as companion to his wife, in a journey he was forced to make to
Berlin, and afterwards to Weimar. The country was at that time the seat of
war; camps and positions of many different armies had to be passed
through; and as a protection to the ladies they were dressed in men's
clothes. Bettina sat on the box the whole time--passed as a little tiger
at the inns where they slept--making herself generally useful, harnessing
and unharnessing the horses--sleeping all night outside, though the
weather was piercingly cold; and finally, after a week of hard travelling,
arrived at the city of the sages--the literary capital of Germany. Her
first care here was to change her dress, and find out her relation
Wieland--from him she got a note to Goethe, and, armed with that,
presented herself at his house. This is her account of the meeting in her
letter to his mother:--

"The door opened, and there he stood, solemn and still, and looked
steadily at me. I stretched my hands to him, I believe--but soon I was
unconscious of every thing. Goethe catched me to his breast.--'Poor child,
have I frightened you?' These were the first words that made their way to
my heart. He led me into his room, and placed me on a sofa opposite him.
We were both silent--at last he said, 'You have read in the newspapers
that we have lately met with a severe loss, in the death of the Duchess
Amelie.' 'Ah! I said, 'I never read the newspapers.' 'Indeed! I thought
you took an interest in all that goes on at Weimar.' 'No, no, I take no
interest in any thing at Weimar but you; and I have not patience enough to
toil through a newspaper.' 'You are an affectionate little girl.' A long
pause--I, banished all the while to the horrid sofa, and very fidgety of
course. You know how impossible it is for me to sit there and do the
pretty behaved. Ah, mother, can a person change his nature all at once? I
said plump--'Here, on this sofa, I can't stay,' and sprang up. 'Make
yourself comfortable, by all means,' said he. So I flew to him, and put my
arms round his neck. He took me on his knee, and pressed me to his heart.
All was still. I had not slept for such a time. I had sighed to see him
for years. I fell asleep with my head on his breast; and, when I awoke, it
was to a new existence;--and that is all at this present writing."

Bettina, we repeat, was fifteen--Goethe was fifty-eight; and this
narrative was sent to his mother. We will only add, that Voltaire affected
an intere