TO HIS FAMILY.
Munich, 6th October, 1831.
It is a delightful feeling to wake in the morning with a long allegro to instrument with any number of hautboys and trumpets, and with the brightest of weather outside as well, promising a long stretch in the fresh country for the afternoon. I have been like this for an entire week, and the friendliness of Munich, as I felt it the first time, is now more apparent than ever. I scarcely know any place where I feel so much at home, so much a regular, a burgher of the city, as I do here. It is so charming to be among absolutely cheerful faces, and to look cheerful oneself in company, and then to know everybody in the streets besides. Now I have my concert before me, which is a handful, not to mention the friends who break in on me at every moment, nor the lovely weather which entices one out of doors, nor the copyists who compel one to stay at home—it is all a most pleasurable and most stormy existence. My concert has had to be put off on account of the October festival, which begins on Sunday and lasts all the week. There is the theatre and a ball every evening, no chance of an orchestra or a hall to play in.
