Relics! Alas, how much that we consider real, present, and full of life, is only a relic of the past! How few men there are in whose hearts the love they once vowed should be eternal, is no more than a relic!—the crumbling bone of a saint, to whom altars were once erected, and who was adored as an immortal, unchangeable being. Alas, Love, thou poor saint, how often are thy altars overthrown, and how soon do thy youth and beauty fade, leaving nothing of thee but a little dust and ashes—a relic!
Charlotte von Stein held the letter in her hands, but the thought did not occur to her that it too was only a relic; she still considered it the eloquent witness of passionate love. While reading the letter, a bright smile had illumined her features, and imparted to them a more youthful and beautiful expression. She now kissed the sheet of paper, and replaced it in the locket which she wore on a golden chain around her neck.
What need had she of written evidences? Was not he near? would not his lips soon say more, in a single kiss, than thousands of written words could tell?
“But he might have come sooner,” whispered a voice in Charlotte’s heart; “it is very late.”
Her beautiful brown eyes cast an anxious look toward the door, and she smiled. Her heart throbbed in advance of time; it was still so early in the morning, that it would hardly have been considered proper for him to call at an earlier hour.
But now her heart beat quicker—she heard a step in the antechamber.
“It is he! Be firm, my heart, do not break with delight, for—yes, it is he! it is he!”
She flew forward to meet him, with extended hands, her countenance radiant with delight. “Welcome, Goethe, a thousand welcomes!”
“A thousand thanks, Charlotte, that your faithful, loving heart bids me welcome!”