of them profound and others witty and very much to the point.  He fixed his eye more particularly on one of my chief antagonists, a man named Bischoff, whom Hiller had discovered in Cologne, and who first invented for me and my friends the title of Zukunftsmusiker (’Musicians of the Future’).  With him he entered into a prolonged and somewhat diverting controversy.  The foundation had now been laid for the problem of the so-called Zukunftsmusik (’Music of the Future’), which was to become a European scandal, in spite of the fact that Liszt quickly adopted the title himself with good-humoured pride.  It is true that I had to some extent suggested this name in the title of my book, Kunstwerk der Zukunft; but it only developed into a battle-cry when ‘Judaism in Music’ unbarred the sluices of wrath upon me and my friends.

My book, Oper und Drama, was published in the second half of this year, and, so far as it was noticed at all by the leading musicians of the day, naturally only helped to add fuel to the wrath which blazed against me.  This fury, however, assumed more the character of slander and malice, for our movement had meantime been reduced by a great connoisseur in such things, Meyerbeer, to a clearly defined system, which he maintained and practised with a sure hand until his lamented death.

Uhlig had come across my book, Oper und Drama, during the early stages of the furious uproar against me.  I had presented him with the original manuscript, and as it was nicely bound in red, I hit upon the idea of writing in it, by way of dedication, the words, ‘red, my friend, is my theory,’ in contradistinction to the Gothic saying, ‘Grey, my friend, is all theory.’  This gift elicited an exhilarating and most delightful correspondence with my lively and keen-sighted young friend, who, after two long years of separation, I felt sincerely desirous of seeing again.  It was not an easy matter for the poor fiddler, whose pay was barely that of a chamber musician, to comply with my invitation.  But he gladly tried to overcome all difficulties, and said he would come early in July.  I decided to go as far as Rorschach, on the Lake of Constance, to meet him, so that we might make an excursion through the Alps as far as Zurich.  I went by a pleasant detour through the Toggenburg, travelling on foot as usual.  In this way, cheerful and refreshed, I reached St. Gall, where I sought out Karl Ritter, who, since Bulow’s departure, had remained there alone in curious seclusion.  I could guess the reason of his retirement, although he said that he had enjoyed very agreeable intercourse with a St. Gall musician named Greitel, of whom I never heard anything further.  Though very tired after my long walking tour, I could not refrain from submitting the manuscript of my Jungcr Siegfried, which I had just finished, to the quick and critical judgment of this intelligent young man, who was thus the first person to hear it.  I was more than gratified