Frederick was ill of a
fever, which had tormented him the whole summer, which had kept him
from visiting Amsterdam, and which confined him to his bed in the
castle of Moyland, while Orttaire was paying his long expected
visit, had again taken a powerful hold upon him and made of the king
a pale, trembling man, who lay shivering and groaning upon his bed,
scoffing at Ellart, his physician, because he could not cure him.
"There is a remedy," said Ellart, "but I dare not give it to your
majesty."
"And why not?" said the king.
"Because its strength must first be tested, to see if it can be used
without danger; it must first be tried by a patient upon whose life
the happiness of millions does not depend."
"A human life is always sacred, and if not certain of your remedy,
it is as vicious to give it to a beggar as to a king."
"I believe," said Ellart, "as entirely in this remedy as Louis the
Fourteenth, who bought it secretly from Talbot, the Englishman, and
paid him a hundred Napoleons for a pound. The wife of the King of
Spain was cured by it."
"Give me this remedy," said the king, with chattering teeth.
"Pardon me, your majesty, but I dare not, though I have a small
quantity with me which was sent by a friend from Paris, and which I
brought to show you as a great curiosity.
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