'Of course. I have seen your tragedy. I have forgotten the name of it, but it was not good. You have written some other poetry, have you not?'
'Yes, sire. I had your permission to dedicate my last volume to you.'
'Very likely, but I have not had time to read it. It is a pity that we have no poets now in France, for the deeds of the last few years would have given a subject for a Homer or a Virgil. It seems that I can create kingdoms but not poets. Whom do you consider to be the greatest French writer?'
'Racine, sire.'
'Then you are a blockhead, for Corneille was infinitely greater. I have no ear for metre or trivialities of the kind, but I can sympathise with the spirit of poetry, and I am conscious that Corneille is far the greatest of poets. I would have made him my prime minister had he had the good fortune to live in my epoch. It is his intellect which I admire, his knowledge of the human heart, and his profound feeling. Are you writing anything at present?'
'I am writing a tragedy upon Henry IV., sire.'
'It will not do, sir. It is too near the present day, and I will not have politics upon the stage. Write a play about Alexander. What is your name?'
He had pitched upon the same person whom he had already addressed.
'I am still Gretry, the musician,' said he meekly.
The Emperor flushed for an instant at the implied rebuke. He said nothing, however, but passed on to where several ladies were standing together near the door of the card-room.