He had a tiny orchestra, conducted by Täglichsbeck, whom I had met five years earlier in Paris, and who received me with open-hearted kindness.
It was most amusing to see me adapting my big orchestral works to this little band, but, by dint of patience and goodwill all round, we did wonders and gave King Lear, the Pilgrims’ March, the Ball Scene, and other excerpts in really good style.
Still, of course, I could not help longing for wider scope, and when the Prince came to compliment me, I said:
“Ah! I would give two years of my life if Your Highness could hear that with my Conservatoire orchestra.”
“Yes! yes!” he said. “I know that you have an imperial orchestra that calls you ‘Sire,’ while I am but a Highness. I mean to go to Paris and hear it one day—one day.”
After the concert we supped at his villa, and his charming brightness infected us all. Wishing me to hear a trio he had composed for piano, tenor, and ’cello, Täglichsbeck took the piano, the Prince the air, and I, amid laughter and applause, tried to sing the ’cello part. My high A simply brought down the house.
Two days later I returned to Stuttgart.
The snow was melting on the mourning pines, stained was the fair white mantle of the mountains—all was dreary and woe-worn—again at my heart gnawed the worm that dieth not——
The rest is silence.
To Franz Liszt.