The Hof-Marschall paused to sip Darjeeling, knowing that he held us rapt. Quite unexpectedly, the keeper of Prince Bismarck’s secrets had revealed an episode in German history that few foreigners were privileged to be told.
“In the end, it was ‘unser Fritz’ who persuaded the old King to seize his destiny. He spoke to his father patiently and kindly, as one would to a child, reminding him that the House of Hohenzollern had risen from the dignity of Burggraf to Elector and then to the Crown, each step taken without prejudicing the family or the country. Now one last step was needed to restore the old German Empire of a thousand years ago, in a far truer sense than ever had the ‘Holy Roman Empire’ of the Habsburgs. This final step the entire world was waiting for His Majesty to take.
“But at this” - Radolinski raised a hand dramatically, enjoying his own performance - “the King sprang up in a fury, ordered us all from the room, and declared he would not hear another word of the ceremony appointed for tomorrow! We left his quarters in despair. The Chancellor was ashen-faced at the ruin of his magnificent ambitions... Do you object to Viennese strudel as our third course, gentleman? I am afraid Battenberg cake has quite gone out of style.”
Once the strudel was distributed, the Count resumed his tale. “The next morning, there came news of another victory that prevented the relief of Paris. The Crown Prince called for a Guard of Honour to parade beneath his father’s window. Old King Wilhelm emerged smiling broadly, and it was evident that he had reconsidered the wise words of his heir. Also, the imperial ceremony that afternoon went off without a hitch! The Heir-Apparent knelt to kiss his father’s hand; the newly proclaimed Kaiser raised his son up and embraced him - all this while the man who regarded himself as Germany’s creator stood and glowered in the throng below.[90]
“Thus, in a very real sense, gentlemen,” concluded Radolinski, “it was the Crown Prince of Prussia - not Otto von Bismarck - who finally brought the German Empire to fruition. And the Chancellor will do whatever he must do to guard his legacy and keep that fact from being widely known.”
“It seems he has already done so,” remarked Sherlock Holmes. “Yet, your loyalty, Count Radolinski, remains with the Iron Chancellor, not with the Emperor whom you have sworn to serve.”
“Alas, Herr Holmes, some of us find ourselves on the wrong side of history. But it is still the winning side. We accept our place; we even try to profit from it. Nonetheless, I would ask you to believe that in our hearts, we wish the outcome had been different.”
The Hof-Marschall rose, offering us a melancholy smile. “And now, my dear opponents, I must ask you to excuse me. Prince Bismarck will be awaiting my report.”
Shortly after ten o’clock that evening, I consulted briefly with the English doctors. Sir Morell, having returned from a late dinner, had just looked in upon the Emperor. He found His Majesty still feverish and breathing rather rapidly.
“There is no hindrance to air passing through the canula, however,” the specialist assured me. “Such quickened respiration no doubt results from shock, which is to be expected after yesterday’s ordeal. Mr. Hovell,” he added, smiling at his junior colleague, “has advised cancelling our visit to the Thiergarten tomorrow. There, I must be guided by the wishes of my august patient! If he is no worse in the morning, there should be no harm.”
With that, Mackenzie left us to report to the Empress on her husband’s condition. Hovell and I exchanged despairing looks.
“Watson, I cannot fathom Sir Morell’s complacency! He told me earlier that he feared an infection, or even pneumonia, would develop from von Bergmann’s mutilation of the Emperor’s throat. Yet, he permits His Majesty to continue his usual routine, even though he has complained of chills as well as fever.”[91]
At that point, we were accosted by the spectral Beerbaum, whom Mackenzie (to my surprise) had allowed to resume his duties as orderly. I declined to join Hovell in a new examination of the Emperor, deciding instead to retire early for a good night’s rest.
As I left the imperial apartments, I saw the stout, bearded figure of none other than von Bergmann in the hallway. With him was a young man of middle height, deceptively mild of countenance and less fiercely moustached than he would be in later years. His left arm, I noticed, was slightly shorter than his right. Even without that disfigurement, his ostentatious uniform - worn at this late hour in his family’s rooms - would have told me that I had encountered Crown Prince William, heir-apparent to his father’s throne.
