h an
orange tunic, very high in the waist, so that her heart had very little
room. Her black eyebrows and eyelashes shone, and so did her lips also,
with a mystic red. The gloves were turned down, and only covered the hand,
in which she carried, as usual, the myrtle twig. As the room where she was
waited for was much lower than the others, she had four steps to descend.
Unluckily she lifted up her gown from the front instead of from behind,
which gave a severe blow to the solemnity of her reception; for it
appeared for a moment worse even than merely funny, when this
extraordinary figure, dressed in strictly Oriental fashion, broke loose
upon the staid and virtuous _elite_ of Frankfort society. Your mother gave
me a courageous look when they were introduced. I had taken my stand at a
distance to watch the scene. I observed De Stael's surprise at the
wonderful adornment of your mother, and at her manner, which was full of
dignity. She spread out her gown with her left hand, giving the salute
with her right which sported the fan; and, while she bowed her head
repeatedly with great condescension, she said in a loud voice, that
sounded distinctly through the room--'_Je suis la mere de Goethe._'--'_Ah,
je suis charmee!_' said the authoress; and then there was a solemn
silence. Then followed the presentation of her distinguished companions,
who were all anxious also to be introduced to Goethe's mother. She
answered all their polite speeches with a new-year's wish in French, which
she muttered between her teeth, with a multitude of stately curtsies. In
short the audience was now begun, and must have given them a fine idea of
our German _grandezza_. Your mother beckoned me to her side to interpret
between them; the conversation was all about you--about your childhood.
The portrait on the snuff-box was examined. It was painted in Leipsic
before the great illness you had; but even then you were very thin. It was
easy to see all your present greatness in those childish features, and
particularly the author of _Werther_. De Stael spoke of your letter, and
said she would like to see how you write to your mother, and your mother
promised to show her; but, thought I, she shall never get any of your
letters from _me_, for I don't like her. Every time your name was
mentioned by those ill-shaped lips, a secret rage came upon me. She told
me you called her 'Amie' in your letters. Ah! she must have seen how
surprised I was to hear it; yes--a