Chapter XI: Part 11

"Sardanapal" was the play chosen by the Emperor for this performance. I thought it very interesting to look at, but impossible to understand. It was a combination of orchestral music, choruses, and pantomime. A dreadful-looking Nubian came out before the curtain between acts and told us in German poetry what was going to happen. The Emperor had taken a great interest in the play, and had indicated all the costumes himself. Every dress was a study and entirely correct, you may be sure, if the Kaiser had anything to do with it. The ornaments which the actors wore were copied from specimens in the museums. The scenery was very fine, and when Sardanapal was burned up, with his wives and collection of gold and silver things, the whole stage seemed to be on fire. This almost created a panic, and would have done so if the audience had not seen that their Majesties sat calmly in their seats. It was very realistic. The Emperor told me afterward in the foyer that the flames were nothing but chiffon, lighted with electric lights, and blown up with a fan from beneath. When the fire had done its work there was nothing left upon the stage but red-hot coals and smoldering _débris_. It was all very well, if we only had been spared the lugubrious man with the beard made of tight black curls, who did the talking.

The next day the luncheon in honor of their English Majesties at the English Ambassador's, Sir Edward Goschen, was full of emotion. King Edward wore the uniform belonging to his German regiment, which, besides being buttoned tightly and apparently much padded, has a high and tight collar. He had received a deputation of most of the English colony and already looked wearied before we went in to luncheon. This was served in the ballroom, and was a long and elaborate affair. The King sat opposite the Queen, and Sir Edward and Lady Goschen sat at either end of the table. All the princes, the German nobility, and ministers of state were present.

The King apparently had a good appetite, and talked with his neighbors right and left and opposite, and seemed to enjoy himself. When we re-entered the drawing-room the King lit an enormous cigar and, seating himself on a low sofa, talked and smoked, when suddenly he threw his head back against the sofa, as if gasping for breath. The Queen, who was on the other side of the room, rushed instantly to the King and quickly unbuttoned his collar and opened his coat. The two English physicians who had come with the King were finishing luncheon in another room. They were instantly called in, and they begged the guests to leave the _salon_ in order that the King might have more air. The King had not fainted, but on account of the tight collar, the heat of the room, the big cigar, and the violent fit of coughing, it was almost impossible for him to get his breath. The physicians helped him up from the low sofa into a high chair, and took away the cigar; but the King, as soon as he could speak, said, "Give me another cigar." The physicians protested, but the King insisted upon the cigar, which they were obliged to give him. The guests returned, and the conversation rallied for a while, but the emotion of the few moments before could not be easily calmed.

The King left the room quietly, hardly any one seeing him, reached the automobile, and drove to the castle. The Queen followed him a few moments later.

We were prepared to receive notice at any moment that the ball fixed for that evening would be countermanded. But it was not, and at eight o'clock--the hour one goes to court balls here--found every one assembled. As usual, we took our places on the platform reserved for the ladies of the _Corps Diplomatique_, and then, with the ceremonial which I have so often described, their Majesties, preceded by the pages and court notables, entered. The Emperor gave his arm to Queen Alexandra, and the Empress entered with King Edward. It is customary for the Emperor and the Empress to make a tour of the invited guests, but this evening the royal persons stayed on the throne and did not move during the dances.

King Edward and the Queen supped at the table of the Emperor, and immediately afterward retired to their rooms and were seen no more. During the whole evening they had not spoken to a single person.

The next morning their Majesties took their departure from the Lehrter station. We went to bid them good-by. The Emperor, in speaking to me, said, "You know, my uncle had such a fright the other night when he saw the fire, he wanted to leave the theater; it was only when I told him that the flames were chiffon that I could quiet him."

When King Edward bade me good-by he said, "Please remember me to Countess Raben," and added, laughingly, "I mean the daughter."

Saint-Saëns and Massenet came to Berlin to assist at a sort of _Congrès de musique_. Massenet was invited to lead the orchestra in "Manon," and Saint-Saëns that of "Samson and Delilah." They accepted an invitation to lunch at our house, and I was delighted to see them again. They had come, they said, with prejudices on fire. They were sure that they would dislike everything German; but, having been begged to visit the Kaiser in his _loge_ after the performance, they came away from the interview burning with enthusiasm. How charming the Emperor was! How full of interest! So natural! etc., etc. They could not find words for their admiration. That is the way with the Emperor. He charms every one.

