From Pole to Pole | Page 4

the air and had
such sharp eyes that we could perceive all the coasts and boundaries of
Europe, and plainly distinguish the fine lines of the railways, we should
also see small, dark, short forms running backwards and forwards along
them. We should see, as it were, a teeming ant-hill, and after every ant
we should see a small puff of smoke. In Scandinavia and Russia the
bustle would seem less lively, but in the centre of Europe the ants
would scurry about with terrible activity.
Whether it was winter or summer, day or night, the bustle would never
grow less. From our elevated point of view we should see innumerable
trains flying in the night like glow-worms in every direction.
Ceaselessly they rush between cities and states, between the sea-coast
and the inland districts, and to and from the heart of Europe. For during
the last twenty years Berlin has become the heart of Europe. London is
situated on an island, and Paris is too near the margin of the Continent.
But in Berlin several of the greatest railway routes meet, and whether
the traveller goes from Paris to St. Petersburg, from Stockholm to
Rome, or from Hamburg to Vienna, he has always to pass through
Berlin.
In the city which is "the heart of Europe" we must expect to find the
main thoroughfares crowded with foot-passengers of all nationalities,
and vehicles of every conceivable kind--motor cars, electric trams,
horse omnibuses, vans, cabs, carts, and so on. Yet in spite of their
endless streams of traffic, the streets of Berlin are not noisy--not nearly

so noisy as those of Stockholm--for they are paved with asphalt and
wood, and most of the conveyances have rubber tyres on their wheels.
As in other large cities, the streets are relieved of a great deal of traffic
by trains which run right through the town and round its suburbs, either
up in the air on viaducts, or underground in tunnels lighted by
electricity. At the Frederick Street Station of the City Railway, which
lies in the centre of the town, a train arrives or departs every other
minute of the day and of a good part of the night as well.
Not far off is a square--the "King's Place"--where a monument to
commemorate the victory of the Germans over the French, in 1871,
lifts its spire above the city, with three rows of cannon captured in
France in its recesses. Close at hand, too, are the shady walks in the
"Tiergarten" (Park), where all Berlin is wont to enjoy itself on Sundays.
When we turn eastwards, we have to pass through a great colonnade,
the Brandenburg Gate, with Doric pillars supporting the four-horsed
chariot of the goddess of victory in beaten copper. Here the German
army entered Berlin after the conquest of France and the founding of
the German Empire.
On the farther side of this gate stretches one of the most noted streets in
Europe. For if Berlin is the heart of Germany, so is the street called
"Unter den Linden" (Under the Lime-Trees) the centre and heart of
Berlin. There are, indeed, streets which are longer, for this extends only
two-thirds of a mile, but hardly any which are broader, for it is 66 yards
across. Between its alternate carriage-roads and foot-walks four double
rows of limes and chestnuts introduce a refreshing breath of open
country right into the bosom of the great town of stone, with its straight
streets and heavy, grey square houses. As we wander along "Unter den
Linden" we pass the foreign embassies and the German government
offices, and, farther on, the palace of the old Kaiser Wilhelm, which is
unoccupied and has been left exactly as it was in his lifetime. He used
to stand at a corner window on the ground floor, and look out at his
faithful people.
It is now just noon. Splendid carriages and motor cars sweep past, and
the crush of people on the pavements is great. We hear the inspiriting

music of a military band, and the Imperial Guard marches down the
street, followed by crowds of eager sightseers. Keeping time with the
music we march with them past the great Royal Library to where
Frederick the Great looks down from his tall bronze horse on the
children of to-day. On the one side is the Opera House, on the other is
the University, with its ten thousand students, and farther on the
Arsenal, with its large historical collections of engines of war. We cross
over the "Schlossbrücke" (Palace Bridge), which throws its arch over
the River Spree, and follow the parade into the "Lustgarten" (Pleasure
Garden). The band halts at the foot of the statue of Frederick William
III. and the people crowd round to listen, for now one piece is