Chapter XI (2)

Justly do the sons of that time boast of the men of the Landwehr who readily answered to the call; but not less was the zeal with which the people at home laboured after the command was given for the war. People of every calling, every citizen, the smallest places, the moat distant districts, bore their part in the work, often undergoing the greatest labours and sufferings, especially those on the frontiers. A simple arrangement sufficed for the business in the circles; a military commission was formed of two landed proprietors, one citizen and one yeoman, the landrath of the circle, and the burgomaster of the capital of the circle, were almost always the almost zealous members of it. It was undoubtedly an occupation for simple men which was adapted to awaken extraordinary powers. They had to deal with the remains of the French army, with their hunger and typhus, with the thronging Russians who for many months were in a doubtful position, with two languages, that of their new friends being more strange to them than that of their retreating enemies; and, added to this, the coarseness and wildness of their new allies, whose subaltern officers were for the most part no better than their soldiers, lusting after brandy, and at least as rapacious and more brutal than irregular troops. Soon did the commissioners learn how to deal with the wild people; tobacco chests stood open, together with clay pipes, in the office room: it was an endless coming and going of Russian officers, they filled their pipes and smoked, demanded brandy, and received harmless beer. If ever the coarseness of the strangers broke out, the Prussian officials at last learnt to punish the ill-behaved with their own weapons, the kantschu, which perhaps a Russian officer had left him, that he might more easily manage his people. The last typhus sufferers of the French still filled the hospitals of the city, the Baschkirs bivouacked with their felt caps in the market-place; the inhabitants quarrelled with the foreigners quartered on them; every day the Russians required the necessaries of life and transport, couriers; Russian and Prussian officers demanded relays of horses, the cultivators and peasants of the neighbouring villages complained that they had been deprived of theirs, that no ploughboys were to be found, and that the cultivation of the land was impossible. In the midst of all this hurly-burly came the orders of their own government, strong and dictatorial, as was required by the times, and not always practical, which was natural in such haste; the cloth-makers were to furnish cloth, the shoe-makers shoes, the harness-makers and saddlers cartouche-boxes and saddles; so many hundred pair of boots and shoes, so many hundred pieces of cloth, and so many saddles, all in one short week, without money or secure bills of exchange. The artisans were for the greater part poor people without credit; how was the raw material to be obtained, how was the workman to be paid, how were the means of life to be obtained in these weeks in which the usual chance profit was lost? This did not go on for one week, but for a whole year. Truly the spirit of sacrifice which showed itself in gifts, and in the offer of their own lives, was among the highest and noblest things of this great time; but not less honourable was the self-sacrificing, unpretending, and unobserved fulfilment of duty of many thousands of the lower classes, who, each in his sphere in the city or in the village, worked for the same idea of his State to the uttermost of his own powers.

The question is still unsolved of the military importance, in a civilised country, of a _levee en masse_. The law for the establishment of this popular force was carried to the very last possibility of demand. In the first edict, the 21st of April, there was an almost fanatical strictness, which, in the subsequent laws of the 24th of July, was much mitigated. The edict exercised a great moral effect; it was a sharp admonition to the dilatory, that it was a question for all, of life or death. It had an imposing effect even upon the enemy by its Draconic paragraphs. But it was, immediately after its appearance, severely blamed by impartial judges, because it demanded what was impossible, and it had no great practical effect. The Prussians had always been a warlike people, but in 1813 they had not the military capacity which they have now. Besides the standing army, there were, before the introduction of the universal obligation of service, only the peaceful citizens without any practice in arms or movement of masses, or at the utmost, the old shooting guilds which handled the ancient shooting weapons. But now the nation had sent into the field all who were capable of fighting; the strength of the country was strained to the uttermost; every family had given up what they possessed of military spirit. The older men, who remained behind, who were also indispensable for the daily work of the field and workshop, were not especially capacitated to do valiant service in arms. Thus it was no wonder that this fearful law brought to light the ludicrous side of the picture; endless goodwill together with boorishness and narrowmindedness. It was read with great edification, that the whole people were to take up arms to withstand the invading enemy; that the women and children also were to be employed in certain occupations, was quite to the reader's mind, especially those who were not grown up; but doubts were excited by the sentence in which it was stated, that cowardice was to be punished by the loss of weapons, the doubling of taxes, and corporeal chastisement, as he who showed the feeling of a slave was to be treated as a slave. Then the poor little artisan, who could scarcely keep his children from hunger, had never touched a weapon, and had all his life anxiously avoided every kind of fighting, was placed in the position to put the difficult question wistfully to himself--what is cowardice? And when the law further forbade anyone in a city which was occupied by the enemy to visit any play, ball, or place of amusement, not to ring the bells, to solemnise no marriages, and to live as if in deepest mourning, it appeared to the unprejudiced minds of Germans as tyrannical--more Spanish and Polish than German.

