I must now tell you about the Stein pianos.  Before seeing these, Spath’s pianos were my favorites; but I must own that I give the preference to those of Stein, for they damp much better than those in Ratisbon.  If I strike hard, whether I let my fingers rest on the notes or lift them, the tone dies away at the same instant that it is heard.  Strike the keys as I choose, the tone always remains even, never either jarring or failing to sound.  It is true that a piano of this kind is not to be had for less than three hundred florins, but the pains and skill which Stein bestows on them cannot be sufficiently repaid.  His instruments have a feature of their own; they are supplied with a peculiar escapement.  Not one in a hundred makers attends to this; but, without it, it is impossible that a piano should not buzz and jar.  His hammers fall as soon as they touch the strings, whether the keys be held down by the fingers or not.  When he has completed an instrument of this class, (which he told me himself,) he tries all kinds of passages and runs on it, and works away at it, testing its powers till it is capable of doing anything, for he labors not for his own benefit alone, (or he might be saved much trouble,) but for that of music.  He often says, “If I were not such a passionate lover of music, playing also myself a little on the piano, I should long ago have lost patience with my work, but I like my instruments to respond to the player, and to be durable.”  His pianos do really last well.  He warrants the sounding-board neither breaking nor cracking; when he has finished one, he exposes it in the air to rain, snow, sun, and every kind of devilry, that it may give way, and then inserts slips of wood which he glues in, making it quite strong and solid.  He is very glad when it does crack, for then he is pretty sure nothing further can happen to it.  He frequently makes cuts into them himself, and then glues them up, thus making them doubly strong.  He has three of these pianos at this moment finished, and I played on them again to-day.

We dined to-day with young Herr Gassner, who is the handsome widower of a lovely young wife; they were only married two years.  He is an excellent and kind young man; he gave us a capital dinner.  A colleague of the Abbe Henri Bullinger, and Wishofer also dined there, and an ex-Jesuit, who is at present Capellmeister in the cathedral here.  He knows Herr Schachtner well [court-trumpeter at Salzburg], and was leader of his band in Ingolstadt; he is called Father Gerbl.  Herr Gassner, and one of his wife’s unmarried sisters, mamma, our cousin, and I went after dinner to Herr Stein’s.  At four o’clock came the Capellmeister and Herr Schmittbauer, the organist of St. Ulrich, a worthy good old man.  I played at sight a sonata of Becke’s, which was rather difficult, but very poor, al solito.  The astonishment of the Capellmeister and the organist was indescribable.  I have played my six sonatas by heart repeatedly, both here and in Munich.  The fifth in G, I played at the distinguished Casino concert, and the last in D, which has an incomparable effect on Stein’s pianos.  The pedals, pressed by the knees, are also better made by him than by any one else; you scarcely require to touch them to make them act, and as soon as the pressure is removed not the slightest vibration is perceptible.