DÜsseldorf, January 16th, 1834.

We are leading a merry life here just now, casting aside all care; every one is full of fun and jollity. I have just come from the rehearsal of “Egmont,” where, for the first time in my life, I tore up a score from rage at the stupidity of the musici, whom I feed with 6-8 time in due form, though they are more fit for babes’ milk; then they like to belabour each other in the orchestra. This I don’t choose they should do in my presence, so furious scenes sometimes occur. At the air, “GlÜcklich allein ist die Seele die liebt,” I fairly tore the music in two, on which they played with much more expression. The music delighted me so far, that I again heard something of Beethoven’s for the first time; but it had no particular charm for me, and only two pieces, the march in C major, and the movement in 6-8 time, where KlÄrchen is seeking Egmont, are quite after my own heart. To-morrow we are to have another rehearsal; in the evening the Prince gives a ball, which will last till four in the morning, from which I could excuse myself if I were not so very fond of dancing. I must now tell you about my excursion to Elberfeld. Sunday was the concert, so in the morning I drove there in a furious storm of thunder and rain. I found the whole musical world assembled in the inn, drinking champagne at twelve in the forenoon, instead of which I ordered chocolate for myself. A pianoforte solo of mine had been announced, after which I intended to have come away immediately, but hearing that there was to be a ball in the evening, I resolved not to set off till night, and as they had introduced music from “Oberon” in the second part, feeling myself in a vein for extemporizing, I instantly took up their last ritournelle, and continued playing the rest of the opera. There was no great merit in this, still it pleased the people wonderfully, and at the end I was greeted with plaudits loud enough to gratify any one. As the room was crowded, I promised to return in the course of the winter to play for the benefit of the poor. The Barmers sent me a deputation of three Barmer ladies to persuade me to go there on Monday; and as my travelling companion had both time and inclination for this, I played extempore on the Monday afternoon in the Barmer Musical Association, and then a quartett in Elberfeld, travelled through the night, and arrived at home at four on Tuesday morning, as my hour for receiving people is from eight to nine. The Barmer fantasia was well designed; I must describe it for Fanny.

A poem had been sent me anonymously, at the end of which I was advised to marry (of course this was said in good poetry, interwoven with laurel leaves and immortelles); and, wishing to respond to this compliment, I began with my “Bachelor’s Song” (though, unluckily, no one found out its meaning, but that was no matter), continuing to play it gaily for some time; I then brought in the violoncello with the theme, “Mir ist so wunderbar,” and so far it was very successful. I was anxious, however, before closing, to introduce some matrimonial felicity, but in this I utterly failed, which spoilt the conclusion. I wish, however, you had been present at the beginning, for I believe you would have been pleased. I think I already wrote to you that my fantasia in F sharp minor, Op. 28,[9] is about to be published. I have introduced a fine massive passage in octaves into my new E flat rondo; I am now going to work at my scena for the Philharmonic, to edit the three overtures, to compose another trio or a symphony, and then comes “St. Paul.” Addio.

Felix.