carefully detailed description of his absent-mindedness in the first act.  Colonel Kottwitz, who is second in command, reminds him, with the gruffness of an old man who might be at the same time his father and his teacher, of the order that he should await from his sovereign, and another officer even advises that his sword be taken from him.  But he curtly inquires of old Kottwitz whether he has not received the order from his own heart, and he uses violence to the officer, then he dashes away crying:  “Now, gentlemen, the countersign:  A knave who follows not his general to the fight!” He arrives on the battlefield itself just at the moment when the rumor is spreading that the Elector has fallen.  He performs marvels of valor, and we learn how much he loved his sovereign by seeing how he avenges him.  This is one of the most brilliant episodes of the plot, and, truly, it alone is worth more than a whole catalogue full of the ordinary dramas that one hears applauded in our theatres.  Sprinkled with blood, he hurries then into the peasant’s but where the Electress, with her court of ladies, has had to take refuge because a, wheel of her coach broke while on the journey, and here he meets his Nathalie.  The women, who have also heard the terrible rumor, are crushed; the Electress has fainted and the Princess, overcome by the gravity of the situation, laments in a few simple, touching words her complete loneliness.  The Prince had not betrayed his affection for her at the Elector’s Court, but now that fortune seems to have abandoned the fatherless and motherless girl, who was entirely dependent upon her powerful uncle, he allows his heart to utter the first sound, and to this sound she responds.  Here we catch a gleam of his native, inborn nobility of soul, which at the end of the whole purifying process is to shine forth in perfect serenity, and we feel air unshakable confidence in him.  This love scene, which is brought about by death, belongs to the highest sphere of art, and even the embarrassment which is evident in the words exchanged between the Prince and the Princess, is warranted by the relation in which they have hitherto stood to one another.  They do not dare to speak out plainly.

The scene is hardly over when the rumor which occasioned it is proved to be false.  The Elector lives and is already on the road to Berlin; the battle has decided the whole war, and peace promptly follows.  There is infinite rejoicing, above all in the soul of the Prince.  In the emotion of his overflowing heart he tells the Electress his sweet secret, and begs for her consent; she answers, “Not a suppliant on earth could I deny today, whate’er he ask, and you, our battle-hero, least of all.”  He is the happiest of mortals, and challenging “Caesar Divus” himself, as a rival in Fortune’s favor, he, with the ladies, follows his sovereign to Berlin.