68.

Augsburg, Oct. 23, 1777.

My concert took place yesterday.  Count Wolfeck interested himself much in it, and brought some chanoinesses with him.  I went to his lodgings the very day I arrived, but he was not here at that time.  A few days ago he returned, and on hearing that I was still in Augsburg, he did not wait for a visit from me, but at the very moment when I was taking my hat and sword to go to call on him he walked in.  I must now give you a description of the last few days before my concert.  Last Saturday I was at St. Ulrich’s, as I already told you.  Some days before my cousin took me with him to present me to the Prelate of the Holy Cross, a kind excellent old man.  Previous to going to St. Ulrich’s last Saturday, I went with my cousin to the Monastery of the Holy Cross, as the first time I was there neither the Deacon nor the Procurator was at home, and my cousin told me that the Procurator was very jolly. [Here mamma inserts a few lines—­which frequently occurs in the letters.  She says at the close:] “I am quite surprised that Schuster’s duets [see No. 63] are still”—­Wolfgang:  “Oh, he has got them.”  Mamma:  “No, indeed; he always writes that he has not got them.”  Wolfgang:  “I hate arguing; I am sure he has got them, so there’s an end of it.”  Mamma:  “You are mistaken.”  Wolfgang:  “No; I am right.  I will show it to mamma in his own writing.”  Mamma:  “Well, where is it?” Wolfgang:  “Here; read it.”  She is reading it at this moment.

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