"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.
"For myself," said Quantz, gravely, handing the king a small roll carefully wrapped up, "I have brought something more than my naked heart in honor of my king's birthday. I pray your majesty to accept it graciously." [Footnote: Pocus, "Frederick the Great and his Friends."]
The king opened it hastily. "A flute!" cried he, joyfully, "and a flute made for me by the great master Quantz, I am sure."
"Yes, your majesty; all the time you were in the field, I have worked upon it. As the courier brought the news of the battle of Leuthen, all Berlin shouted for joy, and the banners floated in every street and at every window. Then this flute broke its silence for the first time--its first music was a hosanna to our great king."
"From this time forth," said Frederick, "let no man dare to say that battles are in vain. The bloody field of Leuthen produced a flute from Quantz; and by Heaven, that is a greater rarity than the most complete victory in these warlike days!"
"Sire," said the marquis, drawing some letters from his pocket, "I have also some gifts to offer. This is a letter from Algarotti, and a small box of Italian snuff, which he begs to add as an evidence of his rejoicing in your victories. [Footnote: Ibid.] Here is a letter from Voltaire, and one from Lord Marshal."
"From all my distant friends--they have all thought of me," said Frederick, as he took the letters.
"But I have no time to read letters now; we will have music, and if agreeable to you, messieurs, we will practise a quartet which I composed during my solitude these last few days."
"Let us try it," said Quantz, carelessly opening the piano.
Frederick went to his room to seek his note-book, and place his letters upon the table, but, before he returned, he called the marquis to him.
"D'Argens," said he, "may I not thank you for this agreeable surprise?"
"Yes, sire, I proposed it, and took the responsibility upon myself. If your majesty is displeased, I am the only culprit!"
"And why have you made yourself the postilion, and brought me all these letters, marquis?"
"Sire, because--"
"I will tell you, marquis," said Frederick, with a loving glance, and laying his hand upon D'Argens' shoulder; "you did this, because you knew my poor heart had received a deep wound, and you wished to heal it. You wished to surround me with many friends, and make me forget the one who fails, and who betrayed me. I thank you, marquis! Yours is a great heart, and I believe your balsam has magic in it. I thank you for this hour, it has done me good; and though the world may succeed in poisoning my heart, I will never--never distrust you; I will never forget this hour!"
"And now, messieurs," said Frederick, as he returned to the musicians, "we will take our parts, and you, Quantz, take your place at the piano."
The concert began. Frederick stood behind the piano, at which Quantz sat; Graun and Fasch had withdrawn to the window, in order to enjoy the music, as Frederick was first to play a solo on his flute, with a simple piano accompaniment.
The king played artistically, and with a rare enthusiasm. The marquis was in ecstasy, and Graun uttered a few low bravos. Suddenly, all the musicians shuddered, and Quantz was heard to mutter angrily. The king had committed a great fault in his composition--a fault against the severest rules of art. He played on, however, quietly, and said, when he had completed the page--"Da capo!" and recommenced. Again came the false notes, frightful to the ears of musicians. And now Graun and Fasch could not keep time. The king held his breath.
"Go on, Quantz," said he, zealously, placing the flute again to his lips.
Quantz cast a sullen look at him.
"As your majesty pleases," said he, and he played so fiercely that Graun and Fasch shivered, and Quantz himself whistled to drown the discord.
The unlearned marquis looked in blessed ignorance upon his royal friend, and the beautiful music brought tears to his eyes. When the piece was ended, the king said to Quantz:
"Do you find this text false?"
"Yes, your majesty, it is false!"
"And you two also believe it false?"
"Yes, your majesty, it is false!" said Graun and Fasch.
"But, if the composer will have it so?"
"It is still false!" said Quantz, sullenly.
"But if it pleases me, and I think it melodious?"
"Your majesty can never find it so," said Quantz, angrily. "The notes are false, and what is false can never please your majesty."
"Well, well!" said the king, good-humoredly; "don't be quite so angry!
it is, after all, not a lost battle! [Footnote: The king's own words.]
If this passage is impossible, we will strike it out."
"If your majesty does that, it will be a beautiful composition, and I would be proud myself to have composed it."
The king smiled, well pleased. It was evident that this praise of his proud and stern master was most acceptable to the hero of Leuthen and Rossbach.
CHAPTER XVI. THE BROKEN HEART.
A carriage stopped before the pleasure palace of Oranienburg. The lady who sat in it, cast anxious, questioning glances at the windows, and breathed a heavy sigh when she saw the closed shutters, and observed the absence of life and movement in the palace. At this moment an officer stepped hastily from the great portal to greet the lady, and assist her to descend.
"Does he still live?" said she, breathlessly.
"He lives, countess, and awaits you eagerly!" said the officer.
She did not reply, but raised her large, melancholy eyes thankfully to heaven, and her lips moved as if in prayer.
They stepped silently and rapidly through the dazzling saloons, now drear and deserted. Their pomp and splendor was painful; it harmonized but little with their sad presentiments.
"We have arrived, countess," said the officer, as they stood before a closed and thickly-curtained door. "The prince is in this garden-saloon."
The lady's heart beat loudly, and her lips were pale as death. She leaned for a moment against the door, and tried to gather strength.