Goethe's servant had appeared at the ducal palace at an early hour on the following morning, had communicated the glad tidings of his master's arrival to the duke's chamberlain, and had begged to be informed at what hour the privy-councillor would be permitted to pay his respects. The duke had briefly replied that he would send the privy-councillor word; nothing more! But half an hour later, instead of sending word, the duke quietly left his palace, crossed the Market Square with hasty footsteps, and passed on through the streets, into the park, and along its shady avenues to Goethe's little summer-house. The bridge was raised, but the Ilm was almost completely dried up by the summer heat, and but a narrow, shallow rivulet flowed in the midst of its sandy bed. What cared he, the genial duke, although his boots and Prussian uniform should become somewhat soiled in wading across to the little island? He had not come to pay a visit of state, but only to call on his dear friend in an unceremonious manner, and to give him a warm embrace, after a long separation. Therefore, forward, through mud and water! On the other side lies the modest little house of his cherished friend! Forward! Goethe's servant had not yet returned from the city; no one was there to announce the duke, and, if there had been, Charles August would have preferred coming unannounced into his friend's presence; he desired to surprise him. Noiselessly he crept up the stairway, and threw the door open. "Welcome, my Wolf! A thousand welcomes! To my arms, beloved brother!" "His highness the duke! How unexpected an honor!" Goethe rose hastily from the sofa, and bowed profoundly to the duke, who still stood before him with extended arms. "And in this manner you receive your friend, Wolf? Truly, I came running here like a lover to a rendezvous with his adored, and now you receive me with a cold greeting?" "I beg leave to assure your highness, that the heart of your humble servant is also filled with joy, in beholding his dear master once more, and that this moment reconciles me to my return, and--" "Wolf, tell me are you playing a comedy? Are you only jesting, or has your sojourn in Rome really made you the stiff and courtly old fellow you appear to be?" "I a stiff old fellow? I a courtly old fellow?" asked Goethe, with sparkling eyes; and now he was again the Goethe with the Apollo countenance, as he had been in Rome and Castel Gandolfo--once more the poet of Italy, and no longer the privy-councillor of Weimar. As the friends now looked at each other--as the duke's merry brown eyes encountered Goethe's fiery, passionate gaze--the last vestiges of the privy-councillor fell from the poet. His handsome countenance brightened, and with a cry of joy he sprang forward, threw himself into the duke's arms and kissed his eyes and lips.