That was Goethe, perhaps fifty years later. His mother also related the incident to Bettina Brentano;--"There, skated my son, like an arrow among the groups. Away he went over the ice like a son of the gods. Anything so beautiful is not to be seen now. I clapped my hands for joy. Never shall I forget him as he darted out from one arch of the bridge, and in again under the other, the wind carrying the train behind him as he flew." In that amiable figure I seem to see the fulfilment of the Resurgam on Carl's empty coffin--the aspiring soul of Carl himself, in freedom and effective, at last.
End of Project Gutenberg Etext of Imaginary Portraits, by Walter Pater