though she expressed a violent desire to see me once more for a short time, assuring me that afterwards she would for ever leave me in peace.  I could only regard it as purposeless and risky to accede to this wish just then, though I kept the idea in reserve for the future.  During the course of the summer she repeated the same request from several places, until, as I was engaged late in the autumn for a concert at Karlsruhe, I at last appointed that time and place for the desired meeting.  From that time forth I never received the slightest communication from this most singular and attractive friend of mine, and as, moreover, I did not know where she was, I looked upon our connection as severed.  Not until many years later was the secret of her position—­certainly a very difficult one—­revealed to me, and from the facts then stated I could only conclude that she shrank from telling me the truth concerning her connection with Herr von Guaita.  It appeared that this man had much more serious claims upon her than I had suspected, and she had apparently been compelled by the necessities of her situation to accept his protection, as he was the only friend left to her, while his devotion was undeniably genuine.  I heard that she was then living in complete retirement both from the stage and from society on a tiny estate on the Rhine with her two children, being, it was believed, secretly married to Herr von Guaita.

But my careful and elaborate preparations for a quiet spell of work had not yet been successful.  A burglary in the house, which robbed me of the golden snuff-box presented by the Moscow musicians, renewed my old longing to have a dog.  My kind old landlord consequently handed over to me an old and somewhat neglected hound named Pohl, one of the most affectionate and excellent animals that ever attached itself to me.  In his company I daily undertook long excursions on foot, for which the very pleasant neighbourhood afforded admirable opportunities.  Nevertheless I was still rather lonely, as Tausig was confined to bed for a long time by severe illness, while Cornelius was suffering from an injured foot, the result of a careless descent from an omnibus when visiting Penzing.  Meanwhile I was in constant friendly intercourse with Standhartner and his family.  Fritz, the younger brother of Heinrich Porges, had also begun to visit me.  He was a doctor who had just set up practice, a really nice fellow, whose acquaintance with me dated from the serenade of the Merchants’ Glee Club, of which he had been the originator.

I was now convinced that there was no longer any chance of having Tristan produced at the Opera, as I had found out that Frau Dustmann’s indisposition was merely a feint, Herr Ander’s complete loss of voice having been the real cause of the last interruption.  Good old Conductor Esser tried hard to persuade me to assign the part of Tristan to another tenor of the theatre named Walter, but the very idea of him was