Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 264, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 6 November 1915 — Count Berchtold’s Party [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

Count Berchtold’s Party

Revelations of An Ambassador-at-Large

Transcribed by H. M. Egbert from the private papers of an Englishman who for a time was an unofficial diplomat an the most secret service of the British Government.

(Copyright. IMB. by W. a. Chapman.)

When the twentieth century dawned without the development of a longprophesied world-wide war, and as the years rolled by and Europe's peace remained unbroken, many persons believed that the heralded Armageddon was a bogey and that the war would never happen. Though I was In those years either attached to embassies or mrtusMy minister or ambassador, I myself believed that the threatened conflict might be postponed for a generation. It was not until the year 1909, when Austria seised the provinces of Bosnia and Herzegovina from the decrepit hands of lurkey and Germany threatened Russia with Instant war should she intervene on behalf of Serbia, Bosnia’s neighbor and champion—it was not until then that I realised the great war to be imminent.

When the Kaiser planned to make war on France over Morocco In 1911, and only recoiled before the firm attitude of Great Britain, all students of contemporary politics were aware that the war had practically begun. Henceforward It was a maneuver for position, and England armed secretly, but furiously. Month by month the tension increased. How strong it was will be instanced by the incident which I am now to relate. The date of this was January, 1914, and It shows that, seven months before the present conflict began, Europe was a powder magazine, awaiting the spark which was to blow up the old order.

My mission for the British government had been to discover the underlying causes of the latent unrest and to report whether Germany could be satisfied with any reasonable compromises. I had discovered these causes ■ti«i had warned Sir Edward Grey, the British foreign minister, that the forces making for war were irresistible. Nothing appeared on the surface to disturb the ordinary current of business and social life, but among those who knew the deeper waters of diplomacy nothing was more certain th»n that a war of unheard-of magnitude was likely to break out at any time.

While I was visiting some friends In Dresden In January last I received a cipher telegram from an agent in Berlin, informing me that Count Berchtold, the Austrian chancellor, had been spending two days in the German capital incognito, and was leaving on a certain train for Vienna. This news was of serious import, but within a couple of hours I received three other messages. One said that Herr Thyssen was leaving Munich for Vienna. Another stated that Herr von Gwinner had left Leipzig for Vienna. The third informed me that Ernst von Heydebrand, a personal friend of the and the emperor Franz Josef, was expected at Vienna on the following day. Evidently the concentration of these men upon the Austrian capital, the pivot capital of European politics, indicated the preparation of some coup of enormous importance. I consulted maps and time tables, and soon discovered that the train on which Count Berchtold had left Berlin halted for four hours at Brunn before resuming the journey toward Vienna, and that the trains from Munich and Leipzig would arrive at Brunn during this period.

There was now no further doubt in my mind that Thyssen and Von Gwinner planned to meet the Austrian chancellor at Brunn and to proceed to Vienna in his company, no doubt with the purpose of discussing their scheme on the journey. True, it might mean only some financial enterprise. But it might mean much more. I sent a warning dispatch to the British foreign office. I learned afterward that my communication was considered important enough for the home fleet, which had been coaling at Devonport, to be ordered to assemble off Dover.

That, too, was the time of France’s experimental mid-winter mobilization in the east, of which little is known. But into these facts I need not go. Suffice it that Europe had an acute attack of nerves — and all because two elderly gentlemen planned to meet a middle-aged one in a train in the Austrian city of Brunn. At Prague, the Bohemian capital, my own train connected with that containing Count Berchtold. I walked along the carriages in a blinding snowstorm and noon spotted the man who has been called the most charming of all European diplomatists. 1 was satisfied ho did not know me, since 1 had only met him once, many years before, ami then for a moment, at a timo when he was a young officer of Hussars on ||t| 11 thf palace. A placidlooking gentleman, appearing considerably under fifty, he sat in (me corner of hi* reserved compartment, reading a newspaper. I entered the next compartment of the same coach, which was empty, and began racking my brains. How was I to force Count Berchtold to tell me the purpose of his journey? If 1 followed the trio to Vienna, I should learn no more than my own *';K' '

agents would tell me. I could not step into the corridor and listen at the door of their compartment. That was not feasible, owing to the roar of the train; besides, an ex-ambassador does not stoop to the antics of a third-rate spy.

