By the joint advice of Mousons and Rietz, I gave the K--g a _fête_, the gaiety of which was to surpass every thing. The spot pitched upon for this purpose was one of those gardens at Potsdam which we called the English gardens, and in which the beauties and the deformities of nature are all collected and contrasted with each other on a few acres of land. This spot was kept under lock and key by one of the trusty guards of the association. My Naïades, Cupids, Sylphs, and Nymphs, scarcely veiled with transparent gauze, opened this divertisement, and the first beauties were selected to heighten the glowing scene. After the pantomime commenced a ball. A ball, it is well known, is a great promoter of voluptuousness. One couple after the other disappeared; whole groups were seen scattered about in the most lascivious attitudes; here a Dido in the embraces of an Æneas; there a Cleopatra, lost in an ocean of delight with her tender Antony. Little Cupids, in half-lighted grottos, by the twinkling ray of an expiring torch, prepared the hymeneal feast, in which the God of Love, the hero of the piece, exerted his talents in the most enamoured manner. I walked hand in hand with the K--g through these enchanting scenes, and explained to him the meaning of the various groups. Beautiful! excellent! delightful! exclaimed he repeatedly. What a charming woman thou art, Minna! One of the dancers, a pretty little girl, whom I had initiated into all the mysteries of love, and whom the K--g was particularly partial to, attended us on our promenade, and, on a signal agreed between us, conducted him to a bower, the most enchanting that imagination can paint. The King would sit down upon the green, when on a sudden it opened, and presented a beautiful sopha with cushions, over which an elegant baldachin of flowers was suspended, in wreaths and festoons. At a convenient distance I had placed a male and a female singer, who were to represent a love-scene, and to accompany their amorous attitudes with songs expressive of their passions; a little farther off another voice echo-like repeated the sweet accents, whilst at a still greater distance the liquid sounds of a German flute died on the love-sick breeze, and threw the soul into that kind of pensive melancholy which generally leads to the most exquisite delights. The songster began, the flute warbled, the echo repeated, the tune was so heart-melting, the words so tender, the situation so novel, the King so pressing----. This was the last tender scene in which we were engaged; for a few days afterwards his health declined visibly, and he was unable to leave his bed. Even on his sick couch, Mousons strove to soothe his melancholy and his pain through well-chosen amusements, but all in vain. The machine was deranged, and stopped at the very moment when I least expected it.