Quintus glanced sympathizingly at the poor professor, and said:
"It is true, you do not look well, and I cannot force you to go with me to-day; but allow me to make one remark: if you think to escape the interview altogether, you are mistaken. The king desires to speak with you, and it is my duty to bring you to him. If you cannot go to-day, I must return to-morrow; if you are then still unwell, the day after; and so on every day, until you accompany me."
"But this is frightful!" cried Gellert, anxiously.
Quintus shrugged his shoulders. "You must decide, sir," he said; "I give you an hour. At four o'clock I will return and ask if you will go to-day, or another time."
"Yes; do that, major," said Gellert, breathing more freely. "In the mean time, I will take my dinner, and then see how it is with my courage.
Conrad! Conrad!" exclaimed Gellert, as Quintus Icilius left him, and his servant entered the room. "Conrad, did you hear the bad tidings? I must go to the King of Prussia."
"I heard," said Conrad, "and I do not think it bad tidings, but a great honor. The king sent for Professor Gottsched a few days since, and conversed with him a long time. Since then, his entire household act as if Gottsched were the Almighty Himself, and as if they were all, at least, archangels. Therefore, I am glad that the king has shown you the same honor, and that he desires to know you."
"Honor!" murmured Gellert. "This great lord wishes to see the learned Germans for once, as others visit a menagerie, and look at the monkeys, and amuse themselves with their wonderful tricks. It is the merest curiosity which leads such men to desire to behold the tricks and pranks of a professor. They know nothing of our minds; it satisfies them to look at us. Conrad, I will not go; I will be ill to-day and every other day. We will see if this modern Icilius will not yield!"
And the usually gentle and yielding poet paced the room in angry excitement, his eyes flashing, and his face deeply flushed.
"I will not--I will not go."
"You must go, professor," said Conrad, placing himself immediately in front of his master, and looking at him half-imploringly, half-threateningly--"you must go; you will give your old Conrad the pleasure of being able to say to the impudent servants of Herr Gottsched that my master has also been to the King of Prussia. You will not do me the injury of making me serve a master who has not been to see the king, while Herr Gottsched has been?"
"But, Conrad," said Gellert, complainingly, "what good will it have done me to have declined the position of regular professor, that I might be in no danger of becoming rector, and being obliged to see kings and princes?"
"It will show the world," said Conrad, "that a poet need not be a regular professor in order to be called into the society of kings and princes. You must go--the king expects you; and if you do not go, you will appear as the Austrians do, afraid of the King of Prussia."
"That is true," said Gellert, whose excitement had somewhat subsided; "it will look as though I were afraid."
"And so distinguished a man should fear nothing," said Conrad, "not even a king."
"Well, so be it," said Gellert, smiling, "I will go to the king to-day, but I must first eat something; if I went fasting to the king I might faint, and that would disgrace you forever, Conrad."
"I will run and bring the coffee," said the delighted old servant.
CHAPTER XIII. THE POET AND THE KING.
Gelbert had scarcely finished his frugal meal, and arranged his toilet a little, when Major Quintus arrived and asked the poet if he were still too unwell to accompany him to the king.
"I am still indisposed," said Gellert, with a sad smile, "but my indisposition is of a kind that leaves me neither to day, to-morrow nor any day; it is therefore better for me to gratify the king's commands at once. I am ready to accompany you, sir; let us depart."
He took his three-cornered hat, which Conrad handed him with a delightful smirk, and followed the major to the splendid house where the king had taken his quarters for the winter.
"Allow me a favor, sir," said Quintus, as they mounted the steps; "the king is prejudiced against German poets and philosophers, and it would be of the greatest advantage to the literary and political world of Germany for these prejudices to disappear, and for the great Frederick to give to Germany the sympathy and encouragement which until now he has lavished upon the French and Italians. Think of this, sir, and endeavor to win the king by your obliging and pleasing manner."
"Oh, major!" sighed Gellert, "I do not understand the art of pleasing the great ones of this world. I cannot utter words of praise and flattery; my heart and manners are simple and not showy."
"Exactly, this is beautiful and attractive," said the major, smiling: "the king cannot endure pretension or conceited wisdom. Be simply yourself; imagine that you are in your own study, conversing frankly and freely with a highly-honored friend, to whom politeness and attention are due."
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?"
"Yes, sire, but I did not imitate him," said Gellert, ingenuously, "I am an original."
The king nodded gayly; Gellert's quick frankness pleased him.
"Good," he said, "you are an excellent poet; but why do you stand alone?"
Gellert shrugged his shoulders slightly.
"Your majesty is prejudiced against the Germans."
"No, I cannot admit that," said the king, quickly.
"At least against German writers," replied Gellert.
"Yes, that is true; I cannot deny that. Why have we no good writers in Germany?"
"We have them, sire," said Gellert, with noble pride. "We boast a Maskow, a Kramer--who has set Bossuet aside."
"How!" cried the king, astonished; "Bossuet? Ah, sir, how is it possible for a German to set Bossuet aside?"
"Kramer has done so, and with great success," said Gellert, smiling.
"One of your majesty's most learned professors has said that Kramer has the eloquence of Bossuet, and more profound historical accuracy."
The king appeared really astonished, and walked several times thoughtfully up and down his room.
"Was my learned professor capable of deciding that question?"
"The world believes so, sire."