Dear, noble friend! He never saw the ribald nonsense written about my work; how one called my _Queen Mab_ music a badly-oiled squirt, how another--speaking of the _Love-Scene_, which musicians place in the forefront of my work--said I _did not understand Shakespeare_! Empty-headed toad, bursting with stupid self-importance! If you could prove that.... Never was I more deeply hurt by criticism, and yet none of these high priests of art deigned to point out the faults, which I thankfully corrected, when told of them. For instance, Ernst’s secretary, M. Frankoski, wrote from Vienna saying that the end of _Queen Mab_ was too abrupt; I therefore wrote the present coda and destroyed the original one. The criticisms of M. d’Ortigue I also appreciated. The rest of the alterations were my own. But the symphony is enormously difficult for the executants, both in form and style, and needs most careful, conscientious practice and perfect conducting--which means that none but first-rate artists in each department could possibly do it. For this reason it will never be given in London. They do not give enough time to rehearsals. The musicians there have no time for music.[16] XXV BRUSSELS--PARIS OPERA CONCERT _To_ FRANZ LISZT. “PARIS, _6th August 1839_.--I long, dear friend, to tell you all the musical news--at least all that I know. Not that you will find anything new in it. You must be quite _blasé_ with studying Italian modes of thought; they are dreadfully like Parisian ones. “I know you have not the heart to laugh at them, for you are not of those who find subject for mirth in the insults offered to our Muse--you would rather, at any cost, hide the blemishes upon her snowy robes and the woful rents in her shimmering veil of light. “So I will content myself with calmly stating facts and retailing news, whereby I can preserve a dignified quiet, and can simply deal out remarks without theorising. “The day before yesterday, as I was smoking a cigar in the Boulevard des Italiens, Batta caught me by the arm. “‘What are they up to in London?’ I asked. “‘Nothing whatever. They despise music and poetry and drama--everything. They go to the Italian Opera because the Queen goes, and that’s all. I feel quite thankful not to be out of pocket and to have been clapped at two or three concerts. That is all the British hospitality I can boast of. Even Artot, in spite of his Philharmonic success, was horribly bored.’ “‘And Doehler?’ “‘Bored also.’ “‘Thalberg?’ “‘Is cultivating the provinces.’ “‘Benedict----’ “‘Encouraged by the success of his first attempt, is writing an English opera.’ “‘Well, I’m off. Come to Hallé’s to-night, we are going to drink and have some music.’