fancies that no one can be better or more perfect than himself.
The whole orchestra, from the first to the last, detest him. He
has been the cause of much annoyance to Holzbauer. His book is
more fit to teach arithmetic than composition. He says that he
can make a composer in three weeks, and a singer in six months;
but we have not yet seen any proof of this. He despises the
greatest masters. To myself he spoke with contempt of Bach
[Johann Christian, J. Sebastian's youngest son, called the London
Bach], who wrote two operas here, the first of which pleased more
than the second, Lucio Silla. As I had composed the same opera in
Milan, I was anxious to see it, and hearing from Holzbauer that
Vogler had it, I asked him to lend it to me. "With all my heart,"
said he; "I will send it to you to-morrow without fail, but you
won't find much talent in it." Some days after, when he saw me, he
said with a sneer, "Well, did you discover anything very fine--
did you learn anything from it? One air is rather good. What are
the words?" asked he of some person standing near. "What air do
you mean?" "Why, that odious air of Bach's, that vile--oh! yes,
pupille amate. He must have written it after a carouse of punch."
I really thought I must have laid hold of his pigtail; I
affected, however, not to hear him, said nothing, and went away.
He has now served out his time with the Elector.

The sonata for Madlle. Rosa Cannabich is finished. Last Sunday I
played the organ in the chapel for my amusement. I came in while
the Kyrie was going on, played the last part, and when the priest
intoned the Gloria I made a cadence, so different, however, from
what is usually heard here, that every one looked round in
surprise, and above all Holzbauer. He said to me, "If I had known
you were coming, I would have put out another mass for you."