viary round the corner and it was well to be discreet.
He also cooled my ardor a little by saying that this little ruin was of a second chapel to St. Michael which also stood there—still I dare say it was the same crucifix.
She used to write to Goethe there and kept his letters buried there and has an exquisite description of going to sleep there in the moonlight on the wall and having to sleep there all night.
She planted grapevines and honeysuckle and lilies there and she says all sorts of our at the station and lay down on a bench and slept as Bettine would have done . . . . It is such a delight to have an ideal object, especially in travelling alone.
Frankfort. Here still was Bettine, but lost in the greater stream of Goethe.
The Goethe house was my chief interest . . . . Below were his magnificent mother's rooms . . . portraits of her . . . in the very room where she used to sit and chat with Bettine and they were (as the latter says) the only two people alive in