During the festivities of every kind which they got up in our honor, they arranged for a gala spectacle, a great performance at the Théâtre Royal in Budapest. Delibes and I were both asked to conduct an act from one of our works. When I reached the orchestra, amid hurrahs from the audience, only in Hungary they shout, "Elyen," I found on the desk the score ... of the first act of _Coppelia_, when I had expected to find before me the third act of _Hérodiade_ for me to conduct. So much the worse! There was no help for it and I had to beat time--from memory. The plot thickened. [Illustration: The Forum from the First Act of Roma. _See page 300_] When Delibes, who had received the same honors that I had, saw the third act of _Hérodiade_ on his desk, with me rejoining my companions in the audience, he presented a unique spectacle. My poor dear great friend mopped his brow, turned this way and that, drew long breaths, begged the Hungarian musicians--who didn't understand a word he said--to give him the right score, but all in vain. He had to conduct from memory. This seemed to exasperate him, but Delibes, the adorable musician, was far above a little difficulty like that. After this entertainment we were all present at an immense banquet where naturally enough toasts were de rigeur. I offered one to that great musician, Franz Liszt--Hungary was honored in giving him birth. When Delibes's turn came, I suggested to him that I collaborate in his speech as we had done at the Opéra with our scores. I spoke for him; he spoke for me. The result was a succession of incoherent phrases which were received by the frantic applause of our compatriots and by the enthusiastic "Elyens" of the Hungarians. I will add that Delibes and I, like all the rest, were in a state of delightful intoxication, for the marvellous vineyards of Hungary are verily those of the Lord himself. Something must be the matter with one's head, if he does not enjoy the charm of those wines with their voluptuous, heady bouquet. Four o'clock in the morning! We were, as ordered, in evening dress (indeed we had not changed it) and ready to go to lay wreaths on the tomb of the forty Hungarian martyrs who had died to free their country. But through all these mad follies, all these distractions, and impressive ceremonies, I was thinking of the rehearsals of _Le Cid_ which were waiting for my return to Paris. When I got back, I found another souvenir of Hungary, a letter from the author of _La Messe du Saint Graal_, the precursor of _Parsifal_: "Most Honored Confrère: "The Hungarian _Gazette_ informs me that you have testified benevolently in my favor at the French banquet at Budapest. Sincere thanks and constant cordiality. "F. Liszt." 26 August, '85. Weimar.