"I will not only receive him, but will kill the fatted calf in honor of his return. I will give a festival, to which all our friends shall be invited, in order that they may rejoice with me, and exclaim, 'The wanderer has returned! Blessed be the hour of his return!'" Schiller threw himself into his friend's arms, and pressed him to his heart. "I have caused you much sorrow and trouble. I have been a wild and stubborn fellow. Why should beautiful women be blamed for not loving this ungainly and unmannerly fellow, when there are so many handsomer, richer, and happier men in the world? Marie von Arnim is right in marrying the rich and handsome Count Kunheim; and you must not blame her on this account, or say of her that she deceived me. She has only done what we all must do on earth: she has done her duty, and God will bless her and give her His peace in the hour of death for so doing.--But let us speak no more of this." "No, my friend, we will speak of it no more," said Körner, heartily; "let us only rejoice that you have returned to your friends; that you once more believe in us and our friendship. How happy my wife will be when her dear friend is restored to her again! how glad Göschen will be when you once more extend your hand to him in a loving greeting!" "Poor, generous Göschen!" said Schiller, thoughtfully. "I was cruel and unjust to him yesterday, I imputed ignoble motives to my friend!" "He thinks of it no longer," said Körner; "he has no memory for the words spoken by your anguish. He will be only too happy when you once more greet him with a loving smile." "How good and patient you all are with me!" said Schiller, softly; "and how little have I deserved such treatment at your hands! In truth, I feel as though I had now returned to you after a long separation--as though I had only seen you of late through a cloud that had arisen between us, and in which a single star shone, and-- Be still, no more of this! The cloud has been dissipated; I now see you again, and will rejoice with you as long as we are together." "Schiller, you do not contemplate leaving us?" said Körner, sadly. "I am a poor wanderer, my friend, whose stay at any one place is but brief. At last, a time will come even for me, when I can lay down my staff and knapsack, and exclaim, 'Here I will rest! This is my home!' But the gods only know whether this home will be in the grave or in the heart of a woman!" "No sad thoughts now, my friend, if you please, now that I am ready to exult and rejoice over your return!" "You are right, no sad thoughts at this time! Let us turn our thoughts to joy. The first song I write shall be in praise of joy. I will no longer avoid mankind, no longer seek solitude! As you said, Körner, so shall it be! Give the prodigal son a festival, call our friends together, let us once more assemble around the festive board and partake of the repast of friendship and joy. This festival shall be in honor of my return and of my departure."