A group of generals followed him in gorgeous uniforms, decorated with shining medals and stars, all bore famous names, attracting the keenest interest and centering the enthusiasm of the crowd.  Endless and numberless seemed the ever-changing and richly-colored procession—­Moltke, Bismarck, and Roon side by side, all statuesque figures, their eyes with stately indifference glancing at the rejoicing people.  They seemed in the midst of this stormy wave of excitement like stern, immovable rocks, standing firm and high above the breaking surf at their feet.  Many people had at the sight of them an intuitive feeling that they were not mortal men, but rather mystical embodiments of the power of nature, just as the gods of the sun, the sea, and the storm were the conceptions of the old religions.  They passed on, and at a short interval behind them came the Emperor Wilhelm.  His supreme importance was emphasized by the space left before and after him.  Wreaths covered his purple saddle, flowers drooped over the glossy skin of his high-stepping charger, his helmeted head and his gloved hand saluted and bowed, and on his face shone a mingled expression of gratitude and emotion, which, after the hard, cold bearing of his fellow-workers, was doubly impressive and affecting.  Manifestly this conqueror was not like his Roman prototype who had the words, “Think of death,” whispered in his ear, while he tolerated the idolization of the people.

The monarch had to hear long speeches from the officials and verses from the trembling lips of the young girls who surrounded him before he could ride further.  The train of individual heroes ended with him.  The principle of massing together was now the order, in which individuality is no longer recognized.

Battalion after battalion and squadron after squadron in endless lines passed by, until the tired eyes of the spectators could hardly after a time distinguish whether the lines were still moving, or had come to a standstill.  The helmets and weapons of the soldiers were garlanded with flowers and foliage, the horses’ legs were twined with wreaths, and their feet trod on a mass of trampled flowers and leaves.  The strength of the German army seemed to be decked and curled out of it; the lines of marching soldiers had women’s faces:  here and there a man had a patriotic admirer on his arm, who let it be seen that she had taken possession of his weapon and carried it for him.  The officers, as much bedecked as their men, managed nevertheless to preserve their dignity.

The crowd was gradually becoming stupefied by the spectacle, throats were sore with shouting and cheering, and the oppressive heat took the freshness out of the people’s enthusiasm.  Once more, however, they broke out again, just as when the emperor and his paladins appeared, and this was when the French field-trophies were carried past.  Eighty-one standards and flags were there, from the battlefields of Russia, Italy, and Mexico, soaked through with men’s