Chapter 5: A Fatal Day[68]

Soon after I awakened the next morning, Hovell sent a note advising me that the Emperor’s breathing had worsened in the night. His adjustments of the canula had not prevailed; and Sir Morell, now deeply concerned, was consulting his remaining German colleagues. Sherlock Holmes did not answer to my knock, so I assumed that he was either out upon some mission or still enshrouded in tobacco smoke, oblivious to my presence and all other non-essential factors as he ruminated on the case. After I had dressed and eaten, I retraced my steps to Frederick’s suite and, receiving a nod from Mackenzie, joined in the consultation.

“Good day, Dr. Watson,” the specialist said cordially, with no trace of the reserve he had exhibited the night before. “I believe that you have not met Dr. Krause, my fellow laryngologist, or His Majesty’s personal physician, Dr. Wegner.”[69] I nodded to these gentlemen and greeted Hovell, who looked tired and worried.

“We tried the effect of a shorter canula,” he told me, “but it seemed to do no lasting good. Sir Morell is about to go into Berlin to retrieve several new ones he had ordered. He thinks their design will better suit the fragile condition of the Emperor’s trachea.”

“His Majesty is perfectly well for the present,” Mackenzie assured us, his confident words belied by the anxiety in his demeanour. “Please look in upon him, Dr. Watson, if you wish. I shall be gone no more than an hour.” His departure was regarded with misgivings by Drs. Krause and Wegner. They exchanged some words in German, bowed to us, and re-entered the Emperor’s bedchamber.

“Do you want to go in, Watson?” Hovell asked. His tone revealed that my presence would be merely a distraction.

“No, I should probably report to Holmes. Is there indeed no danger?”

“I think not, although old Wegner says that Frederick has complained of pressure in his chest. His breathing is still noisy, but freer than it was earlier this morning. That rascal Beerbaum has absconded, by the way. You and Mr. Holmes are welcome to attend at any time. I’ll send you word when Sir Morell returns.”

Feeling rather like the fifth wheel on the coach, I walked back to my own part of the Schloss, where I found Holmes pacing up and down the hall outside our rooms.

“Where were you, Watson?” he greeted me impatiently. “I looked for you before I went into Berlin. This time, I made my way to the telegraph office without being followed. Ponsonby will be glad to have Mackenzie’s prognosis that His Majesty is likely to survive another year.”

“Let us hope that prognosis has not changed.” I quickly apprised him of the crisis. Holmes seemed less disturbed by the Emperor’s condition than by Beerbaum’s disappearance. “It was he, you say, who reported Frederick’s worsened breathing?”

“So Hovell told me in his message. It seems His Majesty had a sudden coughing fit just after midnight, when Hovell left the room and Beerbaum was on duty.”

“Indeed? That is suggestive, though hardly conclusive. And then von Bergmann’s agent fled his post - off, no doubt, to take the tidings to his master.”

It was now past noon, and I had received no word from Hovell. Being somewhat at loose ends, Holmes and I occupied an hour by walking in the palace gardens. I had no expectation, naturally, that we would discuss the case. Instead, I was treated to a disquisition on the waterfowl inhabiting the Spree. My friend’s vast store of arcane knowledge was often used to foil my curiosity about more relevant concerns.

On emerging from our ramble, we found a messenger waiting with a note informing us that Mackenzie had at last returned. We departed at once for the Emperor’s chambers, Holmes accompanying me as a matter of course. Sir Morell, who stood talking with Hovell in an ante-room, looked displeased to see my friend. However, he voiced no objection, directing his remarks to me.

“There you are, Dr. Watson. As I was telling Mr. Hovell, the canulae I ordered in Berlin were not yet ready. I have instructed the instrument-maker to make a temporary one of lead, so that it can be re-shaped quickly if the need arises. It will be delivered by mid-afternoon. Meanwhile, I have written to invite Professor von Bergmann to attend the new tube’s fitting. It will be a different model than any we have used before.”

“Is his presence essential?” I involuntarily blurted, appalled at my own temerity. Before Mackenzie could respond, my friend said quietly, “I should advise against that invitation, Sir Morell.”

