Mr. Bancroft to Mr. Fish
Sir: Four days of sunshine intervening between periods of incessant rain gave brilliancy to the military entry of the Emperor of Germany into his capital.
The via, triumphalis was about three miles long, through streets as wide and in some places thrice as wide as Broadway. Lines of cannon captured from the French were ranged in close order on each side of the way, and the whole line of march was through an allée of flag-staffs garlanded and festooned with oak-leaves and evergreens. The flags, as they represented Germany and its several States, were of all colors, and all harmoniously contrasted and blended. The best talent of the sculptors and painters of Berlin was called into requisition, and, under the hands of men of genius, the coarsest linen, stuffed with straw and covered with gypsum, produced in the distance the effect of marble, and, near at hand, that of casts of beautiful statues. At the starting point of the march, a gigantic image, representing the city of Berlin, gave the welcome to the returning troops. Midway on the line of march a colossal victory, having on her right hand and left statues of Strasburg and Metz, in sitting posture, was much admired. At the end, a Germania receiving back into her arms Alsace and Lorraine, on a pedestal [Page 398] encircled by bas-reliefs, was generally thought a design worthy of being perpetuated in bronze or marble. In the street Unter den Linden skillfully executed historical and allegorical pictures, of enormous dimensions, hung across the avenue along which the army was to pass. The Academy of Arts was conspicuous by well-executed full-length portraits of the Emperor, Bismarck, and the generals. Altogether the decorations were never paltry or common-place, but the designs showed, on the part of the artists, felicity and fertility of invention. The Emperor, now in his seventy-fifth year, rode out to his troops at 10 o’clock, returned at the head of forty thousand men, and, in the scorching sun, received the salutations of all the regiments as they passed by him, and then superintended the unveiling of the statue of his father, remaining on horseback more than six hours, and in all that time showing no sign of fatigue. The spectacle was not inferior to the Roman triumphs of old, except, indeed, that prisoners did not form a part of the procession, and that no other spoils were exhibited beyond captured eagles and banners, and trophies gained in battle. The pageant had for its spectators, besides the citizens of Berlin, three or four hundred thousand strangers, gathered from Germany and almost every part of the civilized world.
The United States were much more largely represented than any other foreign country. In this latitude, where twilight lingers late into the night, the illumination was necessarily short, but very brilliant and universal. No inhabited but was so poor as not to join in it. At the gala performance in the opera on Saturday evening, the Emperor and Empress appeared, surrounded by their children and the various branches of their family, and by many members of the regal and princely houses of Germany; pit, balcony, and boxes were filled, chiefly with the most distinguished generals who have taken part in the war, high officials of the kingdom and empire, and members of their families. Those of our sex glittered each in what Shakespeare calls “a mine of gold,” those of the other sparkled in clusters and rivers of diamonds and precious stones. Of the two pieces that were performed, the first represented Justice as having done its work in the late war, and now introducing Peace attended by all the Seasons and all the Arts. The second showed Barbarossa spellbound in his cave, dreaming on till the empire should be restored, and seeing in his visions what the spectators saw in tableaux vivants, the epoch-making incidents of German history, from the crusades, and early humble fortunes of the younger branch of the Hohenzollerns, to the moment when its chief was upborne at Versailles as Emperor by the arms of the princes of Germany. Sunday was the day of thanksgiving. Two or three months ago a good deal was spoken of a fast in commemoration of those who had fallen in the war, but the feeling of joy could not be restrained; men thought the union and peace of Germany not too dearly bought by the loss of many of the best, and that it should therefore be celebrated not by mourning, but by a festival. The days of triumph being past, Berlin, after almost a full year of intensest excitement, falls back into its normal quietude in midsummer, only with a feeling of security such as it never had before. On the other hand, France still remains in an unsettled state, in danger of being torn by dynastic factions. As a republic, if its government were well established, it would again recover its influence. But almost the only French institution which has passed through the war unscathed is the organized Catholic church. The archbishops, bishops, priests, and inferior clergy are all there as before. The archbishop of Paris, who had fallen under suspicion, is venerated as an orthodox martyr. The liberal Père Hyacinthe pleads for hours together [Page 399] for the civil dominion of the Pope, and the clerical party strains its influence for the restoration of the Pope in Italy and the Bourbons at home. But Prance will never submit to the rule of Jesuits. Any dynasty that might return to power would represent, not the country, but a faction or party. Nothing can so well unite France as a well-organized republic, and yet even a republic is not sure of support from a majority of the cultivated classes, or of the nation. Everything there is heaving and tossing in uncertain expectation, while here the world moves on in tranquillity which nothing now within view is likely to disturb. The Emperor, in his old age, finds himself happy in the love and confidence of his whole people.
I remain, &c.,