In 1804 the Leipzig Allgemeine musikalische Zeitung published a long account of an opera performance in the fictitious town of Krähwinkel. It was, it seems, a fairly typical evening. The hero was so vigorously applauded for his big aria that he lost his place; the heroine had to repeat a scene, thereby making nonsense of the plot. Tremendous enthusiasm greeted the soprano, ‘a large, well-rounded figure of which there was so much to see that no question arose of listening’ – a sculptor could have made two sopranos out of the material allotted by nature to one, though the Krähwinklers regarded her as a paragon of nymph-like beauty. The tragic hero had about enough talent to perform Pickelhäring, and the Priest boomed his aria in tones more suitable to sailors' songs. The décor included a sunset contrived by means of sulphur matches attached to a windmill. Between the acts, the Kapellmeister held court in the aisles, modestly accepting for his opera the rapturous praises of the Krähwinklers. Only one member of the audience remains silent, a stranger whose glum attitude the Krähwinklers find offensive. Goaded by two neighbours into giving the reasons for his silence, he objects that the music has totally failed to convey the feeling and spirit of the poem, and he gives his chapter and verse. When they comment sarcastically on his familiarity with the text, he reveals himself as its author.