The Kaiser's Last Kiss

by Alan Judd

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  The Reichsführer glanced at Fräulein Potthast, who had finished hanging her clothes in the wardrobe and was sitting on the edge of the bed, reading a magazine. Her legs were crossed and one polished brown shoe was half off, swinging slightly from her toes.

  Krebbs, who had sat throughout at attention, stood and put on his cap. ‘Heil Hitler!’

  The Reichsführer acknowledged Krebbs’s quivering salute by raising the palm of his right hand and mouthing his response, then turned towards Fräulein Potthast.

  On the stairs Krebbs met Akki and another maid carrying bed linen. They backed into a corner to make way for him. He made to pass, then stopped Akki. ‘Excuse me, fräulein, a word, if you please.’ The other maid continued up to the landing and out of sight. Krebbs had no idea what he was going to say. Until he spoke he had intended to let Akki pass. She looked at him across the pile of linen, held before her in both hands. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked in a lowered voice.

  ‘Yes. Are you?’

  ‘I have just been with the Reichsführer. He praised me. He said very good things about me.’

  ‘You look frightened.’

  ‘Yes.’ He surprised himself by his admission. ‘When may I come and see you?’

  She glanced up and down the stairs. ‘Whenever I am there. But it is difficult, with others around.’

  ‘This evening?’

  ‘Maybe. But we might be busy, with so many guests. And you will be busy, surely.’

  ‘I don’t mind, you know, about what you told me. It’s all right.’ This was the opposite of what he had intended but, now that he had said it, he felt relieved and excited.

  She glanced up and down the stairs again. ‘We can’t talk about it here.’

  ‘I may come this evening, then?’

  ‘If you like.’

  ‘Tell the other girl I stopped you to ask about the sleeping arrangements for the Reichsführer’s officers and to complain that this staircase should not be used by servants carrying things.’

  She nodded and moved on.

  SIX

  The Princess herself inspected the dining-room before dinner that night, accompanied by the major-domo and house steward. She wore her blue and silver gown, the one she privately thought of as her coronation gown, and her most delicate gold shoes. Dinner, according to Willie’s custom, was usually a plain affair. It always had been, with the Hohenzollerns. For all their tradition, they had little feel for regal living, still less for luxury. Those who did not know this probably suspected parsimony, but there would be no chance of such error on this occasion. The porcelain Neuosier dinner service was beautifully set off by the silver cutlery with its acanthus palmette decoration. That was based on the English ‘King’s pattern’, but Herr Himmler was most unlikely to know. The candelabra gleamed and the glassware, with gilded cartouche and engraved war trophies surrounding Frederick the Great’s initials, shone. The climax of the menu would be roast goose, with snails and vegetables. Herr Himmler was reportedly partial to goose.

  It looked as if set out for a heavenly host, she thought as she contemplated the glittering table, and the ceiling and walls executed in scagliola. It was almost a pity to spoil the scene by eating in it, she remarked to the majordomo. She had always loved the sight of a well-laid table awaiting diners, with its sense of imminent occasion and that delicious expectancy which you wanted to prolong for ever. It was just as she liked to picture one’s reception in heaven, so often described by those who had seen through death’s door as a joyous banquet; though she did not remark on this to the major-domo, being troubled by the thought that he might hope to be invited.

  The earthly banquet went well, she concluded later. Everyone seemed determined to be convivial and no one struck a sour note, though von Islemann was perhaps a little too quiet. Willie, in one of his smarter uniforms, was in particularly good form, laughing and talking more than usual. Herr Himmler was charm itself, so different from some of the Nazis one met. It showed, as she had more than once remarked to Willie, that the people at the top – the very top – were not only able but civilised. The adjutants were charming, too, and Fräulein Mouse was pleasant enough although, as the Princess had already gathered from friends in Berlin, she never had much to say for herself. The Princess had never met Frau Himmler but felt he could have done better for himself than the Mouse. Perhaps he was unadventurous in that respect.

