“I feel that I am dying; I believe in nothing; but I long to see you, you might perhaps cheer me up—you and Cui. I am beyond measure bored and weary. All my friends are away in the country or shooting. They ask me to go and visit them, but I have not the spirit.
“Write, I beg; as shortly as you will, but write! I still feel the effects of my Monaco and Nice accidents.
“If you are in St Petersburg write me even six lines, I shall be so grateful.
“You are so kind; show it now.
“I press your hands.”
Berlioz lived seven months longer.
On returning from Russia he consulted a physician who asked:
“Are you a philosopher?”
“Then gather all the courage you can from philosophy, for you are incurable.”