The Conservatives
While Waldemar had set John Connor to dealing with Reinecke, Wilhelm II was working the salons and ballrooms of Berlin, throwing himself into the business of politics.
He poured every ounce of his energy into courting the conservative Junkers and forging them into a faction. It was a calculated campaign, aimed squarely at his liberal-leaning parents — Crown Prince Friedrich III and Crown Princess Victoria. In all but name, father and son now stood as the heads of opposing political camps. Whatever had once existed between them had already collapsed beyond any hope of repair.
Dialogue? Why on earth would I need that with the Englishwoman?
The ruin of that relationship had not happened overnight.
Years earlier, Wilhelm II had fallen hopelessly in love with his Hessian cousin, Princess Elisabeth, and demanded to marry her. The Crown Princess had set herself against the match at once, turning her blade on her own son. Elisabeth had declined the proposal herself — but without his mother's opposition, some slim chance might still have remained.
That marriage is absolutely unacceptable.
The Crown Princess had been dead set against her son wedding his Hessian cousin, and the reason she gave was that the two of them were far too closely related. Wilhelm had been furious at the absurdity of it. How, then, did the royal houses of Europe manage to form families at all? By her logic, the Habsburgs ought to have gone extinct generations ago.
Nursing that grievance, Wilhelm II had chosen Auguste of Schleswig-Holstein as his wife. Once again the Crown Princess opposed the marriage, this time on the grounds that Auguste was not of a rank befitting the House of Hohenzollern. It was not an entirely unfair point — but Wilhelm had no intention of yielding any further. He forced the marriage through over her objections, and that was the end of whatever fragile bond still remained between mother and son.
The resentment reached its peak the previous summer, when they collided over the marriage of the Crown Princess's second daughter, Princess Victoria. And Wilhelm was not without his own case to make. When she had blocked his marriage to Elisabeth of Hesse, she had invoked the cousin argument without shame. Yet the moment her beloved Waldemar began courting Alix of Hesse, every word about cousins vanished as if it had never been spoken, and she supported the match. Nor was that all. When Heinrich and Irene of Hesse were to be joined, she raised both hands in enthusiastic blessing.
There were reasons Wilhelm II had stored up so much hatred for his mother that it was ready to burst.
I will no longer submit to the Englishwoman.
He took that grievance and used it as fuel, drawing the conservative faction together around himself. The campaign proceeded smoothly, carried along by the conservatives and by Bismarck's support.
Wilhelm II looked around at the Junkers gathered in the ballroom and felt their power settle over him like a mantle.
These men are my strength. Germany's true power. As long as they stand behind me, the Englishwoman cannot twist this country to her will.
He moved among the conservative figures with a sociable face, greeting and being greeted. Whenever he found himself obliged to converse with someone he did not know — usually a man who was not a Junker — his aides-de-camp and closest attendants, men such as Adolf von Bülow or Hans von Plessen, would step in at once and murmur the necessary particulars into his ear.
"Your Highness, this is Karl Ferdinand von Stumm-Halberg."
"Stumm-Halberg? Not a Prussian, is he?"
"A steel magnate from the Rhineland. You need not doubt his political leanings. As an industrial aristocrat, he sits in the Conservative Party as a reliably conservative deputy."
"Ah. I've heard the name. Yes — I remember now."
Wilhelm II turned to Stumm-Halberg with his most expansive smile.
"A pleasure to meet you, Deputy."
"It is an honor to see you at such an occasion, Your Highness."
He spoke with Stumm-Halberg for several minutes, then allowed his aide to guide him on to the next man. Whenever he encountered a conservative politician, Wilhelm II never stinted on the sort of remarks they most liked to hear.
"His Highness is so easy to talk to. I cannot understand why the Crown Prince only ever comes out with such pigheaded talk."
"And whose fault is that? The Crown Princess, of course."
The conservative figures made no effort whatsoever to conceal their hostility toward the Crown Princess. Wilhelm II felt a deep satisfaction in the warmth of their regard.
He raised a glass of French wine and addressed the men gathered around him.
"All honor to His Highness!"
"Honor to Your Highness!"
The conservative figures lifted their glasses in answer.
"Now then — let us set the complicated talk aside for tonight. There are ladies waiting over there, are there not?"
"Haha. Your Highness is quite right."
Wilhelm II pushed through the cluster of conservatives and returned to his table. His aides-de-camp were gathered around it.
"Your Highness, shall I bring you a drink?"
"No, never mind. If you fellows want to dance with the ladies, go enjoy yourselves."
"We would rather remain here and attend Your Highness."
He sank into his chair and wet his throat with the drink they had brought him. The center of the floor he had left was already a swirl of dancing couples. Wilhelm II watched them absently for a time, then a thought occurred to him and he spoke to his aides.
"Come to think of it — how is that idiot brother of mine getting on?"
The idiot brother was Waldemar. Wilhelm II did not consider the epithet in the least unfair. A fool who had abandoned society for a girl — and a little girl with not so much as a speck of feminine charm, at that — deserved far worse.
"If you mean His Highness Waldemar, I believe he is spending his leave in Berlin."
"Leave in Berlin? Obviously he's amusing himself with that little girl."
It was a spectacle so pathetic it was almost funny. He simply could not understand what the Englishwoman had seen in the boy to lavish such affection on him.
"Actually, there is one matter I needed to report regarding Prince Waldemar."
"What is it?"
Gustav von Kessel, Wilhelm's adjutant and political aide, broached the subject with care.
"While I was in contact with Conservative Party figures in preparation for this ball, I heard that Prince Waldemar has been funding the neo-conservative faction."
