Welcome to a whirlwind tour of 10 mad tales surrounding Germany’s final monarch, Kaiser Wilhelm II. From a botched birth that left him with a crippled arm to outlandish war plans against New York, this emperor’s life reads like a melodramatic novel—complete with eccentric obsessions, baffling diplomatic gaffes, and a final exile that still intrigues historians today.
10 mad tales of the Kaiser
10 The Disability That Doomed The World
Wilhelm’s emotional turbulence can be traced back to his harrowing birth on 27 January 1859. As the first child of Crown Prince Friedrich III and Victoria, Queen Victoria’s eldest daughter, the delivery went terribly wrong: a clumsy obstetrician injured his head and neck, leaving him with permanent nerve damage, a paralyzed left arm, and deafness in his left ear. Throughout childhood, he endured bizarre remedies—electro‑therapy, metal restraints, and even the bizarre practice of wrapping a freshly killed hare around his limb.
These physical setbacks likely fed his volatile temper. Determined to hide the useless arm from public view, Wilhelm’s insecurity morphed into aggression, resentment, and an unquenchable need to prove his might.
He channeled this drive into the military, dreaming of becoming a second Frederick the Great. Wilhelm’s grandiose vision demanded that Germany’s influence reach into every corner of the globe: “Deep into the most distant jungles of other parts of the world, everyone should know the voice of the German Kaiser; nothing should occur on this Earth without having first heard him.”
Thus, the Kaiser’s bombastic militarism was a compensatory façade for his disability. By privileging army men and sidelining civilians, he set the stage for policies that would later drag Europe into a catastrophic war—proving that a crippled left arm could indeed have world‑shaking consequences.
9 Hatred Of Britain
Wilhelm’s fixation on his mother’s hands bordered on the erotic. He penned letters dreaming of kissing her soft palms, begging her to keep the promise of letting him kiss the inside of her hand. In another missive, he described a vivid dream where she pulled him into her library, removed her gloves, and placed her hand on his lips—an intimacy he craved.
Psychologist Dr. Brett Kahr suggests Wilhelm was testing burgeoning sexual feelings on his mother, a theory bolstered by his later fetish for women’s arms—slowly peeling away gloves and kissing the arm from fingertip to elbow. Yet Queen Victoria, his mother, never returned his devotion. Disappointed by his disability, she openly expressed her disapproval, molding him toward a stern British‑liberal ideal that Wilhelm could never satisfy.
The resulting bitterness festered. In 1888, after a British doctor failed to cure his father’s throat cancer, Wilhelm erupted: “An English doctor crippled my arm, and now an English doctor is killing my father!” He concocted conspiracies involving an Anglo‑Jewish plot led by his mother to overthrow Germany, accusing the royal family of bringing the Reich to the brink.
Later, Wilhelm blamed his uncle, Edward VII, for a hostile “encirclement” of Germany, labeling him a Satan. His paranoia turned diplomacy into a hunt for conspiracies, while he simultaneously admired the British navy, launching a massive war‑ship program that alarmed Britain and stoked international tension.
8 Lunatic On A Saddle
Relatives and courtiers feared Wilhelm suffered from mental illness—a trait that seemed to run in his family, with cousins like Ludwig II of Bavaria retreating into fairy‑tale realms. The lingering effects of his ear injury nearly drove him insane, a terrifying prospect for a ruler wielding Europe’s most powerful war machine.
Eschewing the modern notion of constitutional rule, Wilhelm clung to the archaic “I” instead of “my government,” preferring to conduct affairs from a literal saddle. He could sit astride a horse for five or six hours straight, even placing the saddle behind his desk to feel like a battlefield commander.
His ministers, terrified of dissent, became sycophantic poodles, even hiding their own left arms when Wilhelm photographed himself concealing his. One count famously groveling before the Kaiser was likened to a poodle with a “marked rectal opening.” He delighted in childish pranks—slapping men’s behinds, beating courtiers, and demanding vulgar jokes before allowing admission to his White Stag Dining Club, where aspirants presented their posterior for a sword‑flat slap.
Even visiting dignitaries weren’t spared. When Italy’s diminutive King Victor Emmanuel II arrived, Wilhelm quipped, “Now watch how the little dwarf climbs up the gangway.” During a 1898 Jerusalem visit, he forced Ottoman officials to demolish part of the Jaffa Gate and fill the moat so his horse could pass—destroying a historic wall built by Suleiman the Magnificent.
