‘Remember what Goethe said,’ she would whisper, at the first sign of ostentation. ‘One should only celebrate a happy ending; celebrations at the outset exhaust the joy and energy needed to urge us forward and sustain us in the long struggle. And of all celebrations a wedding is the worst; no day should be kept more quietly and humbly.’ I was inclined to agree, so when she accepted my proposal I looked forward to a simple ceremony among our immediate family and very closest friends. One thing led to another, and a year later I found myself in a white suit, riding a bejewelled ostrich across a castle drawbridge and into an enormous room packed with guests, plenty of whom neither of us particularly liked. Shortly, an eighteen-horn fanfare heralded the arrival of my bride. She rode in on a white horse with what looked like an ice cream cone stuck to its head in an attempt to make it look like a unicorn. ‘What would Goethe have made of all this, then?’ I asked her, as we dismounted and prepared to exchange vows.
