last out until 1836, when he wrote the work at
Koenigsberg. Or it may be that he had forgotten all about the Poles
till he got into the vicinity of their dismembered country. Richard
himself confesses to leading a dissipated life during this period; but
probably he exaggerated when in after years he began to realize the
brevity of life and to regret wasted hours. His guide, counsellor,
friend, and, I doubt not, inspirer of most of his great achievements,
Praeger, tells a fine story of this part of his life; and one can have
no hesitation in calling it a pack of lies. On the other hand, forger
though he was, Praeger is quite as worthy of credence as those writers
who want us to believe that Wagner as a boy of fourteen had a fully
developed character and clearly foresaw the _Ring_ and _Tristan_ as
things before him, only waiting to be accomplished. Richard was still
a boy, impulsive to the point of madness, a hotheaded fanatic, with
his character still in the making, his artistic purposes neither
defined nor capable of being defined. He was not yet a great man. But
he had the makings of a great man in him; and in the meantime it is
much that he gained the affection of most of the people he came
across. In fact it was as true now as ever it was in later life that
of those with whom he came in contact most became his friends and the
rest his enemies: few could disregard him or remain indifferent.

His apprenticeship was by no means run out in 1832. He had written and
heard performed some overtures, and he set to work and completed the
big Symphony in C major, "in the style of Beethoven"; and this done he
went for a holiday and to gain some little experience in Vienna. That
he could afford such a trip, when at the age of nineteen he could not
contribute a penny to the household expenses, bears out what I have
said about the assistance he received from his family. He contributed
nothing, and, considering his headstrong temper, only a courageous or
reckless man would have prophesied that he would ever be able to
contribute anything. However, to Vienna he went, and heard
_Zampa_--many more times than he wished. He heard Strauss' waltzes and
liked them; he saw Raymund's forgotten achievements and waxed eloquent
about them too. He seems to have learnt nothing but a lively contempt
for a frivolous people who had forgotten how lately Beethoven had died
amongst them--only five years before; a people who danced and made
merry and wen