Chapter XXVI

As Cosima and I, seated on a garden bench, were peacefully talking, Jacob came to us bearing a telegram.

One always trembles before opening a message of this kind.

"It is nothing! Only rather a bore!" said Cosima, after reading it. "Two elderly people, named Schott, husband and wife, announce that they will visit us this evening after supper. They are very worthy people, but he, at one time, did Wagner a serious wrong, and Wagner, without exactly holding resentment, yet has not been able to forget. Moreover, these good people are very narrow and stiff, not at all talkative: we shall not know what to do, it will be dull, and all our pleasant, sympathetic atmosphere will be disturbed."

"It might be possible," said I, "to think of something collective that would lessen the necessity for talking during this evening."

"True enough, but what?"

"You might have some music."

"Wagner would not feel like it, I know him: under such circumstances he does not know at all how to dominate, but he grows listless and loses his good humour."

"That mustn't be!" I exclaimed. "It is absolutely necessary to think of something!"

"Ah yes! Do help us out of it if possible, but do not count upon me, I feel utterly incapable of an idea that would be in the least amusing."

I saw Servais in the distance with Richter, they were by the edge of the lake, under the little landing shed, and were throwing bits of wood into the water, to induce Russ and Cos to take their bath.

"I believe a light is dawning in my mind," said I to Cosima. "Wait for me where you are." And I ran down to join the two young men at the edge of the lake.

"My friends," I said to them, "in the face of a delicate situation do you feel the moral force to do something unusual, grand, heroic?"

"Not at all, not at all," replied Servais. "I don't feel equal to anything of the kind."

"Not in the service of the Master?"

"One can always try," said Richter.

"That is something like! Now you see, Servais, you can't get out of it. We must improvise a first class charade for this evening."

"A charade! Before Wagner, we two alone?"

"With Richter at the piano."

"But we shall be absurd! We shall be speechless, like idiots."

"On the other hand the presence of the Master will inspire us. Moreover, we have had experience at your house in Munich, and it is very certain that only we two (you especially) have shown any talent of this kind."

"It is foolish, impossible, abominable," groaned Servais, in the depths of dismay. "I would rather throw myself into the lake."

"It is not a drama that they want of us, but a farce.. .. Oh, come, they will not be critical, and perhaps we shall have the glory of amusing the Master."

He raised his head abruptly, tucking his pale yellow locks behind his ears:

"Very well, so be it. Let us play a charade!"

"Ah, good! We must have everything arranged before supper. Let me tell the good news to Madam Cosima, and then we must get to work!"

"I see that you have thought of something," said Cosima, when I returned to her.

"Yes, we will play a charade."

"A charade? Splendid! I do not know exactly what that is, but I am sure that it is something good."

"As to that, you must risk the pillage of your wardrobe."

"I risk it. They shall open the cupboards and the drawers for you. Take anything you like, except, perhaps, my India shawl, which I cherish very much.... But you must tell me exactly what you are going to do, so I can explain it all to Wagner; otherwise he would torture his mind in the effort to comprehend.... I am sure that he hasn't the slightest idea what a charade may be!"

The drawing-room was deserted, so it was possible for Richter, Servais and me to gather round the piano, and with the greatest secrecy to think out, to discuss and to arrange our foolishness.

The music would be a great help to us in representing characters, crowds, uproars and riots. Therefore Richter's rôle was very important, and as, once the charade had commenced, he would be separated from us, we agreed upon certain signals that we should all recognise.

The gallery, with its large opening into the drawing-room, was chosen for our stage: its heavy portières, drawn back or dropped, formed the curtain. All was arranged, the lamps disposed in the right places, the accessories gathered together. Our greatest difficulty was to induce the servants to let us have a kettle and a broom from the kitchen, two objects that were indispensable to our stage setting. The cook, throwing up her arms, cried that it was not at all suitable to take such things to the drawingroom, so we were obliged to take them by main force.