Es Geloybte Aretz - a Germanwank

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Departure: Vierkaiserjahr

Potsdam, November 1888

A dreadfully apprehensive quiet had settled over the room, only occasionally broken by the rustle of cloth and the creak of furniture as the assembled courtiers fidgeted nervously. There was nothing that could be done now, of course. The Chancellor was said to be already on his way. His Highness Crown Prince Wilhelm sat in the lap of his nurse, his wide eyes wet with unshed tears as he stifled a quiet sob. Here and there, a glass clinked. Courage was where you found it, faith, pride or a bottle. One of the guards officers present caught his sabre on a side table, causing a vase to wobble dangerously. Nobody laughed or even commented as the luckless lieutenant scrambled to avert disaster. A valet shuffled forward to wordlessly remove the endangered object.

Footsteps in the corridor announced the arrival of the Chancellor, Otto Prince Bismarck. He entered with uncharacteristic quiet, a broad-shouldered, heavy-set man still physically impressive despite his advanced years. His face was ashen, the lively, deep-set eyes nervously darted around the room. They met the gaze of Empress Victoria and he quickly, almost perfunctorily bowed before sitting down across the table. A secretary entered, wordlessly placed a heavy bundle of papers before him, and departed again. Rain began to fall, heavy drops irregularly tapping the windowpanes.

Then, the door opened. A valet entered, hastily bowing to her Majesty before placing a small platter with a slip of paper before her. His voice nearly failed as he whispered, “Your Majesty, it is... from the Professor ... “ Victoria bit her lower lip as she stiffly picked up the notice, blanched, and handed it to Bismarck. She dabbed at her eyes with a silk handkerchief, averting her eyes. The Chancellor rose with uncharacteristic slowness, bowed his head and turned to the infant Crown Prince. “Gentlemen, by God's ineffable will, the Emperor has been taken from us. Long live Emperor Wilhelm III.” Comprehension flashed across the face of the new Emperor of Germany and King of Prussia, and he wailed with helpless tears of rage and despair.

The accidental death of Wilhelm II just months after his accession to the throne created a serious crisis for the young German Empire. Prussia had not faced the prospect of a regency in centuries, and the suggestion of transferring the crown directly to Prince Albrecht Wilhelm Heinrich was nervously voiced in some quarters. In the end, though, the influence of Bismarck and Empress Victoria prevailed, and while Albrecht was made Prince Regent, the infant Wilhelm III was crowned emperor.

Prince Albrecht quickly proved himself a capable and level-headed administrator despite his youth, though he naturally depended on advice from his chancellor and mother to a large degree. Under the tutelage of Bismarck, his political skills grew quickly. As he wrote himself in his diary:

The task that providence has placed upon me is almost too great for a mere man to contemplate, yet I am, resolved to fulfill it to the best of my abilities. I am but grateful that the cup of emperorship has passed from me. My nephew, poor little Wilhelm, will find the burden heavy on his shoulders once he understands its full scope. To me, the task has fallen to preserve his inheritance and to make the people of Prussia and of all Germany as happy, as safe, as mighty and prosperous as I know how. His will be the burden of turning the tools I shall one day place in his hands to good use. Professor Rankes Twelve Books are an invaluable support when my will falters. I will gladly be the Friedrich Wilhelm to his Frederick the Great.
(entry for 14 January 1889)


Thanks to Zmflavius, we now have a linklist for a significant chunk of the thread's story. Thanks!

I have tried to index every update post, and most of the relevant commentary posts by Carlton in this thread. I would have liked to put in headers, but I only thought of it about a fifth of the way in, so I didn’t but I may add them later. I was thinking that I would insert those every three months or so, with a major one every year (which Carlton already had in the post), along with headers for major update sequences and pivotal events (ie, the Congo Conference, the declaration of war, the Battle of Rügen, Armistice, etc.). Finding appropriate locations should be much easier now that all this has been indexed for you :p.

Also worth noting that I have not distinguished major updates/commentaries from minor, if someone would like to edit this, that may also be worth doing. Some of the commentary links could probably stand being cut entirely, I didn’t discriminate too hard for it, and some 70% of Carlton’s non-update posts I think made it into the final index.


