And that second day, which dawned with a beautiful blue sky, how sunny
and radiant it seemed to us! How happy we were and how full of joyful
anticipation! We knew Richard Wagner and he knew us.
"Come early to-morrow," he had said to us. That was better and more
real than mere politeness. The disciples pleased the Master, of that
we were blissfully sure. But, all the same, we must not arrive too
soon at Tribschen, and how should we pass the time until the fitting
moment arrived? Villiers, who wished to be very smart, went in search
of a hairdresser, and fixed his choice upon a certain Monsieur Frey.
Installed in the chair, a towel under his chin, his cheeks all covered
with soapsuds, the patient, still lost in his dream, recalled a phrase
from the letter that Wagner had written me about the _Meistersinger_.
"My barber told me the other day, that this part pleased him best of
all." So the barbers of Lucerne were Wagnerians? Then he could talk;
and with no further hesitation he entered with Monsieur Frey into a
dissertation upon the music of the future. The Swiss Figaro did his
best to fulfil his part, and the talk being prolonged, Villiers came
out of the little shop with a head tightly curled all over like an
astrakhan cap. Thus elaborated, he joined us upon the wharf at the
edge of the lake, and to forget our impatience we prowled about among
the bales and bundles of cordage. My companion hummed a motif from the
overture to the _Meistersinger_, which charmed him more and more. He
tried to prevail upon me to sing at the same time the second motif,
where it mingles with the first.
"How can I, in the open streets? They would throw us both into the
lake!"
"Then let us get out of sight of the passers-by."
So behold us forthwith clambering over joists and building materials of
all kinds, to reach a deserted corner. Villiers was enchanted with our
humming, which we had to recommence many times. His quick imagination
supplied all that was lacking; he fancied he could hear the whole
orchestra. Suddenly he caught sight of something, and stopped short,
his clear blue eyes very wide open. Staring unwinkingly, he began to
laugh.
"What on earth is that extraordinary word,
'Dampfschifffahrtgesellschaft?'"
True enough, there was the word in big letters on a board painted
white, high up between two posts driven into the soil.
"Six vowels among twenty-three consonants, and all in one word!" cried
Villiers. "What can such a word mean?"
And, uniting our vague notions of German, we concluded that it
signified "Steamship Company," and that this was the landing-place.
In fact, beyond the poles joined by the plank, which together formed
a sort of door-casing, there was a wooden staircase which led to a
pontoon. Swans swam about in the blue water as it lapped against the
piles, and the sails, as white as their wings, bore toward the distant
Eden, toward the promontory which the sun at that moment covered with
a golden mist. "What time is it?" Every few moments this question was
asked. At last the time came to go back to the Hôtel du Lac for dinner.
For, contrary to the French custom, they served a very hearty dinner
there at one o'clock, and if anything further was desired, a very light
supper at eight; so finally we understood why, on the day before, it
had seemed to us that they never dined at Tribschen.
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."_