ty, and to remember their honors as men, the versatile
crowd began again to cry out--"Arms, arms! give us arms!"

But the humpbacked shoemaker still remained cowed and timid, and the
threatenings of the preachers of peace still sounded in his ears.
He threw up his arms and cried out: "Children, remember what the
gentlemen told us. Have nothing to do with fighting. Be wise and
prudent!"

"The devil take your prudence!" cried Gotzkowsky. In an hour like this
we have no need of prudence; we want courage! Won't you fight?"

"No, we won't!" cried the shoemaker, resolutely. "We want to keep our
arms and legs."

"We don't want to go to the Oxen-head!" exclaimed another.

Gotzkowsky broke out impetuously: "Are you men, who dare to talk in
this way? You are afraid of losing your limbs, and you are not afraid
of losing, by your cowardice, your most valuable possessions, your
liberty and your honor. Even if you do crawl through our streets as
cripples, your wives and children will point to you with pride, and
men will whisper to each other, 'He too was one of the heroes
who fought for liberty, one of the brave men who, when Berlin was
besieged, met the enemy, and fought bravely for our rights.'"

"That's fine," cried the tailor, carried away by Gotzkowsky's fiery
words. "Yes, let us be heroes, let us fight!"

At the windows of the town-hall above, hid behind the curtains, the
wise members of the city Council still stood and listened with anxious
hearts to what was going on below. The countenance of the chief
burgomaster became ashy pale, and drops of cold sweat stood on his
brow. "This Gotzkowsky will ruin us all," sighed he heavily. "He does
not think what he is doing. His foolhardiness will compel us all to
be brave. But we will have to pay for our liberty, not only with our
blood, but with our fortunes. And this man, who calculates so badly,
pretends to be a merchant! But we must yield to this rash mob, for to
oppose an excited people might bring even the honorable Council into
danger. Good Heavens!" cried he, interrupting himself, "what is this
again?"

To the sound of martial music, there was seen coming down the street a
band of scar-covered veterans, the invalids of the first years of the
war. Some limped, others carried their arms in slings, others again
had their heads bound up; but one could perceive, by their serious,
determined faces, that they were animated by a high and cheerful
courage, which placed them a