He has built a splendid music-room in the castle, with a musical library; the orchestra is composed of about fifty _musical_ musicians, and their conductor, M. Seifriz, is both patient and talented. They are not worried with lesson-giving, church or theatre work, but belong exclusively to the Prince. My rooms were close to the concert hall, and the first afternoon, at four, a servant came to say: “Monsieur, the orchestra awaits you.” There I found the forty-five silent artists, instruments in hand and all in tune!! They rose courteously to receive me, _King Lear_ was on the desk, I raised my baton and everything went with spirit, smoothness, and precision, so that--not having heard the piece for ten or twelve years--I said to myself in amazement: “It is tremendous! Can I really have written it?” The rest was just as good, and I said to the players: “Gentlemen, to rehearse with you is simply a farce; I have not a single objection to make.” The Kapellmeister played the viola solo of _Harold_ perfectly (in the other pieces he returned to his violin), and I can truly say that never have I heard it more perfectly done. And ah! how they sang the _adagio_ of _Romeo_! We were transported to Verona, Löwenberg was gone. At the end Seifriz rose and, after waiting a moment to conquer his emotion, cried in French: “There is nothing finer in music!” Then the orchestra burst into storms of applause, and I bit my lip.... Messengers passed constantly back and forth to the poor Prince in his bed to report progress, but nothing consoled him for his absence. Every few minutes during dinner he would either send for me or a big, powdered lacquey would bring me a pencilled note on a silver salver. Sometimes I would spend half an hour at his bedside and listen to his praises. He knows all that I have written, both prose and music. On the day of the concert a brilliant audience filled the hall; by their enthusiasm one could see that my music was an old friend. After the _Pilgrim’s March_ an officer came on to the platform and pinned on my coat the cross of Hohenzollern. The secret had been so well guarded that I had not the slightest idea of such an honour. But it pleased me so greatly that, just for my own satisfaction, and without thought of the public, I played the orgie from _Harold_ in my very own style--furiously--so that it made me grind my teeth. I might say much more of this charming interlude of my life, but I must only mention the exquisite cordiality of the Prince’s circle and particularly of the family of Colonel Broderotti, whose perfect French was a real relief to me, since I dislike to hear my own language badly spoken yet know no German. As I took leave of the Prince he embraced me, saying: “You are going to Paris, my dear Berlioz, where many love you. Tell them I love them for it.” But I must go back to _Beatrice_.