“It is required by professional courtesy,” the laryngologist insisted.[70] “An elementary rule of civilised medical practice, Mr. Holmes, is that all those associated in a case be acquainted with any new treatment that is carried out. May I remind you, sir,” he added, “that you claim to be here as a political observer. It is not your place to intervene in the discussions of His Majesty’s physicians on an issue of medical procedure.”

The detective bowed. “On your own head be it,” he said coldly before stalking to the window. Hovell and I exchanged unhappy glances, but Sir Morell seemed unperturbed as he turned back to me.

“If you wish to be useful, Dr. Watson, you may take this message and ask Count Radolinski to provide a mounted courier. He should ride ventre à terre[71] to reach von Bergmann’s house as soon as possible.

“Now, Mr. Hovell,” he concluded, after handing me the note, “I think it is time that you and I returned to our patient. Good afternoon, gentlemen.”

With a nod in our direction, Mackenzie marched to the Emperor’s bedroom, trailed by his mortified assistant. Sherlock Holmes and I were left standing like a pair of schoolboys dismissed by the headmaster.

“Well, Watson,” my friend sighed glumly, “we have made a pretty mess of things. In our defence, I doubt the British medical profession could produce a greater ass. Surely he is more than capable of killing Frederick without his rival’s aid!”

“Why,” I asked, as we made our way down now-familiar corridors, “were you opposed to calling in von Bergmann?”

“Why were you?” retorted Holmes. “It was an instinct, Doctor, and one you would do well to cultivate. The Professor’s conduct is the one inconsistent factor in this case, and that inconsistency makes him suspect in my eyes. A surgeon who insists upon the safety of an operation which three experts assure us means almost certain death? A liberal who consults with minions of the Iron Chancellor? A friend of the still-reigning Emperor who speaks of ‘accustoming ourselves to a new order?’ And his henchman in the palace was alone with Frederick when he took his sudden turn.”

“Well, you have convinced me, Holmes. Perhaps I should tear up this note.”

“No, Doctor, we had best play the cards we have been dealt. That stubborn fool would only send another, and we should be excluded henceforth from his councils. If, indeed, we are not already banished!”

We found the Hof-Marschall at his post and made Mackenzie’s wishes known. Holmes - still smarting from his wasted visit to the Chancellery - treated the Count with some asperity, but Radolinski remained as glibly courteous as ever. To my surprise, he seemed genuinely distressed about the Emperor; hence (my friend remarked) we could be reasonably certain the message would be delivered to von Bergmann’s home and not to Paris or East Prussia. A rider was immediately summoned and took off at a gallop. When an hour passed and neither he nor the German surgeon had appeared, Holmes’ patience (never bottomless) had nearly reached its limit. At that moment, happily, the instrument-maker arrived from Berlin with the new canula; so we took the opportunity to escort him to the doctors. It was I, in fact, who took the last few steps, for Holmes prudently remained outside the door.

I was greeted by the anxious Hovell, while Sir Morell, without acknowledging me, began to inspect the leaden canula. “No word?” I asked.

“None.” The young surgeon shook his head in exasperation. “I telephoned the house.[72] The royal messenger had been there, but the Professor’s servants were unsure of his whereabouts. I left a message urging him to make all haste.” He lowered his voice, although Mackenzie and the workman were deep in conversation. “Frankly, Watson, I am seriously worried. His Majesty’s breathing is no better, and to my mind he shows signs of oxygen depletion. Sir Morell is still convinced there is no danger. Do you think we could persuade him to proceed without von Bergmann?”

“I have another idea that might be more successful. I met von Bergmann yesterday at a hotel where he apparently spends quite a bit of time. Suppose that Holmes and I look for him there? If we don’t find him and he still has not arrived, I’ll do whatever I can to help you with Mackenzie.”

It was so agreed, and I slipped from the room without further notice. Holmes likewise acceded to my plan, and we hired a diligence outside the palace gates. Though I had proposed that borrowing horses would be faster, my friend (who considered the creatures “dangerous at both ends and crafty in the middle”) demurred.[73] He urged our driver not to spare his own, however, and we came to the Hôtel S_____ L_____ shortly before three o’clock.

