Wednesday, April 19:
R. would by now be quite restored if a shocking noise in the hotel had not laid the whole night waste. Some gentlemen were giving a party and behaving like the roughest of coach drivers.
We drive to the theater, a charming monument which tells us much about the productivity of German art in the 18th century. In the florid ornaments, shells, etc., of the eighteenth century one finds the same spirit of fantasy, though of course much distorted, which inspired German work in the 16th century. But the theater will not do for us at all; so we must build, and all the better.
Now to find a house. With the curator of the palace we drive all over the town; nothing is quite suitable, so we must build for ourselves, too.
Lovely drive to the Eremitage; the old curator there is delighted to see R. and says that it was only the priests who separated R. from the King; the people love him. In the evening R. is very tired. The Bayreuth population in an uproar over his presence.