GERMAN HISTORYThe Journal of the German History Society

Volume 27 Number 4 October 2009

Volume 27 Number 4 October 2009

www.gh.oxfordjournals.org

ARTICLES

Colony as Heimat? The Formation of Colonial Identity in Germany around 1900Jens Jaeger 467

Wilhelm II’s Weisser Saal and its DoppelthronDouglas Klahr 490

Soldiers and Terror: Re-evaluating the Complicity of the Wehrmacht in Nazi GermanyRobert Loeffel 514

REFLECTIONS

A World Without Jews: Interpreting the HolocaustAlon Confino 531

FORUM

Everyday life in Nazi GermanyAndrew Stuart Bergerson, Elissa Mailänder Koslov, Gideon Reuveni, Paul Steege and Dennis Sweeney 560

DISCUSSION

A Political Professor: A New Biography of J.G. DroysenJames J. Sheehan 580

REVIEW ARTICLE

After Brubaker: Citizenship in Modern Germany, 1848 to TodayAnnemarie Sammartino 583

Book Reviews 600

ox

fo

rd

GE

RM

AN

HIST

OR

YVolum

e 27 Num

ber 4 October 2009

GERMANHISTORY

issn 0266-3554 (Print)

ISSN 1477-089X (Online)

CONTENTS

GERMAN HISTORYEditors Review EditorPaul Betts, University of Sussex, UK Moritz Foellmer, University of LeedsMaiken Umbach, University of Manchester, UK

Editorial BoardJ J Breuilly, London School of Economics, UK

Christopher Clark, University of Cambridge, UK

Karen Friedrich, University of Aberdeen, UK

Mary Fulbrook, University College London, UK

Ulinka Rublack, University of Cambridge, UK

Nick Stargardt, University of Oxford, UK

Bernd Weisbrod, Georg-August-University,

Gottingen, Germany

Advisory BoardV Berghahn, Columbia University, New York, USA Michael Geyer, University of Chicago, USA

Andrew Bonnell, University of Queensland, Australia Geoffrey Giles, University of Florida, USA

Jane Caplan, University of Oxford, UK Dagmar Herzog, City University of New York, USA

Alon Confino, University of Virginia, USA Charles Ingrao, Purdue University, USA

D L D’Avray, University College London, UK James Melton, Emory University, USA

Edward Dickinson, University of Cincinnati, USA Robert G Moeller, University of California, USA

Geoff Eley, University of Michigan, USA Uta Poiger, University of Washington, USA

Stig Forster, University of Bern, Switzerland James Retallack, University of Toronto, Canada

Norbert Frei, Friedrich-Schiller University, Lyndal Roper, University of Oxford, UK

Jena, Germany Mark Roseman, Indiana University, USA

Andreas Gestrich, German Historical Institute, Regina Schulte, Ruhr-University Bochum, Germany

London, UK Cornelie Usborne, Roehampton University, UK

MembershipMembership to the German History Society, which includes German History, is charged at £15/$29/¤23 for regular membership and £7.50/$14/¤11 for student membership, both of which can be purchased through Oxford Journals. German History is published quarterly in January, April, July and October.

Oxford Journals Environmental and Ethical PoliciesOxford Journals is committed to working with the global community to bring the highest quality research to the widest possible audience. Oxford Journals will protect the environment by implementing environmentally friendly policies and practices wherever possible. Please see http://www.oxfordjournals.org/ethicalpolicies.html for further information on Oxford Journals’ environmental and ethical policies.

AdvertisingAdvertising, inserts and artwork enquiries should be addressed to Advertising and Special Sales, Oxford Journals, Oxford University Press, Great Clarendon Street, Oxford, OX2 6DP, UK. Tel: +44 (0)1865 354767; Fax: +44 (0)1865 353774; E-mail: jnlsadvertising@oxfordjournals.org

Instructions to AuthorsManuscript Submission Guidelines:Authors should send an electronic version of their text to the Editors, in addition to three copies of each typescript. The originals and two photocopies of any statistical tables and maps must also be provided. Dr. Paul Betts, Arts A 127, Department of History, University of Sussex, Falmer, Brighton, BN1 9SH. Email: P.R.Betts@sussex.ac.uk;or Maiken Umbach, Department of History, University of Manchester, Samuel Alexander Building, Oxford Road, Manchester, M13 9PL. Email: maiken.umbach@manchester.ac.uk.Book reviews should be submitted to ghreviews@oxfordjournals.org. The Editors will notify authors as soon as possible about the acceptability of a paper, but will not enter into correspondence about papers considered unsuitable for publication. Neither the Editors nor the publisher accept responsibility for the view of authors expressed in their contribution. Authors may not submit to German History a typescript that is under consideration elsewhere. Articles should not normally exceed 10,000. Authors of accepted papers should submit an abstract (up to 250 words) for publi-cation with the article.

Typescript layoutAll material should be on A4 or quarto paper, in double-spaced typing, and on one side of the page only. Ample margins should be left. Each page of the typescript should be numbered. In Notes and Reviews, all material should be incorporated into the text: there should be no footnotes. In articles, footnotes should be numbered consecutively and placed together in double-spaced typing on a separate page or pages at the end. In Notes and Reviews, the author's name should appear at the end on the right-hand side, with his/her institution on the left. In articles, the author’s name and institution should appear at the beginning, immediately under the title. Quotation marks should be single; double quotation marks should be used only to indicate one quotation within another. Authors are invited to follow the journal's style-sheet, which may be obtained from the journal's web site by clicking here.

IllustrationsAll maps, diagrams, figures and graphs should be submitted in the form of completed artwork suitable for reproduction. They should be separate from the typescript (with a list of captions on a separate sheet), but their place in the text should be marked. No illustration (including caption) will be given more space than the text area of the journal page, i.e. 191 mm x 112 mm. Figures should ideally be drawn for a reduction of one-third, i.e. 3:2. All copyright permission must be cleared and if necessary paid for by the author; this includes applications and payments to DACS, ARS and similar licensing agencies where appropriate. It is also the author's responsibility to include acknowledgements as stipulated by particular institutions.

Permissions for Illustrations and FiguresPermission to reproduce copyright material, for print and online publication in perpetuity, must be cleared and if necessary paid for by the author; this includes applications and payments to DACS, ARS and similar licencing agencies where appropriate. Evidence in writing that such permissions have been secured from the rights-holder must be made available to the editors. It is also the author's responsibility to include acknowledgements as stipulated by the particular institutions. Oxford Journals can offer information and documentation to assist authors in securing print and online permissions: please see the Guidelines for Authors section at http://www.oxfordjournals.org/access_purchase/rights_permissions.html. Should you require copies of this then please contact the editorial office of the journal in question or else the Oxford Journals Rights department on journals.permissions@oxfordjournals.org.

TablesTables should be typed on separate sheets. Indicate in the margin of the text where the tables should be placed. All costs for reproducing figures in colour must be met by the author.

ReferencesThese should be kept to the minimum. Books are italicized (underlined in typescript), e.g. F. L. Carsten, Princes and Parliaments in Germany (Oxford, 1959). In second and subsequent references to a work, an abbreviated title should be adopted, e.g. Carsten, Princes, p. 72. A reference to an article in a periodical should include (after the author's name and the title of the article and the title of the journal) the volume number (arabic), date in brackets, and relevant page numbers, e.g. 'The False Joseph II', Historical Journal, 18 (1975), 467–95.

CopyrightIt is a condition of publication in GH that authors grant an exclusive licence to the Journal, which is operated on the Journal's behalf of the German History Society by the Publisher. This ensures that requests from third parties to reproduce articles are handled efficiently and consistently and will also allow the article to be as widely disseminated as possible. In assigning copy-right, authors may use their own material in other publications provided that the Journal is acknowledged as the original place of publication, and Oxford University Press is notified in writing and in advance. It is essential that a completed licence form is provided for each article.

Alterations to articlesAny amendments or corrections should be sent to the Editors (or Review Editor) as soon as possible after any author receives noti fication of acceptance for publication of his/her article. Because of the high cost of correction, the Editors reserve the right to reject alterations in proof. To avoid delays in the production of the journal, contributors will be asked to return their proofs promptly. Proofs are not sent to authors of reviews.

Author Self-Archiving/Public Access policyFor information about this journal's policy, please visit our Author Self-Archiving policy page: http://www.oxfordjournals.org/access_purchase/self-archiving_policye.html.

OffprintsThe corresponding author will be sent a free-access URL to the online article once it is published in Advance Access. In addition, the corresponding author also has the opportunity to order offprints or copies of the printed issue in which the article will appear. To do so, please complete the Offprint Order Form and return to Oxford University Press.

GERMAN HISTORY SOCIETYCommittee Members, 2008–2009Chair: Stefan Berger, University of Manchester, M13 9PLSecretary: Annika Mombauer, History Department, The Open University,

MK7 6AATreasurer: Corey Ross, University of Birmingham, B15 2TTJournal editors: Paul Betts, Department of History, University of Sussex,

Brighton, BN1 9SHMaiken Umbach, Department of History,University of Manchester, M13 9PL

Committee:Jeannette Madarasz, University College London (Webmaster)Kerstin Brückweh, German Historical Institute, LondonBeat Kümin, University of Warwick (Postgraduate Officer)Josie McLellan, University of BristolChristina von Hodenberg, Queen Mary, University of LondonMatthew Stibbe, Sheffield Hallam UniversityChris Szejnmann, University of Leicester

Membership of the German History Society

In 2009, members of the German History Society will receive GermanHistory as part of their membership package, including online accessand the full online archive of the journal for as long as membership isactive. This is an indispensable resource for German history scholarsseeking high-quality content across the full 25-year archive.

2009 Memberships rates:

Regular membership £15.00 / $29.00 / €23.00

Student membership £7.50 / $14.00 / €11.00

For joining and renewals please contact Oxford Journals at the followingaddress or order online at www.gh.oxfordjournals.org/subinfo.

