He Walked Around the Horses, Page 2

  I told him, very seriously, that we would have to check hiscredentials. I promised him I would make every effort to locatehis secretary and his servants and his coach, took a completedescription of all of them, and persuaded him to go into anupstairs room, where I kept him under guard. I did startinquiries, calling in all my informers and spies, but, as Iexpected, I could learn nothing. I could not find anybody, even,who had seen him anywhere in Perleburg before he appeared at theSword & Scepter, and that rather surprised me, as somebody shouldhave seen him enter the town, or walk along the street.

  In this connection, let me remind your excellency of thediscrepancy in the statements of the servant, Franz Bauer, and ofthe two peasants. The former is certain the man entered the innyard from the street; the latter are just as positive that he didnot. Your excellency, I do not like such puzzles, for I am surethat all three were telling the truth to the best of theirknowledge. They are ignorant common folk, I admit, but theyshould know what they did or did not see.

  After I got the prisoner into safekeeping, I fell to examining hispapers, and I can assure your excellency that they gave me a shock.I had paid little heed to his ravings about the King of Francebeing dethroned, or about this General Bonaparte who called himselfthe Emperor Napoleon, but I found all these things mentioned in hispapers and dispatches, which had every appearance of being officialdocuments. There was repeated mention of the taking, by the French,of Vienna, last May, and of the capitulation of the AustrianEmperor to this General Bonaparte, and of battles being fought allover Europe, and I don't know what other fantastic things. Yourexcellency, I have heard of all sorts of madmen--one believinghimself to be the Archangel Gabriel, or Mohammed, or a werewolf,and another convinced that his bones are made of glass, or that heis pursued and tormented by devils--but so help me God, this is thefirst time I have heard of a madman who had documentary proof forhis delusions! Does your excellency wonder, then, that I want nopart of this business?

  But the matter of his credentials was even worse. He had papers,sealed with the seal of the British Foreign Office, and to everyappearance genuine--but they were signed, as Foreign Minister, byone George Canning, and all the world knows that Lord Castlereaghhas been Foreign Minister these last five years. And to cap itall, he had a safe-conduct, sealed with the seal of the PrussianChancellery--the very seal, for I compared it, under a strongmagnifying glass, with one that I knew to be genuine, and theywere identical!--and yet, this letter was signed, as Chancellor,not by Count von Berchtenwald, but by Baron Stein, the Minister ofAgriculture, and the signature, as far as I could see, appeared tobe genuine! This is too much for me, your excellency; I must askto be excused from dealing with this matter, before I become asmad as my prisoner!

  I made arrangements, accordingly, with Colonel Keitel, of theThird Uhlans, to furnish an officer to escort this man intoBerlin. The coach in which they come belongs to this policestation, and the driver is one of my men. He should be furnishedexpense money to get back to Perleburg. The guard is a corporalof Uhlans, the orderly of the officer. He will stay with the_Herr Oberleutnant_, and both of them will return here at theirown convenience and expense.

  I have the honor, your excellency, to be, et cetera, et cetera.

  Ernst Hartenstein_Staatspolizeikapitan_

  (From _Oberleutnant_ Rudolf von Tarlburg, to Baron Eugen von Krutz.)

  26 November, 1809

  Dear Uncle Eugen;

  This is in no sense a formal report; I made that at the Ministry,when I turned the Englishman and his papers over to one of yourofficers--a fellow with red hair and a face like a bulldog. Butthere are a few things which you should be told, which wouldn'tlook well in an official report, to let you know just what sortof a rare fish has got into your net.

  I had just come in from drilling my platoon, yesterday, whenColonel Keitel's orderly told me that the colonel wanted to seeme in his quarters. I found the old fellow in undress in hissitting room, smoking his big pipe.

  "Come in, lieutenant; come in and sit down, my boy!" he greetedme, in that bluff, hearty manner which he always adopts with hisjunior officers when he has some particularly nasty job to bedone. "How would you like to take a little trip in to Berlin? Ihave an errand, which won't take half an hour, and you can stayas long as you like, just so you're back by Thursday, when yourturn comes up for road patrol."

  Well, I thought, this is the bait. I waited to see what the hookwould look like, saying that it was entirely agreeable with me,and asking what his errand was.

