He was never found on the street without a small note-book in which he was wont to record his passing ideas. Whenever conversation turned on the subject he would parody Joan of Arc’s words: “I dare not come without my banner!”--and he adhered to his self-given rule with unparalleled tenacity; although otherwise a truly admirable disorder prevailed in his household. Books and music were scattered in every corner; here the remnants of a cold luncheon; here sealed or half-emptied bottles; here upon a stand the hurried sketches of a quartet; here the remains of a déjeuner; there on the pianoforte, on scribbled paper the material for a glorious symphony still slumbering in embryo; here a proof-sheet awaiting salvation; friendly and business letters covering the floor; between the windows a respectable loaf of strachino, ~ad latus~ a considerable ruin of a genuine Veronese salami--yet despite this varied mess our master had a habit, quite contrary to the reality, of proclaiming his accuracy and love of order on all occasions with Ciceronian eloquence. Only when it became necessary to spend days, hours, sometimes weeks, in finding something necessary and all efforts remained fruitless, did he adopt a different tone, and the innocent were made to bear the blame. “Yes, yes,” was the complaint, “that’s a misfortune! Nothing is permitted to remain where I put it; everything is moved about; everything is done to vex me; O men, men!” But his servants knew the good-natured grumbler; let him growl to his heart’s content, and--in a few minutes all would be forgotten, until another occasion brought with it a renewal of the scene. He often made merry over his illegible handwriting and excused himself by saying: “Life is too short to paint letters or notes; and prettier notes would scarcely help me out of needs.”[46] The whole forenoon, from the first ray of light till the meal hour, was devoted to mechanical labor, i. e., to transcribing; the rest of the day was given to thought and the ordering of ideas. Hardly had he put the last bit in his mouth before he began his customary promenade, unless he had some other excursion ~in petto~; that is to say, he hurried in double-quick time several times around the city, as if urged on by a goad; and this, let the weather be what it might. And his hearing--how was it with that?