Journals Customer Service Department Oxford University Press Great Clarendon Street Oxford OX2 6DP, UK Tel: + 44 (0)1865 353907 Fax: + 44 (0)1865 353485Email: jnls.cust.serv@oxfordjournals.org(see web for US, Japan and China customer service departments).

German History Vol. 27, No. 4, pp. 490–513

© The Author 2009. Published by Oxford University Press on behalf of the German History Society. All rights reserved. doi:10.1093/gerhis/ghp057

Wilhelm II’s Weisser Saal and its Doppelthron

Douglas Klahr

I. Schlosstopographie

Palace-building is the quintessential political-architectural act of a sovereign, but in

the late nineteeth century, expansion of the Berlin palace, the Berliner Schloss , was not

possible on account of two factors: the poisonous history of crown-versus-city

confrontations that had often centred on the palace, and the tight urban fabric and

congested traffic that surrounded the building. Unlike Franz Josef ’s expansion of the

Hofburg in Vienna, it would have been politically impossible for Germany’s last

monarch, Wilhelm II, to satisfy his well-documented palace-building desires by

expanding the Berlin palace. Wilhelm II therefore concentrated his efforts within two

areas: transforming interior spaces and freeing the palace ( Befreiung des Schlosses ) from

the tight urban fabric that flanked its western wing and southwest corner. The most

costly and lengthy building activity in the palace during Wilhelm II’s reign was the

transformation of the Weisser Saal , an endeavour that sprawled over half his reign.

It was within this hall, designed by the royal architect Ernst Ihne, that Wilhelm II

achieved inside the palace what he could not do outside the palace walls in Berlin: he

created an architectural manifestation of his reign, wherein his identities as German

Kaiser and King of Prussia came together.

Wilhelm II’s transformation of the hall lasted from 1889 until the end of 1902, and for

eight of those years, the great hall existed in a provisional state. Wilhelm II spent over six

million marks on his reconfiguration of the Weisser Saal , an indication of the priority he

placed upon the project. By comparison, his most famous building project, the Kaiser-

Wilhelm-Gedächtniskirche that crowns the Kurfürstendamm, cost 3,443,684 marks. 1

As a political act, Wilhelm II’s Weisser Saal could not compete topographically with his

other Berlin projects such as the Siegesallee , Berliner Dom , or Kaiser-Wilhelm-Gedächtniskirche .

Still, the Berlin palace had functioned as the architectural manifestation of Hohenzollern

power since 1447, and the Weisser Saal was the principal diplomatic space within the

palace. It thus was imbued with substantial political significance, and this also infuses

with importance a secondary project examined later in this essay, Wilhelm II’s peculiar

Doppelthron , which was designed for the Weisser Saal .

The Weisser Saal functioned as the stage upon which the international diplomatic

corps presented itself to the Kaiser. The hall also served as the room in which treaties

were signed, state dinners given, dynastic marriages celebrated, court balls held, and the

opening ceremonies of the Reichstag and Landtag performed. Of all the Kaiser’s

building projects, the transformation of the Weisser Saal is the one most closely intertwined

with Wilhelm II’s self-conception regarding the setting in which he presented himself

1 Peer Zietz and Uwe H. Rüdenburg, Franz Heinrich Schwechten. Ein Architekt zwischen Historismus und Moderne

(Stuttgart, 1999), p. 60.

Wilhelm II’s Weisser Saal and its Doppelthron 491

and his court to the increasingly broad spectrum of visitors who received invitations to

court festivities. Historian Elisabeth Fehrenbach observed that

the Kaiser became the visible and real symbol of the nation-state only by virtue of his personal conspicuous-

ness . . . The Kaiser made possible the escape from the labyrinths of mass society; he concentrated people’s

gaze on the great man, the gifted individual, the embodiment of a historical mission. 2

Within the Berlin palace, only one room permitted several thousand persons —

admittedly a rather elite portion of society — to view the personal embodiment of

Kaisertum : the Weisser Saal .

When first completed in 1706, the space that eventually would become the Weisser Saal

was designed to be the palace’s new chapel. In 1728, the space was refashioned as a

ballroom in preparation of a visit by Augustus the Strong of Poland. It was at this point

that the hall received its name, for it was finished in white in order to highlight the great

silver collection of Friedrich Wilhelm I that was on display. During a reconfiguration that

began in 1844 under the direction of August Stüler, changes included installing a

veritable forest of crystal chandeliers that at times practically obscured the ceiling above.

Along the room’s long sides, broad crystal wall fixtures spanned most of the infill between

Figure 16: Weisser Saal , 1888. View toward the Weisser Saal staircase. Used by permission of the Stiftung Preussische Schlösser und Gärten Berlin-Brandenburg. Reprinted from Geyer, Geschichte des Schlosses zu Berlin , p. 217.

2 Elisabeth Fehrenbach, ‘ Images of Kaiserdom: German Attitudes to Kaiser Wilhelm II ’ , in John C.G. Röhl and Nicolaus

Sombart (eds), Kaiser Wilhelm II: New Interpretations, The Corfu Papers (New York, 1982), p. 276.

492 Douglas Klahr

Figure 17: Weisser Saal , 1913. View towards the Weisser Saal staircase. Used by permission of the Stiftung Preussische Schlösser und Gärten Berlin-Brandenburg. Reprinted from Peschken and Klünner, Das Berliner Schloss , Illustration 140.

doors and windows. The effect was a dematerialized space where planar surfaces were

dissolved by light, crystal, and mirror.

The plan shown in Figure 18 , which was drawn after Wilhelm II’s transformation of

the Weisser Saal , illustrates how a progression of state rooms wound its away around

three-quarters of the palace’s perimeter, beginning with the Joachim Saal on the south

side of the palace. 3 Proceeding eastward, the line of spaces turns a corner, continues

northward along the bank of the Spree, and then finally turns for one last time to begin a

150-metre westward journey along the Lustgarten side to the Weisser Saal . Passing from the

monumental portrait gallery, the longest room in the palace, a court procession would

encounter two small spaces before it could reach the final summit, the Weisser Saal .

Although this was a characteristically baroque scheme, wherein the theatrical impact of

a grand space was heightened by one first passing through an antechamber, Wilhelm II

regarded it as an impediment to the smooth functioning of his largely expanded court,

for these small spaces created a circulation bottleneck. Before Wilhelm II created the

Weisser Saal gallery that flanked the great hall, the only access to the Weisser Saal for a

3 The remodelling of this room was also an endeavour of Ernst Ihne and Wilhelm II, and was completed in 1908. Not

only did the room substantially change but so did its name, as it was previously known as the Apollo Saal .

Wilhelm II’s Weisser Saal and its Doppelthron 493

4 The southern wall of the hall, of course, featured excellent access to the Weisser Saal staircase, but this was of little

consequence, as processions always began either in the Königs-Zimmer or Ritter Saal along the Lustgarten side.

court procession was through these two small rooms, a nightmarish scenario in terms of

grandeur and dignity. 4

Court festivities often included a visit to the chapel, which bifurcated the upper levels

of the western wing of the palace, just as Eosander von Goethe’s triumphal arch portal

did below the chapel. The view seen in Figure 19 shows the western wing of the

palace after Wilhelm had cleared away the buildings of the Schlossfreiheit — a block of

historic buildings that had obscured a clear view of the west wing — and constructed a

memorial to his grandfather flanking the Spree Canal. The Weisser Saal occupies six of

the tall windows on the third level, its staircase claims the seventh window, and the

stacking of the octagonal drum and dome of the chapel atop the triumphal arch portal is

evident. The lack of a hallway circumventing the Weisser Saal meant that a procession

had to pass through the Weisser Saal to reach the chapel. In essence, the programmatic

hierarchy in this corner of the palace was ambiguous and therefore problematic. As

events involving the chapel always culminated in the Weisser Saal , the hall, instead of

being the climax as intended, it was an anticlimax, because the assembly had already had

to pass through it to reach the chapel. One observer noted that on such occasions, great

screens of fabric would be erected in the Weisser Saal to funnel the procession through the

hall on its way to the chapel, shielding the elaborately-set tables from the gaze of guests,

Figure 18: Berlin palace, 1903. Plan of second fl oor. Used by permission of the Stiftung Preussische Schlösser und Gärten Berlin-Brandenburg. Reprinted from Geyer, Geschichte des Schlosses zu Berlin , p. 2, with labels and lines added by the author.

494 Douglas Klahr

5 Goerd Peschken and Hans-Werner Klünner, Das Berliner Schloss (4th edn, Berlin, 1998), p. 476.

so that upon their return from the chapel, at least a partial element of climax regarding

the impressive hall could be retained.

Although the provisional status of such an arrangement was perhaps an oddly

appropriate reflection of long-standing issues of strained finances within the Prussian

court, it was disruptive to court ceremonies. Furthermore, by reminding both ruler and

guest of this programmatic deficiency, these stopgap, temporary measures during the

grandest of court functions subtly undermined any message of dynastic permanence.

Finally, there was a deep irony in the fact that this provisional modus operandi, a necessity

since Stüler’s chapel was completed in 1853, received its counterpart in Wilhelm II’s

transformed Weisser Saal , for although problems of access and egress were solved, the

Kaiser’s remodelled hall was itself clad in provisional materials for eight years.

The Ritter Saal had functioned as the principal ballroom of the palace until the Weisser Saal

first appeared in 1728. Symbolically and programmatically, it formed a counterpoint to the

Weisser Saal . The Ritter Saal was a space devoted to the most solemn and exclusive ceremonies

associated with the Prussian crown, such as the awarding of the nation’s highest honours,

the Pour le Mérite and the Schwarzer Adler Orden . It was here that Prussia, in a sense, turned

inward to congratulate itself, welcoming only those who were ritterfähig or of the highest

ranks of knighthood and therefore suitable to be so honoured. Historian Goerd Peschken

notes that the room was thought of ‘ only for the relatively small, narrow court society ’ , its

size and decoration ‘ suited for the person of the king and his narrowest circle, but not really

created for larger gatherings — such as the noble estate. ’ 5 Peschken’s comment describes

precisely the exclusivity of the gatherings held within the Ritter Saal , for not even slightly

larger gatherings composed of the Stände or Junker class were held within the space.

