“I would like to know,” cried Moritz, in astonishment, “yes, really, I would like to know of whom you are speaking!”
“I am speaking of her,” said Goethe, pointing to a colossal bust of the Juno Ludovisi, that stood on a high pedestal in a corner of the room. He approached the pedestal, looked up into the proud and noble countenance of the chaste goddess, and greeted her with a radiant smile.
“I greet you, mysterious goddess, on whose brow love and chastity are enthroned! When I behold you I seem to hear words of revelation, and I then know that you reflect all that the fancy of the poets, the researches of the learned, and the piety of priests, ever thought or depicted that is sublime and beautiful. You are the blessing-dispensing Isis of the Egyptians, the Venus Aphrodite, and Mother Mary, all in one, and I stand before you in pious awe, adoring, loving and—”
“Holy Mary! Holy Januarius!” screamed a voice from the doorway, and a woman, in the picturesque dress of an Italian peasant, rushed into the room. “Signori, signori, a wonder, a miracle!”
“What do you mean, Signora Abazza?” asked Goethe, laughing, as Moritz, alarmed by the old woman’s screeching, withdrew hastily to the window recess.
“What do I mean?” repeated the old woman, as she sank breathlessly into a chair. “A miracle has occurred, Signori! My cat is praying to God the Father!”
“How so, signora?” asked Goethe, while Moritz had abandoned his retreat and was slowly approaching the old woman, curiosity depicted in his countenance.
“I mean just what I say, signori! I went to your bedchamber to make up the bed, and the cat accompanied me as usual. Suddenly I heard a whining and mewing, and when I looked around, supposing she had hurt herself in some way, I saw her—but come and look yourselves. It is a miracle, signori! A miracle!” She sprang up, rushed to the door of the bedchamber, opened it, looked in, and beckoned to the two friends to approach. “Softly, softly, signori; do not disturb her!”
Goethe and Moritz walked noiselessly to the door, and looked into the adjoining room. There, on the antiquated wardrobe, opposite Goethe’s bed, and illumined by the sunlight that poured in through the broad window, stood the colossal bust of the almighty Jupiter. In front of this bust, full of beauty and regal composure, stood Madame Abazza’s gray cat, upright on her hind feet. She had laid her forepaws on the god’s broad breast, and stretched her neck so that she could gaze into his majestic countenance, and touch with her tongue the lips with their godlike smile, and the beard with its curling locks. She kissed his divine lips ardently, and zealously licked his curly beard, stopping now and then to gaze for a moment at his royal countenance, and to utter a tender, plaintive mew, and then renewing her attention to beard and lips.
Goethe and Moritz looked on with smiling astonishment, the old woman with pious dismay.