| By Author | [ A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z | Other Symbols ] |
| By Title | [ A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z | Other Symbols ] |
| By Language |
|
Download this book: [ ASCII ] Look for this book on Amazon Tweet |
Title: Secret History of To-day _ Being Revelations of a Diplomatic Spy
Author: Upward, Allen
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.
*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Secret History of To-day _ Being Revelations of a Diplomatic Spy" ***
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
Footnote anchors are denoted by [number], and the footnotes have been
placed at the end of the book. There are only two in this book.
Obvious typographical errors and punctuation errors have been
corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences within
the text and consultation of external sources.
Except for those changes noted below, all misspellings in the text,
and inconsistent or archaic usage, have been retained.
Pg vi: ‘William II.’ replaced by ‘Wilhelm II.’.
Pg vii: page no. ‘256’ replaced by ‘254’, and ‘258’ replaced by ‘256’.
Pg 188: ‘William II.’ replaced by ‘Wilhelm II.’.
Pg 303: ‘Guiseppe Sarto’ replaced by ‘Giuseppe Sarto’.
[Illustration: “The Kaiser was attired in his most magnificent
costume, wearing the famous winged helmet on his head, and surrounded
by a galaxy of ministers and great officers, all arrayed in the
utmost military splendour.”]
Secret History of
To-Day
Being Revelations of a Diplomatic Spy
By
Allen Upward
Author of “Secrets of the Courts of Europe”
“Treason,” etc.
Illustrated
G. P. Putnam’s Sons
New York and London
The Knickerbocker Press
1904
CONTENTS
I
PAGE
THE TELEGRAM WHICH BEGAN THE BOER WAR 1
II
THE BLOWING UP OF THE ‘MAINE’ 31
III
THE MYSTERY OF CAPTAIN DREYFUS 56
IV
WHAT WAS BEHIND THE TSAR’S PEACE RESCRIPT 91
V
WHO REALLY KILLED KING HUMBERT 120
VI
THE PERIL OF NORWAY 146
VII
THE RUSE OF THE DOWAGER EMPRESS 170
VIII
THE ABDICATION OF FRANCIS-JOSEPH 191
IX
THE DEATH OF QUEEN DRAGA 217
X
THE POLICY OF EDWARD VII 242
XI
THE HUMBERT MILLIONS 264
XII
THE BLACK POPE 288
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
“The Kaiser was attired in his most magnificent
costume, wearing the famous winged helmet on his
head, and surrounded by a galaxy of ministers and
great officers, all arrayed in the utmost military
splendour.” _Frontispiece_
“A glance at the cheval glass showed me a stiff,
well set-up Prussian official.” 10
“‘I have sent for you, in two words, to find out
for me the authorship of this telegram,’ the Kaiser
said.” 12
“‘My God!’ he cried out. ‘Who has done this? I shall
be ruined!’” 22
“‘We shall find out whether he is a priest,’ was the
retort.” 46
“She would talk about her convent.” 48
“‘Father Kehler has been good enough to visit a poor
sailor who is lying sick on board,’ he said, in a
tone evidently meant to rebuke my impertinence.” 50
“‘As to that--impossible!’ he exclaimed with vigour.
‘That is our secret--ours, you understand.’” 62
“‘Am I under arrest too?’ Prince Pierre demanded
with some indignation.” 72
“The Tsar now interposed in a tone of more authority
than I had ventured to hope for. ‘Do you suggest, M.
V----, that the whole staff of the French army are
engaged in a conspiracy to forge documents?’” 88
“‘Your Majesty must judge me by what I have
done already. Two days ago you had never heard
my name. Now I am here, alone with you, with a
loaded revolver in my pocket.’ The Sultan started
violently.” 98
“It was a singular scene, as I stood there laying
down pile after pile of greasy ten-thousand-rouble
notes on a richly inlaid table.” 106
“There at my feet, along the widening valley, lay a
double line of rails, and all across the level space
stretched low banks and ditches--the lines of a vast
encampment, capable of accommodating half a million
men.” 116
“I walked past him without a word.” 126
“‘I am not under anybody’s orders,’ I said, rising
to my feet.” 130
“‘You are free,’ he said briefly. ‘The right man has
been arrested, too late.’” 144
“‘Let me see your warrant,’ I said.” 158
“He bent forward to listen, and as he did so I
launched my clenched fist at his right temple with
my full force.” 164
“I watched the brave monarch read it through from
beginning to end without one manifestation of
dismay.” 168
“Finally he turned his back without a word, and
rushed from the room.” 176
“Wilhelm II. strode to me, seized me by the
shoulders, and thrust me out of the room.” 188
“‘Will you permit me to ask you,’ he said politely,
‘if you have ever done any business on behalf of the
Emperor of Austria-Hungary?’” 192
“The Emperor could not repress a slight start.” 198
“I rode right over him.” 212
“I took out my loaded revolver, cocked it, and
advanced to the threshold.” 232
“Queen Draga cast herself on the inanimate form on
the bed, concealed the face in her arms, and allowed
herself to be stabbed by a dozen bayonets.” 240
“‘V----!’ he exclaimed, drawing back as if he had
been stung.” 250
“‘Arrest that man!’ the Kaiser commanded, without
giving him time to speak.” 254
“‘Now,’ said the Kaiser, stepping close to my side,
‘tell me the truth--the real truth, mind--and I will
spare your life.’” 256
“‘I am going to ask you to undertake a service of an
unusual kind.’” 266
“My visitor started as she heard her name, and threw
up her veil with a gesture of astonishment and
indignation.” 274
“I was stopped at the barricade by a pompous
sergeant of police.” 280
“The chief detective came close up to me, put
his mouth to my ear, and whispered, ‘_Le drapeau
blanc!_’” 284
“I found the Cardinal absorbed in the inspection of
his newly arrived treasures.” 296
“Saddened and subdued, I quitted the audience
chamber of Pius X.” 306
“‘I can only render one more service to your Majesty,
and that is to advise you to make your peace with
the Black Pope.’” 308
I
THE TELEGRAM WHICH BEGAN THE BOER WAR
The initials under which I write these confessions are not those of
my real name, which I could not disclose without exposing myself
to the revenge of formidable enemies. As it is, I run a very great
risk in making revelations which affect some of the most powerful
personages now living; and it is only by the exercise of the utmost
discretion that I can hope to avoid giving offence in quarters in
which the slightest disrespect is apt to have serious consequences.
If I should be found to err on the side of frankness, I can only
plead in excuse that I have never yet betrayed the confidence placed
in me by the various Governments and illustrious families which have
employed me from time to time. The late Prince Bismarck once honoured
me by saying: ‘To tell secrets to Monsieur V---- is like putting them
into a strong box, with the certainty that they will not come out
again until one wants them to.’
In these reminiscences it is my object to recount some of the
services I have rendered to civilisation in the course of my career,
while abstaining as far as possible from compromising exalted
individuals or embittering international relations.
That I am not a man who opens his mouth rashly may be gathered
from the fact that, although at any time during the long struggle
between Briton and Boer for the mastery in South Africa, I might
have completely changed the situation with a word, that word was not
uttered while a single Boer remained under arms.
In order to explain how I came to be concerned in this affair, I had
better begin by giving a few particulars about myself, and the almost
unique position which I hold among the secret service bureaus of
Europe and America.
By birth I am a citizen of the United States of America, being the
son of a Polish father, exiled on account of his political opinions,
and a French mother. From my childhood I showed an extraordinary
aptitude for languages, so that there is now scarcely a civilised
country outside Portugal and Scandinavia in which I am not able to
converse with the natives in their own tongue. At the same time, I
was possessed, ever since I can remember, with a passion for intrigue
and mystery. The romances of Gaboriau were the favourite reading of
my boyhood, and it was my ambition to become a famous detective, the
Vidocq of America.
Fired by these visions, I ran away from the insurance office in which
my parents had placed me, when I was little more than sixteen, and
applied for admission to the ranks of the famous Pinkerton Police.
Although my youth was against me, my phenomenal command of languages
turned the scale in my favour, and I was given a trial.
Very soon I had opportunities of distinguishing myself in more than
one mission to Europe, on the track of absconding criminals; and in
this way I earned the favourable notice of the heads of the detective
police in London, Paris, Berlin, and other capitals.
At length, finding that I possessed unique qualifications for
the work of an international secret agent, I decided to quit the
Pinkerton service, and set up for myself, making my headquarters in
Paris. From that day to this I have had no cause to repent of my
audacity. I have been employed at one time or another by nearly every
Government in the world, and my clients have included nearly every
crowned head, from the late Queen Victoria to the Dowager Empress of
China. I have been sent for on the same day by the Ambassadors of two
hostile Powers, each of which desired to employ me against the other.
On one occasion I acted on behalf of a famous German Chancellor
against his then master, and on another on behalf of the Emperor
against his Chancellor; and neither had cause to complain of my
fidelity. I have been instrumental in freeing a Queen renowned for
her beauty from the persecution of a blackmailer set on by a foreign
court; and I have more than once detected and defeated the plots of
anarchists for the assassination of their rulers.
In this way it has come about that I enjoy the friendship and
confidence of many illustrious personages, whose names would excite
envy were I at liberty to mention them in these pages; and that few
events of any magnitude happen in any part of the globe without my
being in some measure concerned in them.
Often, when some great affair has been proceeding, I have felt myself
as occupying the position of the stage manager, who looks on from the
wings, directing the entrances and exits of the gorgeously dressed
performers who engross the attention and applause of the ignorant
spectators on the other side of the footlights.
* * * * *
The true story of the famous telegram which may be said to have
rendered the South African War inevitable is one which strikingly
illustrates the extent to which the public may be deceived about the
most important transactions of contemporary history.
Every one is familiar with the situation created by that celebrated
despatch. For some time previously all England, and, in fact, all
Europe, had been agitated by the intelligence that Johannesburg was
on the eve of insurrection, that the Boers were drawing their forces
together about the doomed city, that Dr. Jameson had dashed across
the frontier with five hundred followers in a mad attempt to come to
the aid of the threatened Outlanders, and that his action had been
formally disavowed by the British Government.
Close on the heels of these tidings came the memorable day on which
London was cast into gloom by long streams of placards issuing from
the newspaper offices bearing the dismal legend, ‘Jameson Beaten and
a Prisoner!’
While the populace were yet reeling under the blow, divided between
distress at this humiliation for the British flag, and indignation
at the criminal recklessness which had staked the country’s honour
on a gambler’s throw, there came the portentous news that the head
of the great German Empire, the grandson of Queen Victoria, had sent
a public message of congratulation to the Boer President, rejoicing
with him in the face of the world over an event which every
Englishman felt as a national disaster.
That hour registered the doom of the Pretorian Government. Jameson
was scornfully forgotten. The British people, as proud as it is
generous, made up its mind that the forbearance so long extended to
a vassal of its own, could no longer be shown with honour to the
_protégé_ of a mighty European Power.
On the very day on which this celebrated despatch appeared as the
chief item of news in all the newspapers of the world, I received
an urgent cipher message from the Director of the Imperial Secret
Service, Herr Finkelstein, demanding my presence in Berlin.
My headquarters, as I have said, are in Paris, and fortunately I
was disengaged when the summons arrived. I had merely to dictate a
few dozen wires to my staff, while my valet was strapping up the
portmanteau which always stands ready packed in my dressing-room, and
to look out my German passport--for I have a separate one for every
important nationality--and in an hour or two I was seated in the
Berlin express, speeding towards the frontier.
From the bunch of papers which my attentive secretary had thrust into
the carriage, I learned something of the effect which the German
Emperor’s interference in the affairs of South Africa had produced
on the public mind in England. It was evident that the Islanders were
strongly roused, and were preparing to pick up the gage of battle
which had been thrown down. No sooner had I reached German territory
than I found evidences of an even greater excitement. The whole
nation seemed to have rallied round the Kaiser, and to be ready to
back up his words with martial deeds.
By this time I had little doubt that I had been sent for in
connection with the outbreak of hostile feeling between the two
Powers. But it was impossible for me to anticipate the actual nature
of the task which awaited me.
On reaching Berlin I was met by a private emissary of Finkelstein’s,
who hurried me off to the Director’s private house. The first words
with which he greeted me convinced me that the business I had come
about was of no ordinary kind.
‘Do not sit down,’ he said to me, as I was about to drop into a
chair, after shaking hands with him. ‘I must ask you to come to my
dressing-room at once, where you will transform yourself as quickly
as possible into an officer of the Berlin Police. The moment that is
done, I am to conduct you to the Palace, where his Majesty will see
you alone.’
As I followed the Director into the dressing-room, where I found a
uniform suit laid out ready for my wearing, I naturally asked: ‘Can
you tell me what this is about?’
Finkelstein shook his head with a mysterious air.
‘The Kaiser has told me nothing. But he warned me very strictly not
to let a single creature in Berlin know of your arrival, and from
that fact I have naturally drawn certain conclusions.’
I gazed at Finkelstein with some suspicion. We were good friends,
having worked together on more than one occasion, and I knew he would
have no wish to keep me in the dark. On the other hand, if he had
been instructed to do so, I knew he would not hesitate to lie to me.
The secret service has its code of honour, like other professions,
and fidelity to one’s employer comes before friendship.
Keeping my eye fixed on him, I observed carelessly--
‘You will tell me just as much or as little as you think fit, my
dear Finkelstein. On my part I shall, of course, exercise a similar
discretion after his Imperial Majesty has given me my instructions.’
As I expected, the bait took. Curiosity is the besetting weakness of
a secret service officer, and the Berlin Director was no exception
to the rule. Putting on his most confidential manner, he at once
replied--
‘My dear V----, if you and I do not trust each other, whom can we
trust? Rest assured that my confidence in you has no reserves. I
have spoken the bare truth in saying that the Kaiser has given me no
indication of his object in sending for you. But the fact that he
has ordered me to take these precautions to conceal the fact of your
arrival in Berlin tells me plainly that there is a person whom he
wishes to keep in ignorance; and that person can only be----’
‘The Chancellor?’ I threw in, as my companion hesitated.
Finkelstein nodded.
‘You consider, perhaps, that it is against the Chancellor that I am
to be employed?’ I went on.
‘It looks like it,’ was the cautious answer.
‘And the reason why this task is not placed in your hands?’
‘Is because I am a native of Hanover, and the Kaiser regards me
rather as a public official than as a personal servant of his own
dynasty,’ said Finkelstein.
‘In other words, he regards you as a creature of the Chancellor’s,’ I
commented bluntly.
The Director made a pleasing and ingenious attempt to blush.
‘I can only affirm to you, on my sacred word of honour, that his
Majesty has no cause to trust me any less than if I were a Prussian,’
he declared. ‘And I shall take it as a personal kindness if you will
endeavour to convince the Kaiser of my loyalty.’
‘I will take care that he knows your sentiments,’ I answered, with an
ambiguity which Finkelstein fortunately did not remark.
By this time I had completed my transformation. A glance at the
cheval glass showed me a stiff, well-set-up Prussian official,
exhaling the very atmosphere of Junkerdom and sauerkraut. I gave the
signal to depart, and we were quickly driving up the Unter den Linden
on our way to the Imperial Palace.
‘Announce to his Majesty--the Herr Director Finkelstein and the Herr
Inspector Vehm,’ my companion said to the doorkeeper.
A servant, who had evidently received special instructions, stepped
forward.
‘The Herr Inspector is to be taken to his Majesty at once,’ he said
firmly.
Finkelstein bit his lip as he unwillingly turned to re-enter his
carriage. I followed the lackey into the private cabinet of the
monarch who had just found himself the centre of an international
cyclone.
[Illustration: “A glance at the cheval glass showed me a stiff, well
set-up Prussian official.”]
Wilhelm II. received me cordially. It was not the first time we had
met. About the time of his ascending the throne I had been the means
of inflicting on him a defeat which a smaller man would have found
it hard to forgive. Fortunately, the German Kaiser was of metal
sterling enough to recognise merit even in an enemy, and to realise
that my fidelity to my then employer was the best guarantee that I
should be equally faithful to himself, if it fell to my lot to serve
him.
‘What has Finkelstein told you?’ was the Emperor’s first question,
after he had graciously invited me to sit down.
‘Only that he was able to tell me nothing, sire.’
The Emperor gave me a suspicious glance.
‘He appeared to regret that your Majesty had not given him your
confidence,’ I added, choosing my words warily. ‘He assured me that
you might rely on his entire devotion, as much so as if he were a
native of your hereditary States.’
‘And what do you say as to that?’ demanded the Kaiser, with a
piercing look.
‘I think that your Majesty cannot be too careful whom you trust.’
Wilhelm II. allowed himself to smile gravely.
‘I see, Monsieur V----, that you are a prudent man. If Herr
Finkelstein wishes to convince me of his loyalty to the
Hohenzollerns, he cannot begin better than by renouncing the pension
which he continues to draw secretly from the Duke of ----.’ His
Majesty pronounced the name by which a well-known dispossessed
sovereign goes in his exile.
Familiar as I long have been with instances of perfidy in others, I
could not restrain an exclamation of astonishment at this revelation
of Finkelstein’s double dealing. The Kaiser continued--
‘After that you will not be surprised if I caution you particularly
against letting Herr Finkelstein know anything of the object of the
inquiry I wish you to undertake.’
I bowed respectfully, and waited with some impatience to learn the
true nature of my mission.
‘I could not receive you here without taking some one into the
secret of your employment,’ the Kaiser went on to explain; ‘and I
chose Finkelstein in order to give the affair as much as possible
the aspect of a private and domestic matter. In reality the task I
have to set you is one of the most grave in which you have ever been
engaged.’
The Kaiser took one of the Berlin papers of the day before, which was
lying on the desk in front of him, and pointed to a column in which
was set out in conspicuous type the telegram which had convulsed
Europe and Africa, and had already caused Lord Salisbury to issue
orders for the mobilisation of his Flying Squadron.
‘I have sent for you, in two words, to find out for me the authorship
of this telegram,’ the Kaiser said.
[Illustration: “‘I have sent for you, in two words, to find out for
me the authorship of this telegram,’ the Kaiser said.”]
Notwithstanding my long training in the most tortuous paths of
secret intrigue, I was fairly taken aback by this announcement.
‘That telegram!’ I could only exclaim. ‘The one which your Majesty
addressed to President Kruger!’
‘_I never sent it_,’ Wilhelm II. declared gravely. ‘It is a forgery
pure and simple.’
For a moment I sat still in my chair, almost unable to think.
‘But what----? But who----?’ I articulated, struggling with my
bewilderment.
‘That is what you have got to find out for me,’ was the answer. ‘Let
me tell you all I know. The first intimation I had of the existence
of such a thing was the sight of it in the Press. I sent instantly
for the Chancellor, who came here wearing a reproachful expression,
and evidently prepared to complain bitterly of my having taken such a
step without previously informing him. When I told him that the whole
thing was an impudent fabrication, he could scarcely believe his
ears. In fact, for some time I believe he was inclined to consider my
repudiation of it as a mere official denial.’
I ventured to raise my eyes to his Majesty’s as I observed--
‘Your Majesty has taken no steps to make your repudiation public?’
The Kaiser gave an angry frown.
‘That is the serious part of the affair,’ he answered. ‘Kruger, in
his eagerness to proclaim to the world that I was on his side, had
sent copies of this infamous production to every newspaper in the two
hemispheres before it reached my eyes. At the moment when I first saw
it, it had already been read and commented upon all round the globe.
The British newspapers were already threatening war, and my own
people had been excited to a pitch of enthusiasm such as no other act
of mine has ever called forth. You see the position I was placed in.
If I were now to disavow this forgery, my disavowal would be received
everywhere with the same scepticism as was felt even by my own
Chancellor. The British would triumph over me, and my own subjects
would never forgive me for what they would regard as a surrender to
British threats.’
I sat silent. I realised the full difficulty of the Kaiser’s
position. He was committed in spite of himself to the act of some
impostor, whose real motives were yet to be discovered, but who had
already succeeded in bringing the two greatest Powers of Europe to
the verge of war.
‘Before I can undo the mischief which has been done,’ the Emperor
proceeded, ‘I must first of all ascertain from what quarter this
forgery emanated. When I have obtained that information, backed by
clear and convincing proofs, it may be possible for me to satisfy
the British Government that they and I have been the victims of a
conspiracy. If you can succeed in furnishing me with those proofs, it
shall be the best day’s work you ever did in your life.’
I listened carefully to these words, scrutinising them for any trace
of a double meaning. It was impossible for me to dismiss entirely
from my mind that suspicion which the story told by Wilhelm II. was
naturally calculated to excite. I asked myself whether the Kaiser was
really in earnest, or whether he was not inviting me, in a delicate
fashion, to extricate him from the consequences of his own rashness,
by putting together some fictitious account of the origin of the
telegram, which might impose on Lord Salisbury.
It was clearly necessary, however, for me to appear to be convinced.
‘May I ask if your Majesty’s suspicions point in any particular
direction?’ I asked, trying to feel my way cautiously. ‘The President
of the Boers is perhaps----’
The Kaiser interrupted me.
‘I do not think Kruger would dare to provoke me by such a trick.
He would know that he would be the first to suffer when it was
found out. No, I am convinced that we must look nearer home for the
traitor.’
Something in the Emperor’s tone struck me as significant.
‘If you could give me any indication of the person----’ I ventured to
throw out.
His Majesty looked at me fixedly as he answered--
‘Does it not occur to you, Monsieur V----, that there is in my Empire
a powerful family, the heads of which seem at one time to have
cherished the notion that the Hohenzollerns could not reign without
them, a family which aspired to play the same part in modern Germany
which was played by the Mayors of the Palace in the Empire of the
Merovingians?’
‘You allude, sire, without doubt, to the Bismarcks?’
‘My grandfather was forced into war with the French by a forged
telegram. There would be nothing surprising in an attempt from the
same quarter to force me into a war with England.’
I had no answer to make to such reasoning. Daring as such a manœuvre
might appear, it was absurd, in the face of historical facts, to
pronounce it improbable.
After a minute spent in considering the situation, I turned to the
question of how the fraud might have been carried out.
It was quite clear to me that such a message could not have gone
over the ordinary wires. The despatches of Emperors are not, as a
rule, handed in over the counter of a post-office, like a telegram
from a husband announcing that he is prevented from dining at home. I
asked the Kaiser to explain to me the system pursued with regard to
Imperial messages.
‘That is a matter about which you will be able to learn more from
the Chancellor than from me,’ was the answer. ‘Foreign despatches go
through the Chancellery, and there is a staff of telegraphists there
to deal with them. The wire goes direct to the Central Telegraph
Office, I believe, from which it would, of course, find its way to
the Cable Company.’
‘Then this fabrication must have been sent from the Chancellery in
the first instance?’ I inquired. ‘It could not have been received at
the Central Office from an outside source?’
‘Impossible. They would not dare to transmit a message in my name
which had not reached them through one of the authorised channels.’
This was the reply I had expected. But I did not fail to mark the
admission that there was more than one channel through which the
forgery might have come. I was quick to ask--
‘Is there not some other source from which this telegram may have
reached them besides the Chancellery? Your Majesty, no doubt, has a
private wire from the Palace.’
The Kaiser looked a little put out.
‘That is so, of course,’ he conceded. ‘But that wire is used only for
my personal messages, and those of the Imperial family.’
‘Still, a message received over this wire, and couched in your name,
would be accepted at the Central Office, would it not?’ I persisted.
‘Undoubtedly. But the Palace operator, a man who works under the
eye of my secretary, would not dare to play me such a trick, which,
he would be aware, must be detected immediately. Take my advice,
Monsieur V----, waste no time over side paths, but go direct to the
Chancellor, and commence your perquisitions among his staff.’
I bowed respectfully, as though accepting this plan of campaign. But,
as I withdrew from the Emperor’s cabinet, the doubt pressed more
strongly than ever upon my mind whether I was not being asked to play
a part. I half expected to find everything prepared for me at the
Chancellery, prearranged clues leading to the detection of a culprit
who would recite a confession which had been put into his mouth
beforehand.
I was perfectly willing to perform my part in the comedy in a manner
satisfactory to my employer, but all the same I meant to keep my eyes
open, and not to let myself be the victim of a deception intended for
English consumption.
In this mood I presented myself before the Chancellor. As soon as the
Imperial autograph introducing me had met his eye, his Excellency
threw aside, or pretended to throw aside, all reserve.
‘I am delighted to find the Emperor has placed this business in your
hands, Monsieur V----,’ he said obligingly. ‘Your reputation is well
known to me, and I am convinced that you will be perfectly discreet.
The Emperor is, of course, thoroughly taken aback by the results
of his unfortunate impulse, and wishes to relieve himself of the
responsibility he has incurred. In that I am quite willing to help
him, but not at my own expense, you understand.’
I murmured something about the Bismarcks. His Excellency gave a smile
of contempt.
‘All that is absurd,’ he rapped out. ‘The Emperor is quite foolish
about that family, which possesses no more influence to-day than any
Pomeranian squire. No, if his Majesty wants a victim he ought to be
content with one of his own staff. I refuse to allow the Imperial
Chancellery to be discredited in the eyes of Europe.’
This reception, so unlike what I had anticipated, made me begin
to think that my inquiry would have to be serious. After a little
further conversation with the Chancellor I decided to go to work
regularly, beginning by tracing the Imperial telegram back from the
Central Office.
The Chancellor readily furnished me with the necessary authority
to produce to the Director of the Telegraph Service, to whom I had
merely to explain that I had been instructed to verify the exact
wording of the now famous despatch.
It is unnecessary for me to detail my interview with this
functionary, whose share in the business was purely formal. Suffice
it that within a quarter of an hour after entering his office, I came
out with the all-important information that the congratulation to Mr.
Kruger had come direct from the Imperial Palace, over the Kaiser’s
private wire.
By this time it was clear to me that either Wilhelm II. was playing
a very complicated game indeed with me, or he really was the victim
of one of the most audacious coups in history. My interest in the
investigation was strongly roused, as I made my way to the Palace for
the second time that day, bent upon a meeting with the telegraphist
by whose agency, it now appeared, the war-making despatch had come
over the wires.
My recent audience in the Imperial cabinet had invested me with
authority in the eyes of the household, and I had no difficulty in
getting a footman to conduct me to the operator’s room, which was
situated at the far end of the corridor which I had previously
passed through on my way to the Kaiser.
The room being empty on my arrival, I dismissed the footman in search
of the operator, who, he informed me, would most probably be found
with the private secretary to the Emperor.
The moment I found myself alone I stepped up to the apparatus. I am
an expert telegraphist, and the machine speedily clicked off the
following despatch--
‘_To the German Ambassador, London.--See Lord Salisbury privately, at
once, and inform him British Government entirely deceived as to my
sentiments. Proofs will be sent to you shortly._--WILHELM, Kaiser.’
I had hardly taken my fingers off the instrument when the door opened
and the operator walked in.
Herr Zeiss--I heard this name at the Central Office--appeared to
me to be a simple-minded man, more likely to be the victim of a
conspiracy than himself a conspirator. I thought it my best plan to
assume an air of omniscience at the outset.
‘How is this, sir!’ I demanded with some sternness. ‘Do your
instructions permit you to leave this instrument unguarded for any
person who pleases to send his own messages over the Emperor’s
private wire?’
The telegraphist stared at me with a mixture of surprise and alarm.
‘I don’t know who has authorised you, Herr Inspector----’ he began,
when I cut him short.
‘Am I to go to his Majesty, and ask him if you have permission to
leave this room when you please, without taking any precautions
against the unauthorised use of the wire?’
Herr Zeiss quickly changed his tone.
‘That is not a thing of which I am ever guilty,’ he protested.
‘You have been guilty of it just now,’ I retorted.
‘I have not been away two minutes. No one could have taken advantage
of my absence.’
‘Nevertheless, advantage has been taken of your absence.’
‘I don’t believe it!’
‘Ask the Central Office to repeat the message you have just sent
them, then.’
Casting a frightened look at me, the man complied. I have seldom seen
an expression of deeper astonishment and terror on a man’s face than
that which marked the unfortunate operator’s as my despatch came back
to him, word after word, ending with the Imperial signature.
‘My God!’ he cried out. ‘Who has done this? I shall be ruined!’
‘Whether you are ruined or not depends entirely on yourself,’ I
said sharply. ‘It is in my power to save you, but only upon one
condition.’
[Illustration: “‘My God!’ he cried out. ‘Who has done this? I shall
be ruined.’”]
Herr Zeiss turned on me a gaze of mute appeal.
‘You must tell me the exact truth,’ I proceeded, ‘and you must tell
me everything. How often have you left this room without taking
precautions against the misuse of the wire in your absence during the
last two days?’
Zeiss considered for a moment. Then his face brightened up.
‘Not once, I can assure you positively of that, Herr Inspector.’
This answer, given so confidently, came as a severe check to me. I
looked at the man sternly, as I responded, with assumed confidence--
‘And I am positive that you are mistaken. An unauthorised use _has_
been made of this wire, and I am determined to know by whom.’
The operator’s face fell once more. He appeared to me to be honestly
at a loss.
‘Come,’ I put in, ‘think again. Begin by recalling any occasions on
which you have been called away hurriedly, and have perhaps omitted
to lock the door.’
‘But there has been no such occasion. I swear to you that I have not
once left this room without taking ample precautions.’
I fancied I discerned a touch of hesitation, rather in the operator’s
tone than in his actual words.
‘Speak more plainly,’ I said. ‘What do you mean by precautions?’
‘Either the door was locked, or else----’ This time the hesitation
was palpable.
‘Or else what?’
‘It was left in the charge of a trustworthy person.’
‘And that trustworthy person, who was he?’ I found it hard to
suppress all signs of excitement as I put this question.
‘The gentleman who will shortly be my brother-in-law.’
‘Ah! Perhaps this gentleman is an employee in the same department as
yourself?’
‘Not at all,’ Zeiss protested earnestly. ‘He is a teacher in the
Military College. He knows nothing of telegraphy; in fact, he has
sometimes asked me questions on the subject which have convinced me
that he is quite a fool where electricity is concerned.’
‘Indeed! And the name of this foolish person, if you please?’
‘Herr Severinski.’
‘A Pole!’ I exclaimed.
‘No, a Russian. He was exiled to Siberia on account of his political
opinions, but escaped. He teaches Russian in the college.’
‘How did he come to be left in charge of this room?’
‘He called here the day before yesterday, in the evening, to speak
to me about his marriage with my sister. They have been engaged for
some time, you must know. While he was here I received a note from
my sister herself, pressing me to come and speak to her at once
outside the Palace. I went, leaving my brother-in-law to wait here
during my absence. My sister, I found, merely wished to urge me not
to object to any proposal made by her betrothed. On my return I found
Severinski yawning and apparently bored to death in my absence. I
asked him, and he assured me no one had come near the room while I
was away.’
I could scarcely resist smiling as the whole intrigue, so simple, and
yet so consummately successful, lay bared to my perception. My whole
anxiety now was to keep the worthy but stupid Zeiss ignorant of the
transaction in which he had been an unwitting accomplice.
I brought him away from the Palace with me, so as to leave him no
opportunity of warning Severinski, and we proceeded together to
the Russian’s quarters. I flatter myself that the professor of the
Military College was not a little disconcerted when he saw his dupe
followed into the room by an Inspector of the Berlin Police.
I explained my position in such a manner as to let Severinski see
that I knew everything, without enlightening the other man.
‘The day before yesterday Herr Zeiss left you alone in his room in
the Palace. You took the opportunity to send a telegram, the terms
of which are known to me, over the Emperor’s private wire. For this
offence you and he are liable to severe punishment. What I now have
to propose to you is to make a confession which will have the effect
of exonerating every one except yourself. If you do this, I think I
can promise you that you shall suffer no penalty beyond, of course,
the loss of your post in the Military College.’
Severinski gave me a glance of intelligence.
‘You do not require me to denounce anybody else?’ he inquired
significantly.
‘I do not require you to confess what is obvious to every one,’ I
returned with equal significance.
Poor Zeiss followed this exchange with an air of bewilderment. It
was evident that the discovery of the other’s guilt had caused a
shock to his confiding nature, and he was still trying to reconcile
the Russian’s prompt surrender to me with his previous stupidity on
questions of electrical science, when I summarily dismissed him from
further share in the interview.
As soon as we were by ourselves Severinski spoke out boldly enough.
‘I am quite willing to give you a statement that I sent the telegram.
But I am not going to tell you anything more. You must know that I
am an Anarchist.’
I waved my hand scornfully.
‘If I consent to your suppressing the truth, Professor Severinski, it
does not follow that I am willing to listen to absurd fictions. Be
good enough to write out and sign a circumstantial account of your
own part in this clumsy plot, and I will undertake that you shall not
pass to-night in prison.’
The Russian had the sense to do what he was told without further
parley. I got from him more than I expected. He consented to put in
writing that it was after his betrothal to Fraulein Zeiss that he
had been solicited to make use of his connection with the Kaiser’s
private telegraphist, and he stated the amount of the bribe, a
very heavy one, paid him for his services in sending the Imperial
congratulations to the President of the Transvaal. We became so
friendly over the discussion that Severinski, who was bursting with
vanity over his success, wanted me at last to let him tell me too
much. I was obliged to order him to be silent.
‘If you tell me that you are an agent of a certain great Power, I
must repeat what you say to the Kaiser. Then one of two things will
happen. Either your Government will avow your action, in which case
you will be hanged as a spy, or it will disavow you, in which case
you will pass the rest of your life in prison as a criminal lunatic.’
This menace had all the effect which I could have desired, and I was
satisfied that the Russian would now hold his tongue.
Bidding him a cordial farewell--for I confess the fellow’s audacity
had inspired me with some admiration--I hastened back to the Palace,
to lay the results of my investigations before Wilhelm II.
‘Your Majesty has been victimised by a secret agent whose employers
are interested in bringing about a feeling of ill-will, if not
an actual war, between Germany and Great Britain. The day before
yesterday this agent, whose name is Severinski, and who is employed
to teach Russian’--Wilhelm II. started--‘in the Berlin Military
College, visited your private telegraphist in the room at the end
of this corridor. He had previously contrived that the telegraphist
should be called away during his visit, and he took advantage of this
absence to send the message which has caused so much trouble.’
The Kaiser made no reply until he had finished reading the proofs I
laid before him.
‘And you did not ask this Severinski by whom he was set on?’ demanded
his Majesty, giving me a keen glance.
‘I did not know whether you would wish me to do so,’ I answered
respectfully.
‘You were right, a thousand times right,’ exclaimed the Emperor. ‘As
long as they are in doubt whether I know it is they who have played
me this trick, I have the advantage of them, and they will keep
silence for their own sakes.’ He paused in deep consideration for a
minute, then he looked up quickly. ‘All this time I must not forget
the English. Tell me, Monsieur V----, are you personally known to
Lord Salisbury?’
‘I have that honour, sire. On one occasion----’
‘Enough! There is not a moment to lose. You will leave Berlin by
the first train, and proceed straight to the Ambassador’s house in
London. He will take you round to the Prime Minister, and you will
offer him the proofs which you have just offered me, explaining
at the same time that the excited state of public feeling in both
countries makes it impossible for me to take any open action in the
matter.’
I bowed and moved towards the door.
‘I will wire to the Ambassador to expect you,’ called out the Kaiser.
‘Pardon me, your Majesty has done so already.’
‘How?’
‘I also passed five minutes alone in the room of Herr Zeiss,’ I
explained.
In the years which have elapsed since this celebrated episode,
Wilhelm II. has left no means untried to convince the British people
of his friendly sentiments towards them. It is as a service to his
Imperial Majesty, though without authority from him, that I now
venture to lift the veil from the most astounding transaction in the
annals of even Muscovite diplomacy.
II
THE BLOWING UP OF THE _MAINE_
Although the revelations which have been made already in the British
House of Commons have thrown some light on the international
intrigues which complicated the progress of the Cuban War, the tragic
event which caused the United States to draw the sword against Spain
has remained a profound mystery to the present hour.
The truth concerning the destruction of the United States warship
_Maine_, in the roadstead of Havana, is known fully to only two
persons now alive. One of these two has taken the vow of perpetual
silence in the monastery of La Trappe, and his name is already
forgotten by the world.
I shall cause some surprise, perhaps, when I venture to assert that
had I left my hotel ten minutes earlier on a certain memorable night
in the year 1898, the Spanish flag might still be flying over the
citadel of Havana.
The extraordinary adventure which I am going to relate had its
starting-point in Paris, which is, to a large extent, the
clearing-house of international politics--the diplomatic exchange
where the representatives of the Powers meet, and sound each other’s
minds. For this reason the highest post in the diplomatic service
of every country is still the Paris Embassy, although France itself
scarcely ranks to-day as a Power of the first magnitude.
It is Paris, as every one is aware, which was the scene of the long
negotiation between the representatives of the Cuban insurgents
and the Government of Madrid on the question of the terms to be
granted by Spain to her discontented colony. In this negotiation it
is equally well known that the Cuban delegates received the moral
support of the United States; but it is not generally known that the
Spanish Government acted throughout in consultation with most of the
European Powers.
I was looking on at the negotiation without any very great interest,
sharing, as I did, in the general impression that Spain would give
way before long, when I was surprised one morning by receiving a
visit from a very remarkable character.
Ludwig Kehler was a Bavarian, who had begun life as a candidate for
the priesthood. A disgraceful affair, the particulars of which I
had never learned, had caused his dismissal from the seminary, and,
after drifting about the world for a time, and mixing in very shady
company, he suddenly appeared in Berlin in the character of a police
agent.
The exact nature of the services which he rendered to the police
was a mystery, but I had formed the theory that he was employed as
a spy on the German Catholics, whose attachment to the House of
Hohenzollern has always been suspected in Berlin.
The presence of this man in Paris was in itself an unusual event. It
did not occur to me to connect it with the Spanish-American question,
and that for a very simple reason. Germany is the one country in
Europe which has never possessed a foot of soil in the New World.
Spain, Portugal, England, France, and even Holland and Denmark have
planted their flags across the Atlantic, but the German Michael has
been content to remain at home while his neighbours were colonising
the globe.
I received Kehler coldly. My acquaintance with him was a purely
professional one, and he was a man whom I profoundly distrusted.
As soon as I could do so, without positive rudeness, I invited him to
explain the object of his visit.
‘It is of a confidential nature,’ prefaced the Bavarian. ‘May I
assure myself that our conversation will remain a secret between us
two?’
I bowed gravely.
‘That is always understood, where I am concerned. A man who desires
to be trusted must begin by establishing a reputation for secrecy.’
Kehler contented himself with this assurance, dry as it was.
‘I thank you, Monsieur V----. Your reputation is so well established
that I had no intention except to ask whether you were willing to
receive the proposals I have come to make?’
‘Proceed, Herr Kehler, if you will be so good.’
‘You have learnt, no doubt, that the Spanish Government has made up
its mind to concede the terms demanded on behalf of the Cubans by the
United States?’
Although I was not aware that things had reached this point, I did
not allow Kehler to see that he had given me any information.
‘By this act,’ he continued, ‘the Americans have, in fact, declared
that no European Power has any right to enter their hemisphere
without their permission.’
‘All that is well known, Herr Kehler.’
‘The question then arises whether the European Powers will allow
themselves to be driven out, one by one, or whether, by a bold
combination, they will reduce the United States to some respect for
the law of nations.’
‘Such a combination would be inopportune at this moment, because the
British would stand aloof.’
‘Because they look upon the struggle as one between Spaniard and
Cuban,’ Kehler rejoined quickly. ‘But let us suppose there to be a
war, in which the United States was engaged against Spain?’
‘You have just said there will be no such war.’
‘A war is always possible, provided those interested in bringing it
about are not too scrupulous.’
This sinister language at length convinced me that the Bavarian had
not come to see me for nothing. I decided to draw him out.
‘Provided such a war actually commenced, I agree that some
combination on behalf of Spain might be possible,’ I murmured,
as though reviewing the situation in my mind. ‘But where is the
Government sufficiently in earnest to undertake so terrible a
responsibility?’
‘It is that Government,’ Kehler responded, ‘which sees its subjects
departing in greater numbers every year, but which looks around in
vain for some unoccupied region towards which to direct the stream of
emigration.’
‘You mean Germany?’
