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.