CHAPTER CXXXI,
"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?"