Bülow’s sycophancy was remarkable even in the Kaiser’s entourage. “The air is thick58 with incense,” wrote William’s household controller. “Whenever, by oversight,59 he [Bülow] expresses an opinion in disagreement with the Emperor, he remains silent for a few moments and then says the exact contrary, with the preface, ‘As Your Majesty so wisely remarked just now, the matter stands thus and so...’” Count Robert von Zedlitz-Trützschler also was present on board the Hohenzollern on the day William complained to Bülow, “Your light trousers60 are enough to upset the best weather forecast.” The Chancellor immediately retreated to his cabin and put on a darker pair. William trusted Bülow’s judgment and, gradually, power transferred to him. “Since I have Bülow,61 I can sleep peacefully,” William said to Eulenburg in 1901. “I leave things to him and I know that everything is all right.”
fn1 The United States, whose population had increased from 50 million to 75 million in the twenty years between 1880 and 1900, was on this path. Americans had conquered a continent, created the world’s largest industrial economy, and were looking to expand overseas. In 1898, the year after Weltmacht became the declared policy of the German Empire, the United States defeated Spain and swallowed the Philippines and Puerto Rico.
fn2 The impossibility of imagining Salisbury, Balfour, Campbell-Bannerman or Asquith donning a uniform, mounting a horse, and leading a cavalry charge past the sovereign suggests the differences between London and Berlin.
Chapter 8
“Ships of My Own”
I had a peculiar passion1 for the Navy,” William II wrote in his memoirs, adding: “It sprang to no small extent from my English blood....” William’s feeling for ships and the sea began during his frequent boyhood visits to Osborne, Queen Victoria’s seaside retreat on the Isle of Wight. “Osborne is the scene2 of my earliest recollections,” William remembered. It was a happy place for children. Prince Albert had built for his own offspring a Swiss chalet with its own garden and kitchen so that they could grow their own vegetables, wash and iron their own clothes, and invite their parents to a tea they had prepared. For boys, there was a model fort. The next generation moved easily into these elaborate games. “I was allowed to play3 with the same toys and in the same places as did formerly my English uncles and aunts when they were my age,” said William. He particularly liked the Osborne fort, where “I could play with the same old iron cannon on a model redoubt where my uncles played when they were boys.”
The most appealing aspect of being at Osborne, for William, was its proximity to the sea. Down the hill on the Solent lay the little village of Cowes, home of the Royal Yacht Squadron, the premier sailing club of the United Kingdom. Across the Solent, five miles away, was the Royal Navy base at Portsmouth. “I often crossed over4... to Portsmouth and saw all classes of ships... and all the docks and shipyards,” said William. “I climbed over the ship-of-the-line Victory.... On the three-decker St. Vincent... gunnery practice was just taking place as I boarded her. I was permitted to take part... and told off as gunner No. 1 to serve a gun.... I was not a little proud to have contributed my share to the deafening thunder of the broadside.” William encountered his first German warship, the battleship König Wilhelm, when he was ten. “Heavy on the water5 lay the ironclad hull of this colossus, from whose gunports a row of 21 cm. guns looked menacingly forth,” he wrote. “I gazed speechless on this mighty ship towering far above us. Suddenly, shrill whistles resounded from her and immediately hundreds of sailors swarmed up the sky-high rigging.... Three cheers greeted my father.... The tour of the ship... revealed to me an entirely new world... massive rigging, the long tier of guns with their heavy polished muzzles... tea and all sorts of rich cakes in... the admiral’s cabin.” When still a boy, William had other tastes of navy life: at thirteen, he learned to steer by a compass and to hoist signal flags, and he liked visiting the engine room and watching the heavy piston rods as they thrust back and forth. At fourteen, he witnessed the launching of the German Navy’s first German-built ironclad, the turret ship Preussen, christened by his mother, the Crown Princess, at the Vulcan shipyard in Stettin. In 1880, at nineteen, he was back in Portsmouth, inspecting the new British battleship Inflexible, then the most powerful ship in the British Navy, about to go to sea under her first captain, John Arbuthnot Fisher. The following year, William represented Kaiser William I during the visit of an English squadron of eight armored ships to Kiel.