With his habitual caution, Holmes dismissed our cab well down the street, and we approached the place on foot. As we turned onto the Zimmer-Strasse, he seized my arm to halt my progress.

“Do you see those two men, Doctor?”

An unlikely pair were emerging from the hotel lobby. The first - short, stout, and moustachioed - wore the uniform of the Imperial General Staff. The other was a dour civilian: stooped, grey-bearded, and cadaverously thin, like a malign incarnation of the Emperor. They were deep in conversation and too far away to notice us.

“The general,” my friend muttered, “is Count Waldersee, deputy chief to old von Moltke. The evil-looking fellow is Herr Puttkamer, Minister of the Interior. Both - as you recall Her Majesty informing us - are members of Crown Prince William’s faction. What do you suppose they were doing at our missing surgeon’s hideaway?”

“Taking a late luncheon, Holmes?”

He shot me a disgusted look. “This is not the time for pawky humour, Watson. A change of tactics is in order. You will see von Bergmann and - if necessary - drag him to the palace. I shall follow those two gentlemen to learn whither they are bound.”

Without further parley, we undertook our missions. I entered the hotel and enquired of the idle desk clerk whether “Herr Professor Doktor von Bergmann” might be on the premises. His answer (which my knowledge of German sufficed to comprehend) was that the Professor had reserved a room. After my request for its number yielded but a smirk and shrug, the transfer of a golden mark secured the information. I trotted up the stairs (the old-fashioned S_____ L_____ being unequipped with elevators) and soon was pounding on von Bergmann’s door.

Inside, there was a muffled curse, followed by the protest “Nicht noch einmal!”[74] Next came a squeak of bedsprings, and heavy steps advanced. A slurred voice queried, “Wer ist da?”

“It is John Watson, Professor,” I called loudly. “His Majesty’s breathing is obstructed, and Sir Morell would like your help in fitting a new canula. He asks for you to come at once!”

I heard a noise between a grunt and groan. After a pause, von Bergmann opened the door just wide enough to answer me, hulking to block my view into the room. Red-faced and dishevelled, he wore no coat or waistcoat, only a wrinkled shirt half-fastened over his considerable paunch.

“Ja ja, Watson,” he muttered, breathing brandy fumes into my face. “I know of this already. I shall be going soon.”

“You received Mackenzie’s message?” I exclaimed. “Why in Heaven’s name did you not leave at once?”

“I am in the middle of a consultation,” answered the Professor, before his pretence of dignity was shattered by a giggle from inside the room. For an awful moment, we stood staring at each other. Then the renowned surgeon gathered himself and told me quietly: “Tell Mackenzie I shall collect my colleague Bramann and arrive within the hour. Natürlich, Herr Doktor, I shall value your discretion in this matter.”

Too astonished by such dereliction to reply, I turned blindly for the stairway. As I descended, I passed the royal courier, who saluted as he hastened towards von Bergmann’s room.[75]

Contrary to his promise, von Bergmann had not come to Charlottenburg an hour later. Nor, to my dismay, had Sherlock Holmes. Upon my own arrival, our friend Hovell had quietly re-admitted me to the Emperor’s suite, while Mackenzie and his instrument-maker, Herr Windler, were busy completing the new canula. The specialist was less than welcoming initially, but both men heard my circumspect account of the condition of their German colleague with horrified concern.

“Drunk, you say?” cried Hovell. “My God, Sir Morell, we cannot allow him access to His Majesty!”

“I may not have the power to prevent it,” Mackenzie countered. “The Emperor, on his accession, appointed von Bergmann one of his medical attendants, in part to calm the ravings of the reptile press against myself.[76] Count Radolinski has repeatedly urged me to work harmoniously with the Professor, whom, he says, is greatly trusted by the official classes. There must be no ground for complaint against me, Hovell, for any violation of the decencies of professional intercourse.

“Besides,” he added doubtfully, “I cannot imagine that any physician would attend upon a patient while the worse for drink. If Professor von Bergmann still feels himself intoxicated, he will surely place the consultation in the hands of his assistant Bramann.”

It was five o’clock before the missing surgeon joined us, appearing without Dr. Bramann or any explanation for his absence. The Professor was immaculately dressed and seemed in full possession of his faculties, if perhaps a little flurried. His British rival had begun to welcome him when Sherlock Holmes burst in upon us.

