My situation was, as I now saw plainly, quite hopeless, for every one seemed to have deserted me.  A few years back I might, in a similar case, have flattered myself that Liszt would be pleased to have me at Weimar during the period of waiting, but if I returned to Germany just now I should only have to look on at the dismantling of the house—­to which I have already alluded.  My chief concern, then, was to find a friendly shelter somewhere.  It was with this sole end in view that I turned to the Grand Duke of Baden, who had shortly before greeted me with such kindness and sympathy.  I wrote him a beseeching letter, urging him to consider my necessitous condition.  I pointed out that what I wanted, above all, was an asylum, however modest, and implored him to provide me with one in or near Karlsruhe, by securing me a pension of two thousand four hundred marks.  Judge of my surprise on receiving a reply, not in the Grand Duke’s own hand, but only signed by him, to the effect that if my request were granted, it would probably mean that I would interfere with the management of the theatre, and, as a very natural result, discussions would ensue with the director (my old friend E. Devrient, who was now doing splendidly).  As the Grand Duke would in any such case feel obliged to act in the interests of justice, ’possibly to my disadvantage,’ as he put it, he must, after mature consideration, regretfully decline to accede to my request.

Princess Meternich, who had suspected my embarrassment on that score also when I left Paris, had given me a warm recommendation to Count Nako and his family in Vienna, referring me with particular emphasis to his wife.  Now I had made the acquaintance through Standhartner, during the short time before he left me, of young Prince Rudolph Liechtenstein—­known to his friends as Rudi.  His doctor, with whom he was very intimate, had spoken of him to me in the most flattering way as being a passionate admirer of my music.  I often met him at meal times at the ‘Erzherzog Karl,’ after Standhartner had joined his family, and we planned a visit to Count Nako on his estate at Schwarzau, some distance away.  The journey was made in the most comfortable fashion, partly by rail, in the company of the Prince’s young wife.  They introduced me to the Nakos at Schwarzau.  The Count proved to be a particularly handsome man, while his wife was more of a cultured gipsy, whose talent for painting was evidenced in striking fashion by the gigantic copies of Van Dyck resplendent on the walls.  It was more painful to hear her amuse herself at the piano, where she gave faithful renderings of gipsy music, which, she said, Liszt failed to do.  The music to Lohengrin seemed to have prepossessed them all very much in my favour, and this appreciation was confirmed by other magnates who were visiting there, among them being Count Edmund Zichy, whom I had known in Venice.  I was thus able to observe the character of unconstrained Hungarian