Frederick the Great and His Family [93]
seventeen thousand men here will answer all purposes."
"There is but one more of these begging letters," said he, opening it, but throwing it aside without reading it. Out of it fell a folded piece of paper. "Why," said the count, taking it up, "there are verses. Has Flemming's fear of the Prussian king made a poet of him?" He opened it and read aloud:
"'A piece of poetry which a friend, Baron Pollnitz, gave me yesterday. The author is the King of Prussia.'"
"Well," said the count, laughing, "a piece of poetry about me--the king does me great honor. Let us see; perhaps these verses can be read at the table to-day, and cause some amusement. 'Ode to Count Bruhl,' with this inscription: 'il ne faut pas s'inquieter de I'avsnir.' That is a wise philosophical sentence, which nevertheless did not spring from the brain of his Prussian majesty. And now for the verses." And straightening the paper before him, he commenced.
"Esclave malheureux de la haute fortune, D'un roi trop indolent souverain absolu, Surcharge de travaux dont le soin L'importune. Bruhl, quitte des grandeurs L'embarras superflu. Au sein de ton opulence Je vois le Dieu des ennuis, Et dans ta magnificence Le repos fait tes units.
"Descend de ce palais dont le superbe faite Domine sur la Saxe, s'elevent aux cieux. D'ou ton esprit craintif conjure la tempete Que souleve ala cour un peuple d'envieux: Vois cette grandeur fragile Et cesse enfln d'admirer L'eclat pompeux d'une ville Ou tout feint de t'adorer."
The count's voice had at first been loud, pathetic, and slightly ironical, hut it became gradually lower, and sank at last almost to a whisper. A deep, angry red suffused his face, as he read on. Again his voice became louder as he read the last two verses:
"Connaissez la Fortune inconstante et legere; La perflde se plait aux plus cruels revers, On la voit, abuber le sage, le vulgaire, Jouer insolemment tout ce faible univers; Aujourd'hui c'est sur ma tete Qu'elle repand des faveurs, Des demain elle s'apprete A les emporter ailleurs."
"Fixe-t-elle sur moi sa bizarre inconstance, Mon cocur lui saura gre' du bien qu'elle me fait Veut'elle en d'autres lieux marquer sa bienvellance, Je lui remets ses dons sans chagrin, sans regret. Plein d'une vertu plus forte J'epouse la pauvrete' Si pour dot elle m'apporte L'honneur et la probite'"
[Footnote: ODE TO COUNT BRUHL. Inscription.--"It is not necessary to make ourselves uneasy about the future."
"High Destiny's unhappy slave, Absolute lord of too indolent a king, Oppressed with work whose care importunes him-- Bruhl, leave the useless perplexities of grandeur. In the bosom of thine opulence I see the God of the wearied ones, And in thy magnificence Repose makes thy nights."
"Descend from this palace, whose haughty dome Towering o'er Saxony,rises to the skies; In which thy fearful mind confines the tempest. Which agitates at the court, a nation of enviers. Look at this fragile grandeur, And cease at last to admire The pompous shining of a city Where all feign to adore thee."
"Know that Fortune is light and inconstant; A deceiver who delights in cruel reverses; She is seen to abuse the wise man, the vulgar Insolently playing with all this weak universe. To-day it is on my head That she lets her favors fall, By to-morrow she will be prepared To carry them elsewhere."
"Does she fix on me her wayward fickleness, My heart will be grateful for the good she does me; Does she wish to show elsewhere her benevolence, I give her back her gifts without pain--without regret. Filled with strongest virtue, I will espouse Poverty, If
"There is but one more of these begging letters," said he, opening it, but throwing it aside without reading it. Out of it fell a folded piece of paper. "Why," said the count, taking it up, "there are verses. Has Flemming's fear of the Prussian king made a poet of him?" He opened it and read aloud:
"'A piece of poetry which a friend, Baron Pollnitz, gave me yesterday. The author is the King of Prussia.'"
"Well," said the count, laughing, "a piece of poetry about me--the king does me great honor. Let us see; perhaps these verses can be read at the table to-day, and cause some amusement. 'Ode to Count Bruhl,' with this inscription: 'il ne faut pas s'inquieter de I'avsnir.' That is a wise philosophical sentence, which nevertheless did not spring from the brain of his Prussian majesty. And now for the verses." And straightening the paper before him, he commenced.
"Esclave malheureux de la haute fortune, D'un roi trop indolent souverain absolu, Surcharge de travaux dont le soin L'importune. Bruhl, quitte des grandeurs L'embarras superflu. Au sein de ton opulence Je vois le Dieu des ennuis, Et dans ta magnificence Le repos fait tes units.
"Descend de ce palais dont le superbe faite Domine sur la Saxe, s'elevent aux cieux. D'ou ton esprit craintif conjure la tempete Que souleve ala cour un peuple d'envieux: Vois cette grandeur fragile Et cesse enfln d'admirer L'eclat pompeux d'une ville Ou tout feint de t'adorer."
The count's voice had at first been loud, pathetic, and slightly ironical, hut it became gradually lower, and sank at last almost to a whisper. A deep, angry red suffused his face, as he read on. Again his voice became louder as he read the last two verses:
"Connaissez la Fortune inconstante et legere; La perflde se plait aux plus cruels revers, On la voit, abuber le sage, le vulgaire, Jouer insolemment tout ce faible univers; Aujourd'hui c'est sur ma tete Qu'elle repand des faveurs, Des demain elle s'apprete A les emporter ailleurs."
"Fixe-t-elle sur moi sa bizarre inconstance, Mon cocur lui saura gre' du bien qu'elle me fait Veut'elle en d'autres lieux marquer sa bienvellance, Je lui remets ses dons sans chagrin, sans regret. Plein d'une vertu plus forte J'epouse la pauvrete' Si pour dot elle m'apporte L'honneur et la probite'"
[Footnote: ODE TO COUNT BRUHL. Inscription.--"It is not necessary to make ourselves uneasy about the future."
"High Destiny's unhappy slave, Absolute lord of too indolent a king, Oppressed with work whose care importunes him-- Bruhl, leave the useless perplexities of grandeur. In the bosom of thine opulence I see the God of the wearied ones, And in thy magnificence Repose makes thy nights."
"Descend from this palace, whose haughty dome Towering o'er Saxony,rises to the skies; In which thy fearful mind confines the tempest. Which agitates at the court, a nation of enviers. Look at this fragile grandeur, And cease at last to admire The pompous shining of a city Where all feign to adore thee."
"Know that Fortune is light and inconstant; A deceiver who delights in cruel reverses; She is seen to abuse the wise man, the vulgar Insolently playing with all this weak universe. To-day it is on my head That she lets her favors fall, By to-morrow she will be prepared To carry them elsewhere."
"Does she fix on me her wayward fickleness, My heart will be grateful for the good she does me; Does she wish to show elsewhere her benevolence, I give her back her gifts without pain--without regret. Filled with strongest virtue, I will espouse Poverty, If