Following her to the kitchen, he seated himself opposite Hans, pulling a table between them.
"Beer, Magda!" he commanded, and she set bottle and glasses on the table.
"Ja wohl, friend," he said, "Magdeburg is Napoleon's."
Then he filled the glasses, and, clinking with Hans, proposed the downfall of the Emperor.
"Three times, a thousand times over," said Hans, and he begged for the news.
"The King's hope was in Magdeburg. Ja wohl," said the farmer. His voice was loud and he roared instead of talking. "And why not? What fortress in Europe is stronger? There were twenty-four thousand soldiers here; Kleist was in command, and both the King and Queen stopped here in their flight to implore the garrison to be true to Prussia. And then," his face darkened, and he paused for a sip of his beer, "the French Marshal Ney appeared and shot a few projectiles and the Magdeburgers took to tears and appeared before Kleist, begging him to surrender and spare them the horrors of a siege."
"The cowards!" Hans struck the table with his fist.
The farmer sipped his beer, quite unexcited.
"Why fight when one must, in the end, be conquered?" He set down his glass. "They gave up the keys without a breach in the wall, or a single cannon being taken; twelve thousand troops under arms, six hundred pieces of cannon, a pontoon complete, immense magazines of all sorts, and only an equal force without the walls," roared on the farmer.
"Cowards!" And Hans thumped again.