Chapter V

Again we arrive at Tribschen. The children meet us and run on before us to the drawing-room, where they are waiting for us. With what sincere cordiality they welcome us! We are no longer the unknown people of yesterday. Cos hardly barks at all, and Russ, the black Newfoundland, without moving from his place on the steps, slowly sweeps the stone with his plumy tail, to show us his good feeling.

With what pleasure in its restful shade we breathe again the faintly perfumed air of this room. We must sit down and rest a little, they say; but the Master, full of good-humour and high spirits, remains standing. He strives to comprehend the voluble conversation (overflowing with enthusiasm, interspersed with laughter) of Villiers de l'Isle-Adam, and he imagines that if he does not quite get the full meaning, it must be the fault of his imperfect understanding of French. No one of us dares to tell him that in listening to Villiers it is the same for all, that he more often than not twists his language into spirals of unintelligible phrases, through which flash both light and wit. When one knows him well, one sees only these flashes; but the Master does not know him.

So, in order to excuse himself, he relates to us an incident that took place once when he was living at Zurich, through his inability to comprehend French.

An orchestra leader, Alsatian or Belgian, having, in any case, a peculiar accent, was speaking with him of the different ways of directing. He condemned certain habits which he considered hopelessly bad, and emphasised his talk with one phrase which he repeated again and again.

_"C'est comme je vous assure."_

Wagner heard, _"C'est comme chez vous à Zurich."_

Irritated, at first, by this rude assertion, he ended by suddenly growing angry, and vehemently defending the Zurich orchestra, which he himself sometimes conducted.

His interlocutor, unable to understand what had caused such anger, was dismayed, excused himself, stammered, and a long time passed before it was made clear.

At the memory of this misunderstanding, Wagner's laugh rang out clear and vibrant, and with all our hearts we laughed with him.

VI

The Master then sat down at the piano, and related to us the poem of Siegfried, upon which he was at that time working. He played the themes, measure by measure, and declaimed and sang with such ardour, such vigour, and such a perfect expression that we seemed actually to be living the whole drama. The hero, at the moment of re-forging the sword, strikes a single blow upon the anvil, and Mime, terror-struck, falls over backward. Wagner rose and almost disappeared entirely in the great violet curtains, in order the better to exemplify the fright of the gnome. He emerged again laughing, and declared that, not being in any sense a pianist, this music of the future was too difficult for him.

"I will outline the second act better," said he; and he revealed to us the whole bird scene in such a delightful way that no later execution of it, anywhere, has quite exalted us to the height of that vivid first impression.