Wilhelm II's Weisser Saal and Its Doppelthron

GERMAN
HISTORYThe Journal of the German History Society
Volume 27 Number 4 October 2009
Volume 27 Number 4 October 2009
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ARTICLES
Colony as Heimat? The Formation of Colonial Identity in Germany around 1900
Jens Jaeger 467
Wilhelm II’s Weisser Saal and its Doppelthron
Douglas Klahr 490
Soldiers and Terror: Re-evaluating the Complicity of the Wehrmacht
in Nazi Germany
Robert Loeffel 514
REFLECTIONS
A World Without Jews: Interpreting the Holocaust
Alon Confino 531
FORUM
Everyday life in Nazi Germany
Andrew Stuart Bergerson, Elissa Mailänder Koslov, Gideon Reuveni,
Paul Steege and Dennis Sweeney 560
DISCUSSION
A Political Professor: A New Biography of J.G. Droysen
James J. Sheehan 580
REVIEW ARTICLE
After Brubaker: Citizenship in Modern Germany, 1848 to Today
Annemarie Sammartino 583
Book Reviews 600
oxfordGERMANHISTORYVolume27Number4October2009
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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,theBerlinpalacehadfunctionedasthearchitecturalmanifestationof 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
buildingprojects,thetransformationof theWeisserSaalistheonemostcloselyintertwined
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.
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.

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 ﬂoor.
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.
TheRitterSaalhadfunctionedastheprincipalballroomof thepalaceuntiltheWeisserSaal
first appeared in 1728. Symbolically and programmatically, it formed a counterpoint to the
WeisserSaal.TheRitterSaalwasaspacedevotedtothemostsolemnandexclusiveceremonies
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.

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]’.Theexpenditureof largesumsof moneyuponaspacewithinsurmountable
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
floorbeneaththeWeisserSaalwerealreadyscheduledformajorimprovements,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
ballroominthecross-wingwouldhavebeentoWilhelm’sliking,asitwouldhaveprovided
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

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
guestswiththegreatestachievementsof Hohenzollernbuildinghistory.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,fortheroleof thepublicasspectatorof courtfestivities—albeitfromadistance—
was an important one. Regardless of the neo-absolutist fantasies in which Wilhelm II
mayoccasionallyhaveindulged,hisdesiretobeonviewtohissubjectsastheembodiment
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
membersbluntedanyinfluenceitmighthavehaduponthesovereign.Academymembers
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.

By June 1892, Ihne had furnished the Kaiser with a design that had gone through several
stages.TherewerethreecomponentstoIhne’stotalscheme.Firstwasthereconfiguration
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
segmenttothesouthof theEosanderportalforthesakeof symmetry,aswellasexpanding
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
documentsnolongerexist,AlbertGeyerprovidesanindicationregardingthebreakdown
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,albeitalsoinprovisionalmaterials,asshowninphotographspublishedinCentralblatt
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.Thefourmiddlefieldsof theceilingchronicledtheprogressionandaggrandizement
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.

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
twelvekingswhohadprecededWilhelmII.Furthermore,asDeutscheBauzeitungexplained,
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
thethenCrownPrinceasmilitarycommanderandpoliticianisfullyjustifiedhistorically;theKaiserFriedrich,
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.

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
finallyreceiveditspermanentmaterialsin1902,thehiddenlampsalongtheroom’scornice
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.

Onlyonecolourrepresentationof Ihne’sroomisknowntoexist:adrawingbyWilhelm
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,becausetheclientwantedthechandeliersbroughtoutof theroom—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.

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
receptionroominthepalace,butratherineachhotel’sso-calledKaisersaal.Wilhelmhadnot
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
gestationof justoneroomultimatelyspeakof hisfinancialmight?Inthatregard,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.

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.

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
erawhenphotographyincreasinglywasviewedasanimpartialguarantorof 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
theBerlinpalace’.39 WilhelmI,askingof PrussiaandlaterasGermanemperor,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/indooreffort—focusingupon,inessence,anarrow,block-longsliver
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.

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

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