Berlin and Sans-Souci; Or, Frederick the Great and His Friends

whose mysterious depths give promise of a brighter and better future. Sunshine and clouds were mirrored in the rapid river and murmur

ke this spot a paradise. The king was alone at the palace of Sans-Souci; for a few happy hours he had laid aside the burden and pomp of royalty. He

them all its petty cares and griefs. With every step upon the terrace his countenance lightened and his breath came more freely. He h

expressive words, sans souci, smoothed the lines which the crown and its duties had laid upon his

ilanthropist, the faithful, fond friend; the gay, witty, sarcastic companion, who fe

so much to do them honor as to exalt his courtiers by placing among them the great and intellectual spirits of his time. He had made Algarotti and Chazot dukes, and Bielfield a baron; he had sent to Voltaire the keys of the wardrobe,

Frederick had been forced to humiliate them. There were others who never forgot at Sans-Souci the respect and reverence due to the royal house. Amongst these was his ever-devoted, ever-uniform friend, the Marquis d'Argens. He loved him, not because he was king, hut because he believed him to be the greatest, best, m

any other of his friends. Frederick invited many friends to visit him during the day,

ans are accustomed to consider the most glorious and happy in the life of Frederick the Second. We all know, alas! that earthly happiness resembles the purple rose, which, even while rejoicing the heart with her beauty and fragrance, wounds us with he

He was now thirty- eight years of age, and was still a handsome man, but the sunshine of life had left him; his eyes could flash and threaten like Jove's, but the soft and loving glance was quenched. Like Polycrates, King Frederick, in order

as he stood now upon the terrace of Sans-Souci, illuminated by the evenin

aire lived for ten years in Cirey with his friend the Marquise Emilie de Chatelet Samont, a very learned lady, to whom he was much devoted. He had refused all Frederick's invitations because he was unwilling to be separated from this lady. After twenty years of marriage, in the year 1749, the countess gave birth to her first child

rrace, which the evening sun lengthened into a giant's stature. He turned a

; "you have returned from Berlin so quickly, I

as the object of my greatest admiration, and that I wished to fly to your f

ding you as an ambassador to the Goddess of Rumor; she has graciously s

me to your majesty, is this-Voltaire has arrived

with delight, but he was considerat

at Voltaire has arrived.

for a moment; he raised his head, a

be, with something of fear and regret; who can tell but that clouds and darkness may be round about the morn

l be clouded and the day will end in storm. Voltaire is the last ideal of my youth; God grant that I may not have to cast it aside with my other vain illusions! God grant that the man Voltaire may not cast down the genius Voltaire from the altar which, with willing hands, I have

cried D'Argens, deeply moved, "full of lo

ne more than once. Voltaire is miserly; that displeases me. Covetousness is a rust which will obscure and at last destroy the finest metal! The miser loves no

own, but upon the clear brow which it shades. He admires and seeks you, not because you are a king, but because

et in the unselfish attachments of men. Truly, you have a right to this rare faith; you, at least, a

nce. "And now let Voltaire and the seven wise men, and Father Abraham

e; I will use them as a shield to protect myself against the darts and wiles of the false world. You must never leave me; I need your calm, kind eye, your happy smile, your childish simplicity, and your wise experience; I need a Pylades, I well

s heart bounds with joy; when he hears it in a strange land, his eyes fill with sorrowful tears. So it is with the 'beau soleil de ma Provence,' the remembrance of it warms m

Provence, then, more

with a sl

ted for joy when the sun of the north has cast its rays upon me. Sire, let me pass

know when you are about to die, and when it wil

I shall live to be very old

as eighty years of ago when his youthful wi

to love my king and rejoice in his fame; then, sire, I shall be aged and cold, and then it will be time for the sun of Provence to shine upon me and iny grave. Wh

uis! and how o

. You see I have only sought a plea to remain

will be hard of heart and cold of purpose. I will despise mankind, and have no illusions. Marquis, I believe when that tim

racious enough to promise not

nd I must have yo

ism, which you will also look upon as my funeral notice. You will say sadly, 'The Marquis d'Argens is d

will become very religious

be the most religious worshipper of all that your majesty has done for the good o

ittle zeal. Will you at last assume this mask, and contradict the principles which you have striven to maintain during your

the beautiful prospect lying at his feet, upon which th

aid he, enthusiastical

t to worship Him in na

? Why do they seek H

s, a

rederick, interrupting him; "and now tell me,

pause, "I will do thus from friendship t

e unfaithful to the interes

vence, in his seventieth year, and died there. The journals hastened to make known that he died a Christian, recanting his atheistical philosophy. The king wrote to the widow of the marquis for intelligence on this subject. She replied that her husband had received the last sacraments, but only after he was in the arms of death, and could neither see nor hear, and she herself had left the room. The marquise added: "Ah, sire, what a land is this! I have been

the feet of Voltaire, and learn how to banish the sorrows of life by wit and mocking laughter. With the imagination and enthusiasm

are other comets which from time to time lighten the heavens, and then d

on the marquis. "You speak in r

claims a name, her right to which is disputed

en, a woman of

pped as a goddess, or at least as an enchant

the end of the terrace, and gazed upon the lovely landscape which, in its qui

groans of the dying day. This melancholy sound broke the peaceful stillness around the castle, and drowned the babbling of the brooks and cascades. As the wild wind rustled madly through the trees, it tore from their green boughs the first faded, yellow leaves

the hearts of men to the yellow leaves tossed and driven by the winds. Even such a leaf is Barbarina; I raise it and lay it in my herbarium with other mementoes, and rejoice that the dust and ashes of lif

her husband. It is said that when Barbarina arrived in E

na. Was he not almost a madman when I seized his jewel, and tore her away from Venice? Did he not declare that he would consider me answerable for his life and reason, if I did not release my prima donna? He wished her to

ice for Barbarina. It is sai

wh

te councill

his family may well demand of me, and I must grant it. But now let us enter the house, marquis, the sun has disappeared, and I am chilled. I know not whether the news you bring, or the evening air, has affected me. Let us walk backward and forward once or twice, and then we will go to the library, and you will assist me in the last verse of a poem I am composing to greet Voltaire. Do not frown, marquis, let me sing his welcome; who knows but I may also rejoice in his departure? My

f a noble soul. So long as I live, my heart belongs to you, even when, at seventy, I fly

ot be so cruel as to ask

close by skull, and at the resurrection every one will be in danger of seizing upon the bones which do not belong to him, and appearing as a thief at the last judgment? I pray you, let me remain even in death an individual, and

"There, under the statue of Flora, is my grav

let it be there under tha

the marquis, he said, "Come, we will go to the vase, an

with profound reverence then mounted two small steps and stood upon the green circle. The

sleep. Here lies Biche! Hat off, marquis! She loved me, and was faithful unto death. Who knows if I, under my statue of Flora, and you, under your vase, w