Part 7 (1/2)

”A people willing to fight for liberty,” cried Gotzkowsky, ”such a people have the strength of a giant even without cannon and bayonets.

G.o.d has given them hands and paving-stones. If we cannot shoot down the enemy who threatens our liberty, we can beat him down.”

”What do you say?” stammered Krause, looking with amazement at Gotzkowsky's glowing countenance.

”I say,” said Gotzkowsky, ”that you have mistaken your man. I will not advise the brave Berlin people to yield without having at least fought for their freedom.”

”But only reflect!” exclaimed Kretschmer, while Krause paced up and down, wringing his hands and moaning in a low tone; ”have you forgotten that the Russian generals have proclaimed that the empress has commanded them to leave nothing but air and earth to the inhabitants of every conquered town and province of Prussia?”

”Oh, pshaw!” cried Gotzkowsky, laughing, ”they will have to conclude to leave us something more.”

”And did you hear London's terrible threat? He has said his soldiers should ma.s.sacre every one, and not spare even the child in its mother's womb.”

”And did you not hear the brave Schwerin's answer to this Austrian bravado?” asked Gotzkowsky. ”He said, 'My soldiers are not with child, neither am I.' Well, our men of Berlin are not with child, and therefore they need not be afraid.”

”But you must be afraid!” whined Krause. ”It is disgraceful madness not to be afraid. How! You can be so unreasonable as to advise war?

But war is the most bitter enemy of prosperity, and threatens property above all things.”

”Then shame on the proprietors,” cried Gotzkowsky, ”if their property is to make cowardly poltroons of them! Liberty is our greatest possession, and all else must yield to it.”

At this moment loud cries and sounds of wailing were heard in the garden from the collected workmen, who surrounded the prophet in a dense group, and listened to his prophecies with anxious wonder as he uttered them from a high bench.

Gotzkowsky frowned. ”Ah, I understand!” said he, ”this good linen-weaver is your accomplice, my brave gentlemen, and as you wish to convert me, so does he wish to convert my honest workmen into old women. Let us see first in what sort of gibberish he preaches his wisdom to these good people.”

Without taking any further notice of the two editors, Gotzkowsky left the summer-house rapidly and approached the listening mult.i.tude.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE LEADER OF THE PEOPLE.

The inspired prophet stood on a bench, and, as he unrolled his pictures, he endeavored to explain these mystical paintings to his devout gazers and listeners in equally mystical language. Gotzkowsky hastened toward this group, and pressed in silent observation close up to Pfannenstiel's side.

The linen-weaver, wholly possessed by his prophetic G.o.d, had in the mean while unrolled another picture, and holding it up high with solemn countenance, exclaimed with a screaming voice: ”The day of judgment is at hand, and destiny is at your door! In my dream I saw a face like unto no other face, and I heard a voice, and the voice was like unto no other voice!”

”And yet you heard it! What ears you must have!” said Gotzkowsky, laughing.

The prophet answered calmly, ”Yes! for then were seen invisible things, and then were heard inaudible sounds!” And showing a fresh picture to the crowd, he continued: ”Look at this picture, which I found this morning on my sheet. It contains the history of your future, and G.o.d announced it to me as I sat at my loom weaving. I heard a voice crying, 'Pfannenstiel, my beloved son, dost thou hear me?' And I fell on my knees and answered, 'Yes, I hear.' 'Dost thou know what thou art weaving?' asked the voice. 'Yes,' said I, 'it is linen s.h.i.+rting for the almshouse.' 'No,' said the voice, 'it is a cloth of weeping for the town of Berlin, for the daughters of your fathers will shed tears, and there will be moaning and weeping.'”

These last words he accompanied with a sobbing and plaintive howl, in which his trembling hearers joined. They a.s.sured each other in uncomfortable whispers that Pfannenstiel's prophecies usually came true, and that, even before the war, he had predicted the coming of this day of terror.

But soon Pfannenstiel raised his voice, and its hoa.r.s.e croaking sounded above the loud conversation and anxious cries of the mult.i.tude. ”Woe unto Berlin!” cried he, with shrieking pathos. ”Blood will flow within her walls! The voice said unto me, 'I will look upon red, but it will not be a scarlet cloak, and when the red banner waves thrones will tremble, and there will be no end to the lamentation.

And the c.o.c.k will crow, and the heavens will s.h.i.+ne blood-red, and everywhere and in all places men will cry, ”Blood! blood is the drink of new life; blood makes young what is old; blood wipes out sworn debts; blood makes the proud humble. Let us drink blood!”'”

Here the prophet was interrupted by the loud cries and wailing of the mult.i.tude. The women broke out in tears, sank on their knees and prayed, or clung trembling and weeping to their moody-looking husbands.