CHAPTER IX
WHAT THE MAID SAW AND HEARD
Revelations – Sauerkraut and Turnips – What the Dachshunds Did
FRAU MARTHA to FRAU KRUPP,
née BARONESS VON ENDE.
BERLIN, SCHLOSS, Christmas.
GRACIOUS LADY, – May it please the Gracious Lady, we arrived safely and sound, and Fraulein just started off on a sleigh ride with the little Princess, who is as foolish as the poor Mueller orphan in our hospital, but, mind, she had something warm before I let her go.
Fraulein don't want me to say nothing, but duty compels me. Gracious Lady, I must tell you that Fraulein got up still hungry from table and ate four ham sandwiches, three doughnuts and a cream tart, which I bought for her with my own money (no matter about that) ere I let her go. After I made her warm inside, I made her warm underneath, and put on her the beautiful sables the late Gracious Gentleman, God rest his soul, got given to him in Russia. With all respects to Majesty, the little Princess, in her cheap iltiz(patois) garment, looked like a mere rag doll compared with our Bertha, please excuse me, Gracious Lady.
Gracious Lady will forgive an ignorant girl, but the three of us, Fritz and Lenchen and me, call the Schloss Starvation Hall.
Except Fraulein and Fritz and Lenchen, I haven't heard a decent word since we left home. They just snarl and hiss. Because Fraulein is called the richest girl in the world, they fetch and carry for her, like the mealy-mouthed menials they are; but if it wasn't for the tips, I don't think they'd do a thing for her.
Fraulein won't tell you, so I do, that the three of us rode to the Schloss in a hired coach, because Uncle Majesty was too mean to send a carriage for us – and to think of what at home we always provide for his twenty and more attendants and the fine time we give them!
I see now why they are always so greedy in Essen. They never get such meat and vittel as we give them, in Berlin or Potsdam; they hardly have enough peas in the husks and potatoes in the jackets.
Gracious Lady can't imagine their meanness in the Schloss. I am told there isn't enough linen to give Majesties a daily change. And how the hundreds of menservants keep clean, with only two bathrooms, and hot water which must be carried up four flights of stairs, I can't make out. As to the maids, they don't.
But the poor things can't help it; all they get is two marks fifty (half a crown) a day for from twelve to sixteen hours' work, and not a cup of coffee or a spoonful of soup in this fierce, cold weather. And think of it, they don't get their wages weekly, as the law allows, but on the third day of the month. The poor wretches haven't even got a place to eat.
I won't say a thing about Fraulein's rooms.
Thought Gracious Lady would be pleased to know that I am looking after the child, trying to keep her in good health, no matter what trouble and expense, and I remain, with respects from Lena and Fritz, the Gracious Lady's most obedient servant,
MARTHA.
P.S. – I had to send for towels to the car, for the ones given to Fraulein were as hard as boards and there were only two, and the maids said they would be changed every second day; and I beg the Gracious Lady's pardon, but myself and Lenchen and Fritz were given two small huckaback towels to last through the week, and a tin wash-bowl no larger than those we feed the Great Dane out of at the villa, and no pitcher or foot-tubs. What are we going to do?
MARTHA.
Letter from FRAU MARTHA to HERR L – ,
Superintendent of the Household, Villa Huegel.
BERLIN, SCHLOSS, Christmas.
HONOURED HERR L – , – This Schloss is a big pigsty, excuse the hard words, and I can tell Gracious Lady only half our troubles. There is no bathroom for Fraulein, no running water – our poorest cottagers in Essen are better off. It takes about half an hour to get a cupful of lukewarm water from the kitchen, and the maid looks daggers if you don't tip up the tin every time.
If we could only get Fraulein's car into the courtyard (there is plenty of room) and live in it, we would be all right, for Fraulein's meals I could cook on the new-fangled kitchen range, which makes no smoke, and she could have her bath regularly.
