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Archivist’s Notes

The collection of materials which follows is peculiar in the extreme. While it purports to be taken from the archives of Mycroft Holmes, various aspects of the material make it difficult to reconcile with what we know of the relevant events. The collection raises three primary questions:

1. The Gilbert & Sullivan operetta The Grand Duke is clearly based on the events related in this collection – yet it seems unlikely in the extreme that the duo had access to these documents when they created that libretto. How, then, did they come by such detailed knowledge of the original events?
2. At the same time, it’s clear that Mycroft Holmes’ introductory notes were written well after the appearance of The Grand Duke in 1896 – but it’s extremely difficult, if not impossible, to see Mycroft’s hand in the insertion of the interstitial quotations from the libretto in the compilation. Yet if Mycroft isn’t responsible for the quotes, who did add them?
3. The Holmesian material redacts the names of people and places, presumably because the documents in question were considered intelligence-gathering material at the time. Yet the redactions are exactly consistent with the names given by Gilbert and Sullivan to the equivalent people and places in The Grand Duke. Is this a silent editorial hand (perhaps Mycroft’s) at work – or purely coincidence? More to the point, where and under what names did the corresponding people and places exist in the real world?

The alternative is, of course, that the whole thing is an elaborate forgery. Yet that too seems unlikely, as you’d think a properly ambitious forger would have done a better job of reconciling the obvious differences between the Holmes’ version of events and that of Gilbert & Sullivan.

#

from the papers of Mycroft Holmes (date uncertain)

It has now been some years since the world learned that Sherlock Holmes did not, in fact, perish in the spring of 1891 at the hands of his arch-nemesis in the Swiss Alps. In the wake of his return to England, there has naturally been much speculation in various quarters about my brother’s activities during the three years he spent abroad. Almost none of it, however, is accurate in any but the most general sense.

At this remove, I can safely acknowledge the truth of one popular assumption: for the greater part of his absence, Sherlock was in fact enquiring into a variety of political intrigues of potential consequence to the British government. Yet even now, the details of most of these intrigues must remain undisclosed, in the interest of preserving cordial relationships among the nations and individuals involved.

There is, however, one matter whose particulars I feel justified in setting down, if only to provide future scholars a degree of balance in the historical record. As followers of international events should already be aware, W. S. Gilbert and Sir Arthur Sullivan based their recent operetta The Grand Duke largely on an actual occurrence, while prudently changing the names of the people and places associated with the situation. Their sources, however, were evidently unaware that Sherlock Holmes had been on the scene throughout.

#

The principality called “Pfennig-Halbpfennig” by Gilbert is among the small demesnes scattered through Europe which – for one reason or another – escaped assimilation by any of the continent’s larger powers in the course of the industrial revolution. Like Genovia or Ruritania, its survival can be attributed in large part to the presence of a remarkably strong-willed and affluent ruling family.

The Halbpfennig dynasty, however, had fallen on difficult times by the end of the nineteenth century. Their inherited wealth, though not wholly diminished, had been measurably reduced by the expense of updating the duchy’s industrial capacity, and this had made its rulers somewhat less popular with the country’s social elite. Certain of my European informants had reported rumors of at least one organized conspiracy to oust the principality’s Grand Duke, possibly via assassination.

#

GRET. Oh, I should like to pull his Grand Ducal ears for him, that I should!
He’s the meanest, the cruellest, the most spiteful little ape in Christendom!

OLGA. Well, we shall soon be freed from his tyranny.
To-morrow the Despot is to be dethroned!

#

Telegrams exchanged between Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes

London • M. to S. • 9.4.1892

Urgent – sources report possible plot(s?) against life of Grand Duke R— of P-H—. Kindly go to S— at once and investigate.

S — • S. to M. • 12.4.1892

Confirmed. Organizers are theatrical troupe under E— D—. Threat level moderate; goal apparently personal gain, installation of D— as ruler. Political alignment of conspirators unclear. Whose side are we on?

London • M. to S. • 13.4.1892

Current Grand Duke R— (distant cousin to Queen V—), presently engaged to Baroness K—. Union will aid in stabilizing local economy. Regarding threat: maintain cover. Observe, infiltrate if practical, thwart if necessary.

S— • S. H. to M. H. • 16.4.1892

Situation now stabilized. Full report follows.

