them into the banqueting hall.  The doors of the house are closed; for the gaping crowd without the festival is ended, for the high-born guests within it is but just begun.  The two wings of the doors leading into the banqueting hall are thrown open by the halberdiers, the musicians in the gilded balcony to the rear blow a loud, dashing flourish, and the Elector enters the hall, followed by the Electress, who leans upon the arm of Count Schwarzenberg.  On both sides of the hall stand the lords and ladies of the nobility, who bow down to the ground, nothing being visible but the bowed necks of men, the courtesying forms of women—­all is reverence, solemnity, and silence.  In the middle of the long table, just before that immense, solid mirror of Venetian crystal, are the places of the Electoral pair, as may be seen by those throne-like armchairs, on whose tall, straight backs is carved a golden crown—­as may be seen by the glittering gold plate of both covers.

How gorgeously is the long table laid, nothing to be seen but gold and silver plate!  In the center is a huge piece of chased silver, representing Cupids and genii, who in golden shells, cornucopias, and vases offer the rarest fruits, the most delicious confections!  Before each lady’s plate, in wondrously cut goblets, is a magnificent bouquet of flowers; before each gentleman’s, a silver bowl.  A gold-bedizened lackey is behind each chair; two stand behind the chairs of each of their Electoral Highnesses.

“Why stands that page behind the Electoral Prince’s chair?” asks the Stadtholder, loud enough to be heard by the Prince, who is near him.

Frederick William breaks off in the midst of his conversation with the young Count John Adolphus, and turns smilingly to the Stadtholder.

“Pardon, your grace,” says he kindly.  “I wished to preserve a memento of this handsome entertainment, the first entertainment by which my return home has been solemnized, and with my father’s permission I have brought with me the court painter Gabriel Nietzel, in order that he may look upon the feast and make a sketch of the scene.  Since, of course, he could have no place at the table, he has assumed a page’s garb, that he may have the privilege of standing behind my chair.  I fancy that the vain man would willingly immortalize himself in that picturesque costume.  But as he has put on a page’s clothes, he will also perform a page’s part, and I have therefore at his request consented that he shall wait upon me to-day and hand me all my food.  Does your grace also grant him this upon my bequest?”

“Oh, most gracious Prince, you need never make requests; you have only to command.  Away there, you fellows! away from the Electoral Prince’s chair, vacate your places for the page!  Mr. Court Painter Nietzel, take good care not to be negligent in your duties, to-day be nothing but the Electoral Prince’s page so long as we are at table, afterward you can again be the court painter!”