‘We look around us,’ he continued, scarcely noticing my interruption,
‘and we see all the continents staked out in advance by other Powers:
Asia by England and Russia, Africa by England and France, North
America by England and the United States, Australia by England
alone. There remains only South America, in the possession of weak
Latin races, unable to make use of their advantages, but who are
protected in their decay by the bullies of Washington.’
‘A war in which the United States found itself fully occupied would
be a fine opportunity for the German Michael to plant his standard in
Brazil or the Argentine, I understand.’
Kehler looked at me earnestly.
‘The man who undertook the task of making such a war inevitable,
without compromising exalted personages, would be no loser,’ he
remarked significantly.
I looked back at the Bavarian before demanding--
‘Have you any definite scheme to put before me?’
‘Until I know that you accept,’ he demurred.
‘I do not know that you are accredited,’ I reminded him.
‘What authority do you require?’
‘The Imperial autograph simply.’
‘Impossible.’
‘I am accustomed to be trusted by my employers,’ I returned
decidedly. ‘I cannot act under any other conditions.’
‘That is final?’
‘It is final.’
‘Then I am afraid I can only ask you to forget that I have occupied
so much of your time.’
I allowed Kehler to rise and take his departure without making
the least sign. The moment he was out of hearing I sprang to the
telephone and rang up the agent of the Sugar Trust.
Herr Kehler’s refusal to produce the guarantee for which I asked
convinced me that he contemplated some action of a character
doubtful, to say the least, if not criminal.
It would have been useless for me to communicate my suspicions to the
American Minister in Paris. The diplomacy of the United States, blunt
and self-reliant, takes little account of the subterranean intrigue
which pervades European politics. But the Government of Washington
was not the only factor concerned. As Europe is beginning to learn,
the Union is a federation, not so much of those geographical
divisions which are painted in different colours on the map, and
called States, but of those vast organisations of capital which
control the American electoral system, and fill the Senate with their
delegates. Nebraska, Pennsylvania, Virginia, Illinois--these are
merely names for school children; the Silver Ring, the Steel Trust,
the Cotton Trust, the Pork Trust--such are the true American Powers.
During the whole of the Cuban negotiation the Sugar and Tobacco
Trusts had been represented in Paris by agents whose object it was to
avert an annexation of Cuba by the United States, an act which would,
of course, mean the free admission of Cuban sugar and tobacco into
the markets. Adonijah B. Stearine, the Sugar Agent, was a shrewd man,
and I had no doubt I should find him a ready listener to what I had
to say.
Within an hour of Kehler’s departure, Mr. Stearine was seated in my
office. I had to pick my words carefully not to break the promise of
secrecy into which I had been beguiled.
‘I have just seen a secret agent who wanted me to help him in some
trick to force on a war between the States and Spain.’
Stearine rolled his eyes and whistled thoughtfully.
‘Who sent him?’
‘I can’t say. He refused to disclose his principal, and so I would
have nothing to do with him.’
The Sugar Agent pursed up his lips, and frowned.
‘I guess this is a dodge of Bugg’s,’ he muttered.
‘What Bugg?’
‘You don’t say you haven’t heard of Bugg--Milk W. Bugg, the Pork
Trust’s man over here? I reckon Bugg is the smartest man in Chicago,
and Chicago is the smartest town in the States, and the States is the
smartest country on earth; so there you are.’
‘The man who came to me is a German,’ I hinted.
‘Bugg’s smartness,’ was the comment.
‘He wanted me to think he came from Berlin.’
‘Bugg is real smart,’ breathed Mr. Stearine with admiration.
It was evident that the agent of the Sugar Trust was unable to see
past the figure of his rival, which filled up his mental horizon. I
did not consider it worth while to argue the point.
‘The question is, Do you want this to be stopped?’ I said.
Stearine looked at me with something like surprise.
‘Think you can?’ he questioned briefly.
‘I know the man who is at work. I can shadow him and find out what he
is doing.’
‘You will have to be almighty quick about it,’ retorted the other.
‘When did this man get away!’
‘Only an hour ago,’
Mr. Stearine gazed at me with a disconcerting scrutiny. Then he
remarked slowly and emphatically--
‘If this is Bugg’s game, and you have given him an hour’s start, I
calculate he will be opening a store in Havana this day six months.’
The Pork Trust, it was clear, had everything to gain by a war by
which the Sugar Trust had everything to lose. But, in spite of Mr.
Stearine’s confident assurances, I continued to have my own opinion
about the power behind Herr Kehler.
‘Do you want me to act?’ I demanded briefly.
‘I want you to take a hand--yes.’ The Sugar Agent took out his
pocket-book, and counted out bills to the amount of ten thousand
dollars. ‘You can play up to that,’ he added, ‘and then you can let
me know how the game stands. I guess I shall buy Pork Consols.’
With this discouraging observation, Stearine left.
It did not take me long to decide on my plans. As it was not likely
that Kehler was apprehensive of being watched, it would be an easy
task to trace him, and I at once gave orders to my staff to that
effect, with the result that I learned in a few hours that the
Bavarian had put up at the Hotel des Deux Aigles, and was leaving by
the Sud Express for Madrid.
I now decided on one of the boldest and most effective strokes in
my repertory. I went openly to the station, took my own ticket, and
entered the compartment of the sleeping-car in which Kehler had
booked his own place.
The real astonishment of the Bavarian at seeing me I met with an
affectation of moderate surprise on my own part.
‘So you are going with me?’ I observed.
‘With you!’ Kehler exclaimed.
‘It appears so. No doubt you have been instructed?’
Kehler denied it energetically.
‘But you refused to participate in a certain design,’ he reminded me.
‘I laid down certain conditions, which you declined to fulfil, but
which have since been complied with by your principal.’
The Bavarian was thunderstruck. I relied upon his having reported his
failure to whomever it was that had sent him to me; and there was
nothing impossible in the suggestion that I had in consequence been
approached directly.
‘You have credentials, I suppose?’ he asked.
I nodded carelessly.
‘You will convince me, perhaps?’ he persisted.
‘Are you authorised to convince me?’ was my retort.
‘You know it--no.’
I shrugged my shoulders and remained silent.
So commenced the most extraordinary journey I have ever taken, a
journey which was destined to end only at Havana. Across France
and Spain and the Atlantic Ocean we travelled side by side, each
unwilling to lose sight of the other; I, resolved to find out and
if possible thwart the designs of my companion; Kehler, unable to
determine whether I was an opponent, a rival, or a spy set over him
by those on whose behalf he was engaged.
On the frontier, at Hendaye, a despatch was handed in to me through
the carriage window. It was from Stearine, and contained these words,
whose terrible significance I was designed to learn later--
‘_United States warship_ Maine _arrived harbour Havana._’
The agent of the Sugar Trust had been too careful to say more. But it
was clear that he regarded this event as a move in the game played by
the great exporting Trusts.
From the moment of our arrival in Madrid I was no longer able to
keep a close watch on Kehler, though by a sort of tacit agreement
we stayed at the same hotel. I found out that he was paying visits
to the Provincials of the Jesuit and Franciscan Orders, and had
been admitted as a visitor to one or two convents, and for a time I
was tempted to relax my suspicions, and to think that the Bavarian
was engaged in some Catholic espionage. These doubts were suddenly
dissipated by my meeting him one day in the courtyard of the hotel
attired in the habit of a priest--the dress of which he had been
deprived on account of his youthful misconduct.
I could not doubt that this dress was a mere disguise, and that
it had been assumed for a political purpose. I went up to him and
whispered--
‘Do we still recognise each other, or do you prefer that we meet as
strangers?’
‘As fellow-travellers simply, I should prefer,’ he responded.
The next day he had disappeared from the hotel. I set the agencies
at my command to work, and learned without much difficulty that
passages had been reserved for the false priest and a Sister of Mercy
travelling under his protection, on board a Spanish steamer sailing
from Cadiz to Havana.
Needless to add, I was on board the same steamer when she quitted her
moorings and breasted the waves of the open sea. During the voyage I
had many opportunities of watching Kehler and his companion, who were
constantly together, holding long private conversations in retired
corners of the vessel. The nun, who was presented to me as Sister
Marie-Joseph, was a pale, delicate-looking girl of about twenty,
with that abstracted look in her eyes which betokens a mind wavering
between earnestness and hallucination.
Dimly, and through clouds of uncertainty, I began to perceive
that Kehler had ransacked the convents of Madrid for a suitable
instrument, and that he was hard at work hypnotising the unfortunate
girl’s mind, so as to prepare it for any suggestion he might have to
make.
Before we reached Cuba I contrived to speak to the Sister apart. I
found her reserved and distrustful of a heretic, as she had evidently
been told to consider me. On my satisfying her that I had been
brought up a Catholic, she became slightly more communicative, and
revealed a disposition singularly sincere and devoted, but almost
morbid in its detestation of Protestantism. She betrayed a feeling
of horror at the idea of American domination in the Catholic island
of Cuba, and it was in vain that I represented to her the generous
tolerance accorded to our religion in the United States.
I did not dare to ask her the subject of her conferences with Kehler.
To have hinted at the Bavarian’s true character would have been
simply to forfeit her confidence in myself. I decided to reserve my
efforts in this direction until our arrival in Havana, where I did
not doubt that I should be able to find some responsible ecclesiastic
who would undertake the investigation of Kehler’s antecedents.
In the meantime I could only wait and watch. I was painfully
impressed by the steady growth of the false priest’s influence
over his victim, who seemed at last to respond to his least word
or gesture. I had before me the spectacle of a possible Teresa
or Elizabeth being gradually transformed into a Ravaillac by the
dexterous touches of a rascally police agent.
As soon as we entered the harbour Kehler and his companion got ready
to disembark. I noticed that at this moment they were separated, the
Sister going ashore by herself with a large basket trunk, while her
protector followed at some distance behind.
They met again at the hotel, to which I had accompanied the man.
By this time I had forced a certain degree of acquaintance on the
couple, though I was unable to interrupt the intimacy of their
private intercourse. I arranged to secure a room next to that of the
Sister, and I observed with some surprise that Herr Kehler was lodged
in another wing of the building.
By a coincidence we found the hotel full of naval officers from the
_Maine_, who had chosen it for their headquarters while on shore.
Instead of disconcerting Kehler, this circumstance appeared to give
him every satisfaction.
He went out of his way to show civility to the Americans, and rapidly
became intimate with several of them. Sister Marie-Joseph, on the
other hand, held sullenly aloof, scarcely able to repress some signs
of the abhorrence which the sight of the heretics inspired.
The visit of the _Maine_ was understood to be a pacific one. It was
a demonstration to the world that the relations between the United
States and Spain continued to be those of perfect friendship, and
that the former Power was inspired by peaceful motives in seeking to
bring about an understanding between the belligerent Cubans and the
mother-country.
Nevertheless it was an imprudent act to send a man-of-war, flying
the Stars and Stripes, into the harbour of a place swarming with
fanatical Spaniards, furious at the interference of another Power
between them and their revolted subjects. It was, in fact, a
provocation, and it was not surprising that the astute agent of the
Sugar Trust had seen in this proceeding the work of those commercial
powers whose interest lay in the direction of a rupture.
Faithful to my preconceived intention, I took an early opportunity of
waiting upon a high Church functionary in the city, to warn him of
the true character of the Bavarian.
The reception I met with was a cold one, however. Monsignor X----
allowed me to see that he considered me an officious person.
‘May I ask what is your interest in all this?’ he demanded, as soon
as I had made my statement.
‘I represent the Sugar Trust,’ I told him.
‘The Sugar Trust?’
‘The manufacturers of sugar in the United States, who fear the
competition of cane sugar, and are therefore opposed to the
annexation of Cuba, which would involve free trade with the island,’
I explained.
[Illustration: “‘We shall find out whether he is a priest,’ was the
retort.”]
‘And you suggest that this Father Kehler----?’
‘Herr Kehler,’ I corrected. ‘This man is no more a priest than I am.
He is believed to be the agent of a Chicago Trust, which desires to
see Cuba brought within the Union.’
‘We shall find out whether he is a priest,’ was the retort. ‘Before
he can say Mass in this diocese he will have to apply for permission,
and to show his ordination papers.’
‘But if he does not wish to say Mass? If he merely confines himself
to directing the Sister whom he has conducted here?’
‘In that case we cannot interfere. We have no more proof that she is
a Sister than that he is a priest?’
I gave Monsignor X---- an indignant look, which he bore with coolness.
‘Besides, what is it that you apprehend?’ he asked. ‘One cannot deal
with imaginary dangers.’
‘I am sure that these two persons are bent on some desperate
enterprise--that their presence in Havana bodes no good to the cause
of peace,’ was all I could find to say.
The ecclesiastic made a scornful gesture.
‘It appears to me that this is a matter which concerns the police,’
he said, in a tone which signified that the interview was at an end.
I returned to my quarters, realising to the full the difficulty
of any effective action. To go to the police would be merely to
invite a repetition of the snub which I had just received from the
ecclesiastical authority. I could only rely on my own resources.
I sent a wire to Stearine: ‘_War agent here as priest, accompanied
by nun_,’ and waited. It was just possible that Stearine might have
connections through which those who had power in the Church at Havana
might be influenced, in which case I had no doubt that Monsignor
X---- would very quickly become interested in the doings of ‘Father’
Kehler.
I can hardly tell what it was precisely that I expected to happen.
I had some idea of an assassination, possibly of the captain of the
_Maine_, or perhaps of the American Consul, by Sister Marie-Joseph.
Day by day I perceived the unhappy girl becoming more and more
wrought up to the pitch of enthusiasm necessary for the perpetration
of some hideous deed, like that of Charlotte Corday, or Judith.
Curiously enough, the poor Sister showed an inclination for my
society, perhaps because I was a familiar face. She would sit beside
me in the drawing-room of the hotel and talk about her convent, in
which she had been educated and passed most of her life.
[Illustration: “She would talk about her convent.”]
I learned that she was of a noble family, rendered poor by the
ravages committed in the course of the Cuban insurrection, a fact
which may have helped to exasperate her spirit. But I sought in vain
to draw her into any confidences on the subject of her mission to
Havana. The moment I touched on that topic she became dumb, and made
an excuse to leave me.
During the next few days I observed the intimacy between Kehler
and the American officers becoming closer. The German could speak
English fluently, and this circumstance naturally recommended him as
a companion in a place where Spanish and French are almost the only
languages known to the inhabitants. There was a young lieutenant,
or sub-lieutenant, in particular, who was constantly in Kehler’s
company, viewing the sights of the town, or smoking with him on the
hotel verandah. Suspecting that my man had some object in cultivating
this lieutenant, I endeavoured to make his acquaintance myself, only
to find my advances rebuffed in a manner which showed me plainly that
Kehler had been at work disparaging me beforehand.
One day as I was standing on the verandah I noticed the pair come out
of the hotel together, and turn in the direction of the harbour. I
followed at a discreet distance, and saw the officer conduct Kehler
into a boat, manned by sailors from the _Maine_, in which they pulled
off to the ship. I stood watching, and at the end of about an hour I
saw them coming back, the face of the false priest wearing a serious
expression.
I took advantage of my acquaintance with him to meet the pair as they
landed, and accost them carelessly.
‘You have been to have a look over the ship?’ I threw out.
Kehler tried to pass on with a careless nod, but the lieutenant, less
discreet, drew himself up with a severe glance at me.
‘Father Kehler has been good enough to visit a poor sailor who is
lying sick on board,’ he said, in a tone evidently meant to rebuke my
impertinence.
I bowed with assumed respect. But as they went on their way I
experienced a sensation of alarm. The pretext which had imposed on
the officer was transparent enough as far as I was concerned. I
realised that Kehler was steadily pursuing some well-thought-out
design, and that he had contrived this visit to the man-of-war with
some dark purpose which it was my business to discover.
I determined at length, since Kehler’s friend was so strongly
prejudiced, to seek out some other officer, preferably the commander,
and take him into my full confidence. Unhappily events marched too
swiftly for me. That very evening it was already too late.
[Illustration: “‘Father Kehler has been good enough to visit a poor
sailor who is lying sick on board,’ he said, in a tone evidently
meant to rebuke my impertinence.”]
Passing through the entrance hall on my way upstairs to dress for
dinner, I was struck by the sight of the basket-trunk belonging to
Sister Marie-Joseph standing strapped-up, ready to go away. At the
foot of the staircase I encountered the Sister herself, evidently
prepared for departure.
She appeared pleased to have the opportunity of bidding me farewell.
‘I shall not forget you where I am going,’ she said with a mournful
smile, as she extended her hand.
‘May one inquire where that will be?’ I ventured to ask.
She shook her head.
‘It is an affair of duty. I am going a very long way, and you will
never see me again.’
‘And Father Kehler,’ I forced myself to say, ‘does he accompany you?’
A momentary expression of repugnance, almost of loathing, flashed out
on her pale face.
‘No, no! The padre has done his part in conducting me so far, and
finding me the situation of which I was in search. I have parted with
him now, and we have nothing more to do with one another.’
This answer relieved my mind of a burden. I came hastily to the
conclusion that Kehler, finding himself able to carry out his
projects without assistance, had decided to dispense with an
embarrassing ally, and I was glad to think that this poor girl would
be delivered from his evil influence.
What blindness are we capable of towards those very things which seem
the clearest to our after-recollections!
I took the precaution to ascertain at the bureau that Kehler was
still staying on in the hotel, and I came down to dinner with a light
heart.
A number of the American officers were dining in the hotel that
night. There appeared to be a sort of entertainment going forward, in
which some Spanish officers from the garrison were fraternising with
them.
Kehler, deprived of the company of his lieutenant, sat at a small
table by himself, and I noticed that he was drinking heavily, while
his flushed face and inflamed eyes showed him to be labouring with an
excitement which I ascribed to the influence of the wine.
I sat down at another table, and busied myself with efforts to
disentangle the threads of the intrigue which was being woven around
me. I cast a thought or two after the poor girl, with whom I had been
so strangely associated.
Absorbed in these thoughts, I did not mark the evening advancing,
when I was gradually aroused by the breaking up of the military
party. The lieutenant, who had shown so strong a dislike for me,
rose from his seat and came my way, taking a Spanish officer by the
arm.
As they approached, I perceived from his gait that the American had
been affected by the healths he had been drinking. I saw him point me
out to his companion as they approached, and he muttered something in
the other’s ear, which caused the Spaniard to turn on me a glance of
grave disgust.
Stung by this insufferable insolence, I sprang to my feet, and placed
myself in front of the lieutenant.
‘Have you anything to say to me, sir?’ I said sternly.
‘Nothing. I do not talk with spies,’ was the coarse retort.
‘But you take them on board the ship it is your duty to guard,’ I
returned fiercely, carried out of myself.
The lieutenant drew back, amazed.
‘I have taken a worthy priest to console a dying man--one of his own
faith,’ he stammered out.
‘A German police agent, disguised as a priest, I suppose you mean.
The spy Kehler?’
He began to tremble violently. ‘But the Sister! The nurse!’
‘Sister Marie-Joseph! What do you mean?’
‘She is on board now, nursing O’Callaghan.’
It was my turn to utter an oath of consternation.
‘Come with me. Take me on board instantly, or take me to your
commander.’
‘We will go on board,’ said the sobered lieutenant.
Glancing round as I followed him out I saw that Kehler had
disappeared. Quickening our steps by a common instinct, the
lieutenant and I almost ran down to the water’s edge.
‘Thank God!’ burst from his lips as we came in sight of the majestic
vessel lying peacefully at her anchors in the calm waters of the bay,
her spars and turrets outlined against the clear, starlit sky, and
only a few twinkling lights betraying the presence of the two hundred
men who slept below her decks. The same instant there was a spout of
fire, a cloud of wreck and dust mounted to heaven, and a thunderous
boom stunned our ears, and sent the waters of the bay dashing up at
our feet.
The _Maine_ had broken like a bubble. I saw all in a flash--in some
dark way that will never now be revealed Sister Marie-Joseph had
blown up the _Maine_. Kehler had succeeded--I had failed.
It has not been easy for me to write the story of what I regard as
the greatest failure of my career. My mistake was the initial one
of refusing to purchase Kehler’s confidences, by the expedient of
pledging myself to assist his enterprise.
Immediately the intelligence of the disaster reached Europe Stearine
sent me a cable peremptorily enjoining silence. That injunction I
consider has now lost its force through three circumstances, the
lapse of time, the death in action of Lieutenant ----, and the living
suicide of the arch-criminal, haunted by the horror of his own deed,
in the deathlike cloisters of La Trappe.
III
THE MYSTERY OF CAPTAIN DREYFUS
Every one must feel that the last word has not been said on that
extraordinary transaction which convulsed France, and shocked Europe,
during the close of the nineteenth century, under the name of the
Dreyfus Case.
It is true that no effort has been spared by the Government of the
Republic to put an end to an agitation which threatened to develop
into a civil war. A general amnesty has been proclaimed; the courts
of law have been forbidden to entertain any proceedings involving the
guilt or innocence of Captain Dreyfus, his accusers or his partisans,
and the French press has been appealed to, in the name of patriotism,
to close its columns to all further discussion of the dangerous topic.
Such an attitude, adopted in order to save France from disruption, is
not without a certain dignity; but it is at the same time terribly
unjust. It is as if France had repeated to the victim of the Devil’s
Isle the memorable words--‘It is better that one man should die for
the people.’
The one person in Europe who is completely ignorant of the true
motives underlying this grim tragedy is without doubt Dreyfus
himself. That taciturn, commonplace figure, suddenly elevated
into the position of criminal, martyr, and hero, was merely the
shuttlecock driven through the air by unseen hands. Even if he was
guilty of writing the celebrated bordereau--a question which the
Court of Rennes decided in the affirmative--he must have done it by
the order of others, given for reasons which he did not comprehend.
It will be remembered that before and during the second trial of
Dreyfus, the strongest efforts were put forth on his behalf by three
foreign Powers--those composing the Triple Alliance. The German,
Austrian, and Italian military attachés, breaking through the
etiquette of their position, disclaimed, each on his personal word of
honour, any dealings with the alleged spy.
Not only so, but I myself sent for the Paris correspondent of a
London newspaper of high standing, and authorised him to inform his
readers that the German Emperor himself was prepared personally to
exculpate the accused from the charge of selling information to
Germany.
This offer, made privately to the French President, was declined for
the same reasons which prompted the Government to hush up the whole
affair. But every thoughtful man will realise that it would not have
been made unless there had been more at stake than the freedom of an
obscure captain.
My own connection with the _Affaire Dreyfus_ dates from the time of
the first trial and sentence, when the theatrical spectacle of the
degradation of the unfortunate officer was the theme of universal
comment. At this juncture I received a visit from Colonel ----, an
officer high in the Emperor’s confidence, and at that time attached
to the German Embassy in Paris.
‘I have come to you,’ he announced, as soon as we found ourselves
alone, ‘by command of his Imperial Majesty the Kaiser.’
I bowed respectfully as I replied--
‘I am deeply honoured by this fresh proof of his Majesty’s
confidence.’
The Colonel regarded me for a moment with some curiosity.
‘You are a sort of spy, are you not?’ he inquired.
I refused to take offence at this blunt question, so natural on the
part of a soldier.
‘Each of us has his own part to play,’ I explained suavely. ‘The
soldier fights with the enemy in the open field; the man of my
profession has to encounter the foes who burrow underground.’
Colonel ---- appeared satisfied.
‘The Kaiser trusts you; that is enough for me,’ he declared. ‘You
will not dare to betray this confidence?’
This time I rose to my feet, stern and contemptuous.
‘You have not come here to insult me, I suppose, Colonel? If you are
the bearer of instructions from the Kaiser, be good enough to deliver
them without comment; if not, I will attend to my other business.’
The German’s face betrayed his astonishment at this rebuke. He
hastened to mutter an apology, which I received in silence.
‘His Majesty wishes you to investigate this _Affaire Dreyfus_, on his
behalf. There is some secret motive for the notoriety which they are
conferring on this unlucky spy’--the Colonel gave me an apprehensive
glance as he pronounced this word--‘and the Kaiser is determined
to find out what it is. It appears that we are being made a sort
of stalking-horse in the business; it is pretended that Dreyfus
was an agent of ours, which is utterly untrue.’ The German smiled
sardonically as he added: ‘Our information is supplied to us from
higher sources than a simple captain of artillery, and we can get as
much as we choose to pay for.’
‘Is it not likely that Dreyfus may be the scapegoat of
others--perhaps those higher sources to which you refer?’
The Colonel shook his head.
‘That does not explain the persistence with which they are trying to
connect the affair with Germany. I have information that the heads of
the French Army are representing that France is in actual danger. The
bitterness with which Dreyfus is assailed is due, they pretend, to a
sense of the national peril.’
‘And all that is quite untrue, I understand?’
‘So untrue that I have reason to know that Wilhelm II. has a
particular desire to conciliate the French----’ The Colonel stopped
abruptly as if he had been on the point of saying too much.
‘Very good. Then I am to find out for his Majesty as much as I can
about this affair, and particularly why it is sought to represent
Dreyfus as an agent of Germany?’
Colonel ---- nodded.
It was not an easy task to set me; nevertheless, I had some hope of
success. It so happened that I had formerly had transactions of a
confidential nature with General Garnier, one of the foremost, if
not the foremost, figure among the persecutors of Dreyfus. I had
the right to approach this General as a friend, and I had reasons
for believing that he might be willing to open his mouth for a
sufficient consideration.
Shortly after Colonel ----’s departure, therefore, I strolled round
to the General’s private residence, off the Avenue Clichy. Garnier
was not at home, but I left a message with the concierge that the
dealer in old coins, who had formerly sold him some Roman specimens,
had just obtained others which he was anxious to submit for
inspection.
As I anticipated, this message had the desired result of bringing
General Garnier to see me the same night. He came, not to my public
bureau, but to a little apartment in the Quartier Latin which I rent
for the purpose of interviews with clients who do not wish their
acquaintance with me to be known.
It was evident that my summons had annoyed, perhaps frightened, him.
‘Now, Monsieur V----, what does this mean?’ he blustered, as I closed
the door behind him.
‘It means, Monsieur le Général, that I have a question to ask you,
but that I do not expect you to answer it for nothing.’
Garnier was visibly relieved to discover that I had not sent for him
to extort blackmail. But his reply was not encouraging.
‘I fear that you have given yourself trouble uselessly. It is not my
intention to sell any information of a kind which cannot be given
openly.’
I knew the man I was dealing with too well to take this answer as
final.
‘Without doubt you are right to remind me that a man like yourself
ought to be approached with a great deal of circumspection,’ I
returned, with a mixture of politeness and irony.
Garnier’s face flushed.
‘I mean what I have said,’ he affirmed. ‘You must not suppose that
you are dealing to-day with Colonel Garnier. In my position one
has responsibilities to which there attaches itself a sentiment of
honour, you understand, M. V----?’
My experience has not taught me that men become more scrupulous by
being promoted from the rank of Colonel to that of General, but only
that they become more greedy. I replied--
‘I understand of course that one does not buy old coins at the same
price from a general officer as from a field officer.’
Garnier’s face assumed a look of indecision.
‘For whom are you acting, this time?’ he demanded.
‘General, if any one had asked me formerly from where I had procured
my Roman coins, what do you suppose my answer would have been?’
Garnier tugged thoughtfully at his moustache, as he frowned over a
refusal which was, at the same time, a proof that he could trust me.
[Illustration: “‘As to that--impossible!’ he exclaimed with vigour.
‘That is our secret--ours, you understand.’”]
‘Suppose you explain to me what information you are in search of?’ he
said, throwing himself into a chair.
I thought the battle was won, as I responded--
‘It concerns the Dreyfus Case.’
To my surprise, Garnier bounded out of the seat into which he had
just dropped.
‘As to that--impossible!’ he exclaimed with vigour. ‘That is our
secret--_ours_, you understand.’
I listened to this declaration with secret dismay. It revealed to
me that the fate of Dreyfus was in some manner connected with the
interest of the heads of the French Army, in short, with Garnier’s
own; and from his tone I suspected that I was questioning the
arch-plotter.
There was still the chance that he might be willing to part with the
secret if he could be assured that it would not be used against him.
‘Suppose I required this information on behalf of a friendly monarch,
who is himself a soldier, and who might be willing to pledge his word
that it should not be made use of to your disadvantage?’
Garnier gazed at me as though he would have read the name of this
monarch in my eyes.
‘Impossible,’ he repeated, in a tone of real regret; ‘_twice
impossible!_’ And, as though anxious to convince me that his refusal
was not unfriendly, he added--‘It is not a question of a Boulanger
this time.’
Perceiving that I could not press him further without showing my own
hand, I reluctantly allowed Garnier to depart. He had in reality told
me more than he suspected.
In the first place, he had convinced me that the Kaiser’s suspicions
were not idle, by his reception of my hint that I was acting for
a foreign Power. If the ferocious sentence on Dreyfus had been
inspired by spite against an unpopular officer, or by a desire to
find a scapegoat for bigger traitors; or if it had merely been an
episode in the secret duel between the Church and the Freemasons, as
the champions of Dreyfus were inclined to believe, there would have
been no meaning in that regretful ‘Twice impossible!’ If Garnier had
refused to sell his secret to a foreign Power, I knew him well enough
to feel assured that it must be because that Power was in some way
interested to defeat Garnier’s conspiracy.
But the real clue had been placed in my hands by those concluding
words--‘It is not a question of a Boulanger this time.’
Such a phrase constituted a riddle which few men in Europe were
better able than myself to decipher.
Boulanger was an adventurer, lifted on a wave of popular favour,
who had seemed likely at one moment to overturn the republic and
replace it by a military dictatorship with himself at the head. He
had failed because he was a mere adventurer, who represented no
principle, and who lacked that personal prestige with the Army which
is only acquired by successful leadership in war.
Nevertheless his career had revealed the weakness of the Republic,
and proved that all that was necessary to bring about its downfall
was an alliance between the military caste and some pretender with
more substantial claims than those conferred by the shouts of the
Paris mob.
Every one who knows anything of France knows that the soldiers have
long chafed under the ascendency of the lawyers, which is a necessary
consequence of Republican institutions. But Garnier’s words, if I
interpreted them rightly, showed that the lesson of Boulanger’s
failure had been laid to heart, and that this time the military
conspiracy which undoubtedly existed had found a really formidable
figurehead. In short, it was a question not of a military dictator,
but of a monarch; not of a Boulanger, but of a Bourbon or a Bonaparte.
I found myself on the brink of a discovery of first-rate importance.
For the success of such a military revolution as that indicated
only two things seemed necessary, a candidate and an occasion. If
my diagnosis were sound, a candidate had been found in Philippe
d’Orléans, the representative of the ancient monarchy, or Victor
Napoleon, the heir of the Bonapartes. The occasion was to be
furnished, perhaps, by the long-delayed war of _la revanche_!
As soon as I had reduced my thoughts to some sort of order I decided
that my next step must be to ascertain which of the two pretenders,
who seemed pointed out for the leading _rôle_ in such a conspiracy,
was the chosen one. The Duke of Orleans was at this time in England,
while the home of Prince Napoleon, as every one knows, is in the
neighbourhood of Brussels.
I despatched two of my most trusted subordinates, one to Belgium,
and the other to England, with instructions to keep a close watch on
the movements of both princes, and to let me know if there were any
signs of unusual activity which would indicate that some stroke was
in preparation.
In Paris I kept up a similar watch on the headquarters of the
Royalist and Bonapartist parties. The Royalists are formidable,
thanks to the influence of society; but the Bonapartist cause is
represented by a small and dwindling clique of journalists and
demagogues, who exhaust themselves in the effort to revive the
Napoleonic legend, by their parrot-like repetition of the words
_Marengo_ and _Austerlitz_.
I did not imagine that this noisy faction would be intrusted with
any important secret; and I was soon satisfied that if the chiefs
of the Army were really contemplating a restoration, Bourbon or
Bonapartist, they had kept their design entirely to themselves.
The first reports which I received from my agents abroad were
discouraging. The Bourbon Pretender, who is without reticence, and
seeks every opportunity of advertising his personality, appeared to
be quite passive for the moment.
Prince Victor Napoleon, a man of a very different character, who
withdraws himself as much as possible from public notice, conscious,
perhaps, that he has inherited some of his father’s unpopularity, was
also leading his usual quiet life, and no evidence was forthcoming
of any secret intelligence between him and the group of generals who
controlled the French army.
Things were in this position, and I was beginning to feel
dissatisfied with the slow progress I was making, when I was suddenly
called to the telephone one evening by my agent in Brussels, who had
at last some important news for me.
‘Prince Victor is going to England,’ he announced, after we had
exchanged the password.
‘To _England_!’ Was it possible that the two rivals were about to
meet? I asked myself. ‘When does he depart?’
‘Perhaps to-morrow. His secretary has been to the Belgian Foreign
Office to procure passports.’
‘There are no passports required in England,’ I returned, my
suspicions instantly roused. ‘You have been deceived. Have you seen
the passport?’
‘No. It was from the servants that I learned the Prince was going to
England.’
‘It is a blind, rest assured. Keep the strictest watch, and do not
allow him to leave Brussels without you. I shall come by the next
train.’
I rang off the communication, and hastened to make the necessary
preparations for a journey of which I could not foresee the end.
On alighting in the Belgian capital I was met by my faithful
henchman, who informed me with sparkling eyes that he had succeeded,
by means of a bribe, in ascertaining from a clerk in the Foreign
Office that a passport had been granted to the Comte de Saint Pol and
secretary, travelling to Berlin.
If anything had been needed to convince me that the journey of Prince
Napoleon had a serious purpose, these concealments would have done
so. I was now confident that I was on the right track, and I did not
grudge the fatigue involved in a journey across Europe.
I ordered Fouqué, as my man was named, to resume his watch on the
Prince’s abode, while I waited at the station from which the Berlin
express takes its departure. It was understood that we were both
to proceed by the same train as the Comte de Saint Pol and his
companion.
No hitch occurred; the Prince, accompanied by his secretary and
my agent, duly arrived to take their seats in the train, and the
four of us alighted together in the capital of Germany. I had spent
the interval in considering my plan of action. I was so far from
foreseeing the true cause of Prince Napoleon’s mysterious journey,
that I expected to find him closeted the next day with the German
Emperor, imparting the confidence which Garnier had refused to me.
The event proved very different.
As soon as the two travellers had taken up their quarters in a hotel,
whither, it is needless to say, we accompanied them, the secretary
was sent out on an errand by himself. Fouqué, of course, followed,
and came back in about an hour with the startling information that
the secretary had been to the Russian Embassy.
The meaning of this proceeding flashed upon me at once. The real
destination of the Prince was not Berlin, but Petersburg. He was
merely passing a few hours in Berlin in order to confuse the trail,
and he had sent his passport to the Embassy to be _viséd_ for Russia.
In order to make sure that my surmise was correct, I decided to
make use of my implied authority to act on behalf of the German
Government. I ordered Fouqué to force his way bodily into the Count’s
apartment, announce himself as an agent of the Berlin police, and
demand to see the stranger’s passport. The ruse was completely
successful, and I learned that the yellow seal of the Russian Eagle
had been affixed to the paper.
My own task had now become difficult and dangerous. Although I
maintain friendly relations with the Russian police, with whom I
have often collaborated, I knew they were not likely to tolerate my
intrusion into their territory as the spy of a foreign Power. In
dealing with half-reclaimed savages like the Slaves, one never knows
what form their revenge will take, and Siberia is not a country in
which I have ever had any inclination to reside.
The plan which presented itself to my mind was an audacious one,
but in such situations audacity is safer than faint-heartedness. I
despatched Fouqué to the headquarters of the Berlin police with a
denunciation against Prince Napoleon’s secretary for the crime of
_lèse-majesté_.
_Lèse-majesté_ is the one offence which is never treated lightly in
German official quarters. Fouqué’s information was eagerly taken
down, and a police officer promptly arrived at the hotel armed with a
warrant for the arrest of the traveller.
M. Rémillard, the secretary, protested in vain that he was a
stranger, who had only that hour arrived in Berlin, and was leaving
Germany the next day; and that he had never been guilty of the least
disrespect towards Wilhelm II.
‘You declared that the Emperor was a babbler,’ he was informed.
‘Ah, but I meant the Emperor of Russia,’ retorted the Frenchman
smartly.
‘What, is he a babbler, too?’ exclaimed the policeman--an answer
which, I believe, has since become celebrated.
But his ingenuity could not save the unlucky secretary from arrest,
and the Comte de Saint Pol found himself obliged to proceed on his
journey alone. It remained for me to complete the execution of my
design, by substituting myself in the place of M. Rémillard.
This project, which would have been beyond the powers of an ordinary
police agent, was rendered possible in my case by my extensive
knowledge of underground politics, and the reputation which I have
striven to deserve of a man whose faith can be depended on.
I dismissed Fouqué, whose further presence would have embarrassed me,
and took my seat in the _coupé_ reserved for the Comte de Saint Pol
in the Petersburg express.
In answer to the remonstrance with which my intrusion was received, I
explained that I was acting under orders.
‘Your travelling companion has been arrested, Monsieur le Comte, but
perhaps I may be allowed to supply his place.’
‘Am I under arrest, too?’ Prince Victor demanded with some
indignation.
‘Not at all,’ I answered, ‘but your movements are of some interest
to the German Government, or rather the Emperor, who has honoured me
with his personal instructions.’
‘What have my affairs to do with his Imperial Majesty?’ inquired the
Prince anxiously.
‘Perhaps nothing, perhaps a great deal. You will, at least allow,
_Monsieur le Comte_, that your passage through Germany appears to be
attended with some mystery.’
‘In short----?’
‘In short, the Emperor will be glad to be honoured by your
confidence, _Monseigneur_.’
The Prince started at this title, and began narrowly scrutinising my
face, while he evidently considered in his own mind what account to
give of himself.
‘It may assist you, perhaps,’ I went on to say, ‘if I tell you that I
already know nearly all that you can tell me. I am M. V----.’
At this name a change passed over Prince Napoleon’s face. A silent
struggle seemed to be taking place in his breast. Presently he raised
his eyes to mine.
[Illustration: “‘Am I under arrest too?’ Prince Pierre demanded with
some indignation.”]
‘Tell me, M. V----, are you capable of forgetting for a couple of
hours that you are the Emperor’s confidential agent, and favouring me
with your disinterested advice?’
‘I believe so, always provided that your Highness does not ask me to
betray the confidences I have received from others.’
The Prince accepted this stipulation with frankness.
‘In all probability you are in a position to tell me more about the
reasons for this journey than I know myself. I am going, as a matter
of fact, in search of information.’
I concealed as much as possible the shock of surprise which this
confession caused me. Up to that moment I had naturally imagined
that the Prince was on his way to consult the Tsar, and obtain
his approval, as the ally of France, of whatever designs were in
progress. I now realised suddenly that I had overlooked a factor in
the situation whose importance might be greater than Prince Victor’s
own.
I need scarcely say that I refer to his brother Louis.
In enumerating the pretenders whose ambition threatens the Republic,
I had naturally omitted this prince, whose claims seemed to be
overshadowed by those of his elder brother. I now recalled his
popularity as a young man of the most charming manners, and the
prestige which he derives from his rank in the Russian Army and the
personal friendship of the Tsar.
What was more possible than that Garnier and his comrades, passing
over the unattractive elder, should have chosen as the figurehead
of their usurpation this romantic character, who would be doubly
dependent on them, because he would be doubly a usurper?
These reflections passed through my mind swiftly enough for me to
answer without any perceptible pause--
‘You are paying a visit to your brother?’
Prince Victor nodded, as though that were a matter of course. It
was easy to see that he felt it a relief to be able to discuss the
situation fully and frankly with a man of experience and resource,
one who moreover had no reason for taking his brother’s side.
Briefly, his story came to this:--
‘Some years ago, after the death of our father, my brother had a long
consultation with me about the prospects of our family. He asserted
that he was more popular in France than I was, and suggested that
the chance of a Bonaparte restoration would be improved if I would
consent to abdicate in his favour. This I naturally refused to do,
but he pressed me, and got other members of the family to do the
same, and at last I gave way so far as to say that if there were
a substantial prospect of success, and it really depended on my
resigning my rights in my brother’s favour, I would do it.
