Goethe laughed aloud. "What are you doing, dear Moritz? What does this mean?" he asked.
Moritz stopped a moment, looking up to Goethe with a face beaming with joy. "I cannot better express my happiness. Language is too feeble--too poor!""If that is the case, then I will join you," said Goethe, throwing himself upon the carpet, rolling and tumbling about. [Footnote: This scene which I relate, and which Teichman also mentions in his "Leaves of Memory of Goethe in Berlin," has been often related to me by Ludwig Tieck exactly in this manner. Teichman believes it was the poet Burman. But I remember distinctly that Ludwig Tieck told me that it was the eccentric savant, Philip Moritz, with whom Goethe made the acquaintance in this original manner.--The Authoress.]
All at once Moritz jumped up without saying a word, rushed to the wardrobe, dressed himself in modest attire in a few moments, and presented himself to Goethe, who rose from the carpet quite astounded at the sudden metamorphosis. Then he seized his three-cornered hat to go out, when Goethe held him fast.
"You are not going into the street, sir! You forget that your hair is flying about as if unloosed by a divine madness.""Sir, people are quite accustomed to see me in a strange costume, and the most of them think me crazy.""You are aware that insane people believe that they only are sane, and that reasonable people are insane. You will grant me that it is much more like a crazy person to strew his hair with flour, and tie it up in that ridiculous cue, than to wear it as God made it, uncombed and unparted, as I do my beautiful hair, and for which they call me crazy! But, for Heaven's sake, where are you going?" asked Goethe, struggling to retain him.
"I am going to trumpet through every street in Berlin that the author of 'Werther,' of 'Clavigo,' of 'Gotz von Berlichingen,' of 'Stella,' of the most beautiful poems, is in my humble apartment. Iwill call in all the little poets and savants of Berlin; I will drag Mammler, Nicolai, Engel, Spaulding, Gedicke, Plumicke, Karschin, and Burman here. They shall all come to see Wolfgang Goethe, and adore him. The insignificant poets shall pay homage to thee, the true poet, the favorite of Apollo.""My dear Moritz, if you leave me for that, I will run away, and you will trouble yourself in vain.""Impossible; you will be my prisoner until I return. I shall lock you in, and you cannot escape by the window, as I fortunately live on the third story.""But I shall not wait to be looked in," answered Goethe, slightly annoyed. "I came to see you, and if you run away I shall go also, and I advise you not to try to prevent me." His voice resounded through the apartment, growing louder as he spoke, his cheeks flushed, and his high, commanding brow contracted.
"Jupiter Tonans!" cried Moritz, regarding him, "you are truly Jupiter Tonans in person, and I bow before you and obey your command. I shall remain to worship you, and gaze at you.""And it may be possible to speak in a reasonable manner to me," said Goethe, coaxingly. "Away with sentimentality and odors of incense!
We are no sybarites, to feed on sweet-meats and cakes; but we are men who have a noble aim in view, attained only by a thorny path.
Our eyes must remain fixed upon the goal, and nothing must divert them from it.""What is the aim that we should strive for?" asked Moritz, his whole being suddenly changing, and his manner expressing the greatest depression and sadness.
Goethe smiled. "How can you ask, as if you did not know it yourself.
Self-knowledge should be our first aim! The ancient philosophers were wise to have inscribed over the entrances to their temples, 'Know thyself,' in order to remind all approaching, to examine themselves before they entered the halls of the gods. Is not the human heart equally a temple? only the demons and the gods strive together therein, unfortunately. To drive the former out, and give place to the latter, should be our aim; and when once purified, and room is given for good deeds and great achievements, we shall not rest satisfied simply to conquer, but rise with gladness to build altars upon those places which we have freed from the demons; for that, we must steadily keep in view truth and reality, and not hide them with a black veil, or array them in party-colored rags. Our ideas must be clear about the consequences of things, that we may not be like those foolish men who drink wine every evening and complain of headache every morning, resorting to preventives."Did Goethe know the struggles and dissensions which rent the heart of the young man to whom he spoke? Had his searching eyes read the secrets which were hidden in that darkened soul? He regarded him as he spoke with so much commiseration that Moritz's heart softened under the genial influence of sympathy and kindness. A convulsive trembling seized him, his cheeks were burning red, and his features expressed the struggle within. Suddenly he burst into tears. "I am very, very wretched," he sighed, with a voice suffocated by weeping, and sank upon a chair, sobbing aloud, and covering his face with his hands.
Goethe approached him, and laid his hand gently upon his shoulder.
"Why are you so miserable? Is there any human being who can help you?" he kindly inquired.
"Yes," sobbed Moritz; "there are those who could, but they will not, and I am lost. I stand upon the brink of a precipice, with Insanity staring at me, grinning and showing her teeth. I know it, but cannot retreat. I wear the mask of madness to conceal my careworn face.
Your divine eyes could not be deceived. You have not mistaken the caricature for the true face. You have penetrated beneath the gay tatters, and have seen the misery which sought to hide itself there.""I saw it, and I bewailed it, as a friend pities a friend whom he would willingly aid if he only knew how to do it.""No one can help me," sighed Moritz, shaking his head mournfully. "Iam lost, irremediably lost!"