Thousands
surrounded the royal palace at Berlin all day, and whenever the king
appeared at the windows or on the balcony, they saluted him with
cheers and waving of hats and handkerchiefs. Multitudes thronged
toward the cathedral, to thank God for the glorious victory
vouchsafed to them. In every house were festivities in honor of the
great battle of the nations fought at Leipsic.
But during this universal exultation the king left Berlin, without
his suite, attended only by his old friend, General Kockeritz, and
rode to Charlottenburg. No notice was taken of the unpretending
equipage, drawn by two horses, destitute of escutcheons and
liveries, which drove out of the Brandenburg gate, and the king
reached Charlottenburg without being recognized. He did not,
however, enter the palace, but ordered Kockeritz to fetch the
castellan, that he might open the vault of the royal tomb; then,
wrapping his cloak closer about him, under which he seemed to
conceal something, he trod the dark path leading to the mausoleum.
He paced the gloomy avenue of cypress and pines with a slow step,
absorbed in deep reflection. Holy peace surrounded him--not a sound
of the people's joy reached him--naught disturbed the silence, save
some gentle breeze that rustled the foliage, and as a spirit-voice
greeted the king's return. The recollections of other days, with all
their troubles, came to him, and revived the painful emotions of the
past.
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