"THE DARKEST HOUR IS BEFORE DAY."
A few moments later the officers were mounted, and the king's horse
stood before his door. Frederick, coming forward, with something of his
youthful elasticity, tried to raise himself in the saddle; but he
stopped, and with an expression of great suffering withdrew his foot
from the stirrup.
The old hero had forgotten that the gout was holding him prisoner. His
face flushed with disappointment, as he called his lackeys to his help.
But once in the saddle, the king struck his spurs with such violence
into his horse's flanks, that the animal leaped into the air, and
bounded off in a swift gallop.
Whether Frederick had intended to prove to his officers that he was as
bold a horseman as ever, or whether be had yielded to a momentary
impulse of anger, he suffered keenly for his bravado; for at every bound
of the horse, his agony increased. Finally he could endure no more. He
came to a complete stand, and requested his suite to slacken their pace.
They rode on in perfect silence, the officers casting stolen glances at
the king, whose lips quivered, while his face grew every moment paler
with suppressed anguish. But he bore it all without a sigh, until they
had reached the point for which they started. Having accurately surveyed
it, Frederick turned his horse's head, and rode back to his quarters.
This time he had not only to be lifted from his horse, but to be carried
to his room. Once there, he signed to his attendants to leave him. He
felt the imperious necessity of being alone with his afflicted mind and
body. He leaned his head back, and murmured
"Malheureux, laisse en paux ton cheval vieillissant!"
Then, closing his eyes, he quoted the sacred Scriptures for the first
time in his life without irreverent intention.
"The spirit is willing," sighed the wretched unbeliever, "but the flesh
is weak."
He remained pondering over those truthful words for several moments;
then casting his eyes over the various objects that lay upon his table,
they lit upon the little leather-covered box, which contained his flute.
For some time past his perplexities had been so great that he had held
no intercourse with this object of his life-long affection; but now he
felt as if its tones would be consolatory. And with trembling, eager
hands he unfastened the case, and raised the instrument to his lips. But
alas! the flute, like its adorer, was superannuated. Wearily came its
feeble notes upon the air, each one hoarse as the wind whistling through
a ruined abbey. [Footnote: It was during the war of the Bavarian
Succession that Frederick found himself compelled to give up the flute.
His embouchure had been destroyed by the loss of his front teeth, and
his hands trembled so that he could scarcely hold the instrument.]
Frederick had played but a few bars of his adagio when his hands fell
slowly, and the flute rolled upon the table. He contemplated it for
awhile, then his eyes filled with tears, which fell rapidly down his
cheeks. A mournful smile flickered over his countenance.
"Well," said he, in a low voice, "I suppose there is nothing disgraceful
in the tears of an old man over the last, faithful friend of his youth."
With these words he replaced the flute in the case, and locked it,
murmuring:
"Farewell, forever, my life-long solace!"
Just then, a thousand voices shouted:
"Long live the king! Long live old Fritz!"
"They are rejoicing over the approaching battle," thought Frederick.
"But their hopes, like mine, are destined to be crushed. Instead of
crossing the Elbe, we must retire to Silesia. Old age has vanquished
me--and from such a defeat no man can ever rally.
"Well, well! We must take the world as it comes, and if I can neither
light nor play on the flute, I can still talk and write. My eulogy on
Voltaire is not yet completed--I must finish it to-day, that it may be
read before the Academy at Berlin, on the anniversary of his death."
[Footnote: Voltaire died in May, 1779 and Frederick, while in camp in
Bohemia, wrote a poem on his death.]
Selecting from among his papers the manuscript he wanted, Frederick took
up his pen and began to write.
Gradually the songs and shouts of the soldiers ceased, and the king was
consoling himself for the loss of music by flinging himself into the
arms of poetry, when a knock was heard at his door, and his valet
announced the secretary of Count Gallitzin.
Frederick's heart throbbed with joy, and his great eagle eyes were so
strangely lit up, that the valet could not imagine what had caused such
an illumination of his royal master's features.
