"With all my heart," said the old man. "But why such an unusual thing? has he hurt himself?"
"No," replied Rahel, leading Goethe forward, "but he has a bird-cage under it, and the birds will fly out and make a terrible fuss, for they are nothing but wild ones." So saying, she pulled off Goethe's hat and bade him make his curtsy.
The pastor looked at him, but did not lose his priestly self-possession. "Ay, ay, Mr. Candidate!" he exclaimed, raising a threatening finger, "you have changed saddles very quickly, and in the night I have lost an assistant who yesterday promised me so faithfully that he would often mount my pulpit on week-days. Well, you are welcome in any guise." And they all seated themselves at the table.
During the meal Otto came in, and, slapping Goethe on the shoulder, said, "Good dinner to you, Fritz."
"Many thanks, squire," cried Goethe. The strange voice and the strange face startled him.
"What do you say," asked Rahel,—"does he not look like his brother?"
"Yes, from behind, like all folks," said Otto, who would not acknowledge himself surprised; and he did not look at Goethe again, but busied himself with zealously devouring the dishes to make up for lost time. At dessert the real Fritz came in; they began to banter him, but he was modest and clever enough, and in a half-confused manner mixed up himself, his sweetheart, his counterpart, and the mam'selles to such a degree that no one could tell about whom he was talking, and they were only too glad to let him consume in peace a glass of wine and a bit of his own cake.
After dinner the young people assembled in the porch to decide how best to take advantage of the serene afternoon. Their spirits were subdued by a deep and tranquil happiness, and only quiet amusements were proposed. A walk was objected to, as it would have been awkward for Goethe to meet any of the neighboring country-folk in his borrowed clothes, and finally Max suggested that as Wolfgang was the obstacle to their ordinary pastimes, the entertainment of the company should devolve upon him.
"The fellow has any quantity of rhymes and fairy-tales in his valise," said Waldstein, "and he can fetch some of them now and read to us in the open air. What is the use of having a poet among us if we must divert ourselves in as commonplace a way as other people?"
The proposition was hailed with delight, and Goethe was dispatched to his room for his manuscripts. "How I wish all the family could enjoy such a treat!" said Rahel; "but what is the use of calling them? I know papa has gone for his nap, and mamma is always busy. Where shall we go for our entertainment?"