His Highness evidently knew my identity as well. After whispering a word to his companion, he approached me with a smirk of patent insincerity.
“Guten Abend, Herr Doktor Watson! How fares my noble Papa?”
“Not well, Your Imperial Highness. I expect that he would welcome a visit from his son and heir.”
“No doubt he would; but not just now, I think. My friend von Bergmann is no longer admitted to the imperial presence - thanks to you!”[92]
I half-bowed to the Professor, who returned a scowl. “Regrettably, I cannot take full credit for that accomplishment, Your Highness.”
“Certainly not! There is also Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Rest assured, I shall remember you two gentlemen when I come into my throne. Perhaps I shall send both you a minor decoration, as my father is so fond of giving to his doctors.”
“I thank Your Imperial Highness. Holmes and I will likewise remember our visit to Charlottenburg. Even now, his reports provide enlightening reading for the gentlemen in Whitehall.”
The bland young face suffused with anger, although the voice remained quite calm. “Sehr gut! When you return to London - and you shall, quite soon - pray give my greetings to dear Grandmamma. Tell her I look forward to welcoming her into my realm as Kaiser! Remind her of the photograph I sent her several years ago. The one that says: ‘I bide my time!’”[93] I am nine-and-twenty, Herr Doktor, and my memory is long.”
He nodded curtly and, ignoring my bow, rejoined the Professor. The two of them stalked silently away, in the opposite direction from the Emperor’s suite. I returned to my own room in the palace, but I cannot say that I slept well that night.
83 Newspaper reports of the crisis of April 11–12 were analyzed by Mackenzie (pp. 151–152 and 213–217); by von Bergmann (pp. 84–86); and, less polemically, by Stevenson (pp. 118–120). As Watson notes, Hovell and Mackenzie were outraged by the German accounts and replied in a joint letter to the Times, published on April 24. Sir Morell was equally incensed with the Times’ Berlin correspondent, Charles Lowe, who complained in turn that the laryngologist had not kept him sufficiently informed (Stevenson, p. 119). For his part, von Bergmann denied inspiring the press attacks upon the British doctors, but such collusion could easily have come from Bismarck’s party at the court. His assertion that the Emperor, prior to his arrival, had spent fifteen hours in a state of near-suffocation is found on p. 82.
84 Von Bergmann noted his request for a bulletin announcing the changing of the canula, and his opposition to Frederick’s trip into Berlin, on p. 82 of the German doctors’ report. Although Mackenzie mentioned it in Frederick the Noble (p. 152), he did not explain his reasons for recommending the excursion. The Empress and Princess Viktoria joined them in the closed carriage.
85 In mid-December of 1887, when Mackenzie returned to San Remo after a month’s absence, he noted “a marked improvement in the condition of the Crown Prince ... the most vigorous walker in the party” on a trip to nearby Ospedaletti (p. 78). Sir Morell telegraphed Reid that “the general appearance of the larynx [was] much more favorable” than in November. The “new growth [had] almost disappeared,” encouraging his belief that it was still “impossible to [state] with certainty” that his patient had cancer (Stevenson, pp. 100–101). Lady [Mary] Ponsonby, who spent most of December in the imperial couple’s Villa Zirio, “sat next to the Crown Prince, who looked beautiful, with a fresh co
lour and a good appetite, and whom I had the greatest difficulty to prevent talking” against his doctors’ orders. “At all events,” she reported to her husband on December 3, “the mischief is not progressing, tell Jenner.” (Ponsonby, p. 265). Although convinced that his mother and Mackenzie were hiding his father’s true condition, Prince Henry admitted to his brother William that “On the outside everything seems splendid, Papa is generally in good spirits, very fit, curses at the newspapers and at the fact that at home people are trying ... to make him seem more ill than he is!” (December 17, 1887; Röhl, p. 711). The Crown Prince himself wrote, as late as January 4, that he was entering “the new year with staunch trust in God’s support ... hopeful, as a result of the favorable and lasting change in my condition, that during the coming year I will be able to discharge my duties again - though it may be quite some time before I am fully restored.” (Röhl, p. 773). The next day, his condition began rapidly deteriorating, with renewed congestion, swelling, and breathing difficulty that necessitated a tracheotomy on February 8.
86 Besides the papers sent to Windsor Castle and those the Empress later gave to Captain Ponsonby (see note 2), Frederick and Victoria deposited over 10,000 of their letters to each other “in a purpose-built secret room between two floors in a chateau in the Taunus mountains overlooking Frankfurt.” These documents, now cataloged and “housed in the Hesse Family Archive ... near Fulda in Germany,” were an important new source for Röhl’s biography Young Wilhelm (Röhl, pp. xvii-xix).
87 In his biography of Mackenzie, Stevenson included a slightly fuller account of Hovell’s exploit (pp. 101–102). Although William II later bullied his mother into having her late husband’s diaries, and other papers he had deposited at Windsor, returned to Germany, Frederick did achieve a measure of revenge when excerpts from his war diaries were published (in late September 1888) by one of his former advisers, Professor Heinrich Geffcken. While the Dowager Empress disclaimed prior knowledge of this coup, she expressed satisfaction at the public learning that whereas “the German Empire is supposed to have been called into existence by the Emperor William [I] and Bismarck ... it was Fritz who got it done!” The new Kaiser was outraged, calling the publication of his father’s revelations “high treason!” Bismarck indeed brought charges against Geffcken but ultimately abandoned prosecution. As Sir Frederick Ponsonby noted, the Chancellor’s plan to treat the excerpts as forgery until they were “proved genuine by the ... original” testified to the accuracy of Crown Prince Frederick’s journal. See the Dowager Empress’s letter to her mother (September 24, 1888) and Ponsonby’s analysis, pp. 344, 346. The war diaries were not published in full until 1922, as the Emperor had directed (Ponsonby, p. 357).
88 Although its third course varied slightly, cream tea at Charlottenburg seems surprisingly similar to what Holmes and Watson’s landlady might have served them back in Baker Street. Wendy Heyman-Marsaw’s Memoirs from Mr. Hudson’s Kitchen, edited by JoAnn and Mark Alberstat (London: MX Publishing, 2017), contains a typical menu on p. 21.
89 In his diary for December 31, 1870, the Crown Prince lamented the shift in world sympathy against the German states in a war the French had started. “We are no longer looked upon as the innocent sufferers of wrong, but rather as the arrogant victors, no longer content with the conquest of the foe, but fain to bring about his utter ruin.” Frederick’s remarkable indictment of Bismarckian “Blood and Iron” seems to anticipate the tragic course of German history for the next three-quarters of a century: “In this nation of thinkers and philosophers, poets and artists, idealists and enthusiasts, the world will recognize nothing but a people of conquerors and destroyers. ... Bismarck has made us great and powerful, but he has robbed us of our friends, the sympathies of the world, and - our conscience. ... A preponderance of quite another kind ... was within our reach, for German culture, German science, and German genius must have won us respect, love, and - honour. The insolent, brutal Junker willed it otherwise.” (War Diary, pp. 239–241).
90 The accuracy of Radolinksi’s colorful story is confirmed by the Crown Prince’s diary entries for January 17–18, 1871 (War Diary, pp. 265–273). Also of interest is Anton von Werner’s impressive painting of the German Empire’s proclamation. It may be found online, through the courtesy of Pinterest, at: https://i.pinimg.com/originals/61/7b/ec/617beca578884b9e5695b0eec1322372.jpg.
91 Mackenzie’s remarks on the Emperor’s condition from the night of April 13 through the 14th (which he entitled “Results of Bergmann’s Handiwork”) are found in Frederick the Noble, pp. 152–154. As usual, his account should be compared with the German surgeon’s version, which asserts that Frederick’s chills and fever began several days before his visit on the 12th (Case of Emperor Frederick III, p. 82).