We yrere Just leaving Prague when two men leaped for the carriage door and dropped breathlessly upon the seat facing me. One was short, stout and dark, with a sallow, oval face and a short, upturned mustache. The other, tall, fair and slender, was his exact antithesis. Their faces seemed familiar to me, and, aa I was trying to assure myself whether I knew them or not, the dark man Jumped to his feet, addressed me by name, and wrung my hand. Then I knew him. “Doctor Mattel!" I exclaimed. “And permit me to remind you of our former acquaintance," said the other man, rising to his feet and presenting me with his card. I recognized him now as M. Max Bunsen, whom I had known Blightly in St. Petersburg, where he was for a time acting police chief. Doctor Mattel had been a fashionable physician at Rome when I was acting-am-bassador there in the middle nineties. As a reputed go-between in matters affecting the relations of the Vatican with the Quirinal he had enjoyed an influence which I had always suspected arose from a love of intrigue rather than from any real responsibility. Still, Mattel, like Bunsen, was a- gentleman, and not one of those adventurers of the type that flourishes in European capitals. There is, I believe, a popular delusion that ambassadors and other representatives of the powers are embryo Machiavellis, liars, tricksters, and humbugs, Ishmaels of society whose language is an extraordinary mixture of guarded hints and evasive threats. If some of those novelists who draw this picture from their imaginations could have heard our greeting they would have been surprised. “Well!” said M. Bunsen, “here are we three old war-dogs on the trail together again. I suppose Mr. X , that you, too, are watching a certain party in the next carriage?” I assented —a little reluctantly, because one naturally likes to keep his affairs to himself where it is possible.

“It looks like a serious business,” said Doctor Mattel, “with von Gwinner and Thyssen coming post haste to Vienna” “And von Heydebrand,” added Bunsen. “So,” continued Mattel, “since we three are equally interested in discovering why our friend the count is bound for Vienna, I think three heads will solve the problem better than one.” “You have your suspicions?” I inquired. They nodded in turn and looked at me. “His imperial majesty attaches a good dear of importance to the Albanian problem,” said M. Bunsen. That was the conclusion at which I had almost arrived. And it simplified the situation in a way. For the possession of Albania was the thorny issue between Austria and Italy, and hence Doctor Mattei would certainly be working on the side of England in this question, our government supporting his. The situation of Prince William of Wied had become impossible, and his deposition from the Albanian throne was only a matter of days. Italy and Austria had signed each a self-deny-ing ordinance in agreeing to Albania’s independence, but each was watching the other’s actions. It would have surprised no one had Austria sent a force to occupy the country. “Twelve thousand Italian troops are on tho sea, returning from Tripoli,” said Doctor Mattei. “They could be diverted into Avlona or Durazzo harbor within twenty-four hours. On the other hand, Italy would never violate her agreement unless there were the strongest evidence that Austria is meditating some hasty occupation of Albania.” “Herr Thyssen, you know, has Interests near Skutari,” explained M. Bunsen. “And the Allgemeine Elektrizitats Gesellschaft could get enough power from some of the Albanian streams to light every city in the Balkans.”

