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THE YOUNG EMPEROR, WILLIAM II OF GERMANY

A Study In Character Development On A Throne

By Harold Frederic

Author Of “In The Valley “The Lawton Girl”

With Portraits

New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons

1891


[Illustration: 0011]


[Illustration: 0012]


TO MY EDITOR, AND EVEN MORE TO MY FRIEND,

CHARLES R. MILLER

THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED




THE YOUNG EMPEROR, WILLIAM II OF GERMANY




CHAPTER I.--THE SUPREMACY OF THE HOHENZOLLERNS.

In June of 1888, an army of workmen were toiling in the Champ de Mars
upon the foundations of a noble World’s Exhibition, planned to celebrate
the centenary of the death by violence of the Divine Right of Kings.
Four thousand miles westward, in the city of Chicago, some seven
hundred delegates were assembled in National Convention, to select the
twenty-third President of a great Republic, which also stood upon the
threshold of its hundredth birthday. These were both suggestive facts,
full of hopeful and inspiring thoughts to the serious mind. Considered
together by themselves they seemed very eloquent proofs of the progress
which Liberty, Enlightenment, the Rights of Man, and other admirable
abstractions spelled with capital letters, had made during the century.

But, unfortunately or otherwise, history will not take them by
themselves. That same June of 1888 witnessed a spectacle of quite
another sort in a third large city--a spectacle which gave the lie
direct to everything that Paris and Chicago seemed to say. This sharp
and clamorous note of contradiction came from Berlin, where a helmeted
and crimson-cloaked young man, still in his thirtieth year, stood erect
on a throne, surrounded by the bowing forms of twenty ruling sovereigns,
and proclaimed, with the harsh, peremptory voice of a drill-sergeant,
that he was a War Lord, a Mailed Hand of Providence, and a sovereign
specially conceived, created, and invested with power by God, for the
personal government of some fifty millions of people.

It is much to be feared that, in the ears of the muse of history, the
resounding shrillness of this voice drowned alike the noise of the
hammers on the banks of the Seine and the cheering of the delegates at
Chicago.

Any man, standing on that throne in the White Saloon of the old
Schloss at Berlin, would have to be a good deal considered by his
fellow-creatures. Even if we put aside the tremendous international
importance of the position of a German Emperor, in that gravely open
question of peace or war, he must compel attention as the visible
embodiment of a fact, the existence of which those who like it least
must still recognize. This is the fact: that the Hohenzollerns, having
done many notable things in other times, have in our day revivified
and popularized the monarchical idea, not only in Germany, but to a
considerable extent elsewhere throughout Europe. It is too much to say,
perhaps, that they have made it beloved in any quarter which was hostile
before. But they have brought it to the front under new conditions, and
secured for it admiring notice as the mainspring of a most efficient,
exact, vigorous, and competent system of government. They have made an
Empire with it--a magnificent modern machine, in which army and civil
service and subsidiary federal administrations all move together like
the wheels of a watch. Under the impulse of this idea they have not only
brought governmental order out of the old-time chaos of German divisions
and dissensions, but they have given their subjects a public service,
which, taken all in all, is more effective and well-ordered than its
equivalent produced by popular institutions in America, France, or
England, and they have built up a fighting force for the protection of
German frontiers which is at once the marvel and the terror of Europe.

Thus they have, as has been said, rescued the ancient and time-worn
function of kingship from the contempt and odium into which it had
fallen during the first half of the century, and rendered it once more
respectable in the eyes of a utilitarian world.

But it is not enough to be useful, diligent, and capable. If it were,
the Orleans Princes might still be living in the Tuileries. A kingly
race, to maintain or increase its strength, must appeal to the national
imagination. The Hohenzollerns have been able to do this. The Prussian
imagination is largely made up of appetite, and their Kings, however
fatuous and limited of vision they may have been in other matters, have
never lost sight of this fact. If we include the Great Elector, there
have been ten of these Kings, and of the ten eight have made Prussia
bigger than they found her. Sometimes the gain has been clutched out of
the smoke and flame of battle; sometimes it has more closely resembled
burglary, or bank embezzlement on a large scale; once or twice it has
come in the form of gifts from interested neighbours, in which category,
perhaps, the cession of Heligoland may be placed--but gain of some sort
there has always been, save only in the reign of Frederic William IV and
the melancholy three months of Frederic III.

That there should be a great affection for and pride in the
Hohenzollerns in Prussia was natural enough. They typified the strength
of beak, the power of talons and sweeping wings, which had made Prussia
what she was. But nothing save a very remarkable train of surprising
events could have brought the rest of Germany to share this affection
and pride.

The truth is, of course, that up to 1866 most other Germans disliked
the Prussians thoroughly and vehemently, and decorated those head
Prussians, the Hohenzollerns, with an extremity of antipathy. That
brief war in Bohemia, with the consequent annexation of Hanover,
Hesse-Cassel, Nassau, and Frankfort, did not inspire any new love for
the Prussians anywhere, we may be sure, but it did open the eyes of
other Germans to the fact that their sovereigns--Kings, Electors, Grand
Dukes, and what not--were all collectively not worth the right arm of a
single Hohenzollern.

