It is one of my keenest desires to
make your personal acquaintance and to pass some days with you.
But as that is not possible now, let us, at least, try not to be
entirely separated, and let us combat, as far as we can, the
laziness about writing, which is, I think, equally in us both.
In a fortnight I am returning to Venice. I shall be back in Milan
at the time of the coronation (towards the end of August). Next
winter I expect to pass in Rome, if the cholera or some other
plague does not stop it. I will not induce you to come to Italy.
Your sympathies would be too deeply wounded there. If they have
even heard that Beethoven and Weber ever existed, it is as much
as they have done.
Will you not have what you have sent me printed? Haslinger would
have it gladly, I think, and it would be a great pleasure to me
to see my name associated with yours.
If I might make a request, I would ask you to write some trios,
or a quintet or septet. It seems to me that you would do that
admirably, and for a long time nothing remarkable in that line
has been published. If ever you determine to do so, let me know
at once, as I should be anxious to have the honor of making them
known to the public.
