I ought to have written to you last week in answer to your letter, but as this day has been long enshrined in my heart, I have been striving earnestly all the time to think how and what I was to wish for you; so thus eight days passed, and now, when my wishes ought to be expressed, my small amount of intellect comes to a standstill, and (quite abashed) I find nothing to say; why? wherefore? because I have not been able to fulfill those musical hopes for this particular day that you have justly the right to expect. Oh, my most charming and kind benefactress! if you could only know, or see into my troubled heart on this subject, you would certainly feel pity and indulgence for me. The unlucky promised symphony has haunted my imagination ever since it was bespoken, and it is only, alas! the pressure of urgent occurrences that has prevented its being hitherto ushered into the world! The hope, however, of your lenity towards me for the delay, and the approaching time of the fulfillment of my promise, embolden me to express my wish, which, among the hundreds offered to you to-day and yesterday, may perhaps appear to you only an insignificant interloper; I say perhaps, for it would be too bold in me to think that you could form no better wish for yourself than mine. You see, therefore, most kind and charming lady, that I can wish nothing for you on your nameday, because my wishes are too feeble, and therefore unproductive. As for me, I venture to wish for myself your kind indulgence, and the continuance of your friendship, and the goodness that I so highly prize. This is my warmest wish! But if any wish of mine may be permitted, then mine shall become identical with your own, for thus I shall feel assured that none other remains, except the wish once more to be allowed to subscribe myself your very sincere friend and servant,

HAYDN.

No further letters appear to have been addressed to the lady until Haydn started on his first visit to London in December 1790. One or two extracts from these London letters have been used in Chapter V., but as the repetitions will be very slight, we allow the letters to stand as they are.

To Frau v. Genzinger.

CALAIS, Decr. 31, 1790.

HIGHLY HONOURED LADY,

A violent storm and an incessant pour of rain prevented our arriving at Calais till this evening (where I am now writing to you), and to-morrow at seven in the morning we cross the sea to London. I promised to write from Brussels, but we could only stay there an hour. I am very well, thank God! although somewhat thinner, owing to fatigue, irregular sleep, and eating and drinking so many different things. A few days hence I will describe the rest of my journey, but I must beg you to excuse me for to-day. I hope to heaven that you and your husband and children are all well.

I am, with high esteem, etc., yours,

HAYDN.

To Frau v. Genzinger.

LONDON, Jan. 8, 1791.

I thought that you had received my last letter from Calais. I ought, indeed, according to my promise, to have sent you some tidings of myself when I arrived in London, but I preferred waiting a few days that I might detail various incidents to you. I must now tell you that on New Year's Day, after attending early mass, I took ship at half-past seven o'clock a.m., and at five o'clock in the afternoon arrived safe and well at Dover, for which Heaven be praised! During the first four hours there was scarcely any wind, and the vessel made so little way that in that time we only went one English mile, there being twenty-four between Calais and Dover. The ship's captain, in the worst possible humour, said that if the wind did not change we should be at sea all night. Fortunately, however, towards half-past eleven o'clock such a favourable breeze began to blow that by four o'clock we had come twenty-two miles. As the ebb of the tide prevented our large vessel making the pier, two small boats were rowed out to meet us, into which we and our luggage were transferred, and at last we landed safely, though exposed to a sharp gale. The large vessel stood out to sea five hours longer, till the tide carried it into the harbour. Some of the passengers, being afraid to trust themselves in the small boats, stayed on board, but I followed the example of the greater number. I remained on deck during the whole passage, in order to gaze my fill at that huge monster, the Ocean. So long as there was a calm I had no fears, but when at length a violent wind began to blow, rising every minute, and I saw the boisterous high waves running on, I was seized with a little alarm, and a little indisposition likewise. But I overcame it all, and arrived safely in harbour, without being actually ill. Most of the passengers were ill, and looked like ghosts. I did not feel the fatigue of the journey till I arrived in London, but it took two days before I could recover from it. But now I am quite fresh and well, and occupied in looking at this mighty and vast town of London, its various beauties and marvels causing me the most profound astonishment. I immediately paid the necessary visits, such as to the Neapolitan Minister and to our own. Both called on me in return two days afterwards, and a few days ago I dined with the former--nota bene, at six o'clock in the evening, which is the fashion here.