“Ah, I perceive the cabinet president is himself once more,” cried the duke, laughing. “I must now retire to my ducal palace. Others will, I have no doubt, think I have played the barbarian and tyrant by remaining with you so long, and thereby robbing them of the time to which they imagine they have a fairer title.”
“Duke, I know of no one who has a higher and better title to my time and person than yourself, my dear patron and friend.”
“Wolf, it is well that I alone have heard these words,” cried Charles August, gayly; “I believe there is a woman in whose ears they would have had a discordant sound. The responsibility must not rest on me, if a difficulty should arise on your first meeting. Therefore I am going, Wolf, although I am very curious to hear of your promised land and of your discoveries and purchases, but for this I will have to wait till the afternoon. You will, of course, dine with me to-day, Wolf, and dispense a little of the incense of your eloquence on the altar of my household gods. Farewell till we meet again, my returned wanderer! I must, however, request you not to come as the privy-councillor, but as the poet. You may show your official mask and the star on your breast to the court, but appear before me with your Apollo countenance and the stars of your eyes.”
“My dear duke,” said Goethe, affectionately, “your presence has cheered and strengthened me; I feel as though I had been bathing in nectar, and had been refreshed with ambrosia. When I am with you, nothing will be wanting to my joy and happiness. You must, however, not be angry, my dear duke, if I should sometimes appear grave and stiller than usual in the presence of others, and you will then know that it is only the longing after the distant land of the gods that is tormenting me.”
“I will know how to account for it, Wolf, and will respect your longing; I very much doubt, however, whether others will be equally considerate—I doubt whether one person of whom I am thinking will be particularly pleased with such conduct on your part. Have you seen her already, Wolf?”
“Whom does your highness mean?” asked Goethe, with a perfectly innocent expression of countenance.
The duke laughed. “Oh, Wolf, Wolf, I hope you have not exchanged names, as Hector and Patroclus exchanged armor, and become Von Stein.[45] I hope you return to your old love, faithful and true. Ah, there I have made a pun without intending it. Excuse me, I entertained no evil design, but now that I have said it I will repeat it. You return to your old love, faithful and true. Remain here, you must not accompany me; I came sans cérémonie, and I will take my departure in like manner. It is understood that we dine together to-day. Adieu!”
A cloud gathered on Goethe’s brow as the duke left the room. “My old love!” said he to himself, in low tones. “I wish he had not spoken that word; it sounds so ridiculous!”