Gracious Lady will have told you about Fraulein eating at Uncle Majesty's table. What do I say – eating? Fraulein comes back every time half dead of hunger. Bertha says it's the quick serving, but I had a talk with the stewardess last night, and she told me things. The allowances even for Majesty's table, she said, are cut so fine, there is never enough for all, family, officials and guests; and, to cover up the shortness, the courses are served quickly as if shot from the new machine-gun I have heard Herr Franz talk about. Some of the guests get skipped, others are given just a mouthful, and part of the food is carried out again for the hungry wolves of lackeys.
Mean, now, isn't it, Herr L – ? But we, I mean Fraulein, has to put up with it while here. As to grub allowed to Fritz, me and Lenchen, it's sauerkraut and turnips and herrings and black bread; but we don't mind, as we can buy outside. But I can't take Bertha into eating places, and make up for what she goes short at the royal table; she has to live on sandwiches and cake for the most part. Other arrangements as bad. I would be ashamed to tell you of the servants' accommodations: back-stairs, rotten-smelling oil lamps. We won't be comfortable until we get back home once more.
For Fraulein's bed I got the linen from our car, but as we took just enough for a night's run and back you must send some more. I wanted to save you the trouble, and asked the housekeeper to have some washed. Not here, she said; too few in help, no extra tubs, no place to dry. When I offered to pay for the soap, that seemed to tickle her immensely, but she had to refuse in the end.
Honoured Herr L – , tell the servants at the Villa they don't half know how well they are off. I never did until coming across all this high-sounding stop-a-hole-in-the-sieve business.
You cannot imagine, worthy Mr. Superintendent, too, what funny things there are too – the War Lord's dachshunds, for instance, all jaws and stomach. They look like those yellow-skinned truffle Leberwursts held up by Frankfurters, and – what do you think? – have been taught to snap and nibble the calves of people of quality only.
Mine they leave severely alone, thank God; but I told Fraulein not to put on too many "lugs," lest they mistake her for a "von."
Of course I can't swear to it, but they do say that "Uncle Majesty" has a way, by a mere look, of setting the dachshunds on people he dislikes; they must be as smart as Herr Director-General's French poodles, I reckon. Anyhow, they seem to know when "Uncle Majesty" is cross with someone and go for him.
I heard you tell Herr Franz of meeting Count Posadownk in Bielefeld and what a great man he was. And surely he is a man with a lot of authority, but here no one is bigger than a ten-pin before "Uncle Majesty."
George, the chief Jaeger who stands behind his chair at table and knows everything and everybody, has become quite friendly-like with me. Well, George says Count Posadownk "gets the War Lord's goat" every time he reads those long-winded reports of his. But the War Lord must listen, says George; "part of Majesty's business to hear the ministers' gab." And listen he does – the Lord knows how he manages – but ten minutes is his limit; after hearing someone else talk approaching a quarter of an hour, he is "ready to explode," says George.
By that time the Count is just warming up, and you would think nothing short of an earthquake could stop him. But the dachshunds are as good as the fire-spitting mountain we saw in Italy – or was it Switzerland?
A wink from "Papa" – "raising or wagging an ear," says George – shows the dachshunds that Posadownk ought to make himself scarce, and in a twinkling they get ready for attack round the short clothes and silk stockings.
While the Count talks his head off, first one, then the other bowwow sets up a dismal howl. Posadownk raises his voice, the dachshunds yelp more loudly, and Majesty, pretending to call them off, makes the hullabaloo worse still.
Just the same the Count is crazy to finish, and the dachshunds go on inspecting his legs. Maybe he gets in a good kick or two, but the hounds are experts in pulling at silk stockings without drawing blood. Once or twice his Excellency went away with stockings in ribbons.
The same thing happened to others having business at the palace; the wonder is that no one poisons the beasts. If they bit me – a dose of something strong for them, you bet.
Remember, nothing about Bertha-and-nothing-to-eat to Her Ladyship. – The Herr Superintendent's very humble servant,
MARTHA.
CHAPTER X
THE ENTANGLING OF ARCHDUKE FRANZ FERDINAND
Discussing the Archduke – "Intoxicate with Promises" – A Look at the Map – The War Lord's Miscalculation
"What do you think of number one?" asked the War Lord, when the door had closed upon Bertha at the old Chancellor's Palace.
