Frederick the Great and His Fam

m of sunshine, after many long years of sorrow, suffering, and absolute want. For the las

es by this war. Not one of the cities or fortresses of the King of Prussia had been taken from him, and he was forced

and, the English and confederate Germans a hundred and sixty thousand, and the Saxons ninety thousand-lastly, the Swedes and the States sixty thousand.

es toward the land which had robbed them of their dear loved ones; they were even depr

n, whose blood had been shed in vain, but uncounted

ur and a half million crowns. The Austrians calculated their debt at five hundred million guldens; France at two thousand mil

she was, in fact, as much impoverished as her adversaries. The

r 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; s

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

or seven years; they would look upon him to-da

sia, but who now, on his return, was the hero of all Europe-whom all nations greeted-whose name was uttered

appearance of that hero whose brow was decked with so many costly laurels. No heart was more impatient, no one gazed so eagerly at the Frankfort gate as the good Marquis d'Argens; he stood at the head of the burghers, near the arch of triumph; he had organized the citizens for this festal reception; he had left his cherish

, but his heart was overflowing with hope and happiness, and he felt the necessity of shouting his v

d noble heart altogether inappropriate to welcome the returned soldiers with wild shouts of joy, when so many thousand loved ones were ly

ed their artistic folds. Notwithstanding the enthusiasm of the citizens, they began to be hungry, and to long greatly for the conclusion of these solemnities. Still the king came not. The Berliners waited awhile longer, and then one after another quietly withd

ut fortune did not favor him so far as to give him the opportunity to relieve his temper. The king did not appear. The marquis at last proposed to the citizens to get torches, a

e was seen approaching. Throughout the vast train shouts and vivats were heard, and t

ing! Long life to F

Frederick rolled on as if in a sea of fire. It drew up at the arch of triumph. The king rose and turned his face toward his people, who were shou

his eloquent lips-they saw him, their king, their hero, and were glad. They laughed and shouted with rapture. They stretched out their arms as if to clasp in one universal embrace their de

re more eloquent than words. No language could express the delight of D'Argent-no

m to take a seat in the carriage. Then giving one more greet

had not had the courage and strength to await the king at the

runswick to return the salutations of the people. He remained motionless, and did not even appear to he

g in a flood of light. He turned slowly and sadly toward the castle-his eye rested upon that dark, gloomy mass of stone, which arose to the right, and contrasted mysteriously with the brilliant houses around it. It looked like a monstrous coffin surrounde

ld never return-those whom death had torn from him forever. Onward, onward through the lighted streets! All the inhabitant

spair veiled his countenance, and no one dreamed that this king, whom they de

city lay behind them, and t

ne word, and no one dared to break the oppressive silence. This triumphant procession seemed

tants of the little city, who welcomed the king as enthusiastically as the Berlin

grant blossoms; costly draperies, gay flags, and emblems adorned the walls; the floors were covered with rich Turkish carpets; the gilded candelabras shed their variegat

nt but pearls, the emblem of tears. The one with a happy, hopeful face gazed at the king; the other with a sad, weary countenance, in which sickness, sorrow, and

which had so long been silent, so long guarded their sweet secret, expressed, though silently, fond words of love. Elizabeth Christine was no longer young, no longer beautiful; she had passed through many years of suffering and inward struggle, but at this moment she was lovely. The eternal youth of the soul lighted her fair brow-the flash of

sad moment. The queen my mot

eased fell powerless to her side. Frederick's harsh, cruel words had pierce

of reply. Princess Ame

s of our presence and sees only the faces of the dead, he must also be forced to

a strangely melancholy expression upon the s

o have been torn from us by death. I look upon and welcome gladly those w

lently to those who were present, he entered his

thoughtful glance around this dear room. Every piece of furniture, every book, recalled charming memories of the past-every thing stood as he had left

oward the marquis, who was lean

elcome me; that old chair stretches its arms wooingly toward me, as if to lure me to its bosom, and give me soft sleep and

ir and sank into it with an expr

l that I am in

this dear room, and in the name of all my voiceless companions, I cry 'Welcome to my king!' We welcome you to your country and your home. You return greater even th

y during this entire war. [Footnote: The king's own words.] Chance enabled me to escape the famine camp of Bunzelwitz-chance gave me the victory over my enemies. Speak no more of my fame, marquis, at least not in this sacred room, where Cicero, Caesar, Lucretius, and Thucydides look down upon us from the walls;

he loving friend and the wise philosopher. I knew this must be so-I knew the heart of my king; I knew he would regard the day on which he gave peace to his people as

nd gazed with infinite sadness at

t beautiful, the happiest day is t

ll accidentally upon a porcelain vase which stood upon a t

here?" he said, in

present from her royal brother, George II. Her majesty wished that, on your return from the war, it might serve as a remembrance of your fond moth

n its cold, glassy surface. He, perhaps, wished also to conceal from his friend the tears

examined with a deep sigh the trembling charac

son-th

my dear mother, how poor you have made m

's writing to his lips, then laid the letters at the foot

ms before the vase, and the marquis leaned against

-they gave it once after the battle of Leignitz. Tell Benda to make no difficulties, for it is my express wish to hear the music to-morrow morning. I trust to you, marquis, to see my wish fulfilled, to make the impossi

the marquis, who pre

be performed in the chapel, should I even be compelled to

ened to the organist and obliged him to put it in order that night. In vain the singers protested against singing this difficult music before the king without preparation; D'Argens commanded

tion completed. The organist was in his place, the organ in order; the musicians tuned their instr

tation-all were anxious to see the king once more in the midst of his friends, in his family circle. Every one sympathized in the queen'

directed toward the door, waiting for the

orward very quietly, his head a little bowed down; in the midst

ed by no glittering crowd-but it was the king; in the glory of his majesty, his endura

o commence. And now a stream of rich harmony floated through the chapel. The organ, with its powerful, majestic tones; the trumpets, with t

music, which was wholly unknown to him. And now, with a powerful accord, the sweetly attuned human voices joined in, and the choir sang in melting unison the Te Deum Laudamus, which

or sang in a sweet, touching voice, Tuba mirum spargeus sonum. Frederick's head sank still lower up

nd the clouds, darted its rays through the windows, and lighted up the church with golden glory. The king who, until now, had been in the shadow of the cloud, was

, and they could only continue their chant in soft, broken, sobbing tones, but Benda was not ang

as resounded and awakened him from his slumber; he dared no longer give himself up to brooding.