certainly surpass that of good:--but to me it is all one; I have
almost nothing more to lose; and my few remaining days, what
matters it much of what complexion they be?" ["Breslau, 1st March,
1759," To D'Argens ( OEuvres de Frederic,
xix. 56).]

The loss of his Wilhelmina, had there been no other grief, has
darkened all his life to Friedrich. Readers are not prepared for
the details of grief we could give, and the settled gloom of mind
they indicate. A loss irreparable and immeasurable; the light of
life, the one loved heart that loved him, gone. His passionate
appeals to Voltaire to celebrate for him in verse his lost
treasure, and at least make her virtues immortal, are perhaps known
to readers: [ODE SUR LA MORT DE S. A. S. MADAME LA PRINCESSE DE
BAREITH (in OEuvres de Voltaire, xviii.
79-86): see Friedrich's Letter to him (6th November, 1758);
with Voltaire's VERSES in Answer (next month); Friedrich's new
Letter (Breslau, 23d January 1759), demanding something more,--
followed by the ODE just cited (Ib. lxxii. 402; lxxviii. 82, 92;
or OEuvres de Frederic, xxiii. 20-24: &c.]
alas, this is a very feeble kind of immortality, and Friedrich too
well feels it such. All Winter he dwells internally on the sad
matter, though soon falling silent on it to others.

The War is ever more dark and dismal to him; a wearing, harassing,
nearly disgusting task; on which, however, depends life or death.
This Year, he "expects to have 300,000 enemies upon him;" and "is,
with his utmost effort, getting up 150,000 to set against them."
Of business, in its many kinds, there can be no lack! In the
intervals he also wrote considerably: one of his Pieces is a SERMON