understand how anyone could fail to admire such a good and noble lord, or how anyone could be unwilling to die for his sake.

Augustus understood this still less than they did. The word "ingratitude" now accompanied every mention he made of Poland, and at length his courtiers avoided talking about it, about the King of Sweden, and about those things that Augustus the Strong had promised himself to set right.

When Augustus returned to Dresden, that city made every possible effort to distract its lord, and it was only on this evening that everything was quiet within the castle. But why? The King had not gone to any of his other castles; the Leipsic fair had not yet begun; and besides, it had even been rumoured in the court, and throughout the city, that Augustus intended to order a series of balls, and carousals, to spite the Swedish monarch, and to prove to that august personage that he cared nothing for the temporary defeat he had sustained.

The few passers-by who wended their way along the streets surrounding the castle, gazed at the windows in astonishment, wondering why, at this early hour, everything should be so quiet in the King's apartments. But anyone who penetrated further, and passing through the first large gate, crossed the courtyard, would have discovered that it was only on one side of the castle that silence reigned supreme, and that the interior of the building was seething with life and animation.

Despite the keen north wind that was blowing, the windows on the first floor were wide open, and through the curtains poured forth streams of light, reflected from many mirrors; whilst from time to time there issued from the depths of the hall, peals of boisterous laughter, which, ringing through the spacious courtyard, startled the watchful sentries, and echoing against the grey walls, gradually died away in the distance.

This laughter was accompanied by more or less noise, which alternately increased, subsided into murmurs, or died away into silence. At times there was loud clapping of hands as though after a speech, and then again was heard deep, sonorous, full-toned, king-like laughter, the laughter of a person not afraid of being heard, or of being answered in shouts of derision. At each fresh outburst of merriment, the guard pacing, halberd in hand, beneath the castle windows, paused in his walk, raised his eyes, and then with a deep sigh looked down on the ground.

There was something awful in this midnight feast, held while the wind was blowing fiercely, and the capital lay wrapt in sleep.

Here the King was making merry.

Since his return from Poland, such evening debauches, with a few intimate courtiers, had been more frequent. Augustus the Strong, defeated by Charles XII., was ashamed to appear at great feasts; but as he needed some distraction from the sad thoughts that oppressed him, he gathered round him a few courtiers to whom he was attached. For these he ordered his servants to bring out the golden wine that was yearly imported from Hungary for the King's private use, and of this they drank until daybreak, by which time every one had fallen from their seats. Then Hoffman came, and conducted the King, still laughing heartily, to bed.

To these select assemblies of the priests of Bacchus only a few persons were admitted, only those, in fact, in whom Augustus had entire confidence; for it was said that after drinking a few bumpers the King was dangerous. His strength was the strength of Hercules, and his anger the anger of Jove. If he were made angry in the morning, he said nothing, but his face grew crimson, his eyes glittered, and his lips trembled. He would turn away, and would not look at the person who had offended him. But after a few draughts of wine it was a different matter; at such times he had thrown many a one through the window, who had fallen on the pavement to rise no more.

His anger was rare, but it was terrible as a thunderbolt. In ordinary life there could not be found a more affable or benevolent lord. It has even been remarked that the more he disliked a man, the more sweetly he smiled on him; and the day before they were imprisoned in Königstein, where his favourites had sometimes had to remain for several years, Augustus would embrace them as though they were his dearest friends; so noble was his nature, so wishful was he to soften the hard lot of his people.

As it was necessary for the lord to have some amusement, it was nothing remarkable that two bears should sometimes be brought to the castle, or two enemies made drunk, and then induced to fight. This was a sport in which the King especially delighted, and when two drunken Vitzthums, Friesens or Hoyms, began to quarrel, he used to split his sides with laughing. This was such an innocent recreation.

The King could make them quarrel very easily, for he knew everything--he knew who was in love, and with whom; which man hated the other; how much money they had taken from his treasury without his permission; he even knew what each of his courtiers was thinking, and if he did not know, he guessed. Who the spies were who betrayed them, the courtiers could by no means discover; and the result of this was that each one suspected his neighbour; brother was afraid of brother; the husband distrusted the wife; the father had no confidence in his son; and King Augustus the Strong looked on, and laughed at the mob!

Yes, from his exalted position he looked down on the comedy of life, not disdaining to play in it the rôle of Jove, Hercules, and Apollo--and in the evening the rôle of Bacchus.

On the evening in question, being very sad and weary, the King determined to make all his ministers and favourites drunk, and then make them confess for his amusement.

The select companions of the King's feast were seated in a brilliantly lighted room, one side of which was occupied by an enormous sideboard, bright with silver and cut glass. Amongst those present were: Count Taparel Lagnasco, who had just arrived from Rome; Count Wackerbarth, from Vienna, Watzdorf, called the peasant of Mansfeld; Fürstenberg, Imhoff, Friesen, Vitzthum, and Hoym; and last, but not least, Friedrich Wilhelm, Baron Kyan, famous for his wit, who made every one else laugh, whilst he remained perfectly serious.

The King, with dress and vest unfastened, sat leaning on one elbow--he was very sad. His handsome face, usually so bright, was veiled in a mist of sorrow. Several empty bottles bore witness to the fact that drinking had already continued for some time, yet on the King's face no results of the goodly wine were visible. The golden liquid had not been able to make his gloomy thoughts more bright.

The courtiers jested with each other, endeavouring to make their lord laugh, but without avail. Augustus sat silent and thoughtful, as though he heard not a word that was spoken. This was most unusual; the King was so seldom sad, indeed he was ever eager for mirth and distraction. His companions grew uneasy and looked at him askance.

At the opposite end of the table sat Kyan, gloomy, and unassuming. As though to mock the King, he also leaned on one elbow, stretched out his legs, and looked up at the ceiling with a deep sigh.

His melancholy air gave him an absurd appearance.

"Hark you," whispered Fürstenberg, nudging Wackerbarth with his elbow--they were both tipsy by this time--"do you see our lord? Nothing makes him smile--and it is already eleven o'clock--he ought to be in a good humour by now. This is our fault."

"I am here as a guest," replied Wackerbarth, shrugging his shoulders. "It is none of my business; as you know him better than I do, you should find the proper way to amuse him."

"He is tired of