‘When I said that, of course, I thought it would be a question of a
popular plebiscite, like our uncle received, and that I should be
bound by the voice of the majority. But ever since then I have seen
feelers put out from time to time in the Paris papers, suggesting
that I did not wish to insist on my rights as the heir of the great
Napoleon. And now within the last few days I have received a letter
from my brother, informing me that a restoration is at last possible,
and calling on me to fulfil my pledge, and publicly abdicate my
claims.’
I listened to this remarkable disclosure with the keenest interest.
It confirmed my suspicions on almost every point, though I was still
far from feeling that I had obtained a complete solution to the
problem set me by Wilhelm II.
My companion let it be seen plainly that he was not very well pleased
with the prospect of being supplanted by his younger brother. I took
this feeling into account in the advice which I offered.
‘The only thing you have told me that is new to me, is the fact that
Prince Louis is the person favoured by the conspirators,’ I said. ‘I
knew there was some such plot on foot, but, like every one else, I
took it for granted that you were the only possible candidate for the
empire.’ My companion breathed indignantly.
‘As for the success of the movement, that is highly problematical.
You will not feel very satisfied if you execute this solemn act, only
to see your brother rise for a moment on the shoulders of the mob,
and then vanish like Boulanger, leaving your House more feeble than
at present.’
‘Then what do you advise me to say to my brother?’ he asked eagerly.
‘I think your course is perfectly clear. You are entitled to demand
the fullest information, in the first place. If that satisfies you
that your brother’s success is assured, that no action on your part
can retard it, then you will act gracefully by conceding a signature
which will not deprive you of anything, and will give you substantial
claims on his gratitude. But if you see that you are being asked
to efface yourself without sufficient grounds, you have only to
declare that you are not convinced, and to issue a manifesto to your
supporters in France, reminding them that you are still the head of
the House of Bonaparte.’
My companion received this suggestion with every sign of
satisfaction. During the remainder of the journey I lost no
opportunity of playing on the same string, and making him feel that
I was, as it were, his ally, engaging in defeating a plot which was
much more against him than against the Republic.
When we reached the Russian frontier, I had no difficulty in inducing
the Prince to pass me through the barrier as the secretary of the
Comte de Saint Pol, and I thus entered Russia in perfect security, in
a character which would have amazed the Third Section.
On our arrival in Petersburg I asked Prince Napoleon if he intended
to go to his brother’s address. He answered proudly--
‘I am still the head of my House, I believe. It would be more
suitable for me to let my brother know of my arrival in order that he
may wait upon me.’
I willingly charged myself with the delivery of the summons.
The announcement that I came from Brussels secured my instant
admission to Prince Louis’s presence.
‘I have the honour to act as secretary to his Imperial Highness,
Prince Victor Napoleon,’ I explained.
‘Ah! In that case you bring me a letter from him, no doubt?’
‘I bring your Highness a message simply. The Prince desires to see
you.’
‘But I cannot leave Petersburg--surely my brother knows that!’
‘He knows it so well that he is in Petersburg.’
Prince Louis sprang to his feet, thunderstruck.
‘Victor is here!--already!’ he exclaimed in confusion.
For answer I named the hotel at which we had put up, explaining
at the same time that the Prince wished to preserve his incognito
strictly.
Prince Louis prepared to accompany me to the hotel in the carriage
which had brought me to his house. As we drove along, he inquired--
‘Are you in my brother’s confidence?’
‘I believe I enjoy that honour,’ was my reply. ‘At least I am
acquainted with the business which has brought him here.’
‘Perhaps you can tell me something of my brother’s views?’ he said,
feeling his way.
‘I think his Highness expects to receive full information before he
takes a step which will be irrevocable.’
‘Ah!’
‘He thinks, perhaps, that you may have been deceived by exaggerated
promises, and that he has the right to forbid any premature attempt
whose failure would damage the Bonapartist cause.’
Prince Louis gnawed his moustache with some impatience.
‘My brother must not be unreasonable,’ he murmured. ‘One is never
certain of success in these attempts.’
‘If you will allow me to advise you, you will give him the fullest
opportunity of judging of your prospects. It would be a serious thing
for everybody if he were provoked into any public demonstration
against you.’
The younger Prince changed colour.
‘Is it so serious as that?’ he exclaimed. And during the remainder of
the drive he continued wrapped in thought, only the working of his
brow betraying the anxiety within.
The greeting between the brothers was cordial, if not affectionate. I
took it for granted that I was to be a party to the conference, and
as each brother believed that I was secretly friendly to him, neither
suggested that I should retire.
As soon as we were seated round the table, on which I had laid
out some paper, pens, and ink, Prince Victor formally opened the
discussion.
He spoke with a good deal of dignity and some eloquence. He treated
it as a matter beyond dispute that he was the sole depository of the
authority of the great Napoleon, entitled to the absolute obedience
of every member of his House. He disclaimed any personal ambition,
and referred to his former pledge, which he described as a promise
to abdicate if he were convinced that such a step on his part was
really likely to result in the restoration of the empire.
He then laid it down that he retained the sole right to decide if
and when the time for this step had arrived, and hinted that it was
his duty, as well as his right, to interfere actively to check any
designs of which he disapproved. He concluded by professing a sincere
and hearty interest in his brother’s fortunes, and inviting Prince
Louis to confide in him fully, as in his best friend.
This statesmanlike deliverance appeared to inspire the younger Prince
with genuine respect. He appeared to be a good deal embarrassed in
the beginning of his reply. It was a difficult task to tell his elder
brother that he had been rejected in favour of Louis himself.
After acknowledging in the most ample manner his brother’s claims on
his obedience and gratitude, Prince Louis proceeded--
‘The state of France shows clearly that our House has no chance of
success by constitutional means. The Republic can only be subverted
by the action of the Army, which embodies the spirit of the nation
more truly than the collection of provincial advocates and financiers
which calls itself the Chamber of Deputies. The Army will be guided
by its chiefs, and, therefore, it is the Staff which holds our fate
in its hands. The generals very naturally feel a preference for a
soldier. It is now nearly six months since I was first approached in
the greatest secrecy by General Garnier.’
I had the utmost difficulty in not betraying my emotion at the sound
of this name, so inseparably connected with the Dreyfus Case.
‘Garnier conveyed to me that he and his brother generals had decided
that the time was ripe for a revolution, in which they anticipated
receiving the support of the Church and the _noblesse_. He said
they were determined to avoid a second catastrophe like that of
the mountebank Boulanger, and therefore they meant to abolish the
Republic by a military pronunciamento, and declare France a monarchy
under their protection. And, in short, he offered me the crown in the
name of the French Army.’
‘You reminded him of my existence, perhaps?’ put in the elder brother
with some bitterness.
‘I refused to entertain the offer until it had been made to, and
refused by, you,’ Louis protested earnestly. ‘Garnier replied that
in no event would his brother generals agree to your nomination, and
that, if I declined, the offer would be made to the Duke of Orleans,
who commanded the support of the clerical faction. It was a question
of Bonaparte or Bourbon, and I relied on our compact that in such a
case you would relinquish your rights in my favour.’
Prince Victor turned to me as though he wished me to express his
sentiments. I accepted the task.
‘It would have been better if you had taken Prince Napoleon into
your confidence before giving any definite answer,’ I said. ‘General
Garnier might have paid your elder brother the compliment of
explaining the reasons for setting him aside.’
‘I did not consider the project sufficiently mature at that time,’
was the answer. ‘I thought it better to wait till the affair assumed
a tangible shape.’
‘And this stage has now been reached?’ I inquired.
‘It has. My brother will understand that a pretext was necessary for
the action of the Army, and that pretext could only be the danger
of war. For a long time we were troubled with the difficulty that
neither in Germany nor in England was there any disposition to attack
France, and our treaty with Russia laid it down in the most explicit
manner that the Tsar would only come to our assistance in the event
of our being attacked.
‘But at last, thanks to the vigilance of Garnier and the other
chiefs of the Staff, it has been discovered that Germany is secretly
preparing for a stealthy spring; she is covering France with her
spies, and, but for the timely arrest of this Dreyfus----’
I could not resist a subdued exclamation of triumph as the utterance
of this name completed the chain of discovery. The whole intrigue
engineered by the artful and unscrupulous French generals lay
displayed to my eye, as on a map. I listened like one in a dream as
Prince Louis continued explaining to his brother the peril of the
French nation, the justification for the Army’s taking command of the
State, and the consequent certainty of a Bonaparte restoration.
Victor listened silently, unable to think of any objection, and
seeing his own chance of ever reigning as Emperor of the French
slipping from him. It was I who put the decisive question.
‘You have, I suppose, taken the Tsar into your confidence, and
convinced him of the reality of the danger?’
‘We have obtained the promise of his support,’ Louis answered.
‘Good. In that case you will not refuse your brother the reasonable
proofs which it is his right to demand, that you have not been
deceived.’
‘What proofs do you expect?’
‘I respectfully advise Prince Napoleon to request an interview with
the Tsar.’
This advice was received with very different feelings by the two
brothers. Prince Louis cast on me a look of surprise and annoyance;
his elder brother’s eyes glistened with pleasure at a suggestion
whose value was at once apparent to him.
‘You cannot object to my following my secretary’s advice’, said
Prince Victor, after a moment’s pause. ‘The interests of my House are
at stake; and before I resign the prospect of a throne I have a right
to be thoroughly satisfied. The Tsar is your friend, and, therefore,
you should be pleased to accept his mediation.’
Prince Louis yielded, not very graciously, to these representations,
and undertook to arrange the conference. He then withdrew, leaving us
to discuss the situation.
It is unnecessary for me to relate what passed between Prince
Napoleon and myself. I succeeded in fixing him in the opinion that
he had been treated ungenerously, and that he owed it to himself to
thwart a dishonest and doubtful conspiracy, calculated to bring the
name of Bonaparte into odium.
The following day, about the same hour, we were received by the
titular autocrat of All the Russias.
The only persons present, besides the two brothers, were myself
and the celebrated Pobiedonostzeff, who up till quite recently has
exercised a mastery over the mind of his nominal sovereign that has
been compared to that of Richelieu over the feeble Louis XIII.
It was at once evident that the decision of Nicholas II. would be
largely determined by the advice which he received from his spiritual
and political mentor. In effect, the conference resolved itself into
a duel between the formidable Russian statesman and myself; he,
animated by a hatred of freedom, which led him to sympathise with the
design against the Republic; I, influenced by a sense of justice, and
a desire to do my duty by the German Emperor.
Having briefly acknowledged the favour of the Tsar in receiving him,
Prince Napoleon left the statement of his case in my hands.
I began by briefly referring to the understanding between the two
brothers, and the present situation of affairs.
‘What Prince Napoleon desires,’ I went on, addressing myself to
Pobiedonostzeff, ‘is to understand whether he is being asked
to abdicate on sufficient grounds. Is he dealing with a mere
hole-and-corner conspiracy, which may end in a fiasco; or is it true
that his Imperial Majesty the Emperor of Russia is committed to the
approval and support of his brother’s enterprise?’
The Tsar glanced from my face to that of his Minister, as I
concluded, with an expression which convinced me that his Majesty
knew very little about the affair, in which he had no doubt blindly
accepted the guidance of Pobiedonostzeff.
The Procurator of the Holy Synod had evidently come prepared with an
ambiguous reply.
‘His Majesty is a friend of France, and, as such, he naturally views
with concern the weakness of the Republic, a weakness inseparable
from Governments which rest on the authority of the mob. The Emperor
is at the same time a friend of the House of Bonaparte, though, of
course, he has no wish to interfere in favour of any particular
candidate for the French throne rather than another.
‘He is pledged by treaty to come to the assistance of France in the
case of an unprovoked attack by the Three Powers, or by the English.
It follows that where the danger of such an attack exists, his
Majesty is ready to encourage any prudent measure in the interests of
France, such as this appears to be.’
Prince Louis smiled, well pleased at this skilful answer. His brother
gave me an expectant glance.
‘Am I to understand, then--or, rather, is Prince Napoleon to
understand--that it is the threatening attitude of Germany which has
weighed with his Imperial Majesty?’
‘You may say the treacherous intrigues of Germany. The Germans have
been careful to avoid any open provocation.’
‘His Majesty has received satisfactory proofs, no doubt, that such
intrigues exist?’
‘Undoubtedly. General Garnier, on behalf of the Staff of the French
Army, has laid before the Emperor’s advisers documents which prove
up to the hilt that Germany is merely waiting for the psychological
moment to spring upon France, disarm her, and erase her from the list
of the Great Powers.’
‘Would it not have been more in accordance with precedent if these
documents had been submitted to you by the President of the French
Republic through the medium of the French Ambassador?’
I was glad to notice the Tsar turn a questioning look on his Minister
as I delivered this thrust, for which Pobiedonostzeff was evidently
not prepared.
‘I do not understand your objection,’ he said, in some surprise.
‘Prince Napoleon is surely not interested on behalf of the Republican
Government.’
‘The interest of Prince Napoleon is to know the truth,’ I responded
sternly. ‘Conspirators are not always scrupulous about the means they
employ. General Garnier is not a man who can be pronounced incapable
of manufacturing evidence in favour of his schemes.’
The Procurator’s face flushed.
‘You venture to insinuate that General Garnier is a forger!’ he cried
wrathfully.
‘Listen, M. Pobiedonostzeff. In the time of the late Tsar I was
employed by the Russian Government, before it concluded the treaty
of alliance with France, to obtain secret and precise information
concerning the military strength of that country. I have never
revealed the name of the officer from whom I purchased that
information. Shall I do so now?’
The Russian Minister gazed at me in consternation, and his master
appeared equally surprised. Glancing at a slip of paper which lay
before him, Pobiedonostzeff asked--
‘Who are you, then? Your name cannot be Rémillard.’
‘It is V----,’ I answered.
The Procurator threw himself back in his seat, astonished.
‘Your police have not shown their usual astuteness, I am afraid,’ I
observed, smiling.
The Tsar now interposed in a tone of more authority than I had
ventured to hope from his not very strong face.
‘Do you suggest, M. V----, that the whole Staff of the French Army
are engaged in a conspiracy to forge documents?’
‘Something of the kind, I am afraid, sire.’
‘But this notorious case, which has excited the attention of the
whole of Europe--the _Affaire Dreyfus_?’
‘I am in a position to assure your Majesty that Captain Dreyfus
had no more to do with Germany than M. Pobiedonostzeff here.’
[Illustration: “The Tsar now interposed in a tone of more authority
than I had ventured to hope for. ‘Do you suggest, M. V----, that the
whole staff of the French army are engaged in a conspiracy to forge
documents?’”]
The Procurator of the Holy Synod raised his head.
‘You are very confident, it seems to me, M. V----,’ he sneered. ‘May
I ask if you have been retained by the party which is seeking to
reopen the case of Dreyfus?’
‘No, M. le Procureur, my knowledge has been acquired from an opposite
quarter.’
‘From General Garnier himself, perhaps?’
‘No, _not this time_,’ I retorted, with biting significance. ‘My
information was derived from his Imperial Majesty, Wilhelm II.’
Never shall I forget the changes which passed rapidly across the
faces of three of my listeners as I made this statement. Prince
Victor Napoleon alone received unmoved an announcement for which he
was already prepared.
‘It is not a month,’ I added calmly, ‘since the German Emperor
charged me with a commission to find out two things: the reason for
the theatrical publicity given to the trial of an obscure captain
in the French Army, and the object of the persistent attempt to
represent him as a spy of Germany.’ I paused for a moment and turned
to Nicholas II. before concluding. ‘That commission I have now
accomplished. I am now in a position to inform the German Emperor
that the purpose of this shameful comedy is to impose on the French
people the belief that they are in danger of an invasion, from which
they can only be delivered by a Bonaparte restoration under the
patronage of your Majesty.’
The face of the young Tsar went red and white by turn.
‘I swear by Saint Nicholas that they shall eat their forgeries!’ he
said.
And I have reason to know that it was the pressing and peremptory
request of the Russian Emperor that at last secured the second trial,
and the final pardon and release of the unhappy sufferer.
IV
WHAT WAS BEHIND THE TSAR’S PEACE RESCRIPT
Perhaps the most sensational event in recent history was the
publication by the young and newly crowned Tsar of All the Russias
of a rescript calling upon the great military Powers of the world to
disband their armies and dismantle their fleets, and inaugurate an
era of universal peace.
This extraordinary invitation produced a flutter in all the
diplomatic dovecotes, for European statesmen have learned by this
time that Russia does nothing in vain. Everywhere the same question
was asked: ‘What is behind this rescript?’
It is scarcely necessary to add that, with the exception of a few
sentimental fanatics in England and the United States, no one was
inclined to put faith in a demonstration which was actually the
prelude to a raid on the ancient liberties of Finland, in order to
swell the armies of the Imperial peacemaker, and to a combined attack
by all the great Christian Powers upon the only unarmed Empire in the
world.
Nobody was deceived, but every one was disconcerted for the moment,
and I was disconcerted like the rest. I was more. I was irresistibly
drawn on to attempt the solution of a mystery which fascinated me
like a difficult chess problem set before an expert in the game.
I could not afford, of course, to set about such an investigation
merely for my own amusement. After waiting a decent time on the
chance that I might be sent for by one of the Governments most
interested in unravelling the schemes of the great Eurasian Power, I
took the unusual step of going unasked to proffer my assistance to
the Ambassador of a Power to which I have rendered important services.
To my surprise and chagrin I found myself repelled on the threshold,
the Ambassador in question, a diplomatist of great experience,
declaring that there was nothing to discover.
‘I share your disbelief in the peaceful intentions of the Russian
Council of State,’ his Excellency was good enough to say to me. ‘But
this is a matter with which they have really had nothing to do. This
rescript is the outcome of the Tsar’s own individuality. He is a
philanthropic young man, carried away by the enthusiasm natural to
his age, and his advisers have had to give way to him. That is all;
and it only remains to see whether his idea is practicable.’
The explanation was a plausible one, and all the more so because by
this time the character of the new ruler of Russia was fairly well
known to those whose business it is to reckon up the personalities of
sovereigns and statesmen. Still I was not convinced.
‘That is exactly the explanation which I should offer to the Foreign
Offices of Europe, if I were M. Witte,’ I ventured to observe.
The Ambassador smiled with good humour.
‘The explanation does not rest on the word of M. Witte, I assure
you,’ he answered. ‘Every one who knows anything about Nicholas II.
knows that he is a simple-minded, honest young man, quite incapable
of playing a part in a comedy. As a matter of fact there is nothing
in this rescript which he has not been saying in private conversation
with his family and friends any time this last two or three years.
The German Emperor heard all about it long ago. Now at last he has
put his views formally before the world in a state paper. These
proposals may not be practicable, but there can be no doubt that they
are perfectly sincere.’
‘I do not doubt the Tsar’s sincerity,’ I returned. ‘But knowing what
I know of Russia, I want to understand why the Council of State have
allowed the Tsar to have his own way.’
This time the Ambassador’s smile was less indulgent.
‘Really, M. V----, I think you are pushing your suspicions too far.
Your profession has biassed your mind, and caused you to see mystery
where it does not exist. You remind me of those politicians whom
Bismarck used to say that he could always deceive by being perfectly
frank.’
I smiled in my turn, a little grimly, as I responded--
‘It appears to me, your Excellency, that the counsellors of the Tsar
have just taken a leaf out of Bismarck’s book.’
Baffled in this direction, I was casting about me for another client,
when my secretary came in to me one morning with a despatch marked
urgent, calling me to proceed immediately to Constantinople, where my
services were required by Muzaffir Effendi, the eunuch highest in the
confidence of Abdul Hamid.
I snatched at the opening with the assurance of triumph. Of all
states Turkey was the one most deeply concerned in the foreign policy
of Russia. Of all possible clients the most desirable was the ruler
whose secret hoards had dazzled the imagination of every secret
service agent in the world for a quarter of a century.
What the business might be on which Muzaffir wanted me I neither
knew nor greatly cared. I took my seat in the train that was to bear
me towards the Balkan Peninsula, firmly resolved that his business
should give way to mine.
On my way across Central Europe I found the papers already full of
the touching story of the benevolent young despot and his triumph
over the worldly wisdom of his counsellors. I could not blame the
journalists for being taken in by a story which had imposed on one
of the most hard-headed diplomatists in Paris; I could only marvel
at the astuteness and daring of the Muscovite statesmen who had
contrived to turn the personal idiosyncrasies of their sovereign to
use in their Machiavellian politics.
On reaching the shores of the Bosphorus I found, as I had
anticipated, that I was wanted to disentangle a miserable intrigue
of the harem, the kind of work more suited to a private detective
than to a man in my unique position. Under any other circumstances I
should have declined the task without more ado; as it was, I turned
Muzaffir’s difficulty into my opportunity.
‘Listen to me,’ I said to the trembling eunuch, as soon as he had
finished confiding his tale to me, ‘I can save you, and I will save
you, but only on one condition. And that is, that you procure me a
private and confidential audience of the Sultan, and that you use
your influence with him to make him grant the request I have to
make.’
Muzaffir, who, like all his tribe, was a miser, seemed overjoyed at
this cheap method of rewarding me. Of course, he wished to know the
object I had in view.
‘I am going to ask the Sultan to employ me on a secret political
mission outside the Turkish Empire, a mission from which you have
nothing to fear. Your business is to persuade the Sultan to trust
me--let that be enough.’
Twist and wriggle as he would, the eunuch found he could get nothing
more out of me. He gave in, and his influence over the mind of Abdul
Hamid being unbounded, I quickly found myself face to face with the
lean, dark, gaunt-eyed Asiatic who styles himself Commander of the
Faithful and Shadow of God on earth.
Abdul Hamid proved to be in a more suspicious mood than my friend in
Paris. As soon as I mentioned the Peace Rescript he interrupted me.
‘I am not going to disarm. I know what the Christian Powers are
by this time. They always begin to talk about peace when they are
secretly preparing to attack somebody.’
‘I am afraid your Majesty is right. The question is, what is the real
design underlying this particular piece of hypocrisy?’
‘I know that, too,’ was the unexpected reply. ‘The Russians have
decided to turn their attention to China. There they can do all that
they want with a hundred thousand men. So it is to their interest to
get rid of the burden of a great army which will not be wanted for a
generation.’
This was an ingenious idea, but it did not satisfy me, any more than
the semi-official one had done. I ventured to object--
‘If that were all, sire, there would be no occasion for this
melodramatic appeal to the other Powers. There is nothing to hinder
Russia from reducing her armaments by one-half to-morrow. No one
dreams of attacking her. Her army is kept up for offence, not for
defence. She is the one Power that could afford to set the example
of disbanding, and such an example would carry more weight than any
number of professions on paper, however well meant.’
The Sultan appeared struck by this reasoning.
‘Then what do you say is the object behind this rescript?’ he
demanded.
‘I do not know. But I undertake to find out if your Majesty will
furnish me with the necessary means.’
Abdul Hamid gave me a distrustful glance.
‘It is an expensive thing to buy information from the Council of
State,’ he grumbled.
‘You are right, sire. And the higher one goes, the more expensive it
becomes. It is clear that this move has been engineered by persons
who are able to manage the Tsar himself, and such persons are not
likely to sell their own game for much less than a million roubles.’
Abdul Hamid quivered at the mention of this sum as though I had
demanded one of the eyes out of his head.
‘Why should I go to this expense?’ he objected. ‘I have already told
you that I am not going to disarm.’
‘The question is whether you are willing to see Germany and Austria
disarm, leaving you to face Russia single-handed. Surely it is worth
a hundred thousand pounds to Turkey to prevent her allies from
falling into such a trap.’
The Sultan still hesitated.
‘How do I know that I shall get anything in return, if I trust you
with this money?’ he asked suspiciously.
‘Your Majesty must judge me by what I have done already. Two
days ago you had never heard my name. Now I am here alone with
you, with a loaded revolver in my pocket’--the Sultan started
violently--‘discussing the secrets of your foreign policy. Does that
look as though I were a fool?’
The Commander of the Faithful sat silent, attentively regarding me
for some minutes. Finally he dismissed me, promising to consider my
proposal.
[Illustration: “‘Your Majesty must judge me by what I have done
already. Two days you had never heard my name. Now I am here, alone
with you, with a loaded revolver in my pocket.’ The Sultan started
violently.”]
I withdrew, confident that Abdul would consult his all-powerful
favourite, and that Muzaffir would see that I got my way.
A week later I was back in Paris, with an autograph letter from the
Sultan to his Ambassador in Russia, and a draft on the Ottoman Bank
which I took the precaution to exchange for a letter of credit from a
private Parisian banking firm to the Ephrussis of Petersburg.
My intention was to go to Russia in the character of a French
financial agent, the representative of a syndicate of Paris bankers,
on the look-out for profitable concessions from the Government of the
Tsar. In this way I hoped to be able to approach influential persons
without exciting suspicion, and to ascertain their corruptibility
before exposing my secret object.
In order to play this part it was not necessary for me to indulge
in any actual deceit. As a matter of fact the demand for foreign
capital to develop Russian properties is a steadily increasing
one, and I had no difficulty in meeting with financiers willing to
constitute me their agent, to inquire into the character of some of
the undertakings submitted to them.
The only person I proposed to take into my confidence was the Turkish
Ambassador in Petersburg, on whom I relied for information as to the
personal influences at work in the Russian Court.
It was to the Ambassador, therefore, that I paid my first visit on
arriving in the northern capital. His Excellency received me at
first with some reserve, which was quickly dissipated by a perusal of
the Sultan’s missive.
‘You have come to learn the truth about this rescript,’ he remarked.
‘It is certainly a new departure. You disbelieve in the sincerity of
the Tsar, I suppose?’
‘Not in the sincerity of the Tsar, but in the sincerity of those who
make his benevolent sentiments the cloak of their own secret policy,’
I corrected.
The Ambassador nodded approvingly.
‘You have put your finger on the weak spot,’ he responded. ‘The
danger in dealing with this rescript is that the other Powers may
take it seriously owing to their trust in the personal character of
Nicholas. In reality Nicholas is merely an instrument in the hands of
three persons, without whose advice he does nothing, and two of those
three are themselves creatures of the Council of State.’
‘And the three persons are?’
‘They are his mother, the Dowager Empress Dagmar; Pobiedonostzeff,
the Procurator of the Holy Synod; and the Grand Duke ----, the Tsar’s
constant companion and bosom friend.’
At the sound of such names as these I was almost appalled at the
outset. The character of the Dowager Empress, as much as her rank,
rendered her unapproachable. M. Pobiedonostzeff, although a bigot,
was not likely to be a traitor. The Grand Duke was an unknown
quantity, as far as I was concerned, but it did not seem very
probable that a personage in his position would prove accessible to a
bribe.
It never does to despair too soon. I put the question which long
experience of the dark side of human nature has rendered habitual
with me--
‘Has the Grand Duke any vices?’
‘He gambles a good deal in the Yacht Club.’
I drew a breath of satisfaction. Of all men the gambler is the
easiest to corrupt, because to him alone money is everything, and
because there comes a time to every gambler when money is not to be
had.
‘Who are his gambling companions?’ was my next question.
The Ambassador named several Russian nobles of high rank, among whom
the leading spirit seemed to be a Prince Boris Mendelieff. I was
going on with my inquiries when his Excellency checked me.
‘I have told you enough, it seems to me, to enable you to go on by
yourself. In the meantime I am the Ambassador of the Sultan, not
his secret service agent, and I wish to know nothing that might
compromise me.’
I respected his scruples, though they were such as some Russian
diplomatists would scarcely have understood, and proceeded to form
my own plans for making the acquaintance of Prince Mendelieff.
Fortunately the Russians are as unsuspicious in private life as they
are suspicious in politics. My skill as a bridge-player, a game in
which I have no living superior, proved a ready passport into the
gaming circles of Petersburg, and it was not long before I found
myself sitting at the same card-table with the intimate of the Grand
Duke.
I was lucky enough to lose a considerable sum to him, which I paid
with a good grace, and he could not do less than invite me to his
house. I accepted the invitation with an eagerness which must have
struck him as rather ill-bred, and we drove there together. Over a
bottle of champagne I became confidential. I avowed myself to be
a money-lender, as well as a concession-hunter, and hinted that I
should be prepared to pay handsomely for introductions to clients of
high station.
Mendelieff took the bait like a hungry pike. He was the first
to mention the name of the Grand Duke, doubtless knowing that
his Imperial Highness would be only too pleased to meet such an
accommodating person as I appeared to be. A bargain was struck, and
Mendelieff promised to let me know as soon as he had arranged for my
reception by his august patron.
The meeting took place in the Prince’s own house. Cards were
produced, the stakes were exceedingly high, and rather against my
wish I won steadily, while the losses of the Grand Duke were severe
enough to disturb his good humour. Mendelieff artfully seized the
right moment to present me as a friend in need, and to take off the
rest of the party, leaving us together.
The Grand Duke lost no time in putting me to the proof.
‘You are a banker, are you not, M. de Sarthe?’--De Sarthe was the
name under which I had crossed the frontier.
‘At least, I represent some important financial houses,’ I replied.
‘Oh, spare me that kind of thing,’ his Imperial Highness returned
impatiently, ‘let us take the usual comedy for granted, and tell me
frankly how much you are prepared to lend me.’
‘I do not know how much you want, sir, but I have any sum up to a
million roubles at your service.’
The Grand Duke’s eyes sparkled.
‘M. de Sarthe, you are a friend indeed!’ he exclaimed. ‘But what are
your terms for this advance?’
‘As far as your pocket is concerned, nothing. I do not even ask that
this loan shall ever be repaid.’
He stared at me for a moment in astonishment. Then all at once his
expression changed, and his voice dropped to a whisper.
‘Ah! I understand. This is some affair of the secret service. You are
offering me a bribe, I suppose.’
‘I do not come from the Third Section, if that is what your Highness
means. I am, as I have said, a financier, and my only object is to
make money.’
‘I see. You wish me to influence the Government on your behalf?’
‘Not exactly that, sir. I am in search of information--information
which will enable me to operate successfully on the Paris Bourse.’
The Grand Duke looked rather relieved. It was evident that he did not
consider this very serious.
‘And what is the information you want?’ he asked.
‘It is very simple. I want to know the real bearing of the recent
Peace Rescript of the Tsar. Let me explain,’ I went on quickly,
raising my hand as I saw he was about to speak. ‘I know the surface
explanation of the matter, but I do not believe it. I do not believe
that this rescript would ever have seen the light unless the Council
of State had some purpose of their own to serve by it, and I want to
know what that purpose is. It is not to lessen the burden of their
own armaments; they could do that, if they chose, to-morrow. This is
an appeal to the other Powers to disarm, and I want to know why it
has been made.’
The Grand Duke listened to this speech in silence, biting his lips
with an air of indecision from which I augured a good result.
‘You seem to know a good deal, M. de Sarthe,’ he said sullenly.
‘Surely you must know that I am not in the secrets of our Foreign
Office.’
‘I believe that, of course, if you say so, sir. But I believe as
well that the Tsar did not draw up this document without your
encouragement, and that in encouraging the Tsar, you acted as the
instrument of the Council of State. I am entitled to suppose that you
were not a blind instrument, but that you knew pretty well why the
Council were so ready to fall in with the enthusiastic impulses of
Nicholas II.’
It was a bold thrust, but it went home. The Grand Duke gave me a
startled look, and relapsed into a long spell of silent pondering.
Finally he said--
‘And supposing I were to tell you something that you considered it
worth a million roubles to hear, what guarantee have I that you would
not betray my secret? What proof have I even now that you are not a
spy set on by my enemies in the Council of State?’
‘I will give your Highness that proof on condition that, if it is
satisfactory, you will accept my proposal.’
‘I consent.’
‘Then all I need do is to invite you to make your communication,
not to me but to the Ambassador of the Sublime Porte, whom you will
hardly suspect of being in the confidence of M. Pobiedonostzeff.’
With these words I rose to my feet. Stupefied for a moment, the Grand
Duke recovered himself in time to make a detaining gesture.
‘Do not go, monsieur. What you have said completely satisfies me. It
appears that I am required to betray my country.’
‘That depends,’ I returned smoothly. ‘If the Council of State is
plotting to betray the Tsar, as I understand it is, I should have
thought it consistent with the honour of a Russian prince of the
blood to take part in defeating their unworthy schemes.’
This was evidently a new view to his Imperial Highness, and I could
see by the expression of his face that it was telling powerfully.
‘Well,’ he said at length, ‘it seems to me that you have my word.
When do you propose to pay me this money?’
‘Now, this moment, if your Highness pleases.’
‘Count it out, then,’ was the brief injunction.
[Illustration: “It was a singular scene, as I stood there laying
down pile after pile of greasy ten-thousand-rouble notes on a richly
inlaid table.”]
I obeyed. It was a singular scene as I stood there laying down pile
after pile of greasy ten thousand rouble notes on a richly inlaid
table, while one of the highest personages in the proudest Court of
Europe or Asia stood beside me, his tall figure glistening with gold
ornaments and jewelled decorations, and his dark Slavonian features
flushed with excitement and greed. As the last note left my fingers,
he bent down and breathed in my ear--
‘_Take the Siberian railway, and use your eyes._’
I am ready to admit that my first feeling, after hearing those few
words which had cost me a hundred thousand roubles each, was one of
sickening disappointment. But a very little consideration served
to show me that the Grand Duke had told me enough to place success
within my reach, and that the information which he thus put it in
my power to acquire by my own observation was calculated to be of
greater value than any mere statement made at second-hand.
Somewhere along the vast, just completed track which connects the
Baltic with the Pacific lay the key to the true purpose of that
famous rescript which had imposed on all the statesmen of the world,
and only vigilance and circumspection were required to find it.
Never was there a journey more fraught with peril than that which I
now undertook. I had to disappear from civilisation for an unknown
length of time, and plunge into a region shrouded in mysterious
dread, the land of prison and exile; the gloomy realm which forms the
background to the showy life of the capital beside the Neva, like a
dark subterranean dungeon hidden beneath a glittering palace.
From Siberia few enemies of the Russian Government ever return. My
safety depended on my keeping up the character of a financial agent,
on the look-out for sources of wealth requiring French capital
for their development. In that character I was sure of a cordial
reception, and it served as a convenient cloak for some curiosity
about the country I was passing through.
Not daring to intrust my secret to a companion, I was obliged to go
without sleep from the moment of leaving the Ural mountains behind.
The utmost indulgence I could allow myself was such a light doze
as left the attention ready to leap into activity at the least
provocation. At every stopping place I got out and made a careful
examination of the neighbourhood. The one thing I had to fear was the
night. In the Cimmerian darkness of a northern winter I might have
been carried past an army without perceiving it.
The train by which I travelled was a long one, and it was increased
before we entered Asia by the addition of an open car like a
cattle-truck, containing peasants whom I took to be prisoners. I had
to be careful not to show myself too inquisitive, but I noticed at
the various stations along the track that they were all young men
of about the same age, and that they got in and out in obedience to
orders given by officials who were armed, and whom I imagined to be
warders or police.
I did not consider it safe to hold much conversation with my fellow
passengers. It was probable that more than one spy was among them.
I had an uneasy sensation of being watched by invisible eyes, and I
knew that if I once aroused real suspicion by my behaviour, my doom
was sealed.
So the days and nights passed, and the train crept on its way across
the silence of the frozen continent. I strained my eyes in vain
across the blinding waste, and strained my ears through the night. No
sight or sound rewarded me, save the solitary huts of the railway-men
and the monotonous tinkle of sleigh-bells.
According to my reckoning we had got nearly half way from the Ural to
the Amur when the longest stage of all was reached. We ran from the
sunset of one day to nearly noon of the next, only halting to take in
water and fuel. Then at last the train entered a town of considerable
importance, apparently a sort of depôt of the line, there being many
side-rails on which trucks were standing as though waiting till they
should be required.
As soon as the train stopped, I got out as usual with the other
passengers, to stretch my legs and look about me. The long journey
and the lack of proper rest had so exhausted me that it was some time
before I realised that there was an unusual lack of bustle about this
particular halt.
When at last the fact of this strange stillness was borne in upon my
consciousness, I roused myself to observation. At once I perceived
that the alighting passengers were fewer in number than before. It
was the troop I had mistaken for prisoners who were missing. I looked
at the end of the train for their car. It was no longer there.
We had silently slipped the wagon in the course of the night!
This discovery acted on my tired brain like magic. In an instant I
was again the alert, cautious investigator whose decisions were as
swift as his intuitions were unerring. Without hesitating I returned
to my carriage, removed my luggage with the aid of a porter, and
ordered a sleigh to drive me to the hotel.
The guard of the train came up to me, as I was making these
preparations, and asked me if I were not going on.
‘Not by your train,’ I replied blandly. ‘I shall break my journey
here, and look about me. By what I can see this place seems likely to
be an important commercial centre, such as I have come in search of.’
‘Your Excellency is mistaken,’ the man answered roughly. ‘This place
is nothing at all--only a dumping place for spare wagons. To-morrow
we shall come to a really important town, where much business is
done.’
I gave the fellow my most supercilious stare. Then, pulling out a
note for fifty roubles, I handed it to him, saying haughtily--
‘I am obliged to you for your trouble. Good day.’
He drew back astonished and abashed, and I made my way out of the
station, without once turning to see if I were followed.
Directly I reached the hotel I threw myself on a bed, and slept
soundly for twenty-four hours.
I awoke refreshed and vigorous, and ready to carry out my task with
coolness and resolution. Knowing myself to be in a land where every
second man was a spy, I thought it idle to attempt any concealment of
my actions. I was there as an explorer, and I determined to explore
boldly. If the agents of the Government took it on themselves to stop
me, I knew well enough how to deal with them.
My first step was to ask the landlord of the hotel to recommend me a
guide. The man whom he presented to me was a typical _mouchard_, with
‘spy’ written on every line of his countenance. This was just what I
expected. I engaged him at a liberal salary, and ordered him to fit
out an expedition for a journey of some days into the interior.
‘Where do you want to go?’ the man asked.
‘Where I please,’ I replied sharply. ‘Keep your curiosity to
yourself, or take another master. I want a guide, not a partner.’
This rebuke had the desired effect. The police agent, for such of
course he was, was obliged to come with me on my own terms. Doubtless
he reported me to his bureau as a headstrong man who could not be
controlled by any means save open force.
At the same time I lost no opportunity of impressing the authorities
with my assumed character. The Prefect of the town called on me,
and I explained to him that Siberia was regarded in Paris as one of
the richest mineral regions of the earth, and that I was merely the
pioneer of a swarm of prospectors who would be invading it before
long. I made his mouth water as I talked of shares and syndicates,
and conveyed to him that by a judicious use of his opportunities he
might become one of the millionaires of the future.
To the westward of the town, in the direction from which the train
had brought me, there was visible a range of low hills, a conspicuous
landmark in the desolate plain. It was towards these hills that I
ordered my guide to conduct me, as soon as the preparations for the
march were completed.
The rascal was cunning enough to hide his reluctance, and we set
out. But after we had gone a day’s journey I noticed that our march
was steadily veering away from the line of the railway, and taking a
northerly direction. I said nothing, determined to counteract these
tactics at the right moment. At the end of the third day, after a
slow progress compared with the speed of the train, we pitched our
camp at the foot of the range, about forty miles, as near as I could
judge, from the point where it was pierced by the railway.
The next morning the caravan wound its way to the summit of the
ridge, and I looked down on a broad valley, watered by a river, and
broken up by small spurs jutting out from the main watershed. As the
guide was about to plunge down, so as to cross the stream, I checked
him abruptly.
‘We are not going that way. I shall turn southward now, and keep
along the summit of the ridge till we come to the railway.’
The man’s face turned as black as a thunder-cloud.
‘You cannot go that way,’ he snorted.
‘Why?’
He hesitated.
‘Because it is impassable. The horses will break down.’
‘We will go on till they do,’ I answered sternly. ‘And let this be
your last attempt to disobey me. At the next I send you back, and go
on without you.’
The man slunk forward, muttering curses, which I affected not to
hear. But I had not yet frightened him sufficiently. At the next halt
one of the drivers came to me and reported that a horse had gone lame.
‘Bring it here,’ I commanded.
He went away, and returned leading the animal.
‘Go,’ I said sternly. ‘Take the horse back with you, and take rations
for three days. Do not let me see you again.’
The driver looked thoroughly crestfallen. He slouched back to his
comrades without another word.
I waited till half an hour had passed, then I rose and walked over to
the camp-fire, round which my followers were seated, the driver among
them.
