Chapter VII: Part 7

(This French mother describes heroically her experiences in Paris and at Les Sablons, with her flight to Val André, and then thanks God from the bottom of her heart that she is the "mother of Paul" and has lived in these heroic days.)

FOOTNOTE:

[11] All numerals relate to stories herein told--not to chapters in the book.

"THE FALL OF TSINGTAU"--THE WAR IN THE FAR EAST

_With the Japanese in the Orient_

_Told by Jefferson Jones, an American Civilian Eye Witness_

This American witnessed the epoch-making events in the Far East,
within the lines of the Japanese Army, through a permit granted
by General Kamio, Commander of the Allied Forces at Tsingtau. He
describes the events with the understanding of one who has resided
for many years in Japan and China, asserting that "one of the most
remarkable changes to be wrought in Christendom by the greatest of
wars will be found, not in Europe or in Europe's dependencies, but
in the Far East"; recalling the words of Napoleon, "There lies a
sleeping China. Let him sleep: for when he moves he will move the
world." He has recorded his observations in a volume entitled: "The
Fall of Tsingtau," in which he describes the advance of the Japanese
Army; the beginning of the siege; the fleet bombarding the city; the
surrender. He also discusses analytically the political and economic
situations. His description of Tsingtau "After the City's Fall" is
here retold by arrangement with his publishers, _Houghton, Mifflin
and Company_: Copyright 1915, by Jefferson Jones.

I--STORY OF THE CONQUERED TEUTON FORT

Scenes of havoc met the eyes of the Japanese staff officers when they entered the fallen forts of Tsingtau. With dynamite and nitro-glycerine the German defenders had destroyed the guns and demolished all that might be taken by the captors as trophies of war. Along the casemate walls of the forts still lay the German and Japanese soldiers who had been killed in the final assault, while the concrete forts themselves were just a mass of shale and twisted steel rods where dynamite or falling shells had done their work.

Into the forts the Japanese filed and, collecting all the German soldiers together in lots, marched them to the barbed-wire entanglements in the rear of the city and after a short rest took them to the foot of Prince Heinrich Berg, where a prison camp had been improvised. The German officers, however, through the courtesy of the Japanese commander, were allowed to remain in Tsingtau.

The courtesy of the Japanese, for which the Orient is already famous, received an excellent demonstration in the surrender of Tsingtau. General Kamio, commander-in-chief, realizing that to march his victorious troops through the city of Tsingtau would throw the residents into much confusion and disorder, made the direct surrender appear like a capitulation on terms. All German officers, including Governor-General Meyer-Waldeck, were allowed to go about Tsingtau at their freedom after the surrender, and General Kamio at once posted orders that only the Japanese staff officers would be allowed to enter the city for several days. Japanese pickets were placed along the roads outside of the city to see that this regulation was enforced.

For several days, then, while the Japanese troops were quartered in Moltke and Bismarck Barracks in the rear of Tsingtau, and the British force was also in German barracks, the residents of Tsingtau were given free opportunity to recover from their besieged life without being ruffled by the sight of marching and quartered troops.

During that period between the surrender of the Tsingtau forts and November 16, when the British and Japanese expeditionary forces made their triumphal entry into the city, the Japanese officers busied themselves in the final preparations for the transfer of the German possessions into the hands of Dai Nippon. The rest of the troops spent the days in examining the Tsingtau forts and gradually the "whyfore" of their surrender was answered.

On Iltis Fort were mounted six twelve-centimeter guns, two of which had been captured from the French in the siege of Paris in 1871. On the left of this battery and toward the rear of the fort had been placed four twenty-eight-centimeter mortars, while two 10.5-centimeter guns cast in 1889, which had seen service in the siege of Taku in 1900, made up the remainder of the fort's equipment.

Bismarck Fort, to the left of Iltis, seemed to be the most strongly fortified of any of the Tsingtau defenses. Besides four twenty-eight-centimeter howitzers and two twenty-one-centimeter guns, it contained the Tsingtau battery of four fifteen-centimeter guns.

At Moltke Fort, on the bay side of the city, the German garrison had mounted two fifteen-centimeter guns stripped from the Austrian cruiser _Kaiserin Elisabeth_, a field battery of ten pieces, three field howitzers, and several small guns taken from the second-class German gunboats and cruisers that had been allowed to be bottled up in the Bay of Kiaochow.

The two German forts which commanded the sea approaches were Huit-chien-huk and Tscha-nui-va. The first was equipped with two twenty-four-centimeter guns and three fifteen-centimeter guns, while the latter's equipment consisted of two twenty-one-centimeter guns which had been taken from the Chinese Taku forts in 1900.

The German garrison at Tsingtau at the opening of the war, knowing that their surrender was inevitable, had made all plans to keep as far as possible all trophies of war from falling into the enemy's hands after surrender. The result was that early on the morning of the 7th, after the Japanese infantry had gained the redoubt walls, all preparations were made by the garrison for destroying the guns.

The breech-block of each was wound with nitro-glycerine and dynamite was placed in the cannons up to the muzzle edge. The white flag was the signal. A few minutes later, when the Japanese forces swarmed the forts, they found the place a mass of wreckage. Big twenty-four-centimeter guns were split in two as evenly and neatly as if they had been cut by a jack-knife, while one hundred or more yards distant could be found all that remained of the breech-block. The four twenty-eight-centimeter mortars on Iltis had been dynamited and just a mass of twisted steel and splintered plates remained.