The diplomat performing the duties of deputy-head of the Empire is tall, inclined to corpulence, grey moustached and bright eyed. He knocked his heels together like a recruit trembling before the drill-ground bully. "Majesty refers to Fraulein Krupp?"
"Quite correct."
"She has the benefit of Majesty's personal guidance – there's no more to be said," declared von Bülow, with conviction. "But who may number two be?"
"Not quite the figurehead of number one. I refer to the gentleman coming to see you."
"The Archduke? I was going to beg your Majesty for instructions concerning His Imperial Highness."
"Plain Franz Este, if you please; his incognito must be taken very literally."
"At your Majesty's orders."
"He is number two," emphasised Wilhelm; and while pretending to look out of the window replaced his left hand, which had slipped, upon the hilt of his sword. Then, fully accoutred, he resumed: "Number one furnishes my arms —
"And those of the world," put in the Chancellor.
"That's where you and all of you are mistaken. My gun works arming my enemies? As intimated, number one helps to disarm my enemies."
When he saw blank amazement on the Chancellor's countenance, he added: "Don't ask how, for in this case purpose sanctifies the means. Number one, then, is my right arm, while number two I intend to make one of my men-at-arms."
Another pause for effect.
"I am all ears, Your Majesty," said von Bülow.
"Well, then, bear this in mind: Franz Ferdinand has to be indulged despite his marriage to the little school marm. He is a fool, of course. Well, the Chotek being an encumbrance to Franz Ferdinand, we must make her into a quarry for our own good. What do you think?"
"I am afraid I lack capacity to follow the trend of Your Majesty's grand ideas this morning," replied the Chancellor, remembering that he had been chosen, not to think, but to carry out orders.
"Well, as you know, I persuaded Francis Joseph to wink at the Chotek indiscretion. The decree elevating the ex-governess, and making her brats of princely estate, ought to have been dated from Berlin instead of Ischl, for it was I who placed that plum in Her Ladyship's pie, the Olympian Emperor notwithstanding. Hence Prince Hohenberg – for Franz Ferdinand is more or less his wife's husband – is beholden to me for such recognition as his marriage received, and Sophie will not let him forget it either. Accordingly, I call him 'number two' in my combination."
"If the children of this union – "
"Disunion," interrupted the War Lord, applauding his irony with a loud guffaw.
"Disunion," von Bülow obediently repeated, "lay claims to the throne, is it Your Majesty's intention to support them?"
"All Archdukes look alike to me," replied the War Lord with fine disdain; "all fools, bigots, or both. Rudolph was an exception. At all events, it is to our interest to give Herr von Este to understand that, if he is determined to make Sophie both Empress of Austria and Queen of Hungary, Germany will support his mad scheme."
"Your Majesty thinks Hungary will accept her as Queen?"
"She has to, for a morganatic marriage is a real marriage according to Hungarian law."
"Which suggests the possibility of grave internal dissensions," said the Chancellor.
"Quite so; to Pan-Germanism this little governess is worth five army corps. If her marriage causes a split in the Dual Monarchy, why, we will annex German Austria and leave the Hungarians to die, if they choose, 'pro Regi nostro, Sophia.' But that's quite a long way off. What concerns us at present is getting solid with that chap. I know what you want to say: A brute, a beast. But so long as the Chotek is satisfied, I am."
The latter in response to an indication on von Bülow's part that he meant to put in a word or two.
"When I come to think of it," continued the War Lord, "neither Alexander, nor Charlemagne, nor Napoleon were what you call gentlemen overflowing with the milk of human kindness. As I see it now – my plans are not quite matured, of course – but this is certainly beyond question or dispute: As my ally in the conquest of the world, a namby-pamby partner would be of confounded little use. Besides, for sentiment I have Victor – darling fellow!"
Saying this, the War Lord gripped his sword so hard that the point of the scabbard threw a statuette of the King of Italy off an étagère, smashing it.