Yet the people, in the enthusiasm of this spring-time, overlooked these hardships, and prepared themselves for the struggle. Even before the decree, patriotic feeling had, in East Prussia, established here and there similar rules. Now this zeal had spread through the cities more than in the open countries. The organisation began almost everywhere, and was carried through in many places. Beacons were erected, alarm poles rose high from Berlin to the Elbe, and towards Silesia resinous pines, on which empty tar-barrels were nailed, surrounded with tarred straw; near them a watch was posted, and they more than once did good service. All kinds of weapons were searched out, fowling-pieces and pistols, which had been cleverly foreseen in the ordinance when it directed that, "For ammunition, in case of a deficiency in balls, every kind of common shot may be used, and the possessors of fire-arms must have a constant provision of powder and lead." He who had no musket, furnished himself for the levy as the Landwehr did at first, with pikes; they were exercised in companies--the butchers, brewers, and farmers formed squadrons. The first rank of infantry were pikemen; the second and third, if possible, musketeers. In this also, the intellectual leaders of the people showed a good example; they knew well that it was necessary, but it was no easy matter for them, especially if they were no longer young. At Berlin, Savigny and Eichhorn were of the Landwehr committee; in the levy none was more zealous than Fichte; his pike, and that of his son, leant against the wall in the front hall, and it was a pleasure to see the zealous man brandishing his sword on the drill-ground, and placing himself in a posture of attack. They wished to make him an officer, but he declined with these words: "Here I am, only fit to be a common man." He, Buttmann, Ruehs, and Schleiermacher drilled in the same company; but Buttmann, the great Greek scholar, could not quite distinguish between right and left; he declared that was most difficult. Ruehs was in the same condition, and it constantly happened that the two learned men, in their evolutions, either turned their backs, or looked each other in the face puzzled. Once, when it was a question of an encounter with the enemy, and how a valiant man ought to conduct himself in that case, Buttmann listened, leaning sadly on his spear, and said at last: "It is very well for you to talk, you are of a courageous nature."[53]

If this _Landsturm_ was to be mobilised for the maintenance of the security of the circle, or for service in the rear of the enemy, or in the neighbourhood of fortresses still held by them, the alarm bell was rung, and the town became in a state of stormy excitement. Anxiously did the women pack up food and drink, bandages and lint, in the knapsack, for according to the regulations no one was to forget the knapsack, bread-bag, and field-flask; it was his duty to carry with him provisions for three days; not unfrequently did the female inhabitants feel like the wife of a cutler in Burg, who stated to the commanding officer that her husband must remain behind, for he was the only cutler in the place, or like the wife of a watchmaker, who had compelled her husband to conceal himself. He was, however, traced by other women whose husbands had gone, was taken by them to the churchyard, placed on a grave, and punished in a maternal way with the palm of the hand.