On Bismarck and Moltke Forts, many of the guns had been backed in against the sandbag walls and dynamited on their carriages. The discharge had left the place scattered with the broken pieces of the carriages and split sandbags. The guns in the majority of cases had fallen down to the foot of the casemate walls. The explosions of the dynamite also appeared to have wrecked adjacent walls, for the concrete work about the gun-stands seemed to be so much shale. Exposed to sight were the steel pipes and wire used in the construction of the forts, all twisted and broken.

This desire to keep trophies of war from the hands of the enemy was not confined alone to guns. From the various post-offices German officials gathered the colony's issue of postage stamps and all were burned. Men had evidently been detailed to handle the storehouses, for all about them I found large cans of corned beef, sausages, milk, saurkraut and German delicacies opened and lying in heaps, their contents untouched.

All valuable papers in the vaults of Government buildings that contained military secrets or maps of fortifications throughout the Far East, were also made way with; in fact the German garrison left little that the Japanese could boast about, except the city of Tsingtau itself.

As officially given out by the War Office, the Japanese forces had a total of 142 guns on the firing line. They consisted of six 28-centimeter howitzers, 72 other siege guns of 15-and 24-centimeters, 18 mountain guns, 36 field pieces, and eight 4.7 and 6-inch guns of the marine detachment.

According to figures given me by General Kamio, the total active fighting force of the Japanese during the siege was 20,000 men, while the British expedition force consisted of 925 regulars, with a regiment of 300 Sikhs.

Opposing them was the German force of 4,500 men, more than 700 of whom were sick or wounded or captured before the actual siege started.

Among the criticisms directed against the defenders of Tsingtau, which I heard after the surrender, especially in the British camp, was that the Germans fired away great quantities of ammunition at the beginning of the bombardment of the fortifications so that, with their supply exhausted, an excuse for the surrender could be made. In proof of this they referred to the large number of shells which fell daily about the Japanese forces while they were getting the big siege guns into position. The estimate of "more than two thousand German shells in twelve hours' firing with no casualties to the Japanese or British forces," was further evidence given.

II--THE GERMAN OFFICER'S TALE OF THE SIEGE

On my first trip into Tsingtau I met a German officer in the Prince Heinrich Hotel, who had taken part in the siege, and questioned him as to the truth of the statement.

"Maybe that is what they say, but the facts are the garrison had expected Tsingtau to fall sooner than it did. Our heavy artillery fire was not kept up for the purpose of throwing away our shells,--it would have been less dangerous to have dropped them in the bay,--but solely to do as much damage to the Japanese as possible before the assault on the fortifications could be made. We regulated our fire with the one purpose of covering the country with shells before they had a chance to get under cover. When they attempted to mount their siege guns at the start of the bombardment their forces were exposed to us. We could see their ammunition columns and supply wagons rolling up on open roads and, by spreading our fire about the valley, we were attempting solely to postpone the fall of Tsingtau as much as possible by hindering the allied forces in their work."

The officer then went on to tell me of the ruse Lieutenant Trendel, manager of the Wagonlits Hotel at Peking, who took part in the siege, played on the Japanese. Trendel was in command of a battery of six old nine-centimeter ships' guns which were in an exposed position on a ridge near Iltis Fort. This battery received a fire from both the ship and land guns, and the men could be seen on the first day of the bombardment building bomb-proofs in the dust and smoke from exploding shells.

In the night Lieutenant Trendel put up wooden guns, roughly shaped from beams, at a distance of two hundred yards from his own guns. In the morning, he exploded powder near them to give an appearance of firing from them. By this ruse he diverted the Japanese fire and saved all his men, dynamiting his guns before the surrender.

Governor-General Waldeck, after the surrender, made the following statement as to the bombardment:--

The combatant force at Tsingtau did not amount to more than forty-five hundred. The permanent garrison consisted of eighteen hundred men nominally, but was, in reality, about two hundred short. Some of those under arms were mere boys. Each fort was defended by about two hundred men.

The Tsingtau guns were mostly weapons captured from the Boxers during their rebellion, or trophies of the Franco-German War, and were no match for modern arms. The Huichuan and Bismarck Forts, however, had some modern pieces. Altogether there were, for the defense, about sixty guns and a hundred machine guns.

The Iltis fort was guarded by sixty men. The Japanese in their assault charged up under a hot fire as if unconscious of their danger, and gained the position before the defenders could call reinforcements.

The Bismarck and Moltke Forts were also taken by a charge, but for the most part the Japanese conducted their attack under cover of their trenches, and concealed themselves so well that the most searching German fire could not stop their advance. At length the supply of ammunition ran out, and further defense was futile. I thought the Japanese casualties would be very heavy, as they fought bravely and charged desperately, and I estimated their loss at five to six thousand. I have been astonished to learn that the loss in killed and wounded amounts to only seventeen hundred. They certainly showed remarkable skill in taking cover.

