It was remarkable to observe the aesthetic demoralisation into which I now fell through having daily to deal with such a work.  I gradually lost my dislike for this shallow and exceedingly uninteresting composition (a dislike I shared with many German musicians) in the growing interest which I was compelled to take in its interpretation; and thus it happened that the insipidness and affectation of the commonplace melodies ceased to concern me save from the standpoint of their capability of eliciting applause or the reverse.  As, moreover, my future career as musical conductor was at stake, my brother, who was very anxious on my behalf, looked favourably on this lack of classical obstinacy on my part, and thus the ground was gradually prepared for that decline in my classical taste which was destined to last some considerable time.

All the same, this did not occur before I had given some proof of my great inexperience in the lighter style of writing.  My brother wanted to introduce a ‘Cavatine’ from the Piraten, by Bellini, into the same composer’s opera, Straniera; the score was not to be had, and he entrusted me with the instrumentation of this work.  From the piano score alone I could not possibly detect the heavy and noisy instrumentation of the ritornelles and intermezzi which, musically, were so very thin; the composer of a great C major Symphony with an end fugue could only help himself out of the difficulty by the use of a few flutes and clarinets playing in thirds.  At the rehearsal the ‘Cavatine’ sounded so frightfully thin and shallow that my brother made me serious reproaches about the waste of copying expenses.  But I had my revenge:  to the tenor aria of ‘Aubry’ in Marschner’s Vampir I added an Allegro, for which I also wrote the words.

My work succeeded splendidly, and earned the praise of both the public and my brother.  In a similar German style I wrote the music to my Feen in the course of the year 1833.  My brother and his wife left Wurzburg after Easter in order to avail themselves of several invitations at friends’ houses; I stayed behind with the children—­three little girls of tender years—­which placed me in the extraordinary position of a responsible guardian, a post for which I was not in the least suited at that time of my life.  My time was divided between my work and pleasure, and in consequence I neglected my charges.  Amongst the friends I made there, Alexander Muller had much influence over me; he was a good musician and pianist, and I used to listen for hours to his improvisations on given themes—­an accomplishment in which he so greatly excelled, that I could not fail to be impressed.  With him and some other friends, amongst whom was also Valentin Hamm, I often made excursions in the neighbourhood, on which occasions the Bavarian beer and the Frankish wine were wont to fly.  Valentin Hamm was a grotesque individual, who entertained us often with his excellent violin playing; he had an enormous stretch on the