Goethe or the Devil
Of another evening’s reading, Falk von Muller relates: Goethe had come in, unnoticed by anybody, and sat down close to the reader, with his back turned to the audience. After a while he offered to read. At first everything went beautifully; then he began to extemporize and his exuberant spirits getting the better of him, he put everybody out of countenance in one way or another. In a little fable, in doggerel verses, he likened me wittily enough, to a worthy turkey-hen, that sits on a great heap of eggs of her own and other people’s, and hatches them with great patience, but to whom it sometimes happens to have a china egg put under her instead of a real one, a trick at which she takes no offense.
“That is either Goethe or the devil,” cried I to Wieland, who sat opposite to me at the table.
“Both,” replied he; “he has the devil in him again to-day and he is like a wanton colt, that flings out before and behind, and you do well not to go too near him.” Years after, we often laughed over that evening’s performance.