  "Well, it isn't for myself, Tarlburg," he said. "It's for thisfellow Hartenstein, the _Staatspolizeikapitan_ here. He hassomething he wants done at the Ministry of Police, and I thoughtof you because I've heard you're related to the Baron von Krutz.You are, aren't you?" he asked, just as though he didn't know allabout who all his officers are related to.

  "That's right, colonel; the baron is my uncle," I said. "Whatdoes Hartenstein want done?"

  "Why, he has a prisoner whom he wants taken to Berlin and turnedover at the Ministry. All you have to do is to take him in, in acoach, and see he doesn't escape on the way, and get a receiptfor him, and for some papers. This is a very important prisoner;I don't think Hartenstein has anybody he can trust to handle him.The prisoner claims to be some sort of a British diplomat, andfor all Hartenstein knows, maybe he is. Also, he is a madman."

  "A madman?" I echoed.

  "Yes, just so. At least, that's what Hartenstein told me. I wantedto know what sort of a madman--there are various kinds of madmen,all of whom must be handled differently--but all Hartenstein wouldtell me was that he had unrealistic beliefs about the state ofaffairs in Europe."

  "Ha! What diplomat hasn't?" I asked.

  Old Keitel gave a laugh, somewhere between the bark of a dog andthe croaking of a raven.

  "Yes, exactly! The unrealistic beliefs of diplomats are whatsoldiers die of," he said. "I said as much to Hartenstein, but hewouldn't tell me anything more. He seemed to regret having saideven that much. He looked like a man who's seen a particularlyterrifying ghost." The old man puffed hard at his famous pipe fora while, blowing smoke through his mustache. "Rudi, Hartensteinhas pulled a hot potato out of the ashes, this time, and he wantsto toss it to your uncle, before he burns his fingers. I thinkthat's one reason why he got me to furnish an escort for hisEnglishman. Now, look; you must take this unrealistic diplomat,or this undiplomatic madman, or whatever in blazes he is, in toBerlin. And understand this." He pointed his pipe at me as thoughit were a pistol. "Your orders are to take him there and turn himover at the Ministry of Police. Nothing has been said aboutwhether you turn him over alive, or dead, or half one and halfthe other. I know nothing about this business, and want to knownothing; if Hartenstein wants us to play gaol warders for him,then he must be satisfied with our way of doing it!"

  Well, to cut short the story, I looked at the coach Hartensteinhad placed at my disposal, and I decided to chain the left doorshut on the outside, so that it couldn't be opened from within.Then, I would put my prisoner on my left, so that the only way outwould be past me. I decided not to carry any weapons which hemight be able to snatch from me, so I took off my saber and lockedit in the seat box, along with the dispatch case containing theEnglishman's papers. It was cold enough to wear a greatcoat incomfort, so I wore mine, and in the right side pocket, where myprisoner couldn't reach, I put a little leaded bludgeon, and alsoa brace of pocket pistols. Hartenstein was going to furnish me aguard as well as a driver, but I said that I would take a servant,who could act as guard. The servant, of course, was my orderly,old Johann; I gave him my double hunting gun to carry, with a bigcharge of boar shot in one barrel and an ounce ball in the other.

  In addition, I armed myself with a big bottle of cognac. I thoughtthat if I could shoot my prisoner often enough with that, he wouldgive me no trouble.

  As it happened, he didn't, and none of my precautions--exceptthe cognac--were needed. The man didn't look like a lunatic tome. He was a rather stout gentleman, of past middle a
ge, with aruddy complexion and an intelligent face. The only unusual thingabout him was his hat, which was a peculiar contraption, lookinglike a pot. I put him in the carriage, and then offered him adrink out of my bottle, taking one about half as big myself. Hesmacked his lips over it and said, "Well, that's real brandy;whatever we think of their detestable politics, we can'tcriticize the French for their liquor." Then, he said, "I'm gladthey're sending me in the custody of a military gentleman,instead of a confounded gendarme. Tell me the truth, lieutenant;am I under arrest for anything?"

  "Why," I said, "Captain Hartenstein should have told you aboutthat. All I know is that I have orders to take you to the Ministryof Police, in Berlin, and not to let you escape on the way. Theseorders I will carry out; I hope you don't hold that against me."

