“It was for her sake that I conquered this passion,” said Goethe to himself. “I told her that I would return to her, unfettered in hand and heart, and I will keep my promise. Charlotte’s love, Charlotte’s friendship, shall console me for what I have denied myself here, for what I leave behind me! You, too, will be there, Muses; you will follow me to the fatherland, and assemble lovingly around the poet in the little house in Weimar. A poet I am; that I feel; of that I am now convinced. In the next ten years of work that will at the utmost be vouchsafed me, I will strive to accomplish, by diligent application, as much that is good and great as I achieved without hard study in the days of my youthful vigor and enthusiasm. I will be diligent and joyous! I will live, create, and enjoy, and that I can do as well in Weimar as in Rome! I will bear the Italian heaven within me; I will erect ‘Torquato Tasso’ as a monument to Italy and myself. Farewell, sublime, divine Roma! A greeting to you, you dear little city, in which the prince lives whom I love, and the friend who belongs to my soul. A greeting to you, Weimar!”
BOOK IV.
CHAPTER I.
THE RETURN.
To-day is the anniversary of the birthday of the beautiful Princess Ferdinand, and is to be celebrated by a grand reception in the royal palace of Berlin. The rank and fashion of Berlin are invited. The ladies of the aristocracy are occupied with nothing but their toilette, this object of first and greatest importance to the fair creatures who form so marked a contrast to the lilies of the field, which neither toil nor spin, and are yet so gorgeously arrayed. Nor do these beautiful lilies of the parlor toil or spin; nor do they wait for the Lord to array them, but take this care upon themselves, and make it an affair of state in their lives. To the Countess Moltke it is also an affair of state, and all the more so as her waning beauty demanded increased attention to the arts of the toilette. The rose-colored satin dress lies on the sofa, awaiting the garland of roses destined to encircle its skirt. Her rich black hair is also to be adorned with a wreath of roses, for the countess has a decided penchant for them and fancies the color of her robe and flowers will be reflected in her countenance, and impart to it a youthful, rosy hue. The flowers had been ordered a week before at the establishment of Marie von Leuthen, the first manufacturer of them in the city, and the countess was now awaiting the return of the servant she had sent after them. For the past two years, and since the day on which she had opened her store on Frederick Street, Marie von Leuthen had furnished flowers for all the ladies of high rank in Berlin. It was considered bon ton to buy one’s wreaths, bouquets, and garlands from her. No one arranged them so prettily as she, no one understood imitating Nature in so beautiful and artistic a manner; moreover, it gave one the appearance of patronizing the unfortunate young woman, whose fate had been the all-engrossing topic of conversation in good society for an entire week. Her flowers were also very dear, and it was therefore all the more honorable to be able to say: “I purchased them from Madame von Leuthen. True, she is exceedingly dear, but her work is good, and, moreover, it is a sort of duty to assist her with our patronage. She is, as it were, one of us; we have been entertained by her, and have enjoyed many agreeable evenings at her house.”
Marie von Leuthen had ceased to be a lady of fashion, but she had become the fashionable flower-manufacturer of the city, and, as we have already said, it was considered essential to adorn one’s self from her establishment.
Madame von Moltke was therefore not a little dismayed when the servant returned, and announced that the flowers were not ready, and that Madame von Leuthen begged to be excused for not having been able to furnish them.