“PARIS, _28th June 1865_.--I hardly know why I am writing, for I have nothing to say. Your letter troubles me greatly. Now you say you _dread_ being captain; you have no confidence in yourself, yet you wish to be appointed. “You want a home instead of your quiet room; you want to marry--but not an ordinary woman. It is all easy to understand, but you must not shrink from the duties that alone will ensure your gaining your end. “You are thirty-two, and if you do not realise the responsibility of life now, you never will. “You need money; I can give you none; I find it difficult to make ends meet as it is. I will leave you what my father left me, perhaps a little more--but I cannot tell you when I shall die. “In any case it must be ere long. “So do not speak to me of desires I cannot satisfy. “I, too, wish I had a fortune. First, that I might share it with you; and next, that I might travel and have my works performed. “Remember, if you were married you would be a hundred times worse off than you are now. Take warning from me. “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? “You shall have a stitched copy of my _Mémoires_ as soon as I get one, but I must have your solemn promise not to let it out of your own hands, and to return it when you have read it.” _To_ M. AND MME DAMCKE.[32] “HÔTEL DE LA MÉTROPOLE, GENEVA, _22nd August 1865_.--Dear Friends,--I only write lest you should think yourselves forgotten. You know I do not easily forget, and, if I did, I could never lose remembrance of such friends as you. “I am strangely and indescribably agitated here.