"Why does no one translate Tacitus?"

"Tacitus is difficult," said Gellert, smiling; "there are some bad French translations of this author."

"You are right," said the king.

"Altogether," continued Gellert, "there are a variety of reasons why the Germans have not become distinguished in letters. When art and science bloomed in Greece, the Romans were becoming renowned in war. Perhaps the Germans have sought their fame on the battle-field; perhaps they had no Augustus or Louis XIV. who favored and encouraged the historians and poets of Germany."

This was a daring and broad allusion, but Frederick received it smilingly.

"You have had an Augustus, perhaps two, in Saxony," he said.

"And we have made a good commencement in Saxony. We should have an Augustus for all of Germany."

"What!" cried the king, quickly, and with sparkling eyes, "you desire an Augustus for Germany?"

"Not exactly," said Gellert, "but I wish that every German sovereign would encourage genius and letters in his country. Genius needs encouragement; and when it does not find it in its own land, and from its native princes, it cannot retain the great and joyous power of creation."

The king did not answer, but walked thoughtfully up and down; from time to time he glanced quickly and searchingly at Gellert, who was standing opposite to him.

"Have you ever been out of Saxony?" said the king, at last.

"Yes, sire, I was once in Berlin."

"You should go again," said the king--then added, as if he regretted having shown the German poet so much sympathy, "at all events, you should travel."

"To do so, your majesty, I require health and money."

"Are you sick?" asked the king, in a gentle, sympathizing voice. "What is your malady? Perhaps too much learning."

Gellert smiled. "As your majesty thinks so, it may bear that interpretation. In my mouth it would have sounded too bold."

"I have had this malady myself," said the king, laughing; "I will cure you. You must take exercise--ride out every day."

"Ah, sire, this cure might easily produce a new disease for me," said Gellert, terrified; "if the horse should be healthier than I, I could not ride it, and if it were as weak as myself, we would not be able to stir from the spot."

"Then you must drive," said the king, laughing.

"I have not the money, sire."

"That is true," said the king. "All German writers need money, and we have fallen upon evil times."

"Yes, truly, sire, evil times; but it lies in your majesty's hands to change all this, if you would give peace to Germany."

"How can I?" cried the king, violently. "Have you not heard that there are three against me?"

"I care more for ancient than modern history," said Gellert, who did not desire to follow the king upon the slippery field of politics.

"You, then, are accurately acquainted with the ancients?" said the king. "Which, then, do you think the greatest and most renowned of that epoch--Homer or Virgil?"

"Homer, I think, merits the preference, because he is original."

"But Virgil is more polished and refined."

Gellert shook his head violently. Now that the old writers were being discussed, the German sage overcame his timidity.

"We are entirely too widely separated from Virgil to be able to judge of his language and style. I trust to Quintilian, who gives Homer the preference."

"But we must not be slaves to the judgment of the ancients," said the king, aroused.

"I am not, sire; I only adopt their views when distance prevents my judging for myself."

"You are certainly right in this," said the king, kindly. "Altogether you appear to be a wise and reasonable man. I understand that you have greatly improved the German language."

"Ah, yes, sire, but unfortunately it has been in vain."

"Why is this?" said the king. "You all wish me to interest myself in German, but it is such a barbarous language, that I often have quires of writing sent me, of which I do not understand a word. Why is it not otherwise?"

"If your majesty cannot reform this, I certainly cannot," said Gellert, smiling; "I can only advise, but you can command."

"But your poems are not written in this stiff, pompous German. Do you not know one of your fables by heart?"

"I doubt it, sire, my memory is very treacherous."

"Well, try and think of one. In the mean while I will walk backward and forward a little. Well, have you thought of one?"

"Yes, your majesty," said Gellert, after a brief silence, "I believe I remember one."

"Let us hear it," said the king; and, seating himself upon the fauteuil, he gazed fixedly at Gellert, who, standing in the middle of the room, his clear glance turned toward the king, now began his recitation.

"THE PAINTER."

"A painter, Athens his abode, Who painted less for love of gain Than crowns of laurel to obtain, Mars' portrait to a connoisseur once showed, And his opinion of it sought.

The judge spoke freely what he thought, Twas wholly not unto his taste, he said, And that, to please a practised eye, Far less of art should be displayed.

The painter failed not to reply, And though the critic blamed with skill, Was of the same opinion still."

"Then in the room a c.o.xcomb came, To scan the work with praise or blame.

He with a glance its worth descried; 'Ye G.o.ds! A masterpiece' he cried.

'Ah, what a foot! what skilled details, E'en to the painting of the nails!

A living Mars is here revealed, What skill--what art in light and shade-- Both in the helmet and the shield, And in the armor are displayed!'"

"The painter blushed with humbled pride, Looked at the judge with woful mien, 'Too well am I convinced' he cried, 'Unjust to me thou hast not been.'

The c.o.xcomb scarce had disappeared, when he his G.o.d of battle smeared."

"And the moral," cried the king, with vivacity, as Gellert ceased for a moment.

"Here is the moral, sire:"

"If what you write offends the critic's rules, It is an evil sign, no doubt; But when 'tis lauded to the skies by fools, 'Tis time, indeed, to blot it out."