"There he goes," he sneered, kicking at the broken china; "uncertain commodities at best, these Dagos. Always fishing outside the three-mile limit, and everlastingly ogling with England and France."
"Majesty is pleased to under-estimate King Victor's devotion to German interests," ventured von Bülow warmly.
"When you were in Rome you used to sing a different tune," said the War Lord severely. "But revenons à nos moutons: Franz Este is a bit of a mutton thief himself" – Wilhelm laughed heartily at his quibble – "very fond of Hungary and Bohemia. We must intoxicate him with the promise of great things to be accomplished by the union of German arms – German-Austrian, of course."
"May I remind Your Majesty that Franz is rather a fanatic in religious matters?" suggested the Chancellor.
"I was coming to that," snarled the War Lord – it simply maddens Wilhelm to find that someone, beside himself, has an idea in his head. Whether the religious aspect had occurred to him before we don't know, but he pounced upon it with vulture-like gusto, adopting it in toto as it were.
"You will say to him: 'Brothers in arms and in faith – the Protestant and the Catholic Church, or the Catholic and the Protestant,' I don't care. Remind him that Prussia offered the Pope an asylum before the invasion of Rome by the Italians.
"Yes," he continued, "curse the Italians as much as you like; promise him Venice and the Balkans up to the gates of Constantinople."
The War Lord pressed a button underneath a large table fronting the Chancellor's desk, whereupon the mahogany top disappeared and another marked off in geographical divisions, representing the map of Europe and part of Asia, replaced it – the Kriegsspiel; Europe in battle-array.
The Kriegsspiel– War Game – shows the military strength of each country in plain, movable figures, horse, foot and artillery, navy and aircraft – the figures liable to correction from time to time; the exact location of the forces is apparent at a glance too.
The same applies to fortresses, letters designating the origin of the artillery equipment.
Above each country wave its colours in the shape of a tiny silk flag, fastened to bead-headed pins, easy to stick in anywhere.
The War Lord pulled out a drawer and took a handful of German flags, but before using any a new thought struck him.
"Send for Kast," he commanded curtly.
Adjutant Baron Kast appeared as if catapulted into the room.
"I forget the lettering combination – I want 'k' for Belgium. You are sure the other equipments are marked according to latest reports."
"At Your Majesty's service."
The adjutant fixed the 'k' as required and stood at attention.
"I will call in case I need you further."
The officer was drawing backwards towards the door when the War Lord stopped him.
"One second. I want a cross fixed to letter 'k.'"
Kast, a martinet without ideas of his own, a mere mannequin moving on the strings of discipline, looked blank astonishment.
"If it can't be done, send for the mechanic; he shall fix the new combination overnight."
"May I try, Your Majesty?"
Kast succeeded in quick order.
"Why did you hesitate, if it's so easy?" demanded the War Lord.
"With Your Majesty's permission, I was wondering whether it was your pleasure to have a cross placed against all the 'k's' on the map."
The War Lord looked at von Bülow, who dismissed Kast by a look.
"Out of the mouths of fools and sucklings," misquoted Wilhelm under his breath, while a cruel sneer played about his lips. Then, to the Chancellor, aloud: "Inborn stupidity or low cunning?" – referring to Kast.
"The first, Your Majesty, the first. Your Majesty will agree, when I say that I myself do not see the significance of the cross."
"You will – in time," said the War Lord brusquely. "But to continue."
He took a German flag and placed it on the spot marked Rome. "The Holy Roman Empire of German nationality," he said.
"Which Voltaire designated as neither holy, nor Roman, nor an Empire," remarked von Bülow drily.
"Time's passed, time was, time is," quoted the War Lord, "or rather will be." For awhile he remained in silent reverie, then turned upon the Chancellor suddenly. "You asked the other day how to mark the English Channel. Gott! it's worth five million men to Edward. No, don't mark it at all; for if the distance between Calais and Dover can be bridged only half-way by our guns – no impossibility, you know – that strip of water won't amount to more than a few army corps."
Again the War Lord remained in deep thought. "Noah's ark," he demanded after a while.
