The Spy Who - The Spy Who Was Mata Hari | The Creation of the Myth | 1

Episode Date: October 13, 2026

When tragedy and violence leave Margaretha Zelle destitute, she reinvents herself as the exotic dancer Mata Hari and becomes a superstar across Europe. But when the First World War breaks out, she reinvents herself again – as a spy whose name will go down in infamy.See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Audible subscribers can listen to all episodes of The Spy Who, add free right now. Join Audible today by downloading the Audible app. This episode includes depictions of domestic violence and abuse, sexism, racism and historical racist language. Please be advised. May 1970, San Lazzar Prison, Paris. Sister Leonead walks through the damp passageway, carrying a prisoner's breakfast of coffee and a lump of bread. It's her job to care for the women held in this gloomy fortress and offer them spiritual guidance. Rats scuttle out of her way as she passes dark and filthy cells.

Sister Leonid entered the prison 45 years ago as a 20-year-old novice. Since then, she's seen many women come and go, prostitutes, petty criminals, political subversives, But today she is making her way to the cell of San Lazar's most notorious inmate yet. She stops outside cell 12 and peers through the peephole. Inside, a woman with filthy matted hair, paces in bare feet, rubbing her temples and muttering. Madame Zella must get out of here. She must return home. Sister Leonead nods to the guard to leave.

let her in. She shivers as the door closes behind her. The Great War is in its third year. At the trenches, French soldiers are dying in their thousands, and this woman is accused of betraying them. Prosecutors claim she seduced Allied officers, stole military secrets, and passed them to Germany. But whatever she's done, she deserves compassion. Madame Zella, you should eat. Thank you, sister. But Madame Zella is not hungry. Sister Leone looks closely at the prisoner.

She's clearly exhausted and frightened. And now she's talking about herself in the third person. Like a madwoman. They're wrong about her sister. They've made a terrible mistake about Madame Zella. You must try not to dwell on these things. We must all suffer in the way. God has ordained.

Would you like me to pray with you? No, Madame Zella is not a spy. You must believe it. She... I don't want to die. Sister Leonid says nothing. From the little she has heard, the evidence against this prisoner is overwhelming.

But they all cling to hope. Sister, has there been any word from Captain Maslov? The prisoner claims this Russian officer is the love of her life and will prove her innocence. No. Then he can't have received my letters. If only they could reach him, he would come. The nun puts a hand on her arm.

It's difficult to reconcile this broken woman with the one whose name alone once filled theatres and made newspaper headlines across Europe. The woman who called herself Matahari. Here in this prison, she is known by her real name, Margarita Zella, denounced as a dangerous seductress and spy who endangered the lives of tens of thousands of soldiers. It seems almost certain she will be found guilty. And if she is, she will face the firing squad. I'm Lauren Malloy, the host of the podcast My Mom's Murder.

For 30 years, I thought my mom died of natural causes. That's what everyone told me. That's what I believed. Until one day, I got a phone call that changed everything. A woman claiming to be my mom's best friend told me my mother was murdered and that no one had ever investigated it. So I did what the detectives wouldn't, pulled the threads, knocked on doors, and confronted the contradictions.

And what I found, it's worse than I imagined. Something happened to my mom. Someone killed her. And I won't stop until I find out who. The system may have given up on my mom, but I never will. Listen to my mom's murder wherever you get your podcasts. Audible subscribers can binge all 10 episodes early and ad-free right now. Join Audible in the Audible app or by subscribing on Apple Podcasts.

