“SIR,--As luck would have it, I came to Paris for one day only, the very one upon which you presented my _Tempest_ to the public. I was at the Châtelet. I heard it, and hasten to thank you for the kind and flattering attention bestowed on my music, and for your fine interpretation of my difficult and ungrateful work. I also send my hearty thanks to the members of your splendid orchestra for the trouble they took to interpret every detail of the score in the most artistic way. “As to the feeble applause and somewhat energetic hisses with which the public greeted my unlucky _Tempest_, they affected me deeply, but did not surprise me--I expected them. If a certain degree of prejudice against our Muscovite barbarity had something to do with this, the intrinsic defects of the work itself are also to blame. The form is diffuse and lacking in proportion. In any case the performance which, as I have said, was excellent, has nothing to do with the failure of the work. “I should certainly have gone round to shake hands with you and express my gratitude in person, had not the state of my health prevented my doing so. I am only passing through Paris. I am obliged therefore, dear sir, to have recourse to my pen, in order to convey to you my thanks. Rest assured that my gratitude will not be effaced from my heart. “Your devoted “P. T.” In publishing this letter, the _Gazette Musicale_ preceded it by a few lines in praise of “this rare witness to the noble and sincere modesty of a composer.” _To N. F. von Meck._ “PARIS, _February_ 27_th_ (_March_ 11_th_), 1879. “For the first time in my life I have read Rousseau’s _Confessions_. I do not know if I ought to recommend the book to you, supposing you have never read it, for side by side with passages of genius, it contains much cynical information which makes it almost unfit for a woman to read. Nevertheless I cannot help admiring the astonishing strength and beauty of style, as well as the true and profound analysis of the human soul. Apart from this, I find an indescribable delight in recognising features in my own character which I have never met with before in any literary work, and which are here described with extraordinary subtlety. For instance, he explains why, being a clever man, he never succeeds in giving any impression of his cleverness when in society. He speaks of his misanthropical tendencies, and of the unbearable necessity of keeping up forced conversations, when, in order to keep the ball rolling, one is obliged to pour forth empty words which in no way express the result of intellectual work, or spiritual impulse. How subtle and true are his remarks upon the scourge of social life.”