were so genuinely deep and sincere that only an unconditional surrender to the enjoyment of meeting again could bridge the chasm.  All the incidents of the rehearsal affected us like a magic-lantern show of peculiarly enlivening character, at which we looked on like merry children.  Hans, who was in an equally happy mood—­for we all seemed to each other to be embarked on some Quixotic adventure—­called my attention to Brendel, who was sitting not far from us, and seemed to be expecting me to recognise him.  I found it entertaining to prolong this suspense thus occasioned, by pretending not to know him, whereat, as it appears, the poor man was much offended.  Recalling my unjust behaviour on this occasion, I therefore made a point of alluding specially to Brendel’s services when speaking in public some time afterwards on Judaism in Music, by way of atonement, as it were, to this man, who had died in the meantime.  The arrival of Alexander Ritter with my niece Franziska helped to enliven us.  My niece, indeed, found constant entertainment and excitement in the enormity of Weisheimer’s compositions, while Ritter, who was acquainted with the text of my Meistersinger, described a highly unintelligible melody given to the basses in Ritter Toggenburg as ‘the lonely gormandiser mode.’ [Footnote:  Meistersinger (English version), Act 1, scene ii.] Our good-humour might have failed us in the end, however, had we not been refreshed and uplifted by the happy effect which the prelude to the Meistersinger (which had at last been successfully rehearsed) and Bulow’s glorious rendering of Liszt’s new work produced.  The actual concert itself gave a final ghostly touch to an adventure to which we had looked forward so contentedly till then.  To Weisheimer’s horror the Leipzig public stayed away en masse, in response apparently to a sign from the leaders of the regular subscription concerts.  I have never seen any place so empty on an occasion of this sort; besides the members of my family—­among whom my sister Ottilie was conspicuous in a very eccentric cap—­there was no one to be seen but a few visitors, who had come into town for the occasion, occupying one or two benches.  I noticed in particular my Weimar friends, Conductor Lassen, Councillor Franz Muller, the never-failing Richard Pohl, and Justizrath Gille, who had all nobly put in an appearance.  I also recognised with a shock of surprise old Councillor Kustner, the former manager of the Court Theatre in Berlin, and I had to respond amiably to his greeting and his astonishment at the incomprehensible emptiness of the hall.  The people of Leipzig were represented solely by special friends of my family, who never went to a concert in the ordinary way, among them being my devoted friend, Dr. Lothar Muller, the son of Dr. Moritz Muller, an allopath whom I had known very well in my earliest youth.  In the middle of the hall there were only the concert-giver’s fiancee and her mother.  At a little distance away, and facing this lady, I took a seat next to Cosima while the concert was in progress.  My family, observing us from a distance, were offended by the almost incessant laughter which possessed us, as they themselves were in the depths of depression.