One fine morning, it was 29 May 1842, I saw a carriage stop in front of a friend's house, which my friend was about to board with another friend who belonged to both of us. "Where to?" I asked. "To S.," was the answer. "What are you going to do there?" - "Oh," cried my lively friend Fischer: "Birthday - Venetian regatta - Bucentaur - little angels - Waren's fishermen's servants - cannons - fisherman's sting - beer and brandy - people - Countess X. - bratwurst.""
