And now it was a glorious sight to see how, in a few hours, the whole city changed its appearance.  As the night before had been full of horrors and dread events, the next morning and day were like a festival, the preparation to a great and solemn feast.  Forty of the largest and fattest oxen were slaughtered, to afford a strengthening meal to those so much in need of nourishment.  About mid-day, a strange procession moved down the Koenig’s Street and across the Palace Square.  And what was the meaning of it?  It was not a funeral, for there were no mourning-wreaths and no hearse; it was not a bridal procession, for the bridal paraphernalia and joyous music were wanting.  Nor did it wend its way toward the church nor the churchyard, but toward the new and handsome opera-house, recently erected by the king, whose gates were opened wide to receive it.  It looked like a feast of Bacchus at one time, from the enormous tuns driven along; at another time like a festival of Ceres, as in solemn ranks came the bakers bringing thousands of loaves in large wagons.  Then followed the white-capped cooks, bringing the smoking beef in large caldrons.  The rear was finally brought up by the butlers, with large baskets of wine.

And the beautiful and resplendent temple of art was thrown open to the reception of all these things, although they only served for material nourishment, and in the magnificent hall in which formerly Frederick the Great, with his generals and chosen friends, listened to the magic strains of Gluck, there sounded now a wild confusion of discordant cries.  The butlers stood by the wine-casks, filling the bottles which were carried out by the nimble and active vivandieres, and on the same stage on which once Galiari and Barbarini, Ostroa and Sambeni enchanted the public with their marvellous singing, were seen now large caldrons of beef; and, instead of the singers, the performance was conducted by cooks, who drew the meat out of the pots, and arranged it neatly on enormous dishes.  Gotzkowsky had attained his object, and Berlin fed this day the exhausted and hungry troops of the Prince of Wurtemberg.  The merchant of Berlin had given his choicest and best wines to the banquet of patriotism.

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CHAPTER XII.

RUSSIANS AND AUSTRIANS.

After so many horrors and so many hours of anxiety, at last, on the evening of the second day of the siege, a momentary suspension of hostilities occurred.  Berlin rested after the excitement and turmoil, and even the besiegers seemed to be reposing.  Shells and fire-balls no longer hissed through the groaning air, and the thunder of the cannon had died away.  Peace—­the peace arising from disabling exhaustion on the part of the combatants, reigned for a short while, and the belligerents rested for a few hours to invigorate themselves for a renewal of the fight.  The streets of Berlin, lit by the dull lamplight,