portrait of his ugly person from the painter, and, as far as I
know, this is the only finished portrait in existence by Kietz.
On the other hand, he was very clever at making little sketches
of any subject suggested by our conversation during the evening,
and in these he displayed both originality and delicacy of
execution. During the winter of that year he completed a good
pencil portrait of me, which he touched up two years afterwards
when he knew me more intimately, finishing it off as it now
stands. It pleased him to sketch me in the attitude I often
assumed during our evening chats when I was in a cheerful mood.
No evening ever passed during which I did not succeed in shaking
off the depression caused by my vain endeavours, and by the many
worries I had gone through during the day, and in regaining my
natural cheerfulness, and Kietz was anxious to represent me to
the world as a man who, in spite of the hard times he had to
face, had confidence in his success, and rose smiling above the
troubles of life. Before the end of the year 1839, my youngest
sister Cecilia also arrived in Paris with her husband, Edward
Avenarius. It was only natural that she should feel embarrassed
at the idea of meeting us in Paris in our extremely straitened
circumstances, especially as her husband was not very well off.
Consequently, instead of calling on them frequently, we preferred
waiting until they came to see us, which, by the way, took them a
long time. On the other hand, the renewal of our acquaintance
with Heinrich Laube, who came over to Paris at the beginning of
1840 with his young wife, Iduna (nee Budaus), was very cheering.
She was the widow of a wealthy Leipzig doctor, and Laube had
married her under very extraordinary circumstances, since we last
saw him in Berlin; they intended to enjoy themselves for a few
months in Paris. During the long period of his detention, while