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 must say this is asking rather too much, for it is not likely I shall be able to play such a sonata at sight.”  “Indeed, I think so too; it is too much; no one could do it,” said the Dean eagerly, being all in my favor.  “At all events,” said I, “I can but try.”  I heard the Dean muttering all the time behind me, “Oh, you rogue! oh, you knave!” I played till 11 o’clock, bombarded and besieged, as it were, by fugue themes.

Lately, at Stein’s, he brought me a sonata of Becke’s, but I think I already told you this.  A propos, as to his little girl, [Footnote:  Nanette, at that time eight years old; afterwards the admirable wife of Andreas Streicher, the friend of Schiller’s youth, and one of Beethoven’s best friends in Vienna.] any one who can see and hear her play without laughing must be Stein [stone] like her father.  She perches herself exactly opposite the treble, avoiding the centre, that she may have more room to throw herself about and make grimaces.  She rolls her eyes and smirks; when a passage comes twice she always plays it slower the second time, and if three times, slower still.  She raises her arms in playing a passage, and if it is to be played with emphasis she seems to give it with her elbows and not her fingers, as awkwardly and heavily as possible.  The finest thing is, that if a passage occurs (which ought to flow like oil) where the fingers must necessarily be changed, she does not pay much heed to that, but lifts her hands, and quite coolly goes on again.  This, moreover, puts her in a fair way to get hold of a wrong note, which often produces a curious effect.  I only write this in order to give you some idea of pianoforte-playing and teaching here, so that you may in turn derive some benefit from it.  Herr Stein is quite infatuated about his daughter.  She is eight years old, and learns everything by heart.  She may one day be clever, for she has genius, but on this system she will never improve, nor will she ever acquire much velocity of finger, for her present method is sure to make her hand heavy.  She will never master what is the most difficult and necessary, and in fact the principal thing in music, namely, time; because from her infancy she has never been in the habit of playing in correct time.  Herr Stein and I discussed this point together for at least two hours.  I have, however, in some degree converted him; he asks my advice now on every subject.  He was quite devoted to Becke, and now he sees and hears that I can do more than Becke, that I make no grimaces, and yet play with so much expression that he himself acknowledges none of his acquaintances