‘How is it that you are still here?’ I demanded.
‘The horse is all right again,’ was the surly answer.
‘So much the worse for you.’ I took out my revolver in one hand, and
my watch in the other. ‘In ten minutes from now I aim this revolver
at you, and fire,’ I remarked. ‘It kills at two hundred metres. I
should advise you to get out of range.’
I do not think I have ever seen a man get through his preparations
in less time than then. Long before the allotted time was up, he was
well out of reach, galloping down the slope of the hill.
In every expedition through a wild country there comes a moment which
decides who is to be master. That moment past, I had no fear of
further trouble. I was now able to unbend with the guide; I informed
him that I expected to find gold, and promised him a rich reward if I
succeeded with his aid.
But a disappointment was in store for me. Although we marched
carefully along the summit of the hills, and I scrutinised every yard
of the valley below with a powerful field-glass, I detected no trace
of anything calling for investigation; in fact, I discerned no signs
of human life. By the time I had worked down to the railway I began
to fear that I was on a false scent.
It was in the night, after we had pitched our camp close beside the
line, that the true solution occurred to me. I rose and secretly
crept out of my tent, eluding the solitary watchman, and made my
way along the track of the rails. After groping and stumbling over
the roughly laid road for three or four miles, I suddenly made a
discovery. The line divided, sending off a branch rail, which curved
away to the south.
I knew now what had become of the missing gang of prisoners, or
rather--for by this time I saw more clearly--of military recruits.
I also knew why I had missed my way. The guide had led me to the
north of the line, and what I had come so far to find lay to the
south.
The next day I issued orders to continue the march to the southward,
crossing the railway. The face of the guide, when he received
this direction, sufficiently showed that I was getting warm, as
the children say, at last. He made no open remonstrance, but in
the course of the day I noticed that another man and horse had
disappeared.
I paid no attention to this proof of treachery. It came too late to
affect me. By noon of the first day after quitting the main line
for the south, I was already in possession of the carefully guarded
secret of the Council of State.
There at my feet, along the widening valley, lay a double line of
rails, gleaming blue in the sunlight, and all across the level space
at regular intervals stretched low banks and ditches--the lines of a
vast encampment, capable of accommodating half a million men. Still
further on I had a glimpse of the white sparkle of tents and piles of
fresh-hewn timber, and I even fancied I could catch the faint hum of
voices and the thud of hammers as the hidden army toiled away at its
barracks and entrenchments.
[Illustration: “There at my feet, along the widening valley, lay
a double line of rails, and all across the level space stretched
low banks and ditches--the lines of a vast encampment, capable of
accommodating half a million men.”]
The meaning of the Peace Rescript was manifest at last, and the
meaning was formidable indeed. While appearing to disarm in concert
with the rest of Europe, Russia’s intention was secretly to withdraw
her enormous forces to this unsuspected retreat, from whence, at
the decisive moment, they would issue like a creation of magic, to
overwhelm the defenceless continent.
I had made my discovery; it was still a question whether I was to
return with it in safety.
Before I had made up my mind whether to push my observations further,
I was alarmed to see a sotnia of Cossacks approaching, led by a
Russian officer. My little camp was quickly surrounded, and the
officer presented himself before me.
It required all my nerve to deal with the emergency. The first
words of the officer showed me that he considered me a spy, and was
prepared to hang me out of hand. I affected the utmost astonishment
and indignation, and produced the papers which showed me to be a
Frenchman travelling on behalf of various financial syndicates in
Paris. The officer thrust them aside contemptuously.
‘All this is nothing to me,’ he declared. ‘You should not have come
within reach of our camp. Even if I do not hang you, you will never
be allowed to return to Europe, of that you may be assured.’
‘I will take my chance of that, captain,’ I answered coolly. ‘Living
in this out-of-the-way region, you perhaps have not heard that France
and Russia are in military alliance, and, besides, that the Tsar has
declared his intention to disarm, so that your preparations here have
ceased to be of the slightest consequence to anybody.’
The officer was fairly staggered. He had heard, of course, of the
French alliance, and no doubt some rumour as to the recent rescript
had penetrated to the secret camp, but without its scope being very
well understood.
‘I know that it is my duty to arrest you, at the very least,’ he
persisted.
‘As to that, you will do as you please. It will sound well in
Paris that every prospector who ventures into Siberia with a view
of developing the resources of the country exposes himself to the
treatment of a spy. M. Witte will find it takes some persuasion to
secure another French loan.’
It is needless to give further details of a conversation in which the
ignorance of the Russian gave me a very great advantage over him. I
am vain enough to plume myself on having made use of the treacherous
rescript to out-manœuvre its authors. In saying that, of course, I
do not refer to Nicholas II., who perhaps did not even know of the
existence of the hidden camp.
In the end the Cossack officer decided to escort me back to the
town where I had left the train, and hand me over to the civil
authorities, a decision which was assisted by the usual methods of
persuasion in the East. My friend the Prefect, already predisposed
in my favour, required a somewhat heavier bribe, and finally I made
assurance doubly sure by resuming my journey eastward, and leaving
Russian territory by way of the Chinese frontier.
It was from the first telegraph station in the Celestial Empire that
I sent the cipher despatch to Constantinople which was destined to
render abortive the much-talked-of Conference at the Hague:
‘_Russia preparing enormous concealed camp in Siberia, beside
railway, to hide forces when nominally disbanded. I have seen it._’
Abdul Hamid was too shrewd to take any open part in opposing the
Russian proposals, but when I saw the firm stand made against them by
the German representatives, I knew that he had not thrown my telegram
into the waste-paper basket.
It only remains to add that the Russian Government, realising that
its secret had been betrayed, stealthily set to work to efface every
sign of the concealed camp; and that, if my latest information be
correct, the mysterious valley is again given over to silence and to
solitude.
V
WHO REALLY KILLED KING HUMBERT OF ITALY?
Guy de Maupassant once remarked to me that it was necessary to
preserve the Anarchists in order to make modern history interesting.
The rulers of the world seem to be of the same opinion. Over and
over again scientists and men of common sense have told them that
the Anarchist is simply a diseased mind, requiring to be dealt with
like other brain-sick creatures. But statesmen and police alike have
persisted in treating the Anarchist as a serious politician, with
results which are, unfortunately, too well known.
It is true that, after the death of Elizabeth of Austria, the
chivalrous King of Italy, Humbert, summoned a conference of
diplomatists and police directors in Venice to consider methods for
dealing with the Anarchists. But he would have done better to call in
Professor Lombroso. I myself would undertake to guarantee the life of
every ruler in Europe and America, for the sum of £20,000 a year,
provided I were allowed to incarcerate in an asylum every man whom I
could prove to be a sufferer from homicidal mania.
As it was, I foreboded that the only result of King Humbert’s gallant
action would be to point him out to these creatures as their next
victim. Yet I must now so far confess myself mistaken as to declare
that the death of the late King of Italy does not really lie at the
door of Anarchism.
It was another European sovereign, more alive to the realities of
the situation than Humbert, who secretly commissioned me to make
an investigation into the organisation of the Anarchist sect and
the trend of its operations. I must not disclose the name of this
monarch; to do so would be to point him out to the vengeance of the
assassins.
As soon as I had received his commission I laid aside all my other
work and prepared to disappear for an indefinite period.
My first step was to transform myself into a workman, or rather a
loafer, for an industrious workman is seldom found among the ‘active’
Anarchists. I secured a few jobs in Paris as a house-painter’s
labourer--that is to say, I did the scraping and cleaning before the
skilled workman applied the fresh coats of paint. I took care to show
no zeal in my employment, and in the intervals of work I hung about
the brasseries and grumbled at the smallness of my earnings.
By these tactics I quickly earned the reputation of a good comrade,
and a true-hearted Republican. The Socialists of the quarter I had
chosen to work in quickly recognised me as a likely convert, and I
allowed them to enrol me in one of the most advanced societies.
All these measures were mere preliminaries to the final one of
blossoming forth as a declared Anarchist. It is from the ranks
of Socialism that Anarchism draws its recruits. Though the two
theories are utterly opposed, they express the same discontent with
civilisation. An Anarchist is little more than a Socialist who has
gone out of his mind.
By going over to the Anarchist group from the arms of their rivals, I
ensured myself a welcome which would never have been given to me had
I attempted to force myself upon them at the outset.
Among the Anarchists it was necessary to adopt rather different
tactics. I had now to play the part of a dangerous lunatic, only
awaiting direction from some superior mind to commit an act of
violence.
Paris itself is not an important Anarchist centre. The French police
are too quick witted for their capital to be a comfortable residence
for these desperadoes. The three great centres, as most people know,
are Zürich, London, and Jersey City, U.S.A.
Zürich is the Russian headquarters, and is rather a place for
Nihilists than international Anarchists. I therefore decided to cross
over to London, in the hope of coming into touch with the leading
minds of the sect.
In London I found myself received without the least suspicion. My
carefully prepared record stood me in good stead. I was introduced by
my Parisian comrades as a promising convert from Socialism, and no
one inquired further.
I found the London Anarchists torn by internal dissensions which left
them no time to think of attacking kings and queens. The first man
I was asked to murder was Prince ----, the leader of the idealist
group, whose sole offence was his refusal to concur in the homicidal
programme of the active Anarchists.
I refused to execute this mandate, on the plea that I had vowed to
put to death a crowned head, and could not afford to risk my life in
the pursuit of humbler prey.
I may state here that the elaborate machinery of secret meetings,
oaths, ballots, and so on has no existence except in the imagination
of popular novelists. Their fantastic descriptions can only provoke
a smile on the part of any one who has been behind the scenes of
Anarchism.
The Anarchists are a fluctuating community, here to-day and gone
to-morrow, among whom a few leading spirits who have learned to know
and trust each other by actual experience exercise an influence much
like that exercised by the Front Bench over a Parliamentary party
in England, an influence which varies with their own concord and
strength of character.
When these leaders find a man whom they see to be a suitable
instrument, they bring their influence to bear on him to carry
out whatever object they may agree upon. In some cases perhaps a
pantomimic scene is arranged, such as we read of in romances, to
impress a weak mind. I can only say that I never saw anything of the
sort.
A well-known Anarchist, whose name would be recognised immediately
were I to mention it, took me aside one night, and suggested to me
the removal of the Prince. I gave the answer I have mentioned, and
the proposal was instantly dropped.
My refusal was followed, naturally enough, by an attempt on my own
life. Two days afterwards the editor of an Anarchist paper, who had
taken rather a fancy to me, came round to my lodgings before daybreak
and advised me to leave for America. He gave me no reason for this
advice, but he was very urgent with me, and insisted on writing me a
letter of introduction to a man living in Jersey City. I promised to
consider the matter, and he bade me farewell.
On leaving my lodging an hour later to go and look for a job--the
customary pretence--I discovered immediately that I was being
followed. I need scarcely say that for me to baffle the clumsy
espionage of such blunderers would have been the easiest thing in
the world. But I wished to see how far they would go, and I allowed
my tracker to follow me all day. At night I went down to the Thames
Embankment. I placed myself on the edge of the river steps by
Cleopatra’s Needle, and waited.
I am a good swimmer, and I did not think it likely that my enemy
would use a weapon if he thought he could get rid of me by the simple
method of pushing me into the water. A pistol would be too dangerous
for himself on account of the report. I had seen that he did not
carry a stick. He was probably armed with a knife, and he might try
and give me a thrust with it as he pushed me over; but a knife-thrust
in the back is not a very serious thing to a man who has been in the
habit of wearing a mail shirt for twenty years.
I am ready to confess that my heart beat faster as I heard the
stealthy tread coming up behind me. To my surprise the would-be
assassin paused before he had got within striking distance, and
shuffled with his feet on the flags. Puzzled by these tactics I
glanced round and saw a young man, not more than twenty years of age,
whose face was white, and who was trembling in every limb. At once
I grasped the situation. The poor wretch’s heart had failed him, and
he was trying to put me on my guard against himself, in order that he
might have an excuse for not carrying out his task.
I walked past him without a word, shook him off in the course of the
next hour, and took the last train to Liverpool.
On my arrival in the States, I lost no time in seeking out the man
to whom my editor friend had furnished me with an introduction. To
the European reader it may be worth while to explain that Jersey City
practically joins on to New York, so that it is really a suburb of
the American metropolis.
I was received with open arms by this man--an Italian named
Ferretti--and I became a member of the most influential Anarchist
club. Among those I sometimes played dominoes with there was a
long-haired dreamer named Bresci, a visitor from Paterson. All this
time I passed under the name of Lebrun. My American citizenship I
carefully concealed.
I soon saw that some one had informed the American group of my being
bound by oath to kill a crowned head. On all hands I was treated with
the deference due to a prospective martyr. It was not long before
Ferretti himself began to sound me as to my willingness to make
Humbert of Italy my victim.
[Illustration: “I walked past him without a word.”]
I was careful not to discourage this suggestion as I had the one made
to me in London. I listened to all Ferretti had to say with apparent
acquiescence.
‘Humbert has placed himself at the head of our enemies,’ he urged.
‘This Venice conference is a declaration of war. If we wish to
maintain our moral ascendency we must strike a blow which will
intimidate other rulers from proceeding against us.’
As soon as I could get away I went into New York and sent a code
telegram to my secretary in Paris for him to decipher and send on
to the King of Italy. It was in these terms: ‘_Anarchists in Jersey
City, U.S.A., are looking for man to send against you. Have ports
watched._’
Unfortunately the King paid no attention to this warning. He was a
fatalist, it seems.
Ferretti returned to the charge before long. I kept him in play,
neither consenting nor refusing, my object being, of course, to
retain his confidence. I did not want another man to be despatched
instead of me without my knowledge.
It was not long before others beside Ferretti began to try and
influence me in the same direction. It is difficult to trace the
first birth of suspicion in the mind, but a suspicion was born in
mine that these men had some motive which they had not yet disclosed
to me for urging me to this attempt.
I tested them at last by making a counter-proposal. It was in the
club, late one night, and there were present, beside Ferretti,
another Italian who called himself ‘The Bear,’ a bearded German named
Peters, and a Swiss watchmaker, who was lame and used crutches. These
four seemed to have a common understanding.
Peters had been acting as spokesman, and strongly denouncing the
proceedings at Venice, which he described as an abandonment of the
methods of civilisation--a curious complaint for an Anarchist to make.
Ferretti applied the moral.
‘Some one must be found to avenge us,’ he declared. ‘If Humbert is
suffered to live, our principles are doomed.’
‘I am not sure of that,’ I answered. ‘Humbert is not a politician.
He has been stirred up because Luccheni killed a woman, which, in my
opinion, was an unwise action. We ought to choose our victims more
carefully. It is absurd to pick off a man like Humbert, when there
are such enemies as ---- and ---- alive.’
My remarks were received in ominous silence. The other four exchanged
looks of disappointment. The Bear was the first to protest.
‘It is the curse of Anarchism that every one wants to have his own
opinion. It seems to me that when men like ourselves, who have guided
the movement for years, are agreed on the right course of action, a
new comrade ought to accept our decision.’
I did not retort that the word Anarchist, if it meant anything, meant
one who had his own opinion and refused to be guided by the agreement
of others. There is nothing a fanatic resents so much as reason,
except ridicule. Instead, I affected to be surprised.
‘Do you mean that you disapprove of the execution of ----?’ I
demanded, naming a man whose reputation for cruelty and bigotry was
world wide.
‘The removal of Humbert ought to come first,’ was the answer.
‘Do you say that deliberately? Have all our comrades made up their
minds, or is it merely your own opinion?’
‘It is the judgment of us four,’ said The Bear. ‘That ought to be
enough.’
‘We are willing to provide funds for any comrade who will undertake
the mission,’ added Peters.
‘But not for any other mission, such as one against ----?’ I ventured
to object.
‘We have not said that. We are ready to consider an application.’
The last answer came from the lame watchmaker, who had kept his eyes
fixed on me with a close scrutiny during the whole conversation. It
was evident that this man was more cautious than the other three,
and that he had begun to distrust me. Perhaps he thought I was a
boaster; perhaps his suspicions went deeper.
‘Well, I am not under anybody’s orders,’ I said, rising to my feet.
‘Show me that I can serve the cause better by Humbert’s removal than
any one else’s, and I will take the mission.’
The four let me come away in silence. I had now no doubt whatever
that there was some very strong motive in the background behind all
this talk about the Venice conference, and I sent a fresh wire to
the threatened King--‘_American group absolutely determined on your
death, and offering bribes._’
This telegram was treated with the same indifference as its
predecessor.
Ferretti was naturally more inclined to trust me than were the
others, thanks to my London friend’s recommendation. I was,
therefore, not surprised to receive a call from him the next day, and
to find that he was at last going to show his hand.
‘It is right, is it not,’ he began, ‘that you are prepared to
undertake the removal of one of our enemies, provided you are
satisfied that you are doing good to the cause?’
‘That is all I ask,’ I responded; ‘Humbert or another, what does it
matter to me?’
[Illustration: “‘I am not under anybody’s orders,’ I said, rising to
my feet.”]
‘You don’t consider that the fact that Humbert has taken a leading
part against us marks him out for destruction?’
‘No, I don’t; I don’t believe he is any worse than the others.’
‘Very well; admitting that, for the sake of argument; if I were to
prove to you that Humbert’s death would benefit the cause specially
in other ways, what would you say?’
‘If I believed that, I should most likely consent.’
‘Good! That is what I expected. Now you understand that what I am
going to tell you must be in the very greatest confidence.’
I nodded.
‘The removal of Humbert will put funds at our disposal for other
work.’
At last I was on the trail. Carefully concealing my excitement
under an appearance of natural curiosity, I inquired: ‘How is that,
comrade?’
‘You must not ask too much. I have only got authority to tell you
that it is so. A sum of money will be ours as soon as Humbert is
dead.’
‘And you will not tell me how or why?’
Ferretti hesitated.
‘It has been promised us--guaranteed to us, in fact--by one who has
reasons of his own for wanting to see Humbert out of the way.’
‘I don’t like the sound of that,’ I objected. ‘It sounds as though we
were being hired as private assassins.’
Ferretti’s face fell.
‘I am afraid I cannot tell you anything more without consulting
others,’ he said slowly. ‘I will swear to you, if you like, that it
is not a case of private revenge. The person behind us has public
reasons for his conduct, though they are not the same as ours.’
This statement threw me into a brown study. What public reasons could
any one possibly have for the removal of the King of Italy? The
Garibaldians? No, they were not assassins--besides, they would not
have come to America to get a suitable instrument. There were plenty
nearer at hand.
‘Listen to me,’ I said at length. ‘When I took a vow to rid the world
of a crowned head at the risk of my own life, I did not undertake to
become a blind tool in the hands of any one else. I owe no obedience
to you or our comrades. I say what I said last night--convince me
that I ought to kill Humbert, and I will. But it is no good if you
can’t trust me. Why should I trust you with my life, when you won’t
trust me with your reasons for wanting this King out of the way?’
Ferretti was staggered.
‘I will tell the others what you say,’ he declared. ‘For my part, I
think your demand is reasonable.’
He left me, but did not come back. Days passed, and no further
overture was made to me. On the contrary, the lame Swiss began
to talk to me about the other victims I had pointed out, and to
encourage me to fix on one of them.
I was able to guess what had happened. The four were looking for a
more docile tool.
I sent off a third wire:
‘_I have lost touch with the conspiracy. From this moment I no longer
answer for your life._’
This warning was not even shown to the doomed King.
I now adopted a course which I had put off as long as possible, on
account of the risk involved. I secretly engaged a second lodging at
a distance, where I could disguise myself as I pleased, and began to
shadow the Anarchist leaders.
It was a dangerous game to play, because such men were accustomed
to find themselves the subject of police surveillance, and would
probably be quick to detect anything of the sort. My only chance of
success lay in the fact that I already possessed so much knowledge of
their movements as to make the task of watching them a comparatively
easy one.
I had come to the conclusion that the real head of the group was the
crippled Swiss. This man kept a small shop, chiefly for repairs, in
the heart of the Italian quarter. I made up as a Corsican, to account
for any imperfections of accent, and hung about the neighbourhood,
begging.
Ferretti, Peters, and The Bear were frequent visitors, and the
simpleton Bresci called once or twice, but for some days I saw
nothing that I could fix upon as having a suspicious look. I
remembered, however, that the lame watchmaker had always been missing
from the gatherings at the club on Saturday nights, and I looked
forward to making some discovery when the end of the week arrived.
I was not disappointed, though I had to wait so long that I almost
gave up hope. Just as the clock struck ten a tall, swarthy figure
brushed right by me, and slipped into the little shop. The moment
after, the lame man came out into the street, and began putting up
the shutters.
It was necessary to act promptly. I stepped up to the Swiss and
whispered my assumed name in his ear.
‘Lebrun! You!’ he ejaculated in astonishment. ‘I thought you were one
of the police.’
‘It is the other way about,’ I answered. ‘The police have been after
me; that is why I have had to disguise myself. But let us come
inside, I want to talk to you.’
As I expected, he tried to prevent me going in.
‘No, not there. I have some one on business.’
‘Business of the cause?’ I demanded.
‘Yes--no, private business.’
‘I will wait in the shop till he is gone,’ I returned, and pushed my
way through the door, the cripple following.
The tall, dark figure started to its feet in evident alarm as we
entered. I saw a brown hand glide towards the bosom, an action which
told me that I was not dealing with a European. In the dim light
of the little shop I could not fix the stranger’s nationality more
precisely. He did not seem to be an Arab; he was above the grade
of a negro. If I had met him in Algiers I should have called him a
Sudanese, a convenient term for the unknown races of Africa.
The situation was a complicated one. The watchmaker, it was evident,
did not more than half believe my account of myself; I could not tell
that the stranger really had any connection with the mystery I wanted
to unravel; and he must have been utterly confounded by my intrusion.
‘Is your friend one of us? Does he know anything about the business
you put before me the other day?’ I asked of the Swiss in Italian.
Before the Swiss could do more than give me a warning gesture, the
unknown had addressed him in the sort of Italian which forms the
common speech of seamen in the Levant.
‘Is this the man you thought you could persuade to undertake the
work?’
The watchmaker was fairly cornered.
‘Go inside and I will speak to you,’ he said to the swarthy
outlander; then he added, speaking in quick French to me--‘I must
have some explanation with you before I trust you again.’
‘That will not do for me,’ I returned, sticking to my Italian and
trying to render it intelligible to the unknown. ‘You have asked me
to do a dangerous work on behalf of the cause; very well, I am ready
to do it, but first I insist on knowing who is going to provide the
sinews of war. That is fair, it seems to me.’
This time the stranger’s tone became peremptory.
‘Why do not you wish me to speak to this man?’ he asked.
The shopkeeper scowled at both of us by turns.
‘Because I don’t know that he is right,’ he muttered.
‘How do I know that you are right?’ I retorted. ‘It appears you are
going to have a big price for this business, and you want me to shut
my eyes and not ask what becomes of the money.’
The Swiss wrung his hands in despair. I believe that he was quite
honest, and that he wished for the money in order to spread his
atrocious principles; while his distrust of me was only too well
founded.
I addressed myself boldly to the unknown.
‘I am your man, I believe. Tell me who you are, and why you want this
job carried out, and I will undertake it. As for the money, you may
hand that over to my comrade here, as long as I know how much it is.’
This last offer turned the balance. The Swiss himself proposed that
we should come into the back shop and talk things over in confidence.
When we were all three seated together, it was the watchmaker who
gave me the long-sought explanation in a few words.
‘This man is an Abyssinian. He has come here on behalf of the Emperor
Menelik.’
‘Menelik!’ I exclaimed in astonishment. ‘What has he got to do with
us?’
‘Nothing directly; but if you have read the papers you must know that
Humbert was the moving spirit in the Abyssinian war. He made peace
after Adowa, under pressure from the Crown Prince, who told him the
dynasty was in danger. But Menelik believes that the King is secretly
preparing for a fresh attack. He is in league with the British, who
are advancing from the Sudan. The Abyssinians want to clear the
Italians out of their country altogether, and they can never do that
while Humbert is alive. That is how it stands, isn’t it?’
This last question was addressed to Menelik’s agent. The Abyssinian
answered by a smile that showed his formidable white teeth.
‘The King of Italy is the enemy of Abyssinia. The King of Italy must
die. If an Abyssinian tries to kill him, he will be suspected, and
stopped; therefore he must be killed by a European. The Negus has
sent me to find a European who will do this for money. I have been
in Italy and France, and there they told me that it was best for me
to apply to the followers of your religion, which teaches that all
kings ought to be killed. Is it not so? Therefore I come here, to the
headquarters of your sect. If one of you will accept the task, on
that day I pay him in the money of this country one thousand dollars.
On the day I hear that King Humbert is dead I pay you four thousand
dollars. Divide it how you like; that is nothing to me.’
Improbable as a fairy tale though all this sounded, I could not
resist the evidence of my own senses, which showed me the Abyssinian
envoy there in the flesh. I knew, of course, that assassination has
always been one of the recognised political methods of Asiatic and
African States, but this alliance between a half-civilised despot
and the extreme revolutionaries of Europe struck me as altogether
without precedent in the history of the world. Certainly my own
experience, fertile as it naturally had been in surprising incidents,
had never brought to light a more singular intrigue than this.
My position now became an extremely difficult one. I had practically
agreed to accept the commission to assassinate the King of Italy,
but it was not that which troubled me. I foresaw that as soon as
Menelik’s agent realised that he had been played with by me he would
endeavour to find some other and more trustworthy tool. To denounce
him to the police of New York would have been perfectly idle; in
the first place he could buy the police, and in the second place no
American court would punish a ‘political’ conspiracy, unless, indeed,
it were against the United States.
I contented myself for the moment with formally undertaking the
required murder. The Abyssinian arranged to bring the first
instalment of the blood money to the watchmaker’s house on the
following Saturday night, and we all three parted apparently on the
best of terms.
The next day I sent off a long telegraphic despatch summarising
the whole situation. The proposal I made was that the Italian
Government should cable me authority and funds to enable me to have
the Abyssinian envoy privately kidnapped, and returned to his own
country, _viâ_ Massowah.
They had the incredible folly to wire instead to their Minister in
Washington, instructing him to demand the arrest and expulsion of
Menelik’s agent.
The net result of this ill-considered action was to flood the Italian
quarter of Jersey City for several days with sham detectives, to
cause a thousand or two dollars to pass into the pockets of the
local Tammany, and to compel me to hasten my departure for Europe
on my supposed mission, in order to rebut the suspicions of the
Anarchists--and, in fact, to escape their vengeance.
The night before my departure there was a little supper at the club,
at which the four were present. No open reference was made to the
object of my journey. But after supper the half-witted Bresci, who
had been one of the party, asked leave to walk home with me.
‘I wish I were going with you,’ he said suddenly.
‘I wish I could put you in an asylum, where you would be taken care
of,’ was my thought in answer. I said aloud that I had reasons for
going alone.
‘I know those reasons,’ the enthusiast declared. ‘Let me come with
you. I am not afraid.’
For a moment I hesitated. A king’s life was in the balance, though I
did not know it.
I made the clever man’s common mistake--I underrated the strength of
the fool.
‘Take my advice,’ I said to Bresci, ‘leave this work to men like me.
You are not suited for it: you would betray yourself directly.’
His face became overcast, and he relapsed into a sullen silence which
lasted till I parted from him at my own door.
An hour before stepping on board the steamer that was to convey me
to Havre I sent off a final wire: ‘_Am leaving to-day for Europe,
pledged to kill King Humbert._’
This bitter shaft of contempt roused even the Italian police into
activity. On landing at the French port I was met by a detective sent
from Rome.
I took him with me to a hotel, where we discussed the situation in a
private room.
‘It seems to me that we are all right for the present,’ he urged. ‘As
long as they think you are going to carry out the work they are not
likely to send any one else.’
‘Do not be too sure,’ I answered. ‘There is a lame watchmaker over
there who does not quite trust me.’
‘What do you propose to do?’ asked the detective.
‘To shoot King Humbert,’ I replied.
The man gasped at me in sheer amazement.
‘I am going to put you to a practical test,’ I explained. ‘I am
going to try and discharge a blank cartridge at the King. If you can
prevent my doing so, I shall hope that his life is safe.’
‘But what do you expect us to do? We cannot arrest you.’
‘No; that is my point. You know that I am going to kill your King,
and yet the law does not permit you to interfere till you see me put
my finger to the trigger of my revolver.’
‘We can stop you at the frontier.’
‘Try,’ I said drily.
He tried. A week later I was in Rome.
In reality I did not intend to go quite so far as I had threatened.
To do so would have been offensive to his Majesty. What I desired
was to put the police thoroughly on the alert. I hoped to stimulate
them into taking precautions which would be effective against a real
assassin.
For I knew better than to think that Menelik’s envoy would go away
satisfied with having despatched me on the errand of death. I did
not believe the swarthy figure with the formidable white teeth would
leave New York till he had received some certain assurance of the
success of his murderous plans.
Before leaving the United States I had arranged with my old
employers, Pinkerton’s, to have a watch kept on all outward-bound
vessels, so that I might receive the earliest information of any
move on the part of the Abyssinian. I had supplied them with a full
description of the man.
Meanwhile the Italian police did their best, hampered as they were
by the King’s chivalrous disregard of danger, and his dislike of
surveillance. It is not an easy thing to guard a monarch against his
will.
As soon as I had satisfied myself that my disguise as an Italian
workman was impenetrable, I went northward after the doomed King.
As my train rolled into the station at Turin, I caught a glimpse on
the platform of a white face with long draggled hair and a haunted
expression in the eyes--a face that I had last seen in a Jersey City
slum at midnight, more than a month ago.
Long before the train stopped I had leapt out of my compartment in
hot pursuit; but Bresci had disappeared.
I went instantly to the chief police-officer in Turin and gave
information. Detectives were despatched in all directions to search
the city; but it was too late.
The following morning a telegram was put into my hands before I got
out of bed. It was from Pinkerton’s, and contained these words: ‘_Man
answering description has just booked passage to Liverpool._’
This despatch convinced me that the situation was desperate. Coupling
the news with the sight of the evening before, I could not doubt that
the Abyssinian agent expected to hear within the next few hours that
his dreadful end was achieved.
I dressed in feverish haste and rushed round to the police-office,
only to learn that no arrest had been made, and Bresci was still at
large.
‘Unless that man is apprehended within the next twenty-four hours,
King Humbert will have ceased to live,’ I told the astonished chief
of police.
In this extremity I decided to proceed to Monza, see the King myself,
and implore him not to stir abroad until Bresci’s capture was
notified. That afternoon, as I entered the small town of Monza, I was
arrested on suspicion!
It was in vain that I protested, warned, and threatened. My demand
to be carried before King Humbert was regarded as a proof of guilt.
My disclosure of my identity was suspected as a ruse. I was confined
in a cell while telegrams were being exchanged with my friend the
Italian detective, and with my secretary in Paris.
Suddenly, as I tramped impatiently up and down within my narrow
bounds, I was aware of a terrible commotion outside. Men ran past the
door of my prison, curses and cries were heard, and there was a sound
of bayonets being fixed. Maddened by the nervous tension, I battered
with my manacled hands against the cell door.
[Illustration: “‘You are free,’ he said briefly. ‘The right man has
been arrested, too late.’”]
It was flung open from without, and an armed warder faced me.
‘You are free,’ he said briefly. ‘The right man has been
arrested--too late.’
I sank down on the plank seat and burst into tears.
VI
THE PERIL OF NORWAY
The readers of my previous revelations will have noticed that I have
constantly been engaged in thwarting the schemes of the cunning
rulers of Russia. This has been to me a labour of love. My father, as
I have said, was a native of Poland, and I have avenged his wrongs on
the Government which drove him forth to exile.
I have already related how I exposed and defeated the insidious
design concealed under the Peace Rescript of Nicholas II. Hardly
had this audacious intrigue miscarried when Europe was startled to
hear that the Ministers of the Imperial peacemaker had overthrown
the ancient liberties of Finland, in order to swell the Finnish
contingent to the armies of the Tsar.
This time I admit that I was deceived, like everybody else. The
brutal frankness of the proceeding disarmed suspicion. When Russia
openly declares herself a tyrant, it is difficult to believe she is
dissembling.
But there was one man in Europe who saw that there was more in the
proceedings against Finland than met the eye. This was a monarch
whose genius and nobility of character would have placed him at the
head of living rulers had he been born to the command of a great
Power instead of a small and distracted State. I need scarcely say
that I refer to his Majesty, King Oscar of Sweden and Norway.
It was with peculiar satisfaction that I received a confidential
summons from this King, whose fine qualities I had long admired,
and by whom I felt it a distinction to be trusted. I was far from
guessing the real nature of the business on which I was to be
employed.
As the message did not come to me through the Scandinavian Minister
in Paris, but was a private autograph communication from King Oscar
himself, I was disposed to think his Majesty wanted me to adjust some
family affair. It is well known that the Bernadottes are not more
free from such anxieties than other royal houses.
On my arrival at the beautiful capital of Sweden, I put up at the
Hotel Rydberg, entering myself as the Baron de Neuville, on tour.
The same evening I was called upon by one of the King’s intimate
friends, the Count Söderhielm, who took me across to the Palace, and
introduced me into King Oscar’s private cabinet.
I noticed as we crossed the Place Gustavus Adolphus that the flag
was not hoisted on the Palace. His Majesty was supposed to be at
Drottningholm, from which place he had come secretly in a small
launch for the purpose of our interview.
As soon as Count Söderhielm had presented me to his Majesty, he
retired to the antechamber, leaving us together.
‘Perhaps you are wondering what I have sent for you to do?’ King
Oscar began.
‘At least, I do not doubt that any service on which your Majesty
employs me will be an honourable one,’ I answered respectfully.
The King smiled.
‘I have not sent for you to pay me compliments,’ he said rebukingly.
‘Let me first ask if it is true that you are no friend to the Russian
Government?’
I looked at the King in some surprise.
‘It is better for me to tell you, sire, that I do not allow my
private feelings to enter into my work. The Russian Government has
employed me before now, and may do so again; in which case I should
serve it as loyally as I hope to do your Majesty.’
The King did not seem ill-pleased by this frankness.
‘I respect you for that answer,’ he said graciously. ‘I ought not to
have asked you for your personal confidence.’
‘I am a Pole by my father’s side, sire,’ I threw in.
King Oscar thanked me for this hint by a nod.
‘Let us come to business. You have taken note, I expect, of this
determination to Russianise Finland?’
I bowed, restraining my curiosity at this unexpected opening.
‘You know that Finland is an ancient province of the Swedish Crown,
and that when it was united to Russia, after the fall of Napoleon, my
ancestor, the then Crown Prince Bernadotte, was authorised to take
Norway as a compensation?’
‘I do, sire.’
‘Perhaps you know also that the exchange has been a disastrous one
for Sweden. The Finns were contented and happy under our rule, while
the Norwegians have done nothing but quarrel with the Swedes for a
century.’
‘I have heard something of this,’ I responded.
‘Now as long as Finland held the position of a semi-independent
State, over which the Tsar ruled as Grand Duke of Finland, it was
possible for us to regard her as a buffer between us and Russia. We
had every reason to hope that if the Russians wished to attack us,
they would have to subdue Finland first.’
‘I was hardly aware of that, sire.’
‘It is the fact. The Finnish civilisation is really Swedish, our
language is spoken there, and the Swedish element in the population
looks on Sweden as its real home. Very good. That being so, the
Russians have decided to conquer Finland in time of peace, under the
cloak of administrative measures.’
‘Your Majesty means that this attack on Finland is really an attack
on Sweden and Norway?’
‘It is the first step towards an attack on Sweden,’ King Oscar
answered, with significance. ‘The question of Norway is the matter
about which I have sent for you.’
I gazed at the King in astonishment.
‘I am the King of Norway as well as of Sweden,’ his Majesty pursued,
‘and you must not think I favour one country more than the other. But
I might as well be King at the same time of France and Germany, for
any real harmony there is between the two countries. The Norwegians
are working for absolute separation; the Swedes will grant them
everything except the right to make war on Sweden; and yet they
cannot agree.’
‘You fear, sire, that the Norwegians will fight in order to secure
their independence.’
‘I fear it is rather the other way about,’ the King answered
sorrowfully. ‘They aim at independence in order to be able to fight.
You see me in the position of a father whose two children are ready
to rush at one another’s throats, and who cannot show kindness to
one without incurring the hatred of the other. This situation has
poisoned the peace of mind of every sovereign of Scandinavia for a
hundred years. It broke my grandfather’s heart.’
I listened to this sad confession with respectful sympathy. King
Oscar proceeded--
‘Let me tell you some more. Before the last Russo-Turkish war, the
geography of the Balkans had been made for a year the special study
of the Military School in Petersburg. Last month the geography of
Scandinavia was given a similar precedence. That is not all. A swarm
of Russian officers, disguised as woodcutters, have been coming over
the northern frontier, and making their way down through Sweden,
surveying the country as they go.’
‘Surely they can be arrested as spies!’
‘We dare not,’ was the response. ‘That would be forcing Russia’s
hand. We can only watch, and await developments.’
‘The Germans ought to know of this,’ I ventured to remark.
‘The Germans are more afraid of Russia than we are,’ the King
answered. ‘Germany is no longer a first-class Power. There are in
fact only four Powers of the first magnitude to-day, Great Britain,
Russia, the United States, and China. The two English Powers together
could dictate to the world, but they are divided by the childish
American jealousy. China is still asleep. Consequently all the other
Powers of Europe are little more than vassals of the Tsar. France
has openly placed herself under his protection. Austria has become
Russia’s junior partner in the Balkans. The independence of Germany
is only nominal; the Emperor takes his time from Petersburg. No other
country counts.’
It was the first time that I had heard the situation summed up with
such pitiless plainness.
‘You consider, then, that Russia is actually about to draw the
sword?’ I asked.
‘No, she will leave us to do that. Russia has discovered that her
conquests advance better under the cloak of peace. She means to
take Norway under cover of a declaration in favour of Norwegian
independence.’
‘But the Norwegians--are they mad enough to become parties to that?
Do they want to exchange King Log for King Stork?’
‘Go and see,’ was King Oscar’s reply.
I quitted his Majesty’s presence, and returned to my hotel, deeply
disturbed by what I had heard. I could not suppose that the most
sagacious sovereign in Europe was indulging in idle fears. Yet it
was hard to believe that the inhabitants of a free, self-governing
country would voluntarily exchange their condition for servitude to
the Asiatic despotism which had just laid Finland prostrate at their
door.
Three days afterwards I arrived in Christiania. I had made careful
preparations for the task before me. I assumed the character of
a Russian spy, as the least likely to provoke suspicion of the
quarter from which I really came. And I had disguised my person as
effectively as I knew how, lest I should meet a real agent of the
Tsar’s Government, who might detect A---- V---- beneath the outward
semblance of Alexander Volkuski.
The pains I had taken were well rewarded. In the hotel in which I put
up I found staying a man who passed as a Finnish officer, of Swedish
nationality, but whom I immediately recognised as Count Marloff, the
confidential right-hand man of M. de Witte himself. It is true the
Russian was disguised, and the disguise was a very good one, but
by an almost incredible oversight he had ventured to assume that a
disguise which had already done duty once might safely be used again.
It was seven years before, in Teheran, that I had seen that reddish
wig and noted that peculiar limp, but if Count Marloff had offered
me his card I could not have been more sure of his identity. Such
mistakes may be pardonable in a mere detective, but they are fatal in
our profession.
My tactics were soon decided on. I knew that the attention of
‘Colonel Sigersen’ would be quickly attracted to a Russian staying in
Christiania, and I have generally found the boldest game to be the
most successful.
I seized the first opportunity of the Count’s being seated alone in
the smoking-room of the hotel, to go up to him boldly.
‘How do you do, Count?’ I said in Russian. ‘Or perhaps you will wish
me to say “Colonel”?’
Marloff started, as well he might, and stared hard into my face.
‘My name is Colonel Sigersen,’ he said forbiddingly. ‘Have I had the
pleasure of meeting you before?’
This was the opening I wanted. I drew back disdainfully.
‘I must apologise,’ I said, with irony; ‘I have not had the honour of
meeting you, _Colonel Sigersen_. Pray do not think I wish to intrude
on you.’
