“Only a series of miracles—Paganini’s gift, my tour in Russia, etc., saved me from the most ghastly privations.
“Miracles are rare, else were they not miracles.
“Your letter has no ending. I feel as if you had suddenly realised the meaning of the world, society, pleasure, and pain.
“14th July 1865.—Yes, dear Louis, let us chat whenever we can. Your letter was most welcome, for yesterday life was hideous.
“I went out and wandered up and down the Boulevards des Italiens and des Capucines, until at half-past eight I felt hungry.
“I went into the Café Cardinal, and there found Balfe, the Irish composer, who asked me to dinner.
“Afterwards we went to the Grand Hotel, where he is staying, and I smoked an excellent cigar—which, all the same, made me ill this morning.
“We talked and talked of Shakespeare, whom he says he has only really understood during the last ten or twelve years.
“I never read the papers, so tell me where you saw those nice things you quote about me.
“Do you know that Liszt has become an abbé?