VIII.—THE BANQUET.
The city of Berlin was to-day in a state of unusual stir and excitement. Everybody made haste to finish his noon-day meal, and nobody thought of complaining especially that this repast was so sparingly provided and served in such small portions, and that the dread specter of hunger was ever stalking nearer to the inhabitants of the unhappy, much-plagued town. They were to-day looking forward to a spectacle—one, moreover, for which no money was to be paid, which could be had gratis, just by being upon the street in right time and struggling to obtain a good position on the cathedral square, before the palace, or much better, before Count Schwarzenberg's palace. For to-day the count gave a great banquet in his palace on Broad Street, and it was well worth the trouble of contending for a place before the palace, and not even being frightened by a few cuffs and blows. The whole fashionable world of Berlin, all the nobility of the regions round about, were invited to this feast, and the whole court was to appear there. And it was so rarely that the Electoral family was ever to be seen by the town. They had passed almost a year in the Mark, but in such quiet and retirement did they live that their presence would hardly have been recognized if on Sunday in the cathedral church, which stood in the center of the square between the palace and Broad Street, their lofty personages had not been discernible behind the glass panes of the Electoral gallery. But to-day they were not to be seen in the seriousness of devotion, with their solemn, church-going faces, but in the pomp and splendor of their exalted station, in the glitter of their earthly greatness. And, above all things, they were to see the Electoral Prince, the Prince who had but just returned home, the hope of the downtrodden land, the future of the Mark Brandenburg!
How the good people hurried with joyful, eager faces along toward Broad Street, with what hasty movements did they rush across the Spree Bridge! A black, surging throng of men stood before the castle on the cathedral square, a dense, motionless mass before Count Schwarzenberg's palace. Only one passage was left free, broad enough to allow the carriage to drive across the castle square to the palace, and on both sides of this stood the halberdiers of the Stadtholder's bodyguard, threateningly presenting their halberds toward those who ventured to step forward. The Stadtholder in the Mark had his own bodyguard—fine, athletic fellows, of proud bearing, in splendid uniforms, trimmed everywhere with genuine gold and silver lace, while, as everybody knew, the members of the Electoral bodyguard wore nothing but imitation lace upon their uniforms. The Elector's bodyguard, indeed, were paid and clothed by citizens, and they, on account of their want and distress, had refused to pay the last bodyguard tax, while the Stadtholder's bodyguard consisted of members of his household and was paid and clothed by himself. And Count Schwarzenberg was very rich, and the citizens were very poor, but still the count had never once practiced mildness and mercy, and relieved the poor cities of their taxes and imposts, or given of his wealth to their poverty.
To-day, however, he gave a fête, a splendid fête, and however much at other times they dreaded and hated him, his fête they could still look upon, and with longing eyes behold all its magnificence. It was, indeed, glorious to look upon, and they saw, moreover, how much the Stadtholder honored and esteemed the Elector, for never before had he displayed such splendor, when he merely invited the high nobility. Above the grand door of entrance was stretched a canopy of crimson cloth, edged with gold, the golden pillars of the canopy reaching out even into the street. The four stone steps leading from the front door were covered with fine carpeting, which also stretched away to the street, to the spot where the guests were to alight from their carriages. On both sides of the carpet stood serried ranks of the Stadtholder's lackeys in their flashy gold-trimmed liveries. They were headed by the count's two stewards, with golden wands in their hands, broad gold bands about their shoulders, and monstrous three-cornered hats upon their heads. It was very fine to look upon, and not merely the merry urchins, who were swinging upon the iron railings of the count's park, opposite the palace on the side of the cathedral square, enjoyed the spectacle, but the respectable burgher, with his well-dressed wife upon his arm, found his pleasure in it as well. The front doors were wide open, and they could look into the gorgeous columned hall, decorated with garlands and vases of fresh flowers. Yes, it was plainly to be seen that the Stadtholder felt himself greatly honored by the high company he was to receive to-day, and this even reconciled the good people a little to the proud, imperious Count Schwarzenberg.
