"Das schwarze Band, den schwarzen Flor
Lasst in den Lüften wallen,
Den Todten singt ein Klagelied,
Die für die Freiheit gefallen."[7]
There are poems to Lenau, the most popular of living Austrian poets, bewailing that the singer of liberty is now insane and silent, his ears deaf to the victors' joyful shouts. Richard Wagner, as yet unknown to fame, sends a "Greeting from Saxony to Vienna":
"Ihr habt der Freiheit Art erkannt;
Nicht halb wird sie gewonnen;
Ist uns ihr kleinstes Glied entwandt,
Schnell ist sie ganz zeronnen.
Dies kleinste Glied ist unsre Ehre,
Ehrlos ist, wer es lässt,
Mit hellen Waffen, guter Wehre,
Drum hieltet Ihr es fest."[8]
Amongst the writers of serious poems we find names like Grillparzer and Hebbel; Saphir and Dingelstedt write mock-heroic elegies on the last of the censors, both of them parodies of Schiller's Nadowessische Todesklage; and there are no end of satiric thrusts at the King of Prussia, who, curiously enough, was considered to have acted heretofore in a more reactionary spirit, and now to be granting concessions more unwillingly than the Austrian Emperor.
Since the beginning of March Berlin had been in a state of the wildest excitement. Directly after the Revolution of February the Kreuzzeitung published an article advocating war with France. It awakened extreme anxiety; people asked each other if long-suffering Prussia was actually to be compelled to take up arms against the French Republic. It was in these days that all Germany began to deck itself in black, red, and gold, the colours symbolising unity and liberty. Freiligrath wrote of them:
"In Kümmerniss und Dunkelheit
Da mussten wir sie bergen,
Nun haben wir sie doch befreit,
Befreit aus ihren Särgen;
Ha, wie das blitzt und rauscht und rollt!
Hurrah, du Schwarz, du Roth, du Gold!
Pulver ist schwarz,
Blut ist roth,
Golden flackert die Flamme!"[9]
On the 7th of March the first great public meeting was held at In den Zelten. It was resolved to present an address to the King, demanding that he should immediately convene the Landtag and grant a constitution. The address ended with the words: "No war with France! Lawful liberty in our own country! Fraternal union of the whole great German nation!" On the 12th of March a regiment of cavalry charged the crowds at In den Zelten and dispersed them, but they collected again in town, built barricades, and attempted to seize a gunsmith's shop in the Jägerstrasse. Two men were killed in front of the Opera House. Under the windows of the Castle the people shouted "Liberty! Liberty of the press!" and insulted the sentries. On the 14th of March a general Landtag was summoned. So far things had been managed on the whole peaceably; but on the 15th of March the soldiers, who were worn out with night-watching, and with having to hold themselves in constant readiness in the barracks, began to behave roughly to the crowd, to strike with the butt-ends of their guns, &c. Small barricades which some boys had erected at the corner of the Kurstrasse and the Gertraudenstrasse were charged by the Cuirassier Guards from Potsdam, and the boys were cruelly handled.
At one o'clock on the 18th of March a royal proclamation was read in front of the Castle. It declared that Germany was to be from henceforth not a federation of States, but one federated State (Staatenbund—Bundesstaat), with a common Parliament, a common army, free-trade, liberty of emigration, and liberty of the press. At the end of each sentence the crowd answered with thundering hurrahs. Cries were heard of "Away with the soldiers!" and some stones were thrown. The famous General von Pfuel, who was in command, forbade the soldiers to fire, ordered the dragoons to dismount, and praised the discipline they showed in obeying at once, furious as they were. When the town seemed quiet he went home for a short time.
During his absence, in consequence of an order given, no one knows by whom, though the embittered populace during the following days laid the blame of it on the Prince of Prussia, the future Emperor William, a regiment of dragoon guards arrived. The crowd shouted "Away!" The dragoons wheeled round, and the crowd were beginning to cry "Bravo!" when suddenly the soldiers charged in amongst them with naked swords. At the same moment a battalion of infantry marched out at the Castle gate, drew up in line, and also charged with levelled bayonets. Some shots were fired—possibly by accident. With loud shrieks the crowd instantaneously dispersed. Only a moment before joy had been at its height; strangers had been embracing each other, waving their hats, and shouting "Hurrah for the King"; now, as if at a preconcerted signal, barricades sprang up, as they had done in Vienna, over the whole town. There were two hundred of them, built of paving-stones, gutter-planking, and carts. The town was a camp. Men fired on the troops from every roof; those who could not get guns, threw stones. Every axe, every thick stick became a weapon.[10]
The roofs were torn off corner houses, and paving-stones were carried up in baskets. The students met, armed, in front of the University, fastened tri-coloured cockades in their caps, and proceeded to man the barricades. Powder and shot, axes and iron bars, were provided by the merchants. On the evening of the 18th, the artillery opened fire in the Königstrasse. The King looked on from the windows of the Castle, incensed by the deputations that came entreating him to withdraw the troops, but at times condescending to jest; what specially annoyed him was the sight of the tri-coloured flags waving on the barricades. He was ready, he said, to concede much to entreaty, nothing to illegal violence.