“I have had no letter from Geneva, but I did not expect one. When one comes my heart lightens and my spirits rise.
“My poor, dear boy. What should I do without you?
“Can you believe that I always loved you, even when you were tiny? I, who find it so difficult to like little children!
“There was always some attraction that drew me to you.
“It weakened when you got to the stupid stage and were a hobbledehoy. Since then it has come back, has increased, and now, as you know, I love you, and my love grows daily.”
To H. Ferrand.
“17th January 1866.—I am alone in the chimney corner writing to you.
“I was greatly excited this morning by the manager of the Théâtre Lyrique, who has asked me to supervise his intended revival of Armida. It will hardly suit his pettifogging world.
“Madame Charton-Demeurs, who undertakes the overpowering rôle of Armida, comes every day to rehearse with M. Saint-Saëns, a great pianist, a great musician, who knows his Gluck almost as well as I do.
“It is curious to see the poor lady floundering blindly in the sublime, and to watch the gradually dawning light.