Marloff saw his mistake. In the secret service of Russia nothing
is more common than for two different agents to be employed
independently of each other, and even as spies upon each other. When
that happens, if the two men are wise, they strike up a private
alliance, and compare notes at their employers’ expense. When they
keep each other at arm’s length, each has it in his power to cause
annoyance to the other.
Marloff was now in the position of having refused my overture towards
friendship, without knowing who I was. This left me free to watch
him, without rendering any explanations. He was consequently furious
with himself.
The fact is the man was a mere amateur, as one who drops into a
profession from above generally is. De Witte had taken him out of a
cavalry regiment, and made a diplomatist of him; but when it came to
secret service work he was a child in the hands of a man like myself.
I saw the pretended Colonel get up and limp out of the room, no doubt
to send a cipher despatch to the Minister, complaining of my arrival.
I went to the manager of the hotel, introduced myself as a Russian
police agent on the track of a great rouble forgery, and wormed out
of him a mass of particulars with regard to Sigersen’s movements.
I gathered that he had been in Christiania about a month, having
toured through Norway first as far north as Trondhjem. He had
made numerous friends in the Norwegian capital, including several
prominent members of the Storthing, as they call their parliament.
But his chosen intimate appeared to be a judge named ----, who was
regarded as a guiding spirit of the party most strongly hostile to
the Swedish connection.
It was Judge ---- who had prompted the erection of a fortress on the
Swedish-Norwegian frontier, guarding the approach to Christiania.
The same warlike functionary had decided on the judicial bench that
no native of Sweden could exercise the rights of a citizen in Norway
until he had taken out letters of naturalisation. In short, this
judge had carefully taught his countrymen to treat the Swedes as
Englishmen were treated by the Boers in the days of the Transvaal
Republic.
All this was nothing more than I had been prepared for by King Oscar.
The task now before me was to ascertain if possible what was the
nature of the understanding between Judge ---- and the agent of the
Russian Government.
I asked the hotel manager--
‘How does Colonel Sigersen pay your bill?’
‘By cheque,’ was the ready answer. ‘By cheque on the Bergen and
Christiania Bank.’
‘Is it usual for foreign visitors to have a banking account open in
Christiania?’ I inquired, keeping up the part of a detective.
The manager admitted it was not. Evidently, now I had drawn his
attention to the point, it struck him as suspicious. I left him,
feeling that I had secured an ally in my watch on Marloff, and made
my way to the offices of the bank.
The director of this institution received me with every courtesy.
Bankers are too often victimised for them to regard the police with
any feeling but gratitude. The tale I brought was received with open
ears.
‘I have reason to think that an account has been opened with you for
purposes of fraud. If I am right, the swindlers have endeavoured to
gain your confidence at the outset by a large credit. This credit has
been opened in the name of Colonel Sigersen, a pretended Finlander.’
The manager was visibly alarmed.
‘A gentleman of that name has opened an account with us, certainly,’
he answered cautiously. ‘But he brought the very best introductions.
In fact I could not have asked for better.’
‘Have you any objection to tell me the character of those
introductions?’
‘I don’t mind telling you that one was from a well-known citizen, a
man in a very responsible position.’
‘In short, Judge ----?’
The manager started.
‘How did you know that?’ he demanded.
‘I have been on Colonel Sigersen’s track for a long time,’ I answered
evasively. ‘I venture to think that if you make inquiries, you will
find that his Honour, Judge ---- knows very little about him really,
and nothing at all about his financial standing.’
‘I will communicate with his Honour, and let you know the result.’
‘Do so, by all means. In the meanwhile, perhaps, you may be willing
to tell me how this man’s credit is supplied?’
The manager hesitated.
‘I hardly know whether I ought to betray his affairs until I have
something more to go upon.’
‘Perhaps you will let me ask you if Sigersen has yet made a large
payment in rouble notes?’
‘I can answer that--no.’
‘Then I think you may be safe for the present,’ I said. ‘When he
does, I advise you to pass them on to your Russian correspondents as
quickly as possible.’
This shot told. The manager became very uneasy. By degrees I worked
on his fears till he invited me to examine his ledger. I did so, and
found that Marloff had brought a heavy credit from a Petersburg bank,
and, what was more to my purpose, had drawn several heavy cheques to
the order of Judge ----.
‘So far you seem to be on the safe side,’ I commented as I finished
my inspection. ‘But I have two pieces of advice to give you. On no
account let this man overdraw his ascertained credit, and do not
honour any cheques drawn against rouble notes till you hear from me
again.’
[Illustration: “‘Let me see your warrant,’ I said.”]
The manager thanked me, and allowed me to depart.
I had now to consider the best way in which to approach the judge,
who was not likely to prove easily gullible, as it was fairly certain
that Marloff and he were in each other’s confidence.
But I had underrated the Russian’s resources. On re-entering my hotel
I was accosted by a man in the uniform of the Norwegian police, who
informed me that he held a warrant for my arrest.
‘On what charge?’ I demanded, as soon as I had recovered from my
first surprise.
‘On a charge of conspiracy against the Government of Norway,’ was the
answer.
‘I arrived in Norway only yesterday,’ I exclaimed.
‘All that you can tell to the judge,’ retorted the police officer.
‘Let me see your warrant,’ I said.
The man produced the paper, while the hotel manager, who had arrived
on the scene, looked on astonished, as he well might.
The warrant bore the signature of Judge ----.
‘Take me to the judge instantly, if you will be so good,’ I said.
‘I am going to,’ the officer returned.
He made no attempt to secure me, probably having had his
instructions. We walked together to the judge’s house; he appeared
to combine the functions of a judge and committing magistrate; and
I was conducted into a room evidently used for the examination of
prisoners.
Judge ---- entered immediately, and we exchanged scrutinising
glances. The leader of the anti-Swedish party was a young man, still
on the right side of forty, with a very determined countenance, and
a look about which there was nothing furtive or embarrassed. It was
not an intellectual face. I put the man down as a strong-willed,
ambitious intriguer, with courage, but not very much disinterested
patriotism.
‘What is the meaning of this preposterous arrest?’ I demanded, with
warmth.
‘This is an affair of State; I will examine the accused in private,’
the judge announced, not answering me directly.
As soon as the room was cleared, he turned to me.
‘Who are you?’ was his first question.
‘I am a Russian,’ I answered.
‘I know that. What is your business here?’
I breathed again. I now knew that Marloff had failed to guess my
identity.
‘I have come here on the track of certain forgers,’ I began, and went
on to tell the story I had given to the hotel manager and the banker.
Judge ---- listened incredulously.
‘I do not believe a word you have said,’ he declared. ‘Show me your
papers.’
I produced the passport and credentials from the Russian police with
which I had been careful to provide myself. They were, of course,
forged.
‘I will retain these and ascertain if they are genuine,’ the judge
observed.
‘Your Honour means that you will submit them to the suspected man,’ I
returned boldly.
‘How dare you say that? How dare you call’--he hesitated for a
second--‘Colonel Sigersen a suspected man? You know perfectly well
who he is.’
‘I know him to be the most skilful forger in Russia,’ I answered, not
quite untruthfully.
Judge ---- glared at me as if he would like to have struck me.
‘What nonsense! You know his real name.’
‘What difference does that make, your Honour?’
‘You know he is a man in high position, in the confidence of his
Government.’
‘I know he was, till recently. I have no doubt he is capable of
pretending he is still.’
The judge was plainly disconcerted by the line I was taking. He had
hoped, no doubt, that I should meet him half way.
‘On your arrival here you recognised the Count, and greeted him. He
rebuffed you, as he had a perfect right to do, and denounced you to
me as a spy. It is too late for you to turn round and pretend that he
is a criminal. It is you who are on your defence, not he.’
‘Your Honour has been imposed upon. But it is of no consequence. Tell
me what I am charged with, and I will defend myself.’
‘You are a spy.’
‘In a sense that is true. I am a detective.’
‘By whom are you employed?’
‘Your Honour has my papers.’
The judge bit his lip. He clearly did not know how to proceed. I, of
course, could see that it was not his game to bring me to a public
trial.
‘It seems to me, sir, that it is a mistake for us to quarrel,’ I
said after giving him a minute for reflection. ‘If I have annoyed
Count Marloff by recognising him, that is not an offence against the
law of Norway, I presume. On the other hand, if I am right in my
conjectures, or rather my _instructions_, the Count himself should be
the last man to provoke a public inquiry into his business here. Your
Honour knows the law better than I, but I should have thought there
might be something in the business transacted between you and the
Count which would not look well----’
He interrupted me.
‘I want to know why you are here. If you are a friend, of course
there is no need to quarrel. If not’--he shrugged his shoulders.
‘I came as a friend,’ I replied. ‘I came prepared to co-operate with
you, to assist you, in fact. But I must first know how you stand with
regard to Marloff. Is he your personal friend, or are the relations
between you exclusively political?’
‘I have no personal feeling for him,’ was the guarded answer.
‘Very good. In that case your Honour shall see my real credentials.
I must tell you frankly that Count Marloff has ceased to enjoy the
implicit confidence of his and my Government.’
I put my hand into an inner pocket, and produced a slip of paper in
the forged handwriting of the Russian Foreign Minister.
‘Does your Honour recognise that writing?’ I asked, with a confident
air.
Judge ---- was completely deceived. He glanced at the few lines,
which were in French, with an air of the greatest respect. Then he
looked at me.
‘I must apologise, Prince ----’ he began, when I raised a warning
finger.
‘Hush! Not my real name, please.’
I took back the paper with an air as if my life depended on its
preservation, and restored it to my pocket.
‘I am exceedingly sorry to have had to show you this,’ I said
gravely. ‘I have, in fact, exceeded my instructions, which were
simply to watch Count Marloff and report on the progress he was
making. His own violent action has forced me to go further than I
wished. I am sorry to say it confirms the suspicion entertained
in the Foreign Office that he is playing a double game. He is a
_protégé_ of M. de Witte’s, but M. de Witte is not infallible.
‘Now I am afraid I must ask your Honour to take me into your
confidence. I trust you have not put yourself into Marloff’s power? I
know that he has paid you considerable sums.’
Judge ---- looked decidedly nervous.
‘I have given him nothing in writing, I believe,’ he answered,
glancing at the same time at an iron safe let into the wall of the
room.
‘So far, so good. It is writing that counts in these affairs. Have
you any objection to my seeing the memoranda you have made of your
conversations with him?’
The judge stared at me as if I had been a wizard.
‘I don’t know what makes you think I have taken any memoranda,’ he
protested.
‘Just as you please, sir,’ I said drily. ‘I should have been
gratified if you had so far confided in me as to let me glance inside
that safe. But you are right to be cautious.’
[Illustration: “He bent forward to listen, and as he did so I
launched my clenched fist at his right temple with my full force.”]
His eyes turned once more in the direction of the safe, in spite
of himself. I saw a struggle going on in his mind.
‘There is no necessity for you to decide hastily,’ I said in my
blandest tones. ‘I am as anxious as you are that you should have
every possible security. If you are so far satisfied as to release me
from arrest, we can sit down and talk over things quietly.’
This hint had the desired effect. The judge called in the policeman,
and informed him that his services were no longer required.
As soon as I heard the outer door of the building clang to on the
departing officer, I drew nearer the judge, lowering my voice to a
confidential whisper, as I said--
‘Now you shall have the truth.’
He bent forward to listen, and as he did so I launched my clenched
fist at his right temple with my full force, and he dropped senseless
without so much as a sigh.
The moment I was satisfied that he was unconscious I stepped to the
door and locked it. Then I rifled his pocket of his bunch of keys,
picked out the right one, and opened the safe, all without drawing
breath.
The contents of the safe were chiefly official law papers, which I
did not waste time over. But in a narrow tray at the top I found
something that interested me more.
It was nothing less than a draft treaty--a treaty to be made between
the Norwegian Ministry, acting without the knowledge of their King,
and the Imperial Government of Russia!
I did not stay to read the document through. After a hasty look to
make sure I was leaving nothing else of importance behind, I locked
the safe, drew off its key from the bunch, and dropped the other keys
on the floor beside the stunned man, slipped quietly out of the room
and out of the house.
Instead of returning to my hotel, I made my way down to the
harbour--I did not dare to risk trying to get a train. In the harbour
I hired a small fishing-boat with a sail, and put straight out to
sea. It was on the tossing waters of the Cattegat by moonlight that
I took in the provisions of the extraordinary compact between the
Norwegian conspirators and their Imperial ally.
The document had been carefully drawn up, evidently with an eye to
the public opinion of Europe, which would naturally be scandalised
by an alliance between the great Slave despotism and a Teutonic
commonwealth.
The treaty began by reciting that the Union between Sweden and Norway
had been forced on the Norwegians against their will, by the Swedes
aided by Russia’s authority. It went on to state that the Union had
failed to benefit either country, and that Russia had consented to
undo her past injury to Norway by helping her to annul the bond.
Then followed the particulars of the aid to be rendered. Norway
pledged herself not to make any open move till the signal was given
from Petersburg, which was to be as soon as Finland had settled
down into the condition of a Russian province. In the meantime the
Norwegians were to strengthen themselves in every possible way, and
to keep up a steady pressure of agitation against Sweden.
As soon as all was ready, the Norwegian Storthing was to meet in
secret session and proclaim Norway a free and independent Republic,
under the protection of the Tsar, and mass her troops on the
frontier. Two Russian Army Corps were to be ready in Finland, on the
pretext of manœuvres, and these were to be hurled across the frontier
to the north of the Gulf of Bothnia. At the same time the Russian
fleet was to cross the Baltic, occupy the island of Gothland, and
blockade Stockholm and the Swedish ports.
All these measures were to be taken merely as precautions. If the
Swedes accepted the inevitable, the Russians were to retire again. If
the Swedes took up arms, war was to be declared, and Russia was to
annex Gothland to her Empire, the Norwegians receiving territory in
the north.
And what was the price which the Tsar was to receive for this mighty
demonstration? It was not a nominal one. The Norwegian Republic bound
itself to grant to his Imperial Majesty a lease for twenty-five
years--that is to say, for ever--of a warm-water port on the Atlantic
Ocean, to be used as a depôt and coaling station for the Russian
Fleet.
It was the dream of six generations of Muscovite statesmen realised
at last. Russia, with one foot on the Atlantic and another on the
Pacific, would dominate the Old World.
All that night the fishing-boat carried me along in the track of
the Baltic steamers. At dawn I boarded an English packet going into
Gothenburg, and thirty-six hours later I stood again in King Oscar’s
cabinet, and placed the treaty in his hands.
I watched the brave monarch read it through from beginning to end
without one manifestation of dismay or even of indignation.
‘My poor subjects!’ was his sole remark as he raised his eyes at
the end. ‘They little know the fate they are preparing for their
children.’
I asked if his Majesty had any further instructions for me. To my
surprise he answered, ‘Yes.’
[Illustration: “I watched the brave monarch read it through from
beginning to end without one manifestation of dismay.”]
‘There is only one quarter to which I can look for aid,’ he said,
‘and that is England. Germany is a broken reed. Go to England, take
this document with you, show it to the principal members of the
Government, telling them how it came into your hands, and ask them
if they wish to see a Russian Cherbourg within twelve hours of the
Scottish coast. If they remain indifferent, I can do nothing more.’
‘The English Press?’ I suggested doubtfully.
‘The Norwegians have captured it, I fear,’ objected his Majesty.
‘Norway is the playground of the British tourist; and, besides, the
English consider themselves half Norwegian by race. No, popular
sentiment in Great Britain is on the side of Norway.’
‘Nevertheless, sire, if thoughtful Englishmen could be made to
realise that, for the sake of pique--for a mere whim--the Norwegians
were about to place the keys of the Atlantic in the hands of
Britain’s most formidable foe, they might make their influence felt.’
‘Do what you think best, M. V----,’ the King said wearily. ‘I am
getting an old man, and I wish for peace.’
I have ventured to take his Majesty at his word.
VII
THE RUSE OF THE DOWAGER EMPRESS
Some two or three years back--that is, shortly before the great
Boxer rising in China--the careless Parisians were amused to hear of
the existence in their midst of an association styling itself the
_Company of the Joyous Peach Blossom_.
This body professed to be a literary guild or brotherhood formed
for the purpose of studying the Chinese poets, and transplanting
some of the poetical flowers of the East into the garden of Western
literature. All this sounded a trifle fantastic, and Paris,
accustomed to the caprices of its youthful literary coteries,
shrugged its shoulders and asked with a smile whether the guild
possessed more than two members in all, or whether it were not a pure
myth, and the _Company of the Joyous Peach Blossom_ a device of some
budding poet, anxious to seek notoriety.
The announcement of the guild’s existence struck me in a different
light. Having made a profound study for many years of secret
societies, past and present, I had grasped the fact that China is
the one land in which such societies are truly formidable, all the
most famous secret societies of Europe being mere trifles compared
with the terrible conspiracies which honeycomb the Heavenly Kingdom.
I had learned, moreover, that the most powerful and reckless of these
Chinese societies assumed the most innocent and poetical names,
as, for example, the dreaded brotherhood of the _Waterlily_, which
deluged Southern China in blood forty years ago.
Therefore, while the French police, usually so shrewd in dealing with
secret political organisations, did not deem the _Company of the
Joyous Peach Blossom_ worth a moment’s consideration, I set to work
to find out all I could about it.
I was not long in discovering that the guild was more than the
eccentric imagination of a Quartier Latin poet. To begin with, I
found that similar societies, bearing names of an equally fantastic
nature, had simultaneously come into existence in London, Berlin, New
York, and Chicago, and that all these bodies were in correspondence
with one another.
I found, further, that the members of the Parisian society were
in communication with a retired French diplomatist of singular
character, a man who had returned from a ten years’ sojourn in Pekin,
steeped to the lips in Chinese ideas, and a professed follower of
Khung the Master, or Confucius, as he is called in the West.
I ascertained that the guild had its headquarters in the studio of
a rising artist of the Mystic school, that it held meetings from
time to time, of which minutes were kept, and in the record of its
proceedings there appeared references to certain Chinese spirits of
the underworld, and entries which, in veiled language, hinted at
rites having been practised of a nature which could only be described
as sorcery.
I had no very definite object in acquiring this information, but I
was led on by a vague idea that it might be useful to me at some
future time. During the storm of indignation aroused in Europe by the
Boxer massacres, nothing more was heard of the _Company of the Joyous
Peach Blossom_, which seemed to have sunk out of existence. I had
ceased to think about it, when one day, shortly after the conclusion
of the peace negotiations, my secretary came in to ask me if I would
receive a gentleman whose card he handed to me.
I took the card, and read on it the name of M. Caramel-Bignaud.
M. Bignaud was a young poet of distinction, whose verses, stamped
with a delicate aloofness of their own, had attracted the attention
of connoisseurs in the columns of _Gil Blas_. To me he possessed
an interest of a different kind, for I had last read his name as
president at the meetings of the _Company of the Joyous Peach
Blossom_.
‘I will see this gentleman,’ I told my assistant.
Partly surprised, partly gratified, by this proof that I had rightly
gauged the importance of the guild, I waited with keen curiosity to
hear what M. Bignaud had come to say to me.
The poet entered and took the chair I pointed out to him without a
word. Then, leaning back negligently and fixing his dark, sleepy eyes
on mine, he began--
‘I have come to ask you, M. V----, if you are willing to undertake a
long journey--a very long journey--without receiving any information
as to the business which awaits you at the end.’
‘But that is easily answered,’ I said. ‘Provided I am sufficiently
well paid for my time and trouble, it makes no difference to me where
I go, or whether there is anything for me to do when I get there.
It must be always understood that I am at liberty to refuse this
business, if I choose, without assigning any reason, and that my
refusal will make no difference to my charge for the journey itself.’
‘Your conditions are perfectly satisfactory,’ M. Bignaud declared.
‘Whatever sum you require shall be paid to you in advance. How soon
will you be able to start?’
I reflected for an instant.
‘If you wanted me to go to any place in Europe or America I should
have said immediately. As you are going to send me to China I must
have six hours to get ready.’
The poet’s sleepy gaze changed into one of astonishment.
‘But have I said anything about China?’ he demanded, evidently in
some dismay.
‘You have said nothing. I am accustomed to draw inferences in my
work, and there is no time to lose if I am to start as soon as I have
said.’
‘The affair is not so pressing,’ the poet remarked with a smile.
‘The hurry and flurry of the West are not known in that delightful
country. It will be quite soon enough if you start to-morrow, or the
day after.’
‘So much the better. Am I to go to Pekin or Sing-fu?’
‘To Sing-fu.’ M. Bignaud’s tone betrayed a mild surprise at my
guess. ‘It is unnecessary, I suppose, to observe that the mission is
confidential?’
That is the sort of remark which always irritates me.
‘I am a confidential agent,’ I retorted curtly. ‘To whom am I to
report myself?’
M. Bignaud leant forward impressively.
‘To the Dowager Empress!’
I received this announcement without manifesting any emotion.
‘Am I to take any credentials?’
The president of the _Company of the Joyous Peach Blossom_ unbuttoned
his coat, and drew from the breast-pocket a small parcel wrapped in
yellow silk. Unwinding the silk, fold by fold, with reverent care,
he displayed to view a square tablet of translucent stone, of a
colour like that of an olive tree seen at a distance with the light
upon it. It was a piece of jade, a stone whose beauty is not yet
appreciated in Europe, but which the Chinese estimate far above onyx
or mother-o’-pearl or chalcedony.
Taking the tablet from his hand, I perceived that it was engraved
with the figure of a dragon, whose extended claws each showed five
talons.
‘This is an Imperial talisman,’ I observed.
‘It is a passport,’ the other responded. ‘The sight of that tablet
will gain you admittance to the presence of her Imperial Majesty.’ He
sighed as he added: ‘You are to be envied, monsieur.’
‘That remains to be seen.’ I proceeded to fix the amount of my
remuneration and expenses, which M. Bignaud paid without demur.
As he was rising to go he could not resist asking--
‘Have you any objection to tell me what it was that led you to guess
that your journey would be to China?’
‘It was more than a guess, monsieur, since I knew I had the honour to
receive the chief of the _Company of the Joyous Peach Blossom_.’
I almost regretted my openness when I saw the effect which this
confession produced on the poet. He turned pale, stammered once or
twice as though unable to speak, and finally turned his back without
a word, and rushed from the room.
It would be tedious to recount the particulars of my journey across
a hemisphere to interview the extraordinary woman who had revived in
our own day the fabled majesty of Semiramis.
I reflected that it was not a little singular that, in an age when
the women of the Western world were clamouring for opportunities
to play a greater part in life, this almond-eyed daughter of the
Manchus had cast ridicule upon their agitation by proving that it
was possible for a woman, born in the most conservative society of
the globe, to achieve the supreme direction of five hundred millions
of human beings, and to make sport of the statesmen of Europe and
America.
[Illustration: “Finally he turned his back without a word, and rushed
from the room.”]
To reach Pekin was an easy matter, but my difficulties began when I
embarked on the dangerous enterprise of travelling into the interior
of the empire, through provinces seething with hatred of the foreign
devil. In spite of the magic influence of my sacred tablet, I found
it prudent to disguise my Western extraction under the official
robes of a mandarin of the fourth class. Thus attired I travelled in
security and comfort, everywhere received with the honours due to a
high official honoured with a summons to the Court of Heaven.
As I approached Sing-fu I left the disturbed area behind me. The
inhabitants of this inland region did not appear to have heard of
the troubles in Pekin or the arrival of the German Michael with his
mailed fist to exact redress for the murder of his Ambassador. They
understood merely that the Son of Heaven had come among them for
repose after the labour of chastising certain barbarian pirates who
had been infesting the sea-coast.
It was given out by my attendants that I had come to report the
successful execution of his Majesty’s sentence on the ruffians; and
if I had really left the heads of the German Emperor, the Tsar of
Russia, and President Roosevelt grinning on spikes over the gates of
Pekin, my reception could not have been more cordial.
I found the Chinese court encamped in a sort of military fashion, in
charming scenery, at the foot of a ridge of low hills, amid groves
of fruit trees watered by a delightful stream. The tents of ten
thousand guards and attendants clustered round the stately pavilions
of the great mandarins, adorned with flags emblematic of their rank;
and in the centre the great Imperial Dragon Standard floated over a
fairy-like palace whose lacquered wood and silken curtains concealed
the sacred person of the Mother of the Sun and Moon.
The disgraced Emperor, whose fate was still a mystery to his
subjects, was closely imprisoned in one wing of the Imperial quarters.
It was now that I realised the full significance of the jade tablet
sent to me by the hands of the student of Chinese literature. The
nearer I penetrated to my august client, the more awe this symbol
seemed to excite, till the attendants who guarded the antechamber
actually fell on their knees at the sight of it, and refused to rise
till I had replaced it in its silken veils.
Impressed, in spite of myself, by this ceremonial homage to a mere
token, I felt a real sentiment of awe as I stood at last in the
presence of the being whom countless millions of men worship as
divine.
Slight, dark-haired, and ivory-pale, the Emperor-maker received me
seated in a simple chair of bamboo. I was not required to perform
the _kowtow_, my audience being a strictly private one. I learned
afterwards, moreover, that a hurried decree of the Board of Rites had
raised my grandfather to the rank of a marquis, in order to qualify
me for a personal interview with her Majesty.
The conversation was carried on in French, through an interpreter,
himself of such high rank that he could not have spoken to me
directly but for the recent ennobling of my ancestry.
‘Her Imperial Majesty has deigned to express a hope that you are not
fatigued by your journey.’
‘It is impossible to be conscious of fatigue in her Majesty’s
presence,’ I returned with a deep bow.
By the slight smile that parted the thin, terrible lips of the
Empress, I acquired the certainty that her Majesty perfectly
understood everything that was being said.
No doubt the interpreter was equally aware of this circumstance, for
he assumed an expression of courtly dismay.
‘I dare not let the Mother of the Emperor know that you have presumed
to offer her a compliment,’ he said rebukingly. ‘I will tell her
Majesty that you await her Imperial commands.’
After a short interchange in Chinese, he turned to me again.
‘I am commanded to tell you that one of the barbarian chiefs who have
made a disturbance in the capital of the Empire has made a demand, as
the price of his departure, which is too insolent to be treated as
anything but a display of the ignorant vanity of a savage. The chief
I speak of exercises some authority among those of the Western devils
who call themselves Dutch or Teutons.’
‘You mean the German Emperor?’ I said incautiously.
The interpreter put on a look of horror, as at some unheard-of
blasphemy.
‘Hush, I implore you. You forget the Sacred Presence. There is only
one Emperor--he whom her Majesty permits to execute her will over
the black-haired people. The vain assumption of Imperial titles by
these foreign bandits is deeply offensive to the Court of Heaven. You
understand? All such upstarts exist merely by the tolerance of her
Majesty. We will speak of this person as the Viceroy of the German
Province.’
I could scarcely resist a smile as I bowed apologetically. I imagined
myself repeating this conversation to Wilhelm II., a ruler not
inclined to take too low an estimate of his own consequence.
‘This rebellious Viceroy,’ the Chinese courtier proceeded, ‘has had
the unheard-of arrogance to require that a Prince of the Manchu
dynasty shall travel to his unknown province to express regret for
the death of its envoy at the Imperial Court.’
This announcement did not come to me as news. In passing through
Pekin I had learned that one of the conditions of peace was that a
Chinese Prince should go to Berlin to tender the Imperial apologies
to the Kaiser for the murder of the German Ambassador during the
Boxer rising.
The interpreter went on--
‘You may be able to understand faintly how such a proposal must
strike the Imperial ears, by imagining the case of a negro king in
the heart of Africa requiring Queen Victoria to send one of her sons
to prostrate himself in his kraal, because some accident had happened
to one of his slaves in London.’
I listened in silence to this illustration, which showed me that
the Dowager Empress was pretty well acquainted with the political
distinctions prevailing among those whom she professed to regard as
savages beneath her notice.
‘It is, of course, impossible,’ the courtly interpreter went on, ‘for
the Brother of the Sun and Moon to submit to this degradation, even
if it were safe to expose one of the Imperial House to the dangerous
magical arts of the West. It is rumoured that you have diabolical
contrivances called kodaks; now it is evident that if one of the Race
of Heaven were kodaked, the Sun himself might avenge such an insult
by refusing to shine upon the earth.’
He said all this with a perfectly serious air. But from the
expression on the face of the Empress I fancied her Majesty was a
little wearied of this fulsome strain.
I ventured to bring him to the point.
‘Will you tell me what her Imperial Majesty desires me to do?’
‘Her Majesty graciously condescends to confide in you. Her slaves who
reside among the Western viceroys have assured her that you respect
the precept of the great Khung--“The counsellor who betrays his
lord’s secret and the child who bites his mother, these are too base
to be pardoned.”’
‘Go on,’ I said, becoming slightly impatient.
‘It being impossible to do what the German Viceroy asks, and her
Majesty being benevolently anxious to spare him the humiliation of a
refusal, there has been sought out a man of the people, a barber in
the Tartar city of Pekin, whose features Heaven has permitted to bear
a certain resemblance to those of his Imperial Highness, Prince Chung.
‘This respectable person, whose intelligence is remarkable for his
station in life, has been provided with a dress sufficiently like
that worn by the Imperial Family to deceive the barbarians. He has
further received some lessons in etiquette and deportment during the
last few weeks. He will now proceed to the regions of the West, and
gratify the absurd pride of the Viceroy in the manner agreed upon.’
‘He will pass himself off as the Prince?’
‘It is necessary that he should do so, in order to soothe the
Viceroy. It is better that the Prince’s name should incur this
obloquy, than that the barbarian soldiery should continue their
ravages in the Heavenly Kingdom.’
The scheme sounded daring, and yet it seemed to have a very good
chance of success. To a European eye one Chinaman is very like
another. And there were not likely to be many people in Berlin
capable of distinguishing between the manners of a prince and a
barber, apart from their surroundings.
‘I don’t see why the plan shouldn’t succeed,’ I said aloud. ‘Its very
boldness ought to carry it through.’
I observed a distinct look of satisfaction on the face of the
formidable Empress as I made this comment. The interpreter hastened
to respond--
‘Your words are those of a prudent man. Her Imperial Majesty offers
you the honour of accompanying the Prince’s substitute, nominally as
his courier, but really as his protector. You will be on the watch
against any chance of detection, and will warn him against imprudent
conduct.’
‘I accept her Majesty’s commission,’ was my answer.
Before the courtier could go through the form of interpreting the
words, the Empress said something to him in Chinese, which caused him
to start like a man who can hardly believe what he has heard.
Her Majesty made an impatient gesture at this piece of pantomime.
Instantly he turned towards me.
‘Will your Excellency permit me to offer you my most respectful
congratulations? The Queen of Heaven has ordered you a cup of tea!’
I realised that I was as much exalted as if a mere barbarian empress
had bestowed on me an embrace. The tea was brought; a whisper from my
adviser warned me that I must merely touch the cup with my finger and
retire.
The interpreter, whose name I learned was Wu Tang, accompanied me
from the presence to make the necessary preparations. Once away from
the dreaded eye of his Imperial mistress, he proved to be a very
agreeable, well-informed man, and I regretted that he was not coming
on the mission to Europe.
He introduced me to the pretended Prince, who had already got quite
used to his part, and received me with all the airs of a Cousin of
the Sun and Moon, and Brother-in-Law of the whole Milky Way.
Of our journey westward it is needless for me to write, since our
progress was fully reported in the barbarian press. The barber was
kodaked more than once, the apprehensions of the Chinese Court on
this head being fully justified.
The principal incident which marked the progress of the Embassy must
also be fresh in the public mind--namely, the demand of the German
Court that the Prince should perform the _kowtow_, and his refusal.
It was at this stage that I first felt myself to be doing something
to earn the lavish rewards of the Dowager Empress. Left to himself, I
believe the barber would have given way, and performed the degrading
obeisance, thereby lowering the honour of the Imperial House beyond
redemption. The wretched man was thoroughly frightened at finding
himself so far from home; and, in his ignorance of Western manners,
he really thought that the Kaiser might have him imprisoned and
beheaded if he provoked his Majesty.
Fortunately we were on Swiss territory at the time, and by means of
my secret agency I was able to procure a written despatch from the
Chinese Ambassador at another Court, in the name of the Empress,
positively forbidding Prince Chung’s substitute to comply with the
offensive demand.
The circumstances of our public audience in the Palace of Berlin
were sufficient to daunt any impostor. I confess to some slight
nervousness on my own part, though I was, of course, disguised beyond
the possibility of recognition, as I stood before the monarch who had
so often trusted me in his most confidential affairs, and listened to
the faltering speech of the false Prince.
The Kaiser was attired in his most magnificent costume, wearing
the famous winged helmet on his head, and surrounded by a galaxy of
ministers and great officers, all arrayed in the utmost military
splendour. It was a sight calculated to strike terror into an
Oriental mind, and I admired the theatrical completeness of the
spectacle, almost regretting that it should be wasted on an obscure
underling. Had the real Prince been there he might have learned a
valuable lesson, and given some good advice to the Empress of China
on his return.
On the evening after the ceremony the Prince’s substitute was
compelled to attend a banquet, given in order to mark the termination
of strife, and the restoration of good feeling between the two
empires.
At this banquet I was unable to be present, my position being too low
for me to receive an invitation, and too high for me to appear as an
attendant on the Prince. What incident it was that occurred to rouse
the Kaiser’s suspicion, I have never been able to learn--the luckless
barber himself could not tell me. But late that night a wire reached
me from my office in Paris, to this effect--
‘_Urgent wire received from German Emperor requiring you immediately
in Berlin. What reply?_’
With the reception of that telegram a light burst upon my mind. A
doubt which I had tried in vain to stifle had vexed me all along as
to the sufficiency of the Empress’s motive for retaining my services,
at a high cost, to do practically nothing.
Now at last it seemed to me that I understood. This extraordinary
woman had doubtless consulted her representatives in Europe as to the
dangers of detection, and they had informed her that I was Wilhelm
II.’s favourite confidential agent, who would almost certainly be
called in if any suspicion arose. Thereupon she had adopted the
artful device of retaining me on her own side in advance, placing me
in the extremely delicate position of being bound by loyalty to her
to hoodwink my other patron.
What was I to do? A bare refusal or neglect to answer the Kaiser’s
summons would leave him free to employ another agent, whom I might
find it hard to outwit. On the other hand, I should violate my
lifelong rule, if I accepted a commission which I could not loyally
discharge.
After much painful thought, I decided on what seemed to me the only
wise and honourable course. Disguised as I was, I went straight round
to the palace, and asked to see the Kaiser.
‘Impossible!’ declared the private secretary on duty, to whom I was
first shown in. ‘His Majesty is retiring. Who are you?’
‘Go and tell the Emperor that the man whom he has just telegraphed to
Paris for is here.’
The secretary gave me an astonished look, as he well might, and left
the room.
In a minute he was back with instructions to conduct me to the
Kaiser’s presence.
I found his Majesty in his dressing-room alone.
‘Monsieur V----! Is this really you?’ he exclaimed.
‘My voice may be more familiar to you than my face, sire,’ I
responded.
‘I am delighted. Sit down. I have a most extraordinary thing to
consult you about. This----’
I ventured to hold up my hand. For the first time in my life I
presumed to interrupt royalty.
‘A thousand pardons, sire! I beg of you to let me speak first.’
‘Why, what does this mean, sir,’ Wilhelm II. inquired sternly.
‘It means, sire, that I am compelled to presume on the many faithful
services I have rendered to your Majesty to ask you for a favour
which alone can extricate me from a position of cruel embarrassment.’
‘Proceed, sir.’
The Kaiser’s tone was still reserved, but I fancied I observed a
slight softening in the glance.
‘I already know the business in which you desire my aid.’
[Illustration: “Wilhelm II. strode to me, seized me by the shoulder,
and thrust me out of the room.”]
‘You know it!’ cried the Emperor, fairly confounded.
‘It is my business to know things, and I know this. Now, let me put
it to your Majesty, what can you possibly gain by following up an
inquiry which can have no tangible result? I say no tangible result,
because there is simply no means by which you can arrive at the
proof of what you suspect. And, if it were otherwise, how could your
Majesty possibly turn the information to account?
‘You could not entertain the idea of confessing to the world that you
had been duped. Consider, sire, what use the wits of the boulevards
would make of such a revelation! Imagine the pencil of Caran d’Ache
at work on the episode!’
I saw Wilhelm II. fidget uneasily, and I knew that my cause was
gained.
‘On the other hand,’ I resumed, ‘suppose that you have harboured
a suspicion which is unjust. You run the risk of affronting a
submissive enemy--of insulting the fallen. And it would be too late
to repair the injury to your own prestige; the Paris mockers would
never abandon so good a joke.’
The Kaiser frowned and tugged at his moustache. It was evident that
he only sought an excuse to yield.
‘Consider, sire, that what is merely a question of politics with you
is one of religion with the poor woman you have humiliated to-day.
Your end is gained; the Imperial House of China has humbled itself
in the dust before the Hohenzollerns. If a religious scruple has
caused this public act to be done by proxy, that is a secret known
only to a few persons who, for their own sakes, will never dare to
reveal it.’
By this time the Kaiser was as anxious to pass the matter over as he
had been just before to investigate it.
‘If I consent to take your advice, and dismiss the suspicion I have
formed, will you in turn tell me two things?’
‘I have no doubt I shall, sire.’
‘Then, why are you in Berlin, and how is it you know so much?’
‘I am here, sire, in the train of his Imperial Highness, as the
confidential agent of the Dowager Empress of China.’
The Kaiser glared at me, biting his lip to repress the amused smile
that struggled forth nevertheless.
‘M. V----, you are a wonderful man! I am not sure whether I ought to
arrest you or to pardon you freely; however, I will cry quits if you
will tell me who this fellow really is?’
‘He is, of course, sire, the brother of his Imperial Maj----’
Wilhelm II. strode to me, seized me by the shoulders, and thrust me
out of the room.
VIII
THE ABDICATION OF FRANCIS-JOSEPH
I am now going to relate the story of what is, perhaps, the most
extraordinary mission on which I have ever been employed. It will, I
think, come as a surprise to many of the best-informed politicians on
the Continent, including the highly placed personages whose schemes I
was the means of detecting and defeating.
It was during the war between the British and Boers in South Africa,
at a period which I do not care to specify more particularly, that I
had the honour to receive a request to proceed without loss of time
to Petersburg, and wait upon M. Witte. It is chiefly this Minister’s
unjust dismissal that has provoked me to make this disclosure.
I was particularly gratified at being sent for by the great Russian
Minister, because his action was a demonstration of the high
confidence reposed in my loyalty. Although I was known to be a Pole
by descent, and the favourite and confidant of the German Emperor,
who had constantly employed me to combat Russian intrigues, yet M.
Witte felt no fear in intrusting me with the secrets of Russian
statecraft.
The moment I arrived in Petersburg, I went without waiting to change
or refresh myself to wait on my client. Our interview took place, not
at the Ministry of Finance, where M. Witte would have been surrounded
by spies, but at a small private house in a suburb of the Russian
capital.
The Finance Minister received me in a small study, the walls of which
were lined with works on political economy and kindred subjects.
‘I have asked you to meet me here,’ the Minister explained, as soon
as I had seated myself, and lighted the cigar which he pressed upon
me, ‘because I don’t wish the fact that we are in communication to
be known to a single person in the Russian Empire. In particular,
it must be kept a strict secret from the Minister of War. It is
against him that you will be acting really, and I shall have to ask
you to pledge yourself that in case of your proceedings attracting
his attention, you will lead him to suppose that you have been
commissioned by some foreign Power.’
‘That will be easy,’ I replied. ‘Russia has plenty of watchful
enemies. Shall I say Great Britain?’
M. Witte shook his head thoughtfully.
[Illustration: “‘Will you permit me to ask you,’ he said politely,
‘if you have ever done any business on behalf of the Emperor of
Austria-Hungary?’”]
‘You would not be believed. No one will credit the British Government
with intelligence enough to acquire knowledge of its enemies’
intentions. But that is a point which I can safely leave to your
discretion if the occasion should arise.’
I contented myself with bowing, and waited for the Minister to
proceed.
‘Will you permit me to ask you,’ he said politely, ‘if you have ever
done any business on behalf of the Emperor of Austria-Hungary?’
