The king, with his flute in hand, was walking up and down the room, when the door opened, and Major Quintus entered with Gellert.
Frederick immediately laid his flute aside, and advanced to meet the poet with a gracious smile. Gellert’s gentle and intellectual countenance was composed, and his eyes were not cast down or confused by the piercing glance of the king.
“Is this Professor Gellert?” said the king, with a slight salutation.
“Yes, your majesty,” said Gellert, bowing profoundly.
“The English ambassador has spoken well of you,” said the king; “he has read many of your works.”
“That proves him to be a thoughtful and benevolent gentleman, who hopes something from German writers,” said Gellert, significantly.
Frederick smiled, and perhaps to excite him still more, said quickly:
“Tell me, how does it happen, Gellert, that we have so few celebrated writers?”
“Your majesty sees before you now a German poet whom even the French have translated, and who call him the German La Fontaine.”
“That is great praise, great praise,” said the king, whose large eyes fastened themselves more attentively upon Gellert’s modest, expressive face. “You are then called the German La Fontaine? Have you ever read La Fontaine?”