Part 4

But now a soft radiance stole over the sky. Little by little the outlines of the mountains stood out, very sombre against the lighter background; and, gradually, the magnificent spectacle of a rising moon unrolled before our eyes.

The diffused light increased and concentrated, surging higher and higher; the prelude to Lohengrin sang itself in our hearts, and when, at last, the full moon emerged, lifted above the highest summit, it was for us the Grail shining upon the altar, before the Master of the Grail.

XXII

"Allons, Enfants de la Patrie! Le jour de gloire est arrivé!"

So sang Wagner from the _Marseillaise_ at the top of his voice, as he beat a tattoo on the door of my bedroom to awaken me; and he passed on to each door, beating the same refrain.

We should have to dress very quickly, as we must climb a mountain and reach the summit before noon, if we wished to breakfast there.

This mountain was called the Axenstein. We commenced the ascent on foot, on a lovely day, under a sunshine already warm. The way at the beginning was charming, and mounted very slowly between trees and bushes, like a garden path.

Senta ran on before and gathered little wild flowers; very soon she gave a cry of joy. She had just discovered some strawberries. Surely enough, there were wild strawberries reddening under the leaves here and there. We also, Madam Cosima and I, were intent upon finding them; but Wagner, already far in advance, called out to us not to linger, and so, by a path grown more rugged and without any shade, we hurried on. My companion seemed very tired and almost fainting. I made her sit down on a grassy hillock, and after inhaling some salts, she recovered herself quickly.

"Do not speak of it. Above all, do not let the Master know," she said. Then she told me that she had been more or less ailing and feeble since the birth of Siegfried, her son, whom she had not yet presented to me.

"Wagner, who is indefatigable, always supposes that one has strength to follow him, and would be inconsolable if he were to know that he is mistaken. That is why it is necessary to triumph over weakness and continue the ascent."

XXIII

The hotel was one of those sumptuous and comfortable structures which are to be found all over Switzerland, with the domestic in a dress coat, whose presence gives you a shock of disappointment when he receives you with a smile, at the moment when you reach a summit which you had imagined to be almost inaccessible. The view was, undoubtedly, very wonderful, since we had been obliged to mount so high in order to enjoy it, but I am ashamed to say that I have not retained any memory of it. The Master was exuberantly gay: again he found old acquaintances, old servants, among the retainers of the hotel, with whom he joked familiarly, which annoyed Madam Cosima very much, as she could have wished him to be more reserved, more Olympian.

In the corner that had been selected for us in the immense dining-room, the dinner, lubricated with champagne, was hilarious and particularly delicious. In honour of Wagner, the proprietress of the hotel, whose outline insistently suggested the fairy Carabosse, had herself superintended its preparation. We prolonged it until a late hour, as it was the last day of the excursion: on the following day we should have to descend again, to take the steamboat and return to Lucerne.

It was only after the return that Wagner confessed that he had been indisposed all through the journey; but he had taken great care not to let us perceive it, in order not to spoil our pleasure.

XXIV

For several days we had noticed that they treated us with extraordinary respect at the Hôtel du Lac. If we rang, they ran to answer our call before the bell had stopped vibrating, owing to the fact that the servants always remained in the corridor, to take our orders the more quickly. At table, because we had once complimented the master of the hotel on a particularly delicious dish of spinach, they now served us spinach more and more delicious at every meal. When we left our rooms stealthy and curious eyes looked at us through half-open doors along the passage. They saluted us with an obsequiousness most unusual in free Switzerland. They almost appeared to form in line as we passed, and already in the city it was evident that our presence created a strange excitement. Was it because they knew us to be friends of Richard Wagner, and because the jealously-guarded retreat in which he lived was open for us? Certainly no glory appeared to us more enviable, and our just pride equalled our joy. But why should we cause such a commotion amid the placid population of Lucerne? Could it be that we were surrounded by a luminous mist, visible to less fortunate mortals?

When we set sail for the little cape of Tribschen, clouds of other sails, with an appearance of unconcern, put out from the banks to escort us from afar, and as long as we remained at the home of our illustrious host, they increased all about the edges of the grounds, drawing as near as possible.

We had told the Master and Madam Cosima about this, and they were as puzzled as we were. Sometimes we went into the garden, to look through the trees at all those boats, full of tourists, which waited there so stubbornly with that incomprehensible air of expectation.

This mysterious thing finally explained itself. Madam Cosima, in going to Lucerne one day to take Senta for her piano lesson, met the owner of Tribschen, and he himself, without being asked, gave the keyword of the enigma.

"Everyone in Lucerne knows," said he, "that the King, Ludwig II. of Bavaria, is here incognito. The Chief of Police said to me, 'I have an unerring scent, and I know that he is there.'"

