Crown-Prince Friedrich being settled so far, his Majesty takes up the case of Wilhelmina, the other ravelled skein lying on hand.  Wilhelmina has been prisoner in her Apartment at Berlin all this while:  it is proper Wilhelmina be disposed of; either in wedlock, filially obedient to the royal mind; or in some much sterner way, “within four walls,” it is whispered, if disobedient.

Poor Wilhelmina never thought of disobeying her parents:  only, which of them to obey?  King looks towards the Prince of Baireuth again, agreed on before those hurly-burlies now past; Queen looks far otherwards.  Queen Sophie still desperately believes in the English match for Wilhelmina; and has subterranean correspondences with that Court; refusing to see that the negotiation is extinct there.  Grumkow himself, so over-victorious in his late task, is now heeling towards England; “sincere in his wish to be well with us,” thinks Dickens:  Grumkow solaces her Majesty with delusive hopes in the English quarter:  “Be firm, child; trust in my management; only swear to me, on your eternal salvation, that never, on any compulsion, will you marry another than the Prince of Wales;-give me that oath!” [Wilhelmina, .] Such was Queen Sophie’s last proposal to Wilhelmina,-night of the 27th of January, 1731, as is computable,-her Majesty to leave for Potsdam on the morrow.  They wept much together that night, but Wilhelmina dexterously evaded the oath, on a religious ground.  Prince of Baireuth, whom Papa may like or may not like, has never yet personally made appearance:  who or what will make appearance, or how things can or will turn, except a bad road, is terribly a mystery to Wilhelmina.

What with chagrin and confinement, what with bad diet (for the very diet is bad, quality and quantity alike unspeakable), Wilhelmina sees herself “reduced to a skeleton;” no company but her faithful Sonsfeld, no employment but her Books and Music;-struggles, however, still to keep heart.  One day, it is in February, 1731, as I compute, they are sitting, her Sonsfeld and she, at their sad mess of so-called dinner, in their remote upper story of the Berlin Schloss, tramp of sentries the one thing audible; and were “looking mournfully at one another, with nothing to eat but a soup of salt and water, and a ragout of old bones full of hairs and slopperies [nothing else; that was its real quality, whatever fine name they might give it, says the vehement Princess], we heard a sharp tapping at the window; and started up in surprise, to see what it could be.  It was a raven, carrying in its beak a bit of bread, which it left on the window-sill, and flew away.” [Ib. .]

“Tears came into our eyes at this adventure.”  Are we become as Hebrew Elijahs, then; so that the wild ravens have to bring us food?  Truth is, there was nothing miraculous, as Wilhelmina found by and by.  It was a tame raven,-not the soul of old George I., which lives at Isleworth on good pensions; but the pet raven of a certain Margravine, which lost its way among the intricate roofs here.  But the incident was touching.  “Well,” exclaimed Wilhelmina, “in the Roman Histories I am now reading, it is often said those creatures betoken good luck.”  All Berlin, such the appetite for gossip, and such the famine of it in Berlin at present, talked of this minute event:  and the French Colony-old Protestant Colony, practical considerate people-were so struck by it, they brought baskets of comfortable things to us, and left them daily, as if by accident, on some neutral ground, where the maid could pick them up, sentries refusing to see unless compelled.  Which fine procedure has attached Wilhelmina to the French nation ever since, as a dexterous useful people, and has given her a disposition to help them where she could.

The omen of the raven did not at once bring good luck:  however, it did chance to be the turning-point, solstice of this long Greenland winter; after which, amid storms and alarms, daylight came steadily nearer.  Storms and alarms:  for there came rumors of quarrels out at Potsdam, quarrels on the old score between the Royal Spouses there; and frightful messages, through one Eversmann, an insolent royal lackey, about wedding Weissenfels, about imprisonment for life and other hard things; through all which Wilhelmina studied to keep her poor head steady, and answer with dignity yet discreetly.  On the other hand, her Sisters are permitted to visit her, and perceptible assuagements come.  At length, on the 11th of May, there came solemn Deputation, Borck, Grumkow, Thulmeyer in it, old real friends and pretended new; which set poor Wilhelmina wringing her hands (having had a Letter from Mamma overnight); but did bring about a solution.  It was Friday, 11th of May; a day of crisis in Wilhelmina’s history; Queen commanding one thing, King another, and the hour of decision come.

