und it impossible
because of his debts. Not to be turned from his purpose, he, Minna and
the great Newfoundland dog, his pet companion, all slipped away from
Riga at night and in disguise. At the port of Pillau the trio embarked
on a sailing vessel for Paris, the object of all his hopes. The
young composer carried with him one opera and half of a second
work--"Rienzi," which he had written during the years of struggle in
Magdeburg and Koenigsberg. In Riga he had come upon Heine's version
of the Flying Dutchman legend, and the sea voyage served to make the
story more vital.

He writes: "This voyage I shall never forget as long as I live; it
lasted three weeks and a half, and was rich in mishaps. Thrice we
endured the most violent storms, and once the captain had to put
into a Norwegian haven. The passage among the crags of Norway made a
wonderful impression on my fancy, the legends of the Flying Dutchman,
as told by the sailors, were clothed with distinct and individual
color, heightened by the ocean adventures through which we passed."

After stopping a short time in London, the trio halted for several
weeks in Boulogne, because the great Meyerbeer was summering there.
Wagner met the influential composer and confided his hopes and
longings. Meyerbeer received the poor young German kindly, praised his
music, gave him several letters to musicians in power in Paris, but
told him persistence was the most important factor in success.

With a light heart, and with buoyant trust in the future, though
with little money for present necessities, Wagner and his companions
arrived in Paris in September, 1839. Before him lay, if he had but
known it, two years and a half of bitter hardship and privation;
but--"out of trials and tribulations are great spirits molded."

There were many noted musicians in the French capital at that time,
and many opportunities for success. The young German produced his
letters of introduction and received many promises of assistance from
conductors and directors. Delighted with his prospects he located in
the "heart of elegant and artistic Paris," without regarding cost.

Soon the skies clouded; one hope after another failed. His
compositions were either too difficult for conductors to grasp, or
theaters failed on which he depended for assistance. He became in
great distress and could not pay for the furniture of the apartment,
which he had bought on credit. It was now that he turned to writing
fo