“Sir Morell,” my friend announced dramatically, “this man must not be admitted to your consultation! I have every reason to believe that he intends to harm the Emperor.”

Von Bergmann blanched, then reddened, turning a furious gaze upon the interloper. “Wer ist dieser Mann?”

“You know my identity quite well,” said Holmes, “having learned it from Prince Bismarck’s minions. Unless, of course, you are too inebriated to remember! Tell me, why was your assistant left sitting in your carriage?”

Recovering his English, the offended Teuton appealed to his professional colleague. “Mackenzie, it is an outrage! Throw this Schweinhund out, or I shall have him arrested. I am a Privy Councillor!”

Sir Morell seemed hardly less irate. “Mr. Holmes,” he snapped, “I have suffered all the interference from you that I intend to tolerate! Professor von Bergmann is here under His Imperial Majesty’s authority. This is a medical consultation, sir, in which you have no standing. Leave us at once, or I shall summon the Gardes du Corps and have you forcibly removed!”

To my surprise, my friend accepted his dismissal with a growl of weary resignation. While Mackenzie tried to soothe his angry colleague, Holmes took me aside and told me grimly: “Well, Watson, I expected nothing else. You must be my eyes and ears inside the sickroom. I doubt that you can stop that blind fool’s folly; but watch von Bergmann’s every move, and - as Haydn’s noble anthem puts it - ‘erhalte den Kaiser!’[77] I shall be in the hallway, within ear-shot, when the crisis comes.”

I nodded and turned back to the doctors, who were gathering up assorted canulae prior to entering the Emperor’s room. It was with trepidation that I followed; but Sir Morell seemed not to notice, and the German surgeon remained silent after one quick, anxious glance. As we went through the door, he seemed to stagger slightly.

Inside, we found His Majesty (who had insisted on arising in the afternoon) seated at his desk, quietly engaged in correspondence. Although he showed no obvious distress, I noted cyanosis in the cheeks and lips, and his open coat revealed the muscles of the neck involved in respiration. His breathing was far harsher and more audible than it had been the night before.

“Mein Gott!” von Bergmann cried, “The man is suffocating!” Rushing forward, he urged the startled sovereign to stand, moved his chair beneath the window, and directed Frederick to resume his seat. Snatching a canula from Mackenzie’s hands, the surgeon gestured for his rival to stand behind His Majesty and support his head. The canula he had chosen was not, I saw, equipped with a protective pilot, leaving its knifelike metal edge unguarded. Quickly, von Bergmann undid the bandage holding the existing tube in place, removed the latter, and stood swaying for a moment. Then, with far more force than needed, he plunged the canula he held into the Emperor’s throat.

Our patient gasped in pain and half-rose in his chair, but no air came through the tube. When it was withdrawn, he began coughing furiously as a thick stream of blood gushed from the wound. Undeterred, the German surgeon picked up a second canula, cut off its covering sponge, and attempted to insert it. Again no air came through, and again the Emperor coughed and copiously bled after von Bergmann had given up the task. At that point, Sir Morell could restrain himself no longer.

“For Heaven’s sake, Professor, you are making a false passage! You have missed the windpipe and are ploughing through soft tissues of the throat!”

“Unsinn,” growled von Bergmann mulishly. “The cancerous granulations inside the opening are blocking entry to the trachea. I must try to remove them.” Whereupon - to our consternation - he thrust his unwashed finger deep into the wound, and on removing it failed for a third time to insert the canula. It was Frederick III who finally ended his own torment.

“Nicht mehr,” he wheezed, using a blood-soaked hand to cover the tracheotomy and sound what little of his voice remained to him. Even as he was overcome by another fit of coughing, the Emperor pushed his Privy Councillor aside. Von Bergmann collapsed onto the floor and lay there, groaning, until Hovell and I lifted him into a chair. “Bramann,” the drunken surgeon moaned, “bring Dr. Bramann.”[78]

“I shall summon him at once,” said Sherlock Holmes. He stood in the doorway, regarding the gory scene before him with horror and disgust. “My God, Watson,” he bitterly exclaimed, “could not the three of you together thwart this butchery?” I flushed with shame, for I had failed His Majesty, and - far worse than that - had failed my friend.

