deeply moved, he felt at one moment as if he could have sworn at me for not having asked him to prompt me.  It happened in this way:  I began my speech in a clear and full voice, but suddenly the sound of my own words, and their particular intonation, affected me to such an extent that, carried away as I was by my own thoughts, I imagined I saw as well as heard myself before the breathless multitude.  While I thus appeared objectively to myself I remained in a sort of trance, during which I seemed to be waiting for something to happen, and felt quite a different person from the man who was supposed to be standing and speaking there.  It was neither nervousness nor absent-mindedness on my part; only at the end of a certain sentence there was such a long pause that those who saw me standing there must have wondered what on earth to think of me.  At last my own silence and the stillness round me reminded me that I was not there to listen, but to speak.  I at once resumed my discourse, and I spoke with such fluency to the very end that the celebrated actor, Emil Devrient, assured me that, apart from the solemn service, he had been deeply impressed simply from the standpoint of a dramatic orator.

The ceremony concluded with a poem written and set to music by myself, and, though it presented many difficulties for men’s voices, it was splendidly rendered by some of the best opera singers.  Luttichau, who was present, was now not only convinced of the justice of the enterprise, but also strongly in favour of it.  I was deeply thankful that everything had succeeded so well, and when Weber’s widow, upon whom I called after the ceremony, told me how profoundly she, too, had been moved, the only cloud that still darkened my horizon was dispelled.  In my youth I had learned to love music through my admiration for Weber’s genius, and the news of his death was a terrible blow to me.  To have, as it were, come into contact with him again and after so many years by this second funeral, was an event that stirred the very depths of my being.

From all the particulars I have given concerning my intimacy with the great masters who were my contemporaries, it is easy to see at what sources I had been able to quench my thirst for intellectual intercourse.  It was not a very satisfactory outlook to turn from Weber’s grave to his living successors; but I had still to find out how absolutely hopeless this was.

I spent the winter of 1844-5 partly in yielding to attractions from outside, and partly in indulging in the deepest meditation.  By dint of great energy, and by getting up very early, even in winter, I succeeded in completing my score to Tannhauser early in April, having, as already stated, finished the composition of it at the end of the preceding year.  In writing down the orchestration I made things particularly difficult for myself by using the specially prepared paper which the printing process renders necessary, and which involved me in all kinds of trying formalities.  I had each page transferred to the stone immediately, and a hundred copies printed from each, hoping to make use of these proofs for the rapid circulation of my work.  Whether my hopes were to be fulfilled or not, I was at all events fifteen hundred marks out of pocket when all the expenses of the publication were paid.