"Thugut," cried the king; "is Thugut here again? Admit him immediately."
By the time that Baron Thugut had appeared at the door, Frederick had so
forced down his joy, that he received the envoy of the empress-queen
with creditable indifference.
"Well, baron," said he, with a careless nod, "you come again. When the
foul fiend comes for the third time, he must either bag a man's soul, or
give it up forever."
"I feel flattered, sire, by the comparison your majesty makes of me to
so great and powerful a potentate," replied the baron, laughing.
"You believe in the devil, then, although you deny the Lord."
"Certainly, sire, for I have never yet seen a trace of the one, and the
other I meet everywhere."
"For an ambassador of Maria Theresa, your opinions are tolerably
heterodox," said Frederick. "But tell me what brings you hither? You
must not expect me to continue our interrupted negotiations. If the
empress-queen sends you to claim ever so small a portion of Bavaria, I
tell you, beforehand, that it is useless to say a word. Austria must
renounce her pretensions or continue the war."
"Sire, I come with new propositions. Here are my credentials, if your
majesty is at leisure to examine them, and here is a letter from the
hand of my revered sovereign."
"And what is that?" asked Frederick, pointing to a roll of papers, tied
up with twine.
"Those are my documents, together with the papers relating to the past
negotiations."
"I think that I have already refused to go over these negotiations,"
said Frederick, sharply; and without further ceremony, he broke the seal
of the empress's letter. While the king read, Thugut busied himself
untying his roll and spreading his papers out upon the table.
"This is nothing but a letter of credentials," observed the king,
putting it down. "The empress refers me to you for verbal explanations.
I am ready to hear them."
"Sire, the empress-queen, animated by a heartfelt desire to restore
peace to Germany, has called upon France and Russia to settle the
difficulties which, to her sincere regret, have arisen between herself
and your majesty. These two powers, having responded favorably to my
sovereign's request--"
"Say, rather," interrupted Frederick, "that these two powers having
given to her majesty of Austria the somewhat peremptory advice to
relinquish her pretensions to Bavaria--"
Baron Thugut bowed, and resumed: "That the two powers may have the
opportunity of conducting their negotiations without any new
complications from military movements, her majesty, the empress,
proposes an armistice, to begin from to-day."
Up to this moment the king's eyes had been fixed upon Thugut; but as he
heard these few last words, he dropped them suddenly. He was so
overjoyed, that he was afraid to betray his raptures to the diplomatist.
He recovered himself in time. "Did you come through my camp?" said he to
the baron.
"Yes, sire."
"You heard the, shouts and songs of my brave Prussians. Were you told
that I intend to cross the Elbe, and offer battle to your emperor
to-morrow?"
"Yes, sire, I was told so."
"And at the very moment when I am prepared to fight, you come to me with
proposals of armistice! You perceive that I could only be brought to
consent to a truce through my consideration for the empress, provided
she offered sound guaranties for the conclusion of an honorable peace.
Let us hear your proposals."
The interview between the king and the secret envoy of the empress was
long and animated. When the latter was about to take leave, Frederick
nodded condescendingly, saying:
"Well! I consent to make this sacrifice to the wishes of the empress.
You can inform her, that instead of giving battle to the emperor, as I
had hoped to do on the morrow, I shall retreat to Silesia, and retire
into winter quarters."
"And your majesty promises equitable conditions, and will consult with
the Russian ambassador?"
"I promise, and the empress-queen may rely upon me. Farewell." The envoy
turned to depart, but before he reached the door the king called him
back.
"Baron," said he with a significant smile, "you have forgotten
something." Here he pointed to the twine which had fallen on the floor,
and lay near the baron's chair. "Take what belongs to you; I never
enrich myself with the possessions of others."
When the door closed, the king raised his eyes to heaven. "Is it chance,
or Providence, that has succored me to-day?" thought he. "Which of the
two has vouchsafed me such honorable deliverance in my extremity?"