have seconded and rewarded similar efforts on my part.  Her one and only ideal for me was that, by hook or by crook, and with a total disregard of all artistic scruples, I should make a brilliant reputation for myself in Paris.  While we were both absolutely at a loss to discover whence we should obtain the necessary funds for our journey to Paris and our sojourn there, I again plunged into my philosophical study of art, as being the only sphere still left open to me.

Harrassed by the cares of a terrible struggle for existence, I wrote the whole of Das Kunstwerk der Zukunft in the chilly atmosphere of a sunless little room on the ground floor during the months of November and December of that year.  Minna had no objection to this occupation when I told her of the success of my first pamphlet, and the hope I had of receiving even better pay for this more extensive work.

Thus for a while I enjoyed comparative peace, although in my heart a spirit of unrest had begun to reign, thanks to my growing acquaintance with Feuerbach’s works.  I had always had an inclination to fathom the depths of philosophy, just as I had been led by the mystic influence of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony to search the deepest recesses of music.  My first efforts at satisfying this longing had failed.  None of the Leipzig professors had succeeded in fascinating me with their lectures on fundamental philosophy and logic.  I had procured Schelling’s work, Transcendental Idealism, recommended to me by Gustav Schlesinger, a friend of Laube’s, but it was in vain that I racked my brains to try and make something out of the first pages, and I always returned to my Ninth Symphony.

During the latter part of my stay in Dresden I had returned to these old studies, the longing for which suddenly revived within me, and to these I added the deeper historical studies which had always fascinated me.  As an introduction to philosophy I now chose Hegel’s Philosophy of History.  A good deal of this impressed me deeply, and it now seemed as if I should ultimately penetrate into the Holy of Holies along this path.  The more incomprehensible many of his speculative conclusions appeared, the more I felt myself desirous of probing the question of the ‘Absolute’ and everything connected therewith to the core.  For I so admired Hegel’s powerful mind that it seemed to me he was the very keystone of all philosophical thought.

The revolution intervened; the practical tendencies of a social reconstruction distracted my attention, and as I have already stated, it was a German Catholic priest and political agitator (formerly a divinity student named Menzdorff, who used to wear a Calabrian hat) [Footnote:  A broad-rimmed, tall, white felt hat, tapering to a point, originally worn by the inhabitants of Calabria, and in 1848 a sign of Republicanism.—­Editor.] who drew my attention to ‘the only real philosopher of modern times,’ Ludwig Feuerbach.  My new Zurich friend, the piano teacher, Wilhelm Baumgartner,