Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the Dying Emperor

by Thomas A. Turley

  On the following Sunday, a rare day of drizzle in an otherwise fine month,[107] we were enjoying an afternoon of leisure. Holmes, who had been growing restless since his recent consultation with the French detective Villard[108], was engaged in researching his voluminous, if ill-ordered, archives. I was immersed in the latest of Clark Russell’s sea-stories.[109] It was with some asperity, therefore, that Mrs. Hudson’s more irritable lodger responded to her knock.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr. Holmes, I’m sure,” that much-tried lady snapped, “but you have a visitor. A nice young man, by all appearances; his name is Mr. Hovell. He says you will remember him from Germany.”

  Needless to say, if the interruption was unwelcome, our visitor was not. Holmes and I hailed the young surgeon with enthusiasm. When he was provided with a whiskey and a comfortable seat before the fire, we extended our condolences on the recent death of Hovell’s father.[110] My friend then demanded an account of his adventures since our last encounter.

  “Well, Mr. Holmes, I’m sure that you and Dr. Watson followed the sad progress of Emperor Frederick’s demise. The cancerous growth eventually breached his oesophagus, so we were forced to feed him through a tube. Fortunately, pneumonia intervened, and the poor man endured but a few days of suffering.[111] The end was quite serene. Certain events after His Majesty’s death, however, caused something of a scandal.”

  “Yes, the newspapers made those facts quite clear,” my friend acknowledged. “You needn’t rehearse the sorry tale.”

  “There was one incident a few weeks ago that should amuse you,” Hovell said more cheerfully. “It was a bit of retribution that vindicated Sir Morell. I wasn’t there myself; I had the story from a German surgeon, Dr. Carl Schleich. You know of him, Watson. He is a pioneer in local anesthesia.”

  I nodded silently, for Holmes looked impatient for our friend to continue.

  “In mid-July, it seems - hardly a month after the Emperor’s demise - Professor von Bergmann announced with great pomp and circumstance that his students at the Charité were to witness the surgery that would have saved their Kaiser’s life. He had located a patient (some luckless aristocrat) who had - according to von Bergmann - the same type of laryngeal cancer that had afflicted Frederick. So, before a vast, appreciative audience, he and his assistants began the laryngectomy. After an hour or so, there were mutterings of dismay among the surgeons. Suddenly, the Professor removed his mask and angrily announced: ‘Gentlemen, we have been misled! This is not carcinoma after all; it is tuberculosis of the larynx. I am discontinuing the operation!’ As you might well imagine, the poor patient died, two hours after he left the operating table.”[112]

  Quite inappropriately, considering the outcome of this tale, all three of us burst into a roar of laughter. We were interrupted at this stage by our landlady. Having failed to serve tea during an earlier visit by more exalted guests, Mrs. Hudson was not to be denied on this occasion. Ignoring Holmes’ protests, she performed the rite with grace and triumphantly departed, leaving one of us annoyed and all of us refreshed.

  Following the interlude, Hovell resumed his recollections in a more serious vein. “Gentlemen, I fear that my story’s epilogue is less amusing. Just after this public display of gross incompetence, Kaiser Wilhelm II invested Professor von Bergmann with the Hohenzollern Cross and Star, the same award - for butchering his father - that Frederick III had given to the man who tried to save him!”[113]

  My friend sighed almost sympathetically. “How is Sir Morell Mackenzie? For all his love of baubles, I did admire the man’s devotion to his patient. The German doctors were exceedingly severe with him in their reports. Has he managed to bear their attacks with equanimity, or will he make an effort to retaliate?”

  Holmes’ question was highly disingenuous, for he had already informed me that the laryngologist was writing his own book. Hovell looked at him askance before replying.

  “Mr. Holmes, he is as angry as a man whose honour is impugned should be! Most of the German doctors’ claims are utterly without foundation. Professor Gerhardt, the throat specialist who had treated Frederick before we were called in, accused Sir Morell of removing healthy tissue from the patient’s larynx so it would be sent to Professor Virchow for analysis. This from a man whose idea of treatment is burning the throat with a hot wire![114] In his report, von Bergmann asserted that splitting the Crown Prince’s larynx (the procedure he first proposed in 1887) is no more dangerous than routine tracheotomy. He cited seven of his successful cures, without revealing that none of them had cancer![115] As for his account of his butchery in April, it is no more than a pack of lies!”

  “His conduct has been despicable,” remarked Sherlock Holmes, “but hardly more so than I expected after four days in Charlottenburg. Were I permitted to advise Mackenzie, I should urge him to exercise restraint. There are powerful interests, both here and in Berlin, who seem quite determined that the truth shall not come out.”

  “My chief has been made aware of that,” said Hovell drily. “Some days ago, Sir Morell received a visit from a gentleman in Whitehall, who stated in the most explicit terms that he was not to accuse von Bergmann of intentionally injuring the Emperor.”

