I didn't get home last night until twelve, for it was St John's day, which is also Malfatti's name-day. Mechetti had prepared a surprise for him: Wild, Cicimara, Mlles Emmering and Lutzer, together with your humble servant, gave him an unusual musical treat. I have never heard the quartet from Rossini's Moses better performed; but "O quante lagrime" was incomparably better sung by Mlle Gladkowska at my farewell concert in Warsaw. Wild was in good voice and I performed the duties of conductor. Cicimara declared that there is no one in Vienna who accompanies like me. I thought to myself: I am perfectly well aware of it. (Hush!) A huge crowd of strangers on the terrace was able to listen to this concert. The moon shone marvellously, the fountains played, and a divine scent from the open Orangery filled the air in a word, a magnificent night and a most enchanting spot.