‘I have been engaged by his Majesty on two occasions,’ I responded.
‘It was I who succeeded in suppressing the facts concerning the death
of the Crown Prince Rudolf, and in establishing the currency of the
version which has now been accepted as serious history. The truth,’
I added, ‘will never be known to any one outside the innermost
circle of the Habsburg family; and I dare not tell it even to your
Excellency. The other occasion I am not at liberty to mention.’
‘Perhaps I can guess it, though,’ the Russian Minister returned with
a shrewd smile. ‘However, the important thing is that you are already
personally known to the Emperor. It follows from that fact that he
has learned to respect and trust you.’
I thanked M. Witte for this compliment by a low bow. At the same time
I was a little on my guard.
‘You know so much of what goes on in Europe, M. V----,’ he resumed,
‘that perhaps it will be no news to you that Francis-Joseph has
decided to abdicate the Dual Crown.’
This announcement, in fact, came as a complete surprise to me.
Fortunately I had time to prepare to receive it calmly.
‘I will not pretend that it is news,’ was my response. ‘But I am
always glad to have my own information confirmed. I shall be grateful
for anything you may tell me on the subject.’
‘I am not going to keep anything from you,’ said the Minister. ‘The
Emperor has made a private announcement of his intention to my own
master, the Tsar, asking for his good offices on behalf of his
proposed successor.’
‘The Archduke Ferdinand?’ I put in rashly.
M. Witte drew himself up, and gave me a suspicious glance.
‘You are too subtle, M. V----,’ he said coldly. ‘I have no doubt that
you know perfectly well that it is the young Archduke Karl whom the
Emperor has chosen to succeed him.’
I thought it better to be suspected of subtlety than nescience, and
apologised.
‘I ought not to have spoken. I beg your Excellency to continue.’
‘What I am going to ask you to do may sound rather extraordinary. I
want you to go to Vienna, see his Majesty, of course without letting
him know that you have been in communication with me, and tell him
that you suspect the Russian Government is playing him false. Then
persuade him to employ you to find out what is in the wind.’
I stared at M. Witte in some bewilderment. Then I answered
cautiously--
‘Do I understand you, sir, to propose that I am really to enter the
service of the Emperor? Or am I to be your agent in the business?’
‘I want you to do both,’ was the answer.
‘I am to deceive the Emperor, it appears?’ I said with rising
indignation.
‘Not in the least. You will accept his commission to ascertain the
secret intentions and purposes of the Government of Russia, and you
will execute that commission exactly as if you and I had never held
this conversation.’
‘M. Witte, I must beg you to be plain with me. I never consent to act
in the dark. What is your true motive in making this strange proposal
to me?’
‘I think I have already told you,’ the Minister returned with perfect
coolness. ‘The man whom I am combating is Count Lamsdorff.’
‘Your colleague?’
‘Exactly. My colleague, the War Minister.’
‘Let me see if I clearly understand your Excellency. The Emperor
of Austria has given the Tsar private notice of his intention to
abdicate? The Tsar has promised to preserve a friendly attitude?
Nevertheless, the war party in the ministry, with or without the
Tsar’s connivance, are secretly preparing to take advantage of
the situation in some way? Your Excellency, knowing this, and
disapproving of their plans, desires to put the Austrian Emperor on
his guard, in order that the scheme may miscarry?’
M. Witte punctuated this speech with a series of nods.
‘And why?’ I demanded bluntly, throwing myself back in my chair.
The Russian statesman looked at me for a minute, as though trying to
make up his mind whether it would be of any use to offer me a false
excuse. I prepared to listen to something about the obligations of
international honour and good faith.
‘Suppose I were to tell you that I am acting under the confidential
instructions of my own Emperor, who lacks the courage to put his veto
on the policy of the Grand Dukes?’
‘In that case your object can be attained much more simply. Procure
me a line in the handwriting of Nicholas II. to Francis-Joseph, and I
undertake to deliver it, and to burn it afterwards with my own hand.’
The Russian heaved a sigh of amused resignation.
‘You are too deep for me, M. V----. Very well, then, I will tell
you.’ He bent forward and lowered his voice. ‘Russia is not ready to
strike. A war now would mean the bankruptcy of the Empire. The others
will not believe this, but I know it. I will not have my carefully
laid plans shattered by them, for the sake of a miserable province
like Galicia.
‘I am a statesman, not a pettifogger. With my railways I am reaching
forward to clutch the great Empires of Asia. China is already within
my grasp; India is being drawn closer year by year. When a thousand
millions of men obey the sceptre of the Tsar, these petty European
States will fall like ripe plums into our lap.’
The Russian spoke with real emotion. If I still retained any faint
misgiving, it was not enough to restrain me from accepting the
service required of me.
Within three days I found myself in the palace of Schönbrunn.
Of all my clients Francis-Joseph is the most unapproachable. Modern
ideas of democratic equality find little encouragement in the
Austrian Court. After the friendly bonhomie of the German Kaiser,
and the tactful kindness of the King of England, the Austrian
sovereign’s manner affects one disagreeably: it is like touching a
lump of ice. Yet, according to his lights, the Emperor is gracious
and even cordial, especially to those who approach him in his private
hours.
I found him in his favourite room overlooking the Park. His Majesty
did not invite me to be seated in his presence, an omission which
indicated no unfriendliness.
‘I am pleased to receive you, monsieur,’ he said in a clear, stately
voice. ‘The services you have rendered me entitle you to ask for an
audience, and I have no doubt your reason for seeking it is a proper
one. Be good enough to state it.’
‘I have taken the liberty of asking for this audience in order that I
might offer your Majesty certain information about your forthcoming
abdication.’
The Emperor could not repress a slight start. Lifting his eyebrows,
he gazed at me steadily in the face.
[Illustration: “The Emperor could not repress a slight start.”]
‘I have communicated my _desire_ to abdicate,’ he said with a
significant intonation, ‘to six persons only. Two of them are brother
sovereigns; two are members of my own family; the other two are
the Chancellor of the Empire and the Prime Minister of Hungary.
Through which of them did you receive your information?’
‘Not one of the persons in your Majesty’s confidence has the
slightest idea that I have heard anything whatever on the subject. I
must respectfully beg your Majesty not to press me further.’
The aged Emperor was evidently much disturbed.
‘If what you say is true--and I do not doubt your word--the
information must have reached you through an intermediary. That is to
say, my purpose is known to at least eight persons, in short, to the
whole world.’
I held my tongue. It is the art by which I have learned most of my
secrets.
After a few minutes’ silent consideration, during which the frown on
his face steadily deepened, his Majesty looked at me again.
‘What do you wish to tell me?’
‘I wish to put your Majesty on your guard.’
‘You have done that already, most effectually,’ he interrupted.
‘I have come to beg you to distrust the assurances you have received,
no matter from what quarter, that your Majesty’s abdication will
pass off quietly. And if I should be so fortunate as to possess your
confidence, I would further request your Majesty to employ me on the
service of ascertaining what the intentions of your neighbours really
are.’
The Emperor perceived that I was keeping something back.
‘In what directions do your suspicions point?’ he inquired sternly.
‘Chiefly to Russia,’ I answered with intentional vagueness.
‘You are mistaken, I believe. You cannot know the nature of the
assurances I have received. Besides, I am well acquainted with the
position of Russia. M. Witte is the man who counts in the Russian
Government, and he is all for peace. He needs time to develop his
plans. The country is nearly insolvent. However much the war party
may desire to make a snatch at Galicia, they will not be allowed to
do so.’
‘Will your Majesty pardon me if I venture to make a proposition? I
will undertake to ascertain the actual state of things at my own
risk. If I am able to report that my suspicions are unfounded, your
Majesty shall make me no acknowledgment whatever.’
Francis-Joseph threw me a displeased look.
‘I regret that you should have permitted yourself to speak to me in
that way, monsieur. Be good enough to remember who I am. I do not
employ servants without paying them. Your former services give you a
claim to consideration; your position and character entitle you to be
treated seriously; and I am not going to reject your present request.
You may consider yourself retained to make this investigation. Have
you anything else to say?’
This acceptance of my offer, glacial though it was, consoled me
for the rebuke by which it was accompanied. Nevertheless, as I
left the Emperor’s presence, I regretted that he had not been more
frank with me. It was no doubt my own reticence which provoked this
corresponding reserve on his Majesty’s part. But the result might
have been unfortunate.
It will be noticed particularly that although the Emperor had
practically admitted that it was his intention to vacate the throne,
he had refrained from giving me the smallest hint as to the _date_ of
the abdication.
I took my way towards the Galician frontier in the character of a
British tourist, armed with a sheaf of the coupons of Messrs. Cook. I
was aware that this disguise would serve better than any other as a
cloak for prying and impertinent questioning.
Galicia, I need hardly say, is that part of Poland which fell to the
share of Austria in the famous partition of the eighteenth century.
Bitterly as the Poles hate the Russians, the two peoples are allied
in language and blood, and Russia has always looked forward to
incorporating the whole of the ancient realm of the Jagellons in her
own dominions in course of time. The break-up of the Dual Monarchy
would naturally be the signal for Russia to execute her designs on
the Polish province of the Habsburgs.
In Galicia itself I found everything in a state of the most profound
peace and security. There was the usual frontier garrison, but
the camps showed no signs of special activity. I toured along the
frontier almost from end to end, in a motor which I had ordered from
Paris, and I came upon great stretches of country, several miles in
extent, where a whole Russian army corps could have crossed the line
without being observed, far less opposed.
At the end of this inspection, which lasted about a week, I crossed
over to the Russian side.
I found myself received without apparent distrust. The legend of
the mad Englishman on his motor-car had no doubt preceded me. The
Russians do not dislike Englishmen, as individuals, in the way they
dislike Germans. At all events I had no difficulty in making friends
with many of the officers in command of frontier posts. They offered
me hospitality, and showed no resentment at my somewhat daring
exploration of their frontier.
At the first blush, everything seemed as peaceful on this side as on
the other. The number of troops under arms was not excessive, and the
men showed none of those signs of suppressed excitement which warn an
experienced eye that some movement is in contemplation.
Presently, however, I began to remark an extraordinary number of
telegraphic despatches arriving at the various posts. Special
messengers seemed to come and go with a frequency that hardly seemed
necessary in time of peace. At last, one night, I was roused from
sleep by a sound which my ears were quick to recognise. It was
the muffled rumble of an artillery train passing over the rough
paving-stones of the small town in which I had stopped for the night.
I got up, softly drew back the curtain of the window, and cautiously
peeped out. There, in the moonlight, rolled by gun after gun,
followed by the caissons and all the supplementary outfit of a park
of artillery.
They were heading southward, and the frontier lay only three miles
away. I counted six batteries--thirty-six guns--the equipment of an
army corps. When all had gone by I retired to rest again.
I rose at break of day, took out my car, and followed in the route
of the cannon. The road conducted me without a turning straight to
the frontier post, where I found a sleepy Russian sentry exchanging
friendly greetings with a still drowsier Austrian one. A short way
beyond stood the Austrian guard-house, with the men lounging on a
bench outside the door in the sunlight, waiting for their coffee.
Everything was as if my vision of the night before had been a dream.
I turned my car round, and drove back slowly, scrutinising every
hedge and tree along both sides of the road. Less than a mile from
the post my attention was caught by a place on the left hand side,
where the hedge appeared to have been mended or replanted. I ought
to explain that the road was bordered at this point by a thick wood
apparently impenetrable to anything bigger than a stoat.
I stopped the car, got down, and approached the hedge, examining
every inch of the ground.
The first discovery I made was that the road itself had been recently
mended. Creases in the surface, like the ruts made by heavy wheels
in turning, had been filled up, and the dust from other parts of the
road carefully raked over the spot.
Then, looking closely at the hedge, I perceived that the bushes were
no longer growing in their place. The entire hedge had been cut
away level with the ground for a space of several yards, and then
replaced, the matted bushes being wired together so as to form a sort
of gate or hurdle, like the furze hurdles in common use in England
and other countries. The leaves were already beginning to droop from
want of the nourishment supplied by the roots.
I drew up my car close to the hedge, and, mounting upon it, managed
to scramble over into the wood, at the cost of some scratches.
I found myself in the midst of a pile of brush-wood which extended
for some paces, completely covering the soil from view. Immediately
beyond came a gap in the trees, not in front, but at one side, so
that it was quite invisible from the road. Turning sharply towards
the frontier, and running almost parallel with the high road, was a
grassy drive or lane, about ten feet wide, and sufficiently free from
undergrowth to admit the passage of an army.
With my heart thumping against my ribs, and almost holding my breath
in my excitement, I stole along this path, which revealed, by a
hundred tokens, that it had recently been used for heavy traffic. I
followed its windings for I should think a mile and a half, when I
found myself brought up abruptly by a post and rail fence, the posts
being painted yellow on the side which faced me, and black on the
reverse.
This fence was the boundary between the two empires. A narrow
footpath bordered it on each side, so that the patrol might pass
along it each day on his rounds.
As for the artillery, it seemed to have disappeared, to have been
swallowed up by the earth.
I looked round me in all directions. The woodland road by which I
had reached the frontier stretched away on the other side of the
fence. This was in itself a suspicious sign. It scarcely seemed
likely that two independent drives would have been constructed so as
to meet in the heart of the forest, unless there was some traffic
meant to pass that way. All at once the explanation burst upon me. It
was a smuggler’s route!
The high tariffs of the Russian and Austrian empires have fostered an
important contraband traffic. The soldiers who patrol the frontier
are easily bribed by a share in the gains of the smugglers. What the
Russian War Office had done was to bribe the smugglers in their turn
to act as its allies in this strange invasion.
I have used the word invasion. Unless my deductions were wholly
false, the thirty-six guns which I had seen passing my window in the
night were by this time actually planted on the soil of Austria.
I sprang over the fence, and hurried forward on the still clearly
revealed track.
At the end of an hour from my first entrance into the forest, my ear
caught a low murmur which warned me that I was drawing near to some
kind of encampment. Striking from the lane into the wood, I advanced,
creeping from tree to tree. But I have had few opportunities of
learning woodcraft, and there were keener ears, and more stealthy
footsteps than mine in the forest. Suddenly I felt a powerful hand
gripping my throat, a dark cloth descended over my eyes, and I was
thrown violently to the ground.
I did not lose consciousness, while I was lifted up by the feet and
shoulders, and carried a distance which I calculated at two hundred
paces. After some twisting and turning I was set down, and the cloth
was taken off my head. I sat up and looked round.
I found myself in a small hut or wigwam of boughs and woven rushes,
surrounded by half a dozen dark-faced men who squatted between me
and the doorway, the only opening by which light was admitted. One
glance at my captors satisfied me that they were neither soldiers nor
Russians. Reassured on this point I prepared to defend myself boldly.
The head man of the party appeared to be an old fellow with a short
grey beard, who might have passed equally well in the uncertain light
for a Wallach, a Slovene, a gipsy, or a Jew, but certainly not for
an honest man of any race. Addressing myself to the chief of the
smugglers, as I conceived him to be, in Polish, I asked--
‘Why have you dared to treat me like this?’
‘He is a Pole!’ The muttered exclamation solved my doubt as to the
race of the smugglers. The language they used between themselves was
Romany.
‘What were you doing in our wood?’ the old gipsy asked threateningly.
Before I had time to reply, the old man’s eye suddenly lighted up.
He took a step towards me, uttered an amazed ejaculation, and then,
before I knew what was happening, fell on his knees before me, and,
seizing my right hand, respectfully kissed a ring on the little
finger. At the same time the other members of the party crowded
round, evidently impatient to follow his example.
The ring which excited this extraordinary demonstration was one which
I had worn so long that I had forgotten all about it. It had been
given me seventeen years before, in Baghdad, by an old woman I had
saved from the bastinado at the hands of a savage Pasha.
She was a gipsy, I now remembered; she had forced the ring upon me
against my will, and had urged me never to take it off night or day,
assuring me in the most solemn manner that it would one day be the
means of saving my life. This prophecy, which I had laughed at as a
vain boast and quickly forgotten, was coming true at last.
Blessing the old lady with all my heart, and inwardly apologising
to her for my past scepticism, I put on the air of one who was
accustomed to, and expected, the homage he was receiving.
‘That will do, my friends,’ I said, when each man had saluted the
magic ring in turn--it was engraved with a pentagram. ‘Now, if I give
you some money, how long will it take you to procure some bottles of
good wine?’
A grunt of pleasure welcomed this inquiry. I heard a word which
sounded like canteen. Then one of the men rose, in obedience to a nod
from the chief.
‘Cheni will fetch it in five minutes,’ said the old man.
I placed a double handful of gold in his outstretched palms. A
perfect salvo of approving cries greeted this munificence.
While we were waiting for the wine to appear I offered an account of
myself which appeared to be quite satisfactory. I said I was a Pole,
of gipsy descent through my mother, that I was engaged in a plot to
bring about a general rising in the event of war between Austria and
Russia, and that I was specially engaged to secure the support of the
numerous gipsies along the frontier, who were to watch the movements
of the two great belligerents on our behalf, a service for which they
would be handsomely paid.
The arrival of six bottles of first-rate Tokay gave all the
confirmation to my words that was required. As the wine vanished
down their throats, the gipsies laid aside all reserve, and freely
imparted to me what information they possessed.
They told me, in the first place, that the six batteries I was
tracing were within a few yards of us, skilfully hidden among the
trees. Their arrival brought the force designed for the occupation of
Galicia up to a total strength of eighty thousand men and seventy-two
guns, all of whom had been secretly brought across the frontier at
different points during the last few days, and were now ready to
move in concert as soon as the signal was given, and overrun the
unprepared province.
Vast convoys of provisions were being held in readiness on the
Russian side of the frontier, and a second army of one hundred and
twenty thousand men was to be secretly mobilised in and around
Warsaw, ready to come to the support of the first, in the event of
serious resistance on the part of the Austrian Government.
This last item rested on hearsay, but the presence of two army
corps on Galician soil was a fact for which my informants were able
to vouch from their own observation. The fact was known to every
smuggler along the Galician frontier, and yet, so profuse were the
bribes they had received, and so perfect was their secrecy, that not
the slightest hint had been suffered to reach any official of the
Austrian Government.
I spent some hours of the most agonising suspense I have ever known,
in the company of these drunken outlaws, before I dared to risk
an effort to get away. Their suspicions, or rather their natural
distrustfulness, caused them to raise all sorts of objections to my
departure. It was only by swearing on the sacred pentagram that no
hair of their heads should ever be imperilled by any action of mine,
that I was able to tear myself away.
When I got out on to the high road again, at the spot where I had
left my motor, I found, as I had feared, that it was no longer there.
I turned at haphazard in the direction of the frontier post. As soon
as I came in sight of the Russian guard-house, I saw, to my delight,
my car standing on the road in the front of the door, with a group of
interested soldiers curiously inspecting every part of it.
Now the car happened to be a Panhard, of the most powerful
construction yet turned out by the famous French firm.
I strolled up carelessly, greeted the astonished soldiers in broken
Russian, and asked them if they were familiar with the machine. The
lieutenant of the post, a man in education and intelligence below the
level of an English sergeant, bustled out and began questioning me,
with the evident intention of ordering my arrest.
I handed him my passport to read, a process which takes some time
with an illiterate Russian officer, and went on explaining the
mechanism of the car to the inquisitive soldiers. Finally I came to
the driving power.
‘And now, my friends,’ I said, ‘I will show you how the car is
propelled. Stand back clear of the wheels, if you please. You see
this lever. I place my hand on it so----’
‘Stay!’ shouted the officer, divining the danger in this
demonstration.
He spoke too late. As my hand grasped the lever, I vaulted into the
car, and before the excited soldiers realised that it was under way,
the Panhard was tearing towards the boundary line at the rate of
twenty-five miles an hour.
The Russian sentry ran out into the middle of the road to stop me.
He was a poor peasant, perhaps from the banks of the Volga, who must
have thought that the Evil One himself was upon him. I saw his face
blanch, and almost heard the chattering of his teeth, but he did not
flinch from his duty. I rode right over him, and I am sorry to say
that I believe he was killed.
[Illustration: “I rode right over him.”]
The Austrian sentry simply fired off his gun as a warning to his
comrades at the guard-house further along the road. They swarmed
out, and I pulled up the machine. I had put the brake on immediately
after crossing into Austrian territory.
‘In the Emperor’s name!’ I whispered to the Austrian officer of the
guard. ‘I am not an Englishman, but a member of the Austrian Secret
Service. By allowing me to pass without delay you will render the
Government a vital service.’
‘You have just killed a man,’ the officer objected, pointing to the
blood on my wheels.
‘I am afraid so. The fact that I killed a Russian sentry in order to
cross the frontier should convince you that I am in deadly earnest.’
The officer, by some rare chance, was intelligent enough to believe
me.
‘Pass on, sir,’ he said.
I pressed the lever, and set out on my mad race across an Empire to
Vienna. I had nothing to eat or drink. I had no shields for my eyes;
the Russian soldiers must have removed them while the car was in
their hands. I was utterly unprepared for my terrible journey. But
some intuition warned me that every moment was precious, and I kept
my splendid machine at full pressure for the whole five hundred miles.
I will not attempt to describe that nightmare ride. Late in the
evening of the following day, I alighted at the gate of the palace
of Schönbrunn, worn-out, my face and hands chapped and bleeding, my
eyes half-blinded with dust, and my strength nearly gone.
‘The Emperor! Take me to the Emperor!’ I gasped to the first person I
met. ‘It is life or death!’
I was conducted into the presence of a chamberlain, who sought to
impose all sorts of obstacles.
‘You cannot see his Majesty now. I dare not intrude upon him. He is
closeted with the Archdukes. It is a Habsburg Family Council.’
‘My God!’ I cried out. ‘You have given me ten thousand reasons for
insisting! If it costs my life, I must interrupt his Majesty.’
My violence cowed the official. He conducted me, or, in fact,
supported me, for I was almost too weak to stand, to the door of the
Council Chamber.
‘Go in, if you must,’ he said. ‘For my part, I dare not announce you.’
I turned the handle of the door, and staggered into the room.
The spectacle which met my eyes was dazzling. In a blaze of light
all the Archdukes of the Imperial House, wearing their uniforms and
robes of State, were grouped in a semicircle, facing a throne on
which the representative of the Cæsars was seated in his Imperial
mantle, wearing the great Double Eagle Crown of Austria. Before him,
on a footstool, knelt a handsome lad of fifteen, in whom I had no
difficulty in recognising the Archduke Karl, the destined successor
to the throne.
At the moment I burst in I saw the venerable Emperor raise his hands
to his head, lift up the Imperial Crown, in which the huge diamonds
and rubies and sapphires sparkled like founts of fire, and hold it
poised in the air over his young kinsman’s bent head. In another
second it would have rested on the boy’s brow, and Francis-Joseph
would have ceased to reign.
‘Pardon!’
My voice rang out like the hoarse scream of a drunkard. I tottered
forward and fell on my knees, while the Emperor half rose from his
throne, still grasping the great crown in both hands.
‘Pardon, sire! At this hour a Russian army of eighty thousand men is
encamped upon the soil of Austria!’
Francis-Joseph sank back on his seat, and mechanically replaced the
diadem on his own head.
* * * * *
The explanations which followed between the two Governments were not
communicated to me. But I learned through my friends the gipsies that
the discovery of the motor, and my subsequent flight gave the alarm
to the Russian War Office. The invading force retired as stealthily
as it had come, and all vestiges of its having crossed the frontier
were so speedily and skilfully effaced that if Count Lamsdorff fell
back on a denial of the truth, it is probable that the Austrian
Government found itself unable to press the charge.
So the evil day has been postponed; for, as long as Francis-Joseph
reigns over the Dual Monarchy, Russia will be content to bide her
time.
In the meanwhile I have been informed that a warrant has been issued
against me, in the Russian courts, for the murder of the sentry whose
fate I have described.
IX
THE DEATH OF QUEEN DRAGA
It is with painful feelings, and only after long consideration,
that I have resolved to lift the veil from the tragic mystery which
surrounds the fate of the Queen who perished under the knives of
assassins in Belgrade in the month of June 1903.
The hesitation I have felt in approaching this melancholy story is
due to reasons of a personal character. Many years before, when the
late Queen of Servia occupied a private station, it was my lot to
meet her, and to fall under the spell of that fascination which this
extraordinary woman possessed over men, and which will cause her to
be remembered in history with Helen and Cleopatra, and all those
enchantresses who have involved kingdoms in ruin by their charms.
I had no right to suppose that the Countess, as she then was,
distinguished me from the crowd of those who paid homage to her;
but yet it seems as though I had in some manner inspired her with a
feeling of confidence and regard warmer than that usually felt by
any woman for a man who is neither her lover nor her kinsman.
I believe myself to be the only survivor of the tragedy who possesses
the key to that strange and terrible career, and that in imparting my
knowledge to the world I am discharging what has become a sacred duty
to the dead.
With this apology I will come straight to the history.
It was some years since I had seen or heard anything of the
Countess Draga, though, of course, I was aware, in common with all
well-informed students of contemporary politics, of the passion which
she had inspired in the young King of Servia, when I was astonished
by receiving one day a private letter from her, imploring me to
come to Belgrade at once to advise her on a matter of the highest
importance.
I lost no time in obeying the summons, by which I was singularly
moved, since there is only one thing which can ever be of the highest
importance to a woman.
It was in the courtyard garden of an old stonewalled Servian
house--more like a fortified farmhouse than a private mansion--that
the revelation burst on my ears which was so soon to startle the
capitals of Europe.
A fountain plashed into a marble basin strewn with rose leaves, and
the faint scent of myrtle and lemon blossom came from the curtain
of shrubs which screened the gateway in the thick grey wall. The
beautiful woman whose name was the object of maledictions throughout
a continent, reclined on a low couch heaped with Oriental cushions,
and fixed her dark eyes on me with a tragic intensity of appeal, as
she confessed her secret.
‘I need the advice of a disinterested friend, one who stands apart
from the intrigues which centre round the Servian throne.’
I sat upright on the French chair provided for me, and gazed down at
her, outwardly calm and stern as ever, but gripping the throttle of
emotions whose strength none can know but myself.
‘My advice will be disinterested in one sense,’ I answered slowly.
‘I care nothing for the plots and conspiracies which, under the name
of politics, serve as a substitute for the old brigandage of the
Balkans. But I am interested in your happiness.’
The Countess Draga let her eyelids fall for a moment as a quick spasm
of pain crossed her face.
‘Do not let us speak of my happiness,’ she said in low tones. ‘It is
of Alexander I must think.’
I folded my arms across my chest, and said nothing.
‘He has asked me to be his Consort.’
I did not succeed in quite concealing the astonishment with which I
heard this piece of news, as yet unsuspected by Europe, and for which
my friend Baron Rothschild would gladly have paid 1,000,000 francs.
‘I refused him,’ the Countess added; ‘I have refused him not once but
twice, but he persists.’
‘Kings ought to marry kings’ children,’ I observed, as she seemed to
wait for some expression of opinion from me.
‘Add that boys ought to marry girls and not grown women, and you
will say what the world will say as soon as it hears of this,’ she
returned, with some bitterness. ‘That is what I have told Alexander;
and he has sworn upon the crucifix in my presence that he will marry
only me.’
‘Leave Servia. Spend a year on the Riviera--or in Paris’--she glanced
swiftly at me as I said this--‘and he may change his resolution.’
The Servian’s reply startled me.
‘I cannot. At this moment I am under secret arrest.’
‘Under arrest?’
‘You forget that Alexander has made himself master, and that reasons
of State cover a great deal in Servia which they would not cover in
France.’
I was staggered. A stranger situation I had never encountered in all
my strange experience.
‘He holds you a prisoner till you consent to become his Queen!’
‘Till I become his Queen,’ she corrected.
I sat still for a minute, considering. The chancelleries and the
public of Europe would never believe this story. They would think,
they were already thinking and saying, that the Countess was an
adventuress, luring the young King to his ruin.
‘There is one very simple solution,’ I said at last. ‘I will arrange
your escape.’
‘Impossible!’ she sighed.
I frowned.
‘Pardon me, my dear Countess, but when you did me the honour to
consult me, I assumed that you had some confidence in my ability. I
offer to take you wherever you wish to go.’
‘You misunderstand me, my dear friend. I do not doubt your power to
release me. But my flight would become a public event; Alexander has
too little self-restraint to keep silence about it. I should thus
damage him as much as by accepting the throne which he offers me.
He has sworn, moreover, that if I persist in my refusal, he will
abdicate.’
With what sophistries will a woman deceive herself where her heart is
concerned! And how worse than useless is it to reason with her.
‘You have told me enough,’ I answered, in a voice which was
melancholy in spite of myself. ‘I perceive that this young monarch
is not indifferent to you.’
The lovely Servian lowered her glance, and began picking a rose to
pieces with her delicate fingers.
‘He is my King,’ she murmured. ‘He is the last of the dynasty of
Obrenovitch, which my family have served faithfully for a hundred
years. The one thing which alarms me most in the whole situation is
that I have been urged to accept the King’s hand by Colonel Masileff.’
‘Colonel Masileff?’
‘Who is understood to be the secret head of the party in favour of
Prince Peter Karageorgevitch.’
I now understood the seriousness of the affair, since it was
clear that whatever step was favoured by the supporters of the
Karageorgevitch claimant must be fraught with some danger to the
Obrenovitch.
‘Is Alexander aware of this fact?’
‘I have told him, but he considers it an excuse on my part. Perhaps,
if you were to warn him, he might listen to you.’
I did not much relish the task of forcing my advice on a headstrong
youth, intoxicated with love and sovereignty. In the end I decided to
return from Belgrade through Switzerland and take an opportunity of
finding out something about Alexander’s rival for the Servian crown.
But the ways of women are proverbially difficult to calculate.
While I was still lingering in Belgrade, on the look-out for some
useful introduction to Prince Peter, the world was startled by the
public announcement of the forthcoming marriage of the King and the
Countess.
I went at once to wait on the prospective Queen of Servia to tender
my formal congratulations. I found her already surrounded by a throng
of courtiers, among whom I discerned the lean military figure and
vulture nose of the man whom Draga herself had denounced to me a few
days before--Colonel Masileff.
So magical is the influence of royalty that I found myself able to
detect a difference already in the manner, and even in the very
voice, of the woman who had bared her heart to me so short a time
before. She was gracious and cordial, but it was the graciousness
and cordiality of a Sovereign to a subject, rather than that of a
beautiful woman to a man.
Coming away I thrust my arm through that of the formidable Colonel.
‘Have you any commands for Geneva?’ I asked. ‘I shall be there in the
course of two days.’
Masileff let himself be surprised.
‘But I thought you were a friend of the Countess?’ he stammered.
‘Certainly--as you are,’ I retorted. ‘It seems to me that the
Countess is doing a very good stroke of work for a cause in which you
and I are both interested.’
Masileff glanced at me with curiosity.
‘Do you know, Monsieur V----’ (I had not seen cause to disguise my
identity on this occasion), ‘that I think you must be more fortunate
than I am. That is to say, I think you must possess the confidence of
a person who has not yet honoured me by a sign that my services are
acceptable to him.’
‘Thank you, Colonel,’ I replied, bowing. ‘Your message shall be
delivered in the right quarter.’
I left Belgrade the same night, and two days later found myself in
the presence of a quiet, elderly man in a modest apartment near the
famous Lake Leman.
I had sent in my card with the pencilled addition: ‘Confidential
agent of the Tsar, the German Emperor, and Monsieur Chamberlain.’
I felt sure that the names of the powerful triumvirate who, between
them, controlled the destinies of the Old World, would secure me the
attention of Prince Peter Karageorgevitch; and I was not mistaken.
The Prince received me with a real or assumed nervousness, and
expressed himself anxious to receive any message I might have for
him.
‘I have no message of any importance for your Highness,’ I replied,
scrutinising carefully the careworn features of the elderly man who
sat in front of me. ‘My only message at all is one from Colonel
Masileff, which is perhaps not worth your attention.’
‘I have heard of the Colonel, and shall be pleased to hear anything
on his behalf,’ the Prince replied cautiously.
‘Colonel Masileff is a little disappointed, sir, that your Highness
has not offered him any token of your approbation. He would welcome
some sign that you are not indifferent to your friends in Servia.’
Prince Peter looked at me with a glance which, though quiet, was not
less searching than my own.
‘I thank you, Monsieur V----. Is that all?’
‘It is the whole of the message, sir.’
‘Again, thank you.’
‘Your Highness does not wish to make me the medium of your answer,
perhaps?’ I hinted.
‘There is no answer.’
I perceived that I was dealing with a man of no ordinary penetration
and shrewdness. With such men it is always best to come straight to
the point and to be frank.
‘And now, sir, for the real object of my visit. I need not tell your
Highness that I did not come to Geneva to oblige Colonel Masileff.’
‘That is already quite clear,’ the Prince commented drily.
A remark from which I inferred that it was in the power of Masileff
to have given me credentials which would have secured me a very
different reception.
‘I have come here, then, to beg for the life of a woman.’
Karageorgevitch started slightly, and began for the first time to
look uneasy.
‘I thought you said you had no important message,’ he reminded me.
‘I have none. The woman I speak of is totally ignorant of the step I
take in coming here.’
‘Then your interest in the matter is----?’
‘Is personal merely. I make it my private prayer to your Highness
that, in a certain event which no longer seems improbable, the life
of this woman shall be spared.’
Prince Peter gave an imperceptible shrug, a shrug which said very
plainly, nevertheless, ‘I have no motive for obliging you.’
Aloud his Highness remarked--
‘I am strongly opposed to all bloodshed, Monsieur V----. I feel sure
there is no reality in the danger you foresee, or I should be as
earnest as yourself in wishing to prevent it.’
‘I can say no more, sir; I am here, as I have said, merely in my
private capacity. Still, I happen to have rendered important
services to some very powerful personages’ (the Prince glanced at the
names I had inscribed on my card), ‘and, without being a blackmailer,
I feel confident that if I appealed to those personages for their
influence on behalf of a righteous and honourable cause, I should not
be refused.’
Prince Peter rose to his feet, and walked twice up and down the room
before replying.
‘It is evident to me,’ he said at length, ‘that you have a strong
personal interest in the new Queen of Servia, and that you are a man
who is to be trusted. That being so, I will explain to you frankly my
position. I have friends in Servia who desire to see the restoration
of my dynasty, and derive much confidence from the misconduct of this
youth in whom the Obrenovitch line terminates.
‘Their reports reach me regularly, and I am therefore able to
anticipate their plans to some extent. But I have resolved that if I
am ever to seat myself on the Servian throne, I must keep my hands
clean. For that reason I have never committed myself by approving any
of the measures contemplated on my behalf.
‘If Masileff really told you he never heard from me, he told you the
actual truth. I have never yet returned any answer to any of the
communications I receive almost weekly from Belgrade. To that rule
I must adhere. All I can promise you is this, that if hereafter I
receive any information which convinces me that the life of the
Countess Draga is in danger, I will at once break silence, and send a
peremptory order to my friends that she is to be allowed to leave the
country in safety.’
I thanked the Servian prince for this pledge, which was all I had any
right to expect. The claimant to a Crown could hardly be asked to
veto all attempts on his behalf on the mere chance that some of them
might endanger the lives of the reigning family.
I returned to Paris, and sought to distract myself in my work from
brooding over the tragedy which seemed to be shaping itself in the
Servian capital.
As we had both foreseen, Queen Draga incurred the obloquy of the
world by marrying Alexander. Her reputation was sacrificed to his,
and I believe that she deliberately posed as the instigator of all
his violent and injudicious measures, in the hope of acting, so to
speak, as a conductor of the popular wrath, and thereby saving her
husband.
Had she been able at the same time to wean Alexander from his wild
passion for herself, he and his dynasty might have been preserved.
It is the charitable view to take that the young King was not fully
responsible for his acts at this time. The distressing circumstances
of his bringing-up, the fatal inheritance of his father’s example
and influence, render it impossible to regard Alexander Obrenovitch
as a normal young man.
The long period of suspense which I passed through, while watching
from Paris over the safety of the Queen of Servia, was at last put an
end to by a cypher telegram from the agent whom I had stationed in
Belgrade unknown even to Draga herself.
‘_Death of King fixed for next week. Queen must be persuaded to fly
at once._’
The despatch reached me just half an hour before the departure of the
Oriental express, into which I flung myself panting as it began to
glide out of the station.
My agent, warned from Vienna, met me as I alighted in Belgrade.
The pallor of his countenance told me that he had bad news to
communicate.
‘The worst--instantly!’ I exclaimed, in Polish, a language I have
taught to all the most trusted members of my staff.
‘Nothing has happened,’ he stammered out. ‘But I tried to give a hint
to the Queen; she has passed it on to her husband. The conspirators
have learned that suspicion has been aroused in the Palace; and----’
‘And what?’ I seized him by the wrist.
‘The assassination is to be carried out to-night, instead of next
week.’
‘To-night!’
Exhausted as I was by the long journey, this news almost broke me
down. I had to lean against my agent for support.
The poor wretch, conscious that he had blundered disastrously, dared
not meet my eye, and I felt him trembling.
It is my maxim never to be angry with an employee except for bad
faith. If an agent of mine blunders or breaks down I consider the
fault is mine for having intrusted him with a task beyond his powers.
Besides, there are no perfect instruments. In my own career I have
made two mistakes.
Therefore I assured the unfortunate man that all was well, since
Queen Draga was yet alive. We went together to the house in which
my agent had been residing for some time in the character of
correspondent of the Havas Agency. There I assumed the Servian dress
which he had had the forethought to prepare for me, and, disguised as
a _sous-officier_, I set off for the Palace.
My military uniform naturally inspired confidence in the sentries,
those in the plot no doubt supposing that I was so, also.
I made my way round to a side entrance, suitable to my apparent
station, and there, by my agent’s advice, asked to see Anna
Petrovitch, the waiting-maid who had shared the Queen’s fortunes for
many years.
I was admitted without any demur, and presently Anna herself
appeared. She took me apart into a small chamber apparently used by
the upper servants of the Palace, and asked me what I wanted.
‘I must see the Queen immediately, in private,’ I answered.
‘You cannot do that. Her Majesty is just sitting down to dinner. What
is your name; and what do you want to see her about?’
‘My name does not matter. I come as a friend, and I bring her Majesty
a message from one who wishes her well.’
I knew that if this woman were really in Draga’s confidence these
words would not fall unheeded.
‘Cannot you tell me something more? I will try to get you an audience
as soon as dinner is over, provided I am sure that you are a friend.’
‘Listen!’ I bent forward and whispered in her ear. ‘Have you ever
heard the Queen mention a certain Monsieur V----?’
The woman gave a start of joy, impossible to be feigned.
‘You come from him?’
I bowed.
‘Then I will endeavour to let the Queen know at once. In the
meantime, follow me.’
Anna conducted me up one of the back staircases of the Palace and
along a corridor, till we arrived at a door, which she unlocked with
a key taken out of her pocket.
I found myself in a small bedroom, humbly, but comfortably furnished.
‘This is my own room. The Queen’s boudoir is reached through that
door,’ she explained, pointing to it. ‘Wait here, and excuse me if I
take the precaution of locking you in.’
‘Stay,’ I said sharply. ‘In situations like this I trust no one. Give
me the key, and I will lock myself in, and open to your knock.’
The servant made no objection, and a signal was arranged between us;
after which she stole away, leaving me there in the gathering dusk,
with the fate of a kingdom trembling in the balance.
Of my feelings during the next half hour it would be useless to
speak. Murder, red-armed and tiger-eyed, was whetting its knife
against the bosom of the woman whom I would gladly have died to save.
And I could do nothing but stand there and gaze furtively through the
window for the first sign of the approaching cyclone.
[Illustration: “I took out my loaded revolver, cocked it and advanced
to the threshold.”]
At the end of thirty eternal minutes the expected knock came at the
outer door. I took out my loaded revolver, cocked it, and advanced
to the threshold.
‘Who is there?’
‘The Queen’s friend,’ came the expected answer.
I unlocked the door, opened it just widely enough to admit the
waiting-maid, and promptly shut and locked it again.
‘The Queen knows you are here, but she dares not leave the table
for another half hour. At the end of that time she will be in her
boudoir, and will admit us.’
I took out my watch, and cursed each dilatory hand.
