The Kaiser’s Last Kiss. Alan Judd

there.’

      ‘I daresay I shall have to receive him one day. There is no hurry.’ The Kaiser took his place at the table and began eating immediately. ‘I trust that, as a military man, he will prove to have better manners than the Nazis.’

      ‘Herr Hitler is said to be almost a perfect gentleman, and Herr Himmler is reportedly charming,’ said the Princess, smiling at both men.

      ‘My dear, one has to consider who it is that is making such judgements.’ The Kaiser looked across at van Houten. It was then that he realised the man was weeping. He was eating and made no sound, but tears stood in his eyes. The Kaiser felt this was uncalled for, a gross over-indulgence, until it occurred to him that the major might have suffered a private grief. Something to do with his family, perhaps. He assumed the major had a family; he had never asked.

      ‘Is everything all right, Major van Houten? Is all well with you?’

      The major was still chewing, an action that made his face even sadder and funnier than usual. The Kaiser would tell Hermo about it later.

      ‘Thank you, your Highness,’ the major replied in his careful German. ‘All is well with me. It is an emotional time, that is all. I apologise.’ He inclined his head.

      ‘My dear fellow, I understand. It is an emotional time for everyone, this new war. Where will it end? Wars are more easily started than stopped and my fear is that the machinery of warfare will run away with Herr Hitler, as it ran away with me. But he has done well so far, I grant him that. Tactically, he has done the correct things and has evidently learned the lessons of the High Command’s failure last time.’

      The major’s spaniel eyes stared at the Kaiser’s. ‘Do you believe he has done the correct thing in invading us, your Highness?’

      ‘Correct from his point of view, yes. Necessary. He has done the necessary thing. You see, major, this war is not with The Netherlands. It is important that you and your people understand that.’ The Kaiser dabbed his lips with his napkin. ‘No, this war is with France. It is the unfinished business that was prevented last time by England. Since then the French have behaved so badly in the territories they occupied after the armistice that a resumption of our war has become inevitable. They have been brutal to the German population, including children, and they wished to continue to starve them. They even tried to stop the English from lifting the blockade after the war. Did you know that more than three hundred and fifty thousand German people died as a result of the blockade – after the war, not during it? My own private secretary, von Islemann, lost four aunts because of it. Four aunts!’

      The Kaiser stared across the table. There was something ridiculous in the notion of four aunts. How many aunts did a normal man need, for goodness’ sake? Were they fat before the blockade? Four fat aunts fading away. It was a laughable thought, the sort of thing the major might normally remark upon, but he appeared to have lost his humour. The Kaiser felt he ought to demonstrate his own seriousness. ‘People fear that because I have lived in Holland for over twenty years I do not know what the German people are thinking. But I do. I know very well what the German people think because people tell me and because I understand them here.’ He thumped his chest with his right hand. ‘It is not war itself they seek, but they hunger for justice and war is the only way. So for this new war, they have, since 1918, been ready to march at once, to strangle the French. Well, now they are doing that but they cannot finish the job properly until they have driven Juda out of England, as they are driving them from the continent. The Jews and Anglo-American commercialism and materialism make it impossible for European peoples to live in decent peace and spiritual harmony. This war will be a divine judgement on Juda-England, you will see. That is why the soldiers of the Wehrmacht are here in Holland, Major van Houten. It is not against you or your country, and when the business is complete they will go. I promise you that.’

      The Princess nodded. ‘I do not believe the Nazis have anything against The Netherlands. Occupation is a regrettable necessity. It will pass, I am sure of that. It will become as water under the bridge.’

      The major looked at her. ‘No doubt it will pass, Princess. I too am sure of that. But not before much blood has sweetened the water beneath our bridges.’

      The major’s words hung in the air and rather soured luncheon, the Kaiser felt. The Dutchman was making more of the business than circumstances warranted. After all, it was not as if the Wehrmacht had done anything seriously unpleasant.

      The Kaiser took his coffee standing, obliging Major van Houten to do the same. The Princess withdrew. They gazed out over the lawns, where the gardeners were tending the rhododendrons; the Kaiser’s three dachshunds were hunting in the bushes. He insisted the major sample a liqueur, feeling it might brighten the fellow, but declined any himself. He never touched liqueurs, nor whisky, though he liked to see others doing it. It was almost time for his afternoon nap.

      He laid his good hand upon the major’s shoulder, gripping it. Even at eighty, his grip was enough to make men wince, but the major he gripped reassuringly. ‘You must let me know if there is anything I can do. You have family I can help, perhaps? I provide for more than fifty relatives of my own, so one family more would make little difference. And you yourself. You must let me know what happens. I fancy I may still have influence with the German authorities, if necessary.’

      Major van Houten inclined his head. ‘Your Highness is most kind.’

      The Kaiser patted him. ‘Cheer up, my good fellow.’

      The major continued to stare at the rhododendrons. Tears stood in his eyes again. ‘Forgive me, your Highness. It is the shame of occupation and defeat.’

      ‘I know, I know – knew – those feelings only too well, major.’ He paused, then recollected himself. ‘But you must brace up, as my English family would say, and face it like a good’ – he almost said ‘German’ – ‘soldier.’ He let go of the major, finished his coffee and dabbed his lips once more with his napkin. ‘And now I must have my nap.’

TWO

      At the gatehouse Untersturmführer Martin Krebbs ensured that his platoon was satisfactorily disposed before opening his ration pack for lunch. One section was escorting the Dutch guard back to their barracks, one had taken over the guard duties and the others were eating their rations after sorting out bunks and bedding and cleaning the lodge. The Dutch soldiers had not left it in a bad condition – as the filthy French would have, judging by what he had seen of their quarters during the push through France – but it was not up to Wehrmacht, let alone Schutzstaffel, standards.

      He looked again at Huis Doorn. His orders were not to interfere with the old Kaiser but to heed his summons, if any came, and to report back anything that was said. SS Standartenführer Kaltzbrunner, his SS colonel, would interview the Kaiser himself in due course and report to Berlin on his attitudes. Berlin would then decide what to do with the old man. Krebbs’s job, meanwhile, was to ensure that the Kaiser did not stray or fall into enemy hands, and to see that no unauthorised personnel were permitted contact with him. Unfortunately, no one had yet provided him with categories of authorisation and he was not even sure whether Major van Houten would now count as an authorised person. It was with some misgivings, therefore, that he had permitted the Dutchman to accept the farewell lunch invitation. He could not check with Standartenführer Kaltzbrunner because the telephone lines were still down and, though he should have been issued with a radio, radios at platoon level in the Wehrmacht had become mysteriously scarce during recent weeks. He made a note in his black pocket book to raise the question again at the next briefing.

      Although no palace, Huis Doorn was far larger than any private house that Krebbs had been in. It had four storeys, large windows, a good slate roof, a substantial front door and regular gables. He liked its symmetry – he always liked symmetry – and thought it the sort of house that he would have if he were rich. The Kaiser, it was well known, was exceedingly rich. Despite all the impoverishment of the German people following the Supreme Warlord’s misconduct of the last war, he had kept his fortune, living abroad in evident comfort. Meanwhile, honest men who had