And now the distinguished guests came riding up. There were the noblemen from the country round about, in their antiquated, rumbling vehicles, drawn by beautiful, handsomely harnessed horses. There were the Quitzows, the Götzes and Krockows, the Bülows and Arnims, and as often as a carriage arrived the musicians, stationed on both sides of the palace, blew a flourishing peal of trumpets, and the noblemen bowed right and left, greeting, although no one had greeted them except Count Schwarzenberg's chamberlain, von Lehndorf, who received the guests upon the threshold of the house. But now resounded a loud shouting and huzzaing, rolling nearer and ever nearer, like a monstrous wave, and an unusual, joyful movement pervaded the densely packed mass of men. "They come! they come!" sounded from mouth to mouth, and small people raised themselves on tiptoe, and tall ones turned their heads toward the corner of the cathedral square. Already they saw the foot runner, with his plumed hat and golden staff, as he came bounding on, then the two foreriders in their bright blue liveries, with low, round caps upon their heads, and then the electoral equipage, the great gilded coach of state, drawn by four black horses.
"Who is sitting in the coach of state? Is the Electoral Prince in it? Does he come in the same carriage with his father?"
The people grew dumb from impatience and expectancy, in the midst of their cries of joy; they wanted to see! All eyes shone with curiosity as the equipage rolled on. Over in the park, behind the railing, stood the drummers, and they began to beat a roll, which the boys riding on the railing seconded with genuine rapture. The trumpeters blew a flourish, and now Count Schwarzenberg himself issued from the broad palace door, followed by his son, the young Count John Adolphus. Ah! how glorious to behold was the Stadtholder in the Mark in his official costume as Grand Master of the Order of St. John, his breast quite covered with the stars of the order, whose gems glittered and sparkled so wondrously; and how handsome looked the young count, in his white suit of silver brocade, with puffs of purple velvet, his short, ermine-edged mantle of purple velvet, confined at the shoulders by clasps. The two counts made haste down the steps to the equipage. The Stadtholder in his amiable impatience opened the carriage door himself, and offered the Elector George William both his hands to assist him in alighting. And now, laboriously, gasping, with flushed face, and a forced smile upon his lips, the Elector dismounted from his carriage. Leaning upon his favorite's arm, slowly and clumsily he moved forward to the house, his stout, lofty form bent, his gait heavy, and his blue eyes, which were only once turned to the gaping multitude, sad—oh, so sad! The people looked with pity and compassion upon the poor, peevish gentleman, who, in spite of the great Prince's star upon his breast and the Electoral hat with its waving plumes, was not by far so splendid to behold as the proud, stately Count Adam, who strode along at his side.
While the Stadtholder was conducting the Elector into the palace, the Electress alighted from the carriage, the two young Princesses following her. A loud cry of joy and admiration rang out, and called a smile to the lips of the Electress, a deep blush to the cheeks of the Princesses. The Electress's robe, with its long train of gold brocade, was wondrous to behold, and above it the blue velvet mantle with black ermine trimmings; and how beautifully the diadem of diamonds and sapphires gleamed and sparkled on the brown hair of the Princess! Again the Stadtholder came out of the palace with hasty steps, flew to the Electress, and offered her his arm, to lead her into the palace. Nor need the two Princesses walk alone behind; they, too, have their knight—young Count Schwarzenberg, who had received the Electress. He offered his arm to the Princess Charlotte Louise, which she accepted with a lovely smile and a becoming blush. Ah! what a handsome couple that was, and how remarkably their dress corresponded, for the Princess was also dressed in silver brocade, and from her shoulders fell a mantle of purple velvet edged with ermine. The little Princess Sophie Hedwig stepped behind her. But who was this young man, who suddenly stepped forward, made his way through the throng, and offered her his arm? Nobody had seen him or observed him, and he had come on foot, accompanied by a single page. Who was this handsome young man, in light-blue velvet suit, who with the young Princess on his arm mounted the steps with her, laughing merrily.
"It is he! It is the Electoral Prince! It is Frederick William! Cheers for our Electoral Prince! Hurrah for Frederick William! Welcome, welcome home! Long live our Electoral Prince!"
Within the hall, at the window, stood the Elector, and these shouts emanating from thousands of throats darkened his countenance. The people had kept silence when their Sovereign showed himself to them, and now they exulted on seeing his son!