same moment it recurs to your mind that this is Raaff, the old
but once so renowned tenor, I defy any one not to burst out
laughing. It is a fact, that in my own case I thought, if I did
not know that this is the celebrated Raaff, I should be bent
double from laughing, but as it is--I only take out my
handkerchief to hide a smile. They tell me here that he never was
a good actor; that people went to hear, but not to see him. He
has by no means a pleasing exterior. In this opera he was to die,
singing in a long, long, slow air; and he died laughing! and
towards the end of the aria his voice failed him so entirely that
it was impossible to stand it! I was in the orchestra next
Wendling the flute-player, and as he had previously criticized
the song, saying it was unnatural to sing so long before dying,
adding, "I do think he will never die!" I said in return, "Have a
little patience; it will soon be all over with him, for I can
hear he is at the last gasp!" "And I too," said he, laughing. The
second singer, Madlle. Strasserin, sang very well, and is an
admirable actress.

There is a national stage here, which is permanent like that at
Munich; German operettas are sometimes given, but the singers in
them are wretched. Yesterday I dined with the Baron and Baroness
von Hagen, Oberstjagermeister here. Three days ago I called on
Herr Schmalz, a banker, to whom Herr Herzog, or rather Nocker and
Schidl, had given me a letter. I expected to have found a very
civil good sort of man. When I gave him the letter he read it
through, made me a slight bow, and said nothing. At last, after
many apologies for not having sooner waited on him, I told him
that I had played before the Elector. "Really!" Altum silentium.
I said nothing, he said nothing. At last I began again: "I will