noticing the
interruption, "our future son-in-law will pay your wages, the rich
banker, Herr Ebenstreit. Yes, the wealthy lover of our daughter. At the
moment I have not so much cash in the house."

"Your grace will allow me to stay until Herr Ebenstreit is married, and,
in your name, pays me my wages?"

"Yes, Trude, I will allow you to stay," she replied, very graciously.
"You will be cunning, Trude, if you try to persuade Marie to accept the
rich suitor, for when she does I will give you two hundred thalers."

"I will do all I can to get it. Can I remain here until Marie is
married?"

"Yes, you have my permission for that."

"I thank you, Frau von Werrig. Now, general, I will bring you some warm
coverings right away."

CHAPTER XVI. CHARLES AUGUSTUS AND GOETHE.

"Now tell me, Wolf," asked Duke Charles Augustus, stretching himself
comfortably on the sofa, puffing clouds of smoke from his pipe--"are you
not weary of dawdling about in this infamously superb pile of stones,
called Berlin? Shall we any longer elegantly scrape to the right and to
the left, with abominable sweet speeches and mere flattering
phraseology, in this monster of dust and stone, of sand and sun, parades
and gaiters? Have you not enough of blustering generals, of affected
women? and of running about the streets like one possessed to see here a
miserable church, or there a magnificent palace? Are you not weary of
crawling about as one of the many, while at home you stride about as the
only one of the many? And weary also of seeing your friend and pupil
Carl August put off with fair promises and hollow speeches like an
insignificant, miserable mortal, without being able to answer with
thundering invectives. Ah! breath fails me. I feel as if I could load a
pistol with myself, and with a loud report shoot over to dear Weimar.
Wolf, do talk, I beg you, I am tired out; answer me."

"I reply, I shoot, my dear Carl," cried Goethe, laughing. "I was out
of breath myself from that long speech. Was it original with my dear
prince, or did he memorize it from Klinger's great 'Sturm-und-Drang'
tragedy? It reminded me of it."

"Do you mean to accuse me of plagiarism, wicked fellow? I grant that you
are right, my cunning Wolf, it was a lapsus. I did think of Klinger, and
I sympathized with his youthful hero Wild, who declared that, among the
sweetest pleasures, he would like to be stretched over a drum, or exist
in a pistol-barrel, the hand ready t