“M. Berlioz, shake hands with me and remember my theatre is always open to you.” M. de Lüttichau, superintendent to the King of Saxony, has offered me the post of director when it shall be vacant. Liszt strongly advises me to accept, but I cannot say. Time enough to decide when the place is at my disposal. At present in Dresden they talk of reviving _Benvenuto Cellini_, which Liszt has already given in Weimar, and of course I should have to go and superintend the first performances. Blessed Germany, nursing mother of Art; generous England; Russia, my saviour; good friends in France, and you--noble hearts of all nations whom I have known--I thank and bless you all; your memory will be my comfort to my latest hour. As for you, idiots and blind! You, my Guildenstern, Rosencrantz, Iago and Osric! You, crawling worms of all kinds! Farewell, my friends--I scorn you; may you be forgotten ere I die! _Note._--This was originally the ending of Berlioz’ _Mémoires_, but his correspondence was voluminous after this date and he also added some chapters to his Life. _To_ AUGUSTE MOREL. “_June 1855._--You ask me to describe my _Te Deum_, which is rather embarrassing. I can only say that its effect both on the performers and myself was stupendous. Its immeasurable grandeur and breadth struck everyone, and you can understand that the _Tibi omnes_ and _Judex_ would have even more effect in a less sonorous hall than the church of St Eustache. “I start for England on Friday. Wagner, who is directing the old London Philharmonic (a post I was obliged to refuse, being engaged by the other society) is buried beneath the vituperations of the whole British press. He remains calm, for he says that _in fifty years he will be master of the musical world_.” “_July._--“My trip to London, where, each time, I become more comfortably established, was a brilliant success. “I mean to go back next winter after a prospective short tour through Austria and Bohemia--at least if we are not at war with Austria.” “I do nothing but correct proofs from morning to night, and see, hear, know nothing.” “Meyerbeer ought to be pleased with the reception of the _Etoile du Nord_ at Covent Garden. They threw him bouquets, as though he were a prima-donna.” _To_ RICHARD WAGNER. “_September 1855._--Your letter has given me real pleasure. You do well to deplore my ignorance of German, and I have often told myself that, as you say, this ignorance makes it impossible for me to appreciate your writings. Expression melts away in translation, no matter how daintily it is handled.” “In _true music_ there are accents that belong to special words, separated they are spoilt.” “But what can I do? I find it so devilishly hard to learn languages; a few words of English and Italian are all I can manage.”