The carriage which was to take Wagner to the railway station, on that
Thursday the 2nd September, was to come for me before going to the "Old
street of horses," and that before daylight, as the train left at 5.15
in the morning.
This time, all the disciples were to be permitted to see the Master--if
only they waked early enough--and it was arranged that they should bid
him farewell at the station where, in order not to attract attention,
each one was to go singly.
The sun was hardly up and it was still chilly in spite of the season,
on that high plateau where Munich is situated, when the old hackney
coach, driven by a young coachman in blue and with a Tyrolean hat,
carried me through the deserted city streets.
At the sound of the little bells and the wheels of the coach, Richter
came down with the handbag; then came Wagner followed by Scheffer.
The Master looked very well, and the serenity of his humour seemed to
have increased since the day before.
After we had started, I complimented him upon the strength of mind
which sustained him in the face of this disaster, upon his magnanimous
resignation, or perhaps, his Olympian scorn.
"Neither the one nor the other!" said he. "I have found my force in the
belief that nothing essential, nothing of that which is closest to me,
is hurt by this contention. My work, after the impression which it has
made upon all of you, who understand me so intimately, must be just
what I wished for it, and it soars away intact and free, from amidst
the tawdry rubbish with which they try to disguise it.
"There is still another thing; it is that human malignity is no
longer able to reach or hurt me deeply across the warm affection and
the devotion which surround me. This certainty has comforted me. You
see that even here, as I go away, I leave friends. You also know with
what anxious tenderness they watch for my arrival at home! Truly, when
I think of the past and the despair into which such circumstances as
these would have plunged me then, when I had to bear my pain alone, I
am able to feel almost joyous. Stop, look at the excellent Richter!"
added he with a laugh, "he feels as I do, at twenty-eight he loses a
position that a mature man would find it difficult to obtain, and,
in place of the downcast countenance he ought to have, he shows us a
sincere expression of the most complete satisfaction."
As a matter of fact, sitting opposite the Master, Richter, the golden,
gazed at him with an air of utter beatitude.
"It is because Richter, he also," say I, "soars above the
'misérabilités,' he even carries a glorious palm, and, like the martyrs
of the Coliseum, he sings thanksgivings while the lions are eating him."
"Verily," cried Richter, "I go, like them, straight to Heaven!"
That was true, for Wagner had "commanded" Richter to go and instal
himself at Tribschen and await events there.
As we passed through the Maximilian Square, the Master called attention
to a statue with which he was unfamiliar.
"Who is that?" asked he.
"It is Goethe, by Widnmann," responded Scheffer.
Wagner lifted his soft felt hat and said;
"It is a striking likeness!"
Then he added:
"I said that for fun, but I could very well have known Goethe, I must
have been about fifteen when he died. However I should be pleased to
make you believe that I am younger than Richter!'
"You are younger, Master; the Immortals have no age."
At the station we were all reunited. There were Villiers, Schuré,
Servais and others. Wagner took them all cordially by the hand and
Richter presented to him Franz Servais, whom he did not yet know, but
of whom Liszt had often spoken to him.
The train was in readiness, the compartment chosen, some one arranged
the luggage.
The Master, in a boyish humour, sat on the floor of the carriage, in
the opening of the door, the step serving for his footstool. We ranged
ourselves in a circle, which formed a rampart about him.
I always remember him so under his big gray felt hat, with his
luminous blue eyes, his laughing mouth, so finely cut above the
prominence of the wilful chin, and the neckerchief of yellow satin
which he had crossed over his throat because of the chilly morning air.
He reminded us of our promise to go again and greet him at Tribschen on
our way back to Paris. He also invited Servais to go when we did.
"Since they have chased me out of Munich," said Wagner "those who love
me have nothing further to keep them here."
"We shall remain only a few days," said I, "to keep an eye on the enemy
and to see whether, furious at his defeat, he may not prepare some
vengeance."
"Bah! the conqueror saves himself and will be out of reach of his
blows. But let it be well understood that I triumph in spite of myself,
thanks to the generous defection of Betz, that I did not wish in any
case to oppose the will of the King nor to prevent the representation.
As for you, Richter, do not forget that I only give you time to go and
embrace your mother and to strap your trunks ... and then you must come
as fast as possible to Tribschen, where your room is prepared."
Without responding, Richter seized the Master's hand and kissed it.
The heartless whistle of the train interrupted us. We must separate.
Wagner rose and stepped into the carriage; the door was closed. Still
leaning from the window, he waved his grey hat; the wind scattered the
locks of his hair about his splendid forehead, and, as long as the
train remained in sight, we continued to signal with our handkerchiefs
our latest farewell.