Page:The Works of J. W. von Goethe, Volume 4.djvu/192

172 "There comes the unbeliever now," added my friend. "We will not speak of it," I replied: "what is the use of it? one cannot convert them." "By no means," said my friend: "I cannot let the affair pass off in this way."

After a short, insignificant conversation, my young comrade, who was but too well disposed toward me, could not suffer the matter to drop, without saying to the other, with some resentment, "Here is my friend who made those pretty verses, for which you will not give him credit!" "He will certainly not take it amiss," answered the other; "for we do him an honour when we suppose that more learning is required to make such verses than one of his years can possess." I rephed with something indifferent; but my friend continued, "It will not cost much labour to convince you. Give him any theme, and he will make you a poem on the spot." I assented; we were agreed; and the other asked me whether I would venture to compose a pretty love-letter in rhyme, which a modest young woman might be supposed to write to a young man, to declare her inclination. "Nothing is easier than that," I answered, "if I only had writing materials." He pulled out his pocket almanac, in which there were a great many blank leaves; and I sat down upon a bench to write. They walked about in the meanwhile, but always kept me in sight. I immediately brought the required situation before my mind, and thought how agreeable it must be if some pretty girl were really attached to me, and would reveal her sentiments to me, either in prose or verse. I therefore began my declaration with delight, and in a little while executed it in a flowing measure, between doggerel and madrigal, with the greatest possible naïveté, and in such a way that the skeptic was overcome with admiration, and my friend with delight. The request of the former to possess the poem I could the less