Any one who was a child at that time, will remember the enthusiasm with which the boys also armed. The elder ones assembled together in companies, and armed themselves with pikes; the smaller ones, too, had good cudgels. A poor boy who was working in a manufactory was asked why he carried no weapon, "I have all my pockets full of stones," was his answer; he carried them about with him against the French.[54] And no regulation of the _Landsturm_ ordinance was so zealously obeyed by the rising generation, as the provision that every _Landsturmer_ should, if possible, carry a shrill-sounding pipe with him, in order to recognise others in the dark, and come to an understanding. By the greatest industry the boys learnt to produce shrill tones from every kind of signal pipe, and there is reason to believe that the present use of the pipe in street rows was first adopted by our youths from hatred to the French. Seldom were the _Landsturm_ employed in military service in 1813; they were more often employed in clearing the districts of marauding rabble, and as watchers, or in the messenger service; their only serious military service against the enemy was performed at that Bueren, which under Frederic II. had driven back its flying sons to the King's army. There, after the peace, all the men wore the military medal. Up to the present day the people retain the memory of this feature of the great war; it has been more enduring than many others of more importance. Still do old people boast that though not in the field, yet at home they had borne arms for the Fatherland; it also is fitting that their sons should remember it. The time may come when in another form, and with stricter discipline, the general armament of the people will be an important part of German military power.

But whilst here the dangerous game was not carried on in its terrible reality, yet all eyes and ears were incessantly directed to the distance. The war had begun in earnest. Those who were left behind were in continual anxiety concerning the fate of those they loved, and of Fatherland. No day passed without some report, no post came without the announcement of some important event; life seemed to fly amidst the longing and the expectation with which they looked forth beyond their city walls. Every little success filled them with transport; it was announced at the door of the town hall, in the church, and in the theatre, wherever men were collected together. On the 5th April was the conflict, at Zehdenick, the first undoubted victory of the Prussians; far and wide through the provinces did people hasten to the church towers to endeavour to descry the first intelligence; and when the thunder of cannon had ceased, and the joyful news ran through the country, there was no bounds to the general exultation; everything that was praiseworthy was proudly extolled, above all the valiant artillery that with guns and powder waggons had chased the enemy through the burning market-place of Leitzkau, amidst the flames that were gathering around them; also the black Hussars, with their death's-heads, valiant Lithuanians, who had ridden over the smart red Hussars from Paris at the first onset. And when the proprietor of the market-place afterwards made a collection through the newspapers for his poor people who had been burnt out, and excused himself for begging at such a time for aid to private misfortune, the country people were not forgotten who had first suffered from the war.

Louder became the din of war, more furious did the conflict of masses rage; the exultation of victory and fearful anxiety alternated in the hearts of those remaining at home. After the battle of Grossgoerschen, it was proclaimed that assistance was needed for the wounded. Then there began everywhere among the people collections of linen and lint; unweariedly did not only children but grown-up people draw out the threads of old linen, the women cut bandages, and the teachers in schools cut the rags which the little girls and boys at their request brought with them from their homes, into shape, and whilst they taught the children, these with burning tears collected the pieces into great heaps. Making lint was the evening work of families; it might be of some use to the soldiers.

In the neighbourhood of the allied armies and in the chief cities, hospitals were erected, and everywhere the women assisted--court ladies, and authoresses like Rachel Levin. In one great hospital at Berlin there was Frau Fichte and Frau Reimer, the superintendents of the female nurses. The hospital, owing to the retreating French, had become a pest-house, bad nervous fevers were prevalent, and the strange fancies of the invalids made it a terrible abode. The wife of Fichte shuddered at these horrors, but he endeavoured to sustain her in his noble way. When she was overtaken with nervous fever, he nursed the invalid, caught the infection, and died. Reil also, the great physician and scholar, died there in the midst of his philanthropic efforts. Frau Reimer was preserved; her house had been, before the war, the resort of the Prussian patriots, now her husband had become one of the Landwehr under Putlitz; her anxieties about him and his business and her little children, neither damped her spirit nor engrossed her time; from morning to evening, spring and summer, she was actively occupied; never weary, she divided her time betwixt her family and her care of the sick, and her life appeared to herself indestructible.[55] To her husband, friends and contemporaries, this zeal seemed natural, and a matter of course. In a similar way did German women do their duty everywhere with the greatest self-denial and devotedness, and with quiet enduring energy.