  The important thing, of course, was that the occasion should enhance Willie’s chances of being invited to return to his throne, while at the very least securing continuance of the annual grant made to him by successive German governments. That was essential. From early in the dinner it was apparent that all was going well. While the soup was being cleared Willie described his shooting exploits to Herr Himmler, who listened with an expression of polite inquiry and without appearing too obviously bored. The light from the chandelier glinted on his pince-nez as he nodded. His lips were formed into a faint – was it faintly ironic? – smile. She resolved there and then that she really would do something for him. She was prepared already but had not, until that moment, actually decided. It always helped, if only a way could be found.

  Dear Willie, meanwhile, was detailing some of the 33,967 birds and other animals recorded in his game book during his first twenty-five years of shooting. His memory was formidable still – who else could remember by heart 9,643 pheasant, 54 capercaillie, 16,188 hare, 581 ‘unspecified beasts’, as well as all the rest – but he would keep talking over people, smothering them in mid-sentence as if unaware that they were speaking. Presumably that was one result of being Kaiser for all those years; another, of which he was equally unconscious, was always walking first through the door.

  He did the first again during Herr Himmler’s response to his figures, waving his fork like a conductor’s baton. ‘Mostly with a twenty-bore,’ he said, ‘resting it on the shoulder of a keeper because of my weak arm.’

  It was rare for the Kaiser to refer to his arm, a sign, she thought, that he was relaxed with Herr Himmler.

  ‘Bigger stuff with a rifle, of course,’ he continued, smothering Herr Himmler’s next remark. ‘I tried a drilling once or twice but never got on with it. Never could. Not so much the weight as the balance. Ever tried a drilling?’

  Herr Himmler had not. His hesitation led the Princess to suspect that he did not know what a drilling was. ‘Willie, you cannot expect a busy man such as the Reichsführer to have time for the arcana of shooting,’ she interjected. ‘He has not time to play with sporting guns that are a combination of shotgun and rifle. His concern is with bigger guns than that.’ She smiled at Himmler.

  ‘They’re a compromise,’ the Kaiser continued. ‘You need pedigree for a proper job, as in everything else.’

  There were flecks of soup in his beard, she couldn’t help noticing. Herr Himmler must have noticed, too. He looked like the sort of man who noticed things and it was hard to take someone seriously when you noticed bits of food stuck to them. It was like women with flecks of lipstick on their teeth. She herself was always particularly careful about that sort of thing.

  Conversation became more general with the arrival of the goose. The Reichsführer gave his views on the progress of the war. Things were going well and Germany was at last beginning to breathe deeply again. She had room to fill her lungs, no longer circumscribed by envious hostile forces seeking to confine her. But the task was far from finished, there was still so much to do and with certain important questions still unresolved every German had to be prepared to strain every sinew until victory was complete.

  ‘But when matters in Europe are settled we shall still need a Zollverein, a customs union,’ said the Kaiser, again cutting across what the Reichsführer was saying. ‘A customs union against America, that is. That is the only way to secure European prosperity and resist American domination. And that itself is only one stage in the fight against materialism and un-German behaviour. To achieve it we must first c
onquer Juda-England, which has become the Trojan horse in Europe for international Jewry, American capital and freemasonry. Do you not agree, Herr Himmler?’

  The Reichsführer’s pince-nez glinted again as he nodded. ‘The Prince speaks wisely. It is a fact that the forces that threaten German stability are the very forces that also threaten international stability. That is why there is a need for a new world order and why it is necessary to put in place certain geographic and economic changes so as to create conditions for a more spiritual, less materialist society.’

  The Kaiser gestured with his fork once more, as if scattering pebbles along the table. ‘And if America is foolish enough to come into the war again, as she did last time, we should repeat to them what I said then: pay us the compliment of fighting us, and we will do you the favour of solving your negro problem – send them across and we will shoot them down!’

  Everyone laughed, even the Reichsführer who laughed rarely, the Princess had noticed, although his smile was near constant. ‘They should pay us to do it,’ added one of the adjutants.

  The Kaiser raised his glass to the adjutant. ‘That is a refinement of which I had not thought. We should invoice them for the ammunition. But in fact I think America is unlikely to join this war. There is no reason for them to do it this time.’

