“So now back to bed. A thousand greetings.” _To_ M. EDOUARD ALEXANDRE. “ST PETERSBURG, _15th December 1867_.--Dear friends,--How kind of you to send me your news; it seems neglectful of me not to have done the same ere this. “I am loaded with favour by everyone--from the Grand Duchess down to the least member of the orchestra. “They found out that the 11th was my birthday and sent me delightful presents. In the evening I was asked to a banquet of a hundred and fifty guests where, as you may imagine, I was well toasted. Both public and press are most eulogistic. At the second concert I was recalled six times after the _Symphonie Fantastique_, which was executed with tremendous spirit and the last part of which was encored. “What an orchestra! what _ensemble_! what precision! I wonder if Beethoven ever heard anything like it. In spite of my pain, as soon as I reach the conductor’s desk and am surrounded by these sympathetic souls, I revive and I believe am conducting now as I never did before. “Yesterday we did the second act of _Orfeo_, the _C. minor Symphony_ and my _Carnaval Romain_. All was grandly done. The girl who sang Orfeo in Russian had an unequalled voice and sang well too. “These poor Russians only knew Gluck from mutilated fragments, so you may imagine my pleasure in drawing aside the curtain that hid his mighty genius. “In a fortnight we are to do the first act of _Alcestis_. The Grand Duchess has ordered that I am to be implicitly obeyed; I do not abuse her order, but I use it. “She has asked me to go some day and read her _Hamlet_, and the other day I happened to speak to her ladies-in-waiting, in her presence, of Saint-Victor’s book and now they are all rushing off to buy and admire _Hommes et Dieux_. “Here they love the beautiful; they live for literature and music; they have within them a constant flame that makes them lose consciousness of the frost and the snow. “Why am I so old, so worn-out? “Good-bye all. I love you and press your hands.” _To_ M. AND MME MASSART. “ST PETERSBURG, _22/10 December 1867_.--Dear Madame Massart,--I am ill with eighteen horse power; I cough like six donkeys with the glanders; yet, before I retire to bed, I want to write to you. “All goes well here. “At the fifth concert I want to give Beethoven’s _Choral Symphony_, at least the first three parts, I am afraid to risk the vocal part as I am not sufficiently sure of my chorus. “I have been invited to Moscow and the Grand Duchess permits me to go. “The gentlemen of the semi-Asiatic capital propound the most irresistible arguments _tace_ Wieniawski, who does not wish me to jump at their offer. But I never could haggle and should be ashamed to do so now.