Ups and downs there still were; sore fluctuating labor, as the poor King struggles to his final rest, this morning. He was at the window again, when the WACHT-PARADE (Grenadiers on Guard) turned out; he saw them make their evolutions for the last time. [Pauli, viii. 280.] After which, new relapse, new fluctuation. It was about eleven o'clock, when Cochius was again sent for. The King lay speechless, seemingly still conscious, in bed; Cochius prays with fervor, in a loud tone, that the dying King may hear and join. "Not so loud!" says the King, rallying a little. He had remembered that it was the season when his servants got their new liveries; they had been ordered to appear this day in full new costume: "O vanity! O vanity!" said Friedrich Wilhelm, at sight of the ornamented plush. "Pray for me, pray for me; my trust is in the Saviour!" he often said. His pains, his weakness are great;the cordage of a most tough heart rending itself piece by piece.
At one time, he called for a mirror: that is certain:--rugged wild man, son of Nature to the last. The mirror was brought; what he said at sight of his face is variously reported: "Not so worn out as I thought," is Pollnitz's account, and the likeliest;--though perhaps he said several things, "ugly face," "as good as dead already;" and continued the inspection for some moments.
[Pollnitz, ii. 564; Wilhelmina, ii. 321.] A grim, strange thing.
"Feel mv pulse, Pitsch," said he, noticing the Surgeon of his Giants: "tell me how long this will last."--"Alas, not long,"answered Pitsch.--"Say not, alas; but how do you (He) know?"--"The pulse is gone!"--"Impossible," said he, lifting his arm:
"how could I move my fingers so, if the pulse were gone?"Pitsch looked mournfully steadfast. "Herr Jesu, to thee I live;Herr Jesu, to thee I die; in life and in death thou art my gain (DU BIST MEIN GEWINN)." These were the last words Friedrich Wilhelm spoke in this world. He again fell into a faint.
Eller gave a signal to the Crown-Prince to take the Queen away.
Scarcely were they out of the room, when the faint had deepened into death; and Friedrich Wilhelm, at rest from all his labors, slept with the primeval sons of Thor.
No Baresark of them, nor Odin's self, I think, was a bit of truer human stuff;--I confess his value to me, in these sad times, is rare and great. Considering the usual Histrionic, Papin's-Digester, Truculent-Charlatan and other species of "Kings," alone attainable for the sunk flunky populations of an Era given up to Mammon and the worship of its own belly, what would not such a population give for a Friedrich Wilhelm, to guide it on the road BACK from Orcus a little? "Would give," I have written; but alas, it ought to have been "SHOULD give." What THEY "would" give is too mournfully plain to me, in spite of ballot-boxes: a steady and tremendous truth from the days of Barabbas downwards and upwards!
--Tuesday, 31st May, 1740, between one and two o'clock in the afternoon, Friedrich Wilhelm died; age fifty-two, coming 15th August next. Same day, Friedrich his Son was proclaimed at Berlin;quilted heralds, with sound of trumpet and the like, doing what is customary on such occasions.
On Saturday, 4th June, the King's body is laid out in state;all Potsdam at liberty to come and see. He lies there, in his regimentals, in his oaken coffin, on a raised place in the middle of the room; decent mortuary draperies, lamps, garlands, banderols furnishing the room and him: at his feet, on a black-velvet TABOURET (stool), are the chivalry emblems, helmet, gauntlets, spurs; and on similar stools, at the right hand and the left, lie his military insignia, hat and sash, sword, guidon, and what else is fit. Around, in silence, sit nine veteran military dignitaries;Buddenbrock, Waldau, Derschau, Einsiedel, and five others whom we omit to name. Silent they sit. A grim earnest sight in the shine of the lamplight, as you pass out of the June sun. Many went, all day; looked once again on the face that was to vanish.
Precisely at ten at night, the coffin-lid is screwed down: