“Fraulein Gochhausen, you are the most wicked and the merriest mocking-bird God ever created,” cried the duchess, “Have done with your scandals, go up to your room, piously say your evening prayers, and stretch yourself upon your maiden bed.”
“Soon, duchess; only one thing more have I to call your attention to. There is a gossip afloat about the Werthers. I perceive it in the air, as the dove scents the vulture.”
“You alarm me, Gochhausen; what good is it? You do not mean that the lovely Countess Werther—”
“Is not only very weary of her husband, but looks about for a substitute—a friend, as the ingenious ladies now call him. That is what I mean, and I know the so-called friend which the sweet sentimental countess has chosen.”
“It is the Baron von Einsiedel, is it not?” asked the duchess. “That is to say, his younger brother, the gay lieutenant, not our good friend par excellence.
“Yes, I mean the brother, and I have warned and taunted the count this week past, but it is impossible to awake him from his stupidity and thoughtlessness.”
“Again you are giving loose reins to your naughty tongue, Thusnelda. Count Werther is a thoroughly scholarly person, whom I often envy his knowledge of the languages. He has studied Sanscrit and the cuneated letters, among other ancient tongues.”
“It may be that he understands the dead languages, but the living ones not in the least. The language of the eyes and inspiration he is blind to, with seeing eyes! My dear duchess, if you are not watchful, and prevent the affair with timely interference, a scandal will grow out of it, and you know well that it would be a welcome opportunity for our Weimar Philistines (as the Jena students call commonplace gossips) to cry ‘Murder,’ and howl about the immoral example of geniuses, which Wolfgang Goethe has introduced at court.”
“You are right,” said the duchess, musingly; “your apt tongue and keen eye are ever carefully watching, like a good shepherd-dog, that none of the sheep go astray and are lost. And you do not mind attacking this or that one in the leg with your sharp teeth!”
“Let those scream who are unjustly bitten, your highness! Believe me, the countess will not cry out; she will much more likely take care not to receive a well-merited rebuke. I beg your grace to prevent the gossip! Not on account of this silly, sentimental young woman, or her pedantic husband, but that our young duke and Goethe may not be exposed to scandal, as well as your highness.”