The fearful battle of Bautzen took place; the armistice followed. The Prussians were full of uneasiness. Streams of blood had flowed, their army was driven back, the Emperor appeared invincible by earthly weapons. For some weeks the most intelligent looked gloomily at the future, but the people still maintained a right feeling of self-respect and elevated resolution. Trust in their own energy, and the goodness of their cause, and above all trust in God, were the source of this frame of mind. Every one saw that the strength of Prussia in this campaign was incomparably greater than in the last unfortunate war. Only a little more strength seemed to be necessary to overthrow the tyrant; if they could only make a little more exertion, he might be hurled back. The voluntary contributions continued, late in the autumn receipts were given for them. The equipment of the Landwehr was ended, the artisan had everywhere worked for his King and Fatherland.

The war again raged, blow and counterblow, flux and reflux; the armies pressed on; now one saw from Thurm the hosts of the enemy, now the approach of friends. The cities and provinces of the west learnt from Berlin and Breslau the fate of the war. Ah, its terrible features are not strange to Germans; up to the time of our fathers, the hearts of almost every generation of citizens have been shaken by them.

There are hollow, short reverberations in the air; it is the thunder of distant cannon. Listening crowds stand in the market-place, and at the gates; little is said, only half words in a subdued tone, as if the speaker feared to speak too loud. From the parapet of the towers, and the gables of the houses which look towards the field of battle, the eyes of the citizens strain anxiously to see into the distance. On the verge of the horizon there is a white cloud in the sunlight, occasionally a bright flash is perceptible and a dark shadow. But on the by-ways which lead from the nearest villages to the high road, dark crowds are moving. They are country people flying into the wood or to the mountains. Each carries on his shoulders what he has been able to scrape together, but few have been able to carry off their property, for carts and horses have for some weeks past been taken from them by the soldiers; lads and men drive their herds nervously, the women loudly wailing, carry their little ones. Again there is a rolling in the air, sharper and more distinct. A horseman races through the city gate at wild speed, then another. Our troops are retreating, the crowds of citizens separate, the people run in terrified anguish into their houses, and then again into the street; even in the city they prepare for flight. Loud are the cries and lamentations. He who still possessed a team of horses, dragged them to the pole, the clothmaker threw his bales, and the merchant his most valuable chests on the waggons, and over these their children and those of their neighbours. Waggons and crowds of flying men thronged to the distant gate. If there is a swampy marsh almost impassable, or a thick wood in the neighbourhood, they fly thither. Inaccessible hiding-places, still remembered from the time of the Swedes, are again sought out. Great troops collect there, closely packed; the citizens and countrymen conceal themselves with their cattle and horses for many days; sometimes still longer. After the battle of Bautzen the parishioners of Tillendorf near Bunzlau abode more than a week in the nearest wood, their faithful pastor Senftleben accompanied them, and kept order in that wild spot, he even baptised a child.[56]

But he who remains in the town with his property, or in the performance of his duty, is eager to conceal his family and goods. Long has the case been taken into consideration, and hiding-places ingeniously devised. If the city has more especially roused the fury of the enemy, it is threatened with fire, plunder, and the expulsion of the citizens. In such a case the people carry their money firmly sewed in their clothes.

One anxious hour passes in feverish hope. The first announcers of the retreat clatter through the streets, damaged guns escorted by Cossacks. Slowly they return, the number of their men incomplete, and blackened by powder, more than one tottering wounded. The infantry follow, and waggons overcrowded with wounded and dying men. The rear-guard take up their post at the gate and the corners of the streets, awaiting the enemy. Young lads run from the houses and carry to the soldiers what they have called for, a drink or a bit of bread; they hold the knapsacks for the wounded, or help them quickly to bandages.

There are clouds of dust on the high road. The first cavalry of the enemy approach the gate, cautiously looking out, the Carabiniers on the right flank. A shot falls from the rear-guard, the Chasseur also fires his carbine, turns his horse, and retires. Immediately the enemy's vanguard press on in quick trot, and the Prussian Tirailleurs withdraw from one position to another firing. Finally the last has abandoned the line of houses. Once more they collect outside the gate, in order to detain the enemy's cavalry, who have again formed into rank.

