“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. I will 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.”