“January 1858.—Perhaps you have heard that a band of ruffians surrounded the Emperor’s carriage as he went to the opera. They threw a bomb that killed and wounded both men and horses, but, by great good luck, did not touch the Emperor; and the charming Empress did not lose her head for a moment. The courage and presence of mind of both were perfect.
“I have just had a long letter from M. von Bulow, Liszt’s son-in-law, who married Mlle. Cosima. He tells me that he performed my Cellini overture with the greatest success at a Berlin concert. He is one of the most fervent disciples of that crazy school of the ‘Music of the Future,’ as they call it in Germany.”
“They stick to it, and want me to be their leader and standard-bearer, but I write nothing, say nothing, but just let them go their way. Good sense will teach reasonable people the truth.”
“May 1858.—The foreign mail leaves to-morrow, and I must have a chat with you, dear Louis. I long for news. Are you well? happy?
“Here we are rather miserable. I am somewhat better, but my wife is nearly always in bed and in pain.”
“November 1860.—Dear Boy,—Here is a hundred-franc note. Be sure to acknowledge it. I am thankful you are better. I, too, think my disease is wearing itself out. I am certainly better since I gave up remedies. Ideas for my little opera throng in so fast that I cannot find time to write; sometimes I begin a new one before I finish the old.”
“You ask how I manage to crowd Shakespeare’s five acts into one. I have taken only one subject from the play—the part in which Beatrice and Benedict, who detest each other, are mutually persuaded of each other’s love, whereby they are inspired with true passion. The idea is really comic.”
“14th February 1861.—It worries me to hear of your state of mind.
“I cannot imagine what dreams have made your present life so impossible. All I can say is that I was, at your age, far from being as well off as you are.