No wonder that his success in a great ballad by Uhland (which bore no resemblance to the inanities we call ballads in Paris) was instantaneous and, as an encore, he gave a song that drove the audience almost frantic. If only he would learn French what a furore he would make in Paris! My reception by all in Vienna--even by my fellow-ploughmen, the critics--was most cordial; they treated me as a man and a brother, for which I am heartily grateful. After my third concert at a grand supper my friends presented me with a silver-gilt baton, and the Emperor sent me eleven hundred francs with the rather odd compliment, “Tell Berlioz I was really amused.” The rest of my doings, are they not written in the newspapers of the day? The first thing I did on leaving Vienna for Pesth was to get into trouble with the Danube, which, instead of remaining decently within its banks, chose to overflow and inundate that muddy Slough of Despond by courtesy called the Emperor’s highway. Only with an extra team of horses had we been able to make way even so far, but at midnight I was aroused from my resigned drowsiness by the stoppage of the carriage and the boiling of waters all round. The driver had gone straight into the river, and dared not stir a step. The water rose steadily. There was a Hungarian captain in the coupé who had spoken to me once or twice through the little window between us; it was my turn to speak now: “Captain!” “Sir?” “Don’t you think we are going to be drowned?” “Yes, I do. Have a cigar.” His calm insolent coolness made me long to smash his head in; in a fury I took his cigar and puffed violently. Still the water rose and the desperate driver turned, and at the risk of spilling us all in the river, climbed up the bank and took us straight-way--into a lake. This time I thought must be the end of all and I called out to the soldier: “Captain, have you another cigar?” “Yes, sir.” “Let me have it quick, for it’s all up with us now!” But it was not, for an honest country man passing by (where the devil could he have been going in such weather at such a time of night?) extricated us and gave our unhappy Phæton directions whereby we made our way to Pesth. At least it was a big town of which I asked my captain the name. “Buda,” said he. “What? In my map the town opposite Pesth is called Ofen. Look.” “Oh yes, that’s Buda. Ofen is the German name for it.” “H’m, I see. German maps are as cleverly arranged as French ones; but I think they might give us both names anyway.” On reaching Pesth I had a little pleasure party all to myself, in accordance with a promise made to myself while soaking in the Danube mud. I took a bath, drank two glasses of Tokay and slept twenty hours--not, however, without visions of boiling waters and lakes of mud. After which I set out on the war-path of concert-promoting, greatly helped by the kindness of Count Raday, superintendent of the National Theatre.