William never forgot or discounted the impact of England and the Royal Navy on his own perceptions. In June 1904, he managed to lure King Edward VII to Kiel, where every major ship of the German Navy was anchored. At a dinner aboard the Hohenzollern, the Kaiser attributed the building of this German fleet to his own feelings about the British Navy. “When, as a little boy,6 I was allowed to visit Portsmouth and Plymouth hand in hand with kind aunts and friendly admirals, I admired the proud English ships in those two superb harbors. Then there awoke in me the wish to build ships of my own like these someday, and when I was grown up to possess as fine a navy as the English.”fn1
It was at Cowes and in the waters of the Solent in the 1890s that the rivalry between young Kaiser William II and his uncle the Prince of Wales gained momentum. The Prince of Wales had been slow to acquire a taste for competitive yachting. He was twenty-five when he bought his first sailing yacht, a thirty-seven-ton cutter which he named Dagmar after his Danish sister-in-law. Not until ten years later, in 1876, did he begin to race, winning the Queen’s Cup at Cowes with the schooner Hildegarde and winning again with the racing cutter Formosa. Both boats were purchased from other yachtsmen; it was not until 1892 that the prince, at fifty-one, ordered a racing yacht built for himself. This was the 122-foot-long racing cutter Britannia (221 tons, designed by the preeminent British yacht designer, the Scot George Lennox Watson). Britannia’s mast towered 164 feet over the deck (a later mast soared 175 feet), and with all sails set she spread seventeen thousand square feet of canvas. Britannia was broad-beamed, allowing several comfortable cabins below for her owner and guests. She was sailed by a professional skipper and a crew of thirty-five, and she cost the Prince eight thousand pounds, sails and cabin fittings included.
The Prince was on board when Britannia raced for the first time at the Royal Thames Regatta on May 25, 1893. Thereafter, while his mother watched from her wheelchair, a telescope to her eye, from the balcony at Osborne House, he raced almost every day at Cowes regattas. He liked to race in the sunshine and took Britannia to the Mediterranean, racing on the Riviera and living on board. One day, he was sitting on deck in a canvas chair while Britannia was maneuvering for the start of the race. The yacht began heeling. At the last second, the Prince reached out and grabbed a rail just as his chair and newspapers went overboard. Calmly, the Prince asked if the papers might be fished out as he wanted to finish them. Britannia was jibed, a dinghy was lowered, the floating objects were retrieved and the newspapers were sent below to be dried out.
During her first season, May to September 1893, Britannia raced forty-three times and won twenty-four first prizes. In her five-year racing career, 1893–1897, she won 147 prizes in 219 races. When on July 3, 1895, Britannia defeated Lord Dunraven’s Valkyrie III and Barclay Walker’s Ailsa, the Prince wrote happily to his son Prince George, “Today’s victory8 indeed makes Britannia the first racing yacht afloat.”
If Britannia, at least for a while, was the first yacht afloat, her owner was, indisputably, the First Yachtsman Ashore. In 1863, the Prince had become Patron of the Royal Yacht Squadron, founded in 1815 and granted by King George IV the right to fly as its flag the White Ensign of the Royal Navy. In 1882, Bertie became Commodore, holding the office for nineteen years until he succeeded to the throne. The Squadron Club House was the Castle at West Cowes, a gray stone, turreted French-style château of modest size set directly on the sea at West Cowes. Nineteen brass saluting cannon were lined up on the esplanade before the Club House. The Squadron, a masculine retreat, boasted an excellent wine cellar, a cel
ebrated chef, and a library stocked with French novels. No toilet facilities for women were installed until the 1920s.
