I was astounded, for with two rehearsals the whole thing was done.
It would have been grand had not illness on the day of the concert taken away half my violins and left me with four firsts and four seconds to fight that mass of wind and percussion. It was the more harrowing, in that the King and Court were there in full force; still it was intelligent and sympathetic, and the audience applauded everything warmly except the Pilgrim’s March from Harold, which fell flat. I found it do so again when I separated it from the rest of the symphony, which shows what a mistake it is to divide up some compositions.
After the concert I was congratulated by the King, by Prince Jerome Bonaparte and by Count Niepperg, but I am afraid Lindpaintner, whose approval was more to me than all, hated everything but the overture. I am sure Dr Schilling found it hideous and was quite ashamed of having introduced such a musical free-lance to his quiet town.
However, being Councillor of State to the Prince of Hohenzollern-Hechingen, he wrote and told His Highness of the savage he had in tow, thinking that the said savage would find a more appropriate setting in the wilds of the Black Forest than in civilised Stuttgart.
The savage therefore—receiving a cordial invitation from the Prince’s Privy Councillor, Baron de Billing—and being avid of new sensations, took his way through the snow and the great pine woods to the little town of Hechingen, without in the least troubling about what he should do when he got there.
I never recall this Black Forest journey without a medley of pleasant, sad, sweet and troubled remembrances that strangely stir my heart. The double mourning—white of the snow and black of the trees—spread over the mountains; the cold wind’s dreary moan among the shivering, restless pines; the ceaseless gnawing of sorrow at my heart, grown stronger in this solitude, the bitter cold, then the arrival at Hechingen, bright faces, gracious prince, fêtes, concerts, laughter, promises to meet in Paris, then—good-bye—and once more the darkness and the cold!
Ah! what do I suffer even yet! What demon started me thinking of it? But that is my way—without apparent cause, I am tormented, possessed, just as in certain electric states of the air the leaves rustle without wind.
But back to Hechingen. The ruler of this minute principality was an intellectual young man who seemed to have but two objects in life—to make his people happy and to worship music.
Can one imagine a more perfect existence?
His subjects adored him and music loved him, for he understood her both as poet and musician, and had composed some touching songs.