Figure 19: Berlin palace, western wing, after 1902. Postcard, collection of author.

Wilhelm II’s Weisser Saal and its Doppelthron 495

6 Wolfgang Neugebauer, Residenz — Verwaltung — Repräsentation. Das Berliner Schloss und seine historischen

Funktionen vom 15. bis 20. Jahrhundert (Potsdam, 1999).

7 Albert Geyer, Geschichte des Schlosses zu Berlin , vol. 2: Vom Königsschloss zum Schloss des Kaisers 1698 – 1918

(1936; reprinted, Berlin, 1992), p. 105.

8 Letter of 22 July 1889 from Liebenau to Maybach, Geheimes Staatsarchiv Preussischer Kulturbesitz rep. 93B, No. 2372.

In his study of the Berlin palace, Wolfgang Neugebauer used the term Schlosstopographie

to describe a room’s programmatic placement within the palace. 6 Within the enfilade of

state rooms, Schlosstopographie becomes clear, for the Ritter Saal and Weisser Saal constituted

endpoints: an inward-looking aura of the former contrasted with an outward-gazing

character of the latter. The Ritter Saal glanced obliquely at the westward spine of Berlin’s

expansion, Unter den Linden, the boulevard’s axis oriented so that it began from beneath

the windows of this room. The Weisser Saal , housed in a later palace wing than the Ritter

Saal , boldly confronted the westward thrust of Berlin’s growth during the eighteenth and

nineteeth centuries. The dynasty reaffirmed its identity to itself through the ceremonies

conducted in the Ritter Saal , whereas it confirmed its standing with regard to the broader

world through the conferences, treaty-signings, and festivities held in the Weisser Saal .

II. The Quest to Transform the Weisser Saal

Wilhelm II began to explore the notion of remodelling the Weisser Saal very early in his

reign. Albert Geyer wrote: ‘ Shortly after his ascension on 15 June 1888, the Kaiser saw

an urgent duty to create a hall in the palace appropriate to the appearance and size of the

empire ’ . 7 Geyer cites May 1889, less than one year after the Kaiser’s accession, as the

time when efforts commenced regarding a transformation of the space. Many of the

files that Geyer used to write his definitive history of the palace in 1936 were destroyed

during the Second World War. However, a letter of 22 July 1889 survives, and since it

was written by the high court chamberlain, Eduard von Liebenau, on behalf of the

Kaiser, it is perhaps the closest indication of Wilhelm’s decision to undertake such a

project.

Addressing his letter to the minister for public works, Albert von Maybach, Liebenau

begins by noting that the Weisser Saal no longer corresponds to the current needs of the

court. 8 Then Liebenau proceeds to outline the deficiencies of the space, namely, that a

gallery flanking the hall needs to be constructed in order to obviate passing through the

Weisser Saal on the way to the chapel. The Kaiser requested Liebenau to invite four

architects to submit proposals: Royal Architect Ernst Ihne, Royal Buildings Advisor

Adolph Heyden, the prominent architectural team of Hermann Ende and Wilhelm

Böckmann, and Paul Kieschke, representing the Royal Building Department.

Once all four architects ’ proposals were received, an evaluation ( Gutachten ) would have

to be obtained from the Academy of Building Trades, an advisory body under the aegis

of the ministry for public works. Although the prestigious architect Hermann Ende

submitted several variations of a gallery that would have created a circulation route that

bypassed the Weisser Saal , he strongly advocated that a far better solution would be to

carve out a much larger new ballroom in the existing cross-wing of the palace that

separated the palace’s two courtyards. Featuring a throne area of truly imperial

dimensions, Ende’s proposed Grosser Festsaal was of monumental proportions: by

comparison, the Weisser Saal looked rather inconsequential.

496 Douglas Klahr

9 Akademie des Bauwesens, Gutachten, 5 Sept. 1889, Geheimes Staatsarchiv Preussischer Kulturbesitz, Berlin, Rep.

93 B, No. 2372.

10 Liebenau to Maybach, 14 Jan. 1890, Geheimes Staatsarchiv Preussischer Kulturbesitz, Berlin, Rep. 93B, No. 2372.

In its Gutachten of 5 September 1889, although the Academy did not recommend

Ende’s proposal regarding its Weisser Saal component, it also expressed concern that no

matter how the room was altered, the problems with circulation were almost

insurmountable, due to the room’s location. In this regard, the Academy cited the

explanatory notes supplied by Ende that had accompanied his drawings, in which the

architect had stressed, ‘ that at all large court celebrations, the new entrances to the Weisser

Saal will immediately become clogged thick with guests, as with the two existing

[entrances] ’ . The expenditure of large sums of money upon a space with insurmountable

limitations was inadvisable in the eyes of the Academy. The Academy underscored the

point by noting ‘ that as intended, the foreseen expenditure of resources would not be in

proportion to the doubtful benefit gained for the area of the Weisser Saal ’ . 9 At this point

in the Gutachten the Academy raised the issue of creating a new space within the cross-

wing that divided the palace’s two courtyards, echoing Ende’s proposal.

The Kaiser was dissatisfied that both the Academy and Hermann Ende had raised the

issue of creating a new space in the cross-wing, which Liebenau expressed in a letter to

the minister for public works, Maybach, on 14 January 1890. The Kaiser’s displeasure

with the Academy comes through even more clearly towards the end of Liebenau’s

missive, when it is clear that Wilhelm is speaking through his high court chamberlain:

The entire undertaking of the report appears to be considerably influenced by the opinion that in the long

or short run, a large new reception-room building must be executed in the middle wing between the two

courtyards, and therefore it does not pay to expend [any] resources for the improvement of connections with

the Weisser Saal . For the foreseeable future, the Weisser Saal will remain the principal reception room of the

Schloss . 10

One has to wonder why Wilhelm II was so unwilling to build a new hall within the cross-

wing. The major reason given in Liebenau’s letter is that since the guest quarters on the

floor beneath the Weisser Saal were already scheduled for major improvements, proceeding

with another building project in the same wing would be logical, as certain costs would

be shared between the two endeavours. However, there is a specious quality to this

reasoning, since it was known from the outset that due to the weight of the palace’s dome

above the Eosander portal, any structural alterations to the palace wing in the form of a

Weisser Saal gallery would require substantial construction expenditure. Liebenau — and

the Kaiser — knew that the costs of modernizing the interior appointments of the

apartments beneath the Weisser Saal , expensive as they might be, would not require the

construction of a new load-bearing wall to replace that which would be removed to

create a gallery for the Weisser Saal . It seems Liebenau attempted to conflate the costs of

the two projects.

Notwithstanding Liebenau’s reason, it would appear that the creation of a new

ballroom in the cross-wing would have been to Wilhelm’s liking, as it would have provided

a fitting backdrop to guests entering through Eosander’s great triumphal arch portal. In

a programmatic context, such a space would have reinforced to guests the imperial

aspirations of the Kaiser, establishing a linear dialogue with the portal across the

courtyard and providing guests inside the new hall with two distinctive views redolent

Wilhelm II’s Weisser Saal and its Doppelthron 497

with Hohenzollern history. To the east, guests would have seen the jewel of the palace,

Andreas Schlüter’s revered Grosses Treppenhaus , and to the west they would have had a

dramatic view of Stüler’s dome above Eosander’s portal. A concatenation of the palace’s

architectural high points would have resulted, literally surrounding the Kaiser and his

guests with the greatest achievements of Hohenzollern building history. Programmatically

and topographically, had the Kaiser elected to create such a space, it would have situated

the Repräsentationsraum of his reign in the midpoint of the palace, securing for itself an

absolutist context of centrality.

Yet Wilhelm was resistant to such an endeavour. This introduces the notion that a

monumental new ballroom, designed to accommodate the expanded ceremonial

functions of the Reich, visually trumps its Prussian antecedents when viewed on a plan

such as those that were presented by the Academy to the Kaiser. The Kaiser’s well-known

ability to rapidly grasp the essence of architectural renderings perhaps played a role in

his steadfast opposition to the proposal, for when seen in a plan, Ende’s ballroom makes

a powerful first impression. Weisser Saal and Ritter Saal would both have paled into

insignificance beside the new hall, producing an architectural realization of Prussian

fears regarding Prussia being subsumed by the Reich. Wilhelm often stated that he

regarded his status as king of Prussia as far more prestigious and legitimate than the

much newer title of German emperor, and a monstrously large ballroom in the cross-

wing would have in programmatic terms, rendered the honorific, history-laden enfilade

of state rooms along the Lustgarten nonsensical.

In addition to disrupting the existing Schlosstopographie , the prospect of creating a

ballroom within the centre of the palace did not fulfill one major requirement of the

Kaiser: the desire that the highest court festivities should not withdraw into the hidden

interior of palace courtyards, but rather remain on view for the general populace. It had

become a tradition that great crowds gathered in the Lustgarten and adjacent street to

bear witness to major events, and Wilhelm did not wish to compromise this. Although

little could be glimpsed of the Weisser Saal by the crowds in the street far below, the

representational value of having the most important room of state dominate an outer

corner of the palace was considerable. Wilhelm envisioned that the demolition of the

Schlossfreiheit would be a form of liberation for the palace, and this northwest corner of

the palace would at the same time acquire a new prominence, becoming the first element

of the palace to greet the spectator travelling along the oblique axis that Unter den

Linden formed with the palace.