Hi, I'm Lindsay Graham, the host of American History Tellers. In our latest series, in 1892, as millions of hopeful immigrants, arrive on American shores, the United States opens a new immigration station on Ellis Island. But over time, some will find that the gates to the American dream are shut to them. Listen to American history tellers on Audible or wherever you get your podcasts. I'm Gemma Weelen, and this is The Spy Who, an audible original. Beneath the veneer of the everyday lurks the realm of the spy. It's a dank, murky world full of dark corners,

sinister motives and corrupted morals, a place of paranoia and infiltration, sabotage and manipulation. In this series, we opened the file on Matahari. She's the original Fem Fetal, the famous dancer and courtesan, with access to the beds of military officers, diplomats and businessmen across Europe. When the First World War broke out, she was perfectly placed to discover their secrets. But was she a spy with blood on her hands, or the scapegoat for an intelligence service needing to explain wartime failures? What you're about to hear are dramatized reconstructions of events based on the information that's been made public. But remember, in the shadow realm of the spy, the full story is rarely clear. This is episode one, the creation of the myth.

1893, Snake, the Netherlands. 16-year-old Margarita Zella walks into the hallway of a tall, gabled building beside the main merchant canal, followed by her uncle and guardian, Rulof Visa. They've just travelled 100 miles by steam train and ferry from the vibrant university city of Leiden, but she and her uncle have barely spoken the entire journey. Go to the kitchen and stay there while I speak with your aunt, and while you're there, think about what you've done. Margarita's almost 17, but she's being treated like a five-year-old. Her cheeks flush with the injustice of it all, not just the way her uncle is treating her, but the way life has turned out. Where is she in the kitchen? Do the neighbours know? Not yet, but they're bound to ask a question

and now she's back. As a child, Margarita was the pamper. daughter of a hat merchant who styled himself the baron. But following bankruptcy, divorce and disgrace, her father disappeared. Then her mother died. Margarita and her brothers were split up and put into the care of various relatives. Margarita went to live with her uncle and aunt in Snake, and was later sent to Leiden to train as a kindergarten teacher. She was happy until her uncle insisted on bringing her home. I had no choice but to remove her. Dear God, what will become of her?

Zella stares at the floor, listening as her aunt and uncle discuss her affair with the school's married headmaster. He's more than 30 years older than her, and married. The child is depraved. You have to speak to her. Aunt Visa, Margarita,

how could you do such a thing? I didn't do anything. wrong. How can you see that? It's unspeakable. Have you no shame? You don't understand. I understand perfectly. What were you thinking? He said he loved me and that if I loved him... Don't be ridiculous. He's a married man and more than twice your age. Margarita doesn't understand. The headmaster assured her he loved her, and he showed her how adults demonstrate their love. She did what he wanted because she loved him too, but now she's been expelled and sent home in disgrace. Her uncle joins in the criticism. You've brought shame on the family and on yourself. You could have become a teacher and earned a

living. What will you do now? I'll marry a handsome officer and escape this boring town. Is that so? Her uncle picks up a newspaper and turns to the small ads. Listen to this. Officer serving in the Dutch East Indies seeks wife, cultured, gentle nature, good character, fair complexion. Those are the qualities men look for. Your father's are bankrupt. Your character's sullied and your complexion is far from fair.

Do you think any officer will want to marry someone who looks like you? Margarita doesn't answer. The taunts about her appearance are nothing new. Dutch girls are typically blue-eyed and fair-skinned, but her eyes are dark and her skinned hand. The headmaster said it was like an exotic spice, and there will surely be others like him. Five years later, 1899,

Malang, Dutch East Indies, present-day Indonesia. Margaritas in the bedroom of the bungalow she shares with her husband, Major Rudolph MacLeod. They met four years ago when she answered a newspaper advertisement. They now have two children and live on the island of Java. MacLeod isn't home. Barefoot and naked, except for a sheet she's fashioned to look like one of the sarongs worn by locals, she dances in front of the bedroom mirror. She wants to emulate the graceful dances she's watched their Javanese servants perform.

She's lost in this world when the door bursts open, and McLeod's reflection appears in the mirror in full uniform, red-faced from the heat and angry. What the hell are you doing, woman? Dancing? It doesn't look like dancing. It's Javanese dancing. You've never watched it.

Nor do I intend to. Look at you. half naked and jigging about like a native. You know what people say? What do they say? They say you've forgotten you're European. They already think you look like a native, and now you're starting to act like one too.

