Entrance To Kroll's.
Flora In Charlottenburg, Exterior.
Berlin is by no means limited to imposing theatres. Some are quite simple in appearance, and have connected with them attractive gardens, which offer further recreation to their patrons in avenues of trees, lighted with colored lamps and jets of gas arranged in fanciful designs; while here and there is a pretty arbor, provided, of course, with a table and chairs; for, to be really happy, the Germans must, on public occasions, eat and drink. The theatres, therefore, have their restaurants, which, when the curtain falls, are instantly invaded; and between every act the gardens become suddenly alive with thirsty people. One object then fills every soul with longing. It is the characteristic, the inevitable beer-mug. Skilled hands have previously strewn upon the tables countless steins of beer; and at the sight of them a roar of voices fills the air, a clash of clinking mugs goes up to heaven, a thousand eager arms are raised, a thousand bearded mouths expand; a moment's silence then ensues; then crash ! down go the beer-mugs on the quivering tables, drained of their contents once and yet again, ere the loud bell calls the invigorated wanderers in to see the curtain rise for another act.
In the basement of the Berlin City Hall there is an enormous restaurant, three hundred feet in length, and comfortably, even luxuriously, furnished. Thus, while eloquence is flowing in the halls above, Rhine wine and beer are flowing in the vaults below. It has been calculated that two million glasses of beer are consumed in Berlin every day, or more than one glass for every man, woman, and child in the city. Yet little intoxication is seen here, for there are very few low saloons where ardent spirits are for sale. Occasionally, one finds in Germany " American Bars," where every kind of fancy drink known in the United States is advertised to be made, if called for; but these are little patronized, save by a few American travelers. Compared with German restaurants they seem unsocial ; for, as a rule, an American drinks standing at the bar, being in too much haste to seat himself and sip the beverage while listening to fine music, or reading thoughtfully his evening paper.
Among the equestrian statues on the Unter den Linden is the colossal figure of the Grand Elector, one of those magnates who, many years ago, possessed the power of choosing monarchs for the Prussian people. Times have changed greatly since his day, and Berlin has so altered with them that, if the Grand Elector could return to life, I fancy he would stand as motionless as this statue, in dumb amazement at the improvements which have taken place. He would find, it is true, the Royal Palace confronting him comparatively unaltered; but that is the only antique monument of importance which Berlin can claim, and even that, in its present form, has seen scarcely two centuries.
Statue Of Elector.
This city residence of the present Kaiser is a building of gigantic size, a kind of mountain faced with stucco. Frederick the Great was born within its walls; but for many years or until the accession of the present sovereign, it was not used as an imperial abode. Old Emperor William always preferred the modest house built for him when a newly married prince, and his son Frederick, had he lived, would doubtless have followed his example. But since this has been always used for State receptions, Court ceremonies, festivals, and royal weddings, it is revered by the Germans on account of its participation in the great events connected with the nation's history. On entering the courtyard of this massive edifice, I was amused to see another proof of the warlike tastes of the Berlinese. Toujours la guerre! For here, immortalized in bronze, is St. George fighting with the dragon. A myth, of course; yet not un-suited to the place, for this old palace has connected with it a number of mysterious legends which, by the common people, used to be accepted as undoubted facts. Such, for example, is the story of the White Lady, whose spectral figure is believed to haunt this castle, and frequently to walk unseen, though not unheard, through its seven hundred rooms. On rare occasions, however, it is said to be visible; and then the ghostly presence, it is thought, portends some great misfortune to the royal family. The phantom is supposed to be a German countess, Agnes of Orla-munde, who, centuries ago, with mediaeval frankness offered her hand in marriage to a member of the royal house. The Prince replied that two pairs of eyes formed the sole obstacle to' their union, alluding to his aged parents, who would not give their consent to the nuptials.