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Last edited:
1889 – 1903 Praeludium

Breslau, autumn 1889
Ludwig Kolaski was not a happy man. It had not been his fate to be happy, born as he was to a proletarian family and raised in the poverty of Breslau's working class neighbourhoods, and his comforts were fewer than most men's. His wage, even as a skilled machinist, did not allow him to overindulge in food or the cheap rotgut potato spirit that the Junkers churned out to keep their subjects complacent, he had found no happiness in his marriage, and as to the opiate of the masses, religion did nothing for him. The sparse, cold satisfaction of standing on the right side of history helped surprisingly little when the realisation came that you might be among its countless victims. Ludwig had not agitated for a strike, but he had willingly accepted when others did so, knowing what this might mean. The Social Democratic Party might provide for his wife and son if he died or went to prison, but that did little to make the prospect more appealing. It had now been fourteen days of flying the red flag, and the town was abuzz with rumour. The police were being reinforced. Bismarck was calling for the army to break the strikers. Cavalry was assembling in Bavaria, not Prussians, not workers, South German men from farming stock who would gleefully sabre their old enemies. He was ready for a fight, if it came to that, but a length of iron piping and a monkey wrench were a poor armament to counter the blade and carbine of a dragoon.

A breath of fresh, cool air wafted into the smoke-filled room as Klaus ran in, stumbling over the threshold. The strike committee had decided that the youth should not be part of the group that blockaded the factory, but he came by regularly with bread or soup, schnaps or papers. His boyish enthusiasm was downright dangerous. Now, he was waving a fresh copy of the Vossische Zeitung. “No soldiers!” he shouted out, “They're not sending in troops. The Prince Regent has declared for us!”

A roar of approval rose from the assembled workers. The paper was torn from young Klaus's hands and a cup of steaming coffee, liberally spiked with schnaps, replaced it. When the article was read out, Ludwig noticed with wry detachment that poor Klaus had definitely gotten carried away. Albrecht might well have spoken of the pitiful state of the workers and justified grievances, but that was pure rhetoric. It was only natural - he had to side with the Junkers and bourgeois. But the hard fact was that the army would not be called to intervene. The factory owners of Breslau would have to deal with the situation as best they could. Maybe there was hope for this one? And Bismarck would be furious! Ludwig quietly chuckled. That alone might be worth whatever they still had to take from the police and courts. Bismarck's unrelenting policy could crack.

St Petersburg, January 1890

They were all there. Tsar Alexander III, resplendent in his gold-embroidered uniform, orders and medals shining with diamonds, stood in the centre of the group, his massive balding head towering over the legendary pair of shoulders that had help up the collapsing roof of a railcar. To his right, in plain civilian black, stood Nikolay Girs, the foreign minister, and Ivan Durnovo, minister for the interior. On his left, Nikolay Bunge, the formidable chairman of the council of ministers, and Grand Duke Nikolay Nikolaevich. Nobody did glamorous receptions like the Russian court. Prince Bismarck himself was not present, and he, despite his age, would have been the only man in the German delegation to rival the sheer physical impressiveness of the Russian emperor. Prince Regent Albrecht, dressed for the occasion in his favourite naval uniform, seemed small and insignificant by comparison, his youth starkly underlined by the magnificent beards the Russians sported. Observers had noted that he appeared to be reporting to his ruler than meeting an equal. The Berlin style clashed with St Petersburg's opulence.

Nonetheless, among those in the know it was clear that Albrecht had the upper hand in this encounter. He, or, as most diplomats would tell you in confidence, his Chancellor had negotiated hard to arrive at the new treaty, and while his visit officially was merely social, the fact that a new agreement would be reached was discussed in London clubs and Paris salons. Germany's neutrality in the drive to the Straits came at a price. It was whispered in Berlin that the Empress Mother, Victoria, had strongly opposed the agreement, and that Albrecht himself found the thought of dealing with Alexander III distasteful, but had agreed out of deference to Bismarck. If that was the case, he certainly played his role well. He had seemed nothing but delighted to meet his Russian relatives and came to this meeting of state – the only overtly political occasion of his entire visit – with a light step and his head held high. Punch had already used the image of the youthful, plainly dressed and quietly spoken German as a powerful contrast to the bearlike – and widely detested – Russian ruler. The new cartoon was awaited eagerly at Friedrichshof.
 
I'm hoping to get to semi-regular updates, but life tends to intervene too much. Still, I wanted it out here instead of sleeping on my hard drive so I had some reason to keep going.
 
