first
time raising his eyes with an inquiring glance to the busts of his
friends. "I have sought for thee, I have toiled for thee, my whole
life long! Neither the researches of the learned, nor the subtleties of
philosophy reveal thee to me. Is there any other immortality than
fame? Any other eternal life than that which the memory of succeeding
generations grants to the dead?" In this tone of thought Frederick
recited, audibly, the conclusion of a poem, which he had addressed to
D'Alembert:

"I have consecrated my days to philosophy, I admit all the innocent
pleasures of life; And knowing that soon my course will finish, I enjoy
the present with fear of the future. What is there to fear after death?
If the body and the mind suffer the same fate, I shall return and mingle
with nature; If a remnant of my intellectual fire escapes death, I will
flee to the arms of my God." [Footnote: Posthumous works, vol. vii.,
p.88.]

"And may this soon be granted me!" continued the king; "then I shall be
reunited to those loved ones--gone before. I must be content to tarry
awhile in this earthly vale of sorrow, and finish the task assigned me
by the Great Teacher; therefore, let us submit."

He sighed; pacing to and fro, his steps were arrested at a side-table,
where lay a long black velvet box; it contained the flute that his
beloved teacher, Quantz, had made for him. Frederick had always kept
it in his cabinet as a memento of his lost friend; as this room he had
devoted to a temple of Memory--of the past!

"Another of the joys, another of the stars of my life vanished!"
murmured the king. "My charming concerts are at an end! Quantz, Brenda,
and my glorious Graun are no more. While they are listening to the
heavenly choir, I must be content with the miserable, idle chatter
of men; the thunder of battle deafening my ears, to which that mad,
ambitious Emperor of Austria hopes to force me!"

As the king thus soliloquized, he involuntarily drew from the box the
beautiful ebony flute, exquisitely ornamented with silver. A smile
played around his delicate mouth. He raised the flute to his lips, and
a melancholy strain floated through the stillness--the king's requiem to
the dead, his farewell to the dying!

No sound of the outer world penetrated that lonely room. The guard of
honor, on duty upon the Sans-Souci terrace, halted suddenly, as the
sad music fell upon his ear. The fresh spring breeze swept through the
trees, and drove th