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. 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. “You, my dear Liszt, know nothing of the uncertainties of the wandering musician. You never have a moment’s anxiety as to whether, when you get to a town, there will be a decent orchestra or a theatre ready for you. To parody Louis XIV. you can say: “‘Orchestra, chorus, conductor are myself.’