al was
destined to come to; but one critic, who enjoyed complete independence
of soul, though an unfortunate incident in his life had compelled him to
relinquish his influential circle in the city and retire to a limited
sphere of activity in the province, wrote: "This artist has the
unquestioned ability to become the light and leader of his generation.
Nature created him, his star developed him. May Heaven give him the
power and patience indispensable to the artist, if he would be born
again and become a man above the gifts of men. If he only does not reach
out too soon for the ripe fruits, and, intoxicated by the allurements of
the lower passions, fail to hear the voice of his heart! He has taken a
lofty flight; the azure gates of renown have swung wide open to him.
Let him only be cautious about his second descent into the night."

The same connoisseur found the composition of "Vineta" less ingenious,
and its instrumentation suffering from the lean experience of a
beginner. Yet even this work was strongly applauded. The impresario
Doermaul clapped his hands until the perspiration poured from his face.
Wurzelmann was beside himself with enthusiasm. Old Herold smiled all
over his face. The long-haired found it of course quite difficult to
subdue their jealousy, but even they were not stingy with their
recognition.

But how did Herr Carovius feel? His spittle had a bitter taste, his body
pained him. When Andreas Doederlein turned to the audience and bowed,
Carovius laughed a laugh of tremendous contempt. And Jason Philip
Schimmelweis? He would have felt much more comfortable if the
hand-clapping had been so much ear-boxing, and Daniel Nothafft, the
culprit, had been the objective. The boy who had been cast out had
become the leader of men! Jason Philip put his hand to his forehead,
shook his head, and was on the point of exclaiming, "Oh, ye deceivers
and deceived! Listen, listen! I know the boy; I know the man who has
made fools of you here this evening!" He waited to see whether the
misunderstanding, the colossal swindle, would not be cleared up
automatically. He did not wait in vain.

At the close of the "Serenade," Jordan was struck by Gertrude's feverish
paleness. He asked her whether she felt ill, but received no reply.
During the performance of the second piece she kept putting her hands to
her bosom, as if she were suffering from repressed convulsions. Her eyes
were now lifeless, now glowing with an uncanny fi