Although I felt quite disconsolate after Liszt’s departure, the officials of Zurich took good care that I should soon have some diversion, of a kind to which I had hitherto been a stranger.  It took the form of the presentation of a masterpiece of calligraphy in the shape of a ‘Diploma of Honour,’ awarded me by the Zurich Choral Society, which was ready at last.  This was to be awarded to me with the accompaniment of an imposing torchlight procession, in which the various elements of the Zurich population, who, either as individuals or members of societies, were favourably disposed to me, were to take part.  So it came to pass that one fine summer evening a large company of torchbearers approached the Zeltweg, to the accompaniment of loud music.  They presented a spectacle such as I had never seen before, and made a unique impression on my mind.  After the singing, the voice of the President of the Choral Society could be heard rising from the street.  I was so much affected by the incident that my unconquerable optimism quickly overpowered every other sensation.  In my speech of acknowledgment I indicated plainly that I saw no reason why Zurich itself should not be the chosen place to give an impetus to the fulfilment of the aspirations I cherished for my artistic ideals, and that it might do so on proper civic lines.  I believe this was taken to refer to a special development of the men’s choral societies, and they were quite gratified at my bold forecasts.  Apart from this confusion, for which I was responsible, that evening’s ceremony and its effects on me were very cheerful and beneficial.

But I still felt the peculiar disinclination and fear of taking up composing again that I had previously experienced after protracted pauses in musical production.  I also felt very much exhausted by all I had done and gone through, and the ever-recurring longing to break completely with everything in the past, that had unfortunately haunted me since my departure from Dresden, as well as the desire and yearning for new and untried surroundings, fostered by that anxiety, now acquired fresh and tormenting vigour.  I felt that before entering on such a gigantic task as the music to my drama of the Nibelungen, I must positively make one final effort to see whether I could not, in some new environment, attain an existence more in harmony with my feelings than I could possibly aspire to after so many compromises.  I planned a journey to Italy, or such parts of it as were open to me as a political refugee.  The means for carrying out my wish were readily placed at my disposal through the kindness of my friend Wesendonck, who has ever since that time been devoted to me.  However, I knew it was inadvisable to take that journey before the autumn, and as my doctor had recommended some special treatment for strengthening my nerves—­even if only to enjoy Italy—­I decided first of all to go to St. Moritz Bad in the Engadine.  I started in the latter half of July, accompanied by Herwegh.