One bridge had been built across the Spree--it was called "New Bridge," and instead of Henry IV., they put on it the Elector Friedrich Wilhelm. They began to build the King's castle, and its architect, Schluter, ornamented it with so many garlands, that its walls could not be seen beneath them.
Berlin had then the beginnings of a great city; it wanted only life and people. A theatre, library, and museum were hurriedly built, and filled as they could with what they could. In the meantime they did not spend their gold in manufacturing porcelain; they purchased soldiers instead, paying their weight in gold for them. And, in fact, the most interesting thing in Berlin was the army--drilled like a machine, regular as a watch, moving like one man.
Here one could see the battalion of the biggest and tallest grenadiers--the most famous in the world--composed of men of every nationality, and an example of the perfection that the mechanics of militarism can reach. Those big grenadiers were well paid, although the strictest economy was applied to other things.
Berlin, after Dresden, looked like a monastery after a theatre. When Cosel's carriage entered the streets of the capital, and the beautiful Countess glanced at those dusty and empty thoroughfares, her heart was ready to break; but she expected to find peace here: here she wanted to wait for the change of her lot.
A servant sent ahead had already rented a house, which, after the palaces she was used to, appeared poor to her, although it was only cold and uninhabited.
The next day Zaklika arranged it as comfortably as he could, while Cosel sat in a corner and dreamed of her brilliant past.
But in Berlin nobody could remain incognito. The third day Zaklika announced to her the visit of Marshal Wartesleben, the governor of Berlin; and another marshal, Natymer, commandant of the gendarmes, often passed through the street and looked at the house.
It was known in high circles that the dweller in that house was the Countess Cosel, and her arrival was agreeable, for they knew also that a considerable amount of money came for her to the banker Liebmann. Notwithstanding the good relations existing between Dresden and Berlin, Cosel would not expect still to be persecuted here. Only here, in that silent solitude, amid the city that slept at dusk, did her misfortune appear in its full size.
Her heart was filled with bitterness. She spent the days sitting motionless, looking at the wall and thinking about her past.
She was asking herself whether it was possible that one could forget true love, and pay for happy moments with ingratitude. The King's character seemed to be a monstrous conundrum. She recollected his tenderness, the proofs of his attachment to her, his oaths--and she could not understand how he could change.