“Well, gentlemen,” said Doctor Mattei, “if we are to learn anything, it will have to be done during the next two hours, before we get to Brunn, not after the three men are together. Now, I believe that I can relieve the count’s mind of all that is weighing on it, if you will follow my lead implicitly.” “Then you have mistaken your vocation, my dear Mattei,” said M. Bunsen. ' “Yon ought to be the recording angel.* “Nevertheless, I am speaking seriously, gentlemen, ** persisted the little doctor, polling out his watch. “In an hour and forty minutes we shall reach Brunn. The chief of the Saint Therese hospital there is an old friend of mine. Have yon the nerve*

to assist at an operation in the guise of assistant physicians? You, M. Bnnsen, shell administer the chloroform. And our friend, Mr. X— —, shall sterilize the instruments." “Yon are going to operate on the count’s head?” inquired Bunsen incredulously.

“Not on his head, but on bin soul,” replied Doctor Mattel. “But there is no time to lose in offering explains tions now. If you are with me, gentlemen. pray take your seats in the adjoining compartment—not that in which Count Berchtold sits, but on the other side —and wait till you hear the cue.” Our train was of the usual continental type. There was a corridor running the length of the coach along one side, communicating with the several compartments by means of doors, which could be kept open or closed, according to the wishes of the occupiers. Each compartment was thus accessible from every other. There were five to the coach. Berchtold occupied the first, but his door was closed; Mattel was now the sole occupant of the second, and we two were In the third. In the fourth were two elderly maiden ladies, and In the fifth a humble-looking tradesman and a little boy. Whatever Mattel was devising, the chances of interference were practically nil.

We had been In the second compartment about five or six minutes when the sound of a pistol shot, a star tied cry, and evidences of a struggle in the count’s compartment brought us to our feet In the corridor. The bell-rope communicating with the engine was jerked furiously; then came the sound of a second shot, the maiden ladies screamed, the tradesman rushed toward us, trembling with fear, and we burst into the count’s compartment The outer door swung open, and at the window we saw Mattel, masquerading in an old coat and a desperado’s slouch hat, waving a still smoking pistol. As we looked he seemed

to leap from the footboard to the ground. The train was slowing down Count Berchtold leaned against the door post. He was very pale, and his handsome features still bore the look of surprise with which he must have witnessed Mattel’s intrusion. He was pressing his hand to his side. “I think I am fatally wounded, gentlemen,” he said in German, smiling faintly, and sank back against the cushions.

The two old ladies, the tradesman, the little boy gathered around the open door and stared at the spectacle. I saw powder stains upon the count’s coat, over the heart. The dreadful suspicion came to me that Mattei had actually killed Berchtold. The train had stopped, the guard came hurriedly along the footboard from carriage to carriage, followed by a mob of excited passengers. “Murder!” shouted somebody. “A highwayman!” “An assassin!” “Search the track!” And just then Doctor Mattei came bustling along the corridor, dressed as when I had seen him, and wearing a highly professional and important air.

“I am a physician,” he said in German. “Keep these people away, please." He turned to the conductor. “Well, what are you gaping at, you idiot?” he demanded. “Start thp train moving and make your fastest run to Brunn. Don’t you see this gentleman has been wounded?” Beckoning us inside, he slammed the door and, placing the count fiat on the seat, he proceeded to remove his upper clothing and make an examination, shaking his head from time to time and parsing his lips. “Doctor.” said Count Berchtold faintly, “If I apa about to die you mast tell me, as there are Important matters to be attended to.” “Yon feel much pain?” Inquired the physician. “None whatever,” answered the count. “That is to be expected. ’ answered MaHrf “The most serious wounds cause the least discomfort. I do not

think yon are in immediate danger. Bat when we reach Brunn we most rush you to the hospital of Doctor X ," he continned, addressing me. “You agree with me?" He had interposed his body between myself and the count so that I had seen nothing of the proceedings. Now, approaching, I perceived that the place which Mattel had been swabbing with the strips of sterilised gauze which he had taken from his pocket was absolutely uninjured. Mattel had fired a blank cartridge. There is a schoolboy trick of causing a sense of diffushd pain by pressing with the thumb nail and sawing the finger along the flesh immediately in front of it Mattel now performed this interesting experiment, which is based, I believe, upon the insensibility of adjacent nerve fibers, and I saw a spasm of pain cross the count’s face.