The streets are empty and shut. Even the boys who have accompanied the Prussian Tirailleurs have disappeared; the curtains of the windows are let down, and the doors closed; but behind curtain and door are anxious faces looking at the approaching enemy. Suddenly a cry bursts forth from a thousand rough voices--_vive l'Empereur!_ and, like a flood, the French infantry rush into the town. Immediately they knock against the doors with the butt ends of their muskets, and if they are not opened quick enough they are broken in. Now follow desperate disputes between the defenceless citizen and the irritated enemy--exorbitant demands, threats, and frequently ill-usage and peril of death--everywhere clamour, lamentation, and violence. Cupboards and desks are broken open, and everything, both valuable and valueless, plundered, spoiled, or destroyed, especially in those houses whose inmates have fled; for the property of an uninhabited house, according to the custom of war, falls to the share of the soldier. The city authorities are dragged to the townhall, and difficult negotiations begin concerning the quartering of the troops, the delivery of provisions and forage, and impossible contributions.

If the enemy's General cannot be satisfied with gifts, or if the town is to be punished, the inhabitants of most consideration are collected, forcibly detained, threatened, and, perhaps at last, carried off as hostages. If a larger corps is encamped round the city, one battalion bivouacs in the market-place. The French are rapidly accommodated. They have fetched straw from the suburbs, they have robbed provisions on the road, and cut up the doors and furniture for fire-wood. Disagreeably sounds the crash of the axe on the beams and woodwork of the houses. Brightly blaze up the camp fires, and loud laughter, with French songs, sound about the flames.

When the enemy withdraws in the morning, after having remained one night through which the citizens have held anxious watch, they gaze with astonishment on the rapid devastation of their city, and on the sudden change in the country outside the gates. The boundless ocean of corn, which yesterday waved round their city walls, is vanished, rooted up, crushed and trampled by man and horse. The wooden fences of the gardens are broken, summer arbours and houses are torn away, and fruit-trees cut down. The fire-wood lies in heaps round the smouldering watch-fires, and the citizen may find there the planks of his waggon and the doors of his barn. He can scarcely recognise the place where his own garden was, for the site of it is covered with camp straw, confused rubbish, and the blood and entrails of slaughtered beasts. In the distance, where the houses of the nearest village project above the foliage of the trees, he perceives no longer the outline of the roofs, only the walls are standing, like a heap of ruins.

It was bitter to pass through such an hour, and many lost all heart. Even for people of property it was now difficult to support their families. All the provisions of the city and neighbourhood were consumed or destroyed, and no countryman brought even the necessaries of life to the market, it was needful therefore to send far into the country for the means to appease hunger. But from a rapid succession of great events men had become colder, more sturdy and hardier in themselves. The strong participation which every individual had taken in the fate of the State made them indifferent to their own hardships. After every danger, it was felt to be a comfort that the last thing, life, was saved. And there was hope.

Before long the devastating billow surged back. Again roared the thunder of guns, and the drums rattled. Our troops are advancing; wild struggle rages round the city. The Prussian battalions press forward through the streets into the market-place against the enemy, who still hold the western suburb. It is the young Landwehr who this day receive their baptism of blood. The balls whistle through the streets; they strike the tiles and plaster of the houses; the citizens have again concealed their wives and children in cellars and out-of-the-way places. The battalions halt in the market-place. The ammunition waggons are opened. The first companies press forward to the same gate through which, a few days before, the enemy had rushed into the city. The struggle rages fiercely. In the assault the enemy are thrown back; but fresh masses establish themselves in the houses of the suburb, and contend for the entrances to the streets. Mutilated and severely wounded men are carried back and laid down in the market-place, and more than once the combatants have to be relieved. When the inexperienced soldiers see their comrades borne back from the fight, their faces blackened with powder, and covered with sweat and blood, their courage sinks within them; but the officers, who are also for the first time in close combat, spring forward, and "Forward, children! the Fatherland calls!" sounds through the ranks. At one time the enemy succeeded in storming the upper gate, but scarcely have they forced their way into the first street leading to the market, when a company of Landwehr throw themselves upon them with loud hurrahs, and drive them out of the gate.[57]