Moreover, particularly with the advent of electric lighting, the incandescent brilliance

of a space crowning the eastern terminus of Unter den Linden would serve as a

topographical marker within the urban landscape of Berlin. An added impetus was the

pending completion in 1894 of the parliamentary challenge to the palace’s topographic

dominance, the Reichstag, where the quadripartite glass domical vault, resplendent with

electric lights, would soon dominate the night sky in Berlin. Once again, the issue is not

whether the public could see the Weisser Saal in toto from the street, but rather the

reinforcement of a royal presence within an urban landscape increasingly dominated by

non-dynastic governmental edifices such as the Reichstag and Rathaus. Certainly, only a

fragment of the electrically-illuminated golden ceiling that Ernst Ihne eventually

designed for the Weisser Saal would have been visible to a spectator standing on Unter den

Linden or on the steps of the Altes Museum. Yet the symbolic impact of such a dazzling

498 Douglas Klahr

display of cutting-edge technology surpassed any degree of true visibility to the observer

outside, for the role of the public as spectator of court festivities — albeit from a distance —

was an important one. Regardless of the neo-absolutist fantasies in which Wilhelm II

may occasionally have indulged, his desire to be on view to his subjects as the embodiment

of Kaisertum prevailed. Programmatically, a transformation of the Weisser Saal fitted

within this scheme, whereas the creation of a new ballroom hidden between the inner

courts of the palace would have sent a message of a court retreating into itself, an action

incompatible with a ruler who was a consummate public performer.

While it clear that the Academy viewed any planned transformation of the Weisser Saal

merely as a provisional solution to a problem, the fact that the Kaiser appointed its

members blunted any influence it might have had upon the sovereign. Academy members

apparently concluded that it would be inadvisable to incur further the displeasure of the

monarch. Moreover, the supervisory authority of the Academy, the minister for public

works, had made it clear that he agreed with the Kaiser on this matter. The Academy

issued lukewarm assessments of all four architects ’ proposals, finding particular fault

with Ernst Ihne’s initial design, which has been lost. Nevertheless, on 3 May 1890,

Wilhelm’s clear preference for Ernst Ihne’s design was expressed.

Regarding the most pressing issue concerning the Weisser Saal — the creation of a

circulation gallery that would bypass it — Ernst Ihne eventually used a suggestion made

in a design by one of the other architects invited to submit proposals, Adolph Heyden.

Heyden proposed that the entire wall of the western wing that flanked the courtyard

be expanded to house a continuous gallery along the third floor that would connect the

north and south wings of the palace. Heyden’s suggestion was thoroughly radical, for

he included Eosander von Goethe’s monumental triumphal arch entrance in this

thickening of the entire western wing. The great arch of the Eosander portal had long

posed circulation problems in the palace, for it precluded any connection between

rooms to the north of it and those to the south unless one utilized a narrow passageway

that traversed above the arch between the third and fourth floors. Adolph Heyden’s

design would have remedied the situation. The Academy noted the benefits of this

proposal:

From an architectural standpoint, there is much to be approved. For it is unobjectionable for the courtyard

to be shrunken in such a manner and the architecture of the front of the court to remain unchanged. It also

gives an opportunity, which may be welcome, to connect the Weisser Saal properly with the rooms on the

other side of the palace chapel. 11

It is clear that Heyden’s idea of moving the entire building line forward into the courtyard

had appealed to the Kaiser, for Liebenau requested that Ihne design his new proposal

with that in mind. Although Ihne stated that in the long run, the construction of a new

hall in the cross-wing would be a better solution, he complied with the Kaiser’s request.

Making the best out of a difficult solution, Ihne outlined his proposal:

For the architectural form of this new front, I can make no better suggestion than that the entire existing

façade, including the portal, be pushed forwards eight metres into the courtyard. At any rate, this would

provide the most respectful way of carrying out extensive reconstruction on a building of such outstanding

historic and artistic merit, and the changes to the façade arise from an urgent practical need. 12

11 Akademie des Bauwesens, Gutachten, 5 Sept. 1889.

12 Geyer, Geschichte des Schlosses zu Berlin , p. 107.

Wilhelm II’s Weisser Saal and its Doppelthron 499

By June 1892, Ihne had furnished the Kaiser with a design that had gone through several

stages. There were three components to Ihne’s total scheme. First was the reconfiguration

of the Weisser Saal , second was the redesign of the Weisser Saal staircase, and third was the

construction of the Weisser Saal gallery. This final component entailed building a similar

segment to the south of the Eosander portal for the sake of symmetry, as well as expanding

the triumphal arch itself into the courtyard so that it would not recede behind the new

additions. Because the depth of the western wing was being increased, an entire new

roof also was required, in addition to new load-bearing walls to support the increase in

weight. A series of ever-increasing cost estimates were prepared by Ihne. Although these

documents no longer exist, Albert Geyer provides an indication regarding the breakdown

of expenses: 3.8 million marks for the expansion of the wing and portal, and 2.5 million

marks for the Weisser Saal , its new gallery, and the new roof.

Ultimately over six million marks were spent only to achieve a mere fraction of Ihne’s

scheme, since only the portion north of the Eosander portal was altered. The Eosander

portal and the portion of the palace to the south of it remained unchanged, producing a

courtyard marked on its west by two different wall planes. Nevertheless, work proceeded

throughout 1892. As Geyer relates, for a royal wedding in January 1893, the Weisser Saal

gallery was able to be used, Ihne having provided a provisional finish. 13 For the first time,

a court procession could proceed along the line of Paradekammern and go directly to the

chapel, without traversing the Weisser Saal . The Saal itself was finished by the end of

1894, albeit also in provisional materials, as shown in photographs published in Centralblatt

der Bauverwaltung . 14

Whether the Kaiser’s interest in finishing the project subsequently waned is another

matter, and it is quite probable that once he had achieved this expression of his identity

in architectural form, he was quite content to let the hall exist in its provisional state for

some time. For a consummate performer such as the Kaiser, the effect that his new

architectural setting produced during glittering court functions — even though the décor

was only provisional — may have sufficed. Nevertheless, considering that provisional

materials defined Wilhelm II’s Weisser Saal for eight years, it is ironic that when the Kaiser

wrote about the old Weisser Saal of 1844 in his memoirs, he remarked: ‘ Upon the

investigation I ordered, the material turned out to be artificial and inferior ’ . 15

III. The New Weisser Saal

Ihne’s transformation of the Weisser Saal focused upon maximizing the volumetric aspect

of the space. As an article in Deutsche Bauzeitung pointed out, ‘ the length of the 16-metre

wide room has increased to 31.71 metres, bringing about a proportion of 1:2 between

the two principal measurements ’ . 16 By instituting such a change, Ihne reached back in

history beyond the Weisser Saal ’ s 1728 and 1844 alterations to its original dimensions

when it was constructed in 1706 to serve as a chapel. This sensitivity of the architect has

13 Ibid ., p. 110.

14 ‘ Der Umbau des Weißen Saales im Königlichen Schlosse in Berlin ’ , Parts 1 and 2, Centralblatt der Bauverwaltung ,

15, 4 (26 Jan. 1895), pp. 38 – 41, and 15, 6 (9 Feb. 1895), pp. 59 – 60.

15 Wilhelm II, Ereignisse und Gestalten aus den Jahren 1878 – 1918 (Berlin, 1922), p. 144.

16 ‘ Die jüngsten Veränderungen im Kgl. Schlosse zu Berlin ’ , Deutsche Bauzeitung , 29, 8 (26 Jan. 1895), p. 43.

500 Douglas Klahr

not been acknowledged by contemporary historians, who focus primarily upon the

room’s decorative programme.

Ihne’s selection of a colossal order of double composite columns further underscored

the volume of the room. These paired columns, clearly seen in Figure 17 , were the

defining element of Ihne’s reconfiguration, mounted upon tall pedestals 1.68 metres in

height. Although the height of the ceiling was only 82 centimetres taller than it was

previously, the use of a giant order gave the visual impression that the Weisser Saal had

substantially increased in height. In contrast to the 1844 endeavour, which spanned

several decades, Ihne’s transformation of the room was truly a comprehensive work of

art ( Gesamtkunstwerk ), since every element was planned in concert with every other to

impart a sense of monumentality. In its appraisal of the Weisser Saal ’ s reopening in

January 1895 — clad in its provisional materials — Deutsche Bauzeitung recognized what

Ihne had achieved:

In a fortunate manner, court architect Ihne has returned to grasp the principal motifs of the original pre-

disposition in the way he has redesigned the space. He has selected a single-storey architectural system, a

tripartition of the short sides and a curved form for the tray ceiling. At the same time as taking on the task,

not only has he fashioned the long and short sides of the room together in a unified late-Renaissance ar-

chitecture, but he has also set the ceiling partitions in the closest relationship with the articulation of the

walls. Every architect will recognize the difficulty of solving this task with high artistic skill under the

given circumstances. 17

Deutsche Bauzeitung’s article introduces the centrepiece of Ihne’s creation: the ceiling. No

single element illustrates better the conceptual difference between the Weisser Saal of

1844 and that of 1895, for in contrast to serving as a surface from which a plethora of

chandeliers was suspended, Ihne’s ceiling itself was designed to be the major illumination

of the hall. The Kaiser had expressed his desire that the Weisser Saal have a ceiling that

was illuminated by concealed electric lighting, the goal being the creation of a giant vault

of shimmering gold hovering over his guests, its gleam reinforced by walls clad in highly

polished white marble. Centralblatt der Bauverwaltung examined the Weisser Saal in a pair of

articles published in January and February 1895. The royal impetus for the illuminated

ceiling of the room is provided: ‘ This arrangement, which owes its origination to the

wish of the All-Highest patron, is intended to keep the view of the ceiling and the total

impact of the room free from disturbing influences [such as chandeliers] ’ . 18

Breaking up this brightly-lit expanse were panels of white stucco relief. The ceiling’s

vaults were decorated with allegorical scenes of war, peace, agriculture, industry, art and

trade. The four middle fields of the ceiling chronicled the progression and aggrandizement

of the House of Hohenzollern through its coats of arms: burgrave, elector, king and

emperor. 19 In his quest to maximize the Weisser Saal ’ s space, Ihne conceived the Weisser

Saal staircase as being an extension of the room, and he therefore did not provide doors

17 Ibid ., p. 46.

18 ‘ Der Umbau des Weissen Saales im Königlichen Schlosses in Berlin ’ , Centralblatt der Bauverwaltung , 15, 6 (9 Feb.

