The Spiegelbergs had many friends in the theatrical world, and I
was immensely thrilled one evening at learning that after the
performance of Lohengrin, Elsa and the Knight of the Swan were
coming home to supper with us. When Elsa appeared on the balcony
in the second act, and the moon most obligingly immediately
appeared to light up her ethereal white draperies, I was much
excited at reflecting that in two hours' time I might be handing
this lovely maiden the mustard, and it seemed hardly credible that
the resplendent Lohengrin would so soon abandon his swan in favour
of the homely goose that was awaiting him at the Spiegelbergs',
although the latter would enjoy the advantage of being roasted.
I was on the tip-toe of expectation until the singers arrived.
Fraulein Scheuerlein, the soprano, was fat, fair, and forty, all
of them perhaps on the liberal side. As she burst into the room,
the first words I heard from the romantic Elsa, whom I had last
seen sobbing over her matrimonial difficulties, were: "Dear Frau
Spiegelberg, my..." (Elsa here used a blunt dissyllable to
indicate her receptacle for food) "is hanging positively crooked
with hunger.
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