The same suit the citizens desired to present to the Stadtholder, and to-day, while preparations were in progress for a military entertainment in the Schwarzenberg palace, a solemn deputation of the magistracy and citizenship repaired to the same spot to lay before the Stadtholder their wishes and entreaties.  Count Schwarzenberg kept them waiting a long while in his antechamber, and when he finally made his appearance his countenance was proud and haughty, and his eyes shot angry glances upon the poor representatives of the burghers, who stood with deprecating humility before him.

“What would you have of me, sirs?” he cried, in a rough voice.  “What have you to say to me?”

“Most gracious sir,” replied the burgomaster of Berlin, “we come to entreat the aid and assistance of your excellency in behalf of our afflicted cities.  We are exhausted, hungry, plundered, driven to despair.  We can no longer bear the frightful burden of war.  Have compassion upon our affliction; make peace with the Swede, that he may not advance upon Berlin, that we may not be forced to appeal to foreigners for our defense.”

“Make peace!” cried the burghers, stretching out their hands imploringly toward the Stadtholder, their eyes filled with tears.  “O sir! we have borne sorrow and wretchedness for so many long, bitter years!  Our hearts are crushed and desperate!  Our souls are faint!  Make peace, that we may see some end to our trials!  We have no nourishment, no money, not even a shelter for our heads.  The Swedes plundered us; the Imperialists took from us what the Swedes left; and now our own soldiers drive us out of our bare and empty dwellings, make sport of our calamities, mock the burghers, insult our wives and daughters, and quarter themselves in our houses, while we wander homeless about the streets, not even being able to procure shelter in our churches because the cavalry have taken possession of these with their horses, and converted the temples of God into filthy barracks!  Make peace, Sir Stadtholder, make peace!”

“I have not power to do so,” replied Count Schwarzenberg haughtily, “neither the power nor the will!  The Swede is the enemy of our country, and we must resist him with all the means at our command.  Cease your howling and shrieking, for it will be but in vain.  War is upon us, and we can not as cowards retreat before it.  Shame upon you for your pusillanimity and cowardice, since your men are still capable of bearing arms!”

“Sir, our men have no more strength for fighting.  Our hands are too weak to hold a weapon.”

“Oh, you will be forced to handle them!” cried Schwarzenberg, laughing scornfully.  “When your houses are on fire, and you see your wives and children dragged off by soldiers, then these cowards will be turned into valiant warriors, who can at least defend their lives and the honor of their families!  I tell you, though, it will come to that.  Extremity is before you, and calls for terrible resolutions."[42]