#

“What folly fell
To go and tell
Our plot to anyone’s detective!”

#

Sherlock Holmes’ report to Mycroft, late April 1892

I arrived in S— in the person of an itinerant actor – a character, as you well know, I am well qualified to present. In that persona, it was not at all difficult to locate and observe the members of Herr D—‘s theatrical (or more accurately, operatic) company.

A mere few hours of observation was sufficient to discern the accuracy of your source’s report. The company as a whole did not appear particularly dangerous, but Herr D— was a problem of a different order. His motives were not immediately clear; he has promised wealth and status to his partisans, but does not seem greatly concerned with such for his own benefit. In the circumstances, I determined that my actor’s persona would not be sufficient to gain the data I required. Having already secured lodgings well suited to my purposes, I retired to my quarters and adopted a new identity: that of a notary, one Doktor Tannhäuser.

I then inserted myself into the conspiracy. This presented no great difficulty, as I had quickly discerned the signal by which its members identified themselves to one another: the ordering and consumption of a particular variety of pastry. Within the space of a day and a half, I was able to work my way from the outermost layers of the plot to its architect, Herr D— himself, persuading him in the process that I had been part of his organization for much longer than was actually the case. Thus did I learn the precise nature of their intentions: to assassinate the Grand Duke by means of a small yet potent explosive device, to be set off following His Grace’s pending nuptials. This was made practical by the fact that Herr D—‘s players had been commissioned to perform for the assembled guests immediately following the wedding.

Such an action could not, of course, be allowed to occur. Yet in the time available, I could not hope to seek and receive instructions from you. Worse, I also could not rely on the Grand Duke’s security apparatus, such as it was, to take appropriate action to contain the threat.

As I sat in the players’ favorite café considering the problem, my mind could not help but drift back to Baker Street, and the conversation I might have had with Watson on the subject. “You must admit,” the doctor would have said, “that the matter strongly resembles the plot of a Savoy opera, such as Messrs. Gilbert and Sullivan would devise. They would certainly add a romantic subplot – no doubt the conquest would disrupt any existing entanglements among members of the acting company.”

I sat straight up in my chair. In reverie as had happened so often in life, Watson’s words had given me my answer. What you and I had been treating as a dangerous political conflict could – with a bit of work – be resolved in tidy fashion simply by recasting the scenario in the mode of a six-door French farce…many of the necessary seeds having already been planted.

I spent a few moments making a series of notes outlining the mechanics of what I was about to set in motion. Then I rose, strode briskly out of the café, and proceeded to the ducal palace. Using the notary’s credentials I had prepared in connection with my disguise, I was admitted to the ducal archives, where I spent most of an hour inserting the necessary paperwork into the legal record. Only then did I request a brief audience with His Grace, the Grand Duke himself, in my persona as Herr Doktor Tannhäuser.

#

...don’t mind me. It is always amusing to the legal mind to see a parcel of laymen bothering
themselves about a matter which to a trained lawyer presents no difficulty whatever.

#

“I must advise you, Your Grace,” I told the Grand Duke, “of a dangerous conspiracy against your life. My sources report that you are to be blown to bits tomorrow during Your Grace’s matrimonial proceedings.”

The Duke regarded me narrowly, though with no apparent malice. “My men have heard rumors, but nothing so specific. By what means do you come by this information?”

“It was something of an accident,” I told him. “Evidently I unknowingly performed an identifying countersign, at which point I was read into the plan.”

“I see,” he said, “and I appreciate your warning. Let me just summon my marshall; you may supply him with the relevant names, and they shall be arrested at once.”

“If I may, Your Grace,” I replied, “I cannot be sure that I have a complete list, and there is not much time. With your permission, I believe I can offer a tidier means of exposing and defeating your enemies by way of a purely legal stratagem.”

The Duke’s expression darkened. “What trickery is this?”

I returned his gaze with a calm I did not entirely feel. “It is entirely above-board, I assure you, though highly unusual. One of Your Grace’s ancestors invented it, and by a lucky accident of timing, we are in a position to use his invention to your advantage. I propose that when the conspiracy exposes itself, you will then challenge its leader to a statutory duel – and lose.”

“A statutory duel? Explain.”