  “Indeed?” The detective paused, no doubt trying to decide whether Mycroft had summoned the energy to go himself or delegated the task to a subordinate.

  “So, Hovell,” he eventually continued, “I trust that Mackenzie will be wise enough to heed this warning, and restrict any self-defence that he may make to the medical issues disputed in the case?”

  “I hope so, sir, but he chafes a good deal under those restrictions. Even on the terms you mention, the draft I have read is injudicious. Sir Morell has indulged in petty personal attacks and side-issues, as well as counter-charges against his German colleagues that he cannot prove. Dr. Donelan and I have tried to discourage him from publishing the book at all. We shall urge him, at the very least, to cut large portions of it.”[116]

  “Surely,” I suggested, “it would be better for Mackenzie to write a sober article for the British Medical Journal or The Lancet, or - if he feels he must reply in kind to personal attacks - the newspapers. He has often made use of them before! The kind of book you say he’s writing will only destroy a distinguished and honourable career.”[117]

  “You’re quite right, Watson,” Hovell sighed. “Donelan and I have made that argument repeatedly, but I doubt that Sir Morell will ever listen. If nothing else, he wants his book to pay a tribute to the Emperor - whom he mourns, I believe, as much from guilt as grief. His journal entries concerning His Late Majesty are quite moving.”

  My friend’s derisive grunt was our last comment on Mackenzie. Afterwards, we sat pondering in silence for so long that I rose and lit the lamps, for those outside our windows had been burning for an hour. Mark Hovell seemed the most thoughtful of us all. At last, he asked Holmes quietly:

  “Would you tell me something, Mr. Holmes?”

  “If I can,” replied the detective, but I could see that his antennae were fully on alert.

  “In your last report from Charlottenburg to Whitehall, what were your conclusions? What did you tell those gentlemen regarding the attack upon the Emperor?”

  “I can answer that quite simply, Mr. Hovell.” With a slightly absent smile, Holmes took up his cherry-wood pipe and occupied himself in lighting it. “I told my contacts in Whitehall that the Emperor Frederick had been murdered.”

  “Murdered, Mr. Holmes?” cried Hovell. “I can accept your calling von Bergmann’s ‘random stabbing’ an attempt at murder, for I must reluctantly agree that his actions were deliberate. Even so, His Majesty survived that attack, and in any case he was a doomed man from the start.”

  “Does that matter?” queried Sherlock Holmes. “Cannot a dying man be murdered? If actions were deliberately undertaken that curtailed the Emperor’s life, then do not those actions - howe
ver delayed their effect - qualify as murder?”

  “I have often wondered.” I put in, “whether, upon the evidence, the Professor would have been convicted by a British jury.”

  “At the time, Doctor,” my friend chuckled, “I suspect His Majesty’s evidence would have been decisive! However, gentlemen, the focus of your investigation is too narrow. The villainous von Bergmann - while admittedly the perpetrator of the act itself - was by no means the only one responsible for Frederick’s death.”

  “Indeed not, Holmes! We successfully unmasked both Crown Prince William and the Chancellor for their roles in the conspiracy.”

  “Still too narrow, Watson,” answered Holmes, frowning as he placed a warning finger to his lips. “Has it not occurred to you that almost everyone in his immediate circle conspired in some way to kill the Emperor? From the beginning, the self-serving rivalry between the English and the German doctors (from which I exempt you, Mr. Hovell) was of the worst possible service to their patient. Regardless of who was right or wrong concerning Frederick’s treatment, or his chances of survival, both sides placed their own egos and ambitions above their fealty to the Hippocratic Oath.

  “Worse still for His Majesty, he became a pawn in a one-sided chess match between his own wife and the Iron Chancellor. I have concluded that the Empress most valued her husband as the embodiment of her parents’ political ideals, a part that she could never play in Germany. If so, her tactics were deplorable. Motivated by her overly protective love, she kept the Crown Prince off the board so long that politically he had become a nullity by the time he ascended to the throne. The wily Bismarck, left unchallenged in Berlin, had nine full months to subvert the couple’s impatient and unloving son, ensuring that the liberal dreams Frederick and Victoria had cherished would never be fulfilled.

  “Thus, it was the errors of his friends, as well as the malice of his foes, that cut short the Emperor’s life. Frederick’s enemies also succeeded in diminishing his legacy, which ought to have ensured the gallant, visionary, but ill-fated monarch a lasting place in European history.”

  Sherlock Homes subsided and re-lit his pipe, favouring the two of us with a world-weary smile. “Well now, gentlemen! If you do not concur that all of that amounts to murder, perhaps we had better redefine the word!”

  103 According to other sources, Bismarck emerged from this meeting with the comment: “What a woman! One could do business with her.” After regaining his composure, he tempered his admiring verdict to: “Grandmamma behaved quite sensibly at Charlottenburg.” See Longford, p. 506; Pakula, pp. 481–483, and Ponsonby, pp. 301–304.

