er Frederika, who from affection to the crown prince had
sacrificed herself to an unloved husband in order to reconcile the son
with the father, and preserve for him the inheritance to the throne;
still another calm and gentle face, with the expression of sorrowful
resignation in the deep-blue eyes, that of his wife, who had so
passionately loved him, and had faded away at his side unloved! All
past--past. A new face arose, the pretty Leontine von Morien, the
tourbillon of the princely court at Rheinsberg, who pined away in sighs.
Now passed the sweetest and loveliest of all. The king's eyes, which
stared into empty space, now beamed with glad recognition. The heart
which had grown old and sobered beat with feverish rapidity, and the
compressed lips whispered, sighing, "Barbarina!" She stood before him in
her bewitching beauty, with the charming smile upon her ruby lips, and
passionate love beaming from her flashing eyes. "Oh, Barbarina!" The
king rose, a cold chill crept over him. He looked around so strangely
in the desolate, darkened room, as if he could still see this form which
greeted him with the sad smile and tearful glance. No one was there. He
was quite alone. Only the feeble echo of far-distant days repeated the
device of his youth--of his life: "Soffri e taci! Resignation alone has
remained true to me. But no--there is still another friend, my flute.
Come, you faithful companion of my life! You have witnessed my sorrows,
and from you I have nothing to conceal!" He tenderly regarded it, for it
was long since he had taken it from its case. The sorrows and cares of
life, the suffering from the gout which raged in his teeth, and sad,
sobering old age, had caused him to lay it aside, but with the habit of
affection he carried it everywhere. Frederick felt himself grow young
again with the souvenirs of former days, and essayed to recall the echo
of tenderer feelings upon his flute. The music of his heart was hushed,
the melodious tones of former days would not return. The king laid
it aside with an impatient movement. "Nothing is lasting in life," he
murmured. A flourish of trumpets, a peal of drums announced that the
regiment was passing which would parade before the king. What are they
playing, which rouses the lonely king with bright memories and shouts of
victory? It is the march which his majesty composed after the brilliant
victory of Hohenfriedberg. The king raised his eyes gratefully to
heaven, repeating alo