"War! war!" said Weise. "What is war, pray? Who is it that makes war? Do you want war? Do you want to have to go and stand up like those targets out there and be hit on the skull or in the belly by the shrapnel?"
"Not I."
"Perhaps you would, Findeisen?"
"I? God damn me--no!"
"Or you, Truchsess?"
The brewer thought a moment, and answered:
"No, certainly not. I wish for peace. But the French might want to fight us, or the Russians."
"Ha, ha!" laughed Weise. "Well, now, think about it a moment. Over there in France are sitting together just such poor simple fellows as we are here. Ask them if they want to let themselves be shot dead in a moment without rhyme or reason? Do you expect them to say yes?"
"No, of course not. But--but--then who is it who really does want war?"
Weise did not speak for a moment, but laughed softly. Then he answered, shrugging his shoulders: "Ah, that I don't know. Probably nobody. So much only is clear: we don't want it."