  104 Watson’s recollections are confirmed by the writings of Mackenzie, pp. 169–170; Pakula, p. 487; and Stevenson, p. 130.

  105 Even before Frederick III’s deliberately rushed and disrespectful funeral (Pakula, p. 492), Victoria fled with her three unmarried daughters from Friedrichskron (soon to revert to its old name, “the New Palace”) to her farm at Bornstedt. When opening the Reichstag on June 25, William II promised only to follow the same path ... [as his] deceased grandfather. ...” (Ponsonby, pp. 319–322).

  106 Commanded by Bismarck and edited by von Bergmann, The Illness of Emperor Frederick III appeared on July 11, 1888. Although almost all the German doctors provided reports, Mackenzie and Hovell were not invited to participate. The document claimed to utilize “official sources”; in fact, its contents were written by the doctors and then deposited in the Prussian State Archives (Stevenson, p. 142).

  107 See the monthly weather report by the Met Office (British meteorological office) for September 1888, available online at: https://www.metoffice.gov.uk/binaries/content/assets/mohippo/pdf/9/r/sep1888.pdf. It contains public sector information licensed under the Open Government License v1.0.

  108 See The Sign of Four, which, according to Baring-Gould’s timeline (p. 304), began two days later. Holmes’ restlessness must not have been assuaged by the events recorded here, for he shortly had recourse to the cocaine bottle. For Dr. Watson, the impending case would have much happier and more momentous consequences.

  109 According to Wikipedia (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Clark_Russell), this was probably The Death Ship, or The Flying Dutchman (1888), considered one of the best of Russell’s novels. Watson also records having read one the previous September, at the beginning of “The Five Orange Pips.”

  110 The death of Hovell’s father recalled him to England on June 4, 1888, although he returned to Berlin before Frederick III succumbed on June 15 (Stevenson, pp. 130–132). The Empress regretted the absence of “our invaluable little Dr. Hovell” a week before her husband’s passing. (Letter to Queen Victoria, June 8, 1888; Ponsonby, p. 312).

  111 The Emperor’s final days are covered by Mackenzie on pp, 169–178. For a German perspective, see the reports of Dr. Bardeleben, von Bergmann’s replacement; Case of Emperor Frederick III, pp. 89–91.

  112 See Stevenson (pp. 170–171) and Pakula (pp. 503–504). The story also appears in Dr. Carl E. Silver’s brief but cogent article, “The Case of Emperor Frederick III: A Medical-Political Tragedy.” Tempe, AZ: Emeritus Voices: The Journal of the Emeritus College of A[rizona] S[tate] U]niversity, 2006. It is available online at: https://emerituscollege.asu.edu/sites/default/files/ecdw/EVoice6/frederick.html.

  113 See Stevenson, p. 145.

  114 Professor Gerhardt’s accusations appear on pp. 8–11 of the German doctors’ report, and Sir Morell’s rebuttal on pp. 24–28 and 208–211 of his own book. Before the British laryngologist was summoned in May 1887, Gephardt had attempted to remove the Crown Prince’s laryngeal tumor by repeatedly cauterizing it. Mackenzie asserted that “Gephardt’s reckless use of the red-hot wire” was partly responsible for the disease’s rapid development and “the perichondritis which ... hastened the fatal result.” (p. 205)

  115 Von Bergmann indeed made these claims on pp. 17–19 of Case of Emperor Frederick III. Writing in hindsight, the Dowager Empress told her mother: “I fancy Wegner very reluctantly agreed to the idea of the operation, but he let himself be guided by Bergmann and Gerhardt ... and I went entirely by what they said. ... Bergmann said to Wegner, ‘Es ist nichts gefährlich’ [It is not dangerous] ... Our most celebrated surgeon for this operation here [in Bornstedt] is Hahn ... [who] thought Bergmann far too inexperienced and Fritz not a fit subject for such an operation. ... Bergmann is known to be exceedingly untruthful; he does not care what he says. ...” (Dowager Empress to Queen Victoria, August 24–25, 1888; Ponsonby, pp. 333–334)

  116 Dr. James Donelan was another of Sir Morell’s assistants. Apparently, his and Hovell’s counsels nearly prevailed; for after hearing their negative remarks on his last draft, Mackenzie admitted: “I believe you are right.” Unfortunately, he changed his mind, perhaps (although his biographer is doubtful) at the urging of the Dowager Empress. See Stevenson, pp. 146–147.

  117 Dr. Watson’s remark was prophetic, for the British medical establishment’s reception of Mackenzie’s book was disastrous to his reputation. Sir Morell died, only four years after his most famous patient, from overwork, pneumonia, and (one suspects) humiliation. Perhaps the fairest verdict on his career and personality was delivered by Mark Hovell: “Morell Mackenzie was a great man, but he was a bit of a humbug as well.” (Stevenson, p. 180).

  Also available

 

 

 
-inline-share-buttons">share