“You may believe that, but nobody else does.” from the play, “The Tenor” Gerado states that Duhring has wasted his life. Duhring has been doing everything for his art. Gerardo reveals there is a different view of art from the idealistic image. Ideal for Adult Males ranging from 30-49. 1-2 Mins.
Written By: Frank Wedekind
GERARDO:
You may believe that, but nobody else does. We artists are merely a luxury for the use of the bourgeoisie. When I stand there on the stage I feel absolutely certain that not one solitary human being in the audience takes the slightest interest in what we, the artists, are doing. If they did, how could they listen to “Die Walküre,” for instance? Why, it is an indecent story which could not be mentioned anywhere in polite society. And yet, when I sing Siegmund, the most puritanical mothers bring their fourteen-year-old daughters to hear me. This, you see, is the meaning of whatever you call art. This is what you have sacrificed fifty years of your life to. Find out how many people came to hear me sing and how many came to gape at me as they would at the Emperor of China if he should turn up here to-morrow. Do you know what the artistic wants of the public consist in? To applaud, to send flowers, to have a subject for conversation, to see and be seen. They pay me half a million, but then I make business for hundreds of cabbies, writers, dressmakers, restaurant keepers. It keeps money circulating; it keeps blood running. It gets girls engaged, spinsters married, wives tempted, old cronies supplied with gossip; a woman loses her pocketbook in the crowd, a fellow becomes insane during the performance. Doctors, lawyers made….
(He coughs.)
And with this I must sing Tristan in Brussels tomorrow night! I tell you all this, not out of vanity, but to cure you of your delusions. The measure of a man’s worth is the world’s opinion of him, not the inner belief which one finally adopts after brooding over it for years. Don’t imagine that you are a misunderstood genius. There are no misunderstood geniuses.
