“His majesty entreats the duke to enter.” said Pollnitz, opening the door of the library. The king advanced. He was dressed simply; even the golden star, which was seldom absent from his coat, was now missing.
“Come, duke,” said the king, pleasantly, “come into my tusculum.” He then entered the library, quickly followed by the duke.
“Well, sir,” said the king, “we are now in that room in which I lately told you I was but a republican. You have crossed the threshold of the republic of letters!”
“But I see a king before me,” said the duke, bowing reverentially; “a king who has vanquished his republic, and surpassed all the great spirits that have gone before him.”
The king’s glance rested upon the shelves filled with books, on whose back glittered in golden letters the most distinguished names of all ages.
“Homer, Tacitus, Livy, Petrarch!—ye great spirits of my republic! hear how this traitor slanders you.”
“How I honor you, sire, for truly it is a great honor to be subdued and vanquished by such a king as Frederick the Second.”
The king looked at him fixedly. “You wish to bewilder me with flattery, duke,” said he, “well knowing that it is a sweet opiate, acceptable to princes, generally causing their ruin. But in this chamber, duke, I am safe from this danger, and here in my republic we will both enjoy the Spartan soup of truth. Believe me, sir, it is at times a wholesome dish, though to the pampered stomach it is bitter and distasteful. I can digest it, and as you have come to visit me, you will have to partake of it.”
“And I crave it, sire—crave it as a man who has fasted for two weeks.”
“For two weeks?” said the king, laughing. “Ah, it is true you have been here just that time.”