You need to remember that you are my wife, and you need to act accordingly. Then you ought to act like my husband. What does that mean? You know exactly what I mean. MacLeod is a gambler and a womanizer. He's already given her syphilis, and he's prone to outbursts of violence. And what about you?

What about me? You shame me. I shame you. You never told me you had syphilis before we married. You disappear for days on end, and I can't help the way I look. But if I look like the women here, what does it matter to you? You don't object to the way they look when you go to their beds. Enough!

Margarita stands rooted to the spot, as a matter. The cloud grabs a walking stick and steps towards her. You need teaching a lesson. No, please. Margarita ducks as her husband raises the stick, then runs out of the house into the nearby rainforest. Until she reaches the old temple ruins, the place where she can escape the gossip and the violence and dance in peace.

It's a few months later, and Margarita has moved with her husband and children. to Meidan, a rapidly ballooning tobacco town in northeastern Sumatra. MacLeod is now Garrison Commander, but what might have been a fresh start has brought tragedy. In the neoclassical colonial building that is now the family home, Margarita sits in an upstairs bedroom beside a cot. It contains the lifeless body of their two-year-old son, Norman, who died of a fever the previous evening. Captain, I'm sorry for the intrusion. What's this about?

She gets up slowly when she hears a visitor in the hallway downstairs. The tropical heat means Norman must be buried immediately. It must be time to leave for the funeral. But when she looks over the balustrade, she sees the garrison doctor in heated debate with her husband. Major McLeod, I must insist you don't proceed. with the burial until there's been an autopsy. I must establish the cause of death. He died of a fever. His sister's still suffering. If you want to find out what it is, you can examine her. We're not having the boy tampered with. His mother won't bear it. Margarita wonders if this concern for her

feelings is genuine, or if it stems from self-protection. McLeod never admitted to having syphilis when they married, and so he passed it on to her. and their children were born with the disease. It's likely the post-mortem would reveal the mercury used to treat Norman, and that would bring shame to McLeod. If you don't mind, Doctor, we have a funeral to attend. Then I insist on taking a look at the boy, and I insist that you leave now.

The doctor relents, and Margarita returns to her infant sons. side, knowing she will never know for certain what caused his death. An hour later, the European Christian Cemetery, Maydan. Margarita stands in the suffocating heat, dressed in a full-length black morning gown, beside a freshly dug miniature grave. McLeod is next to her in military uniform. Margarita can hardly breathe as Norman's tiny white coffin is lowered into the red earth The heat and the pain she feels are unbearable

So too is the presence of her husband Margarita Stand closer to me People are watching She glances towards the handful of assembled mourners And edges nearer Convinced McLeod's responsible for Norman's death she would leave him if she could

but his army contract won't end for several years and she can't afford the cost of travelling back to the Netherlands by herself she swallows hard as the minister begins the committal suffer little children and forbid them not

to come unto me for of such is the kingdom of heaven Margarita begins to cry and McLeod reaches out and clasps her hand as if to silence her. She wants to shake him off and run. But for the sake of appearances,

they must both continue to play the roles expected of them. Earth to Earth. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. September 1902, the Hague, the Netherlands. In a hotel bar, two private investigators sip their drinks as they watch Margarita flirting with a man. from behind their newspapers.

That's definitely her. She looks like her photo. It's three years since Norman's death, and the MacLeod's are back in the Netherlands. The Dutch courts have granted Margarita a legal separation, giving her custody of their daughter and ordering MacLeod to pay maintenance. But he's refusing to pay,

and has put notices in newspapers warning shopkeepers not to give her credit. Left with no money, Margarita has been forced to play her remaining child with relatives while she looks for work. But McLeod wants his daughter back. So he's hired these private investigators to find something that could convince the courts

to revoke the custody order. Major McLeod said she was entertaining gentleman, and here she is. Let's not jump to conclusions. Hang on. Where are they off to? Margarita's leaving her table and walking out into the night with the man.

