You write to me that I ought to pay a good many visits in order to make new acquaintances, and to renew former ones.  This is, however, impossible, from the distances being so great, and it is too muddy to go on foot, for really the mud in Paris is beyond all description.  To go in a carriage entails spending four or five livres a day, and all for nothing; it is true the people say all kinds of civil things, but there it ends, as they appoint me to come on such and such a day, when I play, and hear them exclaim, “Oh! c’est un prodige, c’est inconcevable, c’est etonnant!” and then, Adieu!  At first I spent money enough in driving about, and to no purpose, from not finding the people at home.  Unless you lived here, you could not believe what an annoyance this is.  Besides, Paris is much changed; the French are far from being as polite as they were fifteen years ago; their manner now borders on rudeness, and they are odiously self-sufficient.

I must proceed to give you an account of the Concert Spirituel.  By the by, I must first briefly tell you that my chorus-labors were in a manner useless, for Holzbauer’s Miserere was too long in itself, and did not please, so they gave only two of my choruses instead of four, and chose to leave out the best; but this was of no great consequence, for many there were not aware that any of the music was by me, and many knew nothing at all about me.  Still, at the rehearsal great approbation was expressed, and I myself (for I place no great reliance on Parisian praise) was very much satisfied with my choruses.  With regard to the sinfonie concertante there appears to be a hitch, and I believe that some unseen mischief is at work.  It seems that I have enemies here also; where have I not had them?  But this is a good sign.  I was obliged to write the symphony very hurriedly, and worked very hard at it.  The four performers were and are perfectly enchanted with the piece.  Le Gros had it for the last four days to be copied, but I invariably saw it lying in the same place.  Two days ago I could not find it, though I searched carefully among the music; and at last I discovered it hidden away.  I took no notice, but said to Le Gros, “A propos, have you given my sinfonie to be copied?” “No; I forgot all about it.”  As, of course, I have no power to compel him to have it transcribed and performed, I said nothing; but I went to the concert on the two days when the sinfonie was to have been performed, when Ramm and Punto came to me in the greatest rage to ask me why my sinfonie concertante was not to be given.  “I don’t know.  This is the first I hear of it.  I cannot tell.”  Ramm was frantic, and abused Le Gros in the music-room in French, saying how very unhandsome it was on his part, etc.  I alone was to be kept in the dark!  If he had even made an excuse—­that the time was too short, or something of the kind!—­but he never said a syllable.  I believe the real cause to be Cambini, an Italian maestro; for at our