“These friends will never fail you, sire,” said the marquis, deeply moved; “your virtues and your love made them strong.”
The king took his hand affectionately. “Let us forget the past,” said he, gayly; “and as we both, in our weak hours, consider ourselves poets, let us dream that we are in my library in our beloved Sans-Souci. We will devote this holy time of peace to our studies, for that is, without doubt, the best use we can make of it. You shall see a flood of verses with which I amused myself in camp, and some epigrams written against my enemies.”
“But if we were even now in Sans-Souci, sire, I do not think you would give this hour to books. I dare assert you would be practising with Quantz, and preparing for the evening concerts.”
“Yes, yes; but here we are denied that happiness,” said the king, sadly. “I have written for a part of my band, and they will be here I hope in eight days; but Graun and Quantz will certainly not—“The king paused and listened attentively. It seemed to him as if he heard the sound of a violin in the adjoining room, accompanied by the light tones of a flute. Yes, it was indeed so; some one was tuning a violin and the soft sound of the flute mingled with the violoncello. A flush of rosy joy lighted the king’s face—he cast a questioning glance upon the marquis, who nodded smilingly. With a joyful cry the king crossed the room—an expression of glad surprise burst from his lips.
There they were, the loved companions of his evening concerts. There was Graun, with his soft, dreamy, artistic face; there was Quantz, with his silent, discontented look—whose grumbling, even Frederick was compelled to respect; there was the young Fasch, whom the king had just engaged, and who played the violoncello in the evening concerts.
As the king advanced to meet them, they greeted him loudly. “Long live our king!—our great Frederick!” Even Quantz forgot himself for a moment, and laughed good-humoredly.
“Listen, sire; it will be a mortal sin if you scold us for coming to you without being summoned by your majesty. This is through—out all Prussia a festal day, and no one should desecrate it by scolding or fault-finding—not even the king.”
“Oh, I am not disposed to scold,” said Frederick, in low tones; he did not wish them to hear how his voice trembled—“I do not scold—I thank you heartily.”
“We had nothing better to send your majesty on your birthday than our unworthy selves,” said Graun; “we come, therefore, to lay ourselves at our king’s feet, and say to him: ‘Accept our hearts, and do not spurn the gift.’ A warm, human heart is the richest gift one man can offer another. Your majesty is a great king, and a good and great man, and we dare approach you, therefore, as man to man.”
“And my Graun is so renowned a composer, that any man must count it an honor to be beloved by him,” said Frederick, tenderly.