poetess and he bestowed a pittance upon me as one would to a
beggar in tatters by the wayside."

"Is it really true, upon your supplication--"

"Sent me two thalers! Yes, that is indeed true, and I see by your smile
that you know it, and know also that I returned it to him. I had rather
die with hunger than take a beggar's penny. But let me relate to you
what happened two weeks since. I had borne patiently the affair of
the two thalers, and forgotten it. I am more comfortable now; the
booksellers pay me for my songs and poems very well, and a number of
patrons and friends, at whose head is the Prince of Prussia, give me a
small pension, from which I can at least live--though poorly. One of my
patrons sent me a strip of land on the Spree not far from the Hercules
Bridge, where I would gladly build me a little house, at last to have a
sure abiding-place where I could retire--that would be a refuge against
all the troubles and sorrows of life. As I thought it over, the old
confidence and imperishable love for the great king rose again within
me, and as I esteemed him I always hoped for the fulfilment of his
promise. I applied to him again, and begged him to do for me what he
had granted to so many cobblers and tailors, as the king gives
building-money to help those who will build. All the houses of the
Gensdarmen-markt are built by royal aid, and sometimes the king designs
the facades, as he did for the butcher Kuhn's great house; and sent
him a design to ornament the frieze of ninety-nine, sheeps' heads, only
ninety-nine, for he said the butcher himself was the one hundredth. The
butcher remonstrated, but he was obliged to keep them, if he would have
the building-money."

"Really," cried Goethe, laughing, "the king is an ingenious and
extraordinary man in every thing, and no one is like him."

"No one is like him, and no one would have treated me as he did. I
addressed to him a poem, begging him with true inspiration and emotion
to let a German poetess find favor in his sight--and that he would be
for me a Maecenas, if I were not a Horace. My heart bled with sorrow,
that I must so beg and pray, and my tears wet the paper upon which I
indited my begging, rhyming petition. How much money do you think the
great king sent me for my house? Think of the smallest sum."

"If it was small, yet for building-money he would send you at least two
hundred thalers."

The poetess burst into a scornful laugh. "He sent me three thal