The Gateless Gate, Mata Hari: Courtesan and Spy, Myths of Hellas, Russian Life and Society As Seen in 1866-'67, Anthology of Russian Literature From the Earliest Period to the Present Time (Complete) by Ekai

The first time I heard the name of Mata Hari was in the fall of 1916. The association of her name with the inexplicable leakage of highly confidential information will best reveal how the woman’s sinister activities reacted upon men far removed from her physical existence. It will help to show why a spy incurs such deadly hatred among men not disinclined to face death when the danger may be boldly grasped, but who shudder with apprehension when some nameless and invisible enemy tries to encompass their destruction under the veil of assumed friendship which promotes an attitude of indifference among those whose duty it is to guard against such concealed activity.

Picture, then, a group of English soldiers straining their eyes into the abyss of night, waiting for the firing of a Verey light which will illumine a phenomenon just come within their knowledge. A patrol has just returned with the information that something mysterious has appeared in No Man’s Land that demands investigation. Scarcity of numbers in this sector had made increased watchfulness imperative and there was not a man among them who did not know No Man’s Land as intimately as he knew the details of his own back yard. But night plays fantastic tricks with the imagination and the eyes, so that when this newly returned patrol made its report there was no little uneasiness about the mysterious object set before their trench. Complete investigation, however, proved that this was no more than a crude notice-board bearing the scrawled enquiry, “Why wait for the 29th?”

Thus it came about that the bursting indiscretion of a mischievous Saxon soldier undid the work of a cunning spy. But we, who were the victims of the joke, were completely bewildered by this singular message which had come out of the night. Nor could our staff offer any enlightenment when we applied to them for an explanation. They were too busy with statistical computations of the consumption of plum and apple jam to gratify the misplaced curiosity of an enemy whose sense of humour usually had a more macabre touch. The incident would have been overlooked among more pressing anxieties and a tragedy would have resulted but for a chance visit the following day to some men who were training in the strictest seclusion for a special minor offensive.

These men were of my own company and at my suggestion were being trained for a night raid in full daylight. Night training is usually rendered farcical by the impossibility of adequate supervision, but with darkness simulated by the use of dark glasses we hoped to achieve a greater degree of efficiency. The work of these men was conducted in the utmost secrecy. No one other than about six officers had any idea of either the purpose, the locale, or the time of the raid. Living in such isolation, the raiders were always delighted to receive their rare visitors and listened with delight to the most trifling details of our battalion activities. As most people whose lives are anything but a joke are usually entertained by the feeblest jests, I was tempted to tell them of the enemy’s enigmatic enquiry, “Why wait for the 29th?”

The recital of this incident caused as much consternation as would have arisen in paradise had the devil dropped in for a social visit. Except, of course, for the blasphemy; that was supplemental, presumably. It appeared that the 29th was the date chosen for the secret raid and that our sector was to be the scene of the outburst. It was then the 26th. In spite of this unexpected betrayal after such elaborate precautions to maintain secrecy, the raid was carried out according to program in all its details except for the date. On the night of the 27th these men crept quietly out of the trenches, over No Man’s Land, and fell on an enemy taken completely by surprise. It would have been an unqualified success but for the unfortunate death of the young officer in command. On the return from the raid he was shot in the thigh and I was carrying him back to our trenches, when a bullet whipped through the night, penetrated his throat, and embedded itself in my shoulder. Just at the moment this happened he was about to tell me some secret of his last leave in Paris and his lips had just framed the words, “If we could only find that damned dancer ...” when they were closed by the great silence and his eyes turned to that dawn which knows no eventide.

During a convalescence spent in France, I investigated the circumstances of young Hogg’s last leave and its association with a dancer, never for one moment imagining that it would lead to a definite result, since dancers are as numerous as thieves in the City of Light. What I did discover had no meaning at the time, but its significance was too great to be forgotten.

In order to obtain the dark glasses which I had recommended for the training of his men, Hogg and a companion had gone to Paris as being the only place within reach likely to furnish this extraordinary need. The pair of youngsters had little or no knowledge of the city and their ignorance of the language made the simplest purchase as laborious as a complicated commercial transaction. They, therefore, addressed themselves to any chance acquaintance for information concerning spectacle-makers, but, thanks to the direction of their enquiries, their request was received as something of a pleasantry by everyone whom they encountered. Their mission was soon being passed from one malicious little tongue to another along café terraces until their appearance was hailed with delight in the more popular rendezvous. At last when they were becoming desperate, and therefore more amusing, one amiable lady volunteered her assistance. After a brief interview Hogg consented to accompany her on the quest for dark glasses. There were, I found, certain hectic celebrations attending the successful execution of the commission on which neither of the young officers retained clear recollections—when the stomach is full the head is empty. They returned to their posts satisfied that the amiable and kind lady would collect and forward the required glasses as soon as they were ready.

It was possible, at a later date, and with more evidence available, to ascertain how the terrible Mata Hari did her work. In order to learn where and when this raid was to take place she had to delay the dispatch of the dark glasses until after the two young officers had finished their short leave, and to accept the responsibility of forwarding them when they were delivered by the optician who had undertaken to secure them. For this reason she was furnished with the correct address of the unit to which they were to be sent, and the enemy was thus able to identify the locale of the raid. The correct date she ascertained by feigning a great interest in the exploit and a desire to read of its successful accomplishment in the communiqué issued the following day. Those of us who were amazed at her ability to obtain such confidential information ceased to wonder at Mata Hari’s skill in this case when we became familiar with her major activities exercised against more capable protagonists than two young subalterns.

The words spoken in the presentiment of death are often prophetic. Months later, when Mata Hari was under trial for espionage, the writer heard her spoken of as the “Red Dancer,” and the mystery of “Why wait for the 29th?” became a fragment of an infinitely greater quest which led to the revelation of the entire life of the woman who was registered in the German secret service as H21 and who sent thousands like this young colleague to their death.