it was five years ago; his Feekin and his Children much
about him, out and in: the heavy-laden, weary hours roll round as they
can. In general there is a kind of constant Tabaks-Collegium, old Flans,
Camas, Hacke, Pollnitz, Derschau, and the rest by turns always there;
the royal Patient cannot be left alone, without faces he likes: other
Generals, estimable in their way, have a physiognomy displeasing to the
sick man; and will smart for it if they enter,--"At sight of HIM every
pain grows painfuler!"--the poor King being of poetic temperament, as
we often say. Friends are encouraged to smoke, especially to keep up
a stream of talk; if at any time he fall into a doze and they cease
talking, the silence will awaken him.

He is worst off in the night; sleep very bad: and among his sore bodily
pains, ennui falls very heavy to a mind so restless. He can paint, he
can whittle, chisel: at last they even mount him a table, in his
bed, with joiner's tools, mallets, glue-pots, where he makes small
carpentry,--the talk to go on the while;--often at night is the sound of
his mallet audible in the Palace Esplanade; and Berlin townsfolk pause
to listen, with many thoughts of a sympathetic or at least inarticulate
character: "HM, WEH, IHRO MAJESTAT: ACH GOTT, pale Death knocks with
impartial foot at the huts of poor men and the Palaces of Kings!"
[Pollnitz, ii. 539.] Reverend Herr Roloff, whom they call Provost
(PROBST, Chief Clergyman) Roloff, a pious honest man and preacher, he,
I could guess, has already been giving spiritual counsel now and then;
later interviews with Roloff are expressly on record: for it is the
King's private thought, ever and anon borne in upon him, that death
itself is in this business.

Queen and Children, mostly hoping hitherto, though fearing too, live
in much anxiety and agitation. The Crown-Prince is often over from
Reinsberg; must not come too often, nor even inquire too much: his
affectionate solicitude might be mistaken for solicitude of another
kind! It is certain he is in no haste to be King; to quit the haunts of
the Muses, and embark on Kingship. Certain, too, he loves his Father;
shudders at the thought of losing HIM. And yet again there will gleams
intrude of a contrary thought; which the filial heart disowns, with a
kind of horror, "Down, thou impious thought!"--We perceive he manages in
general to push the crisis away from him; to believe that real danger is
still distant. His demeanor, so far