Siegfrieds with their imperial swords, in the Germanias with their triumphal chariots. London and Paris had long histories, but Berlin lacked continuity; these instant monuments served to fill the historical vacuum.
Wilhelm was deeply impressed by his arch rival England and copied whatever he could: Kew Gardens at Lichterfelde, Oxford at Dahlem, the famous Round Reading Room of the British Museum in his own Kaiserliche Bibliothek. But everything, of course, had to be bigger than its counterpart in England. At the Tiergarten, as an eternal tribute to his ancestors – but above all to himself – he had built the 700-metre-long Siegesallee, lined with marble statuary. That eternity, by the way, did not last long: the marble statues of the Electors (which Wilhelm felt looked ‘as though made by Michelangelo’) were tossed into the Landwehrkanal not long after the Second World War; today, a few of them have been dredged up and brought back to the Siegesallee and the Tiergarten.
Wilhelm had a specific objective in all this, of course. As Germany made its ascent it was not only faced with the same conflicts seen in Great Britain and France, but it was also one of Europe's youngest nations. When Wilhelm II took the throne in 1888, the country was less than twenty years old. Most of its inhabitants did not even consider themselves Germans;they were Saxons, Prussians or Württembergers. Every town, every valley had its own dialect. Only the upper class spoke High German; when travelling, middle-class Germans had trouble understanding each other. The local courts at Munich, Dresden and Weimar still maintained their royal status, with jealously guarded ranks and privileges. Bavaria, Württemberg, Saxony and Baden had their own armies, their own currencies and postage stamps, and even their own diplomatic services.
At the same time, young Germany had major ambitions in the field of international politics. Europe had been living in relative peace for decades, a situation often summarised by the phrase ‘inside Europe, balance rules; outside Europe, Britain rules’. The great Prussian chancellor Bismarck's sole objective was to make a united Germany's new-found power a part of that system, and at first he succeeded wonderfully well. With patience and wisdom he had allowed Europe to grow accustomed to the new configuration. He had circumvented the major risks: an alliance between Russia and France which would have locked Germany in from both sides, and the disruptive potential of the perpetual issue of the Balkans, to say nothing of the danger of Germany being dragged into a possible war between Russia and Austria. Bismarck's Germany was, as the diplomat and author Sebastian Haffner put it, a contented nation.
In 1890, Bismarck was bumped aside by the young Wilhelm, effectively putting an end to the politics of patience and caution. The kaiser and his new ministers represented a discontented, restless, misunderstood Germany. Just as the eighteenth century had been the century of the French, and the nineteenth the century of the British, in their eyes the twentieth century was to be German. And, in a certain sense, it was. Around the turn of the century they began assembling a gigantic fleet, as a retort to British naval power. They cultivated the old enmities with Russia and France, thereby driving those countries into each other's arms. They began an arms race. Their thinking and behaviour focused increasingly on an altered version of stability: outside Europe, balance rules; inside Europe, Germany rules.
Yet despite its appropriation of power, the new German nation lacked the natural status of older countries such as France and Great Britain. On the one hand, a modern civil society was developing, with prospering trade and industry; on the other, however, real power was still in thehands of a few hundred aristocratic families and an associate caste of top officials and officers who danced to the kaiser's tunes. On the one hand,
Wilhelm was deeply impressed by his arch rival England and copied whatever he could: Kew Gardens at Lichterfelde, Oxford at Dahlem, the famous Round Reading Room of the British Museum in his own Kaiserliche Bibliothek. But everything, of course, had to be bigger than its counterpart in England. At the Tiergarten, as an eternal tribute to his ancestors – but above all to himself – he had built the 700-metre-long Siegesallee, lined with marble statuary. That eternity, by the way, did not last long: the marble statues of the Electors (which Wilhelm felt looked ‘as though made by Michelangelo’) were tossed into the Landwehrkanal not long after the Second World War; today, a few of them have been dredged up and brought back to the Siegesallee and the Tiergarten.
Wilhelm had a specific objective in all this, of course. As Germany made its ascent it was not only faced with the same conflicts seen in Great Britain and France, but it was also one of Europe's youngest nations. When Wilhelm II took the throne in 1888, the country was less than twenty years old. Most of its inhabitants did not even consider themselves Germans;they were Saxons, Prussians or Württembergers. Every town, every valley had its own dialect. Only the upper class spoke High German; when travelling, middle-class Germans had trouble understanding each other. The local courts at Munich, Dresden and Weimar still maintained their royal status, with jealously guarded ranks and privileges. Bavaria, Württemberg, Saxony and Baden had their own armies, their own currencies and postage stamps, and even their own diplomatic services.
At the same time, young Germany had major ambitions in the field of international politics. Europe had been living in relative peace for decades, a situation often summarised by the phrase ‘inside Europe, balance rules; outside Europe, Britain rules’. The great Prussian chancellor Bismarck's sole objective was to make a united Germany's new-found power a part of that system, and at first he succeeded wonderfully well. With patience and wisdom he had allowed Europe to grow accustomed to the new configuration. He had circumvented the major risks: an alliance between Russia and France which would have locked Germany in from both sides, and the disruptive potential of the perpetual issue of the Balkans, to say nothing of the danger of Germany being dragged into a possible war between Russia and Austria. Bismarck's Germany was, as the diplomat and author Sebastian Haffner put it, a contented nation.
In 1890, Bismarck was bumped aside by the young Wilhelm, effectively putting an end to the politics of patience and caution. The kaiser and his new ministers represented a discontented, restless, misunderstood Germany. Just as the eighteenth century had been the century of the French, and the nineteenth the century of the British, in their eyes the twentieth century was to be German. And, in a certain sense, it was. Around the turn of the century they began assembling a gigantic fleet, as a retort to British naval power. They cultivated the old enmities with Russia and France, thereby driving those countries into each other's arms. They began an arms race. Their thinking and behaviour focused increasingly on an altered version of stability: outside Europe, balance rules; inside Europe, Germany rules.
Yet despite its appropriation of power, the new German nation lacked the natural status of older countries such as France and Great Britain. On the one hand, a modern civil society was developing, with prospering trade and industry; on the other, however, real power was still in thehands of a few hundred aristocratic families and an associate caste of top officials and officers who danced to the kaiser's tunes. On the one hand,
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