visage work? They were provided for. By whom? By their noble connections, by their wives, by—the German people. By way of the Government Services; by way of High Finance; by way—well might the reader's credulity feel taxed —by way of the German Army. Let him take the eldest of the three first. His course was simple. When he reached the age of twenty, he married the only daughter of one of our wealthiest statesmen and settled down to live in her father's country house, his own patrimony, some neglected and indebted acres, having been sold up, and had lived there ever since. He would still be there, had he not recently changed that abode for the one occupied— temporarily —in this capital by the Count, his brother-in-law, in whose wake he had followed upon the latter's acceptance of a portfolio in the Government. In return for nearly forty years of hospitality the Baron had obliged his father-and brother-in-law respectively with a little paper work, of a nature, perhaps, not to be entrusted to functionaries sworn and trained? The second brother had aimed higher. No stay-at-home, he had himself propelled—without discernible qualifications—into the Diplomatic Corps by his brother's father-in-law (the same late statesman, and father of the present Minister). After adorning this service for a few years with his recognizedly graceful presence, he had nonchalantly left it, having secured for himself a still more desirable sinecure in the form of a matrimonial alliance with our Israelite plutocracy. Neither the general un-suitability of the match (unsuitability according to the tenets of his own caste), nor the partners' disparity of age, the bride being a girl twenty years his junior and in failing health, nor the evident reluctance of her parents, had deterred the intrepid Baron from his purpose. He set out once more upon his travels, taking with him the young wife. She soon died. Unencumbered, yet affluent, the Baron always contemptuous of his native country settled in the French metropolis to an existence the particulars of which would hardly make fit reading in these pages, and from
there continued to pay assiduous, and no doubt rewarding, court to his ex-in-laws. Unequal even to the duties of a father, he succeeded in saddling these old people with the one offspring of his brief union to their hapless child. Bounteousness, it might be said in passing, all the more remarkable on the part of a Jewish house itself renowned for a reluctance to meet the liabilities of its own scions; although perhaps less astonishing when seen in the light of the championship of another lady, also Jewish, also of great wealth, and herself connected by marriage with the family mentioned, who had proved for more years than it would be polite to reckon what might be termed a fast friend and protectress of the Baron's, an accord that sustained a rift only with his recent second venture in matrimony.
The current partner was, he understood, an English lady influentially connected and of course of ample means. There could be little question that the Baron, who did not bestow his favours lightly, had not chosen well. And yet it might be doubtful whether this self-styled cuckoo would find among the practical and more tightfisted inhabitants of Albion quite the same tenderness of treatment afforded him by gullible, good-natured Germans?
Here Quintus Narden paused to beg his readers' pardon for having worn out their patience with so banal a story. Now, he must come to the third brother. Little was known of this youngest of the three beyond that, boasting no particular aptitude or education, and lacking apparently in the pushfulness particular to his elders, a place was found for him in the Army. Nothing unusual in this, nor, given his relations, in the fact that he seemed to have started his career in the Land Arm of the Realm point blank with a commission in a crack cavalry regiment. So far, so ordinary. But as the years went on this prodigy lost his mind. He became disordered, feeble-minded, non compos. Still not a very remarkable development—it might well have been that the boredom, the utter idleness, the dissipation, lack
of purpose and frivolity of his existence wore away what little faculties this rather blank young man had once possessed. (A contingency which upon investigation might be found to be not infrequent in His Majesty's Services.) And here again, he wrote, he must hesitate—he doubted whether his pen was able to render intelligible facts at once so spare and bald. The officer's condition did not improve. He must have been insane, it was now revealed, for on to twenty years. Where did he spend them? In the safekeeping of one or other of his brothers or their foster relatives? In a private home? In an institution? In a manner of speaking, yes. The officer spent them in the Army. For twenty years, until his violent removal by death, he remained in his regiment; he drew his pay; he wore the Kaiser's uniform; in the course of seniority he was promoted to a captaincy. It had never been the present writer's opinion that the military were ideally constituted for the detection of failing mental powers—but two decades! Narden broke off, declaring himself too bemused to venture on a reasonable construction of the facts; he hoped, he wrote, to recover his wits sufficiently by Monday to discuss some aspects that disturbed him under the heading of undiscovered? or covered up?