One courtier summed him up in 1908: “He is a child and will always remain one.”
7 Uniform Fetish
Wilhelm’s obsession with uniforms bordered on mania. He owned over 400 military outfits—yet not a single dressing gown—insisting that only soldiers deserved attire. A permanent cadre of tailors stood ready in his palace, crafting specific uniforms for every conceivable occasion: gala wear, casual dining, “informal” stays, even uniforms designed solely to greet other uniforms.
At parades he sported a solid‑gold helmet; at receptions he changed outfits five or six times, even donning a British admiral’s uniform when indulging in plum pudding. He fancied himself a fashion designer, dictating gray coats, tunics, and trousers for his troops. The result? Uniforms that cramped soldiers, itching in summer and failing to keep warmth in winter, yet Wilhelm adored the look.
General Helmuth von Moltke warned that such flamboyance distracted the army from practical war preparation. He lamented that ribbons and multicolored insignia hampered weapon handling, turning maneu‑vers into theatrical displays and allowing “the Gorgon head of war” to grin over the battlefield.
6 The Gay Knights Of The Round Table
Whether Wilhelm was gay remains debated, but he openly surrounded himself with men. His closest confidant, Prince Philipp zu Eulenberg, was scandal‑exposed in 1907, providing Wilhelm with tenderness his wife, Auguste Viktoria, never could. Though Eulenberg loved the Kaiser, Wilhelm’s feelings were ambiguous, and their circle—the Liebenberg Round Table—was accused of forming a homoerotic shield around him, insulating him from political realities.
Behind the domineering façade, Wilhelm was hypersensitive and squeamish, preferring male companionship over female conversation, which he deemed “dreadful.” He enjoyed the regiment’s camaraderie more than Berlin’s high‑society, often retreating to Potsdam for the company of “nice young men.”
During a Black Forest hunt, the chief of the military cabinet performed a dance in a pink ballet skirt; the man collapsed of a heart attack, sending Wilhelm into a weeks‑long nervous breakdown. The incident, hinting at homosexual undertones among the army elite, was swiftly hushed.
In World War I, officers were promoted based on height and looks—Wilhelm seemed to select models for a magazine cover rather than competent commanders, turning the officer corps into decorative ornaments, a concern Moltke had long voiced.
5 The Plan To Attack New York And Boston
In the late 19th century, as the United States flexed its emerging power, Germany feared exclusion from the Panama Canal. Wilhelm, recognizing America as a fresh rival, ordered Lieutenant Eberhard von Mantey to draft an invasion blueprint against the U.S.
Mantey envisioned a 100,000‑man amphibious force aboard 60 ships, targeting Virginia’s Norfolk, Hampton Roads, and Newport News, while planning a beachhead at Cape Cod to march on Boston. Heavy cruisers would bombard Manhattan, creating panic. He boasted that “two to three battalions of infantry and one battalion of sappers should be sufficient.”
The aim was to force President Theodore Roosevelt into a peace deal granting Germany free reign over the Atlantic and Pacific. Yet Chief of Staff Count Alfred von Schlieffen privately doubted the plan’s feasibility. Though he followed Wilhelm’s orders and nearly ordered the attack, Germany’s limited troop numbers forced Schlieffen to abort, shelving the scheme in 1907.
4 The Hun Speech
Pre‑World War I political correctness was nonexistent, and Wilhelm earned notoriety for his unfiltered tirades. Historian Barbara Tuchman dubbed him “the possessor of the least inhibited tongue in Europe.”
He coined the anti‑Asian term “Yellow Peril” in the 1880s after a dream of a Buddha‑riding dragon threatening the West. Later, he warned his cousin Tsar Nicholas II that a secret Japanese army of 10,000 men hid in southern Mexico, poised to seize the Panama Canal—fueling his belief in an imminent “Yellow vs. White” racial war.
On 27 July 1900, addressing troops bound for the Boxer Rebellion, Wilhelm ranted: “Should you encounter the enemy, he will be defeated! No quarter will be given! Prisoners will not be taken! … May the name German be affirmed in China so that no Chinese will ever again dare to look cross‑eyed at a German.” He likened the Germans to Attila’s Huns, a comparison his diplomats erased from official transcripts.
