of the inconceivable shallowness of all the officials connected with the head authority.  He told me of the extraordinary fate which had befallen a scheme he had brought to the notice of the King for founding a school of music.  In a special audience the King had gone into the matter with the greatest interest, and noticed the minutest detail, so that Marx felt justified in entertaining the strongest possible hopes of success.  However, all his labours and negotiations about the business, in the course of which he was driven from pillar to post, proved utterly futile, until at last he was told to have an interview with a certain general.  This personage, like the King, had Marx’s proposals explained to him in the minutest detail, and expressed his warmest sympathy with the undertaking.  ‘And there,’ said Marx, at the end of this long rigmarole, ’the matter ended, and I never heard another word about it.’

One day I learned that Countess Rossi, the renowned Henriette Sontag, who was living in quiet seclusion in Berlin, had pleasant recollections of me in Dresden, and wished me to visit her.  She had at this time already fallen into the unfortunate position which was so detrimental to her artistic career.  She too complained bitterly of the general apathy of the influential classes in Berlin, which effectually prevented any artistic aims from being realised.  It was her opinion that the King found a sort of satisfaction in knowing that the theatre was badly managed, for though he never opposed any criticisms which he received on the subject, he likewise never supported any proposal for its improvement.  She expressed a wish to know something of my latest work, and I gave her my poem of Lohengrin for perusal.  On the occasion of my next morning call she told me she would send me an invitation to a musical evening which she was going to have at her house in honour of the Grand Duke of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, her elderly patron, and she also gave me back the manuscript of Lohengrin, with the assurance that it had appealed to her very much, and that while she was reading it she had often seen the little fairies and elves dancing about in front of her.  As in the old days I had been heartily encouraged by the warm and friendly sympathy of this naturally cultured woman, I now felt as if cold water had been suddenly poured down my back.  I soon took my leave, and never saw her again.  Indeed, I had no particular object in doing so, as the promised invitation never came.  Herr E. Kossak also sought me out, and although our acquaintance did not lead to much, I was sufficiently kindly received by him to give him my poem of Lohengrin to read.  I went one day by appointment to see him, and found that his room had just been scrubbed with boiling water.  The steam from this operation was so unbearable that it had already given him a headache, and was not less disagreeable to me.  He looked into my face with an almost tender expression when he gave me back the manuscript of my poem, and assured me, in accents which admitted of no doubt of his sincerity, that he thought it ‘very pretty.’