History isn't just about treaties. Sometimes, it’s about a pond. Specifically, the pond at Huis Doorn in the Netherlands, where a man who once ruled a global superpower spent his final years obsessing over a handful of Golden Orfe. This man was Kaiser Wilhelm II. He was the last German Emperor, a man born with a withered left arm—the result of a traumatic breech birth—that shaped his entire aggressive, overcompensating personality.
He was a tyrant to some, a tragic figure to others. But to his fish? He was just the guy with the bucket of food.
It’s weirdly humanizing. After the collapse of the German Empire in 1918, Wilhelm fled to neutral Holland. He lived in exile for over twenty years. He didn't spend all that time plotting a return to the throne or writing military strategy. He spent a massive chunk of it feeding his pet fish and chopping wood. If you visit Huis Doorn today, the curators will tell you that the Kaiser’s relationship with his Golden Orfe wasn't just a hobby. It was a ritual.
Why the Kaiser’s Golden Orfe Mattered
Wilhelm was a man who needed control. His disability, Erb’s palsy, meant his left arm was six inches shorter than his right. He hated it. He hid it in photos. He wore specialized uniforms to mask the deformity. This physical limitation fueled a desperate need to appear "strong" on the world stage, often leading to the erratic diplomacy that helped trigger World War I.
But in exile, the stakes changed. The world had moved on, but Wilhelm stayed stuck in his rituals.
The Golden Orfe (Leuciscus idus) are a surface-feeding species. They’re bright, easy to see, and they react quickly to a human presence. For a man who had lost his army, his navy, and his country, having a school of fish that rushed toward him the moment he stepped onto the terrace offered a pathetic, albeit consistent, sense of being "followed." It’s sort of heartbreaking if you think about it too long. He’d stand there, one arm tucked into a pocket or resting on a cane, and watch the orange flashes in the water.
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The Daily Routine at Huis Doorn
He was disciplined. Even in exile, Wilhelm kept a strict schedule. He woke early, attended service, and then it was time for the wood-chopping or the fish.
The Golden Orfe lived in the moat surrounding the manor. Wilhelm was known to be quite particular about their care. Visitors to the estate during the 1920s and 30s often remarked on how the former Emperor seemed more interested in the health of his pond than the politics of the Weimar Republic. He’d scatter feed and watch them break the surface.
Honestly, it’s one of the few times he wasn't trying to prove something to Queen Victoria’s ghost or Tsar Nicholas II.
The Biology of the Pet Fish that Outlasted an Empire
Why Golden Orfe? Why not koi or simple goldfish?
Orfe are tough. They are a "primitive" sort of pond fish compared to the highly bred koi of Japan. They need highly oxygenated water and plenty of space to swim. They are fast. At Huis Doorn, the water system was sophisticated enough to keep them thriving. These fish can live for twenty years or more if the conditions are right.
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- They are active near the surface, making them perfect for "spectator" feeding.
- They handle European winters better than many tropical variants.
- Their bright coloration made them easy for the aging, increasingly near-sighted Kaiser to spot from the bank.
Wilhelm’s obsession with order extended to the ecology of his estate. He wasn't just throwing breadcrumbs; he was managing an ecosystem. He took pride in the clarity of the water. He took pride in the growth of the fish. It was a micro-kingdom.
What Modern Historians Get Wrong
People like to paint Wilhelm as a monster or a cartoon villain with a pointy helmet. But historians like Christopher Clark, who wrote The Sleepwalkers, suggest a more nuanced view of a man constantly battling his own perceived inadequacies. The fish weren't a "distraction" from his guilt. They were a replacement for the courtly life he couldn't have anymore.
When you look at the archives at the Doorn Manor, you see a man who was deeply lonely. His first wife, Augusta Victoria, died shortly after they went into exile. His second wife, Hermine, was younger and ambitious, but the house was often quiet. The Golden Orfe provided a kinetic energy that the silent hallways of the manor lacked.
Practical Insights for Modern Pond Keepers
If you’re looking to keep Golden Orfe today, you’re basically following in the footsteps of imperial hobbyists. But there are things you have to get right, or they won't last a week.
First, forget small ponds. Orfe are sprinters. They need a run of at least 10 to 12 feet to feel comfortable. If the pond is too small, they get stressed and their immune systems tank.
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Second, oxygen is non-negotiable. Unlike goldfish, which can survive in a muddy puddle, Orfe will gasp and die if the dissolved oxygen levels drop during a hot summer night. You need a fountain or a waterfall. Wilhelm’s moat had natural movement, which is likely why his fish flourished.
The End of the Imperial Pond
By the time the Nazis invaded the Netherlands in 1940, Wilhelm was an old man. He died in 1941. He never returned to Germany. He was buried in a small mausoleum on the grounds of Huis Doorn, just a short walk from where he used to feed his fish.
The Golden Orfe of the Kaiser's era are long gone, of course. But the tradition of keeping the ponds stocked continues at the museum. It’s a living link to a specific kind of 19th-century madness.
The biggest takeaway here isn't about the fish themselves. It's about what they represent: the human need to nurture something when everything else has been destroyed by your own hubris. Wilhelm couldn't manage a continent without starting a fire, but he could manage a pond.
Actionable Steps for Exploring This History
If this weird slice of history interests you, don't just take my word for it. There are actual things you can do to see this for yourself.
- Visit Huis Doorn: It’s located in the Utrecht province of the Netherlands. It is preserved exactly as it was when Wilhelm died. You can see the uniforms, the specialized cutlery for his one-handed use, and the very moat where the fish lived.
- Read "The Kaiser's Memoirs": He wrote them in exile. While he's a bit of an unreliable narrator regarding the war, he talks extensively about his life in Doorn.
- Research Orfe Care: If you’re a hobbyist, look into the "Blue Orfe" variant as well. They are biologically the same as Wilhelm’s golden ones but have a stunning silvery-blue sheen that's arguably more modern.
- Check Local Archives: Many European estates from the early 1900s kept detailed records of their stocking programs. The German Federal Archives (Bundesarchiv) have digitized many of the Kaiser's personal papers from his time in Holland.
Wilhelm II was a man defined by his arm, his crown, and his eventual failure. But in the quiet ripples of a Dutch moat, among the Golden Orfe, he was just another old man with a bucket. It's a reminder that no matter how big the ego, nature eventually wins.