1895), p. 60.

19 A coalition of artists contributed to the Weisser Saal ’ s decoration. Sculptor Otto Lessing designed the relief panels

that decorated the ceiling as well as those in the Weisser-Saal staircase. Statues made up the remaining decorative

elements of the Weisser Saal , created by a constellation of prominent sculptors of the day: Schaper, Böse, Schott,

Toberentz, Calandrelli, Eberlein, Unger, Hundrieser and Baumbach.

Wilhelm II’s Weisser Saal and its Doppelthron 501

within the three wide entrances that now replaced the five narrow ones of 1844. Saal and

staircase were designed to be one area, offering fluidity of circulation, and the walls and

ceiling of the staircase were clad with the same decorative scheme as that within the Saal .

Wilhelm wanted only sculptural ornamentation to decorate his new hall, and

Centralblatt der Bauverwaltung noted this: ‘ There is no longer any plan to use paint in the

finished room. The architectural articulation and ornamentation of the ceiling will be

set off only by sculptural pieces. ’ 20 The Kaiser’s choice of statuary subjects further

revealed Wilhelm’s desire to emphasize how elevated the House of Hohenzollern had

become. In comparison to the Weisser Saal of 1844, where statues of twelve Hohenzollern

electors had adorned the hall, the new selection was composed of only four electors but

twelve kings who had preceded Wilhelm II. Furthermore, as Deutsche Bauzeitung explained,

the Kaiser had very particular ideas as to how the figures were to be rendered, specifying

that ‘ his ancestors be portrayed primarily not in their usual appearance of later years in

20 ‘ Der Umbau des Weissen Saales ’ , p. 60.

Figure 20: Weisser Saal staircase, 1902. Reprinted from Peschken and Klünner, Das Berliner Schloss , Illustration 142.

502 Douglas Klahr

life, but rather at the age at which they ascended to the throne ’ . 21 There was a double

subtext to this choice: not only did it create the myth of uniformly youthful accession, it

also underscored that a twenty-nine-year-old had ascended the throne in 1888 after the

deaths of his enfeebled, ninety-year-old grandfather and his fifty-six-year-old father,

terminally riddled with cancer.

This agenda was reinforced by the decorative programme of the Weisser Saal staircase.

As one ascended the double staircase, great arched niches punctuated the stairwell on its

east and west walls. These featured reliefs of Great Elector Frederick III (Grosser

Kurfürst Friedrich III) at one end and Frederick the Great (Friedrich II) on the other.

Half a level higher, the two wings of the staircase came together onto a single landing

giving access to the chapel. Above, spanning the width of the ceiling vault, were the

heads of the three Kaisers — Wilhelm I, Friedrich III and Wilhelm II — each one carved

in relief, inset within an oval frame, and surrounded by a plethora of trophies, shields,

and weaponry. The emphasis of Wilhelm’s careful selection of his predecessors was

clear: the elector who secured for Prussia the status of a kingdom; the king who raised

Prussia to great power status through both military victory and cultural enlightenment;

the emperor who presided over the unification of German states; the emperor who as

crown prince was a hero of the wars of 1864, 1866 and 1870; and the current monarch,

anxious to consolidate his authority by reminding observers of his pedigree.

One question, however, remains unanswered with regard to one of Wilhelm’s

predecessors: how was Kaiser Friedrich III portrayed, both as a statue in the Saal and as a

relief in the staircase? The question is worth asking, since at the same time that Wilhelm

II was making design decisions concerning the Weisser Saal , the issue of portraying

Friedrich III had arisen. During the summer of 1889, discussions took place between the

Kaiser and his ministers concerning expressions of popular support for a monument to

be erected in memory of the Kaiser who had reigned for only ninety-nine days. The

magistrate of Berlin submitted to the Prussian government a petition urging the

construction of such a monument. Otto von Bismarck addressed the matter in a letter to

Gustav von Gossler, the minister for culture, and Albert von Maybach, the minister for

public works, stating ‘ that embarking on the projected monument for Kaiser Friedrich

will only be well received if a monument is first erected in Berlin for Kaiser Wilhelm I ’ .

More importantly, Bismarck had definite ideas regarding how Friedrich III should be

portrayed:

Regarding the question of the erection of a monument for the immortalized Kaiser Friedrich, one cannot

overlook the regrettable but historical fact that the noble lord by God’s will was not able in his position as

Kaiser to carry out the acts of government that would justify an imperial monument. Rather his high entitle-

ment to the gratefulness of the German people is based mainly on the assistance he gave to his father as field

commander in the years 1866 and 1870/71 for the new founding of the German Empire. A monument for

the then Crown Prince as military commander and politician is fully justified historically; the Kaiser Friedrich,

however, because of his illness, did not have the opportunity to exert an influence on the development of

Prussia and Germany that would have furthered the work of his father’s government . . .

Should this [monument] take as its starting point the time of Kaiser Friedrich III , then it would not corre-

spond to historical facts. 22

21 ‘ Die jüngsten Veränderungen ’ , p. 46.

22 Bismarck to Maybach and Gossler, 30 Aug. 1889, Geheimes Staatsarchiv Preussischer Kulturbesitz, Berlin, Rep. 77

Titel 151, No. 106.

Wilhelm II’s Weisser Saal and its Doppelthron 503

Bismarck displayed a caution regarding the portrayal of any weakness of Hohenzollern

rulers, an attitude that Wilhelm II possessed in even greater measure. In Bismarck’s eyes,

Friedrich III’s fatal illness tainted both his reign and his rank as Kaiser. It is intriguing

that in addition to Friedrich’s status as a war hero, Bismarck mentioned Friedrich as a

politician, feeling that even the mention of his arch-nemesis in a political context was

better than the subtext of weakness associated with Friedrich’s identity as Kaiser. Any

possible reminder of Friedrich’s terminal illness to the population was to be avoided,

even at the cost of reducing his rank by immortalizing him not as Kaiser, but as crown

prince. It is unclear how Wilhelm II solved this conundrum when his decorative

programme for the Weisser Saal and its staircase called for the inclusion of his father not as

crown prince, but as king and Kaiser. Since no photographic records exist of either the

statue or the relief of Friedrich III created for this endeavour, the question must remain

unanswered.

Reviews of the new Weisser Saal appeared in Centralblatt der Bauverwaltung and Deutsche

Bauzeitung at the beginning of 1895, when the Saal was reopened. The issue of provisional

materials was explained in detail by Deutsche Bauzeitung . The authors noted that only the

stucco reliefs of the ceiling were already in their final form. As for the rest of the space,

walls constructed of wood and painted in a faux-marble finish would eventually receive

veneers of white Cararra marble; pedestals would be finished in green marble from the

Pyrenees; and architectural details and ornaments provisionally made out of plaster and

painted gold would be fashioned out of bronze and be gilded. Painted-wood niches that

housed statuary would be clad in Pavonazzetto, and the statues provisionally modelled in

plaster would be replaced by white Carrara marble versions. 23

Both Deutsche Bauzeitung and Centralblatt der Bauverwaltung also published plans, cross-

sections elevations and photos in 1895. These photos are one of three sets of photographs

available to historians, the other two being photographs taken of the room with its

permanent décor in 1902, and those taken sometime between 1913 and 1916. In 1895, the

Kaiser’s desire to create an illuminated ceiling devoid of hanging fixtures was not fully

realized, and six small crystal chandeliers were suspended from the ceiling. When the room

finally received its permanent materials in 1902, the hidden lamps along the room’s cornice

were augmented by light bulbs inserted into the rosettes that adorned the ceiling, and the

six small chandeliers were removed. With these changes, the plan to have illumination

without chandeliers, in a totally clear space ( die Beleuchtung ohne Kronen bei ganz freiem Raum )

became a reality in 1902. Only three modest lighting fixtures suspended from the open

doorways that led to the staircase augmented illumination. Ernst Ihne’s illuminated ceiling

was a technological feat and the most noteworthy result of Wilhelm II’s insistence not to

construct a new ballroom hidden within the cross-wing of the palace, but rather to create a

singular space within the highly-visible northwest corner of the palace.

Albert Geyer and Goerd Peschken, the most prominent Berlin palace scholars of the

twentieth century, used practically identical photographs from 1913 to 1916 in their

respective works on the subject, although each appraised Ihne’s transformation of the

Saal differently. Geyer viewed the creation positively. One might dismiss this as something

to be expected, considering his involvement with the project and his service to the Kaiser.

23 ‘ Die jüngsten Veränderungen ’ , p. 46.

504 Douglas Klahr

However, to question the validity of his assessment is to ignore two crucial factors. First,

he was an eye-witness who was probably more familiar with the Weisser Saal than anyone,

due to his position not only as director of the special department within the palace

building commission, but also in his capacity as palace building director, a post he

retained until 1938. Second, writing retrospectively in 1936, Geyer would have had

plenty of time and opportunity to downgrade his opinion of Ihne’s creation, which he

did not do.