Hours later, the four of us sat despondently in Sir Morell’s consulting-room, holding what might easily have been a literal post-mortem. Holmes had quickly returned with Dr. Bramann. Although shocked by the condition of his patient, the junior German surgeon had readily inserted a new canula and restored the Emperor’s breathing. With a brusque word of apology, he took the stupefied von Bergmann and departed. His Majesty continued to cough and bleed for two hours afterwards, but he had largely recovered by the time that he retired to bed.

Now, as we shared a restorative decanter, which all of us quite badly needed, the laryngologist addressed my friend remorsefully.

“Mr. Holmes, I owe you a profound mea culpa. I would never have dreamed that any surgeon could so unconscionably violate his Hippocratic Oath. Indeed, I still cannot believe the Professor’s harmful actions were intentional. His random stabbing must have resulted from a loss of dexterity brought on by his inebriation.”

“What amazes me,” Hovell interjected, “is that von Bergmann - who, as we know, is Europe’s foremost proponent of anti-septic surgery - should have neglected to wash his hands, at least, before introducing his finger into the tracheal wound.[79] Such forgetfulness is surely evidence of the disorder of his wits.”

Sherlock Holmes smiled sceptically at the doctors’ efforts to redeem their colleague.

“Alas, gentlemen, however disordered the Professor’s wits, I do not accept that simple drunkenness explains his conduct. I am sure it was indeed intentional, although inebriation - no doubt the product of a guilty conscience - lessened its effects. In that, if in nothing else, His Majesty was fortunate.”

“But what could have possessed von Bergmann to do so mad a thing?” mused Hovell. “I had always understood him to be a friend and supporter of the Emperor.”

“Who knows?” In keeping with his Vernet ancestry, my friend essayed a shrug. “Perhaps blackmail, to which a man of the Professor’s habits must always be exposed. In any case, his motives are irrelevant. What matters is that His Majesty must be protected from any further danger from the man.”

“Of that there is no question, Mr. Holmes,” Mackenzie answered stoutly. “His Majesty has expressly informed me that he wishes to endure no further consultations with his Privy Councillor. And I have respectfully assured him that I can no longer accept the honour of attending him if that gentleman is ever permitted to touch his throat again.”[80]

Afterward, when the two of us discussed the day’s events before retiring, I asked how Holmes had been so sure that von Bergmann planned to harm his royal master. The detective sighed ruefully as he extinguished his cigar.

“Well, Watson, I had hoped to tell this story to Mackenzie when it might have done some good. By now, any account of my sad blundering is no more than a cautionary tale for my biographer.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Simply that you overestimate my powers, Doctor, a fact seldom more evident than it was today. I made an elementary error that might have cost His Majesty his life.

“To my surprise,” he recounted (ignoring my look of disbelief), “Waldersee and Puttkamer continued strolling up the Friedrich-Strasse when I followed them from the hotel. They stopped at a tobacco shop, so it was nearly half an hour before they regressed to Unter den Linden. There they parted company. The old man hailed a cab travelling in the direction of the Wilhelm-Strasse; I therefore surmised that he was reporting to the Chancellery. General Waldersee remained afoot. He turned right, towards Crown Prince William’s palace, which is exactly where I expected him to go. And yet I shadowed him, Watson, wasting another quarter-hour in the process. Only when he entered the building did I take my own cab to the Chancellery, contrive a pretext for my visit, and confirm that Herr Puttkamer had signed the log of visitors. I was further delayed when my cab departing from the city broke a wheel. Hence - as you witnessed - I arrived at Charlottenburg too late to forestall von Bergmann, or to explain myself to those who might have prevented his attack upon the Emperor.”

“I fail to see what else you could have done. You could not follow both of them.”

“No, but Waldersee is known to be William’s military advisor and confidant. If he was suborning Frederick’s surgeon, it could only be at the behest of the Crown Prince. Puttkamer was the variable factor. Given his poor relationship with Bismarck, I could not be sure that he was acting on the Chancellor’s behalf. It was he, if anyone, I should have followed. Yet, it was a pointless exercise to follow them at all! Were I indeed the ideal reasoner whom you depict, their very presence at the Hôtel S_____ L_____ should have led me to the obvious conclusion.”