  Everyone nodded. Everyone drank, too, the adjutants particularly. Even von Islemann, the Princess was pleased to note, was indulging himself a little; that was good, because he had been too subdued recently and needed to loosen up a bit. The young Leutnant Krebbs was drinking well, too, though he said little. Willie, she observed, was drinking less than appeared from his manner and gestures, certainly less than everybody else. He never drank much, anyway, but sometimes he liked to make people think he did, usually when he had something in mind. She took that as a good sign and accepted another glass herself.

  ‘There are many Americans who would willingly honour such an invoice,’ continued the Reichsführer. ‘Meanwhile, we have population problems of our own, closer to home. Of course, we are all familiar with the population control methods of Genghis Khan and would feel they were a little crude for our own times, perhaps.’ He smiled as he sipped his wine. One of the adjutants chuckled. ‘But they may be improvable with modernisation. It is clear to all in Europe that we in Germany need room to settle about thirty million of our people. This need for Lebensraum – for living space, for settlement – is not controversial. What is controversial in some quarters are the policy implications of this need. There is room for such settlement only in the east but even there it would be necessary to oversee some preliminary reordering of populations. We have in fact begun this process already in Poland, though it is still in its early stages and is not widely known about, but it will be necessary to expand. Rigorous analysis indicates that development of this policy could also provide solutions to related problems, provided our actions are clearly thought-out and executed with appropriate vigour. If our policy aims prove incapable of rapid realisation and therefore call for endurance in pursuance as well as promptness in execution – as may well be the case – it is possible that we may seek various accommodations with interested international parties. In that case, it could be very helpful to the Reich’ – Himmler inclined his head towards the Kaiser – ‘to have the public support of certain eminent and internationally respected persons.’

  The Kaiser put down his fork and raised his glass, looking directly at the Reichsführer. ‘I drink to the success of the German Reich in resolving these issues and willingly pledge any help that I, or any loyal German known to me, can give.’

  Himmler stood and held his glass across the table. ‘To our Führer and Prince Wilhelm.’ He turned to Hermine with a smile. ‘And to our dear Princess.’

  Everyone but the Kaiser and Hermine stood, toasted, and sat again. Conversation became livelier and more general. Obersturmbannführer Grothman, the more senior of the adjutants, leaned across to the Princess. ‘It is rare for the Reichsführer to be so open,’ he whispered. ‘He must be feeling very good about things.’

  The Princess beamed and looked across at Willie, but he was talking again. Everything was going to plan, she felt.

  After the fruit – cherries, apples, strawberries, peaches and oranges, all Willie’s favourites – the Kaiser decreed that men and women should adjourn together for coffee and liqueurs rather than separate. This created circumstances propitious for the most private, and riskiest, part of the Princess’s plan. She had come secretly prepared but without knowing when, or whether, she would have the opportunity to enact it. In the passage leading to the Gobelin Room she drew the Reichsführer’s attention to the display cases of Hohenzollern miniatures and other bits and pieces. When the others had passed into the room she broke off from her descriptions.

  ‘I was sorry to hear of your wife’s indisposition. It is not too serious, I hope?’

  The Reichsführer shook his head sadly, while his lips retained the form of his smile. ‘Not a threatening condition, thank you, but chronic. It comes and goes and is impossible to predict. The realisation that she would be unable to visit you and the Prince unfortunately worsened her condition. She is extremely sorry not to be here. It is most thoughtful of you to ask after her and I shall tell her of your concern.’

  ‘I should like to do something to help, Herr Himmler, to give you something for her. Medical bills are so expensive these days, as I know to my cost, and the war has, I hear, caused shortages of certain medicines in Germany. This is necessary for the greater good, of course, but none the less it is sometimes very important to be able to get what one needs. We have only one life, after all.’

  The Reichsführer nodded. ‘Indeed. This is not, as has been said, the dress rehearsal.’

  The Princess took a light green monogrammed envelope from her handbag. ‘It would therefore please me very greatly, Herr Himmler, if you would accept this small offering on her behalf.’

  The Reichsführer slipped the thick envelope into his jacket pocket with neither pause nor haste. ‘You are most kind, Princess. My wife will be more than grateful.’

  ‘It might help with some new treatment for her.’

  ‘Of course.’

