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Updated: May 15, 2025
Kretschmer and dragged him to the terrible lane; they pushed him in between the rows of soldiers, who, with rude laughter, were flourishing the rods in their hands.
It opened, and a stately old gentleman entered, with well-powdered wig and long queue. "Mr. Krause, my worthy colleague!" exclaimed Kretschmer, jumping up and hastening toward the old man. But Mr. Krause had no word of greeting. He sank sighing into a chair. "Do you know the news?" asked he, in a whining tone, folding his trembling hands, and looking at Kretschmer timidly, as he stood before him.
The Russian officer was touched by the tears of sorrow of the editor; he did have pity on the gray hairs and bowed form of the old man, or perhaps he only acted on instructions received from General Tottleben. He motioned to the provosts to lead the other editor to the lane first, and to spare Mr. Krause until Mr. Kretschmer had been chastised. The provost seized hold of Mr.
"The leading article in tomorrow's paper," whimpered Kretschmer. "Oh, it was a beautiful article, full of inspiration, but it is not suitable to the times or the circumstances. I wrote it under the erroneous impression that our armies had gained a victory, and in it I spoke with great contempt of the incendiary enemy." "My God, what rashness!" exclaimed Krause, clasping his hands in despair.
"You are, it is true, an old man," said he, "but even old men should, at such a time, possess some manhood. But you, Mr. Kretschmer, are young and hearty; what do you say to this approach of the Russians?" "I say," replied Kretschmer, sharply, "I say that it would be madness to excite the wrath of the enemy by resistance. I say, that those citizens who call on the people to fight are rash fools."
Damn the fellow!" thought Mr. Krause. But while they thought this to themselves, they rushed forward and embraced each other, with greetings and assurances of friendship, to all appearances warm and sincere. "I am not mistaken! It is my dear friend Krause." "Oh, what happiness! my dear Kretschmer!"
Perhaps they are going to put us in the new almshouse, which has just been built outside of the King's Gate, and which they call the Oxen-head." "No, no, we won't go into the Oxen-head!" screamed the people. "We won't fight! let us go home." "Yes, go home, go home!" cried Krause and Kretschmer, delighted, and Pfannenstiel repeated after them "Let us go home!"
Kretschmer perceived, by the darkening faces and downcast look of his audience, that the prudence he was preaching had already commenced to press the courage of the poor people into the background, and raising his voice still higher he continued: "Your fighting will be a species of suicide. Your wives and children will curse you for having killed their husbands and fathers.
Kretschmer, the editor of the Vossian Gazette, who made himself comfortable in his hiding-place. "This is quite nice and right," said he, shoving a stone behind the pillar, in order to raise himself to a higher point of view. "From here I can hear and observe every thing."
"Money is more precious than honor." "I say money is honor," cried Itzig. "As long as we keep our millions, we keep our honor." "You are very generous," sneered Kretschmer. "Like a gentleman, you pay your debts out of other people's pockets, and the citizens will have to pay millions to enable you to keep your word."
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