He has twelve thousand!  I brought out my little collection very shyly—­it was so insignificant beside his.  We passed two hours going through the two collections.  He left six thousand duplicates with me to look over and chose from, so my collection was enriched by one thousand new specimens.  He told me he had inherited a whole collection from his uncle, the King of Rumania.  He came to drink with us, and was always most amiable.  He does not play cards, nor is he musical in any way, therefore conversation was our only resource.  I brought in all my animals and put them through their tricks; the parrot played up wonderfully.  He followed me about the room, sat on my shoulder, sang, and whistled.  What amused people most was, when I sang “Medje,” a very sentimental song, he imitated a rire-fou which seemed so inappropriate that every one was convulsed with laughter.  Then I showed my doves, which were pronounced “perfect darlings.”  My seven dogs did their best to amuse us.  The parrot ran after them and bit their tails, which the dogs did not resent in the least.

Prince Friedrich Wilhelm of Prussia also dined with us—­a very formal dinner.  He is rather serious for such a young man.  He is tall and thin, and in his high, buttoned-to-the-chin uniform he looks even taller than he really is.  He is very musical, and brought his violin and several books of music.  He only approves of Bach, Beethoven, and Mozart in his severer moods.  He likes Bach best of all.  He plays very correctly, one might say without a fault, but I have heard violinists who play with more brio.  He listened with kindness to a young Danish girl who executed a dashing solo by Brahms divinely, and nodded his head in approval when she had finished.  The Prince was begged to play several times, and he went through the entire repertoire of sonatas he had brought with him.  The guests were immensely pleased, and the soiree was very successful.

His brother, Prince Joachim Albrecht, is also a very good musician, but differs radically from Prince Wilhelm.  He plays the violoncello very well, and favors modern music.  He composes ballads, and leads his own regimental orchestra.  He is as jolly and unconventional as his brother is reserved and grave.  When he dines with us he brings his violoncello, and I accompany him on my piano.  He composed two very pretty and successful ballets, both given for charity.  The first one was danced by Frederikke and two other girls and three young officers.  It was called “La Lecon de Danse.”  On the top of the program, instead of the English device, “Honi soit qui mal y pense,” I put “Honi soit qui mal y danse” in the same shield.  Hardly any one in the German audience saw the joke—­nothing more than that it was a druckfehler (printer’s error).  The rehearsals were in my salon, and we had great amusement over them.  The second ballet was more pretentious, and was danced in one of the largest