I told you already about the opera.  One thing is certain—­I must compose a great opera or none.  If I write only smaller ones, I shall get very little, for here everything is done at a fixed price, and if it should be so unfortunate as not to please the obtuse French, it is all up with it.  I should get no more to write, have very little profit, and find my reputation damaged.  If, on the other hand, I write a great opera, the remuneration is better, I am working in my own peculiar sphere, in which I delight, and I have a greater chance of being appreciated, because in a great work there is more opportunity to gain approval.  I assure you that if I receive a commission to write an opera, I have no fears on the subject.  It is true that the devil himself invented their language, and I see the difficulties which all composers have found in it.  But, in spite of this, I feel myself as able to surmount these difficulties as any one else.  Indeed, when I sometimes think in my own mind that I may look on my opera as a certainty, I feel quite a fiery impulse within me, and tremble from head to foot, through the eager desire to teach the French more fully how to know, and value, and fear the Germans.  Why is a great opera never intrusted to a Frenchman?  Why is it always given to a foreigner?  To me the most insupportable part of it will be the singers.  Well, I am ready.  I wish to avoid all strife, but if I am challenged I know how to defend myself.  If it runs its course without a duel, I should prefer it, for I do not care to wrestle with dwarfs.

God grant that some change may soon come to pass!  In the mean time I shall certainly not be deficient in industry, trouble, and labor.  My hopes are centred on the winter, when every one returns from the country.  My heart beats with joy at the thought of the happy day when I shall once more see and embrace you.

The day before yesterday my dear friend Weber, among other things, wrote to me that the day after the Elector’s arrival it was publicly announced that he was to take up his residence in Munich, which came like a thunder-clap on Mannheim, wholly, so to say, extinguishing the universal illumination by which the inhabitants had testified their joy on the previous day.  The fact was also communicated to all the court musicians, with the addition that each was at liberty to follow the court to Munich or to remain in Mannheim, (retaining the same salaries,) and in a fortnight each was to give a written and sealed decision to the Intendant.  Weber, who is, as you know, in the most miserable circumstances, wrote as follows:—­“I anxiously desire to follow my gracious master to Munich, but my decayed circumstances prevent my doing so.”  Before this occurred there was a grand court concert, where poor Madlle.  Weber felt the fangs of her enemies; for on this occasion she did not sing!  It is not known who was the cause of this.  Afterwards there was a concert at Herr von Gemmingen’s,