Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the Dying Emperor

by Thomas A. Turley

  49 As noted earlier, see Mackenzie, p. 244. The death of the Socialist deputy, reported in the Times on March 30, 1888, is noted by Stevenson, p. 115.

  50 Mackenzie recorded the doctors’ consultation with the Imperial couple on pp. 71–72. He believed that “a communication of such importance” should be addressed to the Crown Prince in his own language. He was also “afraid that if I myself undertook this delicate task it might afterwards be said that I had not made the full gravity of his situation clear to the illustrious patient. ...”

  51 Sir Morell described the interior of Charlottenburg’s Great Orangery on pp. 129–130.

  52 King Frederick William IV of Prussia designed the mausoleum, and a casket holding his heart was placed at his parents’ feet. Baedeker (pp. 75–76) includes a description ca. 1888. At that time, the mausoleum contained William I’s coffin; marble effigies of him and Empress Augusta were subsequently sculpted. Contemporary pictures can be found online, and Googling “mausoleum at Charlottenburg Palace” brings up many modern images. On the sad occasion Watson mentions, the Emperor no doubt recalled visiting the mausoleum with his father on “the anniversary of the death of Queen Luise” in 1870, just before their departure for the war with France. “[W]e prayed for some time and with very anxious hearts beside the coffins of the grandparents. On leaving I said to my father that a struggle begun under such auspices must be won.” See War Diary of the Emperor Frederick III, p. 8). Sir Morell Mackenzie recorded Frederick’s last visit to the mausoleum on May 31, 1888, the night before he left Charlottenburg to die in Berlin. See p. 168.

  53 After attending the funeral of William I in March, the Prince of Wales wrote to his mother that Frederick, the new emperor, did not look ill but was much thinner. “He had, however, a hunted, anxious expression, which was very distressing to see. The danger was lest some accidental chill, or over-fatigue, might bring on alarming symptoms” (Stevenson, p. 112).

  54 The Emperor had also used these words in a letter to Queen Victoria written after his accession (Röhl, p. 788).

  Chapter 4: An Unexpected Invitation

  After leaving the Emperor Frederick with his doctors, Holmes and I returned to our rooms to read the letter in my pocket. It came as no surprise that the message delivered by von Bergmann’s spy had been written by von Bergmann. His missive was quite short and ran as follows:

  Honoured Colleague!

  By now, you have met His Imperial Majesty and consulted the omnipotent Mackenzie. Would it interest you to hear a German perspective on the case? If so, please join me for luncheon, this afternoon at two o’clock, at the Hôtel S - - L - - , Zimmer-Str. 20, on the corner of the Friedrich-Str. I look forward with pleasure to our meeting.

  Ernst von Bergmann

  My friend had subjected this letter and its envelope to his usual meticulous scrutiny. Now he returned it to me with a smile.

  “What do you make of it, Watson?”

  “Quite surprising, Holmes. I had hardly expected to consult with the leading German surgeon in the case, or to be addressed by him as ‘honoured colleague.’”

  “Yes, such condescension seems unnatural for a professor of von Bergmann’s stature. But the note itself? What deductions do you draw from it?”

  “Short and to the point. As you say, excessively polite to me while derisive of Mackenzie, which I suppose we must expect.”

  “Nothing else?” he cried with disappointment. “Surely you can begin to apply my methods by this time!”

  “Well...” I said doubtfully, knowing that an effort was required, “the paper is of indifferent quality, and the writing far from neat. His pen either spluttered or ran dry three times while composing this brief note.”

  “Better. What may we infer from that?”

  I thought a short while before the obvious conclusion dawned. “It seems unlikely, Holmes, that he wrote from his consulting room. I would refill my ink bottle and find a reliable pen before sending a professional communication.”

  “Excellent, Doctor! It is probable, in fact, that von Bergmann wrote from the hotel where he has invited you to lunch. Not one of the first or second class, judging from its stationery. What does Baedeker say of it?”[55]

  I retrieved my guide-book and turned to its description of Berlin hotels. “Very little, it appears. Merely the name and address, with the word ‘unpretending.’”

