nd she told me more--but my patience
failed. How _can_ you be friendly to such an ugly face? Ah! there may be
seen how vain you are!--or is it possible she can have been telling a
story?"

With this charitable resolution of her doubts, Bettina leaves off her
description of the meeting between De Stael and "la mere de Goethe." We
think the affected jealousy of the little creature very amusing; and,
moreover, we consider that all her words and actions in relation to
Goethe, were in keeping with an imaginary character she had determined to
assume. I shall be in love with him, and he shall be in love with me; and
as he is a poet, I will be very poetical in my passion; as he writes
tragedies, I will be dramatic; as he is "a student of the human mind," I
will puzzle him with the wisdom of sixty, united to the playfulness of ten
or twelve,--the flames of Sappho to the childishness of my real age and
disposition. And so indeed she did. The old philosopher of Weimar did not
know what to make of her. He keeps writing to her that he cannot decide
whether she is most "wunderbar" or "wunderlich"--wonderful or odd. And
round about his puzzled head she buzzes; now a fire-fly, nearly singeing
his elevated eyebrows--now a hornet, inserting a sharp little sting in his
nose--now a butterfly, lighting with beautiful wings on the nosegay in his
breast; but at all times bright, brilliant, and enchanting. So, no wonder
the astonished and gratified egotist called out for more; "more"--"more
letters, dear Bettina," "write to me as often as you can." And to show her
that her letters were useful to him, he not unfrequently sent her back
long passages of her own epistles, turned into rhyme--and very good
rhymes they are, and make a very respectable appearance among his
collected poems. And a true philosopher old Goethe was (of the Sir Joseph
Banks' school of philosophy as illustrated by Peter Pindar.) Instead of
admiring the lovely wings and airy evolutions of the butterfly that rested
so happily on his bouquet--he determined to examine it more minutely, and
put it into his dried collection. So he laid coarse hands upon
it--transfixed it with a brass pin, and listened to its humming as long as
it had strength to hum; and finally transferred it to a book as an
extraordinary specimen of a new species--for which astonishing discovery,
he was bespattered with undeserved praises by the whole press of Germany.
At this time, he was writing his _Wahlverwan