The investigator's father. at a discreet distance. I don't think she's noticed us good. And if she's going where we think she's going, we're almost there. After a short stroll, Margarita and the man reach their destination. They disappear inside a Mison de Rendez-Rondé, a house where high-end prostitutes can take their clients. One of the investigators takes a notebook from his jacket pocket and starts writing.

9.47 p.m. shavening in district. Madame Zella, an unknown male, seen entering private establishment of ill repute. That should be enough for MacLeod. Should we call it a night? No. He needs more than that.

Let's give them a few minutes to get settled and have a quiet word with the woman who runs the place. He goes through his pockets and pulls out a couple of banknotes. As long as we're clear that this is a private matter and there won't be any trouble, then I'm confident she'll be. confirm that she gave them a room for an hour.

Two months later, Amsterdam. While their four-year-old daughter, Non, plays in the next room, MacLeod has Margarita cornered in the kitchen of his flat. He pushes her roughly against the table. Leave me, you ungrateful bitch, after everything I have done for you. Please, stop. I won't ask anything of you. Just let me leave with Non.

Unable to support herself, Margarita returned to MacLeod, and for the past two weeks, the family have been living together in a cramped apartment. But his emotional and physical abuse remain intolerable. You're not taking my child. You're an unfit mother. Look what happened to Norman. The court gave me custody. The court will change its mind when it finds out you're a whore. Did you say? Did you think I wouldn't find out?

Find out what? that you've been whoring. I had you followed. I know exactly how you've been earning your money. You're depraved. You left me no choice. I had no money. I did what I had to to provide for our child.

I thought when we came home, you might abandon your native desires, but no, you enjoy being a whore. Maybe what they say about you is true that you have native blood and cannot control yourself. What about you? Everybody knows you have a new mistress.

I did what I did because I had to. You just behave the way you do because you can. That's enough. You've gone too far this time. McLeod picks up a knife from the kitchen counter. Get out. Leave now with nothing or you'll regret it. Rudolph, please.

None can hear us. Let me go to her. Get out. Before I make sure I never have to speak to you again. McLeod lunges at her with the knife. Margarita ducks and scrambles backwards, knocking a chair over, causing him to stumble and giving her just enough time to flee. She runs out of the building and into the street.

She can't go back now. If she tries to get her daughter, he will destroy what remains of her reputation, and non's too. For her sake, she will have to survive without them, by whatever means possible. Two years later, Spring 1904, Cirque Molière, Paris. Margarita is showing off her skills as a horsewoman in front of a fashionable Parisian audience. She's finally found work in a circus. It pays the rent, but it's still not enough to live on.

Performance over, Margarita rides back to the stables and is met by the circus owner. You rode well today? Thank you. The audience likes you, especially the gentleman. I'm glad. In which case, might there be more work? Sorry, no. You are a natural performer, but there's only so much work for amateur riders.

What I have is only for more acrobatic horsewomen. Oh. She's an accomplished rider, but she can't perform tricks, and that's what people pay to see. The owner notices her disappointment. and looks her up and down. You're from the East Indies, aren't you? I was until my husband died. Since leaving MacLeod,

Margaritas sought to reinvent herself and bury her painful past by claiming her husband is dead and being evasive about her place of birth. Well, the Orient is all the fashion. Paris is crying out for people like you, like me. Orientals. With your heritage,

I'm sure someone would give you work, especially if you can dance. Do you dance? Margarita thinks back to the long afternoons in Java, spent watching local dancers and trying to emulate them in the ruins of ancient temples. I'm practiced in the art of Javanese dance. Well, they'll love that. Leave it with me. I'll ask around and see if there are any opportunities for someone like you. Margarita smiles to herself. The story she tells about her late husband, often leads to assumptions that she was a native wife. Now, there's a chance to use this to her advantage.

On January 1, 1892, a young Irish immigrant named Annie Moore became the first person processed at the new immigration station on Ellis Island. For the millions who followed her, this small island in New York Harbor would become the place where their American dream would either begin or end. Hi, I'm Lindsay Graham, the host of the podcast American History Tellers. We take you to the events, times, and people that shaped America and Americans, our values, our struggles, and our dreams. In our latest series, we trace the history of Ellis Island.

