I found my casual intercourse with H. Truhn rather more entertaining.  I used to treat him to a good glass of wine at Lutter and Wegener’s, where I went occasionally on account of its association with Hoffmann, and he would then listen with apparently growing interest to my ideas as to the possible development of opera and the goal at which we should aim.  His comments were generally witty and very much to the point, and his lively and animated ways pleased me very much.  After the production of Rienzi, however, he too, as a critic, joined the majority of scoffers and detractors.  The only person who supported me stoutly but uselessly, through thick and thin, was my old friend Gaillard.  His little music-shop was not a success, his musical journal had already failed, so that he was only able to help me in small ways.  Unfortunately I discovered not only that he was the author of many exceedingly dubious dramatic works, for which he wished to gain my support, but also that he was apparently in the last stages of the disease from which he was suffering, so that the little intercourse I had with him, in spite of all his fidelity and devotion, only exercised a melancholy and depressing influence upon me.

But as I had embarked upon this Berlin enterprise in contradiction to all my inmost wishes, and prompted solely by the desire of winning the success so vital to my position, I made up my mind to make a personal appeal to Rellstab.

As in the case of the Fliegender Hollander he had taken exception more particularly to its ‘nebulousness’ and ‘lack of form,’ I thought I might with advantage point out to him the brighter and clearer outline of Rienzi.  He seemed to be pleased at my thinking I could get anything out of him, but told me at once of his firm conviction that any new art form was utterly impossible after Gluck, and that the only thing that the best of good luck and hard work was capable of producing was meaningless bombast.  I then realised that in Berlin all hope had been abandoned.  I was told that Meyerbeer was the only man who had been able in any way to master the situation.

This former patron of mine I met once more in Berlin, and he declared that he still took an interest in me.  As soon as I arrived I called on him, but in the hall I found his servant busy packing up trunks, and learned that Meyerbeer was just going away.  His master confirmed this assertion, and regretted that he would not be able to do anything for me, so I had to say good-bye and how-do-you-do at the same time.  For some time I thought he really was away, but after a few weeks I learned to my surprise that he was still staying in Berlin without letting himself be seen by any one, and at last he made his appearance again at one of the rehearsals of Rienzi.  What this meant I only discovered later from a rumour which was circulated among the initiated, and imparted to me by Eduard von Bulow, my young friend’s father.  Without having the slightest idea how it originated,