One evening we had a crowded party, the Schotts joining the rest of my friends, and both the Schnorrs delighted us keenly with a performance of the so-called love-scene in the third act of Lohengrin.  We were all deeply moved by the sudden apparition of Rockel in our common dining-room at the hotel.  He had been released from Waldheimer prison after thirteen years.  I was astounded to find absolutely no radical change in the appearance of my old acquaintance, except for the faded colour of his hair.  He himself explained this to me by observing that he had stepped out of something like a shell in which he had been ensconced for his own preservation.  As we were deliberating about the field of activity on which he ought now to enter, I advised him to seek some useful employment in the service of a benevolent and liberal-minded man like the Grand Duke of Baden.  He did not think he would succeed in any ministerial capacity, owing to his want of legal knowledge; on the other hand, he was eminently qualified to undertake the supervision of a house of correction, as he had obtained not only the most accurate information on this subject, but at the same time had noted what reforms were necessary.  He went off to the German shooting competition taking place at Frankfort.  There, in recognition of his martyrdom and his unwavering conduct, he was accorded a flattering ovation, and he stayed in Frankfort and its neighbourhood for some time.

Casar Willig, a painter who had received a commission from Otto Wesendonck to paint my portrait at his expense, worried me and my intimate friends at this time.  Unfortunately the painter was utterly unsuccessful in his attempt to make a good likeness of me.  Although Cosima was present at nearly all the sittings, and tried her utmost to put the artist on the right track, the end of it was that I had to sit for a sharp profile, to enable him to produce anything that could be in the least recognisable as a likeness.  After he had performed this task to his satisfaction, he painted another copy for me out of gratitude.  I sent this at once to Minna in Dresden, through whom it ultimately went to my sister Louisa.  It was a horrible picture, and I was confronted with it once afterwards when it was exhibited by the artist in Frankfort.

I made a pleasant excursion with the Bulows and the Schnorrs to Bingen one evening, and availed myself of the opportunity to cross over to Rudesheim to bring back Friederike Meyer, who had been enjoying her holiday there.  I introduced her to my friends, and Cosima especially took a friendly interest in this uncommonly gifted woman.  Our gaiety as we sat over a glass of wine in the open air was heightened by our being unexpectedly accosted by a traveller who approached us respectfully from a distant table; he held his glass filled, and at once greeted me politely and with the utmost warmth.  He was a native of Berlin and a great enthusiast of my work.  He spoke not only