What was it which made King Frederick so restless and unhappy?  He did not know himself, or, rather, he would not know.  An Alp seemed resting upon his heart, repressing every joyful emotion, and making exertion impossible.  He sought distraction in work, and in the early morning he called his ministers to council, but his thoughts were far away; he listened without hearing, and the most important statements seemed to him trivial.  He mistrusted himself, and dismissed his ministers.  It was Frederick’s custom to read every letter and petition himself, and write his answer upon the margin.  This being done, he turned to his ordinary studies and occupations, and commenced writing in his “Histoire de Man Temps.”  Soon, however, he found himself gazing upon the paper, lost in wandering thoughts and wild, fantastic dreams.  He threw his pen aside, and tried to lose himself in the beautiful creations of his favorite poet, all things in nature and fiction seemed alike vain.

Frederick threw his book aside in despair.  “What is the matter with me?” he exclaimed angrily.  “I am not myself; some wicked fairy has cast a spell about me, and bound my soul in magic fetters.  I cannot work, I cannot think; content and quiet peace are banished from my breast!  What does this signify? and why—­” He did not complete his sentence, but gazed with breathless attention to the door.  He had heard one tone of a voice without which made his heart tremble and his eyes glow with their wonted fire.

“Announce to his majesty that I am here, and plead importunately for an audience,” said a soft, sweet voice.

“The king has commanded that no one shall be admitted.”

“Announce me, nevertheless,” said the petitioner imperiously.

“That is impossible!”

Frederick had heard enough.  He stepped to the door and threw it open.  “Signora, I am ready to receive you; have the goodness to enter.”  He stepped abruptly forward, and, giving his hand to Barbarina, led her into his cabinet.

Barbarina greeted him with a sweet smile, and gave a glance of triumph to the guard, who had dared to refuse her entrance.

The king conducted her silently to his boudoir, and nodded to her to seat herself upon the divan.  But Barbarina remained standing, and fixed her great burning eyes upon his face.

“I see a cloud upon your brow, sire,” said she, in a fond and flattering tone.  “What poor insect has dared to vex my royal lion?  Was it an insect?  Was it—­”

“No, no,” said Frederick, interrupting her, “an angel or a devil has tortured me, and banished joy and peace from my heart.  Now tell me, Barbarina, what are you?  Are you a demon, come to martyr me, or an angel of light, who will transform my wild dreams of love and bliss into reality?  There are hours of rapture in which I believe the latter, in which your glance of light and glory wafts my soul on golden, wings into the heaven of heavens, and I say to myself, ’I am not only a king, but a god, for I have an angel by my side to minister to me.’  But then, alas! come weary times in which you seem to me an evil demon, and I see in your flashing eyes that eternal hatred which you swore to cherish in the first hour of our meeting.”