92 William II remained a patron of von Bergmann throughout the latter’s life. After the Professor’s formal retirement from the case on April 30, the Empress complained that he “behaves badly towards us and ... goes every day to William!” (Letter to Queen Victoria, May 9, 1888; Ponsonby, p. 309). In July, the new Kaiser invested von Bergmann with the Hohenzollern Cross and Star, the same order Frederick III had presented to Mackenzie (Stevenson, p. 145).
93 This photograph, which dates from 1884, showed the young “Prince of Prussia” dressed as a Scots Highlander, complete with kilt. William indeed sent a copy to his grandmother, perhaps to adorn the walls of Balmoral. Whatever the Queen’s opinion of the picture, one doubts that its inscription (“I bide my time”) amused her. The photograph may be found in Hannah Pakula’s biography of William’s mother.
Chapter 7: Dénouement
Frederick III awoke on Saturday morning even more unwell than he had been the night before. To the relief of his physicians, he agreed to postpone his visit to the Thiergarten and remained indoors, dealing with state papers. Sherlock Holmes and I, meanwhile, had troubles of our own. Just after ten o’clock, we received a courteous note from Radolinski, which apprised us that in late evening we would occupy a first-class compartment in the last west-bound train to leave Berlin. The Crown Prince, it seemed, had made good upon his promise.
Naturally, my friend was furious. We departed for the capital immediately to post a telegram to London, reporting our impending deportation and requesting permission to dispute it until the uncertain status of the Emperor’s health had been resolved. Although I had suggested calling at the embassy, Holmes demurred, citing Ponsonby’s instructions. We did stop at the Chancellery, but were not surprised to hear that the Chancellor himself was unavailable.
Our return to Charlottenburg, early in the afternoon, was equally frustrating. A note from Hovell left in our quarters informed us that His Majesty, upon finishing his work, had gone to the Thiergarten after all with the Empress and Mackenzie. Neither the junior surgeon nor the German doctors were in evidence. The Hof-Marschall was also absent, and even our own valets had disappeared. It was as though Holmes and I had already been banished from the empire.
The detective was as restless as a caged tiger under these conditions. After fretting for an hour, he decided to go to the Thiergarten and appeal to the Emperor directly. Upon arriving there, however, we learned that the imperial party had just left - only moments before, apparently, for we had not met them on the road. Holmes snarled his displeasure; yet, he insisted on detouring to the telegraph office before following Their Majesties. There, he left instructions for any telegram to him to be instantly delivered to the palace. With some difficulty, I persuaded him to stop at a Charlottenburg café, as we had eaten nothing of any consequence since breakfast.
It had been, my friend bitterly remarked, an altogether wasted day. Church bells in the village had tolled seven long before we passed the palace gates; our home-bound train was to depart the station at nine-thirty. Once indoors, we went directly to the Emperor’s suite, only to find Major Lyncker on guard at the entrance. Apologetically bu
t firmly, the attaché told Holmes that we were not to be admitted. He did agree, albeit reluctantly, to inform the English doctors that we desired to see them. To our surprise, the doctor who emerged was not Hovell but Mackenzie.
Sir Morell looked tired and drawn, as though he had aged a decade overnight. “Good evening, gentlemen,” he sighed. “I am told you must return to London.”
“Indeed,” replied Holmes grimly, “We leave tonight, barring any new instructions, which I am still in hope of receiving from Whitehall. As you can understand, the government will wish to know the Emperor’s condition.”
“I’m afraid it is extremely serious. His Majesty returned from the Thiergarten this evening with chills and a temperature of 103 degrees F. He appears to have developed bronchitis and has begun to expectorate a malodorous pus through his canula. It is the sign of a virulent infection, undoubtedly originating in the ‘false passage’ caused by von Bergmann’s random stabbing. I have expected such a complication since that gentleman put his finger into the Emperor’s throat.”[94]
“And yet,” I found myself observing, “today you allowed His Majesty to make an excursion to the park!”
Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the Dying Emperor Page 11