  He assured me that he did not, and we had another drink onit--I made sure, again, that he got twice as much as I did--andthen the coachman cracked his whip and we were off for Berlin.

  Now, I thought, I am going to see just what sort of a madman thisis, and why Hartenstein is making a State affair out of a squabbleat an inn. So I decided to explore his unrealistic beliefs aboutthe state of affairs in Europe.

  After guiding the conversation to where I wanted it, I asked him:

  "What, _Herr_ Bathurst, in your belief, is the real, underlyingcause of the present tragic situation in Europe?"

  That, I thought, was safe enough. Name me one year, since thedays of Julius Caesar, when the situation in Europe hasn't beentragic! And it worked, to perfection.

  "In my belief," says this Englishman, "the whole mess is theresult of the victory of the rebellious colonists in NorthAmerica, and their blasted republic."

  Well, you can imagine, that gave me a start. All the world knowsthat the American Patriots lost their war for independence fromEngland; that their army was shattered, that their leaders wereeither killed or driven into exile. How many times, when I was alittle boy, did I not sit up long past my bedtime, when oldBaron von Steuben was a guest at Tarlburg-Schloss, listeningopen-mouthed and wide-eyed to his stories of that gallant loststruggle! How I used to shiver at his tales of the terriblewinter camp, or thrill at the battles, or weep as he told how heheld the dying Washington in his arms, and listened to his noblelast words, at the Battle of Doylestown! And here, this man wastelling me that the Patriots had really won, and set up therepublic for which they had fought! I had been prepared for someof what Hartenstein had called unrealistic beliefs, but nothingas fantastic as this.

  "I can cut it even finer than that," Bathurst continued. "It wasthe defeat of Burgoyne at Saratoga. We made a good bargain whenwe got Benedict Arnold to turn his coat, but we didn't do it soonenough. If he hadn't been on the field that day, Burgoyne wouldhave gone through Gates' army like a hot knife through butter."

  But Arnold hadn't been at Saratoga. I know; I have read much ofthe American War. Arnold was shot dead on New Year's Day of 1776,during the storming of Quebec. And Burgoyne had done just asBathurst had said; he had gone through Gates like a knife, anddown the Hudson to join Howe.

  "But, _Herr_ Bathurst," I asked, "how could that affect thesituation in Europe? America is thousands of miles away, acrossthe ocean."

  "Ideas can cross oceans quicker than armies. When Louis XVIdecided to come to the aid of the Americans, he doomed himselfand his regime. A successful resistance to royal authority inAmerica was all the French Republicans needed to inspire them. Ofcourse, we have Louis's own weakness to blame, too. If he'd giventhose rascals a whiff of grapeshot, when the mob tried to stormVersailles in 1790, there'd have been no French Revolution."

  But he had. When Louis XVI ordered the howitzers turned on themob at Versailles, and then sent the dragoons to ride down thesurvivors, the Republican movement had been broken. That had beenwhen Cardinal Talleyrand, who was then merely Bishop of Autun,had came to the fore and become the power that he is today inFrance; the greatest King's Minister since Richelieu.

  "And, after that, Louis's death followed as surely as night afterday," Bathurst was saying. "And because the French had no experiencein self-government, their republic was foredoomed. If Bonapartehadn't seized power, somebody else would have; when the Frenchmurdered their king, they delivered themselves to dictatorship.And a dictator, unsupported by the prestige of royalty, has nochoice but to lead his people into foreign war, to keep them fromturning upon him."

  It was like that all the way to Berlin. All these things seemfoolish, by daylight, but as I sat in the darkness of thatswaying coach, I was almost convinced of the reality of what hetold me. I tell you, Uncle Eugen, it was frightening, as thoughhe were giving me a view of Hell. _Gott im Himmel_, the thingsthat man talked of! Armies swarming over Europe; sack andmassacre, and cities burning; blockades, and starvation; kingsdeposed, and thrones tumbling like tenpins; battles in which thesoldiers of every nation fought, and in which tens of thousandswere mowed down like ripe grain; and, over all, the Satanicfigure of a little man in a gray coat, who dictated peace to theAustrian Emperor in Schoenbrunn, and carried the Pope away aprisoner to Savona.