There was racing in the Solent from May into autumn, but Cowes and the Royal Yacht Squadron blossomed into full glory during Regatta Week in August. Hundreds of great sailing yachts arrived from all parts of the British Isles, from the Continent, and even from America. Anchored in front of the Squadron esplanade, their varnished masts gleaming in the sunlight, they stretched into the shimmering haze of a summer morning. For the seven days of Regatta Week, England’s fashionable world crowded into the little town on the Isle of Wight. Tiny bedrooms, even attics, were rented at exorbitant rates. Spectators flocked aboard steamers, passenger ferries, even tugboats to go out and watch the yachts race. The goal of every visitor—titled foreigners, young heiresses and their mothers, ambassadors, rich Americans—was the little stretch of lawn behind the Royal Yacht Squadron. Here, on this sloping bit of turf, members in short blue yachting jackets and white flannel trousers argued over the handicaps and tactics in that day’s races. Duchesses sat in small wicker chairs, eating strawberries and nibbling ices. So many famous names were present that one wag described the Squadron lawn as “a marine Madame Tussaud’s.”9
The central figure in this pageant, the royal patron who gave it luster, was the Prince of Wales. When the Prince was aboard his yacht, the Squadron lawn was listless; when he came ashore, it sprang to life. The latest beauties pushed forward hoping to be noticed, grizzled yachtsmen straightened their ties and broke into smiles. “I can recall the portly figure10 of... [the Prince] strolling across the green lawn of the Royal Yacht Squadron,” wrote one of the privileged. “He wore a white yachting cap, smoked large cigars and always carried an ebony walking stick. His prominent eyes were china blue and kindly.... He was always followed by an entourage of intimate friends;... the beautiful Mrs. George Keppel, the notorious Mrs. Langtry, and sometimes his wife, Queen Alexandra, who seemed to me the most beautiful of the ladies.”
Although the Prince reigned over the Squadron lawn on Regatta Week, he held no autocratic sway over clubhouse rules. Membership in this bastion of British aristocracy was exclusive; it was said to be far easier to enter the House of Lords than the Royal Yacht Squadron. One anonymous blackball was sufficient to exclude, and Sir Thomas Lipton, who built five great Shamrocks to challenge for the America’s Cup and was proposed for the Squadron by the Prince himself, was not elected until the last year of his life. The Prince, as Commodore, tried to have the harshness of the single-blackball rule mollified, pointing out in 1900 that ninety-five names had been blackballed over the previous twelve years. The members, many already displeased to see the Squadron lawn cluttered with people who didn’t know a cutter from a schooner, voted him down.
The Prince himself was responsible for introducing into the Squadron the member who did the most to spoil his own fun. In 1889, young Kaiser William II visited the Cowes Regatta and expressed an interest in yacht racing. Hospitably, the Prince proposed the Kaiser, who, with his brother, Prince Henry, was speedily elected. William bought an English America’s Cup contender named Thistle, rechristened her Meteor, and, with an English captain and an all-English crew, began to race. It was his success with this first Meteor which prompted the Prince, in 1892, to order Britannia.
For four consecutive summers, 1892–1895, William appeared at the Regatta, mingling yacht racing with a family visit to his grandmother at Osborne House. Beginning in 1893, he lived on board his new white-and-gold steam yacht, Hohenzollern. Guests were often invited to breakfast, where they were served grilled salmon, filet of sole, deviled kidneys, ham and poached eggs (a favorite of the Kaiser’s), and large quantities of fruit. Thus fortified, the party went out to race. Always, during Regatta Week, there was at least one formal dinner at Osborne House held in the Durbar Room. The Garter porcelain, with the insignia of the order emblazoned in deep blue and gold, was brought out and, in deference to the Kaiser’s Anglophilia, the menu was as English as the Queen’s chef could make it: ducklings, lamb with mint sauce, salmon with cucumber, and boiled potatoes. At first, William drank only sweet wines and champagnes until his English uncles, the dukes of Edinburgh and Connaught, taught him the delicate lure of dry vintages.
The burden of the Kaiser’s annual visits fell on Bertie, who was detailed by his mother to look after her royal grandson. The toll on the Prince was heavy. With William yacht racing became more than a sport. He was obsessed by competition with his uncle and determined to win at all costs. He made endless trouble about handicaps and rulings, implying that the Committee was favoring the Prince of Wales and every other yachtsman. When engaged in a race, he refused to think of anything else. Once in 1893, when Meteor was racing Britannia around the Isle of Wight, the wind dropped in the late afternoon and both yachts were becalmed. The Prince, aboard Britannia, began to worry about the full-dress dinner which the Queen was giving that evening in William’s honor. From his yacht he signalled Meteor: “Propose abandon race11 and return by train so as to reach Osborne in time for dinner.” The Kaiser replied: “I object. Race must be fought out. It doesn’t matter when we reach Cowes.” Eventually, the breeze revived, but it was nine P.M. before the yachts made their moorings and ten before the royal yachtsmen reached Osborne House. The Queen had finished dinner. The Kaiser hurried up, kissed her hands, and apologized. The Queen gave him a thin smile. A few minutes later, the Prince of Wales arrived, taking cover briefly behind a pillar to wipe the perspiration from his brow. Then he came forward and bowed. The Queen gave him a stiff nod.
