Fright lent him wings, and he fled, followed by the savage yells of the white figure, and never stopped until he reached Oberweimar, where he related to the astonished and terrified neighbors that there was a river-ghost just by the bridge which led to the cottage of the mad secretary of legation, Goethe, and which howled in the moonlight.[Footnote: This tradition of the ghost of the Ilm has been preserved in Weimar, since Goethe’s nocturnal bath, until our time.--See Lewes, vol. i., p. 451.] With the peasant also disappeared the ghost of the Ilm. Like a happy child of Nature, refreshed, Goethe went to his room and then again sought the balcony, to throw himself upon the carpet and gaze at the blue starry vault, and enjoy the glories of heaven with thoughtful devotion, and think of Charlotte--only of her, not once of the poor Thusnelda von Goechhausen, who passed the night upon the stairs of the Palace Belvedere, and who, at last weary with fright and exhaustion, fell asleep, and was awakened by the Duchess Amelia in the morning, laughingly demanding why she preferred the landing of the stairs for a place of repose. “Because I am bewitched, duchess, and my sleeping-room has disappeared from earth--because some cursed demon or wizard has enchanted me, this wicked--” “Beware what you say!” interrupted the duchess; “it is most probably the duke that you are inveighing against, and calling a demon and wizard.” At this Thusnelda sprang up as if struck by an electric shock--“The surprise, this is what the duke promised me.” “Very likely,” laughed the duchess. “The courier just arrived with a letter from my son to you, and I came to bring it myself, and found you, to my surprise, sleeping here. Read it, and tell me what he says!” “Oh, listen, your highness!” cried Thusnelda, after having hastily perused the contents of the ducal missive. “‘I hope I have succeeded to surprise you! Demons and wizards have closed your doors, And weeping you slept on the stairway alone. All witchcraft has now disappeared. Go seek The surprise that from Berlin I brought you, Which I now offer for an atonement.’” “An insolent fellow, indeed, is my son,” said the duchess, “but you see, Thusnelda, he says, pater peccavi, and I am convinced that you will find something very pretty and acceptable in your room.” “I will not take it--indeed I will not,” pouted the lady of honor. “He so fearfully tormented me last night. I assure your highness I was half dead with terror and--” “And yet you will forgive him, Thusnelda, for the duke is your declared favorite; you dare not reproach him were he never so insolent, for you are just as much so, and not a hair’s-breadth better. Come, go up and see what it is.”