Never was more forcibly seen, than on this occasion, the power of the higher classes over the masses of the people.  In fact, popular tumults, disgraceful mobs, are almost invariably excited by the higher classes, who push the mob on while they themselves keep in the background.  It was now for the interest of the leaders, both Catholic and Protestant, that there should be peace, and the populace immediately imbibed that spirit.  The Protestant chapel stood by the side of the Romish cathedral, and the congregations mingled freely in courtesy and kindness, as they passed to and from their places of worship.  Mutual forbearance and good will seemed at once to be restored.  And now the several cities of the German empire, where religious freedom had been crushed by the emperor, began to throng his palace with remonstrants and demands.  They, united, resolved at every hazard to attain the privileges which their brethren in Bohemia and Austria had secured.  The Prince of Anhalt, an able and intrepid man, was dispatched to Prague with a list of grievances.  In very plain language he inveighed against the government of the emperor, and demanded for Donauworth and other cities of the German empire, the civil and religious freedom of which Rhodolph had deprived them; declaring, without any softening of expression, that if the emperor did not peacefully grant their requests, they would seek redress by force of arms.  The humiliated and dishonored emperor tried to pacify the prince by vague promises and honeyed words, to which the prince replied in language which at once informed the emperor that the time for dalliance had passed.

“I fear,” said the Prince of Anhalt, in words which sovereigns are not accustomed to hear, “that this answer will rather tend to prolong the dispute than to tranquillize the united princes.  I am bound in duty to represent to your imperial majesty the dangerous flame which I now see bursting forth in Germany.  Your counselors are ill adapted to extinguish this rising flame—­those counselors who have brought you into such imminent danger, and who have nearly destroyed public confidence, credit and prosperity throughout your dominions.  I must likewise exhort your imperial majesty to take all important affairs into consideration yourself, intreating you to recollect the example of Julius Caesar, who, had he not neglected to read the note presented to him as he was going to the capitol, would not have received the twenty wounds which caused his death.”

This last remark threw the emperor into a paroxysm of terror.  He had long been trembling from the apprehension of assassination.  This allusion to Julius Caesar he considered an intimation that his hour was at hand.  His terror was so great that Prince Anhalt had to assure him, again and again, that he intended no such menace, and that he was not aware that any conspiracy was thought of any where, for his death.  The emperor was, however, so alarmed that he promised any thing and every thing.  He doubtless intended to fulfill his promise, but subsequent troubles arose which absorbed all his remaining feeble energies, and obliterated past engagements from his mind.