Yesterday I went with Cannabich to pay the visit mamma already wrote to you about [to Duke Carl Theodor’s children], and there I conversed with the Elector as if he had been some kind friend.  He is a most gracious and good Prince.  He said to me, “I hear you wrote an opera at Munich” ["La finta Giardiniera"]?  “Yes, your Highness, and, with your gracious permission, my most anxious wish is to write an opera here; I entreat you will not quite forget me.  I could also write a German one, God be praised!” said I, smiling.  “That may easily be arranged.”  He has one son and three daughters, the eldest of whom and the young Count play the piano.  The Elector questioned me confidentially about his children.  I spoke quite honestly, but without detracting from their master.  Cannabich was entirely of my opinion.  The Elector, on going away, took leave of me with much courtesy.

After dinner to-day I went, at two o’clock, with Cannabich to Wendling’s, the flute-player, where they were all complaisance.  The daughter, who was formerly the Elector’s favorite, plays the piano very prettily; afterwards I played.  I cannot describe to you the happy mood I was in.  I played extempore, and then three duets with the violin, which I had never in my life seen, nor do I now know the name of the author.  They were all so delighted that I—­was desired to embrace the ladies.  No hard task with the daughter, for she is very pretty.

We then went again to the Elector’s children; I played three times, and from my heart too,—­the Elector himself each time asking me to play.  He seated himself each time close to me and never stirred.  I also asked a certain Professor there to give me a theme for a fugue, and worked it out.

Now for my congratulations!

My very dearest papa,—­I cannot write poetically, for I am no poet.  I cannot make fine artistic phrases that cast light and shadow, for I am no painter; I can neither by signs nor by pantomime express my thoughts and feelings, for I am no dancer; but I can by tones, for I am a musician.  So to-morrow, at Cannabich’s, I intend to play my congratulations both for your name-day and birthday.  Mon tres-cher pere, I can only on this day wish for you, what from my whole heart I wish for you every day and every night—­health, long life, and a cheerful spirit.  I would fain hope, too, that you have now less annoyance than when I was in Salzburg; for I must admit that I was the chief cause of this.  They treated me badly, which I did not deserve, and you naturally took my part, only too lovingly.  I can tell you this was indeed one of the principal and most urgent reasons for my leaving Salzburg in such haste.  I hope, therefore, that my wish is fulfilled.  I must now close by a musical congratulation.  I wish that you may live as many years as must elapse before no more new music can be composed.  Farewell!  I earnestly beg you to go on loving me a little, and, in the mean time, to excuse these very poor congratulations till I open new shelves in my small and confined knowledge-box, where I can stow away the good sense which I have every intention to acquire.