There was no consoling the detective when he fell short of his own standards of deduction. I could but rail against the murderous plot we had uncovered against a noble monarch, whose chief minister and heir ought to have been the strongest bulwarks of his throne. My complaints, however futile, at least assisted in my friend’s recovery by awakening his cynical amusement. Sherlock Holmes agreed entirely with Lord Acton’s dictum concerning the corrupting tendencies of power.

Later, as I lay still wakeful in my bed, I recalled our conversation with the Empress Victoria, whom Holmes and I had met in a corridor while making our way to the post-mortem with Mackenzie. The lady had greeted us with a radiant smile.

“Gentlemen, I have just come from His Majesty’s apartments. He is ever so much better, thanks to Sir Morell, despite von Bergmann’s bungling. And he had such splendid news! Prince Bismarck, at long last, has settled nine million marks upon my daughters and myself, as our share of the late Emperor’s estate.[81] Now all of us will be financially secure throughout my widowhood, whatever my son may wish to do in future!”

Her Majesty nodded graciously and proceeded down the hallway, leaving the two of us without a word to say. Yet, one who overheard her aria of thanks did not, as was his wont, neglect to comment. Emerging from his hiding-place behind the staircase, the Hof-Marschall said sadly:

“Herr Holmes, whatever you may think of me, I do feel sorry for that woman. But she should not smile so much in public. It does her harm, for one cannot help thinking that she does not feel. That is not true, even though it often seems so. Only when she is alone does she give way to grief.”[82]

We bowed to Count Radolinski and continued to the meeting. Of all our strange encounters on that fatal day, these two were perhaps the most incongruous.

68 Mackenzie also used “A Fatal Day” as the title for his account of April 12, 1888 (p. 143ff). No doubt Watson borrowed it deliberately.

69 Dr. Hermann Krause (1848–1921) had impressed Mackenzie at a medical congress held in Copenhagen in 1884. In Frederick the Noble, he praised the young laryngologist “as a practical physician in the highest terms. ... His careful clinical observations, his conscientious anxiety to do the best for his patient, his gentleness in the sickroom, formed a remarkable contrast to some of his German colleagues. ... (p. 226). Krause’s Jewish birth made him a target of the anti-Semitic Berlin press. Dr. August Wegner had been Frederick and Victoria’s personal physician since the princess had arrived in Prussia in 1858. Although he often attended consultations between the British and German doctors in 1887–1888, as a general practitioner he did not play a major role in Frederick’s treatment.

70 In Frederick the Noble, Mackenzie used similar words to justify his decision to call in won Bergmann. However, this time he added: “It is no exaggeration to say that these hastily scribbled lines proved to be the death-warrant of the Emperor” (p. 145).

71 According to Merriam-Webster, “belly to the ground,” “full speed,” or “flat out” (https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/ventre%20%C3%A0%20terre). Stevenson employs the phrase in his account of the events of April 12 (p. 120).

72 The independent European news service The Local (https://www.thelocal.de/20111026/38451) states that it was not Alexander Graham Bell in 1876, but a young German named Johann Philipp Reis in 1861, who transmitted the first telephone message. Instead of “Watson [no relation] come here,” the historic first transmission was: “The horse does not eat cucumber salad.” Because it was unable to function as a two-way device, with callers able both to listen and to speak, Reis’s machine was outclassed by Bell’s. By 1881, the City of Berlin had one of the world’s first telephone networks, “comprising 48 members who used a hand crank for dialing.” In Case of Emperor Frederick III (p. 79), von Bergmann refers to receiving two telephone calls at his home on the afternoon of April 12, although he was not there to answer them. Incidentally, the first use of “telephone” as a verb dates from 1878 (Dictionary. com).

73 The great detective’s opinion of horses was likewise noted in the 2011 film Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows (https://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/sherlock_holmes_a_game_of_shadows/quotes/).

74 “Not again!”

