BERLIN, PRUSSIA, _Feb. 27, 1855_.
When I last wrote you from Braunschweig I was on the eve of departure
for Berlin and Vienna, and thought it not improbable that I might
go again to Italy; but the severe winter weather coming suddenly on
induced me to quiet myself in comfortable quarters in this city, where
from the conveniences for heating with the use of wood, the cold is
less felt than in some parts of Italy. Hamburg, Magdeburg, and Potsdam,
_en route_ to Berlin, I had once visited in summer, under more
favorable circumstances, consequently my stay in them was short.
I was reminded in Magdeburg that Martin Luther, one of the great men
whom Germany has given to the world, and to whose former abode in
Wittenburg, where the Reformation commenced, I had wended my steps,
was a poor student there, and often sang in the streets to assist
in supporting himself, as many others are doing daily. Potsdam is
to Berlin what Versailles is to Paris. Frederic the Great made it a
lovely retreat for the court. Here are seen the apartments of the
great warrior nearly as he left them, remarkable for simplicity; the
truck-bed upon which he slept, his writing-table blotted with ink,
silken covered chairs partly torn by his dogs, and the plates upon
which they were fed.
The windmill stands behind the palace of Sans Souci, an emblem of
justice in Prussia. Though the story is well known I cannot forbear
repeating it. The great Frederic, wanting to buy the mill with the
grounds, to augment his gardens, was resisted by the miller, who gained
the lawsuit. The king erected the present large mill for him. Since
then the descendants of the miller, being in embarrassed circumstances,
offered to sell it to the late king, who would not accept the offer,
but settled a sum sufficient to enable the family to retain possession,
saying the mill belonged to history, and was one of the monuments of
the country.
It is now some years since I strolled over the grounds of the
Kremlin in Moscow, and it was a reminiscence to find here a little
chapel belonging to the Russian colony, surmounted by three domes,
of miniature Kremlin form, and beautifully fitted up by the royal
munificence for the Greek service.
While in this capital on two former occasions in summer, it struck
me as being lifeless. We have cold weather, with ice and snow; the
splendid sleighs and horses, adorned with variegated colored feathers,
present a lively appearance. The city appears full of life and
gaiety; the opera and theatres seem well attended, dancing and music
being striking traits in the German character; balls adapted to all
classes are continually taking place. The Kroll establishment of the
Brandenburg Thor which corresponds to Niblo’s in New York, but is
on a more stupendous scale, and compares favorably with anything in
Paris for its elegance, among other entertainments, has lately given
masquerade balls. Curiosity induced me to attend one, in order to
compare it with those of other countries, and found, as I expected,
that the people are not adapted to this species of amusement, as in
Spain, and in the colonies, where, during the carnival, all classes
unite in these diversions in every variety of costume, assuming
particular parts, and sustaining them admirably. I had passed a far
more agreeable and rational evening, under the folds of the stars
and stripes, at the house of Gov. Vroom, of New Jersey, our present
worthy representative at the court of Berlin, on the anniversary of the
birthday of Washington. There were some twenty-five in number present,
representing different States of the Union, who responded to the
calls, sentiments, and toasts naturally called forth by the handsome
entertainment. The night was cold, cheerful American grate-fires were
blazing, and the party conversed together upon home topics. My mind
wandered as I saw the beautiful silk banner hanging against the wall,
to the last occasion I had had of commemorating this festival. It was
at our minister’s house in Brazil, three years since, we mustered a
small party of half-a-dozen; the flag was flying from the balcony
overlooking the beautiful bay of Rio Janeiro, and the doors and windows
were thrown wide open to get a breath of air, the perspiration starting
from every pore, and this in the height of a South American summer on
the 22d of February.
Most of the Americans here are students who have the advantage
of lectures in the University on law, medicine, botany, Egyptian
antiquities, and other subjects.
The royal library contains five hundred thousand volumes, and has a
public reading-room for students and strangers, who, when recommended,
can obtain books the day after their application, to take to their
homes. German is badly spoken by the common people of Berlin; the
educated classes in society speak the language purely.
You are aware that for many years I have not passed a winter in a
northern latitude, and notwithstanding that the present is considered
a rigorous one, it is not so cold as we have it at home; still I have
felt it sensibly, and suffered while exposed out of doors. Having
procured good quarters in a central position, in the vicinity of
churches, universities, the museum, opera-house, reading-rooms, with a
southern exposure, I should not say that Berlin life is disagreeable,
notwithstanding my occasional longing for the balmy temperature and
ripe fruits of a West Indian climate. The heating apparatus is called
“Ofen;” I have two of them in my apartments. They stand like monuments
of white porcelain in the corner of the room, eight feet in height,
four feet wide, and two feet deep; they are useful and ornamental; are
heated morning and evening, and throw out an agreeable and uniform
heat, without any of the noxious vapors of coal. The windows are double
sashed, as in Russia, and plants, of which the German people are fond,
are flourishing in my parlor.