men and boys streamed toward the town-hall, and, raising their eyes
and arms to the windows, demanded from the city fathers, with genuine
enthusiasm, weapons and ammunition. Perhaps, indeed, it was only fear
which had suddenly made these peaceful citizens of Berlin so bold and
lion-hearted: one thing is certain, that is, that at this moment they
were all animated by one sentiment, one impulse, and that their deadly
hatred against Russian and Austrian tendered peaceable submission
impossible. The tailor threw away his needle and grasped the sword,
the shoemaker exchanged his awl for a dagger, and all these quiet,
humble citizens had been transformed by hatred and fear, anger and
terror, into most belligerent heroes.

"Give us arms!" was the reiterated cry.

An heroic tailor climbed up on the shoulders of a hunchback shoemaker,
and sawing the air violently with his arms, cried out: "The people of
Berlin demand their rights; they will fight for their liberty. Give
the people of Berlin their due. Give them arms--arms!"

"Arms!" roared the crowd. "We will have arms!"

"And what do you want with arms?" cried suddenly a shrill, piercing
voice. All eyes were turned toward the spot whence the voice
proceeded, and there was seen the meagre figure of the linen-weaver,
who had leaped upon a bench, and from his elevated position was
looking down upon the people with the confident air of a conqueror.
But Pfannenstiel observed, to his dismay, that this time his
appearance did not produce the desired effect; on the contrary, angry
looks were cast upon him, and occasionally a threatening fist was
raised against the divinely-inspired prophet.

"What do you want with arms?" cried he once more. "Prayer is the only
weapon becoming peaceful citizens."

A burst of scornful laughter was the answer. "Down with the
linen-weaver! Tear him to pieces!" roared the crowd, becoming
infuriated.

"We mean to fight, and not to pray," cried the valorous tailor.

"We want none of your poltroonery, you blackguard of a linen-weaver!"

"The tailor is right! Pfannenstiel is a false prophet!" cried another
voice.

"Hang him!"

"He wants to make cowards of us!"

The crowd raged still more furiously, and pressed toward the spot
where Pfannenstiel stood. Threatening hands were raised against him,
and the situation of the prophet of peace began to be uncomfortable
enough, when suddenly two new figures rose near him, and, by their
unexpected appear