“If I possibly can, I will see you this summer. I am going to Geneva and Grenoble.
To Louis Berlioz.
“Paris, 28th June 1865.—I hardly know why I am writing, for I have nothing to say. Your letter troubles me greatly. Now you say you dread being captain; you have no confidence in yourself, yet you wish to be appointed.
“You want a home instead of your quiet room; you want to marry—but not an ordinary woman. It is all easy to understand, but you must not shrink from the duties that alone will ensure your gaining your end.
“You are thirty-two, and if you do not realise the responsibility of life now, you never will.
“You need money; I can give you none; I find it difficult to make ends meet as it is. I will leave you what my father left me, perhaps a little more—but I cannot tell you when I shall die.
“In any case it must be ere long.
“So do not speak to me of desires I cannot satisfy.
“I, too, wish I had a fortune. First, that I might share it with you; and next, that I might travel and have my works performed.
“Remember, if you were married you would be a hundred times worse off than you are now. Take warning from me.