the genuine from the spurious, trivial pedantry from sterling worth, while the orchestra—­out of regard for its real master and despot Costa, who can dismiss and appoint the musicians according to his will—­always limited its applause to the smallest and least compromising measure.  This time, at the leavetaking, it broke through all restraint.  The musicians rose solemnly, and together with the whole thickly packed hall, began a storm of applause so continuous that I really felt awkward.  After that the band crowded round me to shake hands, and even some ladies and gentlemen of the public held out their hands to me, which I had to press warmly.  In this manner my absurd London expedition finally took the character of a triumph for me, and I was pleased at least to observe the independence of the public which this time it showed towards the critics.  A triumph in my sense was, of course, out of the question.  In the best possible case I cannot really be known in the concert room, and that best possible case--I mean performances fully realising my intentions—­could not be achieved, owing principally to want of time.  In consequence, I always retained a bitter feeling of degradation, increased by the fact that I was compelled to conduct whole programmes of monstrous length, and put together in the most tasteless and senseless manner.  That I did conduct these concerts to the end was done entirely out of regard for my wife and a few friends, who would have been grieved very much by the consequences of my sudden departure from London.  I am glad that the matter has been carried through, at least with favourable appearances; with the Queen I was really pleased, and to individual friends I have given great pleasure; that must suffice.  The New Philharmonic would like to have me next year; what more can I desire?

One real gain I bring back from England—­the cordial and genuine friendship which I feel for Berlioz, and which we have mutually concluded.  I heard a concert of the New Philharmonic under his direction, and was, it is true, little edified by his performance of Mozart’s “G.  Minor Symphony,” while the very imperfect execution of his “Romeo and Juliet” symphony made me pity him.  A few days afterwards we two were the only guests at Sainton’s table; he was lively, and the progress in French which I have made in London, permitted me to discuss with him for five hours all the problems of art, philosophy, and life in a most fascinating conversation.  In that manner I gained a deep sympathy for my new friend; he appeared to me quite different from what he had done before.  We discovered suddenly that we were in reality fellow-sufferers, and I thought, upon the whole, I was happier than Berlioz.  After my last concert he and the other few friends I have in London called on me; his wife also came.  We remained together till three o’clock in the morning, and took leave with the warmest embraces.  I told him that you were going to visit me in September, and asked him to meet you at my house.  The money question seemed to be his chief difficulty, and I am sure he would like to come.  Let him know exactly when you will be here.