Wilhelm spat out the wine he had been drinking.
"Puh — what did you say? Little Waldi? The brat who does nothing but fuss over that Hessian girl's moods is funding the neo-conservatives?"
"Yes. That was the rumor I heard."
"That's absurd. Even granting a hundred times over that the boy has the means — he was raised in the Englishwoman's skirts. Why would he put money into the Conservative Party, of all things, instead of siding with the Englishwoman who dotes on him?"
Kessel could not make sense of that part either. But the neo-conservative figures he had spoken with were convinced that Waldemar's political leanings ran conservative. Quite apart from the money they received, they held him in high regard on ideological grounds alone.
The story was so startling that Wilhelm was briefly at a loss for words.
A naive romantic boy, drunk on love, willing to lay everything at a girl's feet? That might have been a mask the boy was wearing.
If all of this is true, then that boy was born with a politician's instincts.
Stealing from the Englishwoman's purse to fund the conservatives without a blush, establishing a line of contact — and on the other side, playing the spoiled child to his mother and preserving his place as her beloved boy. It was a no-lose strategy. Whichever side prevailed, he would ride along and share in the victory.
For the first time, Wilhelm II felt a genuine flicker of interest in this shameless younger brother.
"Truly, I couldn't see what was right under my own feet. I spent more than a decade watching that brother of mine up close, and I was thoroughly taken in."
But he did not feel badly about it. The feeling sprang from the simple fact that his brother had bet on a conservative victory. If even Waldemar — raised in the Englishwoman's skirts — was placing his money on the conservatives for the sake of his own safety, then the prevailing current was no longer in any doubt. Wilhelm decided to acknowledge his brother's eye for picking a winner.
They had quarreled often, and their relationship was not a good one. But blood was still blood. Wilhelm was not so heartless as to cast aside, coldly, a fellow who knew how to bet on his victory at the crucial moment. At the very least, he would give the boy room to breathe. He found himself, for once, feeling generous toward Waldemar.
"Who did you say was the friend receiving Waldi's patronage?"
"If what I heard is correct, the prince's channel of support is Hammerstein. Hammerstein serves as editor-in-chief of the Kreuzzeitung, the Conservative Party organ."
"Ah. So that's why he sent the money there. He went straight to the man holding the neo-conservative front line, didn't he?"
Wilhelm raised his estimation of his brother's judgment once more. Even if the boy had picked some ordinary Conservative Party politician at random, that would have earned a decent mark — but a man like Hammerstein was another matter entirely. Just looking at his eye for choosing whom to fund, this brat had the makings of a politician.
Of course, Wilhelm had no intention of giving his brother the chance to become one. He would grant the boy's judgment, and his bet — but he could not trust his political leanings. This was, after all, a child raised under a liberal Englishwoman and educated by Englishmen. What was there to trust enough to open a path into politics?
The most Wilhelm could permit Waldemar was a royal pension sufficient to keep his dignity, and perhaps some modest advancement in the army.
"Still, one question does occur to me. Did the Englishwoman really not know he was taking the money?"
"She must have known, Your Highness. Perhaps she looked the other way for the sake of the prince's future?"
That seemed, even to Wilhelm, the most reasonable explanation. And once he thought it, something twisted in his chest.
That damned Englishwoman loved the boy enough to give him money even knowing full well that her beloved son was going to bow his head to the eldest son she could not stand.
And him?
She had his arm burned with electricity. When he fell from a horse and begged her in tears, she barked at him to get back on — not a grain of affection. Even in the moments he had screamed for a mother's love, she had answered him with nothing but coldness.
Wilhelm chewed over those childhood memories afresh, and the old hatred for the Crown Princess flared up again. He felt a sudden impulse to ruin anything she loved.
On second thought, I shouldn't let Waldi advance in the army at all. When the right moment comes, I'll have him thrown out.
Waldemar had made something of a name for himself selling postage stamps for the military, but achievements of that sort were always forgotten in time.
If I tell him he can live happily with that Hessian girl, he'll accept it willingly enough.
He had no intention of crossing the final line. A brother who had raised the white flag would be guaranteed a royal pension and the life of a gentleman of leisure.
Just live under the royal name. Enjoy your wealth. Play house with that Hessian girl.
Wilhelm passed sentence on his brother in his heart. Even if the boy learned of the decision, he would not complain much. That sharp-eyed brat would not be stupid enough to ruffle the feathers of the brother who was going to win.
Come to think of it, that boy always knew how to read the room.
Just look at how he had abandoned any thought of marrying Uncle Edward's daughters and switched, promptly, to the Hessian girl. Waldemar understood precisely how far Wilhelm would tolerate.
If I drop a hint, he might even withdraw first — and do it neatly.
The thought made Wilhelm's heart a little more merciful.
Well. If he behaves that gracefully, I could show a bit more clemency myself.
Of course, if anyone had asked whether he could dispose of Waldemar here and now, the only honest answer was no. The next emperor would be his father, Friedrich III — and the one who moved Friedrich III was the unofficial power behind the throne, the Englishwoman. In such a situation, Wilhelm disposing of their favorite son merely because he had grown his faction a little? It was impossible. An impossible premise.
But someday, when the moment came that he held power in his own hands, he could do as he pleased. Wilhelm twisted his lips as he pictured the hour of his victory.
"The Englishwoman is pitiable, in her way. Knowing her own defeat, and still having to fight."
"From the moment she treated Your Highness as an enemy rather than a son, her defeat was inevitable."
Wilhelm thought so too. In the dark of the night, amid the glittering spectacle the ball had conjured, he dreamed of a tomorrow in which the liberal faction would be crushed beneath his heel.