Tsingtau was not an ideal fortification, such as Antwerp. Strictly speaking, it was merely a defended position. As possible enemies in the Far East, Germany had calculated only on England, France and Russia. It was quite unexpected that the blow would come from so good a friend as Japan.

The fire from the Japanese squadron was not so furious as to cause any great inconvenience, except once when a shell landed in the Huichan Point Fort, killed thirteen and severely wounded three. In respect of accuracy of range the fire of the British cruiser _Triumph_ was inferior to that of Japanese ships. The land fire, however, was terrible. A perfect rain of shells fell on the Bismarck, Iltis, and Hsiaochau Forts, and the central batteries suffered severely. One of them received as many as a hundred shells, and it was death to leave the trenches for an instant.

Two days after the surrender I was able to get through the picket line thrown about the rear of the city of Tsingtau, and could observe better just what damage had been done to the city during the seven days of bombardment.

III--WAR'S TYPHOON IN THE CITY

The city appeared as if a typhoon had passed through it. Its wide asphalt and macadamized streets, fronted by beautiful four- and five-story buildings of German architecture, were vacant. Giant shells, some three feet long and a foot in diameter, were lying about on sidewalk and street still unexploded. Trees, splintered at their bases, lay toppled over in the avenues. Windows in the houses were shattered, while gaunt holes in the sides of buildings, where shells had torn their way, made the residence blocks appear to be gasping for air.

Out in the harbor could be seen the spars of the _Rickmers_ and two or three other German freighters, which had been sunk at the opening of hostilities about the city, while farther out in the channel was the grave of the Austrian cruiser, _Kaiserin Elisabeth_, which had been sunk by the Germans.

The whole scene seemed one of devastation. Streets deserted of people, show-fronts of stores completely gone, as was also the merchandise, harbors deserted of ships, and not even a sign of a ricksha to remind you of the Orient.

Such was Tsingtau as I first saw it two days after its surrender. But for the continual sight of the Rising Sun flag flapping from every peak in the rear of the city, as well as from every Government building, and its message of "occupied," one would have thought Tsingtau a city deserted.

WITH MY REGIMENT--BRITONS ON THE FIELD OF HONOR

_Fighting from the Aisne to La Bassée_

_Told by a "Platoon Commander"_

This is the inspiring story of a typical British soldier. "I was
staying in a large house by the banks of the Thames when we heard
the news of the War," he relates. "My hostess was the mother of
soldiers. She took the news calmly, as the mother of soldiers do;
said good-bye to her eldest boy, who was to go with the first troops
who left England, arranged for the outfit of her two second sons,
and sent for her baby from Eton, who she saw dispatched to the Royal
Military College. It was a great house to be in on the outbreak
of War--a house whose sons to the third and fourth generation had
built up the British Empire, and which now, when the Empire was
called upon to fight for its life, stood firm and undismayed." This
platoon commander tells his experiences in a book entitled "With My
Regiment." Many of his stories have appeared in the _Westminster
Gazette_, _The English Review_, and _The London Standard_. Some of
them are reproduced here by permission of his American publishers,
_J. B. Lippincott Company_, of Philadelphia.

I--STORY OF THE OLD WOMAN AT THE AISNE

We were moved to the village very suddenly. There was no reason that we could see for the move. However, this transpired later. It was getting dusk when we reached the village. A and C Companies were sent at once up to the firing-line, and B and D Companies were lined along a ditch in support. The ditch had been prepared for habitation by the regiment who had held it before. At one point they had thrown some boards across the ditch and made a house underneath. This proved a very welcome shelter when later it came on to rain. We lay in the ditch for an hour or two listening to the last shells before nightfall, from one of our heavy batteries, singing overhead. The shells were sent in groups of three, and we could plainly hear each, whizz-whizz-whizz, chasing each other through the air, perhaps not more than twenty yards apart. We were comfortable enough where we were, and idly speculated on what errand of destruction the shells were bent. They sounded nasty great things to have coming in the wrong direction, and we wished the Germans joy of them.

About eight I felt hungry, and got out of the trench to have a look round. I had two tins of Mc'Conochie in my haversack, which I put in a pan of boiling water. Across a field to the front I saw a farm, and decided to go over and explore. In the field there were two or three curious heaps of straw, which proved to be the burial piles of dead cows, killed by shell fire, and covered over by the farmer in this rather ineffective fashion. The cows were getting smelly, and I did not stay long looking at them. I found the farm occupied by two old men and an old woman. One of the old men, over eighty, they told me, had taken to his bed and lain there with the shutters up for three days. He was half-dead from fright, and could not be induced to move. The old woman said they had had Germans billeted in the farm a week before. They had treated her and her old husband none too gently, driving them out of the house while they made soup in her cauldron. She had managed to hide one or two little bits of bread, and was making supper off a crust and some coffee. She put the fire at my disposal for getting supper ready for Goyle and the other officers in the company. They all came across a quarter of an hour later, Evans with a great possession--a tin of cocoa. There was plenty of milk to be had from the farm--indeed, it was a godsend to the old people to get a man to milk their cows--and we soon had a beautiful jug of thick, steaming cocoa. We then prepared the Mc'Conochie, and what proved to be our last meal all together was a good one.