For more than three decades, it served as the gateway through which millions of hopeful immigrants entered the United States. But as the nation struggled to decide who belonged, some would find the gates shut to them. Follow American History Tellers wherever you get your podcasts. Audible subscribers can binge all episodes of American History Tellers early and ad-free right now. Join Audible in the Audible app or by subscribing on Apple Podcasts. Hey, I'm Cassie Depeckel, the host of Against the Odds from Audible originals. In each episode, we share thrilling true stories of survival, putting you in the shoes of the people who live to tell the tale.

In our latest series, it's 1910 and a blizzard has stranded two trains carrying more than 100 people on an isolated stretch high up in the Cascade Mountains of Washington. The relentless snowfall has made it impossible to clear the tracks. But as snow piles up, the threat of the road. of a massive avalanche grows. The passengers and crew will have to rely on their wits and luck if they hope to escape alive. Follow Against the Odds wherever you get your podcasts. Audible subscribers can binge all episodes of Against the Odds early and ad-free right now.

Join Audible in the Audible app or by subscribing on Apple Podcasts. One year on, March 1905, Musei-Gime, Paris. A journalist takes his seat along with 600 guests. for what he's been told will be the cultural event of the season. The museum's domed library has been transformed into an Indian temple. Flowers and vines wrap around marble columns. Candles flicker beneath a small bronze statue of the dancing Hindu god Shiva.

Four young women dressed in dark saris sit cross-legged on the floor. Between them, a fifth dark-skinned figure sits. motionless. She wears an elaborate jeweled headdress, armlets and translucent scarves of white and crimson wrapped around her body. Slowly she rises. Her body is slender and supple. The movements are unlike anything he's seen before, fluid and mesmerizing like a flickering flame. Extraordinary. As she dances, the The woman introduces herself. My name is Matahari.

It is a Malay word. It means the eye of the day. The sun. Her arms trace elegant circles through the air. My dance is a sacred poem. Each movement is a word, and every word is underlined by music. The temple in which I dance can be reproduced as here today. For I am the temple.

The audience is transfixed. Matahari kneels before the bronze figure of Shiva, hands together in prayer. Then she stretches out her arms, offering herself to the silent, unmoving God. Slowly, one by one, she loosens the scarves and lets them fall. The theatre is silent. Six hundred pairs of eyes are fixed upon her. Then, with a single swift movement, she rips off her remaining veil

and is left wearing only a jewelled bra and a flesh-coloured body stocking that makes her appear naked. With one final movement, she sinks to the floor and lies prostrate in front of the floor. the god, offering herself completely to him. The journalist cannot take his eyes off her.

In Paris, we witnessed the unveiling of a goddess. A dancer, unlike the capital has ever seen, an enchantress from the east, Matahari. New issue of the Parisian life. Read all about the Indian dancer Matahari, the sensation of the salons. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the newest sensation of Paris, Matahari. Just tilt your head up slightly, like this?

Perfect. Matahari, would you sign my postcard of you? Of course. She is truly divine. Tonight at the Olympia Theatre, Le Reve, starring Matahari. Just five tickets remaining. The Olympia Theatre, Paris. Another sold-out performance.

Next stop, Moscow. Rome, Madrid, Monaco. Matahari. Welcome aboard the Orient Express. Next stop, Vienna, now arriving in Budapest. They want you in Warsaw, in Milan and in London. Prague, Oslo, Copenhagen. Ladies and gentlemen, the renowned Oriental dancer, Matahari.

