necessary means and treated him in every respect with entire
confidence. Under his auspices my own engagement had been very
easily secured. Surly old pedants he would have none of,
favouring young men on the score of their youth alone. As far as
I myself was concerned, it was enough for him to know that I
belonged to a family which he knew and liked, and hearing,
moreover, of my fervent devotion to modern Italian and French
music in particular, he decided that I was the very man for him.
He had the whole shoal of Bellini's, Donizetti's, Adam's, and
Auber's operatic scores copied out, and I was to give the good
people of Riga the benefit of them with all possible speed.

The first time I visited Holtei I met an old Leipzig
acquaintance, Heinrich Dorn, my former mentor, who now held the
permanent municipal appointment of choir-master at the church and
music-teacher in the schools. He was pleased to find his curious
pupil transformed into a practical opera conductor of independent
position, and no less surprised to see the eccentric worshipper
of Beethoven changed into an ardent champion of Bellini and Adam.
He took me home to his summer residence, which was built,
according to Riga phraseology, 'in the fields,' that is
literally, on the sand. While I was giving him some account of
the experiences through which I had passed, I grew conscious of
the strangely deserted look of the place. Feeling frightened and
homeless, my initial uneasiness gradually developed into a
passionate longing to escape from all the whirl of theatrical
life which had wooed me to such inhospitable regions. This uneasy
mood was fast dispelling the flippancy which at Magdeburg had led
to my being dragged down to the level of the most worthless stage
society, and had also conduced to spoil my musical taste. It also