II--WOUNDED--SCENES IN A NIGHT ATTACK

It was getting late when we had finished, and we had to hurry back to the support trench. On the way, as I was going along at a quick trot, I came head over heels over a big object and nearly impaled myself on a spike. Apart from the smell of the cow, it was really most dangerous lying out there at night-time, and I sent a party of men back to bury it.

The trenches we were to take over lay just beyond the village along the crest of a slope. The section my company was responsible for ran just in front of three haystacks. A company extended away to our right, and the Dorchester Regiment continued the line to our left. The officer of the regiment we were relieving said to me: "You see those stacks--well, I should keep clear of them; the enemy have them set." I nodded, very tired at finding myself back in the firing-line, where we had been almost continuously for ten days, and not particularly interested in what the enemy had set or what they had not. In fact, as soon as I had seen the men distributed along the trench, and had given one or two orders about its improvement, I made straight for the centre stack, pulled as much hay as I could out of the side of it, rolled myself up, and went to sleep.

I was awakened by a sharp blow in the back. Looking up I saw Evans drawing his foot back to give me a second and harder kick.

"Get up, you blithering fool," he said; "your men are out all over the place."

I jumped to my feet, and, fastening my belt as I ran, dashed for the trench. I owed a lot to Evans for waking me. As Evans said, the men were all walking about outside the trench. I got them in immediately, and was preparing to follow when I thought of my bed, and went off to fetch it. One never knew when the next chance of leaving the trench might come. I was bending down, gathering a good armful of hay, when there was a report, a sensation like red-hot iron running through one, followed by acute pain, and I pitched head-forward into the hay. I had been hit. Very frightened and hurt, I crawled as fast as I could round to the side farthest from the enemy and sat down. I examined my wounds--a bullet through each leg. The shots were low down and did not look very serious. They hurt infernally, and I made a mental note to call the next man who said he never noticed he had been hit in the heat of an action a liar. I examined the wounds. Were they serious enough to warrant a visit to the field-dressing station and a possible return to England? I hoped devoutly they were. An attempt to stand soon satisfied me, and I fell down again, much relieved. All these thoughts were a matter of seconds; in the meanwhile there was a good deal going on round the stack. An enemy battery was playing round it with high-explosive shrapnel. The shells burst first one side, then the other, in front, behind, in all directions. The noise was deafening, and the lead in the air was just like a hailstorm; however, it was a stout stack, and kept me dry, though I confess I doubted getting away alive. After a few minutes the firing stopped, and, throwing myself on my side, I rolled as fast as I could for a support trench. I pitched head-first into the trench and landed on the top of two privates who were sheltering in the bottom expecting more shrapnel over at any minute. They were not expecting me, and thought their last hour had come when I fell on top of them. Getting our breath, we all three cursed each other. Then, seeing I was an officer, they became respectful. I explained I was wounded, and they helped me off with my puttees and bound up the wounds with the first-aid bandage which I ripped from my coat. In the meanwhile word was sent back for stretcher-bearers. As the firing had stopped these came up immediately, lifted me out of the trench, put me on a stretcher, and started off with me. We had to go down a road in full view of the enemy. For some providential reason they never fired at us, though I was about the last wounded man to be brought down that road. Halfway down the road the stretcher-bearers began to show signs of feeling my weight. I coaxed them on a few more yards, but when they came to the lee of a cottage they put me down and shook their heads; another bearer came to the rescue, and with the extra help the party proceeded. A hundred yards more brought us to a cottage which was being used as a field-dressing station. The cottage was beginning to fill, and wounded men lay about all over the floor.

"Oh, Gawd! Oh--! ----ooh!!"

"Shut up, can't yer?" a man shouted from the far corner of the room.

"I've got a 'ole in me big enough to put yer 'and in," the sufferer explained, and began again to groan and swear.

"Got a cigarette, mate?" A man deathly pale on a stretcher held out his hand to a comrade who was slightly wounded and standing beside him. The latter extricated a Woodbine from a crumpled packet and passed it down. The man on the stretcher lit the cigarette and puffed at it phlegmatically. It was doubtful whether he would live, and though he did not know this, he knew he must not have anything to eat or drink for many hours.

III--THE DOCTORS AND THE STRETCHER BEARERS

About fifteen or twenty of us were lying on the floor of a cottage. Outside, four or five hundred yards up the street, a lively fight was in progress for the possession of the village. After the firing-line the cottage seemed a haven of peace and safety.

"Hullo, they've got you."

"Morning, Doctor."

A young fellow, fresh from his training at a hospital, was standing beside me. He was our regimental doctor, and I'd always thought of him as a lucky fellow who rode on a horse when we were on the march, and got his rations regularly at all times, and during a scrap enjoyed the security of the extra few hundred yards which he was supposed to have between his dressing-station and the firing-line. Well, here he was to look after me, anyhow.

"Got a bit of work to do to-day, Doctor," I said as he bound me up.

"Yes," he answered, adjusting a blanket as a pad under me, "there, just keep in that position and the bleeding will soon stop." He turned to the man next me.

"I've got some across the way, too," he said, as the orderly handed him fresh bandages. "They've been shelling the poor beggars, knocking all the slates off the roof."

As he spoke some shrapnel crashed against the roof of our cottage, sending a few tiles rattling to the ground. The doctor looked up.