This article forced attention. "What are we supposed to have done now?" they asked at the War Office.
"Better find out."
"Can't have Quintus Narden tell us who's fit to hold a commission."
"Better find out."
This proved a baffling business. An officer of that name had indeed been carried on the Army List for the last thirty years; but nobody had heard of him, except a handful of local people, and these were not in positions of responsibility. There were no records. There had never been a report. All the Captain's colonels were dead (except the
one before the last, and they had not yet heard from him). The Secretary of War spoke to the Chief of Staff and decided to have the court martial of Lieutenant Putnitz and Corporal Schaale adjourned.
"The regiment has telegraphed, are they to bury the officer with full honours?"
"Of course. No. Perhaps not. Have it held over; yes, have it held over."
"Not our pigeon," the Government whips said to each other. "Let the generals nod over it."
"I shouldn't be too sure; it's us who have to get the credits through."
"Awkward, about Bernin—the fellow who got himself shot is his sister's husband or his brother-in-law or something."
"Don't say you've read the filthy sheet?"
"Just glanced at it."
"Bernin's a seasoned old bird."
"Wish one could say the same of the Government."
"It would have to come before the budget's in."
"Can it be true?" they said in the clubs. "That chap off his rocker all those years. . . ." "Bit stiff."
"Oh it's just a mare's nest of old poison-pen's." "Narden's always been careful; in his way." "Well, if there's anything in it, all I can say is it doesn't look at all well."
At a hundred and twenty trade-union meetings over the country, the chairman said, "Comrades —"
"Who is Baron Bluebeard?" "All those heiresses." "Greedy."
"One is all right per family—second brother's job." "How did he do it?"
"Our taxes."
"That's right."
"Our savings."
"Hear, hear!"
"The workingman's pence."
"That's where they go!"
"Lunatics in luxury."
"Did you see—Jews got their fingers in it too."
"Whenever there is something rotten in the state of Denmark . . ."
"The Army daren't do a thing about them, or they wouldn't get the steel."
"Krupp isn't a Jew, Uncle?"
"The Jews could stop his money."
"Of course."
On the Sunday night that followed the publication of Quintus Narden's leader, a garrison near Magdeburg reported that a mob had forced their way into the regimental mess dragging with them an individual decked out with the insignia, cuirass and plumes of a cavalry officer, bearing round his neck a placard with the inscription, ME TOO. This guy having been deposited in the gentlemen's cardroom, the mob noisily withdrew. The individual, who upon investigation proved to be incapable of speech, was later claimed as their town idiot by a nearby community.
This form of officer baiting caught on, and for many years remained a favourite Sunday-night sport in rural Germany.
It was on this first Sunday that Jules and Caroline arrived in Berlin. It was evening, and the station looked
empty. Caroline had half hoped that they would not be met. But there was Sarah. Sarah had come out to meet her friend. She had brought a footman and a car, and was wearing the longest pair of foxes' furs and a huge hat.
"You—"
"How is he?" Sarah said.
"I don't know. You will see. He thinks he's got bronchitis."
Sarah said, "They are hoping at Voss Strasse that you will both stay with them. You are expected."
"Oh Sarah, what a horrible idea; you can't mean it?"
"You know you can always come to me, only—"
"I thought we'd go to an hotel."
"I should go to the old people's," said Sarah, "really I should."
Julius emerged, having been settled into his overcoat. He greeted Sarah. "It is cold," he said.
"Jules," Caroline said in a tone which Sarah noticed was loud and almost coaxing, "Sarah tells me that the Merzes want us to stay with them."
"I always stay at Voss Strasse. I've come to see Henrietta. Where is Henrietta? Why isn't she here?"
"Well, it's rather late," said Sarah.
