Page:The Works of J. W. von Goethe, Volume 12.djvu/433

Rh, April 26, 1787. When I awoke, Kniep was all ready to start on his artistic journey, with a boy to show him the way, and to carry his portfolio. I enjoyed this most glorious morning at the window, with my secret and silent, but not dumb, friend by my side. A devout reverence has hitherto kept me from mentioning the name of the mentor whom, from time to time, I have looked up and listened to. It is the excellent Von Riedesel, whose little volume I carry about with me in my bosom, like a breviary or talisman. At all times I have had great pleasure in looking up to those whom I know to be possessed of what I am most wanting in myself. And this is exactly the case here. A steady purpose, a fixed object, direct and appropriate means, due preparation and store of knowledge, an intimate connection with a masterly teacher,—he studied under Winckelmann,—of all these advantages I am devoid, as well as of all that follows from them. And yet I cannot feel angry with myself that I am obliged to gain by indirect arts and means, and to seize at once, what my previous existence had refused to grant me gradually in the ordinary way. Oh that this worthy person could, at this moment, in the midst of his bustling world, be sensible of the gratitude with which one, travelling in his footsteps, celebrates his merits, in that beautiful but solitary spot which had so many charms for him as to induce the wish that he might end his days there!

With my guide, the little parson, I now retraced our yesterday's walk, observing the objects from several points, and every now and then taking a peep at my industrious friend.

My guide called my attention to a beautiful institution of the once flourishing city. In the rocks and