Everyone knew that the King had had his hair dressed at the shop of M. Frey, and that he had honoured the fortunate barber with a conversation upon Wagner; that at the Zug rifle-match he had condescended to compete, and victoriously, and that he had made with the Master an excursion to the Axenstein....

The piano-teacher knew the story, but she also told Cosima something more. Adelina Patti had been at Tribschen for the last fifteen days. The King had brought her there, so that she might study a part, which it would be her duty to create in the next work of Wagner. That was why all the boatmen received orders to draw as near as possible to the Master's house, in order that the tourists might perhaps catch, on the wing, a few notes of the _diva_. It was Villiers de l'Isle-Adam whom they had taken for the King of Bavaria, and it was in my person that the Lucerne imagination had recognised Madam Patti. One of our companions was, beyond any doubt, the blond Count de Taxis.

"You see," Wagner said to us, "that you have not only touched two hearts which, through being armed so long against human malice, have become almost callous, but you have also put in a flutter the usually very apathetic brains of the inhabitants of Lucerne!"

All was very clear, now that we understood it; but now we must proceed to undeceive these firmly convinced people. All our denials, like the hammer that strikes upon the nail, only served to deepen the certainty of their minds. It only remained to amuse ourselves with this short royalty. We profited by it to the extent of being served like princes at the Hôtel du Lac.

XXV

One day I had been invited to Tribschen for the two o'clock dinner. Over the lake, as usual, a boatman rowed me to the point of the promontory, and I passed through the garden and up to the house without meeting anyone. The French windows of the drawing-room were wide-open, and as I reached the threshold I heard soft harmonies that came from the little sanctuary where the Master worked. Hardly daring to breathe, I slipped into the nearest chair. I was greatly moved, troubled, even frightened, for was it not a presumption, almost a sacrilege, to surprise in this way the sacred mystery? Yet, what rare good fortune was mine, to hear Wagner composing! Perfectly quiet, hardly moving an eyelash, I listened intently. Incomparably sweet appeared to me the sounds I heard. A very slow progression of chords, which seemed to be drawn from a harp rather than a piano: a strange, remote harmony, mysterious and supernatural. I discovered, later, that it was the first sketch of the Invocation to Erda by Wotan, in the Third Act of _Siegfried_, where the goddess ascends from the depths of the earth, with closed eyes and draperies wet with dew....

After a few moments, silence fell, and Wagner soon appeared between the silken folds of the parted curtains.

His face, with its aureole of silvered hair, was calm, and still more luminous than usual were the rays that beamed from his large eyes.

He saw me sitting rigid on my chair.

"Ah!" he said, "are you there? As quiet as an image! I have not heard a sound."

"Imagine, then, O Master, what terror and what ecstasy I have felt, to surprise Deity in the act of creating."

"I have told you before that you must not be so enthusiastic," he exclaimed laughingly. "It is bad for the health."

"Oh! no; on the contrary, it makes one doubly alive."

"Well, I have been good too. Come and see how well I have worked."

A perfume of white-rose extract pervaded the little chapel. A restful light, subdued by the surrounding verdure, illumined it; two or three rays fell on the gilded backs of the books, and the royal friend in his golden frame seemed to follow one with the magic glance of his polar blue eyes.

There was no disorder on the piano-desk. Several large sheets of music-paper, nearly covered with writing, concealed here and there the dark woodwork. The part which the Master had just composed was written in pencil, in very fine, close writing.

"I copy with the pen," he said. "I like to have it very clear. When I cannot decipher it, I am furious."

I read at the top of a re-copied page,

"_Siegfried_. Third Act."

"As a matter of fact," exclaimed Wagner, "I ought to rewrite from nearly two pages back, because I have smudged it."

And he showed me where, on the right side of the leaf, three bars were scratched out. They had been erased angrily, by three slurs, very heavily marked and resembling a series of _e_'s and _l_'s.

"What will become of this precious paper, then?" I asked.

"Would you like it?" replied the Master, divining my covetousness.

"Oh! yes."

Then, taking his pen, he dated it on the margin at the top of the page, "From Tribschen."

It is the wonderful prelude from the Third Act of _Siegfried_, before the Invocation to Erda. It is sketched in three lines, with instrumental indications, and a few pencilled alterations. I did not yet know all the beauty contained in those two pages, the possession of which filled me with joy.

The bell for _déjeuner_ sounded, and I heard the laughter of the children. They were looking for us. Wagner gallantly offered me his arm to escort me to the dining-room.

XXVI

At table, Wagner told us about a very interesting French leaflet which he had once read in Paris, and which he had never been able to find again. It was a history of Bluebeard, with the traditional slaying of his wives and the forbidden chamber; but in this account the last-threatened victim was not saved in the usual way, by her brothers. No less a person than Jeanne d'Arc came to deliver her and punish the criminal.

