In the chastened mood induced by these occurrences I pursued my journey to Karlsruhe, via Nuremberg and Stuttgart, under wretched conditions of severe cold and constant delays.  At Karlsruhe I was at once surrounded by various friends, who had come there on hearing of my project.  Richard Pohl from Baden, who never failed me, Mathilde Maier, Frau Betty Schott, the wife of my publisher; even Raff from Wiesbaden and Emilie Genast were there, as well as Karl Eckert, who had recently been appointed conductor at Stuttgart.  Trouble began at once with the vocalists for my first concert, fixed for 14th November, as the baritone, Hauser, who was to sing ‘Wotan’s Farewell’ and Hans Sachs’s ‘Cobbler Song,’ was ill and had to be replaced by a voiceless though well-drilled vaudeville singer.  In Eduard Devrient’s opinion this made no difference.  My relations with him were strictly official, but he certainly carried out my instructions for the arrangement of the orchestra very correctly.  From an orchestral point of view the concert went off so well that the Grand Duke, who received me very graciously in his box, desired a repetition in a week’s time.  To this proposal I raised serious objections, having learned by experience that the large attendances at such concerts, particularly at special prices, were mainly accounted for by the curiosity of the hearers, who often came from long distances; whereas the number of genuine students of art, whose interest was chiefly in the music, was but small.  But the Grand Duke insisted, as he wished to give his mother-in-law, Queen Augusta, whose arrival was expected within a few days, the pleasure of hearing my production.  I should have found it dreadfully wearisome to have to spend the intervening time in the solitude of my Karlsruhe hotel, but I received a kind invitation to Baden-Baden from Mme. Kalergis, who had just become Mme. Moukhanoff, and had gone to live there.  She had, to my delight, been one of. those who came over for the concert, and was now on the station to meet me when I arrived.  I felt I ought to decline her proffered escort into the town, not considering myself sufficiently smart in my ‘brigand-hat,’ but with the assurance, ‘We all wear these brigand-hats here,’ she took my arm, and thus we reached Pauline Viardot’s villa, where we were to dine, as my friend’s own house was not yet quite ready.  Seated by my old acquaintance, I was now introduced to the Russian poet Turgenieff.  Mme. Moukhanoff presented me to her husband with some hesitation, wondering what I should think of her marriage.  Supported by her companions, who were all society people, she exerted herself to maintain a fairly lively conversation during the time we were together.  Well satisfied by the admirable intention of my friend and benefactress, I again left Baden to fill up my time by a little trip to Zurich, where I again tried to get a few days’ rest in the house of the Wesendonck family.  The idea of assisting me did not seem even to dawn on these