Entering, announcing themselves, with dreadful solemnity, these gentlemen, Grumkow the spokesman, in soft phrase, but with strict clearness, made it apparent to her, That marry she must,-the Hereditary Prince of Baireuth,-and without the consent of both her parents, which was unattainable at present, but peremptorily under the command of one of them, whose vote was the supreme.  Do this (or even say that you will do it, whisper some of the well-affected), his Majesty’s paternal favor will return upon you like pent waters;-and the Queen will surely reconcile herself (or perhaps turn it all her own way yet! whisper the well-affected).  Refuse to do it, her Majesty, your Royal Brother, you yourself Royal Highness, God only knows what the unheard-of issue will be for you all!  Do it, let us advise you:  you must, you must!-Wilhelmina wrung her hands; ran distractedly to and fro; the well-affected whispering to her, the others “conversing at a window.”  At length she did it.  Will marry whom her all-gracious Papa appoints; never wished or meant the least disobedience; hopes, beyond all things, his paternal love will now return, and make everybody blessed;-and oh, reconcile Mamma to me, ye well-affected! adds she.-Bravissimo! answer they:  her Majesty, for certain, will reconcile herself; Crown-Prince get back from Custrin, and all will be well. [Wilhelmina, -333.]

Friedrich Wilhelm was overjoyed; Queen Sophie Dorothee was in despair.  With his Majesty, who “wept” like a paternal bear, on re-embracing Wilhelmina the obedient some days hence, it became a settled point, and was indicated to Wilhelmina as such, That the Crown-Prince would, on her actual wedding, probably get back from Custrin.  But her Majesty’s reconcilement,-this was very slow to follow.  Her Majesty was still in flames of ire at their next interview; and poor Wilhelmina fainted, on approaching to kiss her hand.  “Disgraced, vanquished, and my enemies triumphing!” said her Majesty; and vented her wrath on Wilhelmina; and fell ill (so soon as there was leisure), ill, like to die, and said, “Why pretend to weep, when it is you that have killed me!”-and indeed was altogether hard, bitter, upon the poor Princess; a chief sorrow to her in these trying months.  Can there be such wrath in celestial minds, venting itself so unreasonably?-At present there is no leisure for illness; grand visitors in quantity have come and are coming; and the Court is brilliant exceedingly;-his Majesty blazing out into the due magnificence, which was very great on this occasion, domestic matters looking up with him again.  The Serenities of Brunswick are here, young and old; much liked by Friedrich Wilhelm; and almost reckoned family people,-ever since their Eldest Son was affianced to the Princess Charlotte here, last visit they made.  To Princess Charlotte, Wilhelmina’s second junior,-mischievous, coquettish creature she, though very pretty and insinuating, who seems to think her Intended rather a phlegmatic young gentleman, as Wilhelmina gradually discovers.  Then there is old Duke Eberhard Ludwig, of Wurtemberg, whom we saw at Ludwigsburg last year, in an intricate condition with his female world and otherwise, he too announces himself,-according to promise then given.  Old Duke Eberhard Ludwig comes, stays three weeks in great splendor of welcome;-poor old gentleman, his one son is now dead; and things are getting earnest with him.  On his return home, this time, he finds, according to order, the foul witch Gravenitz duly cleared away; reinstates his injured Duchess, with the due feelings, better late than never; and dies in a year or two, still childless.-

These are among the high guests at Berlin; and there are plenty of others whom we do not name.  Magnificent dining; with “six-and-twenty blackamoors,” high-colored creatures, marching up the grand staircase, round the table, round it, and then down again, melodious, doing “janizary music,” if you happen to prefer that kind;-trained creatures these blackamoors, all got when boys, and set to cymballing and fifing betimes, adds my authority. [Fassmann, , &c.] Dining, boar-hunting (if the boar be huntable), especially reviewing, fail not in those fine summer days.

One evening, it is Sunday, 27th of May, latish, while the high guests, with Queen and Wilhelmina, are just passing in to supper (King’s Majesty having “gone to bed at seven,” to be well astir for the review to-morrow), a sound of wheels is heard in the court.  Modest travelling-equipage rolls up into the inner court; to the foot of the grand staircase there, whither only Princes come:-who can it be?  The Queen sends to inquire.  Heavens, it is the Hereditary Prince of Baireuth!  “Medusa’s Head never produced such effect as did this bit of news:  Queen sat petrified; and I,” by reflex, was petrified too!  Wilhelmina passed the miserablest night, no wink of sleep; and felt quite ill in the morning;-in dread, too, of Papa’s rough jests,-and wretched enough.  She had begged much, last night! to be excused from the review.  But that could not be:  “I must go,” said the Queen after reflection, “and you with me.”  Which they did;-and diversified the pomp and circumstance of mock-war by a small unexpected scene.

