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Updated: June 9, 2025
Every afternoon in the ensuing spring, his stout square-shouldered figure might be seen, in military uniform and with sword rattling in its scabbard, accompanied by a single aid, on horseback, trotting through the shaded riding-paths of the Thiergarten, for the sake of health, doubtless, but evidently with no little pleasure.
There is a tradition that once when she had slapped Paula's pretty face, the odd child rubbed her cheek and said, with the droll calmness that rarely deserted her, "When you want to strike me again, mother, please take off your rings first." During the time we lived in the Thiergarten my mother's hand scarcely ever touched my face except in a caress. Every memory of her is bright and beautiful.
Before this praiseworthy deed we had, however, thrown snow at a young lady in wanton mischief. I forgive our heedlessness as we were forgiven, but it is really a painful thought to me that we should have snowballed a poor insane man, well known in the Thiergarten and Lennestrasse, and who seriously imagined that he was made of glass.
Ah, if these men knew but we must be patient. The doctor positively assures me she is doing very well." Three weeks later I was again taking a walk through the Thiergarten, wrapped in my cloak, for it was winter, when I perceived M. Delille sitting on a quite wet bench. His face was very pale. I never saw a sadder expression. Hoping to rally him, I said: "What a melancholy countenance!
For a hundred years the picturesque Brandenburg Gate has guarded the entrance to Unter den Linden from the Thiergarten. It is a monument of the reversion of royal taste from the devotion to French style, which characterized Frederick the Great, to the purely classical.
The other, on the right, whose windows overlooked the Thiergarten, bore the name in my childhood of Lennestrasse, which it owed to Lenne, the park superintendent, a man of great talent, but who lives in my memory only as a particularly jovial old gentleman. He occupied No. 1, and was one of my mother's friends.
Lennestrasse is the scene of the period of my life which began with my return from Holland. If, coming from the Brandenburg Gate, you follow the Thiergarten and pass the superb statue of Goethe, you will reach a corner formed by two blocks of houses. The one on the left, opposite to the city wall, now called Koniggratz, was then known as Schulgartenstrasse.
But before that there was speech-making, and singing, and dancing of reels under the moonlight that mingled softly with the rays of countless paper lanterns. The latter were marvellous in the eyes of the foresters, though some of those who had served in the army said they had seen the like in Stuttgardt, on the King's birthday, when the Thiergarten was illuminated.
Those marks of her presence, which you saw during the old king's lifetime, are now removed; we saw no traces of her dresses, gloves, or books. In one room, draped in white muslin over pink, we were informed the Empress of Russia was born. In going out to Charlottenburg, we rode through the Thiergarten, the Tuileries of Berlin.
Its Brandenburg Gate is most impressive, and I wanted to make some demonstration every time we drove under it and realized that the statue above it has been returned. Their statue of Victory in the Thiergarten is so hideous, however, that I was reminded of General Sherman's remark when he saw the Pension Office in Washington, "And they tell me the thing is fireproof!"
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