ging when they came; and now they
were off, wrong side foremost! I saw how it was. And ever after him, the
flood of them ran, Highroad not broad enough,--an hour and more before
it ended. Such a pell-mell, such a welter, cavalry and musketeers all
jumbled: our King must have given them a dreadful lathering. That
is what they have got by their bragging and their lying,--for, your
Excellenz, these people said too, 'Our King was forsaken by his own
Generals, all his first people had gone and left him:' what I never in
this world will believe."

KING (not liking even rumor of that kind). "There you are right; never
can such a thing be believed of my Army."

LANDLORD (whom this "MY" has transfixed). "MEIN GOTT, you are our
GNADIGSTER KONIG (most gracious King) yourself! Pardon, pardon, if, in
my stupidity, I have--"

KING. "No, you are an honest man:--probably a Protestant?"

LANDLORD. "JOA, JOA, IHR MAJESTAT, I am of your Majesty's creed!"

Crack-crack! At this point the Dialogue is cut short by sudden
musket-shots from the woody fields to right; crackle of about twelve
shots in all; which hurt nothing but some horse's feet,--had been aimed
at the light, and too low. Instantly the light is blown out, and there
is a hunting out of Croats; Lissa or environs not evacuated yet,
it seems; and the King's Entrance takes place under volleyings and
cannonadings.

King rides directly to the Schloss, which is still a fine handsome
house, off the one street of that poor Village,--north side of street;
well railed off, and its old ditches and defences now trimmed into
flower-plots. The Schloss is full of Austrian Officers, bustling about,
intending to quarter, when the King enters. They, and the force they
still had in Lissa, could easily have taken him: but how could they
know? Friedrich was surprised; but had to put the best face on it. [In
Kutzen (pp. 121, 209 et seq.) explanation of the true circumstances, and
source of the mistake.] "BON SOIR, MESSIEURS!" said he, with a gay
tone, stepping in: "Is there still room left, think you?" The Austrians,
bowing to the dust, make way reverently to the divinity that hedges a
King of this sort; mutely escort him to the best room (such the popular
account); and for certain make off, they and theirs, towards the Bridge,
which lies a little farther east, at the end of the Village.

Weistritz or Schweidnitz Water is a biggish muddy stream in that part;
gushing and eddying; not voiceless,