"I think we're all right here," he said. "We've got a double roof. I always try to pick a cottage with a double roof. But those poor devils over the way are getting awful scared; I think I'll slip across to them."

The bit of road he had to "slip across" was catching most of the shells which the cottage did not, and was also the channel for a steady stream of rifle and machine-gun fire. I began to see there wasn't much in it, whether one was a doctor or a platoon commander.

More especially did I realize a doctor's difficulties when, later in the day, just as our doctor had finished looking at my dressings, a message came that the field-dressing station belonging to the regiment on our left had been set alight by a shell. He hastily organized a party of stretcher-bearers and orderlies and went off at once. Later he came back. He said it had been terrible to see the wounded lying helpless in the barn waiting for the flames, but somehow they had managed to rescue all and move them to a safer place, though the whole operation had to be carried out under rifle and shell fire. Each time a regiment is seriously engaged with the enemy at least 100 men are hit, often four times the number. The regimental doctor is supposed to bind up each one of these, and often when times are slack and a stray man here or there gets hit he will be sent for to come up to the trenches.

"'Allo, Jock," loud greetings were shouted by every one in the room to a little man standing in the doorway with a bandolier across his chest and rifle with bayonet still fixed. He was a grubby little fellow, with blood and mud caked all down his cheek, ragged clothes, and--as I had seen as he came up the cottage steps--a pronounced limp. It was Private Mutton, scallawag, humorist, and well-known character in the regiment.

"Yus, they got me," he said in answer to inquiries, "fro' me calf," he pointed to his leg, "and right acrost the top of me 'ead"--he raised his cap and showed where a bullet had parted his hair, grazing the scalp. "But I give the bloke somethink what did it." Private Mutton grinned at his bayonet. "Got 'im fair, right fro' 'is stomick."

I could not help feeling delighted, for I recognized in the muddy, gory, highly-pleased-with-himself little man the original of Thomas Atkins, of whose doings along the Indian frontier I had read thrilling accounts by Mr. Kipling, and whose quaint mannerisms I had often laughed at as represented on the stage of music-halls at home....

At 9 P.M. the ambulances came up.

The doctor went round quickly attending to each man. He bound up my wounds afresh and had me carried into an inner room. I lay there all day, and never shall I forget the experience. I could see nothing except a bit of the wall on the opposite side of the street. But I could hear. Just after I had been brought in fresh firing broke out. Rifle fire this time, sharp and insistent. Then there was a sound of stamping feet, and I heard an officer rallying the men at the corner of the street. The firing continued all day and sometimes seemed to rage almost at the door of the cottage. I gathered that the Germans were attacking the village in masses, and that it was touch-and-go whether we could hold out. Sometimes there would be a rush of men outside the window, and I would look to see if the pale grey uniform was there or if khaki still held the place. Every now and then a shower of shrapnel struck the roof of the cottage, and tiles went rattling to the road. All the while a section of our artillery fired incessantly. How gallant those guns of ours sound--Boom-boom-boom. They were fighting to their last shell. If the village went, they went with it. No horses could be brought up to draw them away in such an inferno. The doctor worked on quietly. His work extended now to houses on the left and right. He said it was terrible to see the fear of death on the faces of men shot through the stomach. He found time once to have a cup of tea with me and smoke a cigarette. Night began to fall and the room grew dark. I was glad of his company for five minutes. We were in the same boat, he told me--if the Germans got the village he was going to stay behind with the wounded.

At half-past five Evans came in with a smashed arm.

"Goyle has gone," he said. "He was hit twice before during the day. He was holding out with a few men there and got a third through the chest which did him. Edwards was shot through the knee, and we had to leave him. All the company officers are down. A company has been surrounded and cut off. Whew! you can't live out there." As he spoke the firing swelled to a din unequalled through the day. We heard shouts and curses. The Germans were making a final tremendous effort to break through.

"Our boys may do it," said Evans, "but there are not many left." I lay back against the wall, pulled out a cigarette, and threw one to Evans. We could only wait. Suddenly outside we heard a stamp of feet, a hoarsely yelled order, "Fix bayonets!" another word of command, and a mass of men rushed past the window up the street, cheering madly.

"That's the ----s," cried a stretcher-bearer, who came in excitedly. "They have been sent up from the reserve."

The doctor came in. "We've got two more regiments up; we shall be all right now," he said.

For a moment the firing continued, then died down. Night came and found us still holding the village, and at ten o'clock the ambulance took us away.

THE STORY OF COUNT SEILERN

_A Tragedy of the Hapsburgs_

Assassinations, abductions, and scandals of every kind loom large
in the records of the reigning Austrian house, and many of its
crimes have not yet come to light, as this amazing story proves.
But for the confession of an Austrian prisoner of war, anxious
to relieve his mind of the burden that oppressed it, this latest
instance of Hapsburg treachery would never have been heard of beyond
the precincts of the Hofburg. "Le Matin," the well-known French
newspaper, first drew attention to this officer's extraordinary
story, which is here set forth in full, and as nearly as possible
in his own words. It is a tragic tale indeed, a tale of love and
duplicity in high places, which he told to the _Wide World Magazine_.

