expressed the greatest delight at seeing me again.  I must now tell you how I happen to be at St. Germains.  The Marechal de Noailles lives here, as you no doubt know, (for I am told I was here fifteen years ago, though I don’t remember it.) Tenducci is a great favorite of his, and as he is exceedingly partial to me, he was anxious to procure me this acquaintance.  I shall gain nothing here, a trifling present perhaps, but at the same time I do not lose, for it costs me nothing; and even if I do not get anything, still I have made an acquaintance that may be very useful to me.  I must make haste, for I am writing a scena for Tenducci, which is to be given on Sunday; it is for pianoforte, hautboy, horn, and bassoon, the performers being the Marechal’s own people—­Germans, who play very well.  I should like to have written to you long since, but just as I had begun the letter (which is now lying in Paris) I was obliged to drive to St. Germains, intending to return the same day, and I have now been here a week.  I shall return to Paris as soon as I can, though I shall not lose much there by my absence, for I have now only one pupil, the others being in the country.  I could not write to you from here either, because we were obliged to wait for an opportunity to send a letter to Paris.  I am quite well, thank God, and trust that both of you are the same.  You must have patience—­all goes on slowly; I must make friends.  France is not unlike Germany in feeding people with encomiums, and yet there is a good hope that, by means of your friends, you may make your fortune.  One lucky thing is, that food and lodging cost me nothing.  When you write to the friend with whom I am staying [Herr Grimm], do not be too obsequious in your thanks.  There are some reasons for this which I will write to you some other time.  The rest of the sad history of the illness will follow in the next letter.  You desire to have a faithful portrait of Rothfischer?  He is an attentive, assiduous director, not a great genius, but I am very much pleased with him, and, best of all, he is the kindest creature, with whom you can do anything—­if you know how to set about it, of course.  He directs better than Brunetti, but is not so good in solo-playing.  He has more execution, and plays well in his way, (a little in the old-fashioned Tartini mode,) but Brunetti’s style is more agreeable.  The concertos which he writes for himself are pretty and pleasant to listen to, and also to play occasionally.  Who can tell whether he may not please?  At all events, he plays a thousand million times better than Spitzeger, and, as I already said, he directs well, and is active in his calling.  I recommend him to you heartily, for he is the most good-natured man!  Adieu!

113.

Paris, Sept. 11, 1778.