Two letters, quite recently discovered, have fallen into my hands;[1] they give us a curious glimpse of him at this time, such as one may look for in vain in his own account of himself, or in the accounts of any other writer. They are from his friend Horn, whose arrival he mentioned in the letter previously quoted, and who was one of his daily companions in Frankfort. The first is dated 12th of August, 1766, and is addressed to one Moors, a Frankfort companion.
"To speak of our Goethe! He is still the same proud, fantastic personage as when I came hither. If you only saw him, you would either be mad with anger or you would burst with laughter. I cannot at all understand how a man can so quickly transform himself. His manners and his whole bearing, at present, are as different as possible from his former behaviour. Over and above his pride, he is a dandy; and all his clothes, handsome as they are, are in so odd a taste that they make him conspicuous among all the students. But this is indifferent to him; one may remonstrate with him for his folly as much as one likes—
"'Man mag Amphion seyn und Feld und Wald bezwingen,
Nur keinen Goethe nicht kann man zur Klugheit bringen.'"[2]
All his thought and effort is only to please himself and his lady-love. In every circle he makes himself more ridiculous than agreeable. Merely because the lady admires it, he has put on tricks and gestures that one cannot possibly refrain from laughing at. He has adopted a walk which is quite insufferable. If you only saw it!
"'Il marche à pas comptés,
Comme un Recteur suivi des quatre Facultés.'