In contrast with Geyer, who witnessed the 1844 and 1902 versions of the Weisser Saal in

their full glory , the historian Goerd Peschken, working in the late twentieth century,

arrived at a very different judgment of Wilhelm II’s Weisser Saal . Before his judgement is

evaluated, a comment needs to be made about the databank of images on which current

historians draw for their assessments. Although some colour photographs were taken in

1935 inside the palace, if one was taken of Wilhelm II’s Weisser Saal , it has yet to be

published. The historian therefore must rely upon black-and-white photographs in

which Ihne’s great gold-and-white ceiling does not photograph well, appearing rather

dark and heavy. By comparison, black-and-white photographs of Friedrich Wilhelm IV’s

Weisser Saal of 1844 depict a room where the ceiling almost disappears behind a dazzling

array of crystal chandeliers, matched by broad, sparkling sconces along the walls. In a

world of black-and-white images, the twinkle and shimmer of Friedrich Wilhelm IV’s

Weisser Saal camouflages its volume, providing innumerable points of depth upon which

the observer’s eye can rest. In contrast, the smooth gleam and bold volumetric quality of

Wilhelm II’s hall challenges the onlooker’s gaze, forcing it to absorb the depth of space

unrelieved by suspended or protruding elements. In such images, the Weisser Saal of 1902

does appear cavernous and perhaps slightly top-heavy, for in black-and-white

photographs Ernst Ihne’s ceiling gives the illusion of being rather dark.

It therefore is important to remember it was quite otherwise in reality, the ceiling being a

gleaming, golden apparition that floated high above. Writing shortly after the Weisser Saal ’ s

completion in 1902, E. Hennings observed the ceiling: ‘ The imposing ballroom displays an

incomparable magnificence through the cladding of coloured marble. The entirely gilded

ceiling creates a most harmonious effect ’ . 24 In 1903, Albert Geyer provided another eye-

witness account of the space:

Despite the magnificence of the marble walls, the richly gilded metal ornament leaves a comfortable impres-

sion. It was in this gentle, warm and yellow-toned radiance of electric lighting that the new Weisser Saal first

celebrated its greatest triumph, filled with the colourful splendour of court society. 25

Wilhelm II and Ernst Ihne’s illumination programme for his new Weisser Saal was a

manifestation of the Kaiser’s fascination with technology. It also was a vision of an

illuminated, golden ceiling that would itself act as a giant reflector of light for the entire

Weisser Saal , a conceptual use of architecture-as-lamp whose modernity has not been

recognized by historians. The room utilized technology to an extent and manner not seen

in other rooms of state, demarcating itself from the line of Paradekammern as a distinctly

different domain clearly stamped with the imprint of a new, technology-smitten master.

24 E. Hennings, Führer durch das Königliche Schloss in Berlin und seine Sehenswürdigkeiten (self-published, c. 1905),

pp. 36 – 39.

25 Albert Geyer, ‘ Der Weisse Saal ’ , Hohenzollern Jahrbuch 1903 (Berlin, 1903), p. 292.

Wilhelm II’s Weisser Saal and its Doppelthron 505

Only one colour representation of Ihne’s room is known to exist: a drawing by Wilhelm

Pape that appeared in the 1903 Hohenzollern Jahrbuch ( Figure 21 ). When viewed in

colour, this partial glimpse of the Saal’s southeast corner provides some indication of the

hall’s rich range of colours: polished wood floor, green marble pedestals, pilasters and

columns of white marble richly veined with black, gleaming white Carrara marble wall

surfaces, gilt ornament, and a hint of the white and gold ceiling. Even when looking at a

black-and-white representation, one can see the shimmering, glowing quintessence of

Figure 21: Wilhelm Pape, drawing of a corner of the Weisser Saal, 1903. Reprinted from Hohenzollern Jahrbuch (1903), p. 280.

506 Douglas Klahr

Ihne’s ceiling, so different from its leaden appearance in the series of black-and-white

photographs upon which contemporary historians have based their assessments.

It is one of the small ironies of history that the only colour representation of Wilhelm

II’s massive transformation of the Weisser Saal is of a mere corner of the room, failing to

capture for future generations the volumetric essence of Ernst Ihne’s achievement. The

irony is compounded by the fact that the best-known painting of Wilhelm II’s reign is

Anton von Werner’s great canvas of Wilhelm II convening Reichstag members within

the old Weisser Saal fifteen days after his accession. Used extensively by historians, von

Werner’s painting has cemented within the collective memory of Wilhelm II a room that

he so avidly disliked and replaced. One wonders what would have occurred if Wilhelm

Pape had merely swivelled around on that day in 1903 and drawn the entire Weisser Saal

in colour: despite his modest talents as an artist, would we nevertheless have a more

accurate visual memory of Wilhelm II in this regard?

Returning to historian Goerd Peschken, he delivers a very different assessment from

that of Albert Geyer. Peschken acknowledges that whatever effect of coldness he may

perceive, the room was not fashioned capriciously: ‘ It is entirely without doubt that the

client and architect truly sought this coolness and colossality, not to say clumsiness ’ . One

senses that his assessment, however, arises from a study of black-and-white images, for he

then takes issue with what the eye-witness Geyer had noted. Peschken writes: ‘ Light bulbs

were arranged along the main cornice in a long chain, on special desire of Kaiser

Wilhelm, because the client wanted the chandeliers brought out of the room — wherewith

a further instance of intimacy and atmosphere was eliminated ’ . 26 The sum total,

Peschken remarks, was that Wilhelm II’s Weisser Saal had an atmosphere akin to that of a

train station or a showplace bathhouse at a spa resort ( Prunkbad eines Kurortes ).

The question that first comes to mind when reading Peschken’s assessment is whether

an impression of intimacy or warmth is a valid criterion upon which to evaluate a space

such as the Weisser Saal . The room was designed to host the largest of court and state

occasions, for which neither intimacy nor warmth would seem to be requisites. Ihne’s

Weisser Saal is a space of monumental proportions: 31.71 metres in length, 16 metres in

width, and 13.12 metres in height. The Weisser Saal of 1844 may have provided an illusion

of intimacy and warmth, given its plethora of chandeliers and profusion of ornament,

but that does not mean that such an atmosphere should have been a sine qua non of

Wilhelm II’s transformation of the space. On the contrary, given the greatly increased

size of court functions in the intervening decades since the Weisser Saal ’ s decorative

programme of 1844, the discarding of any pretence towards intimacy was appropriate.

Ernst Ihne’s reclamation of the volumetric quality of the Weisser Saal was a truly

significant accomplishment, once again unacknowledged by contemporary historians.

Although the ceiling of his Weisser Saal was only eighty-two centimetres higher than the

ceiling it replaced, he created a space where the perceived gain in size was far greater

than that actually achieved, a not inconsiderable feat. Flanked by a new gallery and

volumetrically unified with its eponymous staircase, the Weisser Saal was modern in the

relatively minimalist manner by which it restored volumetrics as the ruling element of

the space. The problem with most historians is that they do not see beyond the decorative

programme.

26 Peschken, Das Berliner Schloss , p. 491.

Wilhelm II’s Weisser Saal and its Doppelthron 507

As with perceptions of lost intimacy, judgments of colossal scale are, in the final

analysis, somewhat tangential. Like Peschken, Renate Petras writes: ‘ Through its size

and its architecture — polished marble predominated here — the Weisser Saal radiated the

colossality intended by Ihne and produced a cold and impersonal effect ’ . 27 Both Petras

and Peschken are disturbed that the pedestals of columns were as tall as a man.

Proportionally, it could be argued that a giant column of the composite order requires a

higher ratio between diameter and shaft length than Ihne has provided: in other words,

perhaps Ihne’s columns should have been somewhat thinner in their overall proportions.

Whether another ratio — that between pedestal height and shaft length — is less than

ideal is difficult to ascertain, for a broader range of proportional relationships between

these two elements exists within the conventions of classical architecture.

However, another proportional relationship exists, outside that of pedestal-to-shaft or

even pedestal-to-person. In light of the Weisser Saal ’ s function — it was used only for the

largest court functions — it might be said that a pedestal-to-crowd relation is paramount,

where the sheer mass of several thousand guests practically demands a certain scale.

This is perhaps an unorthodox measure of assessment that no doubt will confound

architectural historians who hew to convention, but it is arguably more pertinent than

other measures. A crush of glittering humanity was poured into a smooth, highly-

polished marble box, a vast space constructed of precisely the right materials and

proportions for such events. Ihne’s gold-capped chamber, illuminated without the

interference of suspended fixtures, offered spectators on the Saal’s floor and within its

gallery and staircase unobstructed views of the entire spectacle.

Moreover, the Weisser Saal was the architectural manifestation not of a soulless

conception of a Kaiserreich, as Peschken claims, but of a monarch who possessed a

duality, a Kaiser whose autocratic pretensions vacillated with a populist approach.

This ever-shifting mix — so maddening to historians of the Wilhelmine era — found

its architectural expression in Wilhelm II’s Weisser Saal . Peschken’s comment that the

room possessed an atmosphere similar to that of a grand train station is interesting

but open to challenge. If one accepts the comparison for the sake of argument, then

whatever commonality did exist between the two spaces could be seen as a virtue,

not a deficiency. Wilhelm II’s Weisser Saal offers a redefinition of royal space that is

aligned with a signature building type of the period — the great reception spaces of

major train stations. In a sense, the transformed Saal functioned not only within its

traditional guise as ‘ a pearl in the chain of the Paradekammer ’ ( eine Perle einer Kette der

Paradekammer ), as Geyer referred to it, but also as a symbolic connector to one of the

most vibrant architectural spaces of the day: the railway terminal. Perhaps a nuance

of Hauptbahnhof came to the palace, arguably constituting not a denigration of palace

architecture but rather a timely evolution, producing a space truly evocative of the

Reisekaiser himself. 28

27 Renate Petras, Das Schloss in Berlin. Von der Revolution 1918 bis zur Vernichtung 1950 (Berlin, 1992), p. 45.

28 On account of his peripatetic nature, travelling incessantly at times, Wilhelm II was given the nickname of

Reisekaiser — travelling emperor. This was part of a trio of nicknames given to the three German Kaisers, each

rhyming in German and denoting a salient characteristic of each man. Wilhelm I, due to his advanced age when

he became Kaiser in 1871, was referred to as the Weisekaiser or wise emperor, while Friedrich III was given the

rather cruel moniker of Leisekaiser or silent emperor, on account of his terminal throat cancer.

