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For no man may passe be that weye godely, but in time of wyntir, for the perilous watres, and wykkede mareyes that ben in tho contrees; that no man may passe, but zif it be strong frost, and snowe aboven. For zif the snow ne were, men myght not gon upon the yse, ne hors ne carre nouther. And it is wel a 3 journeys of suche weye, to passe from Prusse to the lond of Sarazin habitable.
"Your joke is too bad, it's witty but unjust," said Anna Pavlovna, shaking her little shriveled finger at him. "We are not fighting pour le Roi de Prusse, but for right principles. Oh, that wicked Prince Hippolyte!" she said. The conversation did not flag all evening and turned chiefly on the political news.
Anna Pavlovna waited for him to go on, but as he seemed quite decided to say no more she began to tell of how at Potsdam the impious Bonaparte had stolen the sword of Frederick the Great. "It is the sword of Frederick the Great which I..." she began, but Hippolyte interrupted her with the words: "Le Roi de Prusse..." and again, as soon as all turned toward him, excused himself and said no more.
"Brother Henry," said the king, laughing, "that is a curious way of speaking; 'travailler pour le roi de Prusse, means here to work for nothing. I beg you to convince this good woman that she has not worked for the King of Prussia, and pay her well. Madame, I have the honor to bid you farewell, and be assured it will always cheer me to think of you, and to recall your charming speech."
But if I promised what you ask, I should not be able to go with him to the HOTEL DE PRUSSE on the fifteenth." "You mean to go to that dance?" "Why not? Would there be any harm in my going?" "Louise!" "Maurice!" She mocked his tone, and laughed. "Oh, go at once," she broke out the next moment, "and order Grunhut never to let another visitor inside the door.
Bending forward in his armchair he said: "Le Roi de Prusse!" and having said this laughed. Everyone turned toward him. "Le Roi de Prusse?" Hippolyte said interrogatively, again laughing, and then calmly and seriously sat back in his chair.
"In an impudent Pamphlet, forged by I know not whom, and published in 1766, under the title of Matinees du Roi de Prusse, purporting to be 'Morning Conversations' of Frederick the Great with his Nephew the Heir-Apparent, every line of which betrays itself as false and spurious to a reader who has made any direct or effectual study of Frederick or his manners or affairs, it is set forth, in the way of exordium to these pretended royal confessions, that 'notre maison, our Family of Hohenzollern, ever since the first origin of it among the Swabian mountains, or its first descent therefrom into the Castle and Imperial Wardenship of Nurnberg, some six hundred years ago or more, has consistently travelled one road, and this a very notable one.
Then came the imitation of a gunner hanging on his gun as the gun- carriage went bumping over the dead, the sappers and pétrole brigade coming on behind, ready to spray and fire the field, shouting: "Allez aux enfers, beaux gars de Prusse, et y attendre votre kaiser!" It was all so humorous that one was shocked into laughter by the meeting of the comic and the awful.
This is reason FIRST; poor Voltaire mutely asking us, Not to load him with more sins than his own. The DEMON NEWSWRITER, with his "IDEA" of Friedrich, and the "MATINEES DU ROI DE PRUSSE:" readers recollect both those Productions; both enigmatic as to authorship; but both now become riddles which can more or less be read.
"In a word, more contented," said Yeovil; "if I were a German statesman, that is the end I would labour for and encourage others to labour for, to make the people forget that they were discontented. All this work of regalvanising the social side of London life may be summed up in the phrase 'travailler pour le roi de Prusse."
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