Queen, Princess and the proper Dames had, by his Majesty’s order, to pass before the line:  Princess in much trouble, “with three caps huddled on me, to conceal myself,” poor soul.  Margraf of Schwedt, at the head of his regiment, “looked swollen with rage,” high hopes gone in this manner;-and saluted us with eyes turned away.  As for his Mother, the Dessau Margravine in high colors, she was “blue in the face” all day.  Lines passed, and salutations done, her Majesty and Dames withdrew to the safe distance, to look on:-Such a show, for pomp and circumstance, Wilhelmina owns, as could not be equalled in the world.  Such wheeling, rhythmic coalescing and unfolding; accurate as clock-work, far and wide; swift big column here, hitting swift big column there, at the appointed place and moment; with their volleyings and trumpeting, bright uniforms and streamers and field-music,-in equipment and manoeuvre perfect all, to the meanest drummer or black kettle-drummer:-supreme drill-sergeant playing on the thing, as on his huge piano, several square miles in area!  Comes of the Old Dessauer, all this; of the “equal step;” of the abstruse meditations upon tactics, in that rough head of his.  Very pretty indeed.-But in the mean while an Official steps up:  cap in hand, approaches the Queen’s carriage; says, He is ordered to introduce his Highness the Prince of Baireuth.  Prince comes up accordingly; a personable young fellow; intelligent-looking, self-possessed; makes obeisance to her Majesty, who answers in frosty politeness; and-and Wilhelmina, faint, fasting, sleepless all night, fairly falls aswoon.  Could not be helped:  and the whole world saw it; and Guy Dickens and the Diplomatists wrote home about it, and there rose rumor and gossip enough! [Dickens, of 2d June, 1731 (in pathetic terms); Wilhelmina, (without pathos).] But that was the naked truth of it:  hot weather, agitation, want of sleep, want of food; not aversion to the Hereditary Prince, nothing of that.  Rather the contrary, indeed; and, on better acquaintance, much the contrary.  For he proved a very rational, honorable and eligible young Prince:  modest, honest, with abundance of sense and spirit; kind too and good, hot temper well kept, temper hot not harsh; quietly holds his own in all circles; good discourse in him, too, and sharp repartee if requisite,-though he stammered somewhat in speaking.  Submissive Wilhelmina feels that one might easily have had a worse husband.  What glories for you in England! the Queen used to say to her in old times:  “He is a Prince, that Frederick, who has a good heart, and whose genius is very small.  Rather ugly than handsome; slightly out of shape even (Un peu CONTREFAIT).  But provided you have the complaisance to suffer his debaucheries, you will quite govern him; and you will be more King than he, when once his Father is dead.  Only see what a part you will play!  It will be you that decide on the weal or woe of Europe, and give law to the Nation,” [Wilhelmina, .]-in a manner!  Which Wilhelmina did not think a celestial prospect even then.  Who knows but, of all the offers she had, four or three crowned heads among them, this final modest honest one may be intrinsically the best?  Take your portion, if inevitable, and be thankful!-

The Betrothal follows in about a week:  Sunday, 3d June, 1731; with great magnificence, in presence of the high guests and all the world:  and Wilhelmina is the affianced Bride of Friedrich of Baireuth:-and that enormous Double-Marriage Tragi-comedy, of Much Ado about Nothing, is at last ended.  Courage, friends; all things do end!-

The high guests hereupon go their ways again; and the Court of Berlin, one cannot but suppose, collapses, as after a great effort finished.  Do not Friedrich Wilhelm and innumerable persons-the readers and the writer of this History included-feel a stone rolled off their hearts?-It is now, and not till now, that Queen Sophie falls sick, and like to die; and reproaches Wilhelmina with killing her.  Friedrich Wilhelm hopes confidently, not; waits out at Potsdam, for a few days, till this killing danger pass; then departs, with double impetuosity, for Preussen, and despatch of Public Business; such a mountain of Domestic Business being victoriously got under.

Poor King, his life, this long while, has been a series of earthquakes and titanic convulsions.  Narrow miss he has had, of pulling down his house about his ears, and burying self, son, wife, family and fortunes, under the ruin-heap,-a monument to remote posterity.  Never was such an enchanted dance, of well-intentioned Royal Bear with poetic temperament, piped to by two black-artists, for the Kaiser’s and Pragmatic Sanction’s sake!  Let Tobacco-Parliament also rejoice; for truly the play was growing dangerous, of late.  King and Parliament, we may suppose, return to Public Business with double vigor.