75 In his report on the Emperor’s case, von Bergmann admits that the royal messenger, who arrived “about three o’clock in the afternoon ... had not found me at home but at a consultation in a hotel in the city” (p. 79). He does not specify the hotel’s name or the nature of the consultation.

76 In Frederick the Noble (p. 145), Sir Morell included this additional justification for calling in von Bergmann.

77 Haydn’s Gott erhalte Franz den Kaiser (God Save the Emperor Francis) was composed in 1797 as the anthem of the Holy Roman (later Austrian) empire, serving until that realm’s demise in 1918. No doubt to Metternich’s disgust, it had been employed (with new lyrics by August Heinrich Hoffmann von Fallersleben) in the cause of German economic and political unity prior to the revolutions of 1848. Although never officially the Hohenzollern empire’s anthem, Deutschland über alles (sung to Haydn’s tune) gained fame when regiments filled with German students sang it while being slaughtered on the Western Front. Even more ironically, it was the Weimer Republic that adopted Deutschland über alles as Germany’s official anthem in 1922. Only the first verse of Fallersleben’s song - emphasizing unity, protection, and defense - was accepted by the Nazis, who dropped later references to justice, freedom, wine, women, and song. Conversely, the third stanza - “unity and justice and freedom” restored - was approved in 1991 as the reunified German Republic’s anthem. Somehow, Haydn’s music survived all these transmutations without change. See Wikipedia at: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Deutschlandlied.

78 In regard to the events of April 12, the writings of Mackenzie (pp. 145–150) and von Bergmann (pp. 79–82) are so irreconcilable that at least one of them is obviously lying. Both accounts are more circumspect than Watson’s, for reasons to be explained later in the story. Although it is impossible to know for certain what happened in that room, one witness had no reason to be less than truthful. On the night of April 12, the Emperor Frederick recorded in his diary: “Bergmann for consultation ... but he immediately took Mackenzie’s place and with brutal strength forced in another cannula. Respiration easier but was very worn out after this business and stayed in bed that [sic] afternoon.” (See Pakula, p. 480). Sir Frederick Ponsonby noted that “Bergmann’s roughness was never forgotten by the Emperor.” “[A] pathetic proof of the agony [he] endured” was contained in a message Frederick wrote three days before his death. In answer to a question about a canula, His Majesty replied: “the same [one] Hovell tried before Bergmann ill-treated me.” (p. 308) Mackenzie was not allowed to quote this evidence in his own defense, although he referred to it obliquely on p. 149.

79 Needless to say, in his account von Bergmann insisted that he had, “as may well be understood, thoroughly disinfected my hands in a basin containing a solution of carbolic acid. ...” (p. 81). If so, none of the other doctors present witnessed it; and it is difficult to credit that Watson, at least, would have misrepresented what took place. Although Mackenzie had hinted that the Professor “was not at the time in a condition to observe things accurately” (p. 149), only long after both men’s deaths did Mark Hovell reveal von Bergmann’s drunkenness. “[T]here was no doubt whatever in his mind,” wrote Sir Morell’s biographer, “that von Bergmann had been drinking and that he swayed from side to side as he tried to insert the cannula.” (Stevenson, p. 123).

80 See Frederick the Noble, pp. 148–149. Von Bergmann officially retired from the case on April 30. The reports of Dr. Bardeleben, who attended the Emperor for the rest of his life, are found in Case of Emperor Frederick III, pp. 87–91. For the Professor’s own assessment of the situation, see pp. 84–86.

81 Bismarck surprised the imperial couple by arranging this generous settlement from the estate of William I. Less graciously, he advised the Empress “to invest this money safely abroad as soon as she received it.” It was indeed on the night of April 12 that Frederick III gave the glad news to his wife, so the “fatal day” ended on something of a high note. See Röhl, p. 794.

82 Count Radolinski had also expressed such sentiments in a letter to Holstein in November 1887. Although he often worked to undermine Victoria, he recognized that her determined cheerfulness resulted from a “superhuman struggle” to keep up her husband’s spirits. Radolinski even declared his intention “to see that [Frederick] remain[s] on the throne as long as possible.” (Röhl, p. 702) Thus, despite his position as a spy for Bismarck, the Hof-Marschall was not without sympathy for the couple he disloyally served.