Chapter 19
Despite my resolve to set up a workshop, I went all the way to Father's office and turned back three times.
The first time I reached his office, I heard the Foreign Minister's voice inside. They were discussing the war between Britain and South Africa, and Father was banging on his desk in anger over something he'd heard.
The second time, some naval officers went in. I could hear them discussing the fleet budget and new battleships through the door.
The third time, I was simply scared.
The box held nothing but failed parts, not a completed pistol. I could easily imagine Father's expression if I showed them to him and asked for machine tools and technicians, too.
“Aren't you going in?”
When I reached the office for the fourth time, the aide-de-camp standing outside asked me.
“I am.”
“You said that last time, too, and then went back.”
“This time I mean it.”
Just then, the door opened and several officers came out. With nowhere left to retreat, I went straight into the office.
Father was looking over the documents piled on his desk. When he spotted the box in my hands, he beamed and asked,
“Have you finished it?”
His first words were full of expectation.
“No.”
“Then what is that?”
I set the box on his desk and opened the lid.
A bent brass extractor, a broken connecting rod, springs of different lengths, and dented dummy rounds came into view.
His eager expression visibly faded.
“What is this?”
“Failed parts.”
I showed him the little paper tags tied to each part.
Magazine spring, Type 3. Strong when fully loaded, but the last two rounds rise too slowly.
Extractor, Type 2. Works when operated slowly, but deforms when pulled quickly.
Lower barrel lug, Type 1. Cracked around the pivot hole. Cause unknown. Possibly wood deformation or incorrect pivot placement.
Father read the tags one by one, then leaned back in his chair.
“You want something from me, don't you?”
Perhaps being emperor made him perceptive. I unfolded the paper I'd prepared and said,
“I need a workshop.”
Father raised an eyebrow.
“A workshop?”
“Yes. A machine shop where I can test the pistol. I need a small lathe, a milling machine, a drill, a grinder, and things like that. I also need a drafting room and a parts storeroom.”
“In the Imperial Palace?”
“It doesn't have to be inside the palace. It just needs to be nearby.”
“No.”
Father answered before even finishing the paper I'd prepared.
“Why?”
“You're only eleven. You're too young.”
“I'll be twelve soon.”
“What's the difference?”
“Soon.”
Father muttered something under his breath and pressed his fingertips to his temple.
“You know perfectly well that's not what I'm asking. Machine tools can take your fingers off. Guns and gunpowder are even more dangerous. Do you know how angry your mother was when she saw the knives and wire piled up in your room?”
“That's why I'm saying I need a safe workshop instead of working in my room.”
“It would be safer if you didn't make guns.”
“You let me work on the Gewehr, too.”
“Mauser made it, not you.”
“That's why we had to send every part to the Mauser factory whenever I wanted to change something. If I do that with a pistol, it'll take years.”
“You're a princess. You have plenty of time. If it takes years, then you can wait years.”
Father said exactly what I'd expected.
“We'll keep having Mauser or the arsenal make the barrel and large forged parts. All I want is a place where I can test small parts and revise them right away.”
“No.”
“I won't keep live ammunition in the workshop.”
“No.”
“We'll store gunpowder separately in an army depot, and only do live-fire tests at the Imperial Guard's firing range.”
“No.”
“I won't operate the machines myself.”
At that, he let out a deep sigh and said,
“No matter how many times I object, you seem determined to keep making it in your room behind my back. Will you really follow everything you just said?”
“Yes. The technicians will operate the machines. I'll only watch from beside them.”
I wanted to handle them myself, but I had to give in on that point.
“Where are you going to find the people?”
“We can ask Mauser and the Spandau Arsenal for recommendations. We'll need someone who can make springs, someone skilled in sheet metal, and a draftsman, too.”
“Then why not have it made at the Spandau Arsenal?”
“If I go to the arsenal and wait for my turn in the regular work schedule, it'll take days every time I need to change a small part. I don't need a production factory. I need a small test workshop where I can make and revise prototypes immediately.”
Father shook his head as if he couldn't believe I'd thought things through that far already.
“What about the budget?”
“It's important, so I'll leave that to you, Father.”
“You're leaving the most important part to me.”
Father fell silent for a while.
Then the door opened and Mother came in.
