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.