to leave) they now really want me to write an opera, so I said to Noverre, “If you will be responsible for its being performed as soon as it is finished, and will name the exact sum that I am to receive for it, I will remain here for the next three months on purpose,” for I could not at once decline, or they would have thought that I distrusted myself.  This was not, however, done; and I knew beforehand that they could not do it, for such is not the custom here.  You probably know that in Paris it is thus:—­When the opera is finished it is rehearsed, and if these stupid Frenchmen do not think it good it is not given, and the composer has had all his trouble for nothing; if they approve, it is then put on the stage; as its popularity increases, so does the rate of payment.  There is no certainty.  I reserve the discussion of these matters till we meet, but I must candidly say that my own affairs begin to prosper.  It is no use trying to hurry matters—­chi va piano, va sano.  My complaisance has gained me both friends and patrons; were I to write you all, my fingers would ache.  I will relate it to you personally and place it clearly before you.  M. Grimm may be able to help children, but not grown-up people; and—­but no, I had better not write on the subject.  Yet I must!  Do not imagine that he is the same that he was; were it not for Madame d’Epinay, I should be no longer in this house.  And he has no great cause to be so proud of his good deeds towards me, for there were four houses where I could have had both board and lodging.  The worthy man does not know that, if I had remained in Paris, I intended to have left him next month to go to a house that, unlike his, is neither stupid nor tiresome, and where a man has not constantly thrown in his face that a kindness has been done him.  Such conduct is enough to cause me to forget a benefit, but I will be more generous than he is.  I regret not remaining here only because I should have liked to show him that I do not require him, and that I can do as much as his Piccini, although I am only a German!  The greatest service he has done me consists in fifteen louis-d’or which he lent me bit by bit during my mother’s life and at her death.  Is he afraid of losing them?  If he has a doubt on the subject, then he deserves to be kicked, for in that case he must mistrust my honesty (which is the only thing that can rouse me to rage) and also my talents; but the latter, indeed, I know he does, for he once said to me that he did not believe I was capable of writing a French opera.  I mean to repay him his fifteen louis-d’or, with thanks, when I go to take leave of him, accompanied by some polite expressions.  My poor mother often said to me, “I don’t know why, but he seems to me somehow changed.”  But I always took his part, though I secretly felt convinced of the very same thing.  He seldom spoke of me to any one, and when he did, it was always in a stupid, injudicious, or disparaging way.  He