crown Prince Frederick would recover.[85] Despite the cancer diagnosis in November, his symptoms largely abated over the next month. The recently discovered tumour nearly disappeared; the congestion and swelling in adjacent tissues were substantially reduced. Sir Morell, who returned to San Remo after several weeks in London, decided once again that his patient might not have cancer after all. Indeed, it did not seem so. The Crown Prince was in fine spirits and looked very fit; he out-walked us all in the hills above the Riviera. Our main problem was to keep His Highness from using his voice too frequently at dinner! He would rail against the Berlin press for reporting he was sicker than he really was.”

  The surgeon sighed a little wistfully. “It was a happy time, gentlemen - perhaps the last happy time the poor man knew. Lady Ponsonby arrived to visit the Crown Princess; Her Highness seemed more relaxed and cheerful than she had been for many months. The couple was even looking forward to their children visiting for Christmas.

  “Well, Mr. Holmes,” he broke off, noting my friend’s impatient frown, “I shall spare you any more nostalgia. There was just one cloud on our horizon: the safety of the Crown Prince’s war diaries. During the Jubilee, he had deposited part of his archives in Windsor Castle, but the diaries had been left behind. With Frederick’s health uncertain, and surrounded by Prince Bismarck’s spies, Their Highnesses sought to move all their private papers to safekeeping against the eventual accession of their son.[86] It was decided that the diaries must be smuggled from the Villa Zirio, and I was selected to undertake the task.”

  Sherlock Holmes gave a cry of surprise, startling a small flock of ducks that flew off quacking in alarm. “You impress me, Mr. Hovell! I had not counted espionage among your many talents.”

  “Believe me, sir, I was an utter novice in the field. Yet, in the end it was a fairly simple matter to arrange. My father had been ill - still is, unfortunately - and late one night I received an urgent call to return forthwith to England. The diaries had been left open in plain view upon a table in the drawing room, so I quickly slipped the three small volumes into my coat as I walked by. Their absence was not noted until the following morning. Naturally, Count Radolinski responded with his usual efficiency, telegraphing every agent in the German Empire to watch all routes to England and extract the diaries from my luggage. But it was all to no avail.”

  “Fascinating!” enthused Holmes. “However did you manage to elude their snares?”

  “Quite simply, Mr. Holmes. I never left for England. The call from London was a ruse. Instead, I took a fast train to Berlin, went directly to the embassy, and awoke Sir Edward Malet in the early hours of the morning. It was at that point that I came closest to arrest, but after considerable wrangling I persuaded him to take the diaries. By now, they are certainly safe somewhere within the British Isles.”[87]

  Both Holmes and I burst into admiring laughter. “But surely, Hovell,” I exclaimed, “you must have been suspected?”

  “Oh, undoubtedly. I received some dark looks from the attachés when I returned to the Villa Zirio. My room had been ransacked with deliberate clumsiness, reminding me that my hosts were not quite the fools that they appeared. Still, I was never interrogated, although the Hof-Marschall was most solicitous in enquiring after the health of my poor father. Otherwise, there were no further repercussions - until today, that is.”

  “A remarkable story,” my friend marvelled, “and one that reflects great credit upon your courage and inventiveness. My congratulations, Hovell.” Flushing slightly, the young surgeon accepted a well-earned handshake from us both.

  “But what,” I mused aloud, “was in the diaries that made Prince Bismarck so determined to retrieve them? Surely, Frederick’s part in the Wars of Unification is already quite well known.”

  “I cannot tell you, Watson,” Hovell answered, “although it must be something the Chancellor fears escaping his control. His Highness asked me to abstain from reading the war diaries, and I honoured his request. I have no idea whatever of their contents.”

  “I know one man who does,” said Sherlock Holmes.

  The Hof-Marschall received us in a small but elegant salon, where he had ordered afternoon tea served in the English fashion.[88] As we sipped Darjeeling from exquisite Chinese porcelain, our host cheerfully acknowledged Hovell’s exploit.

  “Jawohl, gentlemen, it is quite true. The young rascal got the better of us that time. Who would have thought an English sawbones could outwit the Chancellor’s best spies? Also, you can be sure, we were not sorry to do him an ill turn when the opportunity arose. Do have another scone, Herr Doktor. Her Majesty is quite fond of them, so we try to keep her happy in that way, if not in others.”

  In reply to Holmes’ query regarding the war diaries’ significance, Count Radolinski hesitated only briefly. “Perhaps I owe you both a little of the truth. Do you wish to hear how our great German Empire was proclaimed? Then have another cup of tea, and I will tell you.” Having poured, he settled back a moment to collect his thoughts.

  “You must understand that as the year 1871 began, Crown Prince Friedrich’s fame was at its zenith. His army was before the gates of Paris, having won two early vi
ctories and played a crucial part in the decisive Battle of Sedan. The Crown Prince was beloved by his troops, admired even by his French opponents, and - at the time - the apple of his father’s eye. And it was he, not Bismarck, who persuaded King Wilhelm to don the imperial crown.” From the corner of my eye, I saw my friend suppress a whistle.

  “The King’s outlook, you see, was purely Prussian. Already in his seventies, he had ruled the realm for many years. Incredible as it seems to us today, as a boy he had seen his parents humiliated by the first Napoleon and his beautiful young mother driven to an early grave. The old man hated France with all his being, but once her humiliation was achieved, he was content. That is Indian chutney, Herr Holmes, if you are not partial to anchovy paste.” Holmes opted instead for the smoked salmon.

  “Even after Napoleon III’s defeat,” the Count continued, “Paris would not fall. New French armies, formed by the recently proclaimed republic, had risen to come to the capital’s relief. By mid-winter, our German armies were exhausted and faced an entire nation armed against them. Everyone - myself included - wanted to go home. While the Chancellor was painfully negotiating to bring Bavaria and Württemberg into the Confederation, thus uniting all the German states, the King of Prussia still stubbornly opposed the imperial idea. He cared nothing for an emperor’s crown; he likened it to ‘a brevet rank as a lieutenant-colonel’ conferred upon a major!”

  Recalling my ambition to hold that very rank, I could not withhold a rueful chuckle. It failed to distract our storyteller from his course.

  “On the day before the empire was to be proclaimed in Versailles’ Hall of Mirrors, King Wilhelm threw a tantrum and would have nothing more to do with the event. Count Bismarck, too, was in hysterics. By that time, he had already quarrelled with von Moltke and the generals, with half the German princes, and now even with the King himself. His whole, carefully prepared edifice threatened to come crashing down! The Crown Prince knew well what Bismarck was; he had freely expressed that knowledge in his diaries.[89] He looked forward to a very different sort of German Empire, one in which a man such as the Iron Chancellor would have no place. Natürlich, the fearsome Otto knew the Heir-Apparent’s feelings very well. At this juncture, gentlemen, his political future was not bright!”