"You offer me a challenge," replied Spiegeler, not without bitterness. "My criticisms are not learned enough for you; they contain nothing about fugues and counter-point, and I do not understand how to designate your highest notes according to the alphabet of _la Scala_. Nevertheless, I can detect whether they are pure and beautiful or if they leave an unpleasant after-taste which you will then perceive in my criticisms. That was the case recently in 'Norma.' I pitied you on account of your indisposition. You must, indeed, spare yourself; people are already remarking that your performances are moving in a declining scale." Giulia had risen angrily from the sofa. "I am a great lover of truth," continued Spiegeler. "We here live in the town of a great Thinker, who spoke the truth ruthlessly. Until now in my criticisms I have extended the cloak of Christian charity over your shortcomings, but my conscience is awakened. For some time I have collected every variety of observations and remarks upon broken and cracked voices; they are not amiss these scraps of thought; they are mental iron filings, and I am seeking the magnet to which they can be attached; I cannot promise you that I may not utilise them in my criticism of your next performance if it satisfy my expectations as little as did your 'Norma.'" The fiery blood of the Italian now conquered all prudence. Her tall figure was drawn up to its full height, her eye flashed, internal agitation quivered in the corners of her lips, as Giulia cried-- "Well, then, annihilate me; I will gladly be the victim so that not one of nay successors may have the accumulated poisonous flowers poured over her from the cornucopias of your intellect. We are all, indeed, the slaves of the public; it subscribes to my notes as to your wit, and when my voice becomes hoarse and your genius is snuffed out, the Moor's occupation will be gone and he may retire." "Very true," interposed Spiegeler, nodding his head in assent. "The public is perfectly right; yet I, too, have the right to tell you what I think. I despise a criticism which alone aims at its own brilliance, even if it only be the light of mental corruption with which it wanders about like a will-o'-the-wisp." Spiegeler cast a hostile glance at the singer, rose with difficulty, and grasped the crutch that stood beside him. "I despise any criticism," continued Giulia, implacably, "that vaunts its own ignorance of that glorious art to which I and we all have dedicated our lives. We are and shall remain in the sanctuary; what do we care about the baying of the dogs at the portals of the temple?" Noisily Spiegeler seized the second crutch. "The criticism may be severe, but noble; brave and conversant with the rules and customs of war; I myself will eat the black soup with the Spartan, little as I may like it, yet not with the Helot! He must carry my shield, else I shall chastise him." Spiegeler struck the floor with his crutch, so that the room shook.