The first of my articles about Compiègne appeared in _Harper's Magazine_ in the summer. At the ball at court in the following January the Kaiser came to speak to me, his face beaming with the kindest of smiles.

"I can't tell you how I have enjoyed your articles, I read them to myself and read them out loud to the Empress."

"How," said I "did your Majesty discover them?"

"I have always taken _Harper's Magazine_, ever since I was a little boy. You may imagine how astonished I was when I saw something from your pen. Your description of Napoleon the Third is quite historical. You gave me a new idea of him. In many ways I always regret that I never saw him. I could have once, when I was quite small. I was with my parents at Nice, and the Emperor came there, but I did not see him."

BERLIN, _May 1912_.

Dear L.,--On the 14th we had just returned from a long motor trip, arriving late in the evening. How fortunate that we did not arrive a day later! The next morning Johan was called on the telephone. The message was from Hamburg, to say that our King (Frederick VIII) had died there, suddenly in the night. Johan, of course, took the first train for Hamburg.

This was dreadful news.

The King was traveling with the Queen, Princess Thyra, Prince Gustave, and the usual suite. His Majesty had bade them good-night and retired--alas! not to his room, for he wished to take a stroll through the streets of the town. It was only at two o'clock that the valet noticed that the King had not been in his room. Then he alarmed the _Hof-Marshale_, who, with the other gentlemen, commenced a search. At five o'clock they found his Majesty in the _Krankenhaus_. He had fainted in the street and had been put into a cab, in which he died. Johan stayed all the next day in Hamburg, accompanying the Queen on board the _Daneborg_ (the royal yacht), which had been sent to take the King's body back to Denmark.

The Queen was overwhelmed with grief, but showed the greatest self-control.

It has been a distressing time indeed for the Duchess of Cumberland. She has lost her eldest son (killed in an automobile accident on the way to Schwerin to see his sister, the Grand Duchess) and now it is her brother who is taken so tragically. The young duke was very unwise to take that particular road. We had passed over the same route, or tried to, on our way to pay a visit to the grand-ducal pair not more than two weeks before. Our chauffeur was appalled at the dreadful condition of the road and advised turning back. We made a great _détour_ and avoided an accident. The Duke was driving himself, and the ruts in the road made the car jump so that the wheel struck him under the chin, he lost control, and the machine struck a tree, killing the Duke instantly. The chauffeur was saved.

BERLIN.

Mr. Roosevelt and family arrived in Berlin three days ago. Society was on tiptoe with expectation. They talked of giving Arthur Nevin's Indian opera, "Poia," in order that the ex-President should have the thrill of seeing his compatriots in a German setting. This idea was abandoned, though Count Hülsen had accepted the opera and at an enormous expense had had it mounted at the Grand Opera.

The Kaiser received Mr. Roosevelt and was charmed with him, just as Mr. Roosevelt was charmed with the Kaiser. Of course, who could resist the magnetic forces of these two _dii ex machinâ_.

Ambassador and Mrs. Hill gave a large and all-comprising reception at the Embassy in honor of their distinguished guest, which is much too small to contain the entire society of Berlin and _embrace_ (I like that word) all the American colony.

To gain a little more space they very practically turned the _porte-cochère_ into a _vestiaire_, where we took off our mantles before crossing the carpet-covered carriage-drive.

Mr. Roosevelt was most amiable. He greeted people with a cordiality which bordered on _épanchement_--giving their hands a shaking the like of which they had never had before. Mr. Roosevelt remained by Mrs. Hill's side and smiled kindly at the guests as they poured in and out of the _salon_. That was about all the guests did--pour in and pour out. One could not expect even the most favored to exchange more than a few words with the great man.

Our conversations were in the style of the reception, short and quickly done with.

MRS. HILL: "This is Madame de Hegermann. She is American, from Cambridge, Massachusetts."

MR. ROOSEVELT: "Ah!... I am a Harvard man."