Two years after Matahari's debut performance, spring 1907, Le Mourisse Hotel, Paris. Matahari reclines in her luxurious suite and strokes the diamond necklace around her neck. It's one of the many gifts she's received from numerous lovers and admirers, men who are happy to support her increasingly lavish lifestyle. Opposite, on a straight-backed chair, sits a double. writer. She pours him coffee. Mr. Prim, many men in your position are less formal when they come to visit me. I'm here to interview you. For a magazine? For a book, a book to establish the real facts about the woman known as Matahari. That sounds rather tedious. Specifically, I wanted to ask about the book written by a Dutch man,

Mr. Zella. He claims to be your father. I expect he's trying to make money out of it. The point is, his account of your life is rather different to the stories circulating in the press. What do I care what he says about me? He says you're not a Javanese princess, but born and raised in the Netherlands.

These are the questions of a lawyer. I am an international woman. These stories are part of my art. part, part of my creation. Everybody understands that, and everybody enjoys it. He also says you were married, and your husband claims you were unfaithful on more than one occasion. And what of it? You admit this? I should never have married. I was not the kind of girl to marry. From the time I was a child, I loved men. A strongly built man could bring me to a state of ecstasy. You are shocked, Mr. Priem, but why? I imagine you like sex. Most men like sex. Most women would

never speak so openly. I am not most women. I enjoy my life as Matahari, where I can satisfy all my caprices. Tonight I dine with Count A, tomorrow with Duke B, if I am not done. Perhaps I'll travel with Marquis C. I avoid serious liaison. This suits me. Thank you, madam. You've been most helpful. After the writer leaves, Matahari fingers the diamond necklace again. He thinks he's got a scoop, but she doubts anyone will care. Her admirers buy into the fantasy just as much as she does. The life of Margarita Zella is just a bad memory. The past can't touch her now. Almost three years later, January 1910, Paris.

In her dressing room in the Teatro de laudillon, Matahari stuffs a wad of unpaid bills into a drawer, pushes it shut, and picks up a lipstick. She's rehearsing for the role of Cleopatra in the new opera, Antar, and needs to look her best. After five years dazzling Europe, work is drying up. Oriental dancers are no longer in vogue. Every theatre employs them,

and many are younger, slimmer, and have classical dance training. Madame Matahari, yes? She beckons the stage boy inside. The ballet mistress is ready to see you rehearse. I'm not rehearsing in front of her. The boy hurries away, and Matahari returns to studying herself in the mirror. She's 33 years old, heavier than she once was, and not as supple. Success, champagne and expensive dinners have all left their mark.

Suddenly, reflected in the mirror, she sees the opera's director at the door. He doesn't look happy. Monsieur Antoine, forgive me, but I do not understand why I must rehearse in front of your ballet mistress. She watches every dancer. I am not every dancer. Everyone rehearses in front of the ballet mistress. I will not be subjected to this. Then you are dismissed. But no buts.

Please collect your things and leave. Four years later, May 23rd, 1914, the Metropole Theatre, Berlin. Matahari holds the final pose of her Hindu dance as the curtain falls. It's been a long time. since she's enjoyed applause like this. In recent years, she's been forced to make ends meet

with parody performances and even high-class prostitution. But if this two-week run in Berlin goes well, there will be a longer run in the autumn. A chance for a comeback beckons. She walks to her dressing room. Inside, the stage manager is waiting. Madame, the chief of police is here and he wants to see you.

Delightful. I do like a man in uniform. Someone has complained about your performance to the morality police. I have danced these dances the world over, without any complaints. This is Germany. The authorities take morality very seriously.

The audience loved it. The audience, yes. But if the police decide your dance is indecent, they can close down the theatre. You must explain the religious nature. of your dance. A policeman arrives at the dressing room doorway. Matahari?

