Such is the story as it is to be gathered from the memoirs of the writer of the libretto and of one of the singers, O’Kelley, an Englishman. Both prove that the Italians now moved heaven and earth to shut Mozart out from the stage, and that, as a matter of fact, the emperor was obliged personally to interfere in his behalf, in the case of the _Figaro_. Moreover, just at this time he gave Mozart a token of his favor by commissioning him to write an opera called the _Shauspieldirector_, or “The Manager of the Theater,” for a garden-festival at Schœnbrunn. The subject of this opera is the competitive trial of two prima donnas before the manager--a comic piece which his enemies subsequently endeavored to interpret as a picture of scenes in his own life. The Italians, indeed, had reason enough for fear. Salieri subsequently gave expression to their feelings when he said, it was well that Mozart was dead, since, if he had lived, it would soon have come to such a pass that not one of them would get as much as a mouthful of bread for his compositions. These compositions are, indeed, valueless to-day, while Mozart’s work is immortal, and while arias like _Will der Herr Graf ein Taenzlein wagen_, _Neue Freuden neue Schmerzen_ and _Ihr die ihr Triebe_, will live as long as music lives. We shall now hear what an effect the actual performance of the opera which took place on the first of May, 1786, had on him. The following account, which has in it something of a Mozart-like amiability, is by the singer Kelley: “Of all the performers of the opera at that time, there is only one still living--myself. [He sang the parts of Basilio and the stuttering judge.] It must be granted that no opera was ever better performed. I have seen it at different times and in all countries, and well performed; and yet the very first performance of it compared with all others is like light to darkness. All the original players had the advantage of being instructed by the composer himself, who endeavored to transfer his own way of looking at it, and his own enthusiasm to their minds. I shall never forget his little, vivacious face glowing with the fire of genius. It is just as impossible to describe it as to paint the sunbeam.