The king was ill, the gout chained him to his chamber, and during
the last few sleepless nights a presentiment weighed upon the spirit
of the ruler of Prussia. He felt that the reign of Frederick the
First would soon be at an end; that the doors of his royal vault
would soon open to receive a kingly corpse, and a new king would
mount the throne of Prussia.

This last thought filled the heart of the king with rage and
bitterness. Frederick William would not die! he would not that his
son should reign in his stead; that this weak, riotous youth, this
dreamer, surrounded in Rheinsberg with poets and musicians, sowing
flowers and composing ballads, should take the place which Frederick
the First had filled so many years with glory and great results.

Prussia had no need of this sentimental boy, this hero of fashion,
who adorned himself like a French fop, and preferred the life of a
sybarite, in his romantic castle, to the battle-field and the night-
parade; who found the tones of his flute sweeter than the sounds of
trumpets and drums; who declared that there were not only kings by
"the grace of God, but kings by the power of genius and intellect,
and that Voltaire was as great a king--yes, greater than all the
kings anointed by the Pope!" What use has Prussia for such a
sovereign? No, Frederick William would not, could not die! His son
should not reign in Prussia, destroying what his father had built
up! Never should Prussia fall into the hands of a dreaming poet! The
king was resolved, therefore, that no one should know he was ill; no
one should believe that he had any disease but gout; this was
insignificant, never fatal. A man can live to be eighty years old
with the gout; it is like a faithful wife, who lives with us even to
old age, and with whom we can celebrate a golden wedding. The king