It was a good deal to learn even this--and, turning over this revelation
in their minds, the Germans by 1871 were in a mood to move almost
abreast of Prussia in the apotheosis of the victor of Sedan and Paris.
To the end of old William’s life in 1888, there was always more or less
of the apotheosis about the Germans’ attitude toward him. He was never
quite real to them in the sense that Leopold is real in Brussels
or Humbert in Rome. The German imagination always saw him as he is
portrayed in the fine fresco by Wislicenus in the ancient imperial
palace at Goslar--a majestic figure, clad in modern war trappings yet of
mythical aspect, surrounded, it is true, by the effigies of recognizable
living Kings, Queens, and Generals, but escorted also by heroic
ancestral shades, as he rides forward out of the canvas. Close behind
him rides his son, Fritz, and he, too, following in the immediate shadow
of his father to the last, lives only now in pictures and in sad musing
dreams of what might have been.

But William II--the young Kaiser and King--_is_ a reality. He has won no
battles. No antique legends wreathe their romantic mists about him. It
has occurred to no artist to paint him on a palace wall, with the mailed
shadows of mediaeval Barbarossas and Conrads and Sigismunds overhead.

The group of helmeted warriors who cluster about those two mounted
figures in the Goslar picture, and who, in the popular fancy, bring
down to our own time some of the attributes of mediaeval devotion and
prowess--this group is dispersed now. Moltke, Prince Frederic Charles,
Roon, Manteuffel, and many others are dead; Blumenthal is in
dignified retirement; Bismarck is at Friedrichsruh. New men crowd the
scene--clever organizers, bright and adroit parliamentarians, competent
administrators, but still fashioned quite of our own clay--busy new men
whom we may look at without hurting our eyes.

For the first time, therefore, it is possible to study this prodigious
new Germany, its rulers and its people, in a practical way, without
being either dazzled by the disproportionate brilliancy of a few
individuals or drawn into side-paths after picturesque unrealities.

*****

Three years of this new reign have shown us Germany by daylight
instead of under the glamour and glare of camp fires and triumphal
illuminations. We see now that the Hohenzollern stands out in the far
front, and that the other German royalties, Wendish, Slavonic, heirs
of Wittekind, portentously ancient barbaric dynasties of all sorts, are
only vaguely discernible in the background. During the lifetime of the
old Kaiser it seemed possible that their eclipse might be of only a
temporary nature. Nowhere can such an idea be cherished now. Young
William dwarfs them all by comparison even more strikingly than did his
grandfather.

They all came to Berlin to do him homage at the opening of the
Reichstag, which inaugurated his reign on June 25, 1888. They will never
make so brave a show again; even then they twinkled like poor tallow
dips beside the shining personality of their young Prussian chief.

Almost all of them are of royal lines older than that of the
Hohenzollerns. Five of the principal personages among them--the King of
Saxony, the Regent representing Bavaria’s crazy King, the heir-apparent
representing the semi-crazy King of Wurtemberg, the Grand Duke of Baden,
and the Grand Duke of Hesse-Darmstadt--owe their titles in their present
form to Napoleon, who paid their ancestors in this cheap coin for
their wretched treason and cowardice in joining with him to crush and
dismember Prussia. Now they are at the feet of Prussia, not indeed in
the posture of conquered equals, but as liveried political subordinates.
No such wiping out of sovereign authorities and emasculation of
sovereign dignities has been seen before since Louis XI consolidated
France 500 years ago. Let us glance at some of these vanishing royalties
for a moment, that we may the better measure the altitude to which the
Hohenzollern has climbed.

There was a long time during the last century when people looked upon
Saxony as the most powerful and important State in the Protestant part
of Germany. It is an Elector of Saxony who shines forth in history as
Luther’s best friend and resolute protector. For more than a hundred
years thereafter Saxony led in the armed struggles of Protestantism to
maintain itself against the leagued Catholic powers.

Then, in 1694, there ascended the electoral throne the cleverest and
most showy man of the whole Albertine family, who for nearly thirty
years was to hold the admiring attention of Europe. We can see now that
it was a purblind and debased Europe which believed August _der Starke_
to be a great man; but in his own times there was no end to what he
thought of himself or to what others thought of him. It was regarded as
a superb stroke of policy when, in 1697, he got himself elected King of
Poland--a promotion which inspired the jealous Elector of Branden-berg
to proclaim himself King of Prussia four years later. August abjured
Protestantism to obtain the Polish crown, and his descendants are
Catholics to this day, though Saxony is strongly Protestant. August
did many wonderful things in his time--made Dresden the superb city of
palaces and museums it is, among other matters, and was the father of
354 natural children, as his own proud computation ran. A tremendous
fellow, truly, who liked to be called the Louis XIV of Germany, and
tried his best to live up to the ideal!

Contemporary observers would have laughed at the idea that Frederick
William, the surly, bearish Prussian King, with his tobacco orgies and
giant grenadiers, was worth considering beside the brilliant, luxurious,
kingly August. Ah, “gay eupeptic son of Belial,” where is thy dynasty
now?

There is to-day a King of Saxony, descended six removes from this
August, who is distinctly the most interesting and valuable of these
minor sovereigns. He is a sagacious, prudent, soldierlike man, nominal
ruler of over three millions of people, actual Field Marshal in the
German Army which has a Hohenzollern for its head. Although he really
did some of the best fighting which the Franco-German war called forth,
nobody outside his own court and German military circles knows much
about it, or cares particularly about him. The very fact of his rank
prevents his generalship securing popular recognition. If he had been
merely of noble birth, or even a commoner, the chances are that he
would now be chief of the German General Staff instead of Count
von Schlieffen. Being only a king, his merits as a commander are
comprehended alone by experts.

There is just a bare possibility that this King Albert may be forced by
circumstances out of his present obscurity. He is only sixty-three years
old, and if a war should come within the next decade and involve defeat
to the German Army in the field, there would be a strong effort made
by the other subsidiary German sovereigns to bring him to the front as
Generalissimo.

As it is, his advice upon military matters is listened to in Berlin
more than is generally known, but in other respects his position is
a melancholy one. Even the kindliness with which the Kaisers have
personally treated him since 1870, cannot but wear to him the annoying
guise of patronage. He was a man of thirty-eight when his father, King
John, was driven out of Dresden by Prussian troops, along with the royal
family, and when for weeks it seemed probable that the whole kingdom of
Saxony would be annexed to Prussia. Bismarck’s failure to insist upon
this was bitterly criticised in Berlin at the time, and Gustav Frey-tag
actually wrote a book deprecating the further independent existence
of Saxony. Freytag and the Prussians generally confessed their mistake
after the young Saxon Crown Prince’s splendid achievement at Sedan; but
that could scarcely wipe from his memory what had gone before, and
even now, after the lapse of a quarter century, King Albert’s delicate,
clear-cut, white-whiskered face still bears the impress of melancholy
stamped on it by the humiliations of 1866.

Two other kings lurk much further back in the shadow of the
Hohenzollern--idiotic Otto of Bavaria and silly Charles of Wurtemberg.
Of the former much has been written, by way of complement to the
picturesque literature evoked by the tragedy of his strange brother
Louis’s death. In these two brothers the fantastic Wittelsbach blood,
filtering down from the Middle Ages through strata of princely scrofula
and imperial luxury, clotted rankly in utter madness.

As for the King of Würtemberg, whose undignified experiences in the
hands of foreign adventurers excited a year or two ago the wonderment
and mirth of mankind, he also pays the grievous penalty of heredity’s
laws. Writing thirty years back, Carlyle commented in this fashion upon
the royal house of Stuttgart: “There is something of the abstruse in
all these Beutelsbachers, from Ulric downwards--a mute _ennui_, an
inexorable obstinacy, a certain streak of natural gloom which no
illumination can abolish; articulate intellect defective: hence a
strange, stiff perversity of conduct visible among them, often marring
what wisdom they have. It is the royal stamp of Fate put upon these
men--what are called fateful or fated men.” * The present King Charles
was personally an unknown quantity when this picture of his house was
drawn. He is an old man now, and decidedly the most “abstruse” of his
whole family.

     * “History of Friedrich II, of Prussia,” book vii. chapter
     vi.

Thus these two ancient dynasties of Southern Germany, which helped to
make history for so many centuries, have come down into the mud. There
is an elderly regent uncle in Bavaria who possesses sense and
respectable abilities; and in Würtemberg there is an heir-apparent of
forty-three, the product of a marriage between first cousins, who is
said to possess ordinary intelligence. These will in time succeed to the
thrones which lunacy and asininity hold now in commission, but no one
expects that they will do more than render commonplace what is now
grotesquely impossible.

Of another line which was celebrated a thousand years ago, and which
flared into martial prominence for a little in its dying days, when this
century was young, nothing whatever is left. The Fighting Brunswickers
are all gone.

They had a fair right to this name, had the Guelphs of the old
homestead, for of the forty-five of them buried in the crypt of the
Brunswick Burg Kirche nine fell on the battlefield. This direct line
died out seven years ago with a curiously-original old Duke who bitterly
resented the new order of things, and took many whimsical ways of
showing his wrath. In the sense that he scorned to live in remodeled
Germany, and defied Prussia by ostentatiously exhibiting his sympathy
for the exiled Hanoverian house, he too may be said to have died
fighting. The collateral Guelphs who survive in other lands are anything
but fighters. The Prince of Wales is the foremost living male of the
family, and Bismarck’s acrid jeer that he was the only European Crown
Prince whom one did not occasionally meet on the battlefield, though