At the close of the war, all those who carried these promissory
notes shared the fate of the rich man in the fairy tale. The money
collected at night turned to ashes before morning. This was the
fatal fruit of the war which for seven years had scourged Europe.
Prussia, however, had reason to be satisfied and even grateful.
Although bleeding from a thousand wounds, exhausted and faint unto
death, she promised a speedy recovery; she was full of youthful
power and energy--had grown, morally, during this seven years'
struggle--had become great under the pressure of hardship and self-
denial, and now ranked with the most powerful nations of Europe.
To-day, however, suffering and destitution were forgotten: only
smiling, joyous faces were seen in Berlin. The whole city seemed to
be invigorated by the golden rays of fortune; no one appeared to
suffer, no one to mourn for the lost--and yet amongst the ninety-
eight thousand inhabitants of Berlin, over thirty thousand received
alms weekly--so that a third of the population were objects of
charity. To-day no one thirsted, no one was hungry; all hearts were
merry, all faces glad!
They had not seen their great King Frederick for seven years; they
would look upon him to-day.
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