This is Wusterhausen; Friedrich Wilhelm's Hunting-seat from of old.
A dreadfully crowded place, says Wilhelmina, where you are stuffed into garrets, and have not room to turn.

The terraces are of some magnitude, trimmed all round with a row of little clipped trees, one big lime-tree at each corner;--under one of these big lime-trees, aided by an awning: it is his Majesty's delight to spread his frugal but substantial dinner, four-and-twenty covers, at the stroke of 12, and so dine SUB DIO.

If rain come on, says Wilhelmina, you are wet to mid-leg, the ground being hollow in that place,--and indeed in all weathers your situation every way, to a vehement young Princess's idea, is rather of the horrible sort.

After dinner, his Majesty sleeps, stretched perhaps on some wooden settle or garden-chair, for about an hour; regardless of the flaming heat, under his awning or not; and we poor Princesses have to wait, praying all the Saints that they would resuscitate him soon.

This is about 2 p.m.; happier Fritz is gone to his lessons, in the interim.
These four Terraces, this rectangular Schloss with the four big lindens at the corners, are surrounded by a Moat; black abominable ditch, Wilhelmina calls it; of the hue of Tartarean Styx, and of a far worse smell, in fact enough to choke one, in hot days after dinner, thinks the vehement Princess.