  “Ha!” barked Sherlock Holmes. “So, Watson, our renowned surgeon has evidently spent the night, or at least consumed a very early breakfast, for his letter to have reached you when it did, in an establishment that leads Baedeker to be discreet. What does that fact suggest about von Bergmann’s invitation?”

  After puzzling a moment, I could only shake my head. “I fear I have exhausted my deductive powers for one morning.”

  “Then allow me to refresh them. It suggests (for our logical deductions do not amount to proof) either that this invitation was a sudden inspiration, on which von Bergmann decided he must act at once, or that someone else at the hotel - who may have observed his late-night revels - induced him in some way to write the note.”

  “My dear Holmes,” I remonstrated, “you have ridden a long way on a wobbly cycle! Is there really enough here to accuse an eminent surgeon of succumbing to debauchery and blackmail?”

  “Well,” he laughed, “possibly not.” It said much for our relations since my return to Baker Street that my protest amused rather than affronted him. “Nevertheless, there is a reek of beer about this envelope, just as the capital letters in von Bergmann’s message reek of self-esteem. What do the medical journals say of him? Beyond the fact that he was born a Balt and taught at Dorpat before coming to Berlin, I have little information.”[56]

  “He is a strong proponent of anti-septic measures,” I remembered, “and insists upon boiling instruments and dressings before use. His practice of clothing himself and his surgical assistants in white coats is more controversial, but I can see the idea’s merit. Undoubtedly, he is among the foremost surgeons at the Charité.”[57]

  “I shall be eager to hear your impressions of him, Watson. It will be an interesting encounter, given the tone he has taken in this note.”

  “You do not wish to accompany me?”

  “No, I have an appointment at the Chancellery this afternoon. I saw Radolinski this morning after my return from town. He agreed to send a message to Prince Bismarck requesting an audience on my behalf. So, Doctor, we shall divide our forces and attack upon two fronts: you the medical, and I the political. Let us rendezvous to compare notes before your examination of the Emperor this evening.”

  I wondered whether this strategy would have earned General Ponsonby’s approval, deep as we were behind enemy lines. Even so, it was heartening to be entrusted with my own command. At half past twelve, I departed the palace, walked to Charlottenburg, and took a cab into Berlin. After traversing the Thiergarten, we passed beneath the Chariot of Victory crowning the Brandenburg Gate and emerged onto the broad avenue of Unter den Linden, the very heart of the German Empire. Its ancient lime trees were by now sadly decrepit; but its baroque palaces, spacious hotels, and vast commercial arcades preserved an atmosphere of splendour.[58] Turning south onto the Friedrich-Strasse, I came to my destination just prior to the appointed hour.

  The hotel’s restaurant, despite its proximity to Berlin’s centre, looked less than prepossessing when I entered it. While no doubt well-managed and (like everything in Germany) scrupulously clean, it had nonetheless an air of raffishness that I remembered from my army days. Its clientèle seemed largely composed of businessmen and soldiers, and the laughter from the American-style bar was too loud for strict propriety.[59] Some of the young women lunching with much older gentlemen would not have been admitted to the Kaiserhof or Hôtel Continental.

  In the middle of the room, a well-dressed
, portly figure had risen from his table and raised a hand to welcome me. Having seen photographs of all the German doctors, I recognised von Bergmann. He smiled behind his beard as I approached, greeting me with a loud “Guten Tag!” before continuing, to my relief, in English. The first half-hour of our luncheon passed quite pleasantly. Obviously, the great surgeon was well-known at this hotel, for we were served with a degree of ceremony. As course succeeded course, my host ate heartily and drank freely of the wines provided, although he showed no ill effects. We found a good deal in common to discuss. Like myself, von Bergmann had been a military surgeon, most recently with the Russian army in the Balkans. He listened to my Afghan tales with interest and asked several questions about King Milan of Serbia. I mentioned that ruler, and the Irene Adler case, only after learning that von Bergmann was fully aware of Holmes’ and my position as detectives. It seemed clear that despite his temporary absence from the palace, he was communicating regularly with Radolinski and the “Bismarck clique” of Frederick’s court.

