r our mother had a violent headache, and we were sent to
get her usual medicine. We reached the Ring pharmacy--a little house in
the Potsdam Platz occupied by the well-known writer, Max Ring--in a very
few minutes. We performed our errand with the utmost care, gave the
medicine to the cook on our return, and hurried off into the city.

When we had left the Mauer-and Friedrichstrasse behind, our hearts began
to beat faster, and what we saw on the rest of the way through the
longest street of Berlin as far as the Linden was of such a nature that
the mere thought of it awakens in me to this day an ardent hope that I
may never witness such sights again.

Rage, hate, and destruction had celebrated the maddest orgies on our
path, and Death, with passionate vehemence, had swung his sharpest
scythe. Wild savagery and merciless destruction had blended with the
shrewdest deliberation and skillful knowledge in constructing the bars
which the German, avoiding his own good familiar word, called barricades.
An elderly gentleman who was explaining their construction, pointed out
to us the ingenuity with which some of the barricades had been
strengthened for defence on the one side, and left comparatively weak on
the other. Every trench dug where the paving was torn up had its object,
and each heap of stones its particular design.

But the ordinary spectator needed a guide to recognize this. At the first
sight, his attention was claimed by the confused medley and the many
heart-rending signs of the horrors practised by man on man.

Here was a pool of blood, there a bearded corpse; here a blood-stained
weapon, there another blackened with powder. Like a caldron where a witch
mixes all manner of strange things for a philter, each barricade
consisted of every sort of rubbish, together with objects originally
useful. All kinds of overturned vehicles, from an omnibus to a
perambulator, from a carriage to a hand-cart, were everywhere to be
found. Wardrobes, commodes, chairs, boards, laths, bookshelves, bath tubs
and washtubs, iron and wooden pipes, were piled together, and the
interstices filled with sacks of straw and rags, mattresses, and carriage
cushions. Whence came the planks yonder, if they were not stripped from
the floor of some room? Children and promenaders had sat only yesterday
on those benches and, the night before that, oil lamps or gas flames had
burned on those lamp-posts. The sign-boards on top had invited customers
into