His mission was as follows: Every year, at this season, the Chancellor of the German Empire was taking the cure at the nearby Kissingen Baths. Herr von Erfft had made his acquaintance, and the Prince, an enthusiastic landowner, had expressed the desire to visit Herr von Erfft’s estate, the management of which was widely known as excellent in every way. In order to celebrate the coming of the distinguished guest with befitting dignity, it had been decided not to have any tawdry fireworks or cheap shouting, but to give a special performance of the “Marriage of Figaro” in a rococo pavilion that belonged to the Erfft estate. “This idea comes from my wife,” said Herr von Erfft. “Some ladies and gentlemen of noble birth who belong to our circle will sing the various parts, and my daughter Sylvia, who studied for two years in Milan with Gallifati, will take the part of the page. The only thing we lack is a trained orchestra. For this reason I have come to you, Herr Kapellmeister, to see if you could not bring your orchestra over and play for us.” Daniel, though pleased with the kindly disposition of Herr von Erfft, could not make him any definite promise, for he felt bound to the helpless, if not hopeless, opera company now in his care. Herr von Erfft inquired more closely into the grounds of his doubt as to his ability to have his orchestra undertake the special engagement, and then asked him whether he would accept his help. “Gladly,” replied Daniel, “but such help as you can offer us will hardly be of any avail. Our chief is a hardened sinner.” Herr von Erfft went with Daniel to the mayor; a half-hour later an official dispatch was on its way to the impresario Dörmaul. It was couched in language that was sufficient to inspire any citizen with respect, referred to the desperate plight in which the company then found itself, and demanded in a quite imperious tone that something be done at once. Dörmaul was frightened; he sent the necessary money by return wire. In another telegram to Wurzelmann he declared the company dissolved; most of the contracts had expired, and those members of the company who put in claims were satisfied in one way or another. Daniel was free. Wurzelmann said to him on taking leave: “Nothafft, you will never amount to anything. I have been disappointed in you. You have far too much conscience. You cannot make children out of morality, much less music. The swamp is quaggy, the summit rocky. Commit some act of genuine swinishness, so that you may put a little ginger into your life.” Daniel laid his hand on his shoulder, looked at him with his cold eyes, and said: “Judas.” “All right, Judas so far as I am concerned,” said Wurzelmann. “I was not born to be nailed to the cross; I am much more for the feasts with the Pharisees.” He had got a position as critic on the _Phœnix_, one of the best known musical magazines.