The old woman, sharp-featured and angular as became her age, with her complexion powdered and rouged, lived in considerable style in a fine house close to the Glienicke Bridge at Potsdam, beneath the Babelsberg, a power to be reckoned with by all who desired to enter the Court circle.
Regarding her, many strange stories were afloat. One was that she was an ex-dancer, the mother of the famous Mademoiselle "Clo-Clo" Durand, première danseuse of the Paris Opera, and another was that she had been mistress of the ballet at the Imperial Opera in Petrograd in the days of the Emperor Alexander. But so great a mystery were her antecedents that nobody knew anything for certain, save that, at the age of nearly seventy, she had access at any hour to the Kaiser's private cabinet. I have often seen her whisper to His Majesty strange secrets which she had picked up here and there—secrets that were often transferred to certain confidential quarters which control the great Teuton octopus.
Those at Court who secured the benignant smiles of Frau Kleist knew that their future path in life would be full of sunshine, but woe betide those upon whom she knit her brows in disapproval. It was all a question of bribery. Frau Kleist kept her pretty house and her big Mercédès car upon the secret money payments she received from those who "for value" begged her favours. With many young officers the payment to Frau Kleist was to open the back door to the Emperor's favour.
We in the Neues Palais (New Palace) knew it. But surely it did not concern us, for all of us looked askance at those who strove so strenuously and eagerly for "commands" to Court functions, and really we were secretly glad if the parvenus of both sexes were well bled before they were permitted by Frau Erna to make their obeisance before Royalty.
The palace world at every European Court is a narrow little world of its own, unknown and unsuspected by the man in the street. There one sees the worst side of human nature without any leaven of the best or even nobler side. The salary-grabber, the military adventurer, the pinchbeck diplomat, the commercial parvenu, and the scientist, together with their heavy-jowled, jewel-bedecked women-folk, elbow each other in order to secure the notice of the All-Highest One, who, in that green-upholstered private room wherein I worked with him, often smiled at the unseemly bustle while he calmly discriminated among men and women according to their merits.
It is in that calm discretion that the Emperor excels, possessing almost uncanny foresight, combined with a most unscrupulous conscience.
"I know! Frau Kleist has told me!" were the words His Majesty used on many occasions when I had ventured perhaps to express doubt regarding some scandalous story or serious allegation. Therefore I was confident, even though a large section of the entourage doubted it, that the seventy-year-old dancing-mistress, whose past was a complete mystery, was an important secret agent of the Emperor's.
And what more likely? The Kaiser, as ruler of that complex empire, would naturally seek to know the truth concerning those who sought his favour before they were permitted to click their heels or wag their fans and bow the knee in his Imperial presence. And he had, no doubt, with that innate cunning, appointed his creature to the position of Court dancing-mistress.
The most elegant, corsetted Prussian officer, even though he could dance divinely, was good-looking and perfectly-groomed, would never be permitted to enter the Court circle unless a substantial number of marks were placed within the old woman's palm. It was her perquisite, and many in that ill-paid entourage envied her her means of increasing her income.
In no Court in Europe are the purse-strings held so tightly as in that of Potsdam. The Emperor and Empress, though immensely wealthy, practise the economy of London suburbia. But at every Court bribery is rife in order to obtain Royal warrants and dozens of other small favours of that kind, just as open payment is necessary to-day to obtain titles of nobility. The colour of gold has a fascination which few can resist. If it were not so there would be no war in progress to-day.