In order to change my mind a little, I determined for the present (it was the beginning of July) to take advantage of the short period of leave granted to me, by going to Vienna.  I travelled by way of Breslau, where I looked up an old friend of my family, the musical director Mosewius, at whose house I spent an evening.  We had a most lively conversation, but, unfortunately, were unable to steer clear of the stirring political questions of the day.  What interested me most was his exceptionally large, or even, if I remember rightly, complete collection of Sebastian Bach’s cantatas in most excellent copies.  Besides this, he related, with a humour quite his own, several amusing musical anecdotes which were a pleasant memory for many a year.  When Mosewius returned my visit in the course of the summer at Dresden, I played a part of the first act of Lohengrin on the piano for him, and the expression of his genuine astonishment at this conception was very gratifying to me.  In later years, however, I found that he had spoken somewhat scoffingly about me; but I did not stop to reflect as to the truth of this information, or as to the real character of the man, for little by little I had had to accustom myself to the most inconceivable things.  At Vienna the first thing I did was to call on Professor Fischhof, as I knew that he had in his keeping important manuscripts, chiefly by Beethoven, among which the original of the C minor Sonata, opus 111, I was particularly curious to see.  Through this new friend, whom I found somewhat dry, I made the acquaintance of Herr Vesque von Puttlingen, who, as the composer of a most insignificant opera (Joan of Arc), which had been performed in Dresden, had with cautious good taste adopted only the last two syllables of Beethoven’s name—­Haven.  One day we were at his house to dinner, and I then recognised in him a former confidential official of Prince Metternich, who now, with his ribbon of black, red, and gold, followed the current of the age, apparently quite convinced.  I made another interesting acquaintance in the person of Herr von Fonton, the Russian state councillor, and attache at the Russian Embassy in Vienna.  I frequently met this man, both at Fischhof’s house and on excursions into the surrounding country; and it was interesting to me for the first time to run up against a man who could so strongly profess his faith in the pessimistic standpoint, that a consistent despotism guarantees the only order of things which can be tolerated.  Not without interest, and certainly not without intelligence—­for he boasted of having been educated at the most enlightened schools in Switzerland—­he listened to my enthusiastic narration of the art ideal which I had in my mind, and which was destined to exercise a great and decided influence upon the human race.  As he had to allow that the realisation of this ideal could not be effected through the strength of despotism, and as he was unable to foresee any rewards for my exertions, by the time we came to the champagne he thawed to such a degree of affable good-nature as to wish me every success.  I learned later on that this man, of whose talent and energetic character I had at the time no small opinion, was last heard of as being in great distress.