He suddenly ceased speaking, and looked up at the pavilion, astonishment depicted in his countenance. In the doorway of the pavilion, facing the garden, stood two girlish figures. A ray of sunshine penetrated the open window at the other end of the hall and illumined this door-way, surrounding these figures as with a frame of transparent gold, and encircling their heads with a halo of light. The one was tall and slender; the dark complexion, the brown cheeks, slightly tinged with crimson, the purple lips, the delicately-curved nose, the large, sparkling black eyes, the glossy black hair, and an inexpressible something in her whole appearance and expression, betrayed the Roman maiden, the proud daughter of the Cæsars. The young girl who stood at her side was entirely different in appearance. She was not so tall, and yet she was as symmetrical in form as the goddess ascending from the waves. Her light hair fell in a profusion of ringlets around the brow of transparent whiteness, and down over the delicate shoulders that were modestly veiled by her white muslin dress. Her large black eyes were milder than, but not so luminous as, those of her companion; her delicately-formed cheeks were of a rosier hue; an innocent smile played about her purple lips, and illumined her whole countenance. Her lovely head rested on her companion’s shoulder, and when she raised her right arm and laid it around her neck, the loose sleeve fell back and disclosed an arm of dazzling whiteness and rare beauty. They stood there in silence, surrounded by a halo of sunshine, looking dreamily around at the garden with its variegated autumnal hues.
At the foot of the hill on which the pavilion was situated, stood Goethe, his countenance radiant with delight, feasting his eyes on this charming picture.
“Apollo himself must have sent me this divine picture. I will engrave it deeply on my heart, that it may some day find utterance in living, breathing poetry. Ye are the fair ones of whom my soul has of late been dreaming, whenever Torquato Tasso’s image arose before my imagination. I will make you both immortal, at least in so far as it is given to the poet to make aught immortal. Apollo, I thank thee for this apparition! These are my two princesses, my two Leonoras, and here stands Tasso, looking up to them with enraptured adoration! But, O ye gods, harden my heart against the flames of love, preserve me from Tasso’s fate!”
“Signor Goethe!” exclaimed the Roman maiden, who had just perceived the poet standing at the foot of the hill, as she stepped forward to the head of the stone stairway that led up to the pavilion. She stood there bowing her head in greeting, and beckoning to him to come up, while the fair-haired girl remained in the door, smiling at her friend’s eager gestures.
“Come up, Signore; mother is in the pavilion, and a party of friends will soon join us here; we shall then play and be merry.”
“Yes, we shall play and be merry,” cried Goethe, as he rushed up the steps, and extended his hand to the fair friend who awaited him.
“A greeting to you, beautiful Amarilla, and many thanks for your kind invitation.” Signora Amarilla grasped his hand cordially, and then turned to her friend, “Leonora—”
“Leonora!” repeated Goethe, startled, “the signora’s name is Leonora?”
Signora Amarilla looked at him with astonishment. “Yes, Leonora. And why not? Is this name so remarkable, so unheard of?”