The Chancellor pulled out a drawer at the side of the Kriegsspiel table. "At Your Majesty's service." The War Lord picked figure after figure, dropping them on the floor, until he got hold of a small white object.
He held it between two fingers, eyeing it curiously; then moved it deliberately across the Channel, holding it aloft, and planted it on the spot marked "London."
"The Dove of Peace," he said; "for in London we will dictate peace to the world. Tell Franz."
CHAPTER XI
THE CROWN PRINCE ON A LARK
A Gallop with the Crown Prince – On the Way to Surprise
Letter of BERTHA KRUPP to FRANZ
BERLIN, SCHLOSS.
DEAR FRANZ, – When I promised to write, I expected to put a school-girl's ability at composition to the test, being half afraid that my description of Berlin and the Court might not pass muster with so severe a critic as my dear half-brother. But something has happened that makes living in the shadow of the throne and royal intimacies and reviews and State balls, even the Grand Council of the Knights of the Black Eagle, look insignificant.
Listen! Yesterday after luncheon the Crown Prince came to me with a mysterious air. "Bertha," he said, for he is quite familiar, "you look like a good, sporty girl; let's fool those fogies, and have a lark all by ourselves."
You may be sure, Franz, I was frightened, and looked it I suppose, for he added quickly: "Upon my word as an officer, your Mamma may know about it." And then he unfolded his plan.
"I am tired to death of the baggage that attends our rides, watching with as many eyes as a centipede has feet; this afternoon I will lend you one of my swift English hunters, and I will ride Circe, a devil of a horse that can outdistance father's Extase any day. Flottwitz – you know he is Master of Horse – promised to give the others the slowest plugs in the stables, and we will humour their dog-trot as long as the public gaze is upon us. But once beyond the dear public's reach, off we are, rein and spur. Don't be afraid; the grooms, too, will be mounted on grandmothers; they won't catch us."
I felt quite relieved. "It will be jolly," I said.
The Crown Prince laughed immoderately. "What a little innocent you are," he cried; "running away is only the beginning. As soon as we are out of sight, we will turn and gallop to Castle Bellevue. There we will dismount, and I will punt you across the river. It is but a stone's throw to the gipsy's cottage, and that is where I will take you."
I became apprehensive again. "I am afraid of gipsies," I faltered.
"Afraid in my company?" cried Wilhelm. "I forbid you to be afraid of the very devil when I am around. I am your cavalier," he added; "you must do as I tell you." Then his tone became coaxing again. "Don't you like to have your fortune told, Bertha? She is a 'bird at it' – makes your flesh creep and all that sort of thing."
"But does Auntie Majesty approve?"
"Bother, Mother; I am not under her thumb," he answered, and I thought it very horrid of him.
Well, Franz, everything came off according to programme. For a young girl from Essen to ride down The Linden with the Crown Prince, masters of horse, maids of honour, chasseurs and grooms is lots of fun, and I don't know that I ever enjoyed anything so much as the throngs of people in the streets and on the sidewalk cheering and waving hats and handkerchiefs. But, of course, they thought me a Royal Highness or some sort of princess, the very least.
"Can't you ride astride?" whispered the Crown Prince as we passed through the semi-shadows of the Brandenburger Thor.
"What is that?" I asked, and somehow got the feeling that his question was not the correct thing. So I touched my horse with the spur and cantered away. Wilhelm joined me quickly. "Dog-trot now," he said, and we jogged along like Herr Director-General's family on their old brown mares.
After passing Castle Bellevue, promenaders became few and far between, and then the long-legged hunters increased the distance between ourselves and the rest of the party very considerably. Suddenly Wilhelm – he asked me to call him by his first name, but I always prefix his title – whispered: "Now, ventre à terre." Setting the example he jumped a hedge, I after him – a fine race we ran for the next ten minutes.
Then back to Bellevue. We galloped right through to the water's edge, and were half across the river before the stablemen had caught the horses.
Lieber Franz, you must excuse; I can't write a word more. Too tired and too excited. So good night for to-night and pleasant dreams. – Always your good sister,
BERTHA.