easant impression. The sight of him in this unaffected
carriage, wearing a long dressing-gown, a small skull-cap on his white
hair, had something infinitely touching about it. He looked like a king,
and again like a father. We walked up and down, engaged in conversation.
He mentioned my _Sappho_ and seemed to think well of it, thus in a way
praising himself, for I had followed fairly closely in his footsteps.
When I complained of my isolated position in Vienna he remarked what we
have since read in his printed works, that man can do efficient work
only in the company of likeminded or congenial spirits. If he and
Schiller had attained universal recognition, they owed it largely to
this stimulating and supplementing reciprocal influence.

In the meantime the artist had arrived. We entered the house and I was
sketched. Goethe had gone into his room, whence he emerged from time to
time to satisfy himself as to the progress of the picture, which pleased
him when completed. When the artist had departed Goethe had his son
bring in some of his choicest treasures. There was his correspondence
with Lord Byron; everything relating to his acquaintance with the
Empress and the Emperor of Austria at Karlsbad; and finally the imperial
Austrian copyright of his collected works. This latter he seemed to
value very highly, either because he liked the conservative attitude of
Austria, or because he regarded it as an oddity in contradistinction to
the usual policy pursued in literary matters by this country. These
treasures were wrapped separately in half-oriental fashion in pieces of
silk, Goethe handling them with reverence. At last I was most graciously
dismissed.

In the course of the day Chancellor Mueller suggested my visiting Goethe
toward evening; he would be alone, and my visit would by no means be
unwelcome to him. Not until later did it occur to me that Mueller could
not have made the suggestion without Goethe's knowledge.

Now I committed my second blunder in Weimar. I was afraid to be alone
with Goethe for an entire evening, and after considerable vacillation
decided not to go. Several elements combined to produce this fear. In
the first place, it seemed to me that there was nothing within the whole
range of my intellect worthy of being displayed before Goethe. Secondly,
it was not until later that I learned to place the proper value upon my
own works by comparing them with those of my contemporaries, the former
appearing ex