It was before a servant had even announced her. Someone must have told her I'd gone into Father's office carrying a box.
“Absolutely not.”
Mother spoke before even greeting us.
“I haven't made any decision yet.”
Father replied.
“Looking at Your Majesty's face, I'd say you're already halfway persuaded.”
“What's wrong with my face?”
“Even if your daughter asked for a battleship, you'd only ask how big she wanted it.”
I nearly laughed, but managed to hold it in.
Mother read over my proposal, then sighed deeply when she saw the safety goggles listed among the necessary equipment.
“What are safety goggles?”
“Glasses that keep metal fragments from getting in your eyes.”
“And you want to go somewhere dangerous enough to need those?”
“Using the necessary safety equipment makes it less dangerous.”
Mother set down the proposal and answered,
“Bessie, I know you want to learn and make things. But a princess can't spend all day surrounded by oil and metal shavings.”
“My brothers learn bayonet fighting at military school, and they even fall off their horses.”
“That's the princes' education. You're a princess.”
“I'm the Emperor's daughter, too.”
“That's exactly why I'm saying this.”
The conversation was starting to shift from a weapons workshop to the role of a princess.
I hated that.
My eldest brother had to undergo dangerous training to become an officer because it was a royal duty. But for me, learning to work with machinery was considered beneath a princess's dignity.
“It doesn't help Germany just for me to dance at balls.”
My slightly argumentative remark made Mother's expression harden. Worried that things might turn sour between us, Father hurriedly interrupted.
“Let's just look into it first.”
“Your Majesty.”
“I didn't say I'd approve it. I'm only saying we'll find out whether there's a safe place and how much it would cost.”
Mother was unhappy, but she didn't argue any further in the Emperor's office.
Instead, she set conditions for me.
“While the workshop is under consideration, none of your lessons will be reduced.”
“Yes.”
“You mustn't delay or skip meals because of the workshop.”
“Yes.”
“If I catch you secretly operating a machine, I'll shut it down immediately.”
I hesitated for a moment. I thought that if I pushed a little harder, she might even let me operate the machines.
“You need to answer me.”
“Yes.”
But I worried that if I pushed too much, I might lose everything I'd gained so far, so I answered.
After Mother left, Father unfolded my proposal again.
“Are you really not going to operate the machines yourself?”
“Not until I've been given permission.”
“So you're saying you want permission later.”
I didn't answer. Father looked at me, sighed, and wrote a short note on the proposal.
The Imperial Household Office, the Army Ministry, and Mauser are to review this.
Two days later, an Army facilities officer, the Imperial physician, and a machinery inspector came to see me.
Before asking about the machines I wanted, they asked how I planned to protect my fingers, eyes, and ears. The rotating shafts needed guards, work sleeves had to fit close to the body, and the heat-treatment area had to be separated by a wall. They also required water for emergency washing, a box of sand, and a device that could immediately stop the drive shaft in case of fire.
At first, I thought they were asking far too many questions. But then I remembered the broken wooden connecting rod that had flown toward Oskar in my room, and it was hard to argue.
“Looks like we'll finish the safety rules before we finish a prototype.”
“That's for the best.”
The physician said,
“You can make another prototype, but you can't replace an eye or a finger.”
I added a separate safety officer to the proposal, along with a system for identifying who was authorized to operate each machine, and a condition that I wouldn't touch one until I'd passed the training.
Only after seeing those revisions did Father add his signature beneath the order to review the proposal.
It wasn't approval yet, but it wasn't a refusal, either.
As I picked up the box of failed parts and prepared to leave, Father asked,
“Have you thought of a name for the workshop?”
“The Imperial Small Arms Testing Workshop.”
“That's too stiff.”
“I didn't like the idea of calling it something like the Princess's Pistol Room.”
Father burst out laughing at that.
That evening, Mother tucked my report card into the proposal, too.
If my grades in French or music fell below a certain level, the number of days I could go to the workshop would be reduced.
I protested that it was unfair, but Oskar said from beside me,
“It'd be funny to study French just to get to go to the workshop.”
“You study Latin so you can go to military school.”
In the end, I had to work hard at the subjects I disliked to keep permission to use the workshop. The first casualty of pistol development was my free time.