In a very triumphant mood, the king, on the 19th of November, wrote a boastful and irreverent Ode to Fortune, in that easy rhyme which he called poetry. The substance of this ode, translated into prose, was as follows:
Frederick.MARIA THERESA AT THE TOMB OF HER HUSBAND.
ONE:The returning messenger took back the following reply. It was, as usual, ungrammatical, miserably spelled, and confused. Contemptuously the king spoke of his son in the third person, writing he and his instead of you and yours. Abruptly he commences:
It seemed to be the policy of Frederick to assume a very trifling, care-for-nothing air, as though he were engaged in very harmless childs play. He threw out jokes, and wrote ludicrous letters to M. Jordan and M. Algarotti. But behind this exterior disguise it is manifest that all the energies of his soul were aroused, and that, with sleepless vigilance, he was watching every event, and providing for every possible emergence.