The hotel is very well located, and I propose to sketch the view seen from its steps.  It will give a fair idea of the general character of the city.  The foreground is a quay bordering the Spree.  A few boats with slender masts are sleeping on the brown water.  Vessels upon a canal or a river, in the heart of a city, have always a charming effect.  Along the opposite quay stretches a line of houses; a few of them are ancient, and bear the stamp thereof; the king’s palace makes the corner.  A cupola upon an octagonal tower rises proudly above the other roofs, the square sides of the tower adding grace to the curve of the dome.

A bridge spans the river, reminding me, with its white marble groups, of the Ponte San Angelo at Rome.  These groups—­eight in number, if my memory does not deceive me—­are each composed of two figures; one allegorical, winged, representing the country, or glory; the other, a young man, guided through many trials to victory or immortality.  These groups, in purely classic taste, are not wanting in merit, and show in some parts good study of the nude; their pedestals are ornamented with medallions, whereon the Prussian eagle, half-real, half-heraldic, makes a fine appearance.  Considered as a decoration, the whole is, in my opinion, somewhat too rich for the simplicity of the bridge, which opens midway to allow the passage of vessels.

Farther on, through the trees of a public garden of some kind, appears the old Museum, a great structure in the Greek style, with Doric columns relieved against a painted background.  At the corners of the roof, bronze horses held by grooms are outlined upon the sky.  Behind this building, and looking sideways, you perceive the triangular pediment of the new Museum.

On crossing the bridge, the dark facade of the palace comes in view, with its balustraded terrace; the carvings around the main entrance are in that old, exaggerated German rococo which I have seen before and have admired in the palace in Dresden.  This kind of barbaric taste has something charming about it, and entertains the eye, satiated with chefs d’oeuvre.  It has invention, fancy, originality; and tho I may be censured for the opinion, I confess I prefer this exuberance to the coldness of the Greek style imitated with more erudition than success in our modern public buildings.  At each side stand great bronze horses pawing the ground, and held by naked grooms.

I visited the apartments of the palace; they are rich and elegant, but present nothing interesting to the artist save their ancient recessed ceilings filled with curious figures and arabesques.  In the concert-hall there is a musicians’ gallery in grotesque carving, silvered; its effect is really charming.  Silver is not used enough in decorations; it is a relief from the classic gold, and forms admirable combinations with colors.  The chapel, whose dome rises above the rest of the building, is well planned and well lighted, comfortable, reasonably decorated.