said the king.

"And I also," said the scholar, solemnly. "Listen, your majesty, and be
pleased to take the book and compare as I read;" then with a loud nasal
voice he read his translation:

"'Mit ungleich gluecklicherm Geschicke,
Gebeut die Koenigin zarter Pein,
Hin, Deine schoenen Augenblicke,
Zum Opfer noch einmal zu weihn,
Den Holzstoss liebt man aufzugeben,
Der Altar glaenzt, des Weihrauchs Duefte
Durchdringen schon die weiten Luefte,
Das Opfer wird gedoppelt schoen,
Durch Amors Glut ist es verflogen,
Und das Geheimniss wird vollzogen.'"

"Now, your majesty," said Gottsched, "do you not find that the German
language is capable of repeating the French verses promptly and
concisely?"

"I am astonished that you have been able to translate this beautiful
poem. I am sorry I am too old to learn German. I regret that in my
youth I had neither the courage nor the instruction necessary. I would
certainly have turned many of my leisure hours to the translation of
German authors, rather than to Roman and French writers; but the past
cannot be recalled, and I must be content! If I can never hope to become
a German writer, it will at least be granted me to sing the praises of
the regenerator of the German language in French verse. I have sought to
do so now--listen!"

The king read aloud a few verses to the enraptured professor. The
immoderate praise enchanted him, and, in the assurance of his pride
and conceit, he did not remark the fine irony concealed in them. With a
raised voice, and a graceful, bantering smile, the king concluded:

"C'est a toi Cygne des Saxons,
D'arracher ce secret a la nature avare;
D'adoucir dans tes chants d'une langue barbare,
Les durs et detestables sons'"

[Footnote: Oeuvres Posthumes, vol. vii., p 216.

"It is thine, swan of the Saxons,
To draw the secret from the miser Nature;
To soften with thy songs the hard
And detestable sounds of a barbarous tongue."]

"Ah! your majesty," cried Gottsched, forgetting his indignation over the
langue barbare, in his rapture at the praise he had received, "you
are kind and cruel at the same moment. You cast reproach upon our poor
language, and, at the same time, give me right royal praise. Cygne des
Saxons--that is an epithet which does honor to the royal giver, and to
the happy receiver. For a king and a hero, there can be no higher fame
than to appreciate