e
laugh. For the sake of its rarity, I will hear you out, and try to
remain cool. Speak on, then. Accuse me--but woe to you if I justify
myself! Fail not to prove what you say."

"The proverb says, 'Small thieves are hung, while great ones go
free,'" replied Gotzkowsky, shrugging his shoulders. "You wish to
prove the truth of this proverb. The soldier who enters the house
for theft and plunder, you condemn; but you acquit the general who
devastates a whole town, and in the arrogance of his victory wishes to
make himself, like Erostratos, immortal by incendiarism and arson."

"Do not presume too much on my forbearance," interrupted Tottleben,
stretching his arm out threateningly toward the bold speaker.
"Erostratos was a violator of temples."

"You are not less one!" cried Gotzkowsky; "you mean, with impious
hand, to cast a firebrand into the holy temple of labor. Erostratos
only destroyed the temple of an imaginary deity; but you, sir, are
worse--you wish to destroy factories!"

"Do you know what that means?"

"It means to deprive the poor man of the morsel of bread which, by the
sweat of his brow, he has earned for his wife and children! It means
to rob him who possesses nothing but the craft of his hands and his
body, of his only right--the right to work. You are going to destroy
the gold and silver manufactories, to burn the warehouse, to tear down
the brass works in the New Town Eberswald! And why all this? Why
do you intend to leave behind you this memorial of your vandalism?
Because your empress is angry with our king!"

"Because enemies wish to revenge themselves on enemies," interrupted
the general.

"Do that!" cried Gotzkowsky, warmly. "Revenge yourself on your enemy,
if you consider the destruction of his property a noble revenge.
Destroy the king's palaces; rob him, if you choose, of his most
ennobling enjoyment! Rob him of his pictures; do like the Saxons, who
yesterday destroyed Charlottenburg. Send your soldiers to my house;
there hang splendid paintings bought by me in Italy by the king's
order. I know that our noble king anticipates much pleasure in
carrying them some day to Sans Souci. But revenge yourself, take these
pictures, set fire to these noble works of art, but spare what belongs
to the poor man!"

He spoke with noble warmth, with glowing eloquence, and against his
will Tottleben's German heart was touched, and moved him to clemency
and compassion. But he would not listen to it. Gener