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Updated: June 1, 2025
In half an hour they were at the village of Saint Wolfgang, threading a narrow street, above which the roofs of quaint, picturesque old houses almost met. It led them to a Gothic church; a magnificent one for a village; in front of which was a small court, shut in by Italian-looking houses, with balconies, and flowers at the windows.
They were very nice to him that evening. Wolfgang felt it with much satisfaction. Well, they owed him an apology, too. He allowed them to make much of him. The father felt glad, quite relieved that nothing else, nothing worse had come to light, and the mother had the feeling for the first time for many weeks that it was possible to love the lad again.
It was hardly noon when Wolfgang left the office again. He had arranged to meet a couple of acquaintances in the Imperial Café not far from the Linden; he would have to have something to eat, and whether he had his lunch there or somewhere else was of no consequence; a sandwich, which was all his father took with him from home, was not sufficient for him after swimming and riding.
If by chance they glanced at him, Johann Wolfgang Goethe was of no more consequence to them than any other honest citizen in a neighboring doorway.
She was wearing the same sailor hat with the blue band she had had the summer before; it was certainly rather early in the year, but it suited her so fresh and springlike. A feeling surged up in Wolfgang, as she stood before him, that he had never known in the presence of any woman: a brotherly feeling of great tenderness.
She had also often been the guest of her uncle Wolfgang Lorberer, who stood at the head of the community at Landshut. It had gratified her to boast of these distinguished blood relations. She had then been asked whether she could consent to leave her father for a time to go into the country with the old Marquise de Leria, whom she knew, and who was charmed with the beauty of her singing.
Each child joined its parents and passed through the church porch between its father and mother. Wolfgang walked like that, too, as he had done before. He saw Kullrich in front of him with his father only; both of them still wore the broad mourning-band. Then he left his father and mother and hurried after Kullrich.
He had learned his new ideas about education, not from the Brethren, but at the University of Herborn. He had studied there the theories of Wolfgang Ratich; he had tried to carry out these theories in the Brethren's schools at Prerau and Fulneck; and now at Lissa, where he soon became director, he introduced reforms which spread his fame throughout the civilized world.
It appeared that the unfortunate Wolfgang had got up in the night, probably with the intention of going into the other cabinet where there was a library. In the stupor of sleep he had mistaken the door, and had opened the postern, taken a step out, and plunged headlong down. But after all had been said, there was nevertheless a good deal that was strained and unlikely in this explanation.
And with that she concluded. Oh, it was all true. Wolfgang had grown quiet at least his face no longer showed any special emotion when he let his hands fall. "I shall have to be going now," he said. Frida stood there looking very distressed. She had known it all a long time who did not know it? but she was very sorry indeed that he knew it now.
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