imself up to it with his whole soul. When he was twenty he was
exhibiting. The public, the critics, his teachers, and his parents
were all of the opinion that he'd made a mistake in the choice of his
profession. Young Clemens heeded what men were saying, so he laid down
his brush and turned bookseller. When he was fifty years of age, and had
his life behind him, the paintings of his early years were discovered by
some stranger; and were then recognised as masterpieces by the public,
the critics, his teachers and relations! But it was too late. And when
Father Clemens complained of the wickedness of the world, the world
answered with a heartless grin: 'Why did you let yourself be taken
in?' Father Clemens grieved so much at this, that he came to us. But he
doesn't grieve any longer now. Or do you, Father Clemens?

CLEMENS. No! But that isn't the end of the story. The paintings I'd done
in 1830 were admired and hung in a museum till 1880. Taste then changed
very quickly, and one day an important newspaper announced that their
presence there was an outrage. So they were banished to the attic.

PRIOR (to the STRANGER). That's a good story!

CLEMENS. But it's still not finished. By 1890 taste had so changed again
that a professor of the History of Art wrote that it was a national
scandal that my works should be hanging in an attic. So the pictures
were brought down again, and, for the time being, are classical. But
for how long? From that you can see, young man, in what worldly fame
consists? Vanitas vanitatum vanitas!

STRANGER. Then is life worth living?

PRIOR. Ask Pater Melcher, who is experienced not only in the world of
deception and error, but also in that of lies and contradictions. Follow
him: he'll show you the picture gallery and tell you stories.

STRANGER. I'll gladly follow anyone who can teach me something.

(PATER MELCHER takes the STRANGER by the hand and leads him out of the
Chapter House.)

Curtain.

SCENE II

PICTURE GALLERY OF THE MONASTERY

[Picture Gallery of the Monastery. There are mostly portraits of people
with two heads.]

MELCHER. Well, first we have here a small landscape, by an unknown
master, called 'The Two Towers.' Perhaps you've been in Switzerland and
know the originals.

STRANGER. I've been in Switzerland!

MELCHER. Exactly. Then near the station of Amsteg on the Gotthard
railway you've seen a tower, called Zwing-Uri, sung of by Schiller
in his _Wilhelm Tell_. It stand