The burghers broke into loud lamentations, a few threw themselves on their knees, others wept and wailed, while the lords of the magistracy approached nearer to the count in order to make confidential representations of the utter hopelessness and despondency of the two unhappy cities of Berlin and Cologne.

Schwarzenberg, however, turned away from these representations with stern composure.  “I have not peace but war in hand,” he said.  “Why do you apply to me now when you think, nevertheless, that you can receive no good save from the Elector himself, who is your guardian angel, while I am the destroying one.  Wait and see what news the deputation of the States will bring you from Koenigsberg.  You besought the States in your time of trouble to appeal to the Elector himself.  Well, be patient and await their return.  However, I can tell you beforehand that they will bring you a refusal, for the Elector wishes war, and has given me orders to that effect.  He has confirmed me in all my offices and dignities.  He has most condescendingly assured me of his unlimited confidence, and empowered me to act according to my own unbiased judgment, and to guide the reins of government as I shall choose.  I hold them tight, and shall not he turned out of my way by your whining and complaining.  War is upon us, and should I have to lay Berlin in ashes to avoid giving a shelter and asylum to the Swedes, it shall be done, rather than conclude peace with them, yield to their degrading conditions, and give up Pomerania to them!  I therefore advise you to be on good terms with the soldiers, to receive them kindly into your houses, to entertain them well—­”

“Sir,” interrupted the first burgomaster, with a bitter cry of distress—­“sir, we have nothing with which we could entertain them, we—­”

“Silence!” called out the Stadtholder, in a thundering voice—­“silence!  I have heard you out, and it is my turn now to speak, and yours to listen silently.  Go and take your measures accordingly, and act as becomes obedient subjects.”

He turned upon his heel and with proud bearing re-entered his cabinet, while the burghers sorrowfully slunk away, to spread throughout all Berlin the dreadful news that all their entreaties had been in vain, and that the war was to be prolonged.

“Yes, the war is to be prolonged,” repeated Count Schwarzenberg, when he again found himself alone in his cabinet.  “We approach the denouement, and if I could only get decisive tidings from my son, I would hurry on a crisis and begin open war.  He keeps me waiting for such tidings a very long while,” continued the count, dropping into the armchair in front of his writing table.  “He has only written once to me from Regensburg, and then he could only inform me that he had commenced operations, and—­Ah!” he interrupted himself, as his glance fell upon his table, “there are papers and dispatches, which must have come in my absence.  Perhaps there is among them a letter from my son.”