“Say rather, madam, that you are cruel,” said Rietz, rising from the table to go after the champagne. “It is truly cruel to compel a man to arise, in the midst of the delights of the table, and wait on himself! Champagne loses its flavor when one has to pour it out himself!”
“I will wait on you, sir!” cried Wilhelmine, rising with vivacity, and taking the bottle in her hands.
Rietz nodded complacently. “That is right. That is piquant, and will season my repast. The almighty queen of the left hand waits on her submissive husband of the left hand. The mistress becomes the slave, the slave the master! This is a charming riddle, is it not? But I tell you, madame, it is not the last riddle we will propound! Oh, very many riddles will now be propounded; and some people would be very happy if they could find the right solution.”
“You wished to give me good advice concerning the two favorites,” said Wilhelmine, with a smile, that cost her proud heart much humiliation. “Speak, therefore, my dear Rietz! Give me your advice!”
Rietz held his glass up to the light, and gazed smilingly at the rising bubbles. “That reminds me of my old friend, the burgomaster of Stargard, the dear place of my nativity. The good Burgomaster Funk, was a true child of Pomerania, who despised High-German, and would have spoken Low-German, even with the king. Speaking Low-German, and eating dinner was his passion. And I have often thought, when I saw him sitting at the dinner-table, with so reverent and pious a countenance, that the old gentleman fancied himself in church, administering the sacrament as a priest. He applied himself with such heavenly tranquillity to the delights of the table, permitting nothing in the world to disturb him while so engaged.”
“But I cannot comprehend what the recollections of your happy youth have to do with the advice you desired to give.”
“You will soon do so, my queen,” said Rietz, slowly emptying his glass. “And yet permit me to dwell a little longer on the recollections of my dear old master. For you must know that this good old gentleman was my master; under him I learned the arts of a valet, writer, and confidant, and all the little artifices and stratagems by which a valet makes himself his master’s factotum. Truly the king is greatly indebted to the burgomaster; without him he would never have been the possessor of so excellent a factotum as the privy-chamberlain and treasurer Rietz. At the same time, I learned from my master how to become a gourmand; learned what precious knowledge, and how much practical study, were necessary to educate a man up to this sublime standard, and entitle him to the proud appellation of gourmand. My old master, who deservedly bore this title, inculcated in me the most beautiful and strict principles. In the midst of our conversation, and while the old gentleman was digesting, slowly imbibing his delicious mocha, and blowing clouds of smoke from his long pipe, it sometimes occurred that some one of the burghers of the little city would come, in his necessity, to his burgomaster to obtain advice or assistance. Then you should have seen his anger and rage. He would strike the table with his fist, and cry furiously: ‘Vat, I give advice! After dinner, and for noting!’”
“Ah,” exclaimed Wilhelmine, “now I begin to understand!”
“That is fortunate, indeed,” said Rietz, laughing; and he held out his empty glass to Wilhelmine that she might fill it. “Then you begin to understand that the phrase ‘after dinner, and for nothing,’ is very beautiful and appropriate?”