So now you know everything.  I do still recommend her to you with my whole heart, and I beg you will not forget about the arias, cadenzas, &c.  I can scarcely write from actual hunger.  My mother will display the contents of our large money-box.  I embrace my sister lovingly.  She is not to lament about every trifle, or I will never come back to her.

95.

Mannheim, Feb. 22, 1778.

I have been now two days confined to the house, and taking antispasmodics, black powders, and elderflower tea as a sudorific, because I have had a catarrh, a cold in my head, sore throat, headache, pains in my eyes, and earache; but, thank God, I am now better, and hope to be able to go out tomorrow, being Sunday.  I got your letter of the 16th and the two unsealed letters of introduction for Paris.  I rejoice that my French song pleases you [see No. 92].  You must forgive my not writing much this time, but I really cannot—­I am so afraid of bringing back my headache, and, besides, I feel no inclination to write to-day.  It is impossible to write all we think—­at least, I find it to be so.  I would rather say it than write it.  My last letter told you the whole thing just as it stands.  Believe what you please of me, only nothing bad.  There are people who think no one can love a poor girl without evil designs.  But I am no Brunetti [a violinist in Salzburg], no Misliweczeck.  I am a Mozart; and, though young, still a high-principled Mozart.  Pardon me if, in my eagerness, I become somewhat excited—­which is, I suppose, the term, though I might rather say, if I write as I feel.  I might have said a great deal on this subject, but I cannot—­I feel it to be impossible.  Among my many faults I have also that of believing that those friends who know me, do so thoroughly.  Then many words are not necessary; and if they do not know me, oh! how could I find words sufficient?  It is painful enough to employ words and letters for such a purpose.  This, however, is not at all meant to apply to you, dearest papa.  No!  You understand me too well, and you are too kind to try to deprive any one of his good name.  I only meant it for—­you can guess to whom I allude—­to people who can believe such a thing.

I have resolved to stay in the house to-day, although Sunday, as it is snowing heavily.  To-morrow I must go out, for our “house-nymph,” Madlle.  Pierron, my highly esteemed pupil, who has usually a French concert every Monday, intends to scramble through my hochgrafliche Litzau concerto.  I also mean, for my sins, to let them give me something to hack away at, and show that I can do something too prima fista; for I am a regular greenhorn, and all I can do is to strum a little on the piano!  I must now conclude, being more disposed to-day to write music than letters.  Don’t forget the cadenzas and the cantabile.  Many thanks for having had the arias written out so quickly, for it shows that you place confidence in me when I beg a favor of you.