Mr. Krause opened: "Listen to me, good citizens of Berlin; look at my gray hairs. Age has the advantage, if not of wisdom, at least of experience. Listen to my advice. You who wish to fight for liberty, be at least prudent and moderate."
"None of your moderation!" cried the tailor. "We won't be moderate!"
"But you will be reasonable and prudent, won't you?" cried Mr. Kretschmer, with his clear, penetrating voice, raising himself on tiptoe, and casting his large, light-blue eyes over the crowd. "You will be reasonable, certainly, and in reason you can tell me what you wish, and we can deliberate, and decide whether that which you wish, is reasonable."
"We want arms."
"But why do you want arms?"
"To fight the enemy," cried the shoemaker, whom the crowd seemed tacitly to recognize as their mouthpiece.
"You really wish, then, to fight?" asked Mr. Kretschmer. "You wish to precipitate yourselves into a fight, with the certainty of being defeated. You wish to put yourselves in opposition to an enemy who out-numbers you ten times; who, with sneering pride, will drive your little band of warriors, with his cannon, to destruction! Consider what you are about to do! Twelve thousand Russians are now before your gates; their cannon pointed against your walls, your houses, your churches, and they are awaiting only an opportunity of springing upon you like a tiger on his prey. And what have we to oppose them? Our little garrison consists of invalids and wounded men; for our young men, able to fight, are all with the king on the bloody fields of Silesia, and only a small band of worthy citizens remains here. Can they fight against an overwhelming enemy, ten times their number? Can they wish to do it?"
No one answered this question. The countenances became thoughtful, and the redness of anger grew paler on their cheeks.
"Yes," cried one of the people, "we are very weak."
"We cannot think of gaining a victory," grumbled out another.