“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.

Mr. Kretschmer perceived, by the darkening faces and downcast look of his audience, that the prudence he was preaching had already commenced to press the courage of the poor people into the background, and raising his voice still higher he continued: 

“Your fighting will be a species of suicide.  Your wives and children will curse you for having killed their husbands and fathers.  Worthy citizens! be prudent, and remember that work and not war is your calling.  Go home, then, and mind your business; take care of your wives and children, and bow your heads in humbleness, for necessity will teach you prudence.”

Mr. Kretschmer stopped, and the silent assembly seemed to be considering whether they should listen to his prudent advice.  Even the heroic tailor had climbed down from the hump of the shoemaker, and remained thoughtful and silent.

“The man is right,” cried the shoemaker, in his grumbling, bass voice.

“Yes, indeed,” said his gossip, the glover; “why should we sacrifice our legs and arms?  We can’t beat them anyhow.”

“Now, my friends,” whispered Kretschmer to his associates, “now is your turn to speak.  My breath is exhausted.  You speak now and finish the good work I commenced.  Admonish the people to be moderate.”

“I will make them perfectly enthusiastic in the cause of peace and quiet,” said Mr. Krause, in a low voice.  “You shall see how irresistible the stream of my eloquence will be,” and striding forward with pathetic mien, and raising both arms as if to implore the people, he exclaimed in a loud voice:  “You say so, and it is so!  We cannot be victorious.  Now, my opinion is, that as we cannot beat the enemy, we ought not to fight him, and in that way we can cheat him out of his victory.