, and Rutowsky with his Saxons, these two. And there
is great marching 'on the side of the Karl-Thor (Charles-Gate),' where
Rutowsky is; and by Count Maurice 'behind the Wischerad;'--and shortly
after midnight the grand game begins. That French-Polastron attack,
false, though with dreadful cannonade from the south, attracts poor
Ogilvy with almost all his forces to that quarter; while the couple of
Saxon Captains (Rutowsky not at once successful, Maurice with his French
completely so) break in upon Ogilvy from rearward, on the right flank
and on the left; and ruin the poor man. Military readers will find the
whole detail of it well given in Espagnac. Looser account is to be had
in the Book they call Mauvillon's." [_Derniere Guerre de Boheme,_
i. 252-264. Saxe's own Account (Letter to Chevalier de Folard) is in
Espagnac, i. 89 et seqq.]

One thing I remember always: the bright moonlight; steeples of Prag
towering serene in silvery silence, and on a sudden the wreaths of
volcanic fire breaking out all round them. The opposition was but
trifling, null in some places, poor Ogilvy being nothing of a wizard,
and his garrison very small. It fell chiefly on Rutowsky; who met it
with creditable vigor, till relieved by the others. Comte Maurice, too,
did a shifty thing. Circling round by the outside of the Wischerad, by
rural roads in the bright moonshine, he had got to the Wall at
last, hollow slope and sheer wall; and was putting-to his
scaling-ladders,--when, by ill luck, they proved too short! Ten feet or
so; hopelessly too short. Casting his head round, Maurice notices the
Gallows hard by: "There, see you, are a few short ladders: MES ENFANS,
bring me these, and we will splice with rope!" Supplemented by the
gallows, Maurice soon gets in, cuts down the one poor sentry; rushes
to the Market-place, finds all his Brothers rushing, embraces them with
"VICTOIRE!" and "You see I am eldest; bound to be foremost of you!"

"No point in all the War made a finer blaze in the French imagination,
or figured better in the French gazettes, than this of the Scalade of
Prag, 25th November, 1741. And surely it was important to get hold of
Prag; nevertheless, intrinsically it is no great thing, but an opportune
small thing, done by the Comte de Saxe, in spite of such contradiction
as we saw."

It was while news of this exploit was posting towards Berlin, but
not yet arrived there, that Friedrich, passing through the apartment,
intimated to