I--STORY OF THE VENETIAN NOBLEMAN

The first time I met Count Seilern and became acquainted with the anteccedents of this brilliant young officer, the heir of a noble Viennese family, was during the summer of 1914, whilst I was undergoing a cure at one of the Austrian spas, which, owing to my desire to remain as anonymous as possible, I will leave unnamed. We were both members of an international club, run by an American, who offered his patrons "all the usual casino attractions to be found elsewhere." True, there was neither roulette nor _trente-et-quarante_, but, under the cloak of a long list of subsidiary and innocent beguilements, such as golf, tennis, and pigeon-shooting, the game of baccarat flourished in a manner that bore a very respectable similarity to the famous allurements of the great French Riviera resort.

It was here--one evening in mid-June--that I was introduced to Count Seilern, and that he offered to introduce me as a member of the inner _cercle_.

Nothing is so revelatory of a man's character as his attitude under the temptations of the gaming-table. I have gambled many times, but have always known when to respond to the promptings of the spirit of prudence and leave off. I gambled at C----, but only until the moment when I considered I had paid a sufficiently high entrance-fee for the privilege of studying my fellow-clubmen in general and Count Seilern in particular.

This new acquaintance of mine attracted me from the very first. In spite of the weakness of his character, which was evident all the more clearly the longer he played, it was impossible for anyone of education and refinement not to like him. There was something even in the manner in which he coquetted with the Goddess of Chance which compelled one's admiration.

A little less than a week later I was in a position to judge the character of my new friend infinitely better. Personal observation had taught me that he could be both chivalrous and generous. I noted more than once that, however reckless he might be at times, there were moments when he could give himself up to day-dreams and calm reflection. This was to me a puzzling problem of his personality until, almost simultaneously with these early days of our acquaintanceship, fresh light came from certain brother officers, who volunteered to put me _au courant_ with details concerning his private life which were known only to the innermost circle of Viennese society.

These new facts, which explained so much that had hitherto been vague or unintelligible, were as fuel added to the fire of my imagination. Count Seilern suddenly became, in my eyes, a hero of romance. Yet I cannot say that it was wholly admiration which now filled me. An indescribable feeling of pity, mingled with fear, came over me whilst I was listening, strolling one afternoon under the trees in the admirable park of C----, after drinking the regulation number of glasses of water from my favourite spring, to the first of those startling disclosures.

"There goes the man who is playing with fire," said my companion, as Count Seilern's well-known olive-green car, with himself at the wheel, glided past us and disappeared round a curve of the road leading to the golf-links.

"Has he been losing heavily again?" I asked.

"Possibly. But I'm not referring to his proclivity to waste time and money at the International. There are far more ways than that by which a man may play with fire, and if gaming were the Count's only little diversion, many a mind in his family--one of the oldest in Austria, you know--would be set at rest. Whatever losses he may have, the means to meet them will always be more than sufficient, for the Seilerns possess untold wealth. It is for that reason, I suppose, that the Count aspires so high. No, the particular danger which threatens him is of a wholly different order to the one you have in mind. It is a case, my friend, of '_cherchez la femme_.' But surely you know of that last winter's affair of his?"

"Not a word reached my ears. I was away from Vienna, on a mission, the whole of last winter."

"I see. Well, now I come to think about it, you might not have heard anything if you'd been there, for the affair was kept very quiet, and those in the secret were pledged not to mention the lady's real name. When I tell you that she is a young Archduchess, closely related to the Archduchess Maria Theresa, and the victim of a most unfortunate marriage, you will understand what I mean by referring to Seilern playing with fire."

"Oh, ho! so that's it? And you are certain he is still infatuated with the lady?"

"Absolutely, unfortunately for him. But let me tell you all about it from the beginning."

II--TRAGEDY OF THE AUSTRIAN ARCHDUCHESS

The story of the young Archduchess Valeria--to give her the fictitious name my informant used, and which is now doubly necessary--is one that has been encountered before in the annals of the Royal Family of Austria.

When the time came for her marriage, those who jealously watch over the conservation of the so-called purity of the Royal blood, carefully chose a husband and--naturally, against her will--united her to a man fully twelve years her senior. Had this been his only disqualification to be the husband of so young and charming a creature as the Archduchess Valeria, she would have had less reason to complain.

Alas! it was not long before she found he was one of the most abject personages who ever crawled within the shadow of the throne of the Hapsburgs. He was a degenerate, in every sense of the word, and possessed a most unenviable reputation.

Into the details of his career I will not enter, as my outspoken informant did, but enough has been said to enable you to form an idea of the married life of the Archduchess Valeria--if, indeed, that adjective can be applied to an existence in which cruelty, drink, and debauchery played so large a part on the husband's side.

