The Secret Memoirs of Bertha Krupp. Fischer Henry William

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      "His Majesty!" announced the valet de chambre.

      "Be gloved, my child; hurry."

      The War Lord didn't know what to make of it when "Dona" approved of his selection.

      "She is mysteriously confiding," he said to his crony, Maxchen (the Prince of Fürstenberg). But he changed his mind when, a week or two later, he had induced Ina to take off her gloves in his presence.

      The War Lord had instructed Bassewitz and Keller to treat Bertha "like a raw egg," saying: "Her income is bigger per minute than that of all you Prussian Junkers per annum" – a gratuitous slap, the more ungenerous since the old Kings of Prussia gobbled up a goodly part of their landed possessions, as Bismarck once pointed out to Frederick William IV.

      Berlin pomp and circumstance! Three flags, paper flowers on lanterns, a much-worn red carpet leading from the spot where Bertha's saloon carriage was to draw up to the royal reception room in the station.

      As Bertha, though Grand-Lady-Armouress-of-the-World, has no place in the Army List, she must be content with walking through lines of royal footmen in black and silver, on which account the War Lord sincerely pitied the girl. "Twenty marks for a precedent to endow her with a uniform," but even the obsequious Eulenburg failed to discover an excuse.

      Inside the Royal waiting-room: red-plush furniture, with covers removed, in garish glory; a bouquet of flowers from the Potsdam hothouses; a silver teapot steaming; on a silver platter four bits of pastry, one for each person and one over to show that we are not at all niggardly – oh, dear, no!

      The stationmaster enters in some kind of uniform, a cocked and plumed hat above a red face, toy sword on thigh. "The train is about to draw into the station, Herr Graf, and may it please Her Ladyship."

      Countess von Bassewitz starts for the door. "One moment, pray," admonishes gold stick, "the noblesse doesn't run its feet off to greet a commoner even if she is laden with money."

      Courtiers suit their vocabulary to their lord and master. Countess Bassewitz is young and hearty. Never before had she reflected on the sad fact that Bertha lacked birth, but now that a gold stick had mentioned it, a mere maid of honour must needs bow to superior judgment.

      So the richest girl in the world was left standing in the doorway of her saloon carriage for a good half-minute before their Majesties' titled servants deigned to approach. "Will take some of the purse-pride out of her," observed Count Keller.

      Then, hat in hand and held aloft, three bows, well measured, not too low, for high-born personages' privileges must not be encroached upon.

      "Aham, Aham" (several courtly grunts, supposed to be exquisitely recherché), "Fraulein Krupp, I have the honour – Count Keller – Countess von Bassewitz, dame to Her Majesty. Had a pleasant journey I hope," delivered in nasal accents. In Germany, you must know, it is considered most aristocratic to trumpet one's speech through the nose after the fashion of bad French tenors chanting arias.

      Countess von Bassewitz, amiable and enthusiastic, spouted genuine civilities. "Fraulein looks charming!" "What a pretty frock!" "I will show you all around the shops," and more compliments and promises of that kind.

      Childlike, Bertha had expected a coach-and-four. Another disappointment! The carriage at the royal entrance was of the most ordinary kind – a landau and pair of blacks, such as are driven about Berlin by the dozen.

      "If you please," said Count Keller, bowing her into the coach. She planted herself boldly in the right-hand corner, facing the horses. Bassewitz looked horror-stricken at the heiress's cool assumption of the gold stick's place, and to smooth him over attempted to take the rear seat; but Bertha pulled her to her side. "Don't leave me," she whispered, with a look upon the ruffled face of the Count, who marvelled that there was no earthquake or rain of meteors because he was obliged to ride backwards, with a "mechanic's daughter" in the seat of honour.

      CHAPTER VII

      IN THE CROWN PRINCE'S PRIVATE ROOM

      The War Lord had not taken any notice of Frederick the Great's injunction against "useless beggar princes." At the time of Bertha's visit six of them, ranging from twenty-one to thirteen years of age, were roaming the palace, and there was a little girl of eleven besides. Only the eldest boy was provided for, by the Crown Prince's Endowment Fund; the rest were booked to live by the grace of their father's munificence and such moneys as could be squeezed out of the public in the shape of military and administrative perquisites, unless they contracted advantageous marriages; for while the Prussian allows himself to be heavily taxed for the Civil List, that jolly institution, grants for His Majesty's sisters, cousins and aunts has no place in his catalogue of loyalty.

      Talking one day to his heir, the War Lord broached the subject of a money-marriage.

      "But mother didn't have any money," the bête noire, Crown Prince William, had the temerity to interpose.

      "No cash, it's true; but our marriage quasi-legitimatised our acquisition of Schleswig-Holstein, and those provinces are worth something."

      "Perhaps I had better marry Alexandra or Olga Cumberland," suggested young William, "so that the possession of Hanover can no longer be disputed. These girls have coin besides."

      "Don't speak of them – there are reasons."

      "Or a Hesse girl of the Electoral Branch."

      "And turn Catholic like Princess Anna," cried the War Lord furiously. "Shut up about that Danish baggage. I myself will get you a wife. Trust father to find you the comme il fautwife —comme il faut in every respect: politics, family, religion and personal attractiveness, for we want no ugly women in our family."

      The Crown Prince opened his mouth for a pert reply, but William forestalled him by an imperious gesture.

      "I am preparing a message for the Ministerial Council."

      In the evening William invited his younger brothers – Eitel, Albert, Augustus and Oscar – to his rooms, providing a bottle of beer and two cigarettes per head. Having attained his majority and consequently succeeded to the Dukedom of Oels, the Brunswick inheritance, he might have offered the boys a real treat, champagne and tobacco ad lib., but such would have been against Prussian tradition, which stands for parsimony at home and display where it spells cheap glory.

      "Joachim wanted to be of the party," said Augustus.

      "And tell Mamma all – not if I know myself. It's time the kid was in bed anyhow," said the Crown Prince with fine scorn, for Joachim was only thirteen years old at the time.

      "He will tell all the same," suggested Albert.

      "And will get a thrashing for his pains. Besides, I shall withdraw my allowance of three marks per week. Tell him so; that will settle the mamma-child."

      "He shall have it straight from the shoulder; you can rely on that, Duke of Oels," said Eitel.

      "Oels," repeated Eitel, "why didn't you inherit Sibyllenort too? The idea, giving Sibyllenort to those sanctimonious Saxons."

      "Rotten, to be sure. But old William was eccentric, you know, like his brother, the Diamond Duke," said the Crown Prince.

      "The СКАЧАТЬ