Frederick The Great And His Family | Page 4

Interrupted Feast XIII. The Archives at Dresden XIV. Saxony Humiliated
BOOK III.
I. The Maiden of Brunen II. News of Battle III. The Certificate of Enlistment IV. Farewell to the Village V. The Prisoner VI. The Prison Barricade VII. The Battle of Collin VIII. The Inimical Brothers IX. The Letters X. In the Castle at Dresden XI. The Te Deum XII. Camp Scene XIII. The Watch-Fire XIV. The Battle of Leuthen XV. Winter Quarters in Breslau XVI. The Broken Heart
BOOK IV.
I. The King and his Old and New Enemies II. The Three Officers III. Ranuzi IV. Louise du Trouffle V. The Fortune-Teller VI. A Court Day in Berlin VII. In the Window-Niche VIII. The Nutshells behind the Fauteuil of the Queen IX. The Duel and its Consequences X. The Five Couriers XI. After the Battle XII. A Heroic Soul XIII. The Two Grenadiers XIV. The Right Counsel XV. A Hero in Misfortune
BOOK V.
I. The Teresiani and the Prussiani II. Frederick the Great as a Saint III. The Cloister Brothers of San Giovanni e Paolo IV. The Return from the Army V. The Brave Fathers and the Cowardly Sons VI. The Traitor's Betrayal VII. The Accusation VIII. Revenge IX. Trenck X. "Trenck, are you there?" XI. The King and the German Scholar XII. Gellert XIII. The Poet and the King XIV. The King and the Village Magistrate XV. The Proposal of Marriage XVI. The Ambassador and the Khan of Tartary
BOOK VI.
I. The King's Return II. Prince Henry III. Mother and Daughter IV. The King in Sans-Souci V. The Engraved Cup VI. The Princess and the Diplomatist VII. The Royal House-Spy VIII. The Clouds Gather IX. Brother and Sister X. The Stolen Child XI. The Discovery XII. The Morning at Sans-Souci XIII. A Husband's Revenge XIV. The Separation

BOOK I.
CHAPTER I
.
THE KING.
The king laid his flute aside, and with his hands folded behind his back, walked thoughtfully up and down his room in Sans-Souci. His countenance was now tranquil, his brow cloudless; with the aid of music he had harmonized his soul, and the anger and displeasure he had so shortly before felt were soothed by the melodious notes of his flute.
The king was no longer angry, but melancholy, and the smile that played on his lip was so resigned and painful that the brave Marquis d'Argens would have wept had he seen it, and the stinging jest of Voltaire have been silenced.
But neither the marquis nor Voltaire, nor any of his friends were at present in Potsdam. D'Argens was in France, with his young wife, Barbe Cochois; Voltaire, after a succession of difficulties and quarrels, had departed forever; General Rothenberg had also departed to a land from which no one returns--he was dead! My lord marshal had returned to Scotland, Algarotti to Italy, and Bastiani still held his office in Breslau. Sans-Souci, that had been heretofore the seat of joy and laughing wit--Sans-Souci was now still and lonely; youth, beauty, and gladness had forsaken it forever; earnestness and duty had taken their place, and reigned in majesty within those walls that had so often echoed with the happy laugh and sparkling jest of the king's friends and contemporaries.
Frederick thought of this, as with folded hands he walked up and down, and recalled the past. Sunk in deep thought, he remained standing before a picture that hung on the wall above his secretary, which represented Barbarina in the fascinating costume of a shepherdess, as he had seen her for the first time ten years ago; it had been painted by Pesne for the king. What recollections, what dreams arose before the king's soul as he gazed at that bewitching and lovely face; at those soft, melting eyes, whose glance had once made him so happy! But that was long ago; it had passed like a sunbeam on a rainy day, it had been long buried in clouds. These remembrances warmed the king's heart as he now stood so solitary and loveless before this picture; and he confessed to that sweet image, once so fondly loved, what he had never admitted to himself, that his heart was very lonely.
But these painful recollections, these sad thoughts, did not last. The king roused himself from those dangerous dreams, and on leaving the picture cast upon it almost a look of hatred.
"This is folly," he said; "I will to work."
He approached the secretary, and seized the sealed letters and packets that were lying there. "A letter and packet from the queen," he said, wonderingly opening the letter first. Casting a hasty glance through it, a mocking smile crossed his face. "She sends me a French translation of a prayer-book," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "Poor queen! her heart is not yet dead, though, by Heaven! it has suffered enough."
He threw the letter carelessly aside, without glancing at the book;