"I will put you to the proof, at once," said the king, opening a book which lay upon the table. "Look! These are the Odes of Rousseau, and we will take the first one which accident presents Listen to this:"

"'Sous un plus heureux auspice, La Deesse des amours, Veut qu'un nouveau sacrifice, Lui consacre vos beaux jours; Deja le bucher s'allume. L'autel brille, l'encens fume, La victime s'embellit, L'amour meme la consume, Le mystere s'accomplit.'

[Footnote: "Under a most happy omen, The goddess of love Wished that a new sacrifice Should consecrate to her our bright days. Already the fagots are lighted, The altar glows, the incense fumes, The victim is adorned-- By love itself it is consumed, The mystery accomplished."]

"Do you believe it is possible to translate this beautiful stanza into German?" said the king.

"If your majesty allows me, I will translate it at once," said he. "Give me a piece of paper and a pencil."

"Take them," said Frederick. "We will divert ourselves by a little rivalry in song, while you translate the verses of the French poet into German. I will sing to the praise of the German author in French rhyme. Let us not disturb each other."

Frederick stepped to the window and wrote off hastily a few verses, then waited till he saw that Gottsched had also ceased to write. "I am ready, sir," 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: