Wendling has also sung through her two arias half a dozen times, and is much pleased with them.  I heard from a third person that the two Wendlings highly praised their arias, and as for Raaff he is my best and dearest friend.  I must teach the whole opera myself to Del Prato.  He is incapable of singing even the introduction to any air of importance, and his voice is so uneven!  He is only engaged for a year, and at the end of that time (next September) Count Seeau will get another.  Cecarelli might try his chance then serieusement.

I nearly forgot the best of all.  After mass last Sunday, Count Seeau presented me, en passant, to H.S.H. the Elector, who was very gracious.  He said, “I am happy to see you here again;” and on my replying that I would strive to deserve the good opinion of His Serene Highness, he clapped me on the shoulder, saying, “Oh!  I have no doubt whatever that all will go well—­a piano piano si va lontano.”

Deuce take it!  I cannot write everything I wish.  Raaff has just left me; he sends you his compliments, and so do the Cannabichs, and Wendlings, and Ramm.  My sister must not be idle, but practise steadily, for every one is looking forward with pleasure to her coming here.  My lodging is in the Burggasse at M. Fiat’s [where the marble slab to his memory is now erected].

129.

Munich, Nov. 22, 1780.

I send herewith, at last, the long-promised aria for Herr Schikaneder.  During the first week that I was here I could not entirely complete it, owing to the business that caused me to come here.  Besides, Le Grand, the ballet-master, a terrible talker and bore, has just been with me, and by his endless chattering caused me to miss the diligence.  I hope my sister is quite well.  I have at this moment a bad cold, which in such weather is quite the fashion here.  I hope and trust, however, that it will soon take its departure,—­indeed, both phlegm and cough are gradually disappearing.  In your last letter you write repeatedly, “Oh! my poor eyes!  I du not wish to write myself blind—­half-past eight at night, and no spectacles!” But why do you write at night, and without spectacles?  I cannot understand it.  I have not yet had an opportunity of speaking to Count Seeau, but hope to do so to-day, and shall give you any information I can gather by the next post.  At present all will, no doubt, remain as it is.  Herr Raaff paid me a visit yesterday morning, and I gave him your regards, which seemed to please him much.  He is, indeed, a worthy and thoroughly respectable man.  The day before yesterday Del Frato sang in the most disgraceful way at the concert.  I would almost lay a wager that the man never manages to get through the rehearsals, far less the opera; he has some internal disease.

Come in!—­Herr Panzacchi! [who was to sing Arbace].  He has already paid me three visits, and has just asked me to dine with him on Sunday.  I hope the same thing won’t happen to me that happened to us with the coffee.  He meekly asks if, instead of se la sa, he may sing se co la, or even ut, re, mi, fa, sol, la.