At length the happy hour came.  At length the roar of cannon, the ringing of bells, the shouts of the crowd, which filled every avenue leading to the palace, announced that the king had returned to his capital, which, in the last few days, he had saved by a happy manoeuvre from being attacked by the Austrians and Saxons.  The people greeted their king with shouts; the ladies in the windows waved their handkerchiefs, and threw fragrant flowers into the open carriage in which Frederick and his brothers sat.

As they passed before the gymnasium, the scholars commenced a solemn song, which was at the same time a hymn, and a prayer for their king, their hero, and their father.  “Vivat, vivat Fredericus!  Rex vivat, Augustus, Magnus, Felix Pater Patriae!” sang the scholars.  But suddenly rising above the voices of the singers, and the shouts of the people, a voice was heard, crying aloud, “Vivat Frederick the Great!”

The people who had listened silently to the Latin because they did not understand it, joined as with one impulse in this cry, the shout arose as from one throat, “Vivat Frederick the Great!” And this cry spread like wildfire through all the streets, over all the public squares; it resounded from every window, and even from the tops of the houses.  To-day Berlin had rebaptized her king.  She gave him now a new name, the name which he will bear through all ages, the name of Frederick the Great.

The king flushed deeply as he heard this cry.  His heart, which had been sad and gloomy, seemed warmed as by a ray of sunlight.  Ambition throbbed within his breast, and awakened him from his melancholy thoughts.  No, Frederick had now no time to think of the dead; no time to mourn secretly over the loved, the faithful friends whom he would no longer find in Berlin.  The king must overcome the feelings of the friend.  His people are here to greet him, to welcome his return, to bestow upon him an immortal name.  The king has no right to withdraw himself from their love; he must meet it with his whole soul, his whole heart.

Convincing himself that this was necessary, Frederick lifted his head, a bright color mounted to his chocks, and his eyes flashed as he bowed graciously to his people.  Now he is truly Frederick the Great, for he has conquered his own heart, and he has poured upon the open wound of his private sorrows the balm of his people’s love.

Now the carriage of the king has reached the palace gate.  Frederick raises his hat once more, and bows smilingly to the people, whose cries of “Vivat Frederick the Great” still fill the air.  When for a moment there is silence, a single, clear, commanding voice is heard, “Long live Frederick the Great!”

The king turns hastily; he has recognized the voice of his mother.  She is standing on the threshold of the palace, surrounded by the princesses of the royal family.  Her eyes are more brilliant than the diamonds which glitter in her hair, and more precious than the costly pearls upon her bosom are the drops which fall from her eyes, tears of pride and happiness, shed in this moment of triumph.  Again she repeats the cry taught her by the people, “Long live Frederick the Great!”