  In this atmosphere of seeming frankness, our talk turned finally to the Emperor. “Also, Herr Doktor,” my host rumbled, “what is your opinion of our illustrious patient? Several days have passed since I have seen him. Does his progress continue to fulfil Mackenzie’s sanguine expectations?”

  Not liking the tenor of this query, I cast my reply in neutral terms. “I have not yet been able to examine His Majesty myself. However, today at our first meeting he looked both healthier and stronger than I had anticipated. My impression was that he may live for quite some time. Sir Morell thinks perhaps another year.”

  “Ach! Wenn das nur möglich wäre! If only it were possible! He can never recover and will soon rapidly get worse. Two months ago I told the Kaiserin, but natürlich she did not believe.

  “Do not mistake me, colleague,” he went on before I could reply. “In politics I am a liberal. For many years, as our first Kaiser lived on and on into his dotage, I awaited the accession of my good friend ‘unser Fritz.’ He is a noble fellow, but - alas! - he is now doomed. There can be no help for it, and we must accustom ourselves to a new order. For His Imperial Majesty, the kindest outcome would be an affection of the lung, leading to a quick and painless death.[60] From what my nurse in the Schloss reports to me, I suspect that such an affection already may be taking place.”

  “Do your own observations indicate pneumonia?”

  “Nein, nein, not as yet,” von Bergmann answered, “but it is coming, all the same. On Sunday, when last I examined the Kaiser, cancer cells had begun to accrue around the tracheotomy. I showed them to Mackenzie, but he babbled about ‘granulation tissue’ and refused to see. The Dummkopf blames perichondritis for the breakdown of the trachea. Bah! The larynx is disintegrating. Morbid cells have descended to the trachea and will soon afflict the lungs.”

  I felt an obligation to defend my British colleague. “In fact, Professor,” I cautiously began, “Sir Morell attributes the initial damage to the patient’s trachea to the large canula employed by Dr. Bramann. As he explained the matter, it caused chronic bleeding and a serious infection, which the Emperor was lucky to survive.”

  “I see that our magician ‘Moritz Markovicz’ has cast a spell on you as well! Do you truly believe, Herr Doktor, that an experienced German surgeon cannot properly utilise a canula? I was not present for the Kaiser’s tracheotomy, but my assistant Bramann has performed that procedure in my presence many times. Nein, nein, the gangrenous process in the larynx is at the root of all the evil.[61] Bitte, mein Freund, do not allow yourself to be deceived.”

  Despite his declaration of friendship, Professor von Bergmann now seemed ready to bring our luncheon to a close. When I enquired (perhaps imprudently) what he thought of Erichsen’s report on Prince William’s ear infections, he affected not to understand. Mumbling that he was due at the Charité for surgery, my host summoned our waiter, settled the bill, bowed, and departed - all within a minute and a half. I was left to find my own way to the street.

  In the hotel’s foyer, I was briefly accosted by a “fallen flower” of the sort I had once treated in a San Francisco clinic. My experience there, however, had left me proof against her charms; and I caught the tram for Charlottenburg without further incident. Suspecting that Holmes was still at the Chancellery, I decided to stop and tour the Thiergarten before returning to the Schloss. It was a far more beautiful and restful haven than it had seemed the night of our arrival. The zoological garden was the largest and finest I had ever seen, though it reminded me poignantly of the afternoon I had proposed to Constance.[62] After wandering past the various enclosures, enjoying the animals and the music of a military band, I walked back to Charlottenburg. There I stopped to drink a stein of beer before arriving at the palace, shortly after half past five.

  It was another hour before Sherlock Holmes rejoined me. Without deigning to knock, he swept through the door into my chamber, threw himself into an armchair, and took out his cherry-wood - the one I called his “disputatious” pipe.

  “Watson,” he cried, “you are looking at the greatest fool in Europe!”

  “You exaggerate, Holmes.”[63]

  He acknowledged my quip with a gruff chuckle, puffing fretfully until his pipe began to draw.

  “I arrived at the Chancellery for my three o’clock appointment, then waited for two hours in an ante-room without a word. When a smirking aide at last appeared, he told me that Prince Bismarck was still at Friedrichsruh - his estate in Schleswig-Holstein!-and was not expected back before tomorrow night. In the vernacular of the criminal classes, Doctor, I have been had!”[64]

  “Well! So much for Radolinski’s reputation as ‘an honest rogue.’”

