'Do not be surprised,' said he calmly, 'we call ourselves Christians but in reality we are heathens, despite the promise we made at our baptism. I consider it the duty of every Christian to preach. The aim of my life is not only to preach, but also to set a good example. What is the use of preaching, if deeds do not follow our words? Catholics and Protestants, we are all heathens in our way of living. We do not worship gods, but we make sacrifices to them. A few priests quarrel about dogmas, but our Saviour's blood is wasted, for people do not wish to be saved.'
He sighed. At that moment they came in sight of the camp, where drinking was at its height. Zinzendorf looked towards it, and exclaimed:
'This is a veritable bacchanalia! It seems to me, that I hear evoe! Let us hasten! I have no desire to hear and see Christians enjoying themselves in so heathenish a way.'
Brühl made no reply. They passed by the camp, and soon reached the highway. Having pointed out the road to the student, he ran quickly to the lighted tent.
Zinzendorf's words were still resounding in his ears when he perceived a strange sight in the tent. It is true, that in those times it was nothing surprising, but very few people made such an exhibition of themselves in public, as did the military councillor Pauli that evening. He was lying on the ground in the centre of the tent; beside him there stood a large, empty, big-bellied bottle; his face was crimson; his dress unbuttoned and torn; while beside him sat a hound, evidently his favourite, licking his face and whining.
Those who stood around were splitting their sides with laughter.
It was no unusual thing for the military councillor Pauli, whose duty it was to be near the King ready to write his letters, to be thus overcome with wine, but never was he so drunk or so much laughed at as on that night.
As soon as Brühl noticed it, he rushed to the unfortunate man and lifted him from the ground. The others, having come to their senses, helped him, and with a great effort they put the councillor on a heap of hay lying in the corner of the tent. Pauli opened his eyes, looked at the surrounding faces, and mumbled:
'Brühl, thank you--I know everything, I understand, I am not drunk--You are a good boy, Brühl, I thank you.'
Then he closed his eyes, sighed and muttered, 'Hard service!' and fell asleep.