“An intercostal glancing wound, I should say, doctor,” Mattel continued. “Perhaps the ball is behind the sternum. Is that your view?” I assented. "And now,” said Doctor Mattel, addressing Count Berchtold again, “I shall give you a hypodermic and—” The count shook his head and turned his eyes on the doctor’s face with an expression of latent suspicion. It was clear that he did not recognize the bandit in him, but his decision was final. What must have been his agony of mind, at the thought of dying there! “I prefer to keep my consciousness,” he said. “I am expecting some friends at Brunn. You will inform the station master that Count Berchtold is injured, and have them admitted at once to the hospital. And I rely on your discretion and secrecy.” “Your excellency,” said Doctor Mattel, bowing deeply, “you may rely Implicitly upon me. And I feel confident that the wound will not prove a very dangerous one.” “Will you be so kind aB to take a leather pocketbook which you will

find in my coat and deliver it to my friends?” inquired the count. "It contains papers of the greatest importance, and it is essential that they shall not fall into the wrong hands.” Mattel bowed again, and, taking the leather book from the coat pocket, placed it in his own. He opened the door, and the sounds of chattering, which wo had heard, became accentuated. Somehow it had become suspected that the wounded man was a person of consequence. The conductor of the train and the passengers were gathering along the corridor. “We have not been able to find the miscreant,” the conductor stammered. “The train is going on in a few moments—”

“At once!" shouted Mattel, apparently beside himself with anger. “A man’s life is at stake, and you will hear about it if he dies —” The conductor ran toward the engine, the group dissolved, and the train began to move. The timid tradesman and the little boy resumed their places, the maiden ladies, reassured that their fellow-passenger would recover, resumed their seats, gabbling excitedly. Doctor Mattei returned to the count’s side and finished the bandaging. Bunsen and 1 went back at a sign from him to our original compartment. Neither of us made any comment upon the pocketbook, although we were thinking of little else.

It seemed an eternity before we reached Brunn, at half-past ten in the evening. A telegram had been sent from a wayside station, and the imbalance was waiting for us. Count Berchtold was quickly transferred, and we three accompanied him to the hospital, a little old-fashioned building outside the limits of the town. The director was wait’ng for us on the steps. He greeted Mattei nervously. “1 only received your message half an hour ago,” he said. “It is difficult to get a nurse at this hour, but the gov rnment hospital is well supplied, and —** “No, no!" interrupted Mattei impatiently. “I do not need a pack of

women about me. I stall operate here, with your permission, and these gentlemen will assist me. Ton can let me hare the use of your theater at once, doctor?" ‘‘lmmediately," answered the director, evidently Impressed by Mattel's manner. "I will have the fire started under the sterilizing tank.” "Then we will go straight to the anesthetizing room," answered Mattel. Two orderlies were in waiting, and at his command they lifted the stretcher out of the ambulance and conveyed it up the steps. We followed along the hall and into a tiny room with a big gas-bag apparatus at one end and bottles and masks on shelves. In the center was a glass table with enameled legs, upon which the count was deposited. The orderlies removed his clothing and put on a pair of tightly fitting pajamas. As the coat was hung; upon the wall Count Becbthold turned his eyes upon Mattel with fearless Inquiry. I knew he was thinking of the pocketbook. Through a partly open door I saw the little operating theater with its circle of benches. *An attendant had lit the gas beneath a little tank of water and was setting out the tray of instruments ready for boiling. Without ceremony Mattel took down a suit of linen overalls and a linen coat that hung by the door and adjusted them about himself. Then he began scouring his hands and rubbing them with perchloride at a sink in the corner.