‘Is the danger so pressing, then?’ asked the frightened woman.
‘I do not know how pressing it is,’ I answered gloomily. ‘I cannot
even be sure that Queen Draga will be suffered to leave that table
alive.’
‘Oh, you are mistaken there!’ Anna exclaimed. ‘My mistress is safe.
She has had a private assurance that she will be allowed to flee.’
‘Has she fled?’ I retorted. I thought I knew Draga better than her
servant did.
Silence followed. The knowledge that Prince Peter had evidently
contrived to give orders on behalf of the Queen, in the event of
violence being employed, soothed me to some extent. Nevertheless, a
sad and terrible presentiment warned me to expect the worst.
A low scratching on the inner door, that leading into the Royal
boudoir, told us that the victim was still alive. A bolt was
withdrawn, and the next moment I found myself in Queen Draga’s
presence.
It was the same woman whom I had left a few years ago, in the full
bloom of her womanhood, but how changed, how stricken! The harassed
brow, the hunted look in the eyes, the grey streaks in the hair, all
told me what the difference had been between the lot of the Queen and
the simple Countess.
‘You are from Monsieur ----?’ she whispered.
I drew myself up. Recognition flashed in her eyes.
‘You are Andrea!’
That word repaid me for everything. I went down on one knee, and
pressed her offered fingers to my lips.
It was only by the light of the moon that we were able to see each
other. Anna was moving towards the key of the electric lamps, but the
Queen forbade her with a gesture.
‘Now, tell me, what is it?’
‘You must this very minute put on Anna’s dress, and leave the Palace
with me. We shall go straight to the railway, where my agent has by
this time chartered a special train.’
Draga drew back unconvinced.
‘The assassination is fixed for next Tuesday,’ she declared.
‘It is fixed for to-night.’
‘To-night? You must be mistaken.’
I smiled bitterly.
‘The Tsar of Russia has never said that to me, madam.’
‘But how?--when?--Your own agent told me--if he was your agent----’
I waved my hand impatiently.
‘All that was true three days ago, madam. Your Majesty told
King Alexander, and the conspirators have advanced the hour in
consequence.’
For the first time the heroic woman turned pale, and began to tremble.
‘At what hour to-night is it?’
‘I have not ascertained. For ought I know the assassins are at this
moment surrounding the Palace. There may be just time for you to
leave.’
‘But the King! Alexander! My husband!’
‘I do not think there will be time for him to leave as well,’ I said
gravely.
Queen Draga threw one hand across her breast with a superb defiance.
‘I do not go without my husband, sir.’
I was torn between admiration and despair.
‘I should have done better to remain in Paris, I perceive,’ I said
sullenly.
‘On the contrary, dear Andrea, I, who know you so well, know that you
have the heroism of soul to save the man you hate at the prayer of
the woman you love.’
I stood thunderstruck, while she crossed the room into the adjoining
bedchamber, and sounded a silver bell.
‘Inform his Majesty that I desire to see him very particularly as
soon as possible.’
The servant who had answered the bell bowed and withdrew, with
startled looks, from which I was inclined to suspect that he was in
the pay of the assassins. Fortunately, he had not been able to see me
where I stood.
The Queen now began hurriedly to change her dress for one more
suitable for the emergency. Meanwhile there was no sign that her
message had reached Alexander.
‘You have been betrayed, madam,’ I observed at last. ‘That servant
was a traitor. I saw it in his face.’
Draga uttered a cry of despair.
‘You, Anna, you go and bring the King here at all costs.’
Anna darted out of the room.
The Queen, too terribly anxious to go on with her own preparations
for flight, paced the room like a lioness listening for the approach
of the hunters.
Five minutes passed--ten minutes--a quarter of a year! Then a step
was heard in the adjoining room, and the young King of Servia, his
dark face flushed with wrath, strode in.
‘What is all this? Are you trying to frighten me, Draga?’
He saw me and stopped, at the same time putting his hand to his side
where his sword should have been. The weapon was missing, perhaps by
accident.
‘This is our best friend, Alexander. He has come to save us. The
assassins have changed their plans, and will be here to-night. A
special train has been got ready, and if you can leave the Palace in
disguise, all will be well.’
The ascendency of a powerful intellect in the moment of danger made
itself felt. Alexander looked about him, half-dazed, as the poor
youth well might be, by the ghastly imminence of the peril.
‘What disguise can I wear?’ he demanded, in a choked voice.
‘Change clothes with your valet,’ the Queen replied, with
feminine quickness. ‘This gentleman affirms that he is one of the
conspirators.’
‘Constantine! Impossible! I do not believe it.’
Draga wrung her hands.
‘I cannot save him. He is obstinate!’ she sobbed.
The sob conquered the stubborn narrow mind which would have resisted
all argument. Alexander darted into his dressing-room, from which the
valet was just trying to escape.
Seizing the man by the throat, Alexander dealt him a blow on the
temple which deprived him of his senses. I had followed his Majesty,
and I now stripped the valet while the King hastily undressed. While
the King was assuming the disguise thus provided for him, I carried
the insensible man into the bedroom, and placed him between the royal
sheets.
At this moment the white face of Anna Petrovitch appeared in the
doorway beyond.
‘They are coming! I see them outside in the courtyard.’
‘Quick, quick!’ burst from the lips of Queen Draga, whose
self-possession seemed almost unnatural. And she pushed her husband
towards the door of his own dressing-room.
‘This way?’ he exclaimed, his mind unable to keep pace with hers.
‘Yes. You are Constantine. You are in the plot, remember. You must
let them in to kill your master, who is asleep.’
I shuddered. My suspicion--for it was hardly more--was going to be
fatal to the valet.
‘Go with him,’ Queen Draga added, turning to me. ‘I am safe. I
need neither protection nor guidance. He needs both. I adjure you,
Andrea!’
Swept away by the torrent of her impetuosity, I followed Alexander to
the dressing-room.
Draga herself came to the door, and closed it softly after us.
We were just in time to meet a party of a dozen soldiers, headed by
Colonel Masileff himself.
Stepping past the young King, who was shaking like a leaf, I
whispered in Masileff’s ear--
‘Be quiet, or you will awake him. He is lying on the bed, drunk.’
The soldiers filed in past us, not one casting so much as a glance at
our faces, shrouded by the darkness.
The moment the last man had stepped across the threshold of the
dressing-room, I took Alexander by the arm and drew, or rather
dragged, him out into the corridor, and down the great staircase of
the Palace.
We passed out unquestioned. It did not occur to one of the men whom
we found outside that Masileff could have missed his prey.
My uniform was enough to disarm suspicion, for it was that of a
regiment in which every man had sworn on the Gospel not to let
Alexander escape alive. My agent had served me well.
We found him at the station. The special train was ready, with steam
up, waiting for the signal to place us in safety on the soil of
Austria.
I made Alexander take his seat in the meanest compartment, while I
waited outside the station for the appearance of the two women.
I waited a long time.
From the town, all buried in darkness, there came sounds of tumult
and exultation, which must have shaken the heart of the young man in
the train.
It was not till I had been there for nearly three-quarters of an hour
that I saw one female form creeping feebly along the road towards the
station.
I darted out to meet her, and uttered an oath.
Anna Petrovitch fell weeping into my arms, with the doleful cry:
‘Queen Draga is dead! Queen Draga is dead!’
Five minutes later I had placed the desolate creature in the train,
and we were speeding on our way to Vienna.
It was in the train that I learned the few particulars that Anna had
to tell. But I had already guessed the nature of the catastrophe.
Another party of soldiers, headed by a personal enemy of the Queen’s,
had invaded the Royal suite through the waiting-maid’s room at the
instant that Masileff and his men burst into the bedroom where the
valet was lying insensible. Whether Draga’s life might really have
been spared or not, it is impossible to say. The heroic woman’s
resolution was instantly taken. She knew that if the valet were
recognised there would at once be a hue and cry, and that the King
would be pursued and probably taken; and she resolved to give her
life for her husband’s. She cast herself on the inanimate form lying
on the bed, concealed the face in her arms, and allowed herself to be
stabbed by a dozen bayonets.
[Illustration: “Queen Draga cast herself on the inanimate form on
the bed, concealed the face in her arms, and allowed herself to be
stabbed by a dozen bayonets.”]
Of the savage details of the murder I dare not trust myself to write.
To those who know how thin is the veneer of civilisation on the
Southern Slaves, how faint is the moral difference between some of
these so-called Christians and their Mohammedan neighbours, it will
not come as a surprise to learn that when the bloodhounds desisted
from their work there was no longer any possibility of recognising
either of their victims.
Of the young King, and what has become of him since that hideous
night, I intend to say no single word. Of her who perished, let no
man henceforth say anything but good.
X
THE POLICY OF EDWARD VII.
It is always a delicate matter for a foreigner to write about the
Sovereign of another country in such a way as to be acceptable to
his subjects. In case I, a citizen of the United States, should
unwittingly offend any English prejudices in the following narrative,
I can only assure my readers that I am actuated by no feeling
but that of the most sincere respect for the greatest of living
Sovereigns and the mighty people over whom he reigns.
In the summer of 1902 the whole world was dismayed by the news that
the Coronation of King Edward VII. had been postponed at the last
moment, on account of his Majesty’s grave state of health.
The Governments of the Continent, ever distrustful, and prone to
credit others with their own Machiavellian statecraft, eagerly asked
themselves if the official explanation of this event was genuine, or
whether it did not conceal some subtle political purpose.
As a result, I found myself commissioned by a certain great Power to
go over to London, and ascertain the true state of affairs.
Needless to say, my inquiries enabled me in a very short time to
report to my employers that their suspicions were groundless.
In the course of the brief investigation I was brought into personal
touch with a man of high rank, occupying a confidential position
in the Royal Household--the Marquis of Bedale. The manner in which
I carried out my delicate mission caused Lord Bedale to compliment
me highly upon my courage and discretion, and I have every reason
to think that his lordship spoke in favourable terms of me to his
exalted master.
Before I left England I was surprised and gratified to receive a
request from Lord Bedale to wait upon him in his private apartment in
Buckingham Palace, on confidential business.[1]
His lordship received me in the friendliest fashion, and talked to me
quite freely.
‘Let me begin,’ he said, ‘by asking you for your frank opinion on our
Secret Service.’
‘The Secret Service of Great Britain is the most scrupulously
conducted in the world,’ I replied discreetly.
Lord Bedale gave me a queer smile.
‘That means, I suppose, that it is the most inefficient?’ he
suggested.
‘It is the worst paid,’ I said, by way of extenuation. ‘I have
heard that the total amount voted for this purpose by the British
Parliament is only £40,000, but that sounds incredible.’
‘I am afraid it is not far from the truth,’ Lord Bedale answered. ‘We
have acted in the belief that the British Empire was too strong to
care about what its enemies were planning.’
‘I should think the Boer War must have made you realise that such a
policy was not the cheapest in the long run,’ I ventured to remark.
‘It has shown _me_ so, at all events,’ he answered, ‘and possibly
some others. You will not offend me in the least, Monsieur V----, if
you tell me plainly that you consider our Intelligence Department the
weakest branch of our Foreign Service, and utterly unworthy of an
Empire with such world-wide interests as ours.’
I was obliged to admit that such was my opinion. His lordship
proceeded.
‘This state of things constitutes a national danger. In a country
like ours, run on democratic lines, it is almost hopeless to look to
Parliament for any improvement. The only remedy is for some one who
has the interests of his country at heart to supplement the work of
the public service by a private intelligence department conducted at
his own expense, just as in the case of a newspaper proprietor.’
I gave the speaker a quick glance of interrogation. I happened to
be aware that the Marquis, in spite of his high rank, was not a
very wealthy man, and it was therefore clear to me that he was not
speaking of himself.
‘Such a person as you describe would, indeed, deserve well of his
country,’ was all I thought it prudent to say.
‘I shall be glad if you will consider me as the person concerned,’
Lord Bedale said in a tone which warned me that I was on delicate
ground. ‘I have sent for you to ask if you will accept a commission
from me to act as a Secret Service agent in the interests of Great
Britain.’
I hesitated. It is my fixed rule to deal only with principals, and I
could not escape the conclusion that Lord Bedale was merely the agent
of another.
‘Will you let me ask your lordship one question?’ I said. ‘Do you
offer me this commission as a private citizen solely, or am I at
liberty to infer, from your position in the Royal Household, that you
have no concealments from the exalted personage you serve, and that
by accepting your offer I shall, in effect, be serving his Majesty?’
The Marquis studied my face carefully before answering.
‘It seems to me that such an inference is right and natural, and one
that you are bound to make,’ he said slowly.
‘Then I shall feel highly honoured by accepting,’ I returned, bowing.
The question of terms was disposed of to our mutual satisfaction.
I came away from the Palace filled with reverence for the monarch
who, unless I were completely deceived, had decided to contribute
out of his private purse to the defence of the great Empire whose
politicians were so neglectful of its safety.
On my return to Paris I set to work to organise a special department
for the purpose of collecting intelligence likely to be of importance
to the British Empire.
I was amused to find that several of the secret agents in the service
of the British Foreign Office were receiving much larger salaries
from the Russian Government than from the one they were supposed to
act for. Among other similar discoveries my agents reported to me
that a certain British Vice-Consul in the Euphrates Valley, a Greek
by extraction, had secretly taken out letters of naturalisation as a
German subject. It was on this man’s recommendation chiefly that the
British Government had been induced to give its countenance to the
project for a German railway to Baghdad.
I duly forwarded this and other items to Lord Bedale, but I could not
perceive that any notice was taken of them by the Foreign Office.
Probably the permanent staff resented the idea that they were being
checked and inspected, and determined to show that they were not
going to let even their monarch interfere with them.
But all this was merely preliminary. I was on the eve of a discovery
of so much moment that I have often asked myself since whether, but
for me, the British Empire would be in existence to-day.
Newspaper readers may recollect that not very long ago a sharp
passage of words took place between a German Minister and an English
statesman whom I will not indicate more closely in the present
excited state of party politics. Although in appearance but a quarrel
of Ministers, it was perfectly well understood on the Continent that
the Count von Bülow was only the mouthpiece of his Imperial master
on this occasion. Europe gasped at the spectacle of this political
thunderstorm, in which the lurking hatred of Germany towards England
was for the first time brought to the surface, and exposed.
I knew the character of both of these formidable peoples too well
to believe that the incident would have no after effects. As by the
glare of a lightning-flash, there stood revealed before me the
figures of the two great protagonists, contending together for the
mastery in a war raging over three continents.
Very soon after Lord Bedale, or whoever stood behind him, had
confided the safety of Great Britain to my care, I repaired in
disguise to Berlin. My instinct taught me that this capital was the
true storm-centre, and that from here, rather than St. Petersburg,
would be directed the designs of any really dangerous movement
against the country of Edward VII.
My first visit after my arrival was paid to the Director of the
Imperial Secret Service, my old friend Finkelstein. I felt it would
be impossible for me to remain long in the German capital without my
presence becoming known to this astute chief of police, and I deemed
it the most prudent course to throw him off his guard at the outset.
I caused myself to be announced as Father d’Aurignac, of the Order
of the Assumptionists. My assumed character completely imposed on
Finkelstein, and I opened the conversation by saying--
‘I have come here in consequence of the persecution of the Order
now being carried on by the French Republic. We are obliged to seek
other homes, it being impossible for us to remain in France. A large
number of houses have been transferred to England, but my brethren
and I detest that country so much that we wish to settle in Germany
instead. I have been deputed to ascertain what treatment we are
likely to receive at the hands of the authorities.’
‘That is not in my department,’ Finkelstein answered. ‘You should
apply to the Minister of the Interior.’
‘You misunderstand me,’ I returned smoothly. ‘I do not doubt that
we shall be permitted to settle here. The question is, how much
independence we shall enjoy from police supervision. In France we
were always able to maintain exceedingly friendly relations with the
police. We are, of course, a very wealthy Order.’
Finkelstein’s eyes sparkled. I knew that he was in receipt of a
secret pension from the exiled claimant to the throne of a State
annexed by Prussia in 1866. It was evident that he was perfectly
ready to do business.
‘You will find that the Berlin police exercise the greatest tact
towards communities of high character like yours,’ he said eagerly.
I lay back in my chair and threw off my hood, as I observed--
‘My dear Finkelstein, I see that you are not changed.’
The Director’s consternation was quite laughable to witness.
‘V----!’ he exclaimed, drawing back as if he had been stung; then he
added, in a tone of hesitation: ‘My old friend?’
‘Yes; your friend--and your ally, if you will accept him as such,’ I
said cordially.
Finkelstein looked immensely relieved. He was well aware that the
Kaiser did not accord him his complete confidence, and he must have
feared that I had come to him, as on a former occasion, as the
Kaiser’s agent.
‘My dear V----, any friendship and assistance that I can give you are
at your service at all times,’ he hastened to assure me.
‘It is understood, then, is it not, that we are to stand by each
other? If I undertake to report favourably of you in a certain
quarter, you will give me your confidence?’
‘That is always understood between Secret Service agents who are men
of honour,’ the German responded.
We shook hands with great warmth.
‘Now,’ I said, ‘I can afford to be perfectly frank.’
Finkelstein glanced at me with the suspicion which such a declaration
was certain to provoke.
‘I am here, this time, in the interests of Russia.’
The Director met my eye with a look of polite incredulity.
[Illustration: “‘V----!’ he exclaimed, drawing back as if he had been
stung.”]
‘Distrust has been awakened in the Russian Council of State by
this Venezuelan affair, in which Germany has been much too friendly
with England. It is necessary to ascertain exactly what the Kaiser’s
views and intentions really are. He is either deceiving the Tsar, or
deceiving the English, and I have to find out which. For this purpose
I must pass a night in the Emperor’s private cabinet.’
‘But surely that is not a difficult thing for you to manage,’
observed Finkelstein, with evident distrust. ‘His Majesty trusts you
implicitly, does he not?’
‘He may trust me as a spy on you, and yet not confide to me his
political designs,’ I answered. ‘The truth is that the Kaiser is
on his guard. He knows that he is being watched, and just now he
distrusts everybody--his own police most of all,’ I added pointedly.
The Director put his hand to his head, with a gesture of despair.
‘It comes to this,’ he cried pathetically, ‘that unless I betray him
you will report to him that I am a traitor!’
‘You should have thought of that before you accepted the money of the
Duke of Heligoland,’ I retorted, naming the Royal exile referred to
above.
The German sighed, and hung his head.
‘The Russian Government is not less wealthy than the Order of
Assumptionists,’ I added.
Finkelstein brightened up again. A man of such mercurial temperament
was most unfit for his position.
As soon as it became a question of terms between us I knew that the
battle was won. The German really hated and feared Russia, like all
his countrymen, and had it been prudent to do so, I should have been
glad to relieve his mind.
It was an easy matter for him to make the required arrangements. A
hint to the commander of the regiment which supplied the Palace guard
that some theft had taken place, and that a detective’s presence was
necessary, was sufficient. At the hour of eleven, the Kaiser’s time
for retiring, I found myself in the uniform of a Prussian soldier,
pacing the corridor which gave access to his Majesty’s cabinet.
Secured from suspicion by the character in which I had entered the
Palace, I lost no time in unlocking the door of the room by means
of a key invented by myself. I must be excused from describing its
mechanism in these pages; but the only lock against which it is
powerless is the familiar letter padlock.
As soon as I was inside I closed the door again. I did not venture
to turn on the electric light, but made use of a dark lantern I had
brought with me, to explore the chamber.
In front of me stood his Majesty’s writing-table, covered with
despatch boxes. I considered it useless to open them, and turned my
eyes round the room in search of some more secret receptacle.
At first no sign of anything of the kind I sought was visible. There
were cupboards, but they were not even locked. The walls were hung
with maps, among which my eye was particularly caught by a chart of
the world on Mercator’s projection, on which the various possessions
of Great Britain were indicated by small red flags attached to pins.
It seemed to me an ominous thing that such a map, so marked, should
be ever before the eyes of the ablest Continental ruler, who was
known to be feverishly at work building a navy fit to contend with
that of England.
In a reflective mood I stepped towards the map and looked at it. The
flag which marked New Zealand had sagged down slightly, as though
less firmly thrust in than the rest. Without stopping to think what I
was doing, I took hold of the pin and pressed it into the wall.
To my surprise I felt a resistance which at once accounted for the
loose position in which I had found the flag. I removed one of the
other pins, and found it went into the wall without any difficulty.
It was therefore clear that at the particular part of the wall
covered by New Zealand there existed some obstacle, probably of a
metallic nature.
Once convinced of this, I had no doubt as to my next step. I drew
out the whole of the pins in the eastern portion of the chart, and
rolled it back.
I was rewarded by the sight of a dark round patch on the wall-paper,
beneath which I could detect the presence of a metallic disk or knob.
I pressed it boldly, and a square section of the wall opened out on
a hinge, revealing a small cupboard, secured by a black seal showing
the impress of the Emperor’s signet, with which I was sufficiently
familiar.
This discovery placed me in an awkward position. There was no time
for me to counterfeit the seal, and if I broke it, it was evident
that Wilhelm II. must know that his hiding-place had been tampered
with.
The prudence I had shown in dealing with Finkelstein was now
invaluable to me. At the worst the Kaiser would learn that his
secrets were in the hands of a Russian spy, and my real employer
would be unknown. It was this reflection which emboldened me to
proceed.
I broke the seal, opened the cupboard, and found a pile of papers
which I took to the writing-table to look through.
The papers were enclosed in what is styled in Government Departments
a ‘jacket’--a large sheet of paper folded to form a cover. The
outside of this jacket was endorsed in the Kaiser’s well-known
hand--‘_European Zollverein_.’
[Illustration: “‘Arrest that man!’ the Kaiser commanded, without
giving him time to speak.”]
Those words told me all. The daring brain of Wilhelm II. had revived
the idea which the great Napoleon embodied in his famous Milan
Decrees. The whole of the Powers of the Continent were to be united
in a Customs League against Great Britain.
Russia and Austria, I saw, had eagerly welcomed the proposal. Spain
and Turkey, with the Balkan States, were also committed to it. So
were Belgium and Holland, the first in revenge for British criticism
of the Congo Free State, the second on account of the Boer War.
Sweden and Denmark were evidently disinclined to the scheme, but
unable to resist the pressure put upon them. Only three countries
still held out firmly--France, Italy, and Portugal.
The opposition of France seemed to be due partly to the fact that
Great Britain was her largest customer, and partly to dislike of any
proposal coming from Germany. Italy and Portugal seemed to realise
that their own fate was bound up with that of England, and to view
with dread the prospect of weakening the British power.
I had just finished reading the spirited protest of little Portugal,
contained in a private autograph letter from Dom Carlos to the German
Emperor, when the room was suddenly flashed with the full glare of
the electric light. I looked up and saw his Majesty standing before
me, in full uniform, with his sword drawn in his hand.
I had reckoned without Wilhelm II. when I undertook my perilous
enterprise. The colonel of the guard, it appeared, had reported
that a detective had been admitted into the Palace by Finkelstein’s
request. The Kaiser had thought little of the matter at first, but
later on his curiosity had become too strong for him, and he had
decided to find out for himself what was going on.
I confess that for the first and only time in my life I turned cold
with fear, as the sudden apparition of the armed Emperor burst on my
startled consciousness.
‘Arrest that man!’ he commanded, without giving me time to speak.
Two soldiers advanced from the corridor and pinioned me by the arms.
Then the Kaiser himself stepped forward, seized the papers I had been
studying, and thrust them into his breast.
‘Order a firing-party with ball cartridges to get ready in the inner
courtyard,’ was the next command.
All this time it was evident that the Kaiser had not recognised me.
Indeed, my disguise was so perfect that I felt quite secure on that
head. The question was whether it would make matters worse or better
for me if I revealed my identity.
‘Now,’ his Majesty demanded, turning to me, ‘who are you, and what
are you doing here?’
[Illustration: “‘Now,’ said the Kaiser, stepping close to my side,
‘tell me the truth--the real truth, mind--and I will spare your
life.’”]
‘Does your Majesty wish me to speak before these men?’
The Kaiser hesitated.
‘Yes,’ he said at last; ‘speak out.’
I shrugged my shoulders.
‘I am here as the agent of the Federal Council,’ I declared. The
Federal Council, as most readers will remember, is the Senate of
the German Empire. It represents more especially the dynasties of
Bavaria, Saxony, and the other small kingdoms united with Prussia to
form the modern Empire.
Wilhelm II. started as I pronounced the name of this body. It is well
known that his Imperial Majesty does not enjoy the full confidence
of some of his satellite kings. In the army there has been a good
deal of friction beneath the surface. It was therefore not at all
improbable that the lesser royalties of Germany should have employed
a spy to detect the designs of their erratic and overbearing suzerain.
‘Did you tell this to Herr Finkelstein?’ was the next question.
‘No, sire.’ I was anxious to save the Director from the Imperial
wrath. ‘I persuaded him that I was your Majesty’s confidential agent.’
The Kaiser glared at me, and muttered an exclamation which I need not
repeat.
‘How do I know that you are telling the truth to me, any more than
you did to him?’ he cried.
‘Your Majesty cannot know it,’ I answered coldly. ‘The Council, of
course, will disown me.’
‘You are a cool hand,’ Wilhelm commented, gnawing his moustache. ‘It
seems to me that I can do nothing with you, except shoot you.’
‘That will be much the simplest course,’ I replied. I saw that it
would be a contest between the Emperor’s curiosity and his vengeance,
and already I began to hope.
His Majesty gave the signal, and I was led out into the courtyard,
where I found six men under the command of an officer, drawn up in
line.
I was placed in front of them, and as I looked down the rifle-barrels
already pointed at my heart I felt really nervous for a moment. The
scene was illuminated by a solitary lamp fixed over the gateway, and
its rays broke against the row of steel tubes which held death.
‘Now,’ said the Kaiser, stepping close to my side, ‘tell me the
truth--the real truth, mind--and I will spare your life.’
I tried to think of something which Wilhelm II. would be likely
to believe. In the meantime, I congratulated myself on not having
disclosed my identity, as in that case, of course, it would not
have occurred to his Majesty that I could be induced to betray my
employer.
He saw that I was hesitating, and fortunately mistook the reason.
‘I will not only spare your life, but I will send you across the
frontier under an escort, and let you go free,’ his Majesty declared.
I affected to yield reluctantly.
‘My mission is not, strictly speaking, an official one. I am the
agent of an individual, who wishes to render a service to his
countrymen, without his action being publicly known. Your Majesty’s
recent alliance with Great Britain to blockade Venezuela has aroused
the fears of thoughtful American statesmen. It is suspected that you
may have other projects in which the interests of the United States
are concerned, and I have been instructed----’
‘By Theodore Roosevelt!’ the Kaiser exclaimed, falling back a pace or
two.
I nodded.
‘Your Majesty has guessed the truth. The project which I have
discovered among your papers does not concern the United States, and
I am therefore willing to undertake that it shall not be revealed to
the President.’
‘Enough,’ Wilhelm II. said in subdued tones. ‘I have passed my word.’
He turned to the officer. ‘Take this man in irons to Hamburg, and
place him on board a British vessel.’
If I felt some compunction at the liberty I had taken with the name
of the United States President, I consoled myself with the assurance
that he would pardon me in view of the fact that I was acting in the
interest of the mother-country.
My escort placed me on board a steamer bound for Hull, with an
intimation to the captain that my irons were not to be struck off
till the ship was out of the Elbe.
The captain was naturally curious to learn who I was. I allowed him
to suppose that I was a Pole banished for sedition. Fortunately, I
had ample funds about me to defray my first-class passage, and I have
generally found in dealing with Englishmen that a Bank of England
note inspires more confidence than a testimonial from an Archbishop.
As soon as the boat reached Hull I made the best of my way to
Balmoral, where Lord Bedale was staying in attendance on King Edward.
Into his lordship’s astonished ears I poured the whole tale of my
discovery, passing over as lightly as possible the dangers through
which I had passed.
Lord Bedale was much moved.
‘I must thank you warmly for having kept the K----I mean, for having
kept my name out of this. The Emperor would certainly have suspected
that I was acting on King Edward’s behalf.’
‘It is possible,’ I said drily.
The Marquis glanced at me and we both smiled.
‘Enough!’ he said. ‘Remain in the neighbourhood, and I will see you
again in a day or two.’
The next time Lord Bedale sent for me his manner was entirely changed.
‘Monsieur V----,’ he said, ‘I have related the whole of your
adventure to his Majesty, who has formed the highest opinion of your
tact and fidelity; so much so, that he has now instructed me to offer
you a mission on his own behalf.’
‘That will be the highest honour I could receive.’
‘His Majesty’s health is not yet fully recovered. In consequence, his
physicians have advised him to take a sea-voyage in the early part of
the year.’
‘I trust it will benefit his Majesty very greatly.’
‘The climate of the Mediterranean has been recommended.’
‘There is no pleasanter climate at that time of year.’
‘As his Majesty will be obliged to pass by the mouth of the Tagus,
it will seem discourteous if he does not land in Lisbon, and see the
King.’
‘His Majesty’s courtesy is proverbial.’
‘In visiting his Maltese subjects he will be so near Italy that King
Victor may expect to see him in Rome.’
‘That will be only natural.’
‘In case his Majesty should feel tired of so much sea, he may feel it
pleasanter to return overland.’
‘That will involve his passing through Paris.’
‘Exactly.’
Portugal, Italy, France--these were the three States which had made a
stand against the threatened alliance against the United Kingdom. I
looked at Lord Bedale and we understood one another.
‘His Majesty proposes that you should visit each of these three
capitals in advance, and ascertain in a confidential way how he is
likely to be received, not merely by the head of the State, but by
the people themselves--the nation.’
‘I understand.’
‘King Edward desires to be received, not with formal courtesy, but
with the recognition due to the ambassador of the world’s peace.’
‘I shall bear that in mind.’
‘I may add that he only defers bestowing the Victorian Order on you
till he is able to do so in return for the services he now asks you
to render him.’
There is not much more for me to add.
In Rome, as in Lisbon, I found there was little for me to do; the
name of King Edward was already on every tongue. Even in Paris, with
its jealous and reckless Press, I found that the British King was a
favourite with those who were most ready to criticise British policy.
I had an interview with Father Loubet, as the French love to call
their homely peasant-President; the man who has proved once more that
sterling character counts for more in public life than rank or wealth
or intellectual cleverness.
Later on I had the honour of accompanying the ruler of Britain on
his stately progress of peace. And as his coming was acclaimed in
capital after capital, and the nations so long sundered by senseless
rivalries shook hands, with their sovereigns, the angry Emperors
realised that England’s ‘splendid isolation’ was over, and that she
had resumed her historic _rôle_ of the champion of the weak, and
protector of the liberties of Europe.
The glittering jewel pinned to my breast by the great Monarch’s own
hands was an unnecessary reward. To have served such a master was
enough.
XI
THE HUMBERT MILLIONS
The Humbert Case, like the Dreyfus Case, is a _chose jugée_.
Thérèse Humbert, one of the greatest women of the century, who united
the commanding personality of a Catherine the Great with the genius
for intrigue of a Catherine de Medicis, has been formally tried and
condemned, and is now secluded from the public eye. The journals of
the Boulevards pretend to be satisfied; and their credulous readers
are taught to believe that this remarkable affair was a vulgar
swindle, and that the famous millions had no existence except in the
mind of the arch-intriguer.
It is under these circumstances that I find myself at length free to
make an announcement which I foresee must provoke a storm of denial
and denunciation.
_I know what has become of the Humbert millions._
I do not make this declaration without having weighed the
consequences. If my part in this affair could be brought home to me
by legal proofs, it is possible that I should find myself in danger
of a penalty such as has been meted out to Madame Humbert herself.
I believe, however, that I have sufficiently secured myself against
such a contingency. For many months past I have been engaged in a
duel of a singular character with the famous head of the French
police, M. Rattache: a duel of wits, in which the combatants have
kept on the mask of friendship, while exchanging thrusts and parries
with an assumption of perfect unconsciousness.
In no step of her marvellous career, perhaps, did Thérèse Humbert
show more sagacity than in establishing relations with myself.
Accustomed as I am to act almost exclusively for crowned heads, or
ministers of state, I was the agent least likely to be suspected of
any connection with what wore the appearance of an ordinary police
affair.
With the same prudence which marked nearly all her actions, Madame
Humbert refrained from coming to my office to engage my services, and
from asking me to visit her. Instead, I received what appeared to be
a casual invitation to dine with a banker, whom I will call Baron
Y----.
Baron Y---- was a man whom I knew but slightly, but his house enjoyed
a good reputation, and he moved in the best society of the financial
world. He was noted for his entertainments, and therefore I was
surprised on this occasion to find only three other persons present,
besides the members of the family.
The three other guests were M. Bas-Riviére, an ex-member of the
Waldeck-Rousseau Ministry, the Marquis des Saintes Roches, a
distinguished Legitimist, that is to say, a member of the party which
aims at the restoration of the Bourbons, and--Thérèse Humbert.
At this time the voice of rumour was already busy with Madame
Humbert’s name; but though assailed, she still maintained a bold
front, and her enemies had not yet been able to touch her.
It did not occur to me that her presence at the dinner had any
significance, but I studied her with that interest which her
reputation naturally excited. Impassive, almost stolid in her
demeanour, and speaking but little, Madame Humbert impressed me
more than any woman I have ever met, with the single exception of
the Dowager Empress of China. I will not say that I felt awed by
this extraordinary personage, but I recognised in her one of those
commanding personalities which overrule all who are brought into
touch with them.
After dinner Baron Y---- led us through some of the rooms in his
superb mansion, to view the pictures and curiosities which his wealth
had enabled him to gather together.
[Illustration: “‘I am going to ask you to undertake a service of an
unusual kind.’”]
Somehow or other Madame Humbert contrived to fall gradually behind
the rest of the party, keeping me by her side. I did not realise
that this was a deliberate manœuvre, until, just as the others were
passing out of a small Turkish smoking-room, my companion abruptly
laid her hand on my arm, and whispered in my ear--
‘Let us remain here a moment, if you please, Monsieur V----. I have
something which I wish to say to you.’
Even then it did not at first dawn on me that the whole entertainment
had been arranged for the single purpose of enabling Madame Humbert
to interview me without attracting the notice of the police, who were
already beginning to take an interest in her movements.
‘Let us sit down,’ the custodian of the mysterious millions said with
authority. ‘What I have to say to you will take some time.’
Observe, she did not admit the possibility of my objecting to receive
her confidences. She had made up her mind that I was the agent
necessary for her purpose, and it was only left to me to obey.
I took a seat beside her without speaking. Magnetised by her strange
power, it did not occur to me to lay down any conditions in advance.
‘I am going to ask you to undertake a service of an unusual kind. You
will run some risks, and I shall be obliged to trust you implicitly.’
‘Madame,’--I began to protest. She silenced me with a superb gesture.
‘I have not asked you for assurances, monsieur. If I have chosen you
in preference to any of my friends, even men of the highest honour,
like M. des Saintes Roches, depend upon it I know what I am about. Do
not interrupt me, but listen. In my safe at this moment I have notes
and securities to the value of two hundred millions of francs.’
Two hundred millions! That is to say, in English money, £8,000,000! I
stared at her in amazement--almost in disbelief. She went on speaking
with the most perfect composure, as if nothing out of the ordinary
were being discussed. It was this self-command, this air of the
commonplace with which she invested the most fantastic statements,
which constituted the secret of her power.
‘This sum, which originally amounted to only one hundred and twenty
millions, does not belong to me. It is a sacred deposit, intrusted
to me many years ago, since which time the interest has steadily
accumulated.’
‘But, then, whose----?’ I tried to put in. But Madame Humbert would
not permit me to speak.
‘It is useless to question me, monsieur. Think what you like
concerning the true ownership of this money, but do not expect me
to enlighten you. All that it is necessary for you to know is that
these millions constitute a war fund, to be employed in a certain
event, and on behalf of a cause which I was brought up to hold dearer
than life.’
‘A war fund!’ I could not resist exclaiming.
My companion ignored the interruption.
‘From which it follows that the whole sum must always be available,
at an hour’s notice, in the hands of a trusty agent. Hitherto I have
been that agent; but I have met with misfortunes, and a danger has
arisen that this sum may fall into the hands of my private creditors.’
She paused for a moment, and then added, in a less firm tone--
‘The custody of this vast sum has been my ruin. In order to use it
to advantage I was obliged to invent all sorts of fables to account
for its being in my possession. People insisted on treating me as a
rich woman, they forced loans upon me; I considered it permissible
to borrow money on the security of this fortune of which I was
merely the guardian; I managed my own affairs badly--in short I
am insolvent, and shall shortly be obliged to go into hiding. My
creditors have asked the Courts for an order to open the safe which
contains the millions, and unless they are removed in time I shall
have incurred the vengeance of those whose cause I have betrayed.’
She shuddered. Thérèse Humbert, the strong-minded, imperturbable
woman who had witnessed suicides committed on her account, trembled
as she referred to this vengeance, which was so much more terrible to
her than any penalties in the power of the French Courts to impose.
‘In a word, Monsieur V----,’ she resumed, throwing off her momentary
weakness, ‘you must relieve me of the custody of this treasure.’
I sat as if mesmerised while I received this staggering proposal,
which the extraordinary personage beside me made in the
matter-of-fact tone of one who is asking another to undertake the
posting of a letter.
This woman, whom I had never seen before, who was beginning to be
publicly branded as an adventuress, and who had just confessed
herself to be a bankrupt, if not something which the law would call
by a harsher name--this woman calmly informed me that she proposed
handing over to me a sum equal to the revenue of a kingdom, to be
held, as far as I could see, for an unknown length of time, for an
unknown owner, and for an unknown purpose.
If it had been any other person in the world who had made me such a
proposition, I am certain that I should have laughed at it as a hoax,
or, at least, demanded the most circumstantial details and assurances
before going further. What was there about this Thérèse Humbert, with
her figure of a bourgeois, her expressionless face, and cold grey
eye, which compelled me to take her seriously--which made me, against
my judgment, submit to become her instrument? In the power of the
human will there are mysteries which philosophy has not yet fathomed.
It is true that at this time Madame Humbert still retained the
confidence of a very large section of society. There had, as yet,
been no hint of any criminal proceedings against her. Even if there
had been, moreover, she had so clearly separated her position as
trustee of the millions from her private dealings, that she had
convinced me that I could carry out her instructions with regard
to the fund, without being guilty of any dishonesty towards the
creditors who were proceeding against her.
Be that as it may, I consented to consider the matter.
My companion at once set herself to extract from me a definite
undertaking.
‘There is no time to lose,’ she insisted. ‘Although I am exhausting
every legal form, in order to postpone the decision, my advocate has
warned me that I must not expect it to be delayed much longer. I
shall not be easy till the millions are safely in your hands.’
‘And when I have received them, what then?’ I asked. ‘Will it not be
known that the sum is in my possession, and shall I not be exposed to
proceedings in my turn?’
‘That is what we have got to avoid,’ was the answer. ‘It will be
necessary for you to take the money with the greatest secrecy.
Fortunately, this is not an affair of bankers. The notes and bills
are lying ready in the safe in my house, and do not require to be
endorsed. You will not be asked for a receipt even.’
I was more and more overcome by the sublime daring of this woman’s
ideas.
‘Then you simply wish me to take the fund from you and hold it at
your disposal?’
‘At the disposal of those to whom it belongs,’ Thérèse corrected me.
‘When the time comes to reclaim these millions I may be out of reach.
That will not matter to you. All you will have to do is to keep the
treasure in some safe hiding-place, and deliver it up to the first
person who comes to you and pronounces in your ear three words.’
She bent her lips towards me and whispered three words of such
notable significance that I was left in little doubt as to the
purpose for which the mysterious hoard was being kept in readiness.
Although the light thus obtained served to relieve my mind of the
fear that I was mixing in any vulgar swindle, yet at the same time it
showed me that there were grave risks to be run, and that I might
easily find myself in the meshes of the criminal law.
I again asked for time to consider. Madame Humbert’s sole reply was
an offer of terms so liberal that it would have been quarrelling with
my profession to refuse. She smiled with grim satisfaction as she
read in my face that I gave in.
‘Then that is settled, monsieur,’ she remarked, preparing to rise. ‘I
will only add that the sooner you get to work the better it will be
for everybody.’
