Napoleon and the Queen of Prussia. L. Muhlbach

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CHAPTER X.

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NAPOLEON'S ENTRY INTO BERLIN.

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      The city of Berlin had not exhibited for many years so festive and lively a spectacle as on the morning of the 27th of October. An immense crowd was moving across the Palace Place, Broad Street, and the Linden, toward the Brandenburg Gate, and forming in line on both sides of the street. Thousands of boys and youths climbed the linden-trees, that stand in two rows in the middle of this thoroughfare, causing the trees to move to and fro under their heavy burden, and gazed with eyes full of curiosity from their lofty position on the bustle reigning beneath. Through the crowd hundreds of busy figures were gliding, standing still here and there, and addressing the people in low and impressive tones; now and then, however, they did not content themselves with mere words, but to some handed pieces of money, and whispered, "Drink the emperor's health, in order that your throats may be prepared, when he makes his entry, to shout in stentorian tones, 'Vive l'Empereur!'"

      These liberal adherents of Napoleon were agents of the French police, already fully organized in Berlin—the hirelings of General Clarke, who was now governor of the capital, and treated the subjugated inhabitants with all the haughtiness and scorn of a triumphant conqueror.

      Many tears were shed in the city during these days—many imprecations uttered, but only secretly and in a low voice, for the people could not venture to provoke the anger of the victor, but had to bear whatever burdens he imposed on them. The odds were too heavy; the army was defeated; the king with his court had fled; the higher functionaries had either concealed themselves or loudly declared their willingness to take the oath of allegiance to the Emperor of the French, and to serve him as their master.

      What remained, therefore, for the poor inhabitants of Berlin but to submit? All had deserted them; even the governor had escaped, and his lieutenant, the Prince von Hatzfeld, seemed to have no other task than to admonish them to be quiet and obedient, and to implore them to undertake, utter, and even think nothing that might be distasteful to the new French government; but to bow willingly and cheerfully to every thing that the conqueror might demand.

      The citizens, therefore, had bowed to their fate; they had submitted silently, and now hastened to the Linden and the Brandenburg Gate to witness the entry of the emperor. Not only the citizens and the people generally desired to witness this entry—the higher classes, and even the ladies, were anxious to do so. Every one felt that a great historical event was to transpire, and eagerly desired to behold the celebrated man who was hated and admired at the same time; who was cursed as an enemy, and yet glorified on account of his heroic deeds. The streets and trees were filled with spectators; and the windows of the splendid buildings, from the ground-floor up to the attic, were crowded, and even the roofs had been opened here and there for the purpose of obtaining more room.

      The Linden exhibited a most imposing and brilliant spectacle; still it seemed as though the crowd were to celebrate a funeral pageant, and as though they had come as mourners for such an occasion. Nowhere joyous faces were to be seen—nowhere were heard outbursts of mirth, or those gay, amusing remarks with which the populace of Berlin seldom fail to season a festival. The faces of the people were grave and gloomy; and the ladies, standing at the open windows, were not festively adorned, but wore black dresses, and black veils fell from their heads.

      Suddenly the bells on all the steeples commenced ringing, and the booming of artillery announced to the spectators, who had patiently awaited this moment from eleven o'clock in the morning till four in the afternoon, that the emperor was approaching the Brandenburg Gate from Charlottenburg. The thousands assembled maintained a breathless silence; even the trees did not move, for the restless boys who had climbed them seemed petrified with astonishment at the extraordinary spectacle. The men, who were now entering the gate, were not such soldiers as the people of Berlin had hitherto been accustomed to see. They were not fine-looking, neat young men in handsome uniforms, with bright leather belts, stiff cravats, and well-powdered pigtails, but soldiers of strange and truly marvellous appearance. Their complexion was dark-brown, and their eyes flashing as dagger-points. Instead of wigs and pigtails, they wore gaudily-colored turbans; instead of close-fitting uniforms, wide red trousers and dark jackets, richly embroidered with gold; curved sabres were hanging at their sides, and their small, vigorous, and agile forms harmonized perfectly with their splendid Arabian steeds, on which these sons of the desert, the emperor's Mamelukes, were mounted.

      Behind them came another corps. It consisted of tall, broad-shouldered men, looking as formidable as Cyclops, with bearded, bronzed faces; their heads covered with high bear-skin caps; their breasts veiled by large leather aprons, reaching down to their knees; on their shoulders enormous hatchets, flashing in the sun like burnished silver. And behind these sappers came the famous grenadiers of the guard, infantry as well as cavalry; next, the riflemen of Vincennes, in their green uniforms; and, finally, the bands playing merry airs. The drum-major hurled his enormous cane with its large silver head into the air, and the soul-stirring notes of the "Marseillaise" resounded through the spacious street. Hitherto nobody in Berlin had been permitted to play or sing this forbidden melody, with which France had formerly accompanied her bloodiest orgies; only secretly and softly had the people hummed it into each other's ears; the most stringent orders, issued by the police, had banished it from the concert-halls as well as from the streets. The emperor, perhaps, was aware of this, and it was probably for this reason that he had ordered it to be played; or, perhaps, the son of the revolution, on making his entry into the capital of a "king by the grace of God," wished to remind the people, by this hymn of the terrorists, that it was unnecessary to be born under a royal canopy in order to wear a crown and to be the anointed of the Lord.

      But no one listened to this proscribed and fearful melody. All the thousands in the streets, on the trees, at the windows, and on the roofs, were paralyzed with amazement, and looked wonderingly at the new order of things. They who had hitherto seen and known only proud officers, mounted on horseback, staring at every citizen with supercilious glances, and chastising their men for every trifle—they who had always received the impression that army officers were exalted personages, to whom they had to bow, who never ought to walk on foot, or carry any burden whatever—now saw before them the officers of the imperial guard differing but slightly from the privates, and not only on foot, like them, but carrying heavy knapsacks on their backs; and, what caused still greater astonishment, here and there kindly chatting with their men during the march.

      But suddenly there arose a tremendous commotion between the pillars of the Brandenburg Gate, and the host of marshals and generals, resembling a star-spangled avalanche, entered the city. Nothing was to be seen but golden epaulettes, orders glittering with diamonds, embroidered uniforms, and long white ostrich-plumes. Not on them, however, were the eyes of the crowd fixed; they gazed only at that grave, pale man, who rode by himself at the head of the dazzling suite. He wore no orders, no golden epaulettes, no ostrich-plumes. Plain and unpretending was his green uniform with its white facings; unadorned was his small three-cornered hat. He sat carelessly and proudly on his magnificent charger, which, prancing and rearing, seemed to greet the crowd. The rider's features were as immovable as if made of stone; his eyes occasionally, however, bent a piercing glance on the multitude, and then gazed again into vacancy—the living emperor was transformed once more into one of the marble triumphators of ancient Roman history. He acknowledged, in a cold and indifferent manner only, the constantly-repeated shouts of "Vive l'Empereur!" with which the boys in the trees, the hired men in the streets, and the agents of the police, saluted him at every step. To him these cries seemed to be the usual and indispensable musical accompaniment to the step of СКАЧАТЬ