s of art in Charlottenburg, the brow of the
king grew dark, and with profound indignation he said:

"Ah, the Russians are barbarians, who labor only for the downfall of
humanity. [Footnote: The king's own words,--Archenholtz, vol. i., p.
282] If we do not succeed in conquering them, and destroying their rude,
despotic sovereignty, they will again and ever disquiet the whole of
Europe. In the mean time, however," said Frederick, "the vandalism of
the Russians shall not destroy our beautiful winter rest. If they
have torn my paintings and crushed my statues, we must collect new
art-treasures. Gotzkowsky has told me that in Italy, that inexhaustible
mine of art, there are still many glorious pictures of the great old
masters; he shall procure them for me, and I will make haste to finish
this war in order to enjoy my new paintings, and to rest in my beautiful
Sans-Souci. Ah, marquis, let us speak no longer of it, in this room at
least, let us forget the war. It has whitened my hair, and made an old
man of me before my time. My back is bent, and my face is wrinkled as
the flounce on a woman's dress. All this has the war brought upon me.
But my heart and my inclinations are unchanged, and I think I dare now
allow them a little satisfaction and indulgence. Come, marquis, I have
a new poem from Voltaire, sent to me a few days since. We will see if he
can find grace before your stern tribunal. I have also some new sins to
confess. That is to say, I have some poems composed in the hours of rest
during my campaigns. You are my literary father confessor, and we will
see if you can give me absolution."

But the king did not dedicate the entire winter to music, and French
poems, and gay, cheerful conversation with his friends. A part of this
happy time was consecrated to the earnest study of the ancients. For
the first time he turned his attention to German literature, and felt an
interest in the efforts of German philosophers and poets.

Quintus Icilius, the learned companion of Frederick, had often assured
him that the scholarship, the wit, the poetry of Germany, found at this
time their best representatives in Leipsic, that he at length became
curious to see these great men, of whom Quintus Icilius asserted that
they far surpassed the French in scholarship, and in wit and intellect
might take their places unchallenged side by side with the French.

The king listened to this assurance with rather a contemptuous smile.
He directe