Wagner was an admirable organiser. Just as the coffee was finished and
the cigarettes smoked, we heard the whistle of the steamboat, and had
only to cross the road and go aboard. What is there to tell about this
voyage, except that there are some moments in life when all nature is
illuminated by the light that you carry within yourself; when the air
seems more limpid, the sky more luminous, the water more transparent;
when all vibrates harmoniously throughout the scene which envelops your
joy.
Certain it is that there was never for me such a blue lake between such
fresh hills, and yet I did not see them. The face of the Master, his
beaming eyes, where blended the most beautiful shades of sapphire--that
was what I saw, and I said to Madam Cosima, who thought quite as I
did,--
"Now, at last, I comprehend that happiness of paradise, so extolled by
believers, the seeing of the Gods face to face!"
The setting sun illumined a beatified sky when the boat stopped at the
last station. The lake appeared to end there, and I believe the little
port where we disembarked was called Treib, and from there one ascended
to Seelisberg.
I was altogether unacquainted with the previous life of Richard
Wagner; I knew nothing of his political exile or of his long sojourn
in this country where he was leading us: I had no idea of the ordeals
he had passed through, of the heart-breaks which had preceded the
consoling lull of the present hour, this happy time of renewed
inspiration, during which I had the good fortune to find him so full of
joy, of energy, and of serenity.
I was, therefore, very much surprised, delightfully surprised, by the
scene which followed his landing. Before he put his foot on shore he
had been recognised. Very soon a crowd assembled: boatmen, residents,
attendants, all hurried toward him, and with wonderful enthusiasm
acclaimed Richard Wagner, pressing his hands, kissing his garments with
a sort of adoration. The Master thanked them laughing, but with wet
eyes. He drew us quickly away from the crowd.
"These good people," said he, "they have not forgotten me yet."
Then he told us how much this land of exile had meant to him.
"I arrived here like a criminal driven out of his country, knowing
not where to find refuge. This is the very village to which I came.
And that first night when, sad and disheartened, I made ready to sleep
in a strange room, a chorus of men, accompanied by harps and brass
instruments broke forth under my window. Dressing again quickly, I
opened the shutters, and saw on the lake several boats hung with
lanterns, and filled with men who sang. Can you imagine my emotion in
listening to them? For they sang my music, fragments from my operas!
I could hardly believe my ears. How could it happen that while I was
fleeing from one country which hated me, here, in this out-of-the-way
village, I was loved; they knew my works, and welcomed me like this? I
have lived a long time among these honest Swiss people, and I am deeply
grateful to them, because at the moment of my greatest despair they
gave me back faith and hope." Wagner spoke with feeling, and his voice
was serious; but his laugh rang clearly as he added:
"And that is why you will have bad beds tonight, and an indifferent
supper. For I know you would not have me take you to any other inn than
this one from which I carried away such a memory."