Is it surprising that, childless as she happily was, and still sufficiently young and unbroken in spirit to hope for happier days, the Archduchess turned her eyes longingly elsewhere and encountered those of Count Seilern? There are some who contend that the idyll dated from the days before her marriage, and a tale went the rounds of aristocratic circles that the young Count first made the Archduchess's acquaintance when he was a military student and she little more than a schoolgirl. But that may well be the embroidery which is often added to undoubted facts, and these, for which the speaker said he could personally vouch, were briefly as follows:

Count Seilern, whose family relations gave him many opportunities of seeing the Archduchess, had entered on a sentimental and clandestine intrigue with her. They had corresponded for some time and seen each other repeatedly before their attachment was discovered. Suspicions having been aroused, the Archduchess's correspondence had been intercepted and the truth made known not only to the husband but to the Emperor Francis Joseph himself. The aged ruler, who had helped to plan the marriage, fell into a fit of anger on hearing of this "fresh attempt to smirch the honour of his family"--an outburst so violent that fears were entertained that it might have a bad effect on his precarious health. It would undoubtedly have gone ill with Count Seilern but for two considerations: a knowledge of the disreputable character of the Archduchess Valeria's husband, whose escapades could only be kept hidden from the public by suppressing the scandal, and the powerful influence which the Count possessed, not only in his own family and society _milieu_, but even in certain sacrosanct circles of the Court itself. So the terrible old man, raging in his heart over the ever-recurring evidence of the moral laxity of his own flesh and blood, decided to let Count Seilern off with a simple warning, dexterously brought to his notice, and to give orders that the Archduchess and her correspondence should in future be kept under strict supervision.

A means was found of separating the lovers. Count Seilern's military superiors sent him off on a mission lasting several months--a mission whose real object was self-evident to the young officer; the Archduchess's husband suddenly developed a desire for Italian travel and dragged his wife with him. Thus were the lovers' hopes crushed. But only for a time. Once more, through mutual friends, they found a means of occasional correspondence, and thus kept alive the hope that, some day, an odious marriage would be brought to an end--by death or otherwise, they cared not which--and that then their union would be made possible.

"That is the stage," continued my friend, "at which we find Count Seilern to-day. He and she are simply waiting. But they are, as it were, prisoners, whose movements are watched, whose correspondence is liable to be read by the 'Cabinet Noir' of Vienna, and concerning whom anything suspicious may be reported to headquarters. As regards the consequences of any indiscretion, the Archduchess, owing to her rank, has less to fear than the Count. Had the _rôles_ been reversed, Francis Joseph might have set things straight, as he did in the case of the Archduke Francis Ferdinand, by granting permission, under certain conditions, for a morganatic marriage. But this is a case in which a male 'outsider' dares to aspire to set the rigourous 'family law' of the reigning house at defiance--and the very idea of such a thing is, you know, abhorrent to the Emperor. Hence the danger which continually hangs over the head of this really splendid man. It is devoutly to be hoped that he will exercise extreme prudence and avoid the snares which our police are capable of setting for him at the instigation of the crafty and fanatical man who rules over us. But I fear that Seilern's headstrong nature will some day play him false."

The premonitory signs of the whirlwind which was to sweep us all off our feet towards the end of the following month completely threw this conversation into the background of my mind. Everything in the social world of C---- suffered an eclipse through the assassination of the Archduke Francis Ferdinand and his morganatic wife.

III--FIRST RUMBLES OF GREAT WAR IN VIENNA

We military men, acquainted with the aspirations of the Austrian General Staff, knew only too well the far-reaching effect the crime of Sarajevo was likely to have. Our sole interest became the crisis, our sole topic of conversation from morning until night the probability of war. The baccarat rooms of the International Club were deserted, and it was the same with all other amusements and recreations. Only a few English and American enthusiasts continued to frequent the golf-links and the tennis-courts, apparently oblivious of the volcano on which they were dallying. The arrival of the whirlwind itself--the mobilization order and the certainty that the first shots in the great war would soon be fired--speedily aroused them from their apparent indifference. Then came the sudden emptying of the hotels, the rush of panic-stricken visitors to the station, and our own precipitate departure for Vienna and the Staff headquarters. Can one be astonished at the fact that the petty private affairs of Count Seilern and the Archduchess Valeria were momentarily obliterated by the great world-drama in which we were to play our respective parts?

More than four months had elapsed since the outbreak of war. The approach of Christmas found us on the battlefield and, alas! as far from our goal as on the occasion when we officers of the General Staff, assembled on the eve of our departure for the Front, raised our glasses and drank to the day of victory. All hope of a short campaign had gone for ever. Being now a prisoner of war, I can confess to my feelings of those days without the slightest compunction, and frankly admit that, despite our undoubted military successes, I was a disappointed man. How could my mental attitude be otherwise when I sat down and calmly compared the early weeks of the war with the existing situation?

Candidly, I was full of disillusionments, and to add still more to my wretchedness in the little Hungarian village where we were stationed, certain personal grievances weighed heavily upon me. Picture a soldier of my active and imaginative temperament, who had lived for weeks in the hope of participating in the glory of battle, being forced to live that quasi-military life somewhere at the back of the Front.

I was not the only one who felt the monotony of that existence, made up of receiving and transmitting reports, coding and deciphering messages, poring over maps, and otherwise taking part in the office work of the General Staff. Some of my brother-officers were perhaps more patient and philosophic than I was, but I am convinced there was not one of them who, at the bottom of his heart, was not heartily sick of this vegetating life at the end of the telegraph wires, far from the actual scenes of operations.

But I am wandering a little from my story, and mentioning my brother-officers brings me back to the main theme. Whom do you think--to the infinite satisfaction of a man yearning for congenial society, no less than to his great surprise--they included? Of all people in the world, no other than Count Seilern!