"I remember," said the Master, "that there were illustrations. As a matter of fact, it was a cheap edition, printed in two columns. I have no idea how this pamphlet came into my hands, nor how it was lost, but I have never forgotten it. That bringing together of Jeanne d'Arc and Bluebeard impressed me very much. The monstrous Gilles de Retz, who may have served as a model for the legendary type of Bluebeard, was a contemporary of _La Pucelle_, and the hypothesis of that heroine's coming to the aid of innocence and chastising the guilty is very curious. I should be glad if I could find that funny little leaflet again."

(Alas! it was not to be found, in spite of all researches.)

Toward the middle of the dinner, Wagner, who had been silent for a little time, asked our permission to go and note down an idea which had crossed his mind, and which he feared he might forget, _à propos_ of the study of Beethoven upon which he was then at work.

He went up to his bedroom to write these few sentences, and I concluded from that fact that the Master did not write his volumes of prose in the same holy place where he composed his music.

XXVII

In the "gallery," beside the marble statue of Tristan, stood a photograph framed in velvet which reproduced the features of a handsome, athletic young man, with an intensely ardent expression. I was very curious about this portrait, which always attracted my attention and held it irresistibly. One day I questioned the Master.

"Who is that young man?"

I saw him grow pale; his eyes filled with tears, and with a repressed sigh, he murmured,

"My poor Schnorr!"

Madam Cosima signed to me not to say anything more, and as soon as it was possible, she told me all about it.

"It is a photograph of Schnorr von Karolsfeld, 'the hero of song,' as Wagner called him--suddenly cut off by Death in the very fulness of triumphant life. Five years have passed since then, but the Master cannot console himself for the loss of this friend, this disciple, this marvellous interpreter of his work. He never thinks of him without a pang and, above all, he dreads to speak of him."

"Schnorr was the son of a celebrated painter, and had received a fine education. He was very gifted in all the arts, and by reason of one more rare and wonderful gift, that of an incomparable voice, he had been drawn toward music and the stage. From his first acquaintance with the works of Richard Wagner, Schnorr had comprehended and profoundly loved them. Despite the increasing celebrity of the young artist, the Master for a long time rather dreaded to see him because of what he had heard of his too great corpulence: he feared that this physical imperfection might prejudice and render him unjust to all his other qualities. So, because he was little skilled in concealing his impressions, he avoided being brought in contact with the interpreter of his works. It was, therefore, with great secrecy that he went one evening to Karlsruhe (where Schnorr was engaged for a representation of _Lohengrin_) and entered the theatre without being recognised.

"Later, the Master himself told the story of that wonderful evening.

"'All my apprehensions very soon disappeared. It is true that the first appearance of the Knight of the Swan as he drew near to the shore, looking like a young Hercules, made a rather strange impression upon me, but this disappeared as the hero advanced. The peculiar charm of the messenger from God works instantly. Of this character one did not ask, "Who is he?" but said, "It is he."

"'Truly, this sudden and profound impression can only be compared to a kind of enchantment. I remember having felt this very decidedly when I was a boy, concerning the great Schroeder-Devrient. I have never experienced it since so strongly, so decisively as at the entrance of Ludwig Schnorr in _Lohengrin_. While I recognised, in the course of his interpretation, that in many ways his understanding and rendering of my work had not yet attained maturity, yet even in that I saw the charm of a youthful purity still untouched, of a virgin soil that promised to bring forth flowers of great artistic perfection. The fervour, the tender exaltation that burned in the marvellously love-filled eyes of this very young man, made me feel vaguely how ill-omened might be the fire by which they were enkindled. Very soon I discovered in him a being who, by the very reason of his unlimited gifts, inspired in me a tragic pity.'

"The meeting between the Master and the disciple was cordial and touching. And what a glad surprise for the creator of _Tristan and Isolde_, to discover that Schnorr, filled with enthusiasm for this work, reputed to be unsingable, had made himself thoroughly acquainted with it, and knew the _rôle_ of Tristan from one end to the other! Nevertheless, he had hesitated to sing it, all because of a passage in the Third Act. He did not quite comprehend what ought to be the musical expression of this especial passage, which he judged to be one of the highest importance.

"This unselfish scruple gave Wagner one of the vivid surprises of his life. Could it be possible that a tenor acclaimed by all should have so little vanity and be so nobly conscious of his artistic mission? Could he so mistrust himself and, in spite of his experience and his pre-eminence, believe himself incapable of interpreting a rôle because he did not entirely comprehend the exact expression of a single passage in so complicated a work? And the idea of cutting out this phrase, the first that would have occurred to any other singer, had not even suggested itself to this rare soul.

"The passage in question, in the Third Act of _Tristan_, runs as follows:

'Aus Vaters Noth und Mutter Weh, Aus Liebes-thränen eh' und je, Aus Lachen und Weinen, Wonnen und Wunden, Hab' ich des Trankes Gifte gefunden!

