17–23 May 1886

I decided to go and see Mackar. What I suffered, and how excited I was, passes description. Ten times I tried to go in, and always turned away again—even a large glass of absinthe did not help me. At last I went. He was expecting me. I had pictured him a little man like Wuchs. He is astonishingly like Bessel. We talked a little (someone near me was buying my works), and then I left. Naturally I felt a weight off my heart.