The Kaiser, Wilhelm I, presented a hulking figure – tall and broad and a little bit fat, on a sturdy, regal horse. His companion, 9-year old Prince Wilhelm, sat upright, with a royal bearing, on a daintier horse of nevertheless fine stock.
Both – the aged Kaiser, and the young Prince – puffed white clouds in the frigid air, and were bundled in layers of military uniform. Even at his age, the Prince had the right to wear Army blues, and he did so at every opportunity.
Other mounted officers lurked in the background, at a respectful distance. The present and future Kaisers were alone.
Looking fondly at his grandchild, Wilhelm brushed the rime from his moustache and expansive mutton chops with a gloved hand. He often contemplated what kind of Emperor this young man would make. He had worried, when Willy – impetuous, unruly, willful, mischievous – was younger. Thankfully, he had lost some of that immaturity with age. Some of it.
Rarely did the Kaiser miss an opportunity to influence the child in his direction, when his father was away on campaign. Now, Kronprinz Friedrich Wilhelm was off dealing with a rebellion of Hessians, in the south. The rebellions were frequent. Almost constant.
To the Kaiser’s mind, the revolts had been a seemingly neverending presence since 1948, when the socialist movement had awakened to its own political power. He cursed that day with bitter passion.
“You take care with that rifle,” the Kaiser warned, indicating the hunting piece whose ornately decorated stock poked out of the young man’s saddle holster. “It’s heavier than what you’re used to.”
Willy nodded, looking admiringly at his grandfather. Theirs was an intense bond. Partly because the boy’s father was so often away fighting wars. But partly, also, because they understood the world the same way. Sometimes, Willy’s father would try to explain things to him – “the way the world was” – but it always seemed so complicated and difficult to understand. When his grandfather answered the same questions, his answers were more direct. More logical. They opened his eyes, rather than clouding them.
“When you are a cavalry officer,” the Kaiser counseled, gently, ”you will have to be able to fire your rifle from the saddle, like we are doing today. If you can learn to do so with a heavier weapon, you will do far better with a light cavalry repeater. It will also require careful awareness of your posture, and fine control of the horse through the tension in your legs, rather than from the reins. If you enter cavalry training with these skills, you will be ahead of every recruit, and most of the veterans!” the Kaiser encouraged.
To Willy, this excursion was meant for fun, not work. Excitedly, he changed the subject. “The groom said he’d seen a huge stag in the forest the other day. A rack five feet tall, like something out of a legend.”
Wilhelm chuckled, hiding his face briefly in frozen mist. “Likely, his story was legend, too. I have seen such things in this forest. But not in many years. Not like when I hunted with my grandfather.”
They spurred their horses gently down the snow blanketed hill on which they stood, and into the wooded valley below. Their prey would be in there. They talked, in hushed tones, as they rode.
“Never trust a Frenchman,” the Kaiser advised Willy, not for the first time. “I’ve never met one who hasn’t betrayed me. And most of them are socialists. It’s normal to be a socialist in France. They even let them rule the government! Nothing good could come of that.”
Willy always absorbed everything his Grandfather said. “What of Russia, Grandfather?”
“There, too. The Tsar is a good man. His is a noble royal family,” he said, then paused, considering a phrasing. “The people of Russia are not the problem. They are poor, simple people who want no trouble with anyone. It’s the middle people – the ones who go to college – that start most of the problems. And now they’ve put a ball and chain around Alex’s foot. He cannot go where he wants with the intellectuals running his government.”
Impetuous, Willy asked, “Why don’t we go throw the socialists out, at swordpoint?”
The Kaiser smiled, and chuckled quietly. “All in good time, my son. Sometimes, one must be patient, and wait for the right time to strike. You’ve learned this in your sabre lessons, yes?” He chuckled again. “All in good time,” he repeated.
The Kaiser often called Willy his son. It better represented their relationship. Wilhelm reflected, sadly, that his own son had seemingly gone the way of the intellectuals. It was a barrier that was apparent much of the time. Though, it still seemed Friedrich Wilhelm came around, now and again. Especially in time of war. And, especially when he came back from fighting socialists.
“There is no third way, you know.” He said, beginning his next lesson. “Once a King gives the people a say in his government, that is like an open door to the socialists. Soon, you will find a red man in your parlor, and the mobs just outside the door, and it will be too late to kick him out.”
Willy nodded, agreeing with his grandfather on this point, as he had many times before.
“The absolute authority of the monarch is not just the tradition of all our history, it is also established by God himself in the Holy Scriptures.” Certain passages of the Bible – the ones most popular to this not-otherwise-so-pious ruler – suggested as much. “We gain our throne, and keep our throne, by the will and wisdom of God who put us here.” He followed with a corollary that seemed logical to him. “Naturally, anyone who opposes our right to rule is, by their very nature, Godless.”
“God has blessed us with a great empire, Willy. Even after many years of war, we’re already back on our feet and growing stronger.” Abruptly, he seemed to be talking to himself, rather than to his protogé. “And with Austria and England both defeated, and the other powers of Europe our allies, we are finally secure. For the first time in the history of Prussia!” Sensing a natural stopping point, they both left off the discussion and scanned the forest for deer for a few long minutes.
“Grandfather,” Willy said. “I will be a strong Kaiser. And I won’t give in to them – socialists, or democrats or any of those people. Not the French, or the Russians or the British.”
“Good for you, son! You will be a Kaiser to make me proud.” Unsaid was what this 76-year-old man expected of his real son’s approaching reign.
