P. H. Brown, Life of Goethe (Haldane 1, 330)

A recently discovered letter of a young German artist C. Geßner? then in Rome gives a lively impression of Goethe in these days when his natural man found unchecked play. In a succession of scenes, in the course of a day, he is presented as he appeared to the writer, who had evidently a due sense of being in the presence of a great man. An antique statue had been unearthed near the Church of Santa Maria on the right bank of the Tiber, and on a certain morning there was a gathering of artists to examine it. Goethe came with Tischbein, and our young artist with Angelica Kauffmann. It was the first time he had seen Goethe, and he narrowly observed him. While all the others babbled about the probable date and subject of the statue, Goethe, though he was known to have “four eyes and four ears,” remained silent. The first impression made by Goethe on the youth was thus one of coldness and reserve, but this impression was to be changed in the course of the day. Leaving the statue, the company adjourned for their midday meal to a modest trattoria in the neighbourhood. In the course of the meal our narrator spilt some wine on the tablecloth, whereupon Goethe playfully pinched his ear “like some great child.” The conversation turning on Michael Angelo, Goethe joined in with the volubility of ordinary mortals, after two bottles of wine. At the sight of the works of such an artist, he said among other things, one could only bury pen and pencil. “What, then, about your Iphigenie?” broke in Tischbein. Goethe cut a grimace, and left the company “like a naughty boy.” Subsequently he was found behind the house at play with a child to whom he had given the name of Mignon. Driving home with our artist and Angelica, he talked with such loudness and freedom with the vetturino that the lady twitched his sleeve to remind him of his indiscretion. On the way they passed St. Peter’s, and at sight of its mighty dome Goethe exclaimed that he always had a kind of dread of Michael Angelo, as he seemed to him to exercise an enchanter’s spell even over modern Rome. The pleasures of the day were not over. Before parting, the entire company, Angelica among them, adjourned to an osteria, and spent the night over their wine, Goethe drinking more than any one else. The writer of the letter we are quoting was equally struck by Goethe’s delicate attentions to Angelica, and by the abandonment with which one, who had for ten years been a Minister of State, gave himself up to the company in which he found himself. In all his high spirits, however, he “unlike other German travellers who can be heard three streets off,” spoke in tones so low that his words could be caught only by close attention. The company broke up as the bells of the churches tolled three in the morning, Goethe’s parting remark being that he must now go home to his Juno.