hand, something behind the screen seems to excite his
curiosity. He investigates, then suddenly reaches out and draws a piano
teacher forward, dressed in gray. Holding her by the collar, with
outstretched arm, he thus leads her forward in front of the piano and
out through the centre door. Having locked the door, to DUeHRING).
Please, don't let this interrupt you!

DUeHRING. You see, there are performed ten new operas every year which
become impossible after the second night, and every ten years a good
one which lives. Now this opera of mine _is_ a good one, it is well
adapted for the stage, it is sure to be a financial success. If you let
me, I'll show you letters from Liszt, from Wagner, from Rubinstein, in
which these men look up to me as to a superior being. And why has it
remained unperformed to the present day? Because I don't stand in the
public market-place. I tell you, it's like what will happen to a young
girl who for three years has been the reigning beauty at all dancing
parties, but has forgotten to become engaged. One has to give way to
another generation. Besides you know our court theatres. They are
fortresses, I can assure you, compared with which the armor-plate of
Metz and Rastadt is the merest tin. They would rather dig out ten
corpses than admit a single living composer. And it's in getting over
these ramparts that I ask you to lend me a hand. You are inside at
thirty, I am outside at seventy. It would cost you just a word to let
me in, while I am vainly battering my head against stone and steel.
That's why I have come to you (_very passionately_) and if you are not
absolutely inhuman, if your success has not killed off in you the very
last trace of sympathy with striving fellow-artists, you cannot refuse
my request.

GERARDO. I will let you know a week from now. I will play your opera
through. Let me take it along.

DUeHRING. I am too old for that, Mr. Gerardo. Long before a week, as
measured by your chronology, has elapsed, I shall lie beneath the sod.
I've been put off that way too often. (Bringing down his fist on the
piano.) Hie Rhodus! Hie salta! It's five years ago now that I called on
the manager of the Royal Theatre, Count Zedlitz: "What have
you got for me, my dearest professor?" "An opera, your Excellency."
"Indeed, you have written a new opera? Splendid!" "Your Excellency,
I have not written a new opera. It's an old opera. I wrote it
thirteen years ago."--It wasn't this one here, it w