  “Pray do remind me of a gross misjudgement. It is evident he will do everything in his power to delay or thwart us. And behind him lies the infinitely greater power of the Chancellor he serves.”

  “What are we to do, then, Holmes?”

  “We can do nothing tonight on the political side. How was your luncheon?”

  I provided a recapitulation of the meeting, but admitted having no idea of why von Bergmann had desired to see me. “He could not have found enlightenment in my opinion of the case, and his spy keeps him informed of all that happens in the palace.”

  “His claim to be a liberal in politics is interesting. It must have saddened him to urge an almost surely fatal operation when his liberal emperor’s era was about to dawn. Yet now, you say, von Bergmann obtains information on us from the Bismarck party and consigns poor Frederick to ‘a quick and painless death.’ Hardly a consistent character! He and Mackenzie are as jealous as a pair of professional beauties.”

  “Like Gregson and Lestrade. It’s a common fault in our profession, but unfortunately the stakes are higher here.”

  “Indeed. Not only one man’s life, but the future of a nation. Good-night, Watson. You have done well today. It is time for me to lock myself in my own room, replace this pipe with my old briar, and reconsider the case from its beginning. I wish you an informative discussion with the English surgeons.”

  Moments after Holmes’ departure, Hovell came to fetch me for the consultation. Its results, alas, were not encouraging. On examining the Emperor, I realised that the energy he had shown during our morning walk had but disguised his true condition. In the sickroom, dressed in a simple nightshirt that accentuated how wan and gaunt he had become, our patient looked and acted very much the invalid. His throat, with the canula removed, was a depressing sight. Around the wound, I could see the rough, discoloured patches that von Bergmann had called “cancer” and Mackenzie insisted were only “granulations.”[65] Whatever their real nature, the tracheotomy site emitted a faint but unmistakable odour of decay. I could now well understand the German surgeon’s pessimism.

  His Majesty had greeted me with cordiality before submitting to our ministrations. Mackenzie, however, could not altogethe
r mask his resentment of my presence. Even so, he made a conscientious attempt to treat me as a colleague, explaining the non-invasive, “endolaryngeal” method he had used to extract Frederick’s tumour by instruments passed into the larynx through the mouth. To my surprise, he even offered me a turn with his laryngoscope, a remarkable instrument for viewing the organ indirectly with the aid of mirrors and an external source of light. Unfortunately, though I was able to introduce the mirror into the Emperor’s throat, I had great difficulty in focusing the lamp. Its luminous disk seemed to bob about everywhere save on the laryngeal mirror.[66] Not wishing for my clumsy efforts to cause our patient pain, I soon abandoned them. Sir Morell received my apologies with smiling condescension.

  “Be of good cheer, Dr. Watson. You were no less successful as a laryngologist than my colleagues Drs. Bramann and Kussmaul, both of whom are surgeons of considerable experience. It is a difficult instrument for a novice to master.”

  Despite his condolences, I could not but feel that the experiment had been intended to put me in my place. From a personal if not professional standpoint, therefore, I was not sorry to see the consultation end.

  On my way back to my room, I heard quick steps approaching, and a voice called out “I say - Watson!”

  I turned to find Hovell trotting after me. “A word with you, Doctor, if I may.”

  “Of course.”

  “I wanted to say,” he gasped, having apparently run all the way from His Majesty’s bedchamber, “that you really must not mind Sir Morell. I have never known a better doctor or a kinder man, but he is always mistrustful of what he calls ‘outside interference.’ Although I believe he likes you personally, you are not under his control; and therefore your presence makes him nervous, especially in a consultation with the Emperor.”

  “I understand completely, Hovell. It did not help matters, I am sure, that Holmes gave him quite a drubbing in our interview this morning. As for my poor self, Mackenzie can hardly be expected to regard me as a colleague. Considering my qualifications, from a medical perspective I should not be here at all! My only defence is that our mission to Charlottenburg is not entirely medical in nature.”