It was not surprising that Laube noticed by my untidy, passionate, and wasted appearance that something unusual was amiss with me.  It was only in his company, which I always found comforting, that I gained the only impressions of Berlin which compensated me in any way for my misfortunes.  The most important artistic experience I had, came to me through the performance of Ferdinand Cortez, conducted by Spontini himself, the spirit of which astonished me more than anything I had ever heard before.  Though the actual production, especially as regards the chief characters, who as a whole could not be regarded as belonging to the flower of Berlin opera, left me unmoved, and though the effect never reached a point that could be even distantly compared to that produced upon me by Schroder-Devrient, yet the exceptional precision, fire, and richly organised rendering of the whole was new to me.  I gained a fresh insight into the peculiar dignity of big theatrical representations, which in their several parts could, by well-accentuated rhythm, be made to attain the highest pinnacle of art.  This extraordinarily distinct impression took a drastic hold of me, and above all served to guide me in my conception of Rienzi, so that, speaking from an artistic point of view, Berlin may be said to have left its traces on my development.

For the present, however, my chief concern was to extricate myself from my extremely helpless position.  I was determined to turn my steps to Konigsberg, and communicated my decision, and the hopes founded upon it, to Laube.  This excellent friend, without further inquiry, made a point of exerting his energies to free me from my present state of despair, and to help me to reach my next destination, an object which, through the assistance of several of his friends, he succeeded in accomplishing.  When he said good-bye to me, Laube with sympathetic foresight warned me, should I succeed in my desired career of musical conductor, not to allow myself to be entangled in the shallowness of stage life, and advised me, after fatiguing rehearsals, instead of going to my sweetheart, to take a serious book in hand, in order that my greater gifts might not go uncultivated.  I did not tell him that by taking an early and decisive step in this direction I intended to protect myself effectually against the dangers of theatrical intrigues.  On the 7th of July, therefore, I started on what was at that time an extremely troublesome and fatiguing journey to the distant town of Konigsberg.

It seemed to me as though I were leaving the world, as I travelled on day after day through the desert marches.  Then followed a sad and humiliating impression of Konigsberg, where, in one of the poorest-looking suburbs, Tragheim, near the theatre, and in a lane such as one would expect to find in a village, I found the ugly house in which Minna lodged.  The friendly and quiet kindness of manner, however, which was peculiar to her, soon made me feel at home.  She was popular at the theatre, and was respected by the managers and actors, a fact which seemed to augur well for her betrothed, the part I was now openly to assume.