May 2, 1848.
"Riot on Kohlmarkt!"
"Fire on Haber Street in the south of the city!"
"Robbery at the Old Town Opera House!"
From early morning, Vienna's entire security force had been run off its feet.
Everyone had an ominous feeling that the security forces were being peeled away from the central districts bit by bit, yet they were constrained by orders they had no choice but to carry out.
The very heart of Vienna was now, of all places, where the security forces were weakest.
Dozens of civilian groups, large and small, were gathering in the north of the city, yet no force was there to restrain or supervise them.
In truth, they were never supposed to assemble there. But within just a few days, dozens of groups had suddenly changed their original plans, and some of their leaders had simply vanished without a trace.
Most of these people had been swept up in the affair, and every one of them had been told to bring even more people in.
By then, tens of thousands had gathered in the north of the city. Led by figures from various factions, they began marching toward the palace.
But first, the customary performance was a must.
"Down with hunger! Down with oppression! Down with tyranny! We want bread! We want cheese!"
A man who looked like an opinion leader stood on a makeshift platform built from crates, shouting at the top of his lungs. The crowd below erupted in applause.
Though their blood was up, they had no idea what they were worked up about. They only knew there were always a few people in every district who got especially excited and made a particularly grand show of it.
Yet the mood of a crowd was easily contagious. Even those few who