  The Princess hesitated to move on, feeling she must have forgotten something and that there ought to have been more to it than that. He had pocketed the envelope as effortlessly, as seamlessly, as if it were an expected and practised thing. His action had been in keeping with the manner of her offer, but the whole transaction now seemed indecently easy. She was suddenly embarrassed, too, by the difference in height between them. She had been aware of it before, of course, but only now, as they stood in momentary silence in the passage, did it feel awkward. She was at a loss to know how to conclude, whereas he seemed unaware of the need for any conclusion. After another moment of hesitation, she moved off.

  Krebbs, who had waited by the dining table as the others filed out ahead of him, watched them go. He had been an involuntary witness of the transaction, standing close to the wall out of sight, and had seen the envelope disappear into the Reichsführer’s tunic pocket. As they moved away he followed, hoping it would appear he had only just come within earshot, but neither noticed him. There were two small putative boils on the back of the Reichsführer’s neck, just above his uniform collar.

  In the Gobelin Room the Kaiser already had his coffee, which he drank on his feet, walking about. The ladies could sit but the men had to remain standing. The Kaiser was talking again about the English. ‘They have a saying about how one rotten apple will infect a whole barrel,’ he said, ‘but they do not realise how well it applies to themselves. They have the Jew in their midst now. It has always been so there, at least during my lifetime, but they do not realise it, they cannot see the damage it does them. Their humour, of which they are so proud and which truly is good, so good’ – he paused with his cup raised and his saucer balanced carefully in his left hand, laughing to himself – ‘yes, it prevents them from appreciating th
at certain things are serious none the less. They laugh about international financiers and capitalism but they do not see what evil is being done.’

  Everyone nodded. Krebbs, who had remained by the door, watched Akki and another maid enter the far door with liqueurs. Akki’s white apron was pressed and gleaming, her face expressionless. He noticed the Kaiser following her with his eyes as she arranged glasses and bottles on a sideboard and then, at a nod from the major-domo, stood by the far door, awaiting orders. The Kaiser beckoned her to him with his cup and spoke quietly to her. She left the room by Krebbs’s door, her eyes lowered.

  ‘Now, gentlemen, liqueurs,’ the Kaiser announced, handing his cup and saucer to the other maid who came forward to receive them. ‘And cigars, I think.’

  By the time Akki returned the air was thick with cigar smoke and drinks were being handed round. The Kaiser stood by the eighteenth-century Spindler card table, puffing on his cigar and smiling at the Princess. Akki had with her a book which, at a gesture he made with the cigar, she put on the table before him.

  The Princess, Frau von Islemann and Fräulein Potthast were seated and talking among themselves. The Reichsführer was saying something to von Islemann. The other maid was serving drinks to the adjutants. After a further nod from the major-domo, Akki approached Krebbs.

  ‘Would you like a drink, sir?’

  Her grey eyes held his without a flicker. An actress, he thought. She loves to act. Perhaps it excites her. ‘A whisky, please.’ It excited him.

  The Reichsführer left von Islemann and turned again towards the Kaiser. ‘If I may take up the Prince’s point,’ he said, his voice raised enough to get the company’s attention, ‘it is not only the English who do not appreciate the danger and insidious corruption in their midst, but also the Americans and, strangely, the Danes. Fortunately, there are people in these countries who have their eyes open and understand the problem, and these we must encourage. In some other countries there is greater awareness and consequently a greater willingness to take measures – in Poland, for instance, and in France, where co-operation with the authorities is beginning to proceed satisfactorily. Here in Holland the early signs are also promising, indicating a methodical approach to the problem. But only in Germany is there sufficient clarity of thought and courage of mind to admit the scale of the task and to confront what a final solution would involve. There has to be some adjustment of populations, and adjustment means – crucially – fewer numbers. It may surprise some people to know that I have had encouraging conversations with Jewish – yes, Jewish – leaders about this. With persistence, and under the right circumstances, even they can be persuaded of the logic of our position and hence the necessity of our solution. But we must be unceasing in our efforts to urge, persuade and explain, and for that reason – but not for that alone – we are extremely grateful for Prince Wilhelm’s support, and I am happy to assure you all that the German government looks forward not only to continuing its support for Prince Wilhelm and his family but to ever closer co-operative relations in the future.’