Matahari smiles at the police officer, then shoes the stage manager towards the door. Don't worry, I'll handle this. Leave me alone to speak with this, handsome detective. You stepped out for your morning jog. Except it's not your usual morning jog. You started listening to an epic sci-fi book on Audible. 30 chapters later, you've accidentally run

a half marathon. You lost track of how far you've run somewhere just past the city limits. You can't stop. You have to find out what happens next. Then it's over. The universe seems bigger. You feel different. You feel like you have no idea where you are. Audible. Stories that speak to you. Imagine you're reading Pride and Prejudice. Except you're not reading it. Harris Dickinson and Marissa Abella are reading it to you on Audible. Her barbubes sting you. His cold, sends a shiver up your spine. Your heart aches, your ears burn. You yearn for Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy

to profess their undying love for one another. You can't bear it any longer. Well, maybe a chapter longer. Performance is so good, you'll give love a second chance. Audible. Stories that speak to you. July 31st, 1914, Berlin, Germany. It's five weeks since the assassination of the Austin

Austrian Archduke Franz Ferdinand in Sarajevo, and Europe's hurtling towards all-out conflict. Austria-Hungary has declared war on Serbia. Russia is mobilising to defend it, and Germany is now on a military footing as it prepares to protect Austria-Hungary. But in an elegant restaurant near the centre of Berlin, Matahari is focused on her new shows and her latest lover, the city's chief of police, Alfred Grebel. Two months ago, he threatened to close her show. Now he's besotted with her. You look beautiful this evening.

Everybody is looking at you. Matahari smiles. She's used to heads turning in her presence. But over the past few days, she's been attracting a different kind of look. Yes, but it's strange. People keep stopping me to ask if I'm Russian, really? Twice today. They don't seem to like...

Russians very much. I don't understand why. I loved my time in Moscow. Are you not reading the newspapers? If we go to war, which seems likely, Moscow will be our enemy. Right now, people are fearful of strangers. Do you really think Germany will get involved in Austria's dispute? What does it matter here? Russia is mobilising to protect Serbia. Germany has promised to support Austria-Hungary and France is allied with Russia. If any one army crosses a border, the alliances could drag half of Europe into war. Well, let's hope they don't. That would spoil all the fun. What's happening? Gribal walks to the window, then beckons Matahari over. Outside, a chanting crowd are marching down the street. They're heading to the Kaiser's Palace. I should go. Come with me.

You will be safer in my car. A few minutes later, they are in Grebel's car, heading towards the palace, where a sea of people have gathered to hear the Kaiser speak. A man catches sight of Matahari through the car window and waves his fist at her. Keep your head down. Don't let them see you. Matahari ducks. I don't understand. There's almost certainly going to be a war.

I think it's time for you to leave Germany. They won't be safe for you. here if that happens, but my show begins next month. Forget your show. You need to get out before it's too late. The next day, Berlin. Matahari is in the office of the agent who manages her Berlin engagements, and the entire city is on edge. Germany has just declared war on Russia. Matahari sits on the other side of the desk, watching anxiously as her agent reads the contract for her September show. I need to get out of Germany as soon as possible. I won't be able to perform.

You'll be in breach of contract. But there's a war run. Surely no one expects me to perform while armies are marching across Europe. I just want the money I've already earned, and then I must leave. It wouldn't be wise for me to give you any money. Why ever not? I have earned it, and I have debts to settle for my costumes. My costumia has already seized some of my furs and jewelry as a down payment.

It is better if I have. keep your money. You live in Paris and if we declare war on France, you become an enemy national and your bank account will be frozen. But I'm not French. I live in Paris, but I'm Dutch. Have you any proof? A passport? I've never needed one. I've travelled freely across Europe without one. Those days are over. Everyone needs proof of nationality now. You won't be able to travel without one. Everybody knows who I am. I don't need a piece of paper to prove it. If you're not going to pay me what I am owed, I shall leave Germany before these ridiculous rules come into force, and before anyone else steals any more of my belongings in lieu of payment.

A week later, Berlin. Matahari stands in the lobby of a hotel and waits while the receptionist puts a call-through. In the past few days, Germany has declared war on France and invaded Belgium. Her attempt to leave the country via Switzerland was thwarted by German border guards who refused to let her cross the border without the correct paperwork. The receptionist passes the telephone to Matahari. Hello? This is police chief Grebel.

Alfred, it's me. Matahari, where are you? Back in Berlin. I was turned back at the border. I was afraid they might. They took everything. My trunks, my costumes, my jewellery. Nothing. Will you help me get them back?