Retrospection--backed up by a nature essentially fatalistic--forces me to the conclusion that I was destined to meet this man again and to play a prominent part in his life. How can one set down to a mere coincidence that second meeting and the blossoming of our acquaintanceship of the International Club of C---- into a close friendship, any more than one can think that it was due to mere chance that I should then have learnt so much (for my future guidance) relating to his private history, in which, again, I was to be, in such strange circumstances, both actor and historian?

Since Fate, then, has made me the historian of this tragic tale, let me come at once to the facts and so relieve my mind of some part of the burden which I fear will always oppress it.

Count Seilern held the rank of first lieutenant of cavalry. Being the bearer of one of the noblest names in Austria, he benefited by a certain amount of protection. His duties were much less onerous than ours, but on that account the monotony of his existence must have been all the greater. More than once, indeed, he confessed to me how much he felt it. Coupling certain remarks of his with information which came to me from a sure source, I saw clearly the principal reason which, as Christmas drew near, made him sadder and sadder. It was evident that he was filled with an ardent desire to see the Archduchess Valeria once more. Taking advantage of the unsettled state of the nation's affairs, the lovers had found a means of once more corresponding with each other freely, and, as was shortly to be proved to us, of concocting one of the most daring of plans.

It was undoubtedly the fertile brain of the Archduchess Valeria which conceived a means of putting the much-relaxed vigilance of the Court authorities off the scent. All difficulties were removed by her patience and veritable genius for intrigue. On the plea of taking an active part in war work, she succeeded in severing all relations with her ignoble consort, and--having obtained a first-class training as a nurse--secured an engagement in a Red Cross hospital train circulating in the very sector, at the rear of the armies, where we were stationed.

IV--THE DRAMATIC LOVERS' MEETING IN THE HOSPITAL TRAIN

At last the day arrived when a meeting between the lovers was possible. It was but a week to Christmas (according to the eye-witness who related these dramatic incidents to me) when, one morning, the hospital train stopped at the nearest station to the headquarters of the Army of the Carpathians. Count Seilern was waiting on the platform. He mounted into one of the compartments. The train, naturally, contained neither sick nor wounded men--only her Royal Highness, accompanied by a small and discreet suite. Nobody had been told of her presence, not even the Chief of Staff himself, General Conrad von Hoetzendorf.

The interview lasted a long time, and it was, doubtless, whilst the lovers were forgetting the fleeting hours that some diligent spy went to inform the General. Before the train continued on its journey, the Archduchess Valeria descended on to the platform to spend the last few minutes with the Count. Suddenly Conrad von Hoetzendorf appeared on the scene and immediately recognized her Royal Highness, in spite of the simplicity of her Red Cross nurse's uniform.

"I shall never forget that scene as long as I live," said my informant; "a scene rendered all the more dramatic owing to the fact that its opening passed without a word being spoken. General Conrad von Hoetzendorf, in the presence of a scandal for which he might be rendered responsible, went white with anger. After making a well-nigh imperceptible bow to the Archduchess Valeria--who almost at once bade the Count adieu, and mounted into her compartment--he fixed his cold, grey eyes upon Seilern and kept them there until the train moved out of the station. As he stood there, like a statue, we who were around him could see the nervous twitching of the fingers of his clenched fists, and could interpret the thoughts passing through his brain. His heart was raging--first of all at the idea that his authority as the military chief had been set at naught; secondly, because he saw a danger to himself in the incident; and thirdly, on account of being placed, as it were, in a position of inferiority as regards the man whom he had detected in what he regarded as a flagrant breach of discipline. In brief, belonging, as he does, to the new nobility, he was jealous of the good fortune of his subordinate--this simple first lieutenant, who turned not a hair, caught, though he was, in the act. But, like a wise courtier, Hoetzendorf refrained from giving verbal expression to these feelings, and it was not until the train--with the Princess waving her handkerchief to her lover from one of the windows, and Seilern replying with a salute--passed out of sight, that he opened his lips. Even then, it was merely to order Count Seilern, in the iciest of tones, to come to see him at headquarters. In the presence of his _entourage_ it was necessary for him to make an example of the offender--if only for the purpose of ridding himself of responsibility. With the words, 'Lieutenant Count Seilern, you will come to see me this evening at five, without fail,' he turned on his heels and strode away in the direction of his car."

From that time onwards, the action of the drama in which Count Seilern became involved quickened with bewildering rapidity. The incidents which immediately followed I can describe from personal knowledge, for it was my painful privilege to be present at the interview which took place between General Conrad von Hoetzendorf and the man whom I had by this time determined to support through thick and thin.

With the exception of the General's secretary, who had brought him some letters to be signed, I was the only person present when Count Seilern, punctual to the minute, was announced and ushered into the room of the Commander-in-Chief, situated in a small _schloss_ on the outskirts of the village.

A steely look came into Hoetzendorf's eyes as the young officer entered and, with an apology for a salute, stood before him. The General continued to sign his letters, unperturbed, and without omitting a single flourish after his signature. Having come to the last one, the secretary seized the batch of correspondence and hastened to retire. I was about to do the same, having practically come to the end of my own business, when the General motioned to me to remain, saying:--