"Vineta" had aroused Wurzelmann's
profound admiration; he had read the score on the side: "A great talent,
Doctor, a talent such as we have not had for a long, long while," said
Wurzelmann.

"Yes, but what am I to say about Herr Doermaul's opinion?" asked Benda.
He found it difficult to trust the man before him, and was using the
judgment of the man behind him as a foil.

"Don't you know Doermaul? I thought you did. Whenever he has no authority
to fear he becomes very bold. Lay the Ninth Symphony before him without
Beethoven's name to it, and he will tell you at once that it is rubbish.
Do you want to bet?"

"Honestly?" asked Benda, somewhat concerned.

"Give me the score, and I'll promise you to arouse the least sensitive
from their lethargy with it. With a work of that kind you have got to
blow the trumpet."

Benda thought it over. He had no use for trumpet-blowing, and no
confidence in those who did the blowing. And yet he consented, for he
did not feel justified in arbitrarily depriving Daniel of a chance.

It turned out that Wurzelmann had told the truth. A fortnight later
Daniel was informed that the Orchestral Union had decided to perform his
work in February. In order to provide its hearers with a more elaborate
picture of his creative ability, the Union asked him for a second work.
His compositions were perfect; others needed revision.

Wurzelmann boasted of having won his way to the seats of the mighty. He
had the cordial approval of such professors of music as Wackerbarth and
Herold. His masterpiece of diplomacy lay in the fact that he had secured
Andreas Doederlein as director of the orchestra.

His store of suggestions was inexhaustible, his plans without number. He
mentioned the fact that when the company was on the road they would have
to have a second Kapellmeister, since he himself would have to function
at times as substitute director: "Leave it all to me, dear Nothafft," he
said, "Alexander Doermaul has got to dance to my tune, and my tune is
this: It is Nothafft or nobody for Kapellmeister."

If he began with humility, he concluded with familiarity. Daniel hated
red-headed people, particularly when they had inflamed eyes and
slobbered when they spoke.

"He is an unappetising fellow, your Wurzelmann," he said to Benda, "and
it is embarrassing to me to be indebted to him. He imagines he flatters
me when he speaks contemptibly of himself. What he deserves is a kick or
two."

Benda was sile