But the small success with which the real object of my tour was attended was counterbalanced by the pleasantness of the journey itself.  The trip through Eger, over the Fichtel mountains, and the entry into Bayreuth, gloriously illuminated by the setting sun, have remained happy memories to this day.

My next goal was Nuremberg, where my sister Clara and her husband were acting, and from whom I might reckon on sound information as to the object of my search.  It was particularly nice to be hospitably received in my sister’s house, where I hoped to revive my somewhat exhausted means of travel.  In this hope I reckoned chiefly upon the sale of a snuff-box presented to me by a friend, which I had secret reasons to suppose was made of platinum.  To this I could add a gold signet-ring, given me by my friend Apel for composing the overture to his Columbus.  The value of the snuff-box unfortunately proved to be entirely imaginary; but by pawning these two jewels, the only ones I had left, I hoped to provide myself with the bare necessaries for continuing my journey to Frankfort.  It was to this place and the Rhine district that the information I had gathered led me to direct my steps.  Before leaving I persuaded my sister and brother-in-law to accept engagements in Magdeburg; but I still lacked a first tenor and a soprano, whom hitherto I had altogether failed to discover.

My stay in Nuremberg was most agreeably prolonged through a renewed meeting with Schroder-Devrient, who just at that time was fulfilling a short engagement in that town.  Meeting her again was like seeing the clouds disperse, which, since our last meeting, had darkened my artistic horizon.

The Nuremberg operatic company had a very limited repertoire.  Besides Fidelio they could produce nothing save Die Schweizerfamilie, a fact about which this great singer complained, as this was one of her first parts sung in early youth, for which she was hardly any longer suited, and which, in addition, she had played ad nauseam.  I also looked forward to the performance of Die Schweizerfamilie with misgivings, and even with anxiety, for I feared lest this tame opera and the old-fashioned sentimental part of Emmeline would weaken the great impression the public, as well as myself, had formed up to that moment of the work of this sublime artist.  Imagine, therefore, how deeply moved and astonished I was, on the evening of the performance, to find that it was in this very part that I first realised the truly transcendental genius of this extraordinary woman.  That anything so great as her interpretation of the character of the Swiss maiden could not be handed down to posterity as a monument for all time can only be looked upon as one of the most sublime sacrifices demanded by dramatic art, and as one of its highest manifestations.  When, therefore, such phenomena appear, we cannot hold them in too great reverence, nor look upon them as too sacred.

Apart from all these new experiences which were to become of so much value to my whole life and to my artistic development, the impressions I received at Nuremberg, though they were apparently trivial in their origin, left such indelible traces on my mind, that they revived within me later on, though in quite a different and novel form.