"Henrietta is grown-up now," Julius said in a peevish tone.
"It is a bit cold," said Caroline.
"It is very cold," said Julius.
"All right," said Caroline, "I suppose we might as well go there. For a few days."
In the car they said little. Julius was shivering ostentatiously.
"It was good of you to come out all that way, and you're not one for stations. I was prepared for Gustavus."
"My dear, it was nothing." Sarah did not say that Edu had implored her not to go.
"Does one really wear these now? Your hat. I can't take my eyes off it."
"Beginning to wear them," said Sarah.
"The courage! I wouldn't dare show my face under them in the street."
"You will," said Sarah.
Further on she said, "I hope you didn't think my telegram interfering?"
"I had already left Madrid when it came," Caroline said. "It seems a long time."
"I only sent it because—"
"It was the only telegram we had," said Caroline.
They crossed the Wilhelmstrasse. "Clara's not here," Sarah began.
"Oh, is that it."
"She's still away; down there. By herself. You see they're waiting." She glanced at Jules.
"Waiting?" said Caroline.
"To be able to have the funeral."
Caroline looked up. "We thought that would have been all over."
"No," Sarah said, "not all over."
"You must make my apologies, Caro. I shall have to go straight up to my room," said Julius. "I'm not at all well." He coughed. "I will have my dinner on a tray; Henrietta can come and have hers with me. I want Pedro to come up; not Gottlieb. You will tell them?"
Quintus Narden's column the next morning began with an apology. His attention had been drawn to a number of errors in fact, and he hastened to correct them.
(1) Baron Felden had not been doing paper work for his brother-in-law, the present Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, as had been incorrectly stated here last week. "Oh, I sometimes see to who's going in first at the dinners, Conrad's a bit slack about precedence," the Baron was reported to have said on the subject. It was also not accurate that he had never been engaged in remunerative employment. Baron Felden had been assisting the Heralds' Office
of the Grand Duchy of Baden in an honorary capacity for a number of years, and was now drawing a modest salary for his knowledgeable contributions.
(2) Baron Julius von Felden's present match was not what it had been made to appear. The writer had been misinformed as to the lady's actual position in her own country; at the time she made the Baron's acquaintance, she was living in relative obscurity in Paris. Her personal fortune was merely adequate.
Both the Baron and his wife were at present in this country.
(3) It had been stated that Captain von Felden had become insane while serving in the Army. It was now established that he had been totally non compos when he entered the Army twenty-seven years ago.
"What is it all about?" said Grandmama Merz. It was second breakfast.
"Jules must sue for libel," said Emil.
"Damages!" said Grandpapa.
"Fine son-in-law," said Markwald.
"We emerge not unscathed, sir."
"Has someone been spending too much money?" said Grandmama.
"It's about Jules's brother, Mama."
"The Regimental Tragedy, ma'am."
"Unfortunate young man. . . . Mustn't mention it to Jules."
"No, nor
"Sarah will," said Grandpapa in a crowing tone.
"How beautiful Caroline looked last night," said Emil.
"I don't think there's anything to be gained by dragging it through the courts at this moment," said Friedrich.
"The Feldens would have to show defamation of character," said Markwald.
"Markwald," said Emil, "are you Quintus Narden? I've often suspected it."
"Cui bono?" said the Chancellor, "would anyone mind telling me that? C-u-i b-o-n-o?"
"Provision for a younger son, Excellency? As has been suggested."
"Poppycock. I should leave that to the Social-Democrats."
"Her late Royal Highness of Baden—?"
"A most virtuous, and a most constitutional old lady. We never had any trouble with her. Someone has overreached himself badly, I'm afraid. But why?"
Correspondents managed to press a staff major responsible for public relations. "He only looked after horses," said the major. A statement which when duly printed was ill received by both the cavalry and infantry.
"Caroline—"
"Oh, don't begin mincing words with me, Sarah. And you do it so badly."
"This foul —"
"It's all largely true? Isn't it?"