“Certainly, Your Grace.  Just under a century ago, after a lengthy series of sword and pistol duels had sharply reduced the size of Your Grace’s court, then-Duke Nicolas created a legal fiction: the statutory duel. Instead of wielding sword or firearm, each participant simply draws a playing card from a neutral deck. High card wins the duel, and the winner assumes any and all titles, obligations, assets, and debts the loser may have possessed. The loser is declared legally dead, and becomes in effect a ghost, with no status of any kind. Most persons so ‘killed’, it is recorded, simply chose to leave the duchy and began new lives elsewhere.”

The Duke appeared intrigued, but skeptical. “Why, then, would I want to lose such a duel?”

“That,” I replied, “is where the accident of timing comes into play. Duke Nicolas included a sunset clause in the law which established statutory duels – it was to remain in force for exactly one hundred years, and then expire, though with the provision that a subsequent Grand Duke might extend it for another century. As it happens, unless it was renewed, the statutory duel would cease to exist the day after your nuptials.”

“Ah, I see,” His Grace said thoughtfully. “One would allow the plotters a single day of triumph – which they could easily waste in undeserved celebration – and then ‘come back to life’, restored to power, at which point they could be easily rounded up and properly prosecuted for their prior treason. Elegant, indeed. Unless…” he paused, then gave me a sharp glance. “Unless the law governing such duels were conveniently renewed during their day’s victory. That would seem to pose an unacceptable risk.”

I favored His Grace with a cat-like smile. “So it would,” I admitted, “were it not for a unique feature of the legislation, which can be exploited to your advantage. As you will recall, many card games allow the Ace to rank as either the highest or lowest card in a given suit. Grand Duke Nicolas was wise enough to foresee that, in a duelist’s context, this would create a dangerous ambiguity. He therefore specified that the Ace in a statutory duel would always count as lowest card.”

A similar smile slowly spread itself across the Duke’s face. “Ahhh,” he said again. “May I safely presume that my enemies do not know of this provision?”

“To the best of my knowledge, they are not even aware of the statute’s existence.” This was, of course, quite true, as I had only inserted it into the ducal archives that very afternoon.

Now His Grace nodded, clearly amused. “Thus, we have only to ensure that my opponent draws an Ace – which he will believe to be the highest possible card. If he does not extend the law, I return to power after one day and punish my enemies accordingly. If he does attempt to extend the law, we need only point out that he had no power to do so, since he didn’t actually win the duel. You are a clever man, Herr Doktor Tannhäuser.”

I inclined my head in a gesture of respect. “Merely a loyal subject,” I replied, “who prefers to avoid violence wherever possible. And now I believe I had best excuse myself – preferably by way of one of the tradesmen’s doors. It would not do for any of my associates to realize that I have approached you regarding our upcoming confrontation.”

#

I do declare if I could only hit upon some cheap and painless method of putting an end
to an existence which has become insupportable, I would unhesitatingly adopt it!

#

Rather to my surprise, the events that followed unfolded with remarkably straightforward efficiency – at least insofar as the main conspiracy was concerned. Herr D—, presented with the prospect of a statutory duel with his arch-foe, accepted with alacrity. I, in the persona of Herr Doktor Tannhäuser, covertly ensured that His Grace received a King to his opponent’s Ace – and then, when the Grand Duke returned the following evening to reclaim his title, regretfully informed Herr D— of the sunset clause. The latter gentleman, though clearly annoyed, yielded without resistance, accepting the permanent banishment of himself and his players from P-H—.

There were, however, a handful of secondary developments, one of which is of some diplomatic consequence. As an artifact of the duel, the wedding contemplated for the evening of the duel was not completed – and late on the following day, a royal procession from A— arrived in S—, indicating that the Princess of A— had been betrothed to Grand Duke R— years earlier. It was now unclear which of the Princess and Baroness von K— might emerge as the favored bride, as both were prepared to bring considerable dowries to their prospective partnerships. My imaginary dream-Watson had also been wholly correct in another respect; within hours of R—‘s restoration, not one but two couples among the acting company appeared to be on track to have weddings of their own alongside – or at least adjacent to – that of the local nobility.

Herr Doktor Tannhäuser faded from sight immediately following the climax of the affair and has not been seen since. In the meantime, a Norwegian explorer styling himself as Rolf Sigerson departed S—, with no particular destination in mind.