e to me; philosophy maintains her claims, and, I
assure you, if it were not for this cursed love of fame, I should think
only of quiet comfort."

And when the faithful Jordan came to him, and Frederic saw this man,
who loved peaceful enjoyment, timid and uneasy in the field, the King
suddenly felt that he had become an altered and a stronger man than him
whom he had so long honoured for his learning, who had improved his
verses, given style to his letters, and was so far superior to him in
knowledge of Greek. And in spite of all his philosophic culture, he
gave the King the impression of a man without courage; with bitter
scorn the king shook him off. In one of his best improvisations, he
places himself as a warrior, in contradistinction to the sentimental
philosopher. Unfair, however, as were the satirical verses with which
he overwhelmed him, yet he soon returned to his old kindly feeling. But
it was also the first gentle hint of fate to the King himself: the like
was often to happen to him again; he was to lose valuable men, true
friends, one after the other; not only by death, but still more by the
coldness and estrangement which arose betwixt his nature and theirs.
For the path on which he had now entered was to add strength to all the
greatness, but also to all the one-sidedness, of his nature. And the
higher he raised himself above others, the more insignificant did their
nature appear to him; almost all who in later years he measured by his
own standard were little fitted to bear the comparison. The
disappointment and disenchantment he then felt became sharper, till at
last from his lonely height he looked down with stony eyes on the
proceedings of the men at his feet. But still, to the last hour of his
life, the penetrating glance of his brooding countenance was
intermingled with the bright beams of gentle human feeling. It is this
which makes the great tragic figure so touching to us.

But now, in the beginning of his first war, he still looks back with
longing to the quiet repose of his "Remusberg," and deeply feels the
pressure of the vast destiny before him. "It is difficult to bear good
fortune and misfortune with equanimity," he writes. "One may easily
appear to be indifferent in success, and unmoved amid losses, for the
features of the face can always be made to dissemble; but the man, his
inward nature, the folds of his heart, will not the less be assailed."
He concludes, full of hope: "All that I wish