Sanssouci, 9 June 1891
A gentle breeze wafted across the garden through the open windows, softly rippling the drapes. The Kaiserin Friedrich, as she was known, Viktoria had excellent taste in furniture and the money to make her visions come true. Seated at the elegant Louis Quinze table – this a piece of the original furniture bought by Frederick the Great – she delicately lifted a cup of tea to her lips. It was, after all, five o'clock, and her son made a point of visiting frequently at this hour. She always had tea and cakes ready, and he always shared a cup. He did not really like it but thought she did not know, so he always drank some and she never let him know she knew. Sometimes, she thought, the world was strange like that. Prince Regent Albrecht sat across the table methodically dissecting a jam-filled pastry. It was the kind of thing she enjoyed, a taste of her English childhood, but it was also, quite simply, good. As always, mother and son were alone together, talking.

“The vote is final, then?” she asked, knowing the answer, but longing to hear it confirmed.
“Yes,” Albrecht answered after swallowing the last mouthful, “Bismarck has lost his majority on this issue. The Socialist Laws will not be extended. Of course this is not over yet. I will have to tell him that I will allow this to pass, though. It just would not do.”
“What is he planning? Surely, this must be quite a blow. Do you think he might resign?”
“No, certainly not. We've spoken about it. He actually is not very invested in the Socialist Laws. He wanted to repeal them himself – give the Reds enough rope to hang themselves, he thought. It's the loss of his majority that gnaws at him.” Albrecht took a sip of tea and helped himself to a second pastry. “We don't get them this good in the navy. Anyways, I think he is still going to fulminate at the Reichstag a bit, but the issue itself is not important enough. He talked about taking a longer holiday, too.”
“Canossa is nice at this time of the year.”
Albrecht looked up. Not a muscle had moved on his mother's face. Both broke into undignified giggles.
 
Berlin, 26 January 1892, Vossische Zeitung

Bismarck Retires
The Court of His Imperial and Royal Majesty Wilhelm III has announced today that Reichskanzler Fürst Otto von Bismarck has tendered his resignation to his Imperial and Royal Highness Prince Regent Albrecht. The Chancellor's long years of loyal and tireless service have thus come to an end. His Imperial and Royal Highness Prince Regent Albrecht will officially release His Grace Prince Bismarck from his post on 30 January. The princes of the Empire have been invited to grace the occasion with their presence. His Grace Otto von Bismarck, who served the Kings of Prussia loyally and excellently from the turbulent days of the revolt to the glorious founding of the Empire, is retiring on grounds of age and ill health. He has refused a position at court and intends to leave Berlin for his estate at Sachsenwald.

The reasons behind Bismarck's retirement are still a matter of dispute. It is an open secret that the aging and increasingly cantankerous politician found it impossible to dominate Prince Regent Albrecht to the extent he had hoped, and especially resented the influence that Empress Mother Viktoria had over her son. Nonetheless, Albrecht admired the man and was more than willing to allow hium to continue in office. The best explanation is that two years of governing without a solid majority, with defeats on hotly contested issues, simply took too great a toll on the Prince's already weakening constitution. The occasion was magnificent, with orations of gratitude by all present, and even King Otto of Bavaria, who had no reason to love the Iron Chancellor, found eloquent words of praise. The ageing Bismarck rode an open carriage to the railway station through streets lined with jubilant well-wishers and found his journey interrupted by the tributes of a grateful populace at every stop. Even the Punch, not a friend of Bismarck's policies in the past, publishjed a sympathetic cartoon that was to become a classic. “Dropping the Pilot” shows the prince, unmistakable in his heavy moustache and boots, standing by the ladder ready to descend to the waiting boat. Shaking hands with him is the captain, recognisably the likeness of youthful Prince Regent Albrecht with his trademark navy uniform and seaman's hat. On the distant horizon, a sunrise beckons better times ahead.
 
Interesting. I wonder what Wilhelm II died of?

Unspecified accident. I couldn't find data on what he was doing that year, day-to-day, so I decided not to say, but he was a pretty vigorous young man, and a riding accident while hunting or a fall down some stairs is always possible. Something entirely innocuous and stupid, like Grace Kelly.
 
Unspecified accident. I couldn't find data on what he was doing that year, day-to-day, so I decided not to say, but he was a pretty vigorous young man, and a riding accident while hunting or a fall down some stairs is always possible. Something entirely innocuous and stupid, like Grace Kelly.

Perhaps his weaker hand has a role in this too, I assume, but then, the details are all up to us readers anyway.

Poland being a flash point TTL, interesting.
 
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