item had alone remained in his memory led me to conclude that he had not extended his acquaintance with the piece beyond the first act, in which the item in question occurs.  When, moreover, I heard that he had nothing to say in regard to my score, except that he had had portions of it played over to him by a pupil of the Conservatoire, I really could not flatter myself that he had entered into definite and conscious relations with me.  And yet I had palpable evidence in a letter of his to Avenarius, which the latter forwarded to me, that Scribe had actually occupied himself with my work, and that I was indeed in communication with him, and this letter of Scribe’s made such an impression upon my wife, who was by no means inclined to be sanguine, that she gradually overcame her apprehensions in regard to the Paris adventure.  At last it was fixed and settled that on the expiry of my second year’s contract in Riga (that is to say, in the coming summer, 1839), we should journey direct from Riga to Paris, in order that I might try my luck there as a composer of opera.

The production of my Rienzi now began to assume greater importance.  The composition of its second act was finished before we started, and into this I wove a heroic ballet of extravagant dimensions.  It was now imperative that I should speedily acquire a knowledge of French, a language which, during my classical studies at the Grammar School, I had contemptuously laid aside.  As there were only four weeks in which to recover the time I had lost, I engaged an excellent French master.  But as I soon realised that I could achieve but little in so short a time, I utilised the hours of the lessons in order to obtain from him, under the pretence of receiving instruction, an idiomatic translation of my Rienzi libretto.  This I wrote with red ink on such parts of the score as were finished, so that on reaching Paris I might immediately submit my half-finished opera to French judges of art.

Everything now seemed to be carefully prepared for my departure, and all that remained to be done was to raise the necessary funds for my undertaking.  But in this respect the outlook was bad.  The sale of our modest household furniture, the proceeds of a benefit concert, and my meagre savings only sufficed to satisfy the importunate demands of my creditors in Magdeburg and Konigsberg.  I knew that if I were to devote all my cash to this purpose, there would not be a farthing left.  Some way out of the fix must be found, and this our old Konigsberg friend, Abraham Moller, suggested in his usual flippant and obscure manner.  Just at this critical moment he paid us a second visit to Riga.  I acquainted him with the difficulties of our position, and all the obstacles which stood in the way of my resolve to go to Paris.  In his habitual laconical way he counselled me to reserve all my savings for our journey, and to settle with my creditors when my Parisian successes had provided the necessary means.  To