This eBook was produced by David Widger <widger@cecomet.net> [NOTE: There is a short list of bookmarks, or pointers, at the end of the file for those who may wish to sample the author's ideas before making an entire meal of them. D.W.] THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GEORG EBERS THE STORY OF MY LIFE FROM CHILDHOOD TO MANHOOD Volume 3. CHAPTER X. AFTER THE NIGHT OF REVOLUTION. When we rose the next morning the firing was over. It was said that all was quiet, and we had the well-known proclamation, "To my dear people of Berlin." The horrors of the past night appeared, indeed, to have been the result of an unfortunate mistake. The king himself explained that the two shots by the troops, which had been taken for the signal to attack the people, were from muskets which had gone off by some unlucky accident--"thank God, without injuring any one." He closed with the words: "Listen to the paternal voice of your king, residents of my loyal and beautiful Berlin; forget what has occurred, as I will forget it with all my heart, for the sake of the great future which, by the blessing of God, will dawn for Prussia, and, through Prussia, for Germany. Your affectionate queen and faithful mother, who is very ill, joins her heart-felt and tearful entreaties to mine." The king also pledged his royal word that the troops would be withdrawn as soon as the Berlin people were ready for peace and removed the barricades. So peace seemed restored, for there had been no fighting for hours, and we heard that the troops were already withdrawing. Our departure for Dresden was out of the question--railway communication had ceased. The bells which had sounded the tocsin all night with their brazen tongues seemed, after such furious exertion, to have no strength for summoning worshippers to church. All the houses of God were closed that Sunday. Our longing to get out of doors grew to impatience, which was destined to be satisfied, for our mother had a violent headache, and we were sent to get her usual medicine. We reached the Ring pharmacy--a little house in the Potsdam Platz occupied by the well-known writer, Max Ring--in a very few minutes. We performed our errand with the utmost care, gave the medicine to the cook on our return, and hurried off into the city. When we had left the Mauer- and Friedrichstrasse behind, our hearts began to beat faster, and what we saw on the rest of the way through the longest street of Berlin as far as the Linden was of such a nature that the mere thought of it awakens in me to this day an ardent hope that I may never witness such sights again.