he thought of
them now as dead and gone; and this certainty, this lack of suspense,
lightened his heart to such an extent that his manner was almost
buoyant. Realising the fact that he had spent nearly all of the large
sum of money he brought with him from Germany, he thought of his
future, his welfare. To do for others, he must first do for himself;
he must think of his music again; in short, he must earn a living. So,
after a light breakfast at Galazatti's, he took an inventory of his
available assets. They included some old music; some compositions
which he would now try to sell; a genuine Amati violin worth at least
three thousand dollars; a grand piano; one or two paintings; some
silverware, presents, and jewelry; and about eight hundred dollars in
cash.

Von Barwig was completely bewildered; he had purposely avoided meeting
musicians in New York and scarcely any one knew him; those who had
known him by reputation had now completely forgotten his existence. He
had not felt sufficient interest in affairs going on around him to
realise the state of musical art in America, so he scarcely knew how to
begin. It seemed like the commencement of a new life. The period was
that between Jenny Lind and Adelina Patti, and he soon realised that
musical art was at its lowest ebb. There were one or two ambitious
orchestra conductors in America; one in Chicago trying to introduce the
Wagnerian polyphonic school, and perhaps one or two in New York; but
the public clamoured after divas, prima donnas and tenors with
temperaments and vocal pyrotechnic skill. For orchestral music there
was little demand. Wagner was as yet unknown to the public--certainly
he was unheard except on the rarest occasions and the majority of
musicians did not like him because he was difficult to play.

So it happened that Von Barwig's compositions, which were of the modern
German school and rather heavy, did not find a ready market, in fact
they did not find a market at all. Day after day he would visit the
music stores with his music roll tucked under his arm. After a few
months the music publishers used to smile when they saw him coming into
their places of business, and shake their heads before he had a chance
even to show them his manuscripts. As time went on he came to be a
byword among them.

"Here comes poor old Von Barwig," they would say, and then they would
smile at his earnest face with its sad, longing expression and
sympathise