“1. _As regards Russian music...._ What could I have done, under the circumstances, to interest the Parisians in our music? How could I (unless funds were forthcoming) arrange concerts and evenings for chamber music? What a poor figure I should have cut beside the other delegates, who were well supplied with money! But even had funds been forthcoming, what could I have done? Can I conduct anything? I might have beaten time to my own compositions, but I could not fill up the programmes with my works. I must, on the contrary, have put them aside in order to bring forward the compositions of Glinka, Dargomijsky, Serov, Rimsky-Korsakov, Cui, and Borodin. And for all this I should have had to prepare myself, unless I risked bringing disgrace upon Russian music. That I should have disgraced it is certain. Then all Russia would have blamed me afterwards, and with justification. I do not deny the fact that a man of temperament, skill, and talent for organisation could do much. But you know that apart from my speciality I am a useless sort of being. So, you see, I should have been of _no service to Russian music_, even if the Government had allowed me sufficient money to carry out any plans. “2. _As concerns myself...._ I must say that the idea of making the acquaintance of the Parisian musical lights seemed to me the most terrible part of the business. To make myself amiable and pay court to all the ragtag and bobtail is not in my line. Pride shows itself in many different ways. In my case it takes the form of avoiding all contact with people who do not know or appreciate my worth. For instance, it would be unbearable to have to stand humbly before Saint-Saëns and to be honoured by his gracious condescension, when in my heart of hearts I feel myself _as far above him as the Alps_. In Paris my self-respect (which is very great in spite of my apparent modesty) would suffer hourly from having to mix with all kinds of celebrities who would look down upon me. To bring my works to their notice, to convince them that I am of some consequence--this is impossible to me.... Now let us leave the question of my own reputation and speak of my health. Physically I feel very well, at any rate better than could be expected; but mentally I am still far from sound. In a word, I am on the verge of insanity. I can only live in an atmosphere of complete quiet, quite away from all the turmoil of great cities. In order that you may realise how changed I am, let me tell you that now I spit--yes, spit upon the thought of all success or notoriety abroad. I beg and pray one thing only: to be let alone. I would gladly be dropped in some remote desert, if I could thus avoid contact with my fellow-men.... I cannot live without work, and when I can no longer