bvious reasons one nearer Berlin, farther from
the frontier, would be preferable. Towards Berlin, however, there is no
route all on Prussian ground: from these divided Cleve Countries we have
to cross a bit of Hanover, a bit of Hessen-Cassel: suppose these Serene
Highnesses were to interfere? Not likely they will interfere, answer
ancient military men, of due grimness; at any rate, we can go a
roundabout road, and they need not know! That is the method settled on;
neighborhood of Berlin, clearly somewhere there, must be the place? Old
Castle of Mittenwalde, in the Wusterhausen environs, let that be
the first resting-point, then; Rochow, Waldau, and the Wesel
Fusileer-Colonel here, sure men, with a trooper or two for escort, shall
conduct the Prisoner. By Treuenbrietzen, by circuitous roads: swift,
silent, steady,--and with vigilance, as you shall answer!--These
preliminaries settled, Friedrich Wilhelm drives off homewards, black
Care riding behind him. He reaches Berlin, Sunday, 27th August; finds a
world gone all to a kind of doomsday with him there, poor gentleman.

SCENE AT BERLIN ON MAJESTY'S ARRIVAL.

On Sunday evening, 27th August, 1730, his Majesty, who had rested
overnight at Potsdam from his rapid journey, drove into Berlin between
four and five in the afternoon. Deserter Fritz is following, under
escort of his three military gentlemen, at a slower rate and by
circuitous routes, so as to avoid the territories of Hanover and
Hessen,--towards Mittenwalde in the Wusterhausen neighborhood. The
military gentlemen are vigilant as Argus, and, though pitying the poor
Prince, must be rigorous as Rhadamanthus. His attempts at escape, of
which tradition mentions more than one, they will not report to Papa,
nor even notice to the Prince himself; but will take care to render
futile, one and all: his Majesty may be secure on that score.

The scenes that follow are unusual in royal history; and having been
reported in the world with infinite noise and censure, made up of
laughter and horror, it will behoove us to be the more exact in relating
them as they actually befell. Very difficult to pull, out of that
ravelled cart-load of chaotic thrums, here a thread and there a thread,
capable of being brought to the straight state, and woven into legible
narrative! But perhaps, by that method the mingled laughter and horror
will modify itself a little. What we can well say is, that pity also
ought not to be wanting. The next