Berlin, May 25, 1840.—The rain has been coming down again all day, and my re-entry to my native town was made under no agreeable auspices. Fortunately I had no reason to regret that the countryside was not in sunshine, for the scenery from Wittenberg here is atrocious. I had forgotten to some extent my native land, and was surprised to find it so hideous. However, I must make an exception of the bridge of Potsdam, which is really pretty. The bank of the Havel is bright and graceful with the wooded slopes which surround it, covered as they are with pretty country houses. Even Potsdam, which is only a summer residence, looks more like a capital town than Cassel, Stuttgart, or Carlsruhe; but half a league further on everything is as dry and dismal as possible, until the suburbs of Berlin, which gave me a real surprise on the side from which we reached the town. This happened to be an English quarter, with iron gateways before the houses, and a number of gardens between the gateways and the houses, which are small, but very well kept.
Berlin itself is a handsome town, but thinly populated, while as regards carriages, cabs are the dominant feature, and sadness is therefore its chief characteristic. I am staying at the Russicher Hof. Opposite is the Castle; a pretty bridge and the museum on the left; on the right are the quays. It is a pleasant aspect, and my room on the first floor is almost too magnificent.
My man of business, Herr von Wolff, told me that the King's condition was regarded as desperate, and that yesterday he sent for his eldest son, and entrusted him with the business of government. The scene is said to have been very touching. The King's illness is intestinal catarrh, which seems incurable. It is also said that he has had the deplorable privilege of bad doctors in Berlin, where the doctors are excellent. He can take no food, and is visibly wasting away; but death is not thought to be imminent. The day before yesterday he walked as far as his window to see the troops march past, and those who saw him were horrified by the change in his appearance.
The whole town is in sadness, and the royal family in despair. The Princess of Liegnitz is quite as ill as the King, with severe gastritis, and is thought to be in great danger.
M. Bresson, who has just spent an hour with me, is in despair at the King's condition. He will see no one except the Princess of Liegnitz, his doctors, and the Prince of Wittgenstein. He has seen the Crown Prince for a moment, but none of his other children, and says he feels too weak to see any one else. A messenger has just been despatched to the Russian Empress, to stop her progress at Warsaw, where she is to arrive to-morrow. The King would be in no condition to bear this interview, much less the lamentable scenes which the Emperor Nicholas would certainly make. The Empress is also said to be in a very sad way. This approaching death will be a great blow, which will re-echo near and far.
Berlin, May 26, 1840.—I slept fairly well. My bed is not quite so narrow or so extraordinary as some that I have found on the journey from Cologne to Berlin. Unless one is prepared to sleep on nothing but feathers, nothing is to be found but thin, hard mattresses nailed on to deal boards. The bedclothes are of a remarkable character, while the sheets look like towels. I had several of them sewn together, and thus succeeded in covering my bed. As regards bedrooms, Germany is undoubtedly in a state of savagery, even more so than with regard to food, which is extraordinary enough at times, though in Berlin even M. de Valençay admits that it is good. The cleanliness is perfect, and the furniture tasteful. There are carpets everywhere, and the iron stoves are replaced by fine porcelain stoves, which give no smell and heat the room excellently, but it is disappointing to be forced to use them on the 26th of May. M. Bresson utters terrible groans about the climate.
Is it not strange that I should have felt no emotion whatever upon re-entering this town where I was born and where I was largely brought up? I examined it with the same curiosity as I felt towards Cologne and Cassel, and that was all. I have no feeling of that special patriotism which I have long felt for Germany. I am a complete stranger both to things and people, entirely unconnected with the place, speaking the language with some hesitation; in short, I am not at home, or rather ill at my ease, and ashamed at being so. I do not think it would be thus if I were to return to London. I do not think I should then be delighted; I should probably burst into tears; but at any rate I should feel some emotion, as I feel at Valençay. I am less afraid of that which stirs my feelings than of that which freezes them.
Everything goes on here so early that one must be ready at dawn. Waking up is nothing, but getting up is difficult. I am extremely tired, even more than when travelling, because when once ensconced in my carriage, which is very soft, I can rest in silence, inaction, and sleep, whereas here things are very different.
My man of business from Silesia was at my house at nine o'clock. He is going away this evening to make preparations for my arrival. At eleven o'clock Herr and Frau von Wolff came in. They told me that the Duke of Coburg was negotiating to buy the estate of Muskau from Prince Pückler for his sister, the Grand Duchess Constantine. The garden of Muskau is said to be the most beautiful in Germany. It is only ten leagues from my house.
M. Bresson came in at midday to tell me that there was some improvement in the King, that he had been able to take some soup and to walk round his room. He urged me at the same time not to put off my calls upon the chief ladies of the Princesses.