ME: "So am I! I mean I am a Harvard woman! I was born and brought up in Radcliffe College."

MR. R.: "Ah!" (_Puzzled, trying to match the possible date of my birth with the birth of Radcliffe College._)

ME: "Radcliffe College was my grandparents' home."

MR. R.: "Oh, I see! Well, madame, I am delighted to shake hands with any one from Cambridge."

Johan's was like this:

MRS. HILL: "Monsieur de Hegermann was Danish Minister in Washington some years ago."

MR. R.: "I am sorry I was not President then. Ha! ha! Pleased to have met you, sir!"

We were told that there would be speeches under the flag, but we poured out without anything of the kind occurring.

BERLIN, _1912_.

Dear L.,--It is not only the unexpected that arrives: the expected arrives also.

The news we have been expecting these last years arrived yesterday.

Diplomacy has decided to divorce us.

We are to leave Berlin.

Johan ought to have left the service four years ago. According to the _protocole_ in Denmark, a Minister must retire when he reaches the _d'age limite_--the Ambassador retiring at the age of seventy.

The Prime Minister asked him to remain, and he did. But now it seems that the powers that be have decided.

It is very sad, but true.

Countess Brockdorf came to make me a visit of condolence. She said that her Majesty had begged her to express her regrets. In the course of the visit she asked me when my book[4] would come out, and when I told her that I thought in October she said, "I know that the Emperor is counting on your giving him a copy." I promised that I would not forget it.

[4] _In the Courts of Memory_, published in the autumn of
1912.

* * * * *

On the day fixed for Johan's audience to present his letters of recall we were invited to luncheon at Neues Palais with their Majesties. At Wildpark, the Emperor's private station, a few miles from Potsdam, we were met by his carriage and drove through the beautiful park to the palace. The carriage stopped at the principal entrance, where a broad red carpet was stretched from the carriage-drive to the door. Johan got out there. Then I was driven to the other side of the palace, where I found another red carpet. This was the entrance which leads to the Empress's suite of apartments.

Countess Keller (the lady of honor) was waiting for me and led me to the Empress.

Her Majesty was most gracious; no one could have been more so. We remained talking until a lackey announced that Johan's audience was finished and that the Emperor was waiting in the dining-room for us. The Kaiserin kindly took me by the arm, and we went together into the adjoining _salon_, where we found the Emperor, the Princess Victoria Augusta, Johan, William von Kidderling (Minister of Foreign Affairs), who is always present at these official audiences, a chamberlain, an adjutant--not more than ten people in all.

The Kaiser, on seeing me, kissed my hand, and was, as usual, most kind and altogether delightful. I sat at his left, the young Princess being at his right. I tried to say how grieved we were at the idea of leaving Berlin, where we had spent ten happy years. He was gracious enough to say that both he and the Empress were very sorry to lose us. He said many appreciative things about what I had written in _Harper's_, and asked many questions showing that he had really read them. He seemed interested to hear about the Emperor Napoleon and the life at Compiègne. He said that he met Empress Eugénie for the first time when in Norway, three years ago. He had made a visit to her on her yacht, and she had "honored" him by taking tea with him on the _Hohenzollern_. He said, "How beautiful she must have been when she was young!"

"I saw her," I replied, "last spring at her villa at Cape Martin. She is _still_ beautiful, though she is eighty years old."

"Eighty years!" cried the Kaiser, "and still a _charmeuse_! That is unique."

All through luncheon I was thinking that this was the last time I should be talking to the interesting and wonderful _charmeur_ who was sitting next to me. The Kaiser has a way of fixing those discerning gray eyes of his on you when he talks, and you have the feeling that he is sifting and weighing you in his mind--and when he smiles his face lights up with humor and interest. You feel as if a life-buoy were keeping you afloat. He has that wonderful gift of making people appear at their best. I gave him my book after luncheon. It looks very fitting in its red morocco binding. He appeared greatly delighted with it and begged me to write my name on the first page, which, of course, I was happy to do.

The Empress exclaimed: "'Do give me one, too! Once the Emperor has it, I shall never get it."

The Kaiser's last words to us were, "Promise not to forget Berlin!"

Forget Berlin--never!