Eighteen ninety-five was the last year the Kaiser and the Prince of Wales raced against each other in person. As Britannia continued to triumph over Meteor, William loudly complained. Just before the beginning of the race for the Queen’s Cup, the Kaiser announced that he was dissatisfied with the handicapping and withdrew Meteor, leaving Britannia to sail the course alone. The following winter, William sent his famous telegram to President Paul Kruger of the Transvaal Republic, an act which made the Kaiser persona non grata in England. He did not return to his grandmother’s country for four years and never personally sailed at Cowes again.
The nephew’s departure was happy news for the uncle. Cowes brought out the worst in William. The Kaiser never let the Prince of Wales—or those around him—forget that the older man was only heir to a throne, whereas he himself was a crowned sovereign. William insisted on the protocol of rank, effectively supplanting his uncle as the most prominent person attending the Regatta. Privately and publicly, the Kaiser let his feelings show. It was at Cowes, aboard the Hohenzollern, that William referred to the Prince of Wales as “an old peacock.”12 In public, he taunted the older man. One night, dining aboard the Hohenzollern, William heard that relations between England and Russia had reached a dangerous point. Laughing, he slapped his uncle on the back and said, “So, then, you’ll soon be off to India13 to see what you are good for as a soldier.” To Eckardstein, the Prince protested that “the Regatta used to be14 a pleasant recreation for me, but now, since the Kaiser takes command, it is a vexation.” William, he declared, behaved not like a guest, but like “the Boss of Cowes.”15
The Kaiser himself was absent in the summer of 1896, but his yacht remained to vex the Prince of Wales. Having seen his Meteor I beaten for four years by Britannia, William decided to build a new boat. Before leaving the Solent at the end of the 1895 Regatta, he summoned G. L. Watson, who had designed Britannia, and ordered a new cutter, constructed along lines identical to his uncle’s yacht, except that she was to be larger and faster—indeed, her sole assignment was to defeat Britannia. The result, Meteor II, appeared at the Cowes Regatta in 1896, sailing under the direction of the Kaiser’s friend the Earl of Lonsdale and skippered by a great English captain, Bobby Gomes. Meteor II was a superb racing machine, carrying substantially more sail than Britannia but also, like Britannia, having comfortable cabins below for her owner and his guests. (Visitors were surprised to find not only an English ca
ptain and crew but an English chef and, on the shelves of the salon and staterooms, English novels, magazines, and newspapers.)
In the summer races of 1896, Meteor II proved that Britannia had been outbuilt. Chagrined and unwilling to bear either the gibes of his victorious nephew or the expense of building a new and more powerful boat himself, the Prince, in 1897, withdrew from racing and sold his beloved Britannia. He bought her back two years later. He sold her again in 1900 and again bought her back as King in 1902. To the end of his life, he continued to sail, either with his family on Britannia or, later, as a guest of his friend “Tommy” Lipton on board one of the tea magnate’s giant Shamrocks (also designed by G. L. Watson). And, untroubled by further intrusions from his Imperial nephew, he attended the Cowes Regatta every year.
The Kaiser continued to race. In all, he owned four Meteors, each larger and faster than its predecessor. In 1902, he replaced the yacht built in Britain with one built in America. Each year, the number of German seamen in the crew increased until, in 1909, Meteor IV was built to German design and sent to sea with a German captain and an all-German crew.
William, meanwhile, decided to establish at Kiel a Regatta Week in June to rival and eventually eclipse the Cowes Regatta Week in August. Kiel Week became a personal enterprise, on which the Kaiser lavished care and from which he drew enormous pride. He chose a magnificent setting. Kiel Fjord, wrested from Denmark after the 1866 war and now the eastern terminus of the Kiel Canal, was lined by granite cliffs and dark-green forests, with here and there a patch of sloping meadowland dotted with farmhouses. Here, aboard the gleaming white Hohenzollern, moored on the sparkling blue waters of the fjord, William felt completely at ease and in control. He often summoned his ministers to Kiel from Berlin and liked to discuss policy and world affairs, pacing the deck of the Imperial yacht.
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