  Madman, eh? Unrealistic beliefs, says Hartenstein? Well, giveme madmen who drool spittle, and foam at the mouth, and shriekobscene blasphemies. But not this pleasant-seeming gentleman whosat beside me and talked of horrors in a quiet, cultured voice,while he drank my cognac.

  But not all my cognac! If your man at the Ministry--the onewith red hair and the bulldog face--tells you that I was drunkwhen I brought in that Englishman, you had better believe him!

  Rudi.

  (From Count von Berchtenwald, to the British Minister.)

  28 November, 1809

  Honored Sir:

  The accompanying dossier will acquaint you with the problemconfronting this Chancellery, without needless repetition on mypart. Please to understand that it is not, and never was, anypart of the intentions of the government of His Majesty FriedrichWilhelm III to offer any injury or indignity to the government ofHis Britannic Majesty George III. We would never contemplateholding in arrest the person, or tampering with the papers, of anaccredited envoy of your government. However, we have the gravestdoubt, to make a considerable understatement, that this personwho calls himself Benjamin Bathurst is any such envoy, and we donot think that it would be any service to the government of HisBritannic Majesty to allow an impostor to travel about Europe inthe guise of a British diplomatic representative. We certainlyshould not thank the government of His Britannic Majesty forfailing to take steps to deal with some person who, in England,might falsely represent himself to be a Prussian diplomat.

  This affair touches us as closely as it does your own government;this man had in his possession a letter of safe-conduct, whichyou will find in the accompanying dispatch case. It is of theregular form, as issued by this Chancellery, and is sealed withthe Chancellery seal, or with a very exact counterfeit of it.However, it has been signed, as Chancellor of Prussia, with asignature indistinguishable from that of the Baron Stein, who isthe present Prussian Minister of Agriculture. Baron Stein wasshown the signature, with the rest of the letter covered, andwithout hesitation acknowledged it for his own writing. However,when the letter was uncovered and shown to him, his surprise andhorror were such as would require the pen of a Goethe or aSchiller to describe, and he denied categorically ever havingseen the document before.

  I have no choice but to believe him. It is impossible to thinkthat a man of Baron Stein's honorable and serious character wouldbe party to the fabrication of a paper of this sort. Even asidefrom this, I am in the thing as deeply as he; if it is signedwith his signature, it is also sealed with my seal, which has notbeen out of my personal keeping in the ten years that I have beenChancellor here. In fact, the word "impossible" can be used todescribe the entire business. It was impossible for the manBenjamin Bathurst to have entered the inn yard--yet he did. Itwas impossible that he should carry papers of the sort found inhis dispatch case, or that such papers should exist--yet I amsending them to you with this letter. It is impossible t
hat Baronvon Stein should sign a paper of the sort he did, or that itshould be sealed by the Chancellery--yet it bears both Stein'ssignature and my seal.

  You will also find in the dispatch case other credentials,ostensibly originating with the British Foreign Office, of thesame character, being signed by persons having no connection withthe Foreign Office, or even with the government, but being sealedwith apparently authentic seals. If you send these papers toLondon, I fancy you will find that they will there create the samesituation as that caused here by this letter of safe-conduct.

  I am also sending you a charcoal sketch of the person who callshimself Benjamin Bathurst. This portrait was taken without itssubject's knowledge. Baron von Krutz's nephew, Lieutenant vonTarlburg, who is the son of our mutual friend Count von Tarlburg,has a little friend, a very clever young lady who is, as you willsee, an expert at this sort of work: she was introduced into aroom at the Ministry of Police and placed behind a screen, whereshe could sketch our prisoner's face. If you should send thispicture to London, I think that there is a good chance that itmight be recognized. I can vouch that it is an excellent likeness.

  To tell the truth, we are at our wits' end about this affair.I cannot understand how such excellent imitations of thesevarious seals could be made, and the signature of the Baron vonStein is the most expert forgery that I have ever seen, in thirtyyears' experience as a statesman. This would indicate careful andpainstaking work on the part of somebody; how, then, do wereconcile this with such clumsy mistakes, recognizable as such byany schoolboy, as signing the name of Baron Stein as PrussianChancellor, or Mr. George Canning, who is a member of theopposition party and not connected with your government, asBritish Foreign secretary.