made upon me. The room, which had been prepared for us on the
fourth floor, was small but cheerful, decently furnished, and
inexpensive. From the windows we could see the frightful bustle
in the market below, which became more and more alarming as we
watched it, and I wondered what we were doing in such a quarter.

Shortly after this, Avenarius had to go to Leipzig to bring home
his bride, my youngest sister Cecilia, after the wedding in that
city. Before leaving, he gave me an introduction to his only
musical acquaintance, a German holding an appointment in the
music department of the Bibliotheque Royale, named E. G. Anders,
who lost no time in looking us up in Moliere's house. He was, as
I soon discovered, a man of very unusual character, and, little
as he was able to help me, he left an affecting and ineffaceable
impression on my memory. He was a bachelor in the fifties, whose
reverses had driven him to the sad necessity of earning a living
in Paris entirely without assistance. He had fallen back on the
extraordinary bibliographical knowledge which, especially in
reference to music, it had been his hobby to acquire in the days
of his prosperity. His real name he never told me, wishing to
guard the secret of that, as of his misfortunes, until after his
death. For the time being he told me only that he was known as
Anders, was of noble descent, and had held property on the Rhine,
but that he had lost everything owing to the villainous betrayal
of his gullibility and good-nature. The only thing he had managed
to save was his very considerable library, the size of which I
was able to estimate for myself. It filled every wall of his
small dwelling. Even here in Paris he soon complained of bitter
enemies; for, in spite of having come furnished with an
introduction to influential people, he still held the inferior