Den ich gebraut, der mir geflossen, Den Wonne Schlürfend je ich genossen, Verflucht sei furchtbarer Trank, Verflucht wer dich gebraut!'

"It is a climax in that delirious raving of Tristan separated from Isolde, that frenzied longing which only found relief in unconsciousness.

"The Master explained certain things to Schnorr; especially he gave him the idea of a wider, less rapid, movement, which suddenly cleared all that had been obscure to the young artist, who showed at once that he had understood by interpreting the passage in a way that was without a fault.

"'Who can measure the extent of the hopes that thrilled me at the moment when such a singer came into my life!'

"Such was Wagner's cry of gratitude. And from that day he made every effort to obtain a representation of _Tristan_, with the co-operation of Schnorr.

"There were still many years before this beautiful dream was realised, and then it came to pass through the intervention of the royal friend, the archangel so miraculously sent, whose flaming sword reduced all obstacles to ashes and made free the path toward the ideal.

"These first representations of _Tristan_ at Munich were among the most memorable of artistic events. Those who had the good fortune to take part in them preserved a splendid memory and a nostalgic longing. So great a work produced with such perfection and, during the rehearsals, such complete harmony between the Master and the interpreter!

"To quote the Master's own words:

"'The clumsiest of would-be musicians, singer or instrumentalist, would never have accepted from me such minute instructions as did that hero of song, who, without effort, arrived at such a mastery. Any indication of mine upon which I laid the slightest stress he accepted and acted on with cheerful promptness, grasping the reason for it at once, and in such a way that I should have felt that I had failed in my duty if, through fear of wounding his feelings, I had withheld my suggestion, however minute it might be. The reason for this disposition on the part of my friend is that the ideal comprehension of my work had come to him quite spontaneously; he absorbed my ideas so naturally that not the slenderest thread of the spiritual woof, not the slightest allusion to the most obscure harmonies escaped him; he felt them all in a very subtle way.'

"'So nothing remained for him but to select as rigorously as possible the technical methods of expression for the singer, the musician, and the actor that would best secure a perfect harmony between the personal gifts of the artist in their particular effect and the ideal object of the interpretation. All who were present at those studies will be able to testify that they never before witnessed such an amicable and artistic understanding. Having explained to him the one passage which he had not comprehended I never had any further talk with Schnorr about the Third Act of _Tristan_, After paying the closest attention to the rehearsals of the First and Second Acts, when the Third Act commenced I involuntarily turned away from the hero, wounded unto death, and, sitting motionless upon my chair with my eyes half-closed, became completely absorbed in the music. As I never turned toward him during this tremendous scene even at his most impassioned utterances, Schnorr appeared to have been abashed by my long silence and seeming indifference; but when, after the malediction of love, I finally got up and going unsteadily to this wonderful friend, who still remained prostrate on his couch, I leaned over him and, embracing him vehemently, said to him in a subdued voice that I had no criticism to make, that from this time forth my own ideal would be consummately revealed by him, then his sombre eyes sparkled like the star of love; there was one hardly perceptible sob, and from that time no other word ever passed between us on the subject of this Third Act.'

"The days of these representations and the dress rehearsal before the King were, without doubt, for Wagner the culminating point in his destiny as composer: they included those ineffable hours that repay for a whole lifetime of efforts, of disappointments, of miseries--his 'ideal realised,' the splendour of his genius shining before his own eyes and penetrating his very being with a glorious certainty.

"And what a magnificent trinity, Richard Wagner, Ludwig II. and the incarnation of Tristan! What a noble joy animated them all! 'How I bless those hours!' cried Schnorr, in a burst of enthusiasm. 'O Master, with your help and the help of this divine king, I also must accomplish something great and glorious!'

"A most unusual interruption brought this splendid manifestation of art to an unforeseen conclusion after the fourth representation. From the first, Wagner had felt for Schnorr's prodigious achievement an astonishment full of respect, which increased to dread and finally became an actual terror. It was unbelievable that the singer could repeat this performance day after day, after the custom of the theatre. The Master felt that it would be a crime, and he therefore declared that this fourth representation of _Tristan_ should be the last; that he would not permit another. So the work was not given again.

"'I feel that I have no right to inflict such a condition of trouble upon a human being,' said Wagner.

"It was not a question of physical fatigue--Schnorr did not experience any: but to live Tristan, to burn with his passions, to suffer his agonies, to thrill with his ecstasies, to die his death!--such superhuman exaltation, such emotion and fever of the soul, all this the Master could not permit again. So the success was interrupted, the big receipts were cut off, for such secondary considerations as these did not concern those generous minds for an instant.

"Then a very great project began to take shape in Wagner's brain.