ow observe how small a part
I have retained in writing, I seem to myself like a child who,
endeavoring to catch the refreshing spring shower with open hands, finds
that the greater part of it runs through his fingers.

* * * * *

I think that these conversations not only contain many valuable
explanations and instructions on science, art, and practical life, but
that these sketches of Goethe, taken directly from life, will be
especially serviceable in completing the portrait which each reader may
have formed of Goethe from his manifold works.

Still, I am far from imagining that the whole internal Goethe is here
adequately portrayed. We may, with propriety, compare this extraordinary
mind and man to a many-sided diamond, which in each direction shines
with a different hue. And as, under different circumstances and with
different persons, he became another being, so I, too, can only say, in
a very modest sense, this is _my_ Goethe.

* * * * *

[Illustration: GOETHE'S STUDY]

My relation to him was peculiar, and of a very intimate kind: it was
that of the scholar to the master; of the son to the father; of the poor
in culture to the rich in culture. He drew me into his own circle, and
let me participate in the mental and bodily enjoyments of a higher state
of existence. Sometimes I saw him but once a week, when I visited him in
the evening; sometimes every day, when I had the happiness to dine with
him either alone or in company. His conversation was as varied as his
works. He was always the same, and always different. Now he was occupied
by some great idea, and his words flowed forth rich and inexhaustible;
they were often like a garden in spring where all is in blossom, and
where one is so dazzled by the general brilliancy that one does not
think of gathering a nosegay. At other times, on the contrary, he was
taciturn and laconic, as if a cloud pressed upon his soul; nay, there
were days when it seemed as if he were filled with icy coldness, and a
keen wind was sweeping over plains of frost and snow. When one saw him
again he was again like a smiling summer's day, when all the warblers of
the wood joyously greet us from hedges and bushes, when the cuckoo's
voice resounds through the blue sky, and the brook ripples through
flowery meadows. Then it was a pleasure to hear him; his presence then
had a beneficial influence, and the heart expanded at his word