ancestors had created, rise and give to the last effort that
its prince could make, a direction and a grandeur which forced the King
from his state of prostration almost against his will. The Prussian
people paid with its blood to the race of its princes the debt of
gratitude that it owed the Hohenzollerns for the greatness and
prosperity which they had procured for it. This faithful and dutiful
devotion arose from feeling that the life and true interests of the
royal house were one with the people.

But in the glow of popular feeling in 1813 there was something
peculiar, which already appears strange to us. When a great political
idea fills a people, we can now accurately define the stages through
which it must pass before it can be condensed into a firm resolve. The
press begins to teach and to excite; those of like minds assemble
together at public meetings, and the discourse of an enthusiastic
speaker exercises its influence. Gradually the number of those who are
interested increases; from the strife of different views, which contend
together in public, is developed a knowledge of what is necessary, an
insight into the ways and means, the will to meet such requirements,
and, lastly, self-sacrifice and devotion. Of this gradual growth of the
popular mind through public life there is scarcely a trace in 1813.
What worked upon the nation externally was of another kind. The feeling
was excited by a single great moment; but, in general, a tranquillity
rested on the nation which one may well call epic. The feeling of
millions burst forth simultaneously; not abounding in words, without
any imposing appearance, still quiet, but, like one of nature's forces,
irresistible There is a pleasure in observing its course in certain
great moments. It shall be here portrayed, not as it shines forth in
prominent characters, but as it appears in the life of minor
personages.

It was after New Year's Day, 1813. The parting year had left a severe
winter as a heritage to the new one, but, in a moderate-sized city in
Prussia, the people stood in crowds before the post-office. Happy was
he who could first carry home a newspaper. Short and cautious were the
accounts of the events of the day, for in Berlin there was a French
military governor, who watched every expression of the intimidated
press. Nevertheless, the news of the fate of the great army had long
penetrated into the most remote huts; first came vague reports of
danger and suffe