"A sad lot," said Giulia to Beate, who entered, "this dependence upon the public--is it not the worst slavery? And what is it all for? So that in the general exultant applause, no sound of disapproval, no token of discontent may be mingled. Always fear for this evanescent fame; ever from day to day this begging for the alms of applause!" "Well," said Beate, "they have always been expended lavishly upon you!" "Yet how short is the memory of our contemporaries: what is all this fleeting, intoxicating splendour for which we strive with all the fibres of our soul? How soon we are transformed into a legend that each year becomes more obscure, and then the vast storm of oblivion sweeps over us all! Oh, I am weary, often infinitely weary, and would fain fly to a quiet spot where never more the incessant chase after success would shatter my nerves." Giulia rested her head upon her hand, and closed her eyes; then she continued, opening them again wearily. "Yes, if the sweet rapture still hold us captive; if we still feel all the magic of renown in its perfect entirety, then we may defy the infinite trouble which the chase after laurels brings with it, for the time has passed in which they fall spontaneously like divine favours into the lap of the happy being, but when we have become indifferent to all these triumphs, when we would fain cast aside all this rustling gilt tinsel of fame, and necessity still compels us to labour, for immortality in which we no longer believe, oh, then we could envy the daily labourer the calm happiness of his work, for he only needs his hands--his thoughts and emotions are free, while we must bring spirit and nerve to our daily task, yield up our heart's blood without faith or love." "In such a frame of mind you probably declined to-day's performance!" "Perhaps--but you know--I have seen him. How uncertain are my feelings! I did not wish to see him again, therefore we sought his home when he was absent. With dread I look forward to the moment in which he will speak to me, call me by my name--the step out of that enchanted fairy tale into sober reality, appears inconceivable to me. I feel the burning colour of shame upon my cheeks at the very thought. At one time I appear to myself like a Somnambula who must precipitate herself into an abyss when he calls me, awakes me out of my dreams, then at another like a Melusina, who is surprised by her knight while she, with a fish's tail, splashes about in the crystal stream with other water-witches, that horrible fish's tail, the paper train of unhappy theatrical renown." "But many a _principe_ has married such a Melusina despite her fish's tail," said Beate with a smile of ready comfort.