508 Douglas Klahr

An ironic aspect of Wilhelm II’s costly transformation of the Weisser Saal thus comes to

light: he aggrandized his court and created a new principal space in which it would

function, yet this restless Reisekaiser increasingly sought to get away from his palace. He

journeyed not only throughout Europe, but also down the block, so to speak. In an essay,

Gotthard Frühsorge explored this aspect. Consorting with the famous Fürstenkonzern , a

group of magnates and high aristocrats whose company the Kaiser enjoyed, Wilhelm

routinely visited Berlin’s two most sumptuous hotels, the Adlon and the Esplanade, built

in 1907 and 1908 respectively. He had aggressively promoted the construction of these

hotels as a nationalistic venture designed to compete with the finest establishments in

London, Paris and New York. As Frühsorge notes, ‘ These houses were the most favoured

houses of the man. When Wilhelm II held his “ gentlemen’s evenings ” there, the imperial

flag flew above their portals ’ . 29

Frühsorge was commenting upon the fluidity with which Wilhelm exchanged the echt for

the ersatz , a palace for a luxury hotel, meeting his Fürstenkonzern not in an appropriate

reception room in the palace, but rather in each hotel’s so-called Kaisersaal . Wilhelm had not

become Everyman, yet there was something unsettling about the fact that these occasions

took place in a building type whose primary purpose was to reassure customers — for as

long as they could pay to stay — of their privileged placement within the world, the inverse

of a dynastic birthright. The Luxushotel was an imposter, and in its halls the Kaiser and his

entourage routinely gathered, while at the other end of the Linden stood the quintessence

of true rank and power, the palace. It was not the presence of a sovereign in a hotel that was

unsettling, but rather the regularity and frequency of the Kaiser’s visits.

Even the notion of a Kaisersaal within a commercial establishment blurred the

boundaries between what was echt and what ersatz : leagues removed from the deeply

honorific Kaisersäle of baroque palaces throughout the old Holy Roman Empire that had

honoured a distinctly different notion of what embodied a Kaiser, the Adlon and

Esplanade’s Kaisersäle were available for use by parties other than Wilhelm II and his

Fürstenkonzern . Yet perhaps this aspect — plus their superb workmanship and materials —

made them singularly qualified to represent a Kaiser who was so different from his

predecessors. After all, wasn’t it the singular status of the monarch’s frequent visits that

ultimately conferred upon these rooms a status hovering between the echt and the ersatz ?

Indeed, why shouldn’t a Kaiser whose new palace ballroom had a whiff of Hauptbahnhof or

Prunkbad not routinely partake of another of his era’s dominant building types, the

Luxushotel ?

A further ironic subtext arises vis-à-vis the echt and ersatz : the Adlon and the Esplanade,

constructed of the finest materials, had construction periods of approximately two years

and cost seventeen million and thirty million marks respectively. For these grand

structures, there was no awkward period of being clad in provisional materials, as had

occurred in Wilhelm II’s Weisser Saal . It is perhaps unfair to compare the industrial wealth

that financed the Adlon and the Esplanade with the dynastic funds with which Wilhelm

II operated. Nevertheless, the comparison prompts a question regarding echt versus ersatz

financial power: do the six million marks that Wilhelm lavished upon the prolonged

gestation of just one room ultimately speak of his financial might? In that regard, perhaps

29 Gotthardt Frühsorge, ‘ Vom Hof des Kaisers zum “ Kaiserhof ” . Über das Ende des Ceremoniells als gesellschaftliches

Ordnungsmuster ’ , Euphorion, Zeitschrift für Literaturgeschichte , 78, 3 (1984), p. 264.

Wilhelm II’s Weisser Saal and its Doppelthron 509

his transformation of the Weisser Saal reaffirmed his singularity as the Kaiser, regardless

of his frequent jaunts one mile westward from his palace to confer with his Fürstenkonzern .

No other individual within his realm could have afforded the luxury of so much money —

as well as time — upon the creation of a single room.

IV: The Doppelthron in the Saal

At some point during his first eighteen months on the throne, Wilhelm II decided that

one of the most potent symbols of his status — the throne of the Weisser Saal — required

substantial alterations. The existing throne in the Weisser Saal had been designed to

represent only one of the sovereign’s two roles, as king of Prussia. The crown above the

existing baldachin was the Königskrone , not the Kaiserkrone , which would have symbolized

the office of German emperor. Upon his accession, Wilhelm II sought to alter this

throne — or more accurately, the entire ensemble surrounding the actual seat — so that

both his offices as king of Prussia and German emperor would be represented within the

great hall he was transforming.

Unexamined by historians, Wilhelm II’s ‘ double throne ’ ( Doppelthron ) was a singularly

personal endeavour, divorced from the press coverage, committees and parliamentary

bodies that had fashioned other regalia such as the national flag. The Doppelthron was a

response to the singular nature of Wilhelm’s two offices, since the Kaiserreich did not

afford the Kaiser the luxury of identifying each of his roles through geographically

dispersed thrones. By comparison, Franz-Josef ’s thrones in the regional capitals of

Austria-Hungary acted as signifiers for the sovereign’s different titles, as did Queen

Victoria’s throughout Great Britain and her empire’s colonial possessions. The creation

of a Doppelthron thus speaks of the unique political structure of the Kaiserreich.

The first document that survives is a short note written on 2 January 1890 by Anton

von Werner, the painter, to the high court chamberlain, Eduard von Liebenau. 30 The

Kaiser’s intended redesign of the throne ( Umgestaltung des Thrones ) referred not to the

actual chair, but to the entire ensemble of elements within which the throne was placed:

platform, baldachin and hangings. Alteration of the seat itself was a low priority. At

some point, the painter and illustrator Emil Doepler, who frequently supplied the court

with items such as menus for state dinners, assumed the assignment.

Four sketches exist today within the plans chamber at the Neues Palais in Potsdam,

and the first one, dated August 1890, illustrates what appears to be Doepler’s initial

design for the throne. 31 The design itself is unremarkable: a baldachin capped by the

Prussian crown, supported by a pair of pilasters. The two front corners of the baldachin

are punctuated by groupings of ostrich feathers, which also are used to demarcate the

end points of the gilded wooden border of the baldachin as it fans outward along

the rear wall. Regarding details of the woodwork, little can be said definitively, due to the

fact that these are preliminary sketches and not presentation drawings. Doepler’s notes

explain his conception.

30 Werner to Liebenau, 2 Jan. 1890, Geheimes Staatsarchiv Preussischer Kulturbesitz, Berlin, Rep. 113, No. 2445.

31 Since the Plankammer at the Neues Palais in Potsdam does not permit its holdings to be either photographed or

scanned, the researcher must make do with photocopies. The quality of these photocopies, unfortunately, is of an

inferior nature; hence the absence of these sketches within this essay.

510 Douglas Klahr

Although he terms his design a Kaiserthron , he states that it is with consideration to

similar usage as a Königsthron . He then cites what would be altered when the throne was to

be used within a royal setting, as opposed to an imperial one. The carved crown on top,

depicting the imperial crown, would be removed and replaced by one depicting the

Prussian crown. Red fabric, of velvet and silk damask, would replace the blue wall and

side hangings. Black ostrich-feather clusters would be replaced by black, white and red

ones. Doepler notes that these changes could be accomplished in the shortest amount of

time. 32 A sketch dated one month later labelled ‘ Throne Design D. I ’ also contains a set

of notes by Doepler. Once again, his notations are concerned with the elements required

to switch between a Kaiserthron and a Königsthron .

The last sketch, dated only ‘ 90 ’ , follows the previous ones, for it is labelled ‘ Throne

Design D. III ’ . Doepler’s notes state that the design is on the assumption of the ‘ future ’

architecture, a reference to the pending transformation of the Weisser Saal . 33 On the

upper left-hand corner of the drawing, the new high court chamberlain, August

Eulenburg, has confirmed that the design is ‘ Allerhöchstgenehmigt ’ , approved at the

highest level, and dated 10 October 1890. The remainder of Eulenburg’s notation is

only partially legible, but it is clear he is referring to the monogram of Wilhelm II being

rendered in blue for the Kaiserthron , as opposed to red, indicating the Königsthron . 34 It

appears that the throne was completed in February 1890, as mentioned in a brief

note from a certain buildings advisor named Rath to the Buildings Commission on 19

February. 35

Without a doubt, the most important parts of Doepler’s Doppelthron were the

interchangeable crowns, for each crown was used within the Kaiserreich for specific

purposes. The Prussian crown or Königskrone had been created in 1700 in preparation of

the ascension of Prussia to kingdom status in January 1701. In his capacity as head of the

Holy Roman Empire, Kaiser Leopold I had granted Elector Friedrich III a royal patent,

and upon Friedrich’s coronation in Königsberg on 18 January 1701, he assumed the title

of Friedrich I, King of Prussia. 36 The crown for the occasion was made by an unknown

goldsmith in Berlin, and over the next 200 years, it was succeeded by newer versions

commissioned by Friedrich’s successors. In 1861, Wilhelm I commissioned the court

jeweller Georg Humbert to fashion a new Königskrone for him, which vanished during the

course of the Second World War. In 1889, Wilhelm II commissioned Emil Doepler to

design a new Königskrone for him, modelled on the crown used in 1701. 37 Throughout its

32 Emil Doepler, notes on a sketch, Aug. 1890, Stiftung Preussische Schlösser und Gärten Berlin-Brandenburg

Plankammer, Neues Palais, Potsdam, Mappe 143, No. 518.

33 Emil Doepler, notes on a sketch, 1890, Stiftung Preussische Schlösser und Gärten Berlin-Brandenburg Plankammer,

Neues Palais, Potsdam, Mappe 143, No. 519.

34 Aug. Eulenburg, note on a sketch by Emil Doepler, ibid .

35 Rath to the Bau-Kommission, 19 Feb. 1890, Geheimes Staatsarchiv Preussischer Kulturbesitz, Berlin, Rep. 113, No.

2445.

36 The legitimacy of Kaiser Leopold’s decision was not accepted universally by other European states. England, Russia,

Holland, Denmark, Switzerland, Saxony and most of the other German principalities recognized Prussia’s new status

in 1701, but France and Spain deferred acceptance until 1713. Poland finally extended formal recognition in 1764.

Friedrich Giese, Preussische Rechtsgeschichte (Berlin, 1920), p. 39.

37 Deutsches Historische Museum and the Stiftung Preussische Schlösser und Gärten Berlin-Brandenburg (eds),

Preussen 1701. Eine europäische Geschichte (catalogue; Berlin, 2001), p. 130.

Wilhelm II’s Weisser Saal and its Doppelthron 511

200-year history, images of the Prussian crown have been used extensively in all realms

of visual depiction: painting, printing, fabric, furniture, clothing, weaponry, and

architectural elements.

The Königskrone retained its basic design throughout 200 years of permutations, and

the imperial crown, the Kaiserkrone , did likewise during its much briefer existence. The

Kaiserkrone took its inspiration from the crown worn by Kaiser Leopold I of the Holy

Roman Empire. It was clear that when the Kaiserreich was established in 1871, a reference

was being made to the Holy Roman Empire, which had ceased to exist sixty-five years

earlier. It is crucial to note, however, that a true Kaiserkrone of precious metals and jewels

never was created: except for a tin version that was created for a photograph of Wilhelm

I, posing reluctantly, the Kaiserkrone existed only in two-dimensional representations. In a

sense, there was a double layer of inauthenticity concerning the Kaiserkrone that was quite

modern, if unintentionally so. The lack of an original precluded the use of its aura for

propagandistic purposes and also precluded the use of a photographic image during an

era when photography increasingly was viewed as an impartial guarantor of authenticity.

Although it is difficult to measure precisely how much the extensive use of non-

photographic depictions of the Kaiserkrone contributed to the creation of national identity

during the Kaiserreich, it was readily identifiable by the German public.

By creating a single throne whose elements could be interchanged, instead of

reconciling the tension between his two offices, Wilhelm underscored the mutual

exclusivity of his two roles. With a single Doppelthron , one could be ensconced and

presented as either emperor or king, but not both at the same time. Two separate thrones,

side by side, although perhaps awkward in appearance and pregnant with the possibility

of comic scenarios à la Marx Brothers, at least would have provided visual confirmation

of both offices, imparting some subtext of permanence. By contrast, the transience of

the mutating Doppelthron suggests that neither title is permanent, since the trappings that

announce one office of the monarch can easily be removed by the hands of servants and

replaced with those of the other office. Yet there is something quite modern about such

fluidity, a perhaps tacit acknowledgment that an image — however ephemeral — still has

connotative power, akin to the Kaiserkrone’s non-existence being tangential to its

effectiveness as a symbol.

The question arises as to which setting would be used for which occasion. For Prussian

state festivities, such as the ceremonial opening of the Landtag, Wilhelm would have been

presiding as king of Prussia, and therefore the Königskrone and the corresponding hangings

and ostrich feathers would have been used. The imperial counterpart to such an occasion

would have been the opening of the Reichstag. Aside from such clear-cut circumstances,

it is difficult to say when the royal version of the Doppelthron would have been selected

instead of the imperial version. Even if Wilhelm was presiding, for instance, over a

Hohenzollern wedding, such as that of his daughter to the Herzog von Braunschweig, the

assembled guests would have included non-German royalty for whom Wilhelm would

have presumably wanted to be represented as German emperor. He may have considered

his title as king of Prussia more prestigious, but he also was aware of matters of courtly

protocol, which placed him in his status as an emperor ahead of kings. 38

38 King Edward VII of Great Britain, Wilhelm II’s uncle, found it particularly grating that with regard to these matters of

protocol, Wilhelm was entitled to precede him in court festivities.

512 Douglas Klahr

Unlike other national symbols such as flags, Wilhelm II’s Doppelthron was deeply

personal: both the quest and result were reflections of the monarch. So was its fate, for

sometime between 1903 and 1913, the throne, baladachin and hangings were changed

to a rectilinear design. It is not known whether the Kaiser ordered similar dual

accoutrements for this newer version, but it is reasonable to surmise that perhaps the

ornate, baroque design of Emil Doepler’s baldachin appeared somewhat old-fashioned

after 1910, when even the Kaiser began to appreciate and promote a new simplicity of

line in both architecture and furnishings. Nevertheless, the Doppelthron’s ultimate fate is

somewhat immaterial. Its importance rests upon its placement within the early years of

Wilhelm II’s reign, when a young ruler sought to create a symbol of his sovereignty that

would resolve the tensions between his dual offices as emperor and king.

V. Concluding Remarks

Upon ascending the throne in 1888, Wilhelm II made the palace the monarch’s principal

residence after an interregnum of four decades. Even before the Märztagen of 1848,

Friedrich Wilhelm IV had come to regard the Berlin palace as being politically

burdensome, too redolent with memories of several centuries of crown versus city ( Krone

gegen Stadt ) confrontation. Wolfgang Neugebauer explains: ‘ Despite his suite of rooms in

the palace, before 1848 Friedrich Wilhelm IV already primarily resided not in Berlin, but

in Charlottenhof [in Potsdam]. After 1848, because of persistent memories, he avoided

the Berlin palace ’ . 39 Wilhelm I, as king of Prussia and later as German emperor, preferred

to live in his private residence several blocks away from the palace on Unter den Linden,

the so-called Palais Kaiser Wilhelm I. During his brief ninety-nine day reign, Friedrich

III, dying of terminal throat cancer, resided at the palace in Charlottenburg. Wilhelm

II’s pronouncement that the Berlin palace once again would be the residence of the

monarch indicated the highly visible role the Kaiser intended for it to play.

Rather like an acrobat forced to pivot within a constrained space, Wilhelm II’s

ambitious architectural agenda for the palace was reduced to ‘ freeing ’ the western wing

of his palace and transforming and refurbishing many of the wing’s rooms. This

bifurcated, outdoor/indoor effort — focusing upon, in essence, a narrow, block-long sliver

of real estate — is perhaps a micro-study, but that is precisely what makes it such a good

manifestation of Wilhelm’s obsessive nature. Gifted with the ability rapidly to grasp both

broad concepts and minutiae, he was also afflicted with a mercurial temperament and a

general state of nervousness that became more pronounced as his reign progressed. His

decision to make the Berlin palace the centre of the ever-expanding grandeur — many

would say pomposity — of his court was grounded in his complex character. A fervent

supporter of technological and scientific research, befitting Germany’s worldwide

leadership in these fields at the time of his reign, he also was a monarch with a proclivity

towards making retardataire, neo-absolutist pronouncements. His well-known

interference in artistic matters extended beyond the realms of architecture, painting and

sculpture to include stage set and costume design, and regalia for the army and navy.

Often an ineffectual ruler where substantial domestic and international issues were

39 Wolfgang Neugebauer, Residenz — Verwaltung — Repräsentation , pp. 56 – 57.

Wilhelm II’s Weisser Saal and its Doppelthron 513

concerned, Wilhelm immersed himself in these activities that were tangential to the

welfare of his nation yet, in his eyes, crucial to how he thought the world would evaluate

his reign.

In the end, it is this intensely personal and profoundly delusional aspect that

characterizes Wilhelm II’s work outside and inside the walls of the Berlin palace. The

transformation of the Weisser Saal and its peculiar Doppelthron constituted the interior

projects studied in the present author’s dissertation, The Kaiser Builds in Berlin: Expressing

National and Dynastic Identity in the Early Building Projects of Wilhelm II . The two outdoor

projects featured in the dissertation give rise to an extensive analysis of how Wilhelm’s

architectural agenda helped to form his manner of rulership. They are his freeing of the

palace through the demolition of the Schlossfreiheit , and the ministerial battle he faced in

an attempt to augment the western and southern sides of the palace with terraces.

Complex legal and governmental issues undergird what occurred outside the palace

walls, a factor with which Wilhelm did not have to contend when he turned his attention

to interior spaces. The four projects — one of which Wilhelm contemplated even before

his accession — are his earliest endeavours within this realm, and the attention he paid to

such matters speaks of his desire to reconcile his dual offices as German emperor and

king of Prussia. The genesis of Wilhelm II’s transformation of the Weisser Saal and its

Doppelthron provide the historian with a glimpse of a young monarch at the start of his

reign, before he established his policies and agendas on other matters.

Abstract

Kaiser Wilhelm II’s refashioning of the principal diplomatic space within his Berlin palace was both a political and an architectural endeavour. In his radical transformation of the Weisser Saal or White Hall of the Berlin palace, Wilhelm expressed not only his dual identities as both German Emperor and King of Prussia, but also his fascination with the latest technology. Working with architect Ernst Ihne, Wilhelm created a Weisser Saal strikingly modern in its purity of volume and its conceptual use of architecture-as-lamp, critical aspects ob-scured by the hall’s neo-baroque decorative programme. This analysis examines the political, architectural and topographical contexts in which the Kaiser conceived this space, a project that he initiated shortly after assuming the throne. The room’s transformation lasted over half his reign and was one of Wilhelm’s most expensive building projects. In conjunction with this endeavour, Wilhelm also fashioned a peculiar Doppelthron or double throne for the room, another attempt to express his dual titles. Designed to impart both dynastic and national legitimacy, Wilhelm’s Weisser Saal and its double throne were however under-mined by subtexts of impermanence, an irony that calls into question their ultimate efficacy as political acts.

Keywords: Kaiser , Wilhelm II , Schloss , Weisser Saal , architecture , Berlin , Ernst Ihne

University of Texas, Arlington

klahr@uta.edu

Copyright of German History is the property of Oxford University Press / UK and its content may not be copied

or emailed to multiple sites or posted to a listserv without the copyright holder's express written permission.

However, users may print, download, or email articles for individual use.