“Stop!--it is sufficient. I do not wish to hear any thing more,” cried the king, indignant, and rising. “It is bad enough that such pieces should appear upon the German stage as this ‘Gotz von Berlichingen.’ They are nothing less than abominable imitations of the bad English pieces of Shakespeare! The pit applauds them, and demands with enthusiasm these very disgusting platitudes. [Footnote: The king’s own words.--See “Posthumous Works,” vol. iii.] Do not be angry again, you must have patience with the old boy! I shall rejoice heartily if this Herr Goethe becomes a classic writer one day, as you say. I shall not live to witness it. I only see the embryo where you see the full-grown author. We will talk further about it when we meet in the Elysian Fields; then we will see, when you present this Herr Johann Wolfgang Goethe, as a German classic writer, to Homer, Horace, Virgil, and Corneille, if they do not turn their backs upon him. Now adieu, Herzberg! So soon as circumstances permit, I shall send for you to go to Silesia, and then you can give me your German translation of Tacitus.” The king nodded in a friendly manner to his minister, and slowly walked back and forth, while he took leave and withdrew. After a few moments he rang, and the summons was immediately answered by the footman Schultz. The king fixed upon him one of those searching glances of his fiery eyes which confounded and confused the footman. He remained standing and embarrassed, with downcast look. “What are you standing there for?” asked the king. “Did I not ring for you, and do you not know what you have to do?” Frederick continued to regard him, with flashing eyes, which increased the lackey’s confusion. He forgot entirely that the summons was for his majesty’s lunch, and all that he had to do was to open the door to the adjoining room, where it stood already prepared. Frederick waited a moment, but the footman still stood irresolute, when his majesty indicated to him to approach. He approached, staggering under the puzzling glance of his master. “Oh! I see what it is,” said Frederick, shrugging his shoulders; “you are drunk again, as you often are, and--” “Your majesty,” cried Schultz, amazed, “I drunk!” “Silence!--will you be bold enough to reason with me? I say that you are drunk, and I want no drunken footmen. They must be well-behaved, sober fellows, who keep their ears open and their mouths shut--who are neither drunkards nor gossips, and do not take for truth what they have experienced in their drunken fits. I do not want such fellows as you are at all; you are only fit food for cannon, and for that you shall serve. Go to General Alvensleben, and present yourself to enter the guards. You are lucky to go to the field at once; to-morrow you will set off. Say to the general that I sent you, and that you are to enter as a common soldier.” “But, your majesty, I do not know what I have done,” cried Schultz, whiningly. “I really am not drunk. I--”