I'm sorry. I wish I could, but I can't be seen to be helping enemy nationals. I'm not the enemy. I just want to get back to France. My home is there. Go to the Netherlands. They're still neutral. It will be easier. The Dutch consul here will help you obtain papers. I dare not help you any more than that. Farewell. One year later, autumn 1915. The Netherlands. In the living room of her new home in the Hague,

Matahari examines the card her butler has just placed on the table in front of her. Herr Karl Kreimer? She recognises the name. He's Germany's Honorary Consul in Amsterdam. Show him in. It's now just over a year since Matahari left Germany, and she's settled in a house paid for by her latest wealthy lover, Baron van de Capelan.

She is safe here, but also unbearably bored. Herr Kroma? Madame Zella, I was told where I might find you. Are you here to arrange the return of my possessions? What possessions? My furs and my jewels and my money. The Germans took everything from me when I left. I know nothing of this, I'm afraid.

Oh. So why are you here then? I understand you lived in Paris for a long time. Oh, yes. I miss Paris. I so long to go back, but I can't afford to. So I hear, which is why I came to see you. Perhaps I can help. Really? I believe you were acquainted with many serving officers and diplomats while in Paris. If I help you return and you're able to glean information useful to Germany, then I could pay you for it.

How much? 20,000 francs. The authorities in Germany confiscated considerably more than that. Consider it an advance. If your information proves valuable, there could be more. Of course, you must not tell anyone of our arrangement. And how would I get this information to you? You will write, but you must use this invisible ink.

and when contacting us you must not use your real name, not Madame Zella or Matahari. You will be referred to simply as H-21. Four months later, Folkestone, England. Matahari stands on the deck of a steamer as the white cliffs of the English coast hove into view. Other passengers crowd onto deck as the ship enters the harbour. But as soon as it docks, scores of policemen swarm on board.

Nobody leaves the vessel. There's something wrong? Routine inquiries, madam. We're here to question new arrivals under the Aliens Act. Your name? Ma'am. I mean, Margarita Zella. But I don't understand.

I'm not stopping in Britain. I am travelling to France. We have orders to stop and search anyone who might be considered a security risk. My offices need to examine your luggage, and I'd like you to come with me. Matahari is marched down the gangplank. For months, she's dreamed of returning to Paris, and the city is almost within reach. But as she's led towards the police station, she begins to question the wisdom of accepting Kromer's offer. The British are looking for spies, searching her luggage, and if she doesn't keep her wits about her,

Her return to Paris could be over before it's even begun. Follow the Spy Who on the Audible app or wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen to all episodes of The Spy Who add free by joining Audible. You've been listening to The Spy Who, an Audible original. Have you got a spy story you'd like us to tell? Email your ideas to The Spy Who at Audible.com. A quick note about the scenes you've been. hearing. In most cases we can't know exactly what was said. Those scenes are dramatizations,

but they're based on rigorous research and the best available sources. If you'd like to know more about this story, we recommend Fem Fetal by Pat Shipman and a Tangled Web by Mary W. Craig. Sources also include the French and British archives about Matahari. The Spy Who is hosted by me, Gemma Wheeler, produced by Audible with Yellow Ant. This episode was written by Lizzie Enfield and researched by Louise Byrne, Marina Watson, Amelia Torres and Paul Ames. The senior producer was Jay Priest. The sound designer was Joshua Morales. For Yellow Ant, the story editor and executive producer was Tristan Donovan.

For Audible, the executive producers were Estelle Doyle and Theodora Leludis, Head of Production, Audible Europe, Chris Jones, Senior Director of Originals, Lisa Higginson, Head of Audible Originals International, or a lead of Troire. Sound recording copyright 2026 by Audible Limited. There are books that change how you see the world, and there are books that change how you see yourself. In a new podcast series, a great book with Barack Obama, President Obama sits down with a series of surprising and sharp guests to explore six books that have shaped his life and perspective on the world.

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