This performance took place in the beginning of the year 1833 at the Leipzig Schneider-Herberge.  It was, by the bye, in this dignified old hall that the society ‘Euterpe’ held its concerts!  The place was dirty, narrow, and poorly lighted, and it was here that my work was introduced to the Leipzig public for the first time, and by means of an orchestra that interpreted it simply disgracefully.  I can only think of that evening as a gruesome nightmare; and my astonishment was therefore all the greater at seeing the important notice which Laube wrote about the performance.  Full of hope, I therefore looked forward to a performance of the same work at the Gewandhaus concert, which followed soon after, and which came off brilliantly in every way.  It was well received and well spoken of in all the papers; of real malice there was not a trace—­on the contrary, several notices wore encouraging, and Laube, who had quickly become celebrated, confided to me that he was going to offer me a libretto for an opera, which he had first written for Meyerbeer.  This staggered me somewhat, for I was not in the least prepared to pose as a poet, and my only idea was to write a real plot for an opera.  As to the precise manner, however, in which such a book had to be written, I already had a very definite and instinctive notion, and I was strengthened in the certainty of my own feelings in the matter when Laube now explained the nature of his plot to me.  He told me that he wanted to arrange nothing less than Kosziusko into a libretto for grand opera!  Once again I had qualms, for I felt at once that Laube had a mistaken idea about the character of a dramatic subject.  When I inquired into the real action of the play, Laube was astonished that I should expect more than the story of the Polish hero, whose life was crowded with incident; in any case, he thought there was quite sufficient action in it to describe the unhappy fate of a whole nation.  Of course the usual heroine was not missing; she was a Polish girl who had a love affair with a Russian; and in this way some sentimental situations were also to be found in the plot.  Without a moment’s delay I assured my sister Rosalie that I would not set this story to music:  she agreed with me, and begged me only to postpone my answer to Laube.  My journey to Wurzburg was of great help to me in this respect, for it was easier to write my decision to Laube than to announce it to him personally.  He accepted the slight rebuff with good grace, but he never forgave me, either then or afterwards, for writing my own words!

When he heard what subject I had preferred to his brilliant political poem, he made no effort to conceal his contempt for my choice.  I had borrowed the plot from a dramatic fairy tale by Gozzi, La Donna Serpente, and called it Die Feen (’The Fairies’).  The names of my heroes I chose from different Ossian and similar poems:  my prince was called Arindal; he was loved by a fairy called Ada, who held him under