attendant. The King shook his
head, incredulous.

He drank once, grasping the goblet with both hands, a draught of
fennel-water, his customary drink; and seemed relieved by it;--his last
refection in this world. Towards nine in the evening, there had come on
a continual short cough, and a rattling in the breast, breath more and
more difficult. Why continue? Friedrich is making exit, on the common
terms; you may HEAR the curtain rustling down. For most part he was
unconscious, never more than half conscious. As the wall-clock above his
head struck 11, he asked: "What o'clock?" "Eleven," answered they. "At
4" murmured he, "I will rise." One of his dogs sat on its Stool near
him; about midnight he noticed it shivering for cold: "Throw a quilt
over it," said or beckoned he; that, I think, was his last completely
conscious utterance. Afterwards, in a severe choking fit, getting at
last rid of the phlegm, he said, "LA MONTAGNE EST PASSEE, NOUS IRONS
MIEUX, We are over the hill, we shall go better now."

Attendants, Hertzberg, Selle and one or two others, were in the outer
room; none in Friedrich's but Strutzki, his Kammerhussar, one of Three
who are his sole valets and nurses; a faithful ingenious man, as they
all seem to be, and excellently chosen for the object. Strutzki, to save
the King from hustling down, as he always did, into the corner of
his chair, where, with neck and chest bent forward, breathing was
impossible,--at last took the King on his knee; kneeling on the ground
with his other knee for the purpose,--King's right arm round Strutzki's
neck, Strutzki's left arm round the King's back, and supporting his
other shoulder; in which posture the faithful creature, for above two
hours, sat motionless, till the end came. Within doors, all is silence,
except this breathing; around it the dark earth silent, above it the
silent stars. At 20 minutes past 2, the breathing paused,--wavered;
ceased. Friedrich's Life-battle is fought out; instead of suffering and
sore labor, here is now rest. Thursday morning, 17th August, 1786, at
the dark hour just named. On the 31st of May last, this King had reigned
46 years. "He has lived," counts Rodenbeck, "74 years, 6 months and 24
days."

His death seems very stern and lonely;--a man of such affectionate
feelings, too; "a man with more sensibility than other men!" But so had
his whole life been, stern and lonely; such the severe law laid on him.
Nor was it inappropriate that he fo