“You will forgive the waiting, sir?” he inquired of the count, turning toward him, the nailbrush in one hand and a cake of soap in the other. “Pray don’t mention it,” replied Count Berchthold, now evidently completely reassured. The water in the tank began to bubble, and the orderly came out. “I shall not need your assistance,” said Mattel to him, and somehow he managed to convey the hint to the director, who was standing in the doorway, with the same words, for that gentleman bowed stiffly and retired, a little huffily, I thought, which was no cause for wonder. Then Mattel adjusted the mask over Count Berchtold’s face and began to let ether drip on it from a bottle. The stench of the anesthetic made me faint and nauseated.

“Breathe deeply and easily, sir,” said Mattei, and continued to repeat his instructions until a pallor overspread the patient’s face, and the hand which Mattei raised fell limply back upon the table. He continued to drip the ether, finger on the patient’s pulse. Count Berchtold moaned and began muttering, he struggled slightly, then lay perfectly stilL Then Mattei turned to us.

“There are three stages of ether narcosis,” he said softly, in tones such as one might use in tne lecture room. “They are known as the light, middle and deep narcosis. Practically there are but two, light and deep. In deep narcosis, such as that which our patient is approaching, there is no response to stimuli, and only the heart and breathing centers remain unaffected. This stage is a dangerous one, and the skillful anesthetist endeavors to keep his patient on the boundary between the two.” He let another drop of ether fall on the mask, and Berchtold, who had sighed faintly, became quiescent again.

“In the stage of light narcosis,” continued Mattei, “though the patient remains unconscious, so far as the cerebral functioning is concerned, he is in an extremely agitated condition. He struggles, he flings his limbs about, he makes spasmodic efforts to get off the operating table. It is as though the higher centers are in abeyance and the bodily instinct of selfpreservation takes command. In this stage he answers all questions freely, he can no longer make the mind retain its secrets. He^—” Count Berchtold half sat up, moaned, and began buttoning an imaginary overcoat.

“Be patient, sir,” said Mattei to him. “There is no hurry, is there?” “Yes, I have to get to Vienna,” muttered the unconscious man. “I —” He fell back, opened his eyes, and stared wildly about him. Mattei deftly dropped some more ether upon the mask and replaced it on the face. “Why do you have to get to Vienna?” he asked. The count breathed deeply. Mattei repeated his question. Berchtold mumbled something, and we drew nearer. “Why do you have to go to Vienna with Herman Thyssen and Von Gwinner?” asked the doctor. “Because we want to be in time to attend my little daughter’s birthday party,” mumbled Count Berchthold, relapsing into unconsciousness as Mattei pressed down the mask. We stared at each other. Then: “Is that true?”

“Absolutely,” replied Doctor MatteL “Well, gentlemen, although our apprehensions have proved groundless, it is a fortunate thing that we were able to ransack the count’s brain and bring to light the momentous secret which is worrying all Europe.” “But —” began Buniaen, looking toward Mattel’s coat. Doctor Mattei accepted the challenge. He walked to where his coat hung on the wall, abstracted the pocketbook and placed it in Berchtold’s pocket. It was full of papers, and an the protruding edge of one L saw the great seal of Austria, and, under it, in shaky lettering, the signature of Franz Josef. There was no chancellery in Europe that would not have paid a fortune for the possession of

that book. But Berchtold had entrusted it to Mattei In honor, and mo— Well, I thanked God that one can still serve his country without becoming a pickpocket. So four hours later, we aided Berchtold, shaky, but none the worse for his experience, into the wagon-lit of the train at Brunn, where bis friends awaited him. What Count Berchtold’s vain surmises as to the truth of the assault upon him may have been I have never, for obvious reasons, made any attempt to ascertain. The unbroken skin, when he found courage to examine the wound he at first imagined fatal, must have convinced him that some trick had been played upon him, but he never made any attempt, to my knowledge, to follow up his assailant or find the doctors who came to his aid.

“I Think I Am Fatally Wounded, Gentlemen,” He said in German, smiling Faintly; and Sank Back Against the Cushions.