He seemed enraptured with the road which led him to Sans-Souci. Every tree, every stone appeared to welcome him, and when the palace became visible, he was entirely overcome by his emotions, and sank back in his carriage with closed eyes.
The Marquis d’Argens, however, the only one who had been allowed to accompany the king in this drive, sprang from his seat, and waving his hat in greeting, exclaimed:
“I greet you, Sans-Souci, you temple of wisdom and happiness! Open wide your portals, for your lord is returning to you. Let your walls resound as did Memnon’s pillar, when the sun’s rays first greeted it, after a long night. Your night is passed, Sans-Souci; you will be again warmed by the sunbeams from your master’s eyes!”
The king smilingly drew his enthusiastic friend back to his seat.
“You are, and always will be a child—an overgrown child.”
“Sire,” said D’Argens, “that is because I am pious. It is written, ‘If you do not become as little children you cannot enter the kingdom of heaven!’ Now, Sans-Souci is my kingdom! I have become as the children, that I might be received at the side of my king, and begin once more the days of happiness.”
The king gently shook his head. “Oh, I fear, my friend, that the days of happiness will not recommence; the sun which once illumined Sans-Souci has set. Our lips have forgotten how to smile, and joy is dead in our hearts. How many illusions, how many hopes and wishes I still indulged, when I last descended the steps of Sans-Souci; how poor, and weak, and depressed I shall feel in ascending them!”
“What? your majesty poor! You who return so rich in fame, crowned with imperishable laurels?”
“Ah, marquis, these laurels are bathed in blood, and paid for bitterly and painfully with the lives of many thousands of my subjects. The wounds are still gaping which my land received during the war, and they will require long years to heal. Do not speak to me of my laurels; fame is but cold and sorrowful food! In order to prize fame, one should lay great weight on the judgment of men; I have lost all faith in them. Too many bitter experiences have at length destroyed my faith and confidence. I can no longer love mankind, for I have ever found them small, miserable, and crafty. Those for whom I have done most have betrayed and deceived me the most deeply. Think of Chafgotch, he whom I called friend, and who betrayed me in the hour of danger! Remember Warkotch, whom I preferred to so many others, whom I overloaded with proofs of my love, and who wished to betray and murder me! Think of the many attempts against my life, which were always undertaken by those whom I had trusted and benefited! Think of these things, marquis, and then tell me if I should still love and trust mankind!”
“It is true, sire,” said the marquis, sadly; “your majesty has had a wretched experience, and mankind must appear small to you, who are yourself so great. The eagle which soars proudly toward the sun, must think the world smaller and smaller, the higher he soars; the objects which delight us poor earth-worms, who are grovelling in the dust, and mistake an atom floating in the sunshine for the sun itself, must indeed appear insignificant to you.”