Midnight was once more chiming from all the brazen tongues of the
city when he awoke, and, all being still around him, ventured to
put his head out of the brass door of the stove to see why such a
strange bright light was round him.
It was a very strange and brilliant light indeed; and yet, what
is perhaps still stranger, it did not frighten or amaze him, nor
did what he saw alarm him either, and yet I think it would have
done you or me. For what he saw was nothing less than all the
_bric-à-brac_ in motion.
A big jug, an Apostel-Krug, of Kruessen, was solemnly dancing a
minuet with a plump Faenza jar; a tall Dutch clock was going
through a gavotte with a spindle-legged ancient chair; a very
droll porcelain figure of Littenhausen was bowing to a very stiff
soldier in _terre cuite_ of Ulm; an old violin of Cremona was
playing itself, and a queer little shrill plaintive music that
thought itself merry came from a painted spinet covered with
faded roses; some gilt Spanish leather had got up on the wall and
laughed; a Dresden mirror was tripping about, crowned with
flowers, and a Japanese bonze was riding along on a griffin; a
slim Venetian rapier had come to blows with a stout Ferrara
sabre, all about a little pale-faced chit of a damsel in white
Nymphenburg china; and a portly Franconian pitcher in _grès gris_
was calling aloud, "Oh, these Italians! always at feud!" But
nobody listened to him at all. A great number of little Dresden
cups and saucers were all skipping and waltzing; the teapots,
with their broad round faces, were spinning their own lids like
teetotums; the high-backed gilded chairs were having a game of
cards together; and a little Saxe poodle, with a blue ribbon at
its throat, was running from one to another, whilst a yellow cat
of Cornelis Lachtleven's rode about on a Delft horse in blue
pottery of 1489. Meanwhile the brilliant light shed on the scene
came from three silver candelabra, though they had no candles set
up in them; and, what is the greatest miracle of all, August
looked on at these mad freaks and felt no sensation of wonder! He
only, as he heard the violin and the spinet playing, felt an
irresistible desire to dance too.
No doubt his face said what he wished; for a lovely little lady,
all in pink and gold and white, with powdered hair, and
high-heeled shoes, and all made of the very finest and fairest
Meissen china, tripped up to him, and smiled, and gave him her
hand, and led him out to a minuet. And he danced it perfectly,--poor
little August in his thick, clumsy shoes, and his thick, clumsy
sheepskin jacket, and his rough homespun linen, and his broad
Tyrolean hat! He must have danced it perfectly, this dance of
kings and queens in days when crowns were duly honored, for the
lovely lady always smiled benignly and never scolded him at all,
and danced so divinely herself to the stately measures the spinet
was playing that August could not take his eyes off her till,
their minuet ended, she sat down on her own white-and-gold
bracket.
"I am the Princess of Saxe-Royale," she said to him, with a
benignant smile; "and you have got through that minuet very
fairly."