The thunder roars; the fiery hail pierces through doors and windows; the dead lie on the pavement and thresholds of the houses. Then any citizen who has a manly heart can no longer bear the close air of his hiding place. He presses close behind his fighting countrymen near to the struggle. He raises the wounded from the pavement, and carries them on his back either to his house or the hospital. Again the boys are not among the last; they fetch water, and call at the houses for some drink for the wounded whom they support; they climb up the ammunition waggons and hand down the cartridges, proud of their work they are unconcerned about the whistling bullets. Even the women rush out of the houses, with bread in their aprons and full flasks in their hands; they may thus do something to help the Fatherland.

The fight is over; the enemy driven back. In the warm sunshine a sorrowful procession moves through the city--the imprisoned enemy escorted by Cossacks. Hardheartedly do the troopers drive the weary crowd; they are allowed only a short rest in the open place of the suburb; the prisoners lie exhausted, weary and half fainting, in the dust of the high road. It is the second day on which they have had neither food nor drink; not once have their guards allowed them a drink from brook or ditch; they have ill-treated the weary men with blows and thrusts of their lances. These now, with outstretched hands, pour forth entreaties in their own language to the citizens, who stand round with curiosity and sympathy. They are, for the most part, young Frenchmen who are here lamenting, poor boys, with pale and haggard faces. The citizens hasten to them with food and drink; ample piles of bread are brought; but the Russians are hungry themselves; they roughly push back the approaching people, and tear their gifts from them. Then the women put baskets and flasks into the hands of their children. A courageous lad springs forward; the little troop of maidens and young boys trip amongst the prisoners, who are lying on the ground; even the youngest totter bravely from man to man, and distribute their gifts smilingly, unconcerned about their bearded guards,[58] for the Cossack does no injury to children. The German is not unkind to his enemy.

When anyone carries a wounded countryman to his house, how faithfully and carefully he nurses him. The family treat him as they would their own son or brother who is far away in the king's army. The best room and a soft bed is prepared for him, and the mistress of the house attends him herself with bandages and all necessary care.

The whole people feel like a great family. The difference of classes, the variety of avocations, no longer divide; joy and sorrow are felt in common, and goods and gains are willingly shared. The prince's daughter stands in union with the wife of the artisan, and both zealously co-operate together; and the land junker who, only a few months before, considered every citizen as an intruder in his places of resort, now rides daily from his property to the city in order to smoke his war pipe with his new friends, the alderman or manufacturer, and to chat with them over the news; or, what was still more interesting to them, over the regiment in which their sons were fighting together. Men became more frank, firmer and better in this time; the morose pedantry of officials, the pride of the nobleman, and even the suspicious egotism of the peasant, were blown away from most, like dust from good metal; selfishness was despised by everyone; old injustice and long-nourished rancour were forgotten, and the hidden good in man came to light. According as every one bestirred himself for his Fatherland, he was afterwards judged. With surprise did people, both in town and country, see new characters suddenly rise into consideration among them; many small citizens who had hitherto been little esteemed, became advisers, and the delight and pride of the whole city. But he who showed himself weak seldom succeeded in regaining the confidence of his fellow citizens; the stain clung to him during the life of that generation. And this free and grand conception of life, this hearty social tone, and the unconstrained intercourse of different classes lasted for years after the war. There are some still living who can speak of it.

When after the armistice, the glorious time of victories came, Grossbeeren, Hagelsberg, Dennewitz, and the Katzbach; when particular Prussian Generals rose higher in the eyes of the people, and millions felt pleasure and pride in their army and its leaders; when at last the battle of nations was fought, and the great aim attained--the overthrow and flight of the hated Emperor, and the delivery of the country from his armies--then was the highest rapture that could be felt in this world enjoyed with calm intensity. The people hastened to the churches and listened reverentially to the thanksgivings of the ecclesiastics, and in the evening they illuminated their streets.

This kind of festivity was nothing new. Wherever, in the last years, the enemy's troops entered in the evening into a city, they had called out for lights; wherever there was a French garrison, the citizens had to illuminate for every victory which was announced by the hated ally of their King. Now this was done voluntarily; everyone had experience in it, and the simple preparation was in every house. Four candles in a window were then thought something considerable; even the poorest spared a few kreutzers for two, and if he had no candlestick, employed, according to old custom, the useful potato; the more enterprising ventured upon a transparency, and a poor mother hung out, together with the candles, two letters which her son had written from the field. These festivities were then simple and unpretending; now we do the same kind of thing far more splendidly.

The great rising began in the eastern provinces of the Prussian State; how it showed itself among the people there we have endeavoured to portray. But the same strong current flowed in the country on the other side of the Elbe, not only in the old Prussian districts, but with equal vigour on the coasts of the North Sea, in Mecklenburg, Hanover, Brunswick, Thuringia, and Hesse, almost in every district up to the Maine. It comprehended the districts which, in the eighteenth century, had attained a greater military capacity; in the provinces of the old Empire it was only partial. The new States which arose there under French influence, discovered later, and in an indirect way, the necessity of a closer connection with the larger portion of the nation. For Austria, this war was an act of political prudence.

Still two years followed of high strained exertion and bloody battles; again did the rising youth of the country, who in the first year had been wanting in age and strength, throng with enthusiasm into the ranks of the army. It was another war, and another victory had to be achieved, it was, however, no longer a struggle for the existence of Prussia and Germany, but for the ruin and life of the foreign Emperor.

The year 1813 had freed Germany from the dominion of a foreign people. Again did the Prussian eagle float over the other side of the Rhine, on the old gates of Cleve. It had made a bloody end to an insupportable bondage. It had united most of the German races in brotherly ties by a new circle of moral interests. It had produced for the first time in German history an immense political result by a powerful development of popular strength. It had entirely altered the position of the nation to their Princes; for, above the interests of dynasties, and the quarrels of rulers, it had given existence to a stronger power which they all feared, honoured, and must win, in order to maintain themselves. It had given a greater aim to the life of every individual, a participation in the whole, political feeling, the highest of earthly interests, a Fatherland, a State for which he learnt to die and by degrees to live.

The Prussians did the greater part of the work of this year, which will never be forgotten by the rest of Germany.

It would not be becoming in us, the sons of the generation of 1813, to disparage the glorious struggle of our fathers, because they have left us something to do.

Almost all who passed through that great time of struggle and self-sacrifice consider the memory of it the greatest possession of their later life, and it encircled the heads of many with a bright glory. And thousands felt what the warm-hearted Arndt expressed, "We can now die at any moment, as we have seen in Germany what is alone worth living for, that men, from a feeling of the eternal, and imperishable, have been able to offer, with the most joyful self-devotion, all their temporalities and their lives as if they were nothing."

But in the churches of the country a simple tablet was put up as a memorial to later generations, on which was the iron cross of the Great Time, and the names of those who had fallen.

As in these pages it has been attempted to portray, in the words of men who have passed away, a picture of the time in which they lived, so here we will give a record from the year 1813.

"Our son George was struck by a ball, at the age of two-and-twenty, on the 2nd of April, at the ever-memorable engagement at Lueneburg. As a volunteer rifleman in the light battalion of the first Pommeranian regiment, he fought, according to the testimony of his brave leader, Herr Major von Borcke, by his side, with courage and determination, and thus, died for his Fatherland, German freedom, national honour, and our beloved King. To lose him so early is hard; but it is comforting to feel that we also have been able to give a son for this great and holy object. We feel deeply the necessity of such a sacrifice.

"The Regierungsrath and Ober-Commissarius
Haese and his Wife."[59]

"Berlin, 9th April, 1813."

That portion of the people also who were not in the habit of expressing their feelings in writing felt the same. When the Luetzower Gutike,[60] in the Summer of 1813, was on his march from Berlin to Perleberg, he found at Kletzke the landlady in mourning; she was waiting silently upon him, and at last said suddenly, pointing with her hand to the ground, "I have one there,--but Peter's wife has two." She felt that her neighbour had superior claims to sympathy.