Behind him stood
Frederick and the queen, the generals and the priests. The king was
unconscious of their presence; he had forgotten that he was dying;
he thought only of his horses, and a dark cloud settled on his face
as the groom buckled a saddle covered with blue velvet over the
yellow silk housing of Prince Anhalt's horse.
"Oh, if I were only well, how I would beat that stupid boy!"
exclaimed the king, in a loud, menacing voice. "Hacke, have the
kindness to beat him for me."
The horses pointed their ears and neighed loudly, and the servants
trembled at the voice of their master, who was speaking to them as
angrily as ever, but in a deep, sepulchral voice.
But his anger was of short duration, and he sank back into his
chair, breathing heavily and brokenly. He had not the strength to
sign his resignation, and demanded to be taken from his chair and
placed upon the bed.
There he lay motionless, with half-closed eyes, groaning and
sighing. A fearful stillness reigned in the chamber of death. All
held their breath; all wished to hear the last death-sigh of the
king; all wished to witness the mysterious and inscrutable moment
when the soul, freeing itself from its earthly tenement, should
ascend to the spring of light and life as an invisible but
indestructible atom of divinity.
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