“You are an absolute and unqualified fool,” said the king, laughing, “and if it was not against my conscience, and unworthy of human nature, to engage a man as a perpetual buffoon, I would promote you to the office of court fool.  You might, at least, serve as an example to my cavaliers, by teaching them what they ought to avoid.”

“I have merited this cruel contempt, this painful punishment from my royal master,” said Pollnitz.  “I submit silently.  I will not, for a moment, seek to justify myself.”

“You do well in that.  You can make no defence.  You left my service faithlessly and heartlessly, with the hope of marrying a fortune.  The marriage failed, and you come back with falsehood in your heart and on your lips, chattering about your love for my royal house.  You are not ashamed to liken yourself to a hound, and to howl even as they do, in order that I may take you back into favor.  Do not suppose, for one moment, that I am deceived by these professions—­if you could have done better for yourself elsewhere, you would not have returned to Berlin; that not being the case, you creep back, and vow that love alone has constrained you.  Look you, Pollnitz, I know you, I know you fully.  You can never deceive me; and, most assuredly, I would not receive you again into my service, if I did not look upon you as an old inventory of my house, an inheritance from my grandfather Frederick.  I receive you, therefore, out of consideration for the dead kings in whose service you were, and who amused themselves with your follies; for their sakes I cannot allow you to hunger.  Think not that I will prepare you a bed of down, and give you gold to waste in idleness.  You must work for your living, even as we all do.  I grant you a pension, but you will perform your old duty, as grand master of ceremonies.  You understand such nonsense better than I do.  You were educated in a good school, and studied etiquette from the foundation stone, under Prussia’s first king; and that you may not say we have overlooked your great worth, I will lay yet another burden upon your shoulders, and make you ‘master of the wardrobe.’  It shall not be said of us, that nonsense and folly are neglected at our court; even these shall have their tribute.  You shall therefore be called ‘Master of the Robes,’ but I counsel you, yes, I warn you, never to interfere with my coats and shirts.  You shall have no opportunity to make a gold-embroidered monkey of me.  Etiquette requires that I must have a master of the robes, but I warn you to interest yourself in all other things rather than in my toilet.”

“All that your majesty condescends to say, is written in letters of flame upon my heart.”

“I would rather suppose upon your knees; they must indeed burn from this long penance.  I have read you a lecture, a la facon of a village schoolmaster.  You can rise, the lecture is over.”

Pollnitz rose from his knees, and, straightening himself, advanced before the king, and made one of those low, artistic bows, which he understood to perfection.  “When does your majesty wish that I should enter upon my duties?”