Nevertheless, the phrase stuck, and Allied propaganda during World I dubbed Germans “Hun” to emphasize their perceived ruthlessness.
3 The Daily Telegraph Affair
Wilhelm’s knack for diplomatic blunders peaked in October 1908 when he granted an interview to the Daily Telegraph, hoping to soothe British anxieties over his naval buildup. Instead, his volatile remarks inflamed the British: “You English, are mad, mad, mad as March hares.” He accused Britain of mistrust, complained that German anti‑British sentiment “taxes my patience severely,” and suggested the French and Russians had egged him on to side with the Boers.
He also hinted the naval expansion targeted Japan, not Britain, thereby antagonising three major powers in a single interview. The fallout was swift: Wilhelm had handed the transcript to Foreign Minister Bernard von Bülow, who passed it to a busy state secretary’s editor who merely proofed form, not content. Bülow, indifferent, sent it to the Telegraph, leading to an international uproar.
Bülow’s half‑hearted defense failed, and Wilhelm, feeling betrayed, replaced him with Theobald von Bethmann‑Hollweg. The episode underscored the Kaiser’s inability to control his own words and the disastrous diplomatic ripple effects of his impulsive style.
2 Panicked By War
When the world teetered on the brink of the most devastating conflict in history, Wilhelm found himself in a panicked frenzy. Scholars still argue over his exact culpability, but while he welcomed war as a vehicle for German dominance, evidence suggests he preferred a limited conflict, not a global cataclysm.
He desperately sought British neutrality if Germany attacked France and Russia. The war might have ignited during the 1912 Balkan crisis, had Germany not backed off when Britain declared support for France. In July 1914, amid frantic mobilisations, Wilhelm proposed abandoning the French front temporarily to concentrate forces against Russia.
General Helmuth von Moltke, who had spent his life preparing for “Der Tag” (the decisive day) against France, was moved to tears by Wilhelm’s meddling. Moltke argued that reversing the army’s direction was impossible: the German railway timetable was a clockwork marvel—11,000 trains timed to pass specific tracks every ten minutes. The best minds of the War College, assigned to railway logistics, had reportedly ended up in asylums for the stress.
Nevertheless, Moltke may have exaggerated; post‑war evidence shows such a reversal was technically feasible. Had Wilhelm’s suggestion been heeded, the war’s trajectory could have shifted dramatically.
Ultimately, Wilhelm lost grip on the inexorable mobilisation machinery, becoming a passenger in the vortex he helped create. While some historians argue he was not the primary instigator, he was undeniably an accomplice, later sidelined by his generals as the conflict spiraled. By autumn 1918, defeat was inevitable, and Wilhelm abdicated on 10 November, fleeing to the Netherlands.
1 Exile
Wilhelm settled in Doorn, a 17th‑century manor he purchased from Baroness Heemstra of Beaufort—later aunt to actress Audrey Hepburn. His English cousin, King George V, denounced him as “the greatest criminal in history.” Yet Queen Wilhelmina of the Netherlands, another relative, refused to extradite him for war‑crime trials, prompting the Allies to threaten a blockade of the Dutch kingdom.
His belongings from Berlin and Potsdam arrived in 59 railway carriages; the last crates weren’t opened until 1992. At Doorn, Wilhelm entertained guests who shared his dream of restoring the monarchy. A perpetual conspiracy theorist, he claimed Jews, Freemasons, and Jesuits plotted world domination, even proposing the gassing of Jews to eliminate their “nuisance.”
He continued his tirades, branding the French as a feminine race opposite the masculine Germans, and after a 1923 lecture, bizarrely concluded the British and French were racially black rather than white. Paradoxically, he was horrified by the Nazi‑led Kristallnacht in November 1938, declaring, “For the first time in my life, I am ashamed to be German.”
When Hitler’s blitzkrieg seized France in 1940—accomplishing in weeks what Wilhelm had failed to do in four—he sent the dictator a telegram: “Congratulations, you have won using my troops.” He hoped Hitler would reinstate his throne, but Hitler, who despised Wilhelm, refused. Disillusioned, the Kaiser stipulated that his body not return to Germany until the monarchy was restored, and that no Nazi symbols appear at his funeral. The Nazis ignored him, draping Doorn with swastikas as Wilhelm died on 4 June 1941. His mummified remains still lie in the Doorn mausoleum, a lingering echo of a monarch whose mad tales continue to fascinate.