Behind them was a line of more than
two hundred youths, in light, simple attire, their cheeks glowing
with excitement or exercise, and their eyes flashing with
enthusiasm.
"Hurrah!" shouted the people. "Here are the Turners! Here is Father
Jahn with his Turners! Long live Jahn!"
The Turners, at a beck from "Father Jahn," had taken position across
the street, and thus, like a chain, prevented the citizens from
passing on. The three leaders stood in front, and gazed gravely upon
the approaching multitude.
"Clear the track!" cried the crowd. "We have business to attend to
on the square in front of the gate!"
"Believe me, it is as I said," whispered the smallest of the three
men to his neighbor. "It is a riot directed against the French
ambassador!"
"Where are you going?" shouted the man with the lion's mane, pushing
back those at the head of the crowd with his herculean arms.
"We are going to the French ambassador, to sing him a new German
song, and accompany it with stones for his windows."
"And why do you wish to do so?" asked the tall man. "What do you
care for the Frenchman on this beautiful and joyous day? Men like
you have something else to do than to break the windows of the
French ambassador. There will be other battles before long. I hope
you have heard or read what great events have occurred; I hope you
know the message which the king has sent to us from Breslau?"
"No, we know nothing about them!" replied a few voices.
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