William II fell from the throne and was arrested by a more powerful hand than that of earthly justice. He has known the severest prison of all—exile; the most frightful regime—fear; the most terrible sentence—that of conscience. Who will know the secret of the nights of this fugitive traitor to his people whom he fed with deceptions and lies, and whom he has led to ruin, civil war and dishonour? For not only did he dishonour himself, but he dishonoured Germany in dishonouring her arms.
Where is the honest German who has recovered from the intoxication of war who can hear the name of Louvain, of the Lusitania, of poison gas and other horrors without shuddering? But the responsibility of all these crimes must rest on William II.
The passing of centuries will be necessary to wipe out the stain of his murderous folly. This constitutes the shadow over the unfortunate Empire which makes it appear monstrous to the nations of the Entente.
But I wish to say at once, because I am certain of it, Germany is what Imperial Prussia has made her, and would again make of her.
The victim of her confidence and candour, she accepted as gospel all that her Sovereign, the heir of victorious ancestors, declared, professed and taught her.
It is harder to inherit a kingdom than people think, and I say this without irony. William II was not human like his grandfather, who cried out when he saw the sacrifice of the cuirassiers of Reisdroffen: "Ah, my brave men!" William II possessed nothing of his father, who earned the name of Frederick the Noble, and who died of two maladies, that of his throat and that of his feverish impatience to reign.
William II was charming as a boy. As a child he was an amiable playfellow. We have plundered the strawberry beds of Laeken together—a sacrilege which was pardoned solely on his account.
I have followed his career as far as it was possible. I believed him to be great. I have heard much of his power not only from his own people, but from all people. He had a wonderful part to play. He did not know how to play it; he could not; he lacked the means to do so, and perhaps, first of all, a clever and good wife. He had no depth of soul. A different wife might perhaps have supplied him with this quality.
Francis Joseph at the beginning of his active career as an Emperor was almost brilliant; he certainly appeared distinguished. Thirty years after, his face assumed an expression of vulgarity of which his first portraits gave no forecast, although at a distance he still gave the impression of being "somebody." But the high morale of the Empress was somewhat reflected in him.
Less blessed in a wife, the longer William II has lived the worse his looks, his speech and his bearing have become. Two men—the late King Edward VII and my father, the King of the Belgians—took his exact measure and augured nothing good for his future.