‘When do you propose to hand the millions over to me?’ was my natural
question.
‘I do not propose to hand them over to you at all,’ she responded
coolly. ‘You will take the money out of the safe in your own fashion,
and without consulting me.’
I gazed at her in consternation.
‘You mean that I should steal this two hundred millions!’ I gasped.
‘That will be the best plan, I think,’ said Madame Humbert with an
approving nod.
I have been concerned in some curious transactions in my time, and
in some dangerous ones, but now I felt that I was fairly out of
my depth. I knew that I was nothing to Thérèse Humbert; and if it
suited her convenience to use me as a cat’s-paw in the game she was
playing with the authorities I might very well find myself in an ugly
situation.
What, for example, could be easier than for this accomplished
intriguer to set a trap for me; have me arrested, perhaps, in the
attempt to break into an empty safe, and thus establish a defence for
herself? She would be able to pose as the victim of a robbery; and I
should be held responsible for the disappearance of these millions
whose existence was in dispute.
I felt my companion’s eyes fixed on my face in watchful scrutiny
as these reflections passed through my mind. My decision was taken
swiftly.
‘You shall hear from me in the morning, madame,’ I said sharply,
rising from my seat. ‘Till then, _au revoir_.’
And I went out of the room, and out of the house, without giving her
an opportunity to press me further.
When the morning came I was seated in my office as usual, engaged in
deciphering a confidential cable from the President of Colombia, when
my secretary entered the room and informed me that a veiled lady, who
declined to give her name, wished to see me in private.
‘Show Madame Humbert in,’ I said, emphasising the name.
[Illustration: “My visitor started as she heard her name, and threw
up her veil with a gesture of astonishment and indignation.”]
The secretary, who understood what was required of him, went out,
and immediately returned with the visitor.
‘Madame Humbert,’ he announced with as much confidence as if the
great Thérèse had intrusted him with her card.
On the previous night Madame Humbert had enjoyed the superiority over
me, I confess it. This morning the tables were turned, and I had
brought off the first _coup_.
My visitor started as she heard her name, and threw up her veil with
a gesture of astonishment and indignation combined.
‘Madame Humbert!’ I cried, pretending to be equally surprised. Then,
as the secretary retired, I added--‘This publicity, is it quite
prudent, my dear madame?’
Thérèse gave me a glance in which I read something like fear, as she
dropped into a seat.
‘But I don’t understand, Monsieur V----. I don’t know how that young
man learned who I was.’
I shrugged my shoulders.
‘It is the business of my staff to penetrate mysteries, madame. But
you may depend on my secretary’s discretion. It will be awkward if
the police have followed you here, however. If M. Rattache were
to learn that we had been in communication, I might be obliged to
withdraw from the case.’
Madame Humbert clasped her hands in agitation. Her demeanour was no
longer that of the cold, masterful woman who had conversed with me in
Baron Y----’s smoking-room.
‘Listen, monsieur! Is it possible that you do not guess the object of
my visit?’
‘Unless it is to give me further instructions on the subject of your
affair, no.’
Thérèse wrung her hands.
‘It is to tell you, on the contrary, that everything is lost. At the
very moment that we were talking together, a real robber, unknown to
me, was rifling my safe of everything!’
‘You are serious, madame, I suppose?’
‘Serious!’ It is impossible to describe the tragedy in her voice and
air. ‘I tell you, monsieur, that I left Baron Y----’s within an hour
of speaking to you. I drove straight home, went to the safe, opened
it, and found inside a button and a centime.’
‘Really!’
Madame Humbert gazed at me desperately.
‘You do not believe me, perhaps, monsieur? Yet I swear to you as a
Christian woman--I swear as a mother--that there were two hundred
millions of francs in that safe when I came to dine at Baron Y----’s.’
‘I have not the least doubt of it, madame.’
‘Then what do you suspect?’
‘It is clear to me that you have been robbed since.’
‘By whom?’
‘By some one in your confidence, perhaps. Some one to whom you had
confided the guardianship of this fund, in which his Royal Highness
the ---- of ---- is so much interested.’
Madame Humbert glared at me in anger.
‘You are mocking me,’ she cried fiercely. ‘I came here to ask if you
would undertake the recovery of this money from the thief.’
‘That is unnecessary, madame. All that your friends have to do is to
approach him, and breathe in his ear the three words, ---- ---- ----.’
‘But if we do not know who he is!’ cried the distracted plotter.
‘Oh, if you only require to know who he is, that is soon settled. I
will send you the name of the robber on the day on which your affair
terminates in the Courts.’
A light began to break upon the mind of the excited woman.
‘Monsieur V----!’ she exclaimed. ‘Is it possible----?’
I drew myself up.
‘Silence, if you please, madame. I have made you a promise which I
shall know how to keep. In the meantime it is clear that we have
nothing more to say to one another, and that the sooner you are out
of this building the better it will be for all parties.’
Madame Humbert rose, gave me a glance in which curiosity, respect,
and apprehension were strangely mingled, and quitted my presence
without venturing to say another word.
I have never seen her since.
The following day, as I entered my private room at the usual hour,
I was conscious of a singular impression, in the nature of a
presentiment. Some men possess a sense, more subtle than sight or
smell, by means of which they are able to detect a personal presence,
more especially one hostile to themselves. I have been well served
by an instinct of this kind on more than one occasion, and now it
asserted itself so strongly that for an instant I believed that there
must be some one hiding in my room.
A glance around removed this suspicion. Everything was in its place
as usual--was even _more_ in its place than usual, if I may be
permitted the hyperbole.
I went to the secret drawer in which I kept the cipher despatches
concerning the Panama affair (on which I was engaged about this time).
It seemed to me that the spring worked a little _more_ smoothly than
when I had last opened the drawer. The papers inside lay exactly as
I had left them overnight. Struck by a sudden thought, I pulled the
drawer right out, lit a match, and examined the dusty floor of the
recess.
I was rewarded by the sight of one--two--three distinct prints of
finger-tips in the dust.
That sight, of course, told me everything. My office had been
ransacked during the night by the French police, and those prints had
been left by fingers tapping in search of the hiding-place of the
Humbert millions.
It was a startling thing to find M. Rattache so swiftly on my trail,
and I inwardly cursed the imprudence which had permitted Madame
Humbert to pay me her tell-tale visit. I put on my hat and hurried
round to the little apartment in the Quartier Latin which I use for
appointments with persons whom it would be inexpedient to receive
openly. As I expected, I found M. Rattache had been before me. His
myrmidons had done their work no less thoroughly here than at my
headquarters.
I always enjoy a struggle with a foe worthy of my steel, and this
was by no means my first bout with the famous detective force of
Paris. On my first settling in Paris, their attentions to me had been
incessant and disagreeable, and it had taken all my ingenuity to
keep my secrets from them. By degrees we had drifted into a species
of informal armistice, it being understood, rather than agreed,
that they abandoned the attempt to follow my proceedings, while I
refrained from acting against them in the criminal affairs with which
they were chiefly concerned.
Between M. Rattache, the brilliant head of the force, and myself
there had sprung up a warm private friendship, based on mutual
respect. I knew that he would not have permitted his men to trouble
me without pretty good grounds for so doing; and this made me the
more anxious.
My first thought, after visiting the Quartier Latin, was for my
private residence. I felt pretty sure that the police could not have
been there in the night without my knowledge, and I asked myself what
plan the fertile brain of my rival would devise in order to search
the premises without giving me warning.
I hailed a fiacre, and bade the driver go to my house at his best
speed. It was not yet eleven o’clock, so there was room for hope that
M. Rattache had not begun his attack in this quarter. If he had, I
should probably catch his men at work.
As we drew near the street in which my house is situated we were
overtaken by a fire-engine, which dashed by at a gallop. Struck by
a sudden apprehension, I offered my driver a golden _pourboire_ to
double his speed.
[Illustration: “I was stopped at the barricade by a pompous sergeant
of police.”]
It was too late. As we drove up I beheld a thick black column of
smoke issuing from my house. A barricade had been formed; half a
dozen fire-engines were drawn up in front, though it was remarkable
that not one had yet begun to play upon the building; and every floor
appeared to be swarming with firemen, who were gutting the house of
everything it contained.
In spite of my vexation at the sight of my ruined home, I could
not withhold my tribute of admiration to M. Rattache’s promptness
and resource. Under the pretence of a fire, which he had of course
contrived to start, and which was well under control, he had turned
in a horde of detectives, disguised as firemen, with instructions to
pull the building to pieces, if necessary, in search of the Humbert
millions.
It was useless for me to think of interfering. I was stopped at the
barricade by a pompous sergeant of police, who took down my name
and address, rebuked me severely for my negligence in permitting my
house to catch fire, and forbade me to interrupt the firemen in their
benevolent labours on my behalf.
Walking to and fro on the pavement, and scrutinising every article
brought out from the building by his assistants, I perceived M.
Rattache himself. In a minute he caught sight of me, and came towards
me with extended arms.
He knew, of course, that I thoroughly understood the game.
Nevertheless, his expression of sympathetic distress was perfect.
‘My dear V----! What an unlucky chance! Behold me overwhelmed with
grief at your misfortune!’
‘You are too good,’ I returned drily. ‘There is nothing of any value
in the house, I am glad to say. This accident will merely give me the
annoyance of sleeping in a hotel for the next few nights.’
‘Do not say that, my dear colleague,’ M. Rattache responded eagerly.
‘You will confer a real favour on me by consenting to accept my
hospitality for a short time, till your house is ready for you again.’
I glanced at him with suspicion. Did this mean that I was to be under
arrest?
‘I cannot thank you sufficiently for such kindness,’ was my answer.
‘But I am afraid I should cause you too much inconvenience. My hours
are very irregular; sometimes it is necessary for me to be at my
office in the middle of the night.’
‘Do not let yourself be restrained by such considerations,’ he
replied earnestly. ‘You shall be as free as if you were under your
own roof.’
It would have been ungracious to persist in my refusal, especially
as I fancied from M. Rattache’s tone that he had already come to
the conclusion that his raid on my house was a mistake, and really
regretted the inconvenience he had caused me.
On the whole, the arrangement was not such a bad one for me. While I
should have been exposed to the surveillance of my antagonist in any
case, this plan would place him under mine. We should be like the
combatants in the holmgang, who were strapped together, and placed on
a small island, to hack each other to pieces with knives.
I moved into my new quarters the same day, some of my personal
baggage being brought round by the pretended firemen, who must have
wondered to see me on such terms with their chief. Rattache presented
me to his wife, a most charming woman with three little daughters,
whose hearts I immediately won by organising all sorts of games at
blindman’s buff and hide-and-seek.
During the next few days I received cipher wires from my various
agents abroad, informing me that their apartments had been searched,
and that they were being shadowed by unknown men.
I was pleased with these despatches, which proved to me that my men
were on the alert. I sent encouraging replies, and persuaded Madame
Rattache to accompany me to the theatre.
I had already visited a Turkish bath in company with my host, in
order to afford him every facility for ascertaining that I was not
carrying any portion of the £8,000,000 on my person.
At the end of a month my house was in perfect order again. M.
Rattache was beginning to feel a little uneasy, perhaps, at my great
progress in the friendship of madame, for he raised no objection when
I proposed to bring my stay with him to a close. The little girls
were in despair at my going, and Madame Rattache earnestly pressed me
to come and see them frequently.
Months passed away, and France and Europe were absorbed in learning
of the sudden flight of the Humberts, the discovery of the empty
safe, the capture of the fugitives, and the trial and sentence of the
majestic Thérèse.
As she was leaving the dock at the end of the case, one of the
warders slipped into her hand a piece of paper which contained simply
my initials--A. V.
I had gone straight from Baron Y----’s house, at the end of our
conversation, to the Humbert mansion, gained admittance by means
of the master-key which I usually carry about me, opened the safe
without the least difficulty, and carried off its contents--all
before Madame Humbert had left the Baron’s door.
[Illustration: “The chief detective came close up to me, put his
mouth to my ear, and whispered, ‘_Le drapeau blanc!_’”]
This instantaneous action, which I had considered necessary for my
own protection, turned out to be the best possible course for the
safety of the millions. Now I had redeemed my promise to Madame
Humbert, by admitting that I was in possession of the lost
treasure, and I waited confidently for the person who should come to
claim it.
Exactly two days afterwards I was surprised by a visit from M.
Rattache, whom I had not seen for some time, a slight coolness having
resulted from his abortive efforts to surprise my secret.
The chief detective, instead of taking the chair I offered him, came
close up to me, put his mouth to my ear, and whispered: ‘_Le drapeau
blanc!_’
The white flag! Is there any English reader who does not know that in
France the white flag signifies the ancient standard of the Valois
and the Bourbons--the inseparable emblem of Legitimist royalty, which
the Comte de Chambord refused to exchange for the Revolutionary
tricolor, even to obtain the throne?
I stared at M. Rattache, confounded to find in the head of the
Republican police the confidential agent of the Monarchists.
He enjoyed my astonishment for a minute in silence. Then he said
aloud--
‘Now, my dear V----, perhaps you will reveal to me the secret of that
hiding-place which has baffled the efforts of my best men for so
long.’
I smiled quietly as I took up my hat.
‘On first receiving this fund I simply put the notes and bills
in a registered parcel and sent it to my agent in Brussels, with
instructions to put it in a fresh cover and send it to and fro
through the post till further notice. But on finding that you were
interested in my correspondence I naturally adopted another plan.
I will take you at once to the spot where I have deposited these
millions, which I shall not be sorry to get rid of.’
I led the way out into the street, called a fiacre, and whispered an
address into the driver’s ear.
It was my turn to enjoy the discomfiture of my colleague, as the
carriage drew up before his own door.
‘Here!’ was all he could gasp.
I paid the driver and dismissed him.
‘Surely there could be no spot more safe from the perquisitions of
the police,’ I answered mockingly.
M. Rattache conducted me in, and led the way towards his study.
‘Not that way,’ I objected. ‘It is necessary for us to go upstairs.’
With ever-deepening chagrin M. Rattache followed me, as I ascended to
the schoolroom in which his little daughters were at play with their
dolls.
They rushed to embrace me with exclamations of joy.
‘Isabel,’ I said to the eldest, a bright girl of twelve, ‘now you
shall show the others the hiding-place where we put the box of
bricks.’
A cry of delight greeted this proposal. Isabel ran gaily in front to
lead the party into her own little bedroom, where, under a loose
plank, which this observant child had discovered, and the knowledge
of which she had kept to herself with that marvellous secrecy of
which children are sometimes capable, lay--the Humbert millions!
Isabel was a little disappointed to find, when the box was opened,
that her bricks had been changed into stupid pieces of paper. But I
explained that a fairy had been at work, and that a new and better
set of bricks would arrive by the next post.
And so, I am relieved to say, terminated my connection with the
Humbert Case.
XII
THE BLACK POPE
I must be pardoned if I exercise a certain reserve in telling the
story of the most delicate of all the affairs in which I have been
engaged. While the interests concerned were, in their own nature,
purely political, the fact that they centred round the spiritual Head
of Christendom imposes on me restraints which I am bound to recognise.
I cannot recall at this moment whether, in the course of these
reminiscences, I have had occasion to mention that I was honoured on
several occasions by the confidence of the illustrious Pontiff who,
in the course of less than a generation, exalted the Papacy to a
height of power and reverent esteem such as it had scarcely enjoyed
since the Middle Ages.
To me, as to all who have paid any attention to the history of their
own times, the passing away of Leo XIII. marked an epoch in the
history of the world. I was in Paris, awaiting the announcement which
would plunge two continents into mourning, when, an hour before the
fatal bulletin reached the newspaper offices, I received a despatch
desiring me to start immediately for Rome, and wait upon the young
King of Italy in the Palace of the Quirinal.
Whether in consequence of my connection with the Vatican or not, it
happened that I had never been directly employed in the service of
the House of Savoy. I have told the story of my unavailing efforts to
save the life of King Humbert; but on that occasion I acted as the
agent of the friendly monarch of another country.
During my journey to Rome in obedience to the royal summons, my mind
was deeply exercised by the problem presented by the disastrous
breach between the Italian Kingship and the Papacy.
When the troops of Victor Emmanuel I., thirty-four years ago, marched
into the City of the Popes, to make it the capital of United Italy,
no one foresaw the difficulties which would flow from the refusal of
the Popes to abandon their rights as the temporal Sovereigns of Rome
and the States of the Church.
Other dethroned sovereigns have fled from their lost dominions, and
gradually sunk out of sight. But the Popes, seated in the Vatican,
and solemnly excommunicating the dynasty which has displaced them,
have rendered insecure the whole fabric of the Italian monarchy.
I myself, divided between my political sympathies as an American
citizen, and my loyalty as a Catholic to the Head of my Church, had
often sought in vain for some way of reconciling the venerable rights
of the Chair of Peter with the patriotic aspirations of the Italian
people.
The various solutions put forward from time to time, such as the
cession to the Pope of a small slice of territory including the
Vatican, seemed to me inadequate and mean. Some loftier treatment
of the situation seemed to be called for, but no statesman,
ecclesiastical or secular, had yet been found to propose it.
Now, with the accession of a new Pope, it was possible to indulge
hopes of a new policy. I encouraged myself to believe that Victor
Emmanuel II. had sent for me that I might assist him in such an
endeavour.
The character of this young ruler had already aroused my interest
and curiosity. In his father’s lifetime he was unknown to the public
until he suddenly stepped into the foreground, at the time of the
Abyssinian disasters, as the determined opponent of Crispi’s policy
of adventure, and the champion of peace.
Since his accession he had won golden opinions by his modesty,
benevolence, and practical energy in the work of government. But
he had as yet given no indications of any marked individuality or
policy of his own.
Within an hour of my arrival in Rome I found myself in his Majesty’s
presence.
His reception of me was not merely gracious but cordial. In a few
well-chosen words he thanked me for my services at the time of the
tragedy of Monza.
‘I believe you have been employed in the secret service of the
Vatican?’ King Victor proceeded.
I bowed again.
‘Will you tell me whether that constitutes any obstacle to your
serving me?’ he inquired.
I hesitated.
‘I should feel embarrassed if your Majesty were to ask me to act
_against_ the Vatican,’ I ventured to say.
‘But suppose I were to ask you to undertake the office of mediator,
to promote a reconciliation between the Papacy and the Italian
nation?’
‘Then, sire, you would be offering me the task which I covet above
all others, and which I should feel to be the crown of my career.’
The young King made a gesture of delight.
‘That is fortunate indeed! Listen, monsieur! From a boy my heart has
bled at the thought of this miserable estrangement, so fraught with
danger to the cause of religion as well as to the national freedom.
In addition I must tell you that I feel very deeply my own position.
I have a conviction that our House cannot prosper while it remains
under the curse of the Church.
‘As far as I am concerned,’ Victor Emmanuel went on, ‘there is no
sacrifice I am not prepared to make, even to the laying down of
my crown, in order to win the forgiveness of the Holy See, and to
establish good relations between the Church and the nation. But I
need not say that I can do nothing by myself. Unless I can succeed in
carrying the Parliament and the people with me, I should simply make
things worse than they are at present.’
His Majesty paused for a minute, and then resumed, watching my face
anxiously.
‘I have been seeking for years for some means of appeasing the Holy
Father that would not be rejected by the secular politicians. And the
plan which has developed itself in my mind is this:--
‘In the Middle Ages, perhaps I need not remind you, the Popes enjoyed
but a scanty authority in the Roman States. Their authority was
defied by the usurping barons, and even in the City of Rome they
frequently saw authority exercised by the senate and people. Yet at
the very same epoch they were wielding tremendous powers over Europe;
they were able to dethrone emperors; a King of England laid down
his crown at the feet of a Papal Legate; and the Kings of Naples
acknowledged the suzerainty of the Popes by an annual tribute.’
I began to see what was coming, and testified my admiration by a
glance.
‘I propose,’ King Victor said impressively, ‘to acknowledge the Holy
Father as the suzerain of the Italian kingdom. I am prepared to lay
my crown at his feet, and to receive it again as his gift. I propose
to hold myself as the vassal of his Holiness, to pay a tribute,
instead of the pension which has been refused, and to exercise my
power of veto over legislation in obedience to the Pope’s directions.
In short, I am willing to efface myself, and to govern Italy as the
deputy of the Holy See.’
I listened with deep emotion to the noble young King as he unfolded
his scheme, a scheme in which it was evident that he intended himself
to be the sacrifice which would procure peace. At the same time I
perceived certain difficulties in the way. The successors of St.
Peter, in modern times at all events, had been accustomed to rule
over their limited dominions as absolute monarchs. Was it to be
hoped that they would consent to accept a constitutional authority
in exchange, even though that authority extended over the whole
peninsula?
Yet the See of Rome, as suzerain of Italy, would be able to re-enter
the field of international politics as a great Power. Alliances might
follow which would place the Pope in the position of president
over a great Catholic league embracing Austria, Spain, Portugal,
Belgium, and possibly France as well, to say nothing of the powerful
leverage which the Church was able to exercise over the policy of
semi-Catholic powers, such as Germany, Great Britain, and the United
States.
Carried away by these dazzling visions, I exclaimed aloud--
‘I believe in your Majesty! If only the new Pope will accept your
plans!’
King Victor flushed with gratification at my outburst.
‘That is the task I am going to intrust to you,’ he announced. ‘I
have made careful inquiries, and I believe there is one Cardinal who,
if he were elected, would be likely to welcome my overtures.’
‘And his name, sire?’
‘Cardinal Sarto, the Patriarch-Archbishop of Venice.’
My face fell. I had scarcely heard of his Eminence of Venice by
name. Certainly he was not among those cardinals--the _Papabili_,
as they are termed--whose candidature was taken seriously by the
ecclesiastical politicians of the Vatican.
‘Is Cardinal Sarto a possible candidate, sire?’ I ventured to object.
‘You must make him so,’ King Victor said earnestly. ‘I rely on you to
secure his election.’
Although not lacking in self-confidence, I shrank before this
tremendous task. Apart from my scruples as a Catholic--and I was by
no means sure how far it was lawful for a layman to interfere in a
Papal election--I doubted my power to influence the choice of the
Sacred College in the short time at my disposal.
‘In ten days from now the Conclave will begin,’ I murmured
reflectively.
‘I know it,’ broke in Victor Emmanuel. ‘I want you to be present in
the Conclave as my secret agent.’
I trembled. The secrecy of the Conclave is guarded with the greatest
care. In what way could I possibly gain admission to the private
deliberations of the Cardinals?
The King answered my unspoken doubts.
‘In ten days the Cardinals will enter the Conclave, each with a
single attendant, and the door will be walled up, not to be reopened
until Christendom again has a Pope. It is necessary for you to be
inside that walled-up door.’
‘I must enter in the character of attendant to one of the Cardinals!’
I exclaimed.
‘You must enter as the servant of Cardinal Salvatierra,’ his Majesty
declared.
I frowned slightly. It seemed to me that my employer, in his
enthusiasm, was going a little too fast. I did not like having so
much arranged for me in advance. This Cardinal Salvatierra, who was
he; and in what way had he come to lend himself to the purpose of the
King of Italy?
‘Does the Cardinal enjoy your Majesty’s confidence?’ I asked drily.
‘Not in the sense that you do, Monsieur V----,’ the King answered.
‘Salvatierra is one of the ornamental members of the College. He
is a scholar and antiquarian, not a Churchman or politician. His
collection of intaglios is said to be the finest in Rome.’
‘May I venture to ask how much his Eminence has been told?’
‘Only that I desire the election of a Pope who will be well disposed
towards Italy. It has always been customary for the Sacred College
to receive representations from the Catholic Powers of their views
and wishes on the subject of Papal election. The only irregularity in
this case is that, as the Italian kingdom is not recognised by the
Papacy, I can only communicate with the College indirectly.’
[Illustration: “I found the Cardinal absorbed in the inspection of
his newly arrived treasures.”]
I listened to his Majesty with considerable inward misgiving. I
was more than a little afraid of the guilt I might be incurring by
entering the Conclave. At the same time I told myself that Cardinal
Salvatierra had a right to introduce whom he pleased as his
attendant; and if he was satisfied to take me, it was not for me to
raise objections.
After some further conversation with his Majesty, I retired to a
hotel and effected a transformation which gave me the appearance of a
respectable upper servant, such as a steward or valet, in an Italian
noble family. Thus attired, I made my way round to the Salvatierra
Palace, and sent up my name to his Eminence as Jacopo Luigi.
‘I doubt if his Eminence will receive you to-night,’ the porter
informed me. ‘A case of exquisite cameos of untold value has just
arrived for his collection--a gift from some great personage, I
believe; and his Eminence is hard at work unpacking them.’
I had my own suspicion as to the source of this truly regal offering,
and felt more than ever uneasy as to the lawfulness of my proceedings.
However, it was not long before a message came down that I was to go
up and wait upon his Eminence at once.
I found the Cardinal absorbed in the inspection of his newly arrived
treasures. Holding a delicate camel’s-hair brush in one hand, he was
going over the cameos, carefully removing every speck of dust and
holding them up to the light in search of possible blemishes.
His Eminence was a tall, stately personage, refined and ascetic in
feature, with a faded blue eye which fell on me with an expression of
the most complete indifference.
‘You are Jacopo Luigi,’ he observed, glancing towards a letter which
lay open on a pier-table. ‘My nephew, Count Baldachino, recommends
you to me very strongly. He says’--the Cardinal interrupted himself
to scrutinise a fresh gem with the minutest care--‘he says that you
are thoroughly discreet and faithful. You understand the particular
necessity for discretion in my service, no doubt?’
He took his eye off the cameo for an instant, to dart a glance at me,
so keen and penetrating that it was as if a hidden man had suddenly
sprung to the window and looked out. Before I could respond, the
Cardinal’s back was turned to me again, and he was dusting away
harder than ever.
‘I perfectly understand, Eminence,’ I muttered.
‘That is quite right, then. I take you into my service. At a salary
of 800 lire. Introduce yourself to the master of my household.’
These sentences were punctuated by eager movements, as his Eminence
proceeded in his examination of the newly arrived treasures.
I waited for more, but finding that the Cardinal had apparently
forgotten my presence, in his antiquarian enthusiasm, I moved towards
the door and withdrew.
I need not describe the household. I found myself received at first
with the jealousy natural on the part of old servants towards a new
comer, but I soon got on good terms with those whom I wished to
conciliate.
From the gossip of the servants’ hall I gathered many important hints
about the forthcoming election.
Had merit only been considered, the long and important services of
Cardinal Rampolla would have given him a paramount claim on the
tiara. But his strength of character had aroused the dread of those
Cardinals who consider that a weak Pope means a powerful College, and
_vice versâ_.
Various other names were being talked about as popular candidates,
but among them I did not once catch that of King Victor’s nominee,
the saintly, simple-hearted Archbishop of Venice.
Each of the two great Mendicant Orders, the Dominicans and
Franciscans, had its favourite, for whom the brethren were eagerly
working. But I could not learn the name of any Cardinal who was being
supported by the ubiquitous and powerful Company of Jesus.
This was in itself a suspicious sign. The jealousy--perhaps I ought
to say the fear--of the Jesuits entertained by the ordinary hierarchy
of the Church is so intense that in all probability if the Jesuits
had shown their hand by openly supporting a particular Cardinal,
that would have been enough to ensure his exclusion.
I could only surmise that they were working in the dark, or, perhaps,
waiting for the opportunity to intervene and turn the scale between
the final candidates.
As soon as the obsequies of Leo XIII. had been duly performed, the
Cardinals in solemn procession entered the Hall of the Conclave, and
the doors were locked.
Inside the vast chamber a small wooden cell, just large enough
to contain a narrow bed and a chair, had been erected for the
accommodation of each Cardinal.
The occupation of these tiny compartments was decided by lot, so it
will be understood that I experienced a sensation of uneasy surprise
on finding that Cardinal Salvatierra had obtained the cubicle
adjoining that of the Patriarch of Venice.
I do not feel myself at liberty to violate the secrecy of the
Conclave by relating minutely the steps which I took to secure
support for Cardinal Sarto. I obtained a few votes in the first
ballot, but not enough to afford any promise of ultimate success.
Cardinal Rampolla struck his first and last blow. He polled his full
number of votes, and fell short of the requisite two-thirds majority.
Then realising that the jealousy of his great powers was too strong
to be overcome, he retired from the contest.
This left the field open to the two rival Mendicant Orders. Their
nominees, whom I think it more respectful not to name, polled vote
for vote, but neither could command anything like the number of
suffrages required.
It appeared likely that the Conclave would last some time. In the
second ballot I was surprised to find that a fair number of votes was
given to my supposed master. Cardinal Salvatierra appeared equally
surprised, and a little annoyed by this circumstance.
‘I wish they would ignore me,’ he said testily, when I brought him
his dinner. ‘They know I am not a possible Pope, and they will injure
me with the successful candidate.’
I said nothing, but an idea was already germinating in my mind.
Before the next scrutiny I waited with the utmost secrecy upon
the two Cardinals who were managing the election on behalf of the
Dominicans and Franciscans respectively.
To each of their Eminences I said practically the same thing.
‘You cannot succeed in carrying your nominee. Neither can your
rivals. Meanwhile the Jesuits are secretly preparing to gather in the
scattered votes and concentrate them on their own candidate.’
‘Who is that?’ was the eager question I received in each case.
‘You will see in the next scrutiny. Unless you stand firm, and refuse
to accede, you will have a Jesuit Pope.’
This threat was necessary, because when a candidate obtains so large
a proportion of votes as to make his election seem certain at the
next ballot, it is a very usual thing for the supporters of the
beaten candidates to go over at once, in order to have the credit of
voting for the new Pope.
The next scrutiny was taken. The name of Salvatierra came out
high upon the list, wanting only four votes of the two-thirds
majority. The Franciscan and Dominican Cardinals stood firm. But the
unsuspecting Archbishop of Venice, who did not dream that his own
candidature was anything but a side manœuvre, earnestly implored his
own few supporters to accede to Salvatierra, and thus complete the
election of a Pope.
Fortunately I had anticipated this action on his part, and had
obtained the most binding pledges from the few Cardinals I had won
over. There was no election, and Salvatierra returned to his cell,
unable to conceal his mortification.
‘Luigi,’ he said to me that night, ‘you have seen how things are
going. Against my will I am destined to receive the tiara. This
places us both in a different position. You have done your best to
serve the personage who desired me to take you into my service, and
it is not your fault that you have failed to secure the election of
a pro-Italian Cardinal. Now I can place it in your power to achieve
the same end by another means. If you will give me the King’s votes
in the next ballot, I will pledge myself to negotiate in a friendly
and liberal spirit for the settlement of the differences between the
Papacy and the Kingdom.’
‘Your Eminence can escape from the burden of the triple crown,’ I
replied, with affected simplicity, ‘by causing your own supporters to
accede to any one of the other candidates.’
‘You mean to Cardinal Sarto,’ his Eminence retorted. ‘You do not
suppose that my friends would elect a Dominican or Franciscan puppet?
Let me warn you, my dear Signor Luigi, or Monsieur V----, that the
Cardinal on whom your master places his reliance, is not strong
enough to carry out the reconciliation you desire. Giuseppe Sarto is
a saint, not a statesman.’
I felt there was some truth in this warning, but I had my
instructions, and I could not in this case look beyond them. I
promised to weigh his Eminence’s words, and retired to sound the
feeling of the Conclave.
I found that the election was already virtually decided. The
extraordinary leap upward of Salvatierra, following on my warning,
had convinced the two Mendicant Orders of their danger. They had
communicated their own fears and suspicions to the rest of the
College, and the fatal whisper--‘The Jesuit candidate’--had already
run round the Conclave. The two Orders having agreed to withdraw
their champions, there remained only one candidate in the field.
At the next ballot Cardinal Sarto, the nominee of the excommunicated
King of Italy, was triumphantly elected Pope.
The amazement of the saintly prelate, who had remained in profound
ignorance of the whole of the negotiations and intrigues, softened
the hearts of even his rivals, and convinced the most worldly-minded
of the electors that they had involuntarily made the right choice.
Salvatierra was the first to offer the kiss of homage to his new
sovereign. His Eminence’s parting words to myself as we quitted the
Conclave made me fear that my triumph was more apparent than real.
‘You have chosen the White Pope, Monsieur V----. It remains to see
how you will fare at the hands of the Black Pope.’
He returned to his palace and his curiosities, to all appearance well
contented to resume his _rôle_ of harmless antiquary.
But I did not doubt that a full report of all that had passed would
be laid at once before the formidable personage with whose opposition
he had threatened me.
In a villa a short distance outside the walls of Rome resides an
ascetic recluse, never seen in any public ceremonies, visited only
from time to time by a few quietly dressed priests and laymen, to all
appearance as insignificant as himself. This is the Black Pope--in
other words, the General of the Company of Jesus.
Very soon after the election of Pius X. I applied for and obtained a
private interview with his Holiness.
My previous connection with the secret service of the Vatican
rendered this easy.
To no one but the Holy Father himself did I intend to reveal my
character as the agent of Victor Emmanuel II.
So great was my veneration for the Vicar of Christ, so intense
my admiration for the personal character of the new Pope, that I
had determined never to confess to his Holiness the part which I
had played in his election, lest his wrath should fall upon me in
consequence.
As I knelt before Pius X. in the small and simply furnished room in
which he had chosen to install himself, I saw his eye fall on me with
an expression of pity and curiosity.
‘You do well to kneel, my son,’ the Holy Father said, in a low,
gentle voice. ‘You have erred very grievously.’
I looked up in astonishment. Pius X. pointed to a small table which
stood beside his chair.
‘What do you see there?’ he asked, preserving the same tone of mild
reproof.
I glanced at the table, and beheld a portion of a railway ticket.
‘When I left Venice a fortnight ago, I took a return ticket,’ the
Pope continued. ‘What you see is the half which I am never going to
use. Take it. It will be a souvenir for you, and may remind you to
beware of the vanity of meddling in spiritual concerns.’
Amazed by this form of address, I rose from my knees, and
respectfully possessed myself of the precious keepsake, which I
thrust into my inmost pocket.
‘I came to Rome,’ the Holy Father pursued calmly, ‘without other hope
or ambition than to record my vote for the most worthy member of the
Sacred College. Even had I wished to be Pope I should not have been
presumptuous enough to put myself forward as a candidate for the
Chair of Saint Peter.
[Illustration: “Saddened and subdued, I quitted the audience chamber
of Pius X.”]
‘It appears that there were others, with more worldly motives, who
entertained ambitions of the kind. For my part, when I learned that
some Cardinals had recorded their votes for me I had no feeling but
one of surprise and chagrin. I suspected that I was being used as a
stalking-horse on behalf of others. I could not dream that a layman
had dared to interfere in the election at the bidding of a usurper
who is outside the pale of Christian fellowship, under the curse of
the Church!’
I trembled as I perceived that some one had been beforehand with me,
and had narrated my proceedings to his Holiness, no doubt with a
gloss which had caused Pius X. to take the worst view of my action.
‘Fortunately your rash and evil designs were overruled for good.
Unknown to yourself, you were an instrument in the hands of others.
While you were watching you were watched. Pious and vigilant men, the
faithful soldiers of the Church Militant, who had no object of their
own to serve, and who only sought the good of the Church, were aware
all along of your proceedings, your true employer, and his secret
aims. You sought to place in the Chair of Peter an obedient tool of
the House of Savoy. The watchful guardians of the Church resolved
that you should be instrumental in the elevation of one who, however
unworthy, is at least free from the passion of worldly ambition.’
I would fain have spoken, but the Holy Father imposed silence on me
by a stern gesture.
‘The candidature of his Eminence Cardinal Salvatierra was a ruse,
to which the zealous persons I speak of were obliged to resort, in
order to throw dust in your eyes. From the first they had determined
to ensure my election, if it could be brought about without using
improper means of influencing the Sacred College. They checkmated
you, without your perceiving it.
‘Now you may go and tell the rash young King who used you as his
agent that his designs have miscarried. I sit here, neither his
nominee nor his creature, but the duly chosen Head of the Roman
Church, and I call upon him to retire from the territories bestowed
upon the Church by Constantine.’
I listened with feelings of stupefaction and despair. The story which
had been told the Pope was so nearly true that I had no scope for
contradiction; it had been so skilfully coloured that I realised that
any attempt at explanation or denial would fail of its effect.
[Illustration: “‘I can only render one more service to your Majesty,
and that is to advise you to make your peace with the Black Pope.’”]
In fact I had been guilty of very nearly what I stood accused of. The
reproaches of Pius X. were an echo of the whispers of my conscience.
I had elected a Pope, but my presumption in doing so had made that
very Pope an enemy of the sovereign whom I had served too well.
‘Will your Holiness condescend to hear me?’ I implored. ‘The
Jesuits----’
‘Silence!’ his Holiness commanded. ‘I will not listen to a word
against those devoted men, whose value, and whose loyalty to the Holy
See, I now understand for the first time. If your master, the King of
Sardinia,[2] desires to learn the conditions on which he may obtain
his pardon from the Holy See, I advise him to apply to--Cardinal
Salvatierra.’
Cardinal Salvatierra! I recalled the Cardinal’s parting words--‘You
have chosen the White Pope; it remains to see how you will fare at
the hands of the Black Pope.’
Saddened and subdued, I quitted the audience-chamber of Pius X., and
repaired to that of Victor Emmanuel II.
‘I have carried out your Majesty’s instructions. Cardinal Sarto is
the new Pope. And now I can only render one more service to your
Majesty, and that is----’
‘And that is?’ the King exclaimed.
‘To advise you to make your peace with the Black Pope!’
I prefer to say no more. It would be imprudent on my part to
embarrass a situation already bristling with difficulties, by
indicating the steps which still remain to be taken before peace can
be restored between the two mighty powers represented by the Vatican
and the Quirinal.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 1: As I have stated already, whenever in the course of
these disclosures I repeat a private conversation, I do so in the
interest of the other party to it, if not in every case with his
express permission.--A. V.]
[Footnote 2: The title of King of Italy is not recognised by the
Vatican.--A. V.]
* * * * *
* * * * *
“_Reminds one of Cranford._”
_London Telegraph._
Lavender and Old Lace
By MYRTLE REED
Author of “The Shadow of Victory,” “Love Letters of a Musician,” etc.
12^o. (Postage, 10 cents.) $1.50 net.
_Dainty and full of delicate fancy, this new work of a favorite
writer charms by its manner, pleases by its cleverness, and interests
by its tale of true love, which sentiment is treated as the most
exalting of emotions, but without the slightest touch of materialism_
_A Book to be Enjoyed_
“With exquisite skill quite her own, the author individualizes in
this gracefully told story, the heart’s devotion as the most exalted
and exalting emotion. Miss Reed has the rare genius of attuning love
to thrilling heights without a touch of coarse materialism. Withal
she builds on a practical plane, since her characterization is
human.”--_Chicago Journal._
“A perfectly exquisite little tale, simply genuine, effecting and,
rarest of all, fragrant.... A dainty and beautiful little story, full
of the scent of lavender and of the atmosphere that clings to old
farmhouses, filled with colonial furniture and china.... In this book
all is beautiful, quiet, serene and charming; the story is touched
with the most human love, joy, suffering and tears.... The thing is a
gem, simply fresh, wholesome and artistic, even in its abundance of
humor and pathos, a book to refresh your soul.”--_Boston Herald._
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
_New York_ _London_
* * * * *
THE TERM
“Detective Story”
covers a multitude of sins. The plot is apt to be weird, the evidence
does not fit the crime, the detective is altogether too clever. In
_A Master Hand_
The Story of a Crime
BY RICHARD DALLAS
the story is reasonable. The author is a former District Attorney
of a large city, who is naturally familiar with the ways of the
criminal. While the plot is peculiarly interesting and complex there
is nothing artificial about it.
“All the elements of a good detective story and more.”--_N. Y. Times._
“There is a surprise which is absolutely new in the annals of
detective stories.”--_Commercial Advertiser._
“It is sane and there is no marvellous (and _impossible_) acumen
displayed in ferreting out the criminal.”--_Nashville American._
12mo. With frontispiece. Net, $1.00. Postage 10c.
New York--G. P. Putnam’s Sons--London
*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Secret History of To-day _ Being Revelations of a Diplomatic Spy" ***
Copyright 2023 LibraryBlog. All rights reserved.