Last Sunday I attended service at the Holy Cross, and at ten
o'clock we went to Herr Stein's, where we tried over a couple of
symphonies for the concert. Afterwards I dined with my cousin at
the Holy Cross, where a band played during dinner. Badly as they
play in the monastery, I prefer it to the Augsburg orchestra. I
played a symphony, and a concerto in B of Vanhall's, on the
violin, with unanimous applause. The Dean is a kind, jovial man,
a cousin of Eberlin [deceased Capellmeister of Salzburg]. His
name is Zeschinger. He knows papa well. At night, after supper, I
played the Strassburg concerto; it went as smooth as oil; every
one praised the fine pure tone. A small clavichord was then
brought in, on which I preluded, and played a sonata and the
Fischer variations. Some of those present whispered to the Dean
that he ought to hear me play in the organ style. I asked him to
give me a theme, which he declined, but one of the monks did so.
I handled it quite leisurely, and all at once (the fugue being in
G minor) I brought in a lively movement in the major key, but in
the same tempo, and then at the end the original subject, only
reversed. At last it occurred to me to employ the lively movement
for the subject of the fugue also, I did not hesitate long, but
did so at once, and it went as accurately as if Daser [a Salzburg
tailor] had taken its measure. The Dean was in a state of great
excitement. "It is over," said he, "and it's no use talking about
it, but I could scarcely have believed what I have just heard;
you are indeed an able man. My prelate told me beforehand that in
his life he never heard any one play the organ in a more finished
and solid style" (he having heard me some days previously when
the Dean was not here). At last some one brought me a fugued
sonata, and asked me to play it. But I said, "Gentlemen, I really