All the servants at Tribschen are crowded at the doors, and they watch
this unprecedented sight with devout amazement. At the third scene
their attention redoubles, for the kettle and the broom are about to
play their part, to the great horror of the cook.
"If it had only been a nice hair broom! But that ugly old one used to
sweep the court!"
In reality the broom is not exactly the right thing, but as there is
only one of me to personate the three witches of Macbeth, I feel that
this classic mount will aid the illusion. With my hair concealed under
a grey veil, I bestride the diabolical steed, which then proceeds to
prance.
"Round about the cauldron go;
In the poison'd entrails throw
Toad, that under cold stone,
Days and nights hast thirty-one
Swelter'd venom sleeping got,
Boil thou first i' the charméd pot.
Double, double, toil and trouble;
Fire, burn: and, cauldron, bubble.
Fillet of a fenny snake,
In the cauldron boil and bake;
Eye of newt, and toe of frog,
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,
Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting,
Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing,
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble."
Then comes Macbeth: he is welcomed by the prophetic words:
"All hail, Macbeth, hail to thee thane of Glamis!"
"Hail to thee, thane of Cawdor!"
"All hail, Macbeth, that shalt be king hereafter." And the audience is
supposed to understand that the third syllable is "Tane."
We are very successful up to this point. Wagner, who is standing behind
an easy chair, leaning his elbows on the back, looks and listens with
extreme attention, he is greatly interested and laughs heartily.
Now we must give the entire word: "Tarlatane." The public approbation
encourages us, so we are no longer nervous about our effects.
Richter plays a waltz.
A lady comes home at midnight from a ball, in a tarlatan frock.
Standing before her mirror she begins to remove her jewels, to take
the flowers from her hair, meanwhile thinking over the incidents of
the evening, the compliments, the scandals, the toilettes more or less
pretty, the little absurdities of her friends, which are still amusing
her.
As she has danced all the evening, she is very tired, and rejoices at
the idea of retiring.
But suddenly there is a ring at the bell. The lady starts:
"Who can be ringing at my house at such an hour?"
The domestics are in bed. At first she dares not open the door: but she
must, for perhaps some one of her neighbours is ill and in need of her.
On the threshold appears a strange young man, tall, thin, with weeping
willow locks, and an awkward and conceited air.
"You are no doubt mistaken in the floor, sir, as I have not the honour
of your acquaintance."
"How, Madam, you do not remember me! You know me very well,
nevertheless. We have met in society, and I came here once to a Soirée
at your house. Let me give you my card!"
"Ah, yes, I do seem to remember, you are not altogether a stranger....
But what serious thing can have happened to bring you to my house so
late?"
"Oh, do not be disturbed, there is nothing serious, nothing at all. I
was passing your house by chance; happening to look up, I saw a light
in your window. I said to myself: 'Stay! I owe this lady a visit, a
very much delayed visit, which must not be put off any longer.... What
a good opportunity! Certainly, I am not sleepy, and, since she is awake
she is not sleepy either. She will be pleased to see me and to pass a
few hours in intellectual conversation with me.'"
"A few hours!"
"But, I beg you, do not inconvenience yourself for me! do not remain
standing; let us be seated; one can talk so much better sitting down."
"But don't you understand, sir, it is very late!"
"Oh! do not be disturbed about that, I am not in the slightest hurry."
And the intruder enters upon a trifling and endless gabble in spite
of the impatience of the lady, who does not attempt to conceal her
ill-humour, and replies ironically and as briefly as possible. Finally
she declares:
"I truly believe that you have lost your common-sense."
"What, do you imagine that I am intoxicated? Ah well, you will see that
is quite impossible when I tell you that I have dined at home: a plain
and frugal dinner, of which I retain a very unpleasant memory, and
while we are on that subject, I beg of you to be good enough to give me
a tooth-pick."
"A tooth-pick!"
"Yes, exactly, you will in that way do me a favour, because, at that
dinner, I partook of veal, and I should very much like a tooth-pick.
You see it was paternal veal, stringy, tough and salted.... Ah, so salt
that I am dying of thirst, and it would be so kind of you if you would
have some drinks served."
During the last intermission, some champagne had been uncorked. Wagner,
who was as amused as a child, interrupted the scene at this point,
crying out:
"Here it is! Here it is!"
And he poured the sparkling wine for us himself!
Then Servais became epic.
"It is very curious, Madam, but you have a butler who has a marvellous
resemblance to a composer of whom they have been talking very much of
late, a certain Richard Wagner. He is an extravagant person, a madman,
who makes terrible music, full of discords that are worthy of cannibals
and calls it 'the music of the future.'"
And he retailed, without trembling, all the venomous imbecilities that
were current, and finally:...
"And it appears that this music has no airs, yet, apropos of this,
something surprises me very much: this composer has brought out in
Paris a so-called opera, which naturally was finely hissed, and which
furnished a subject for endless witticisms: one, among others, you
might, perhaps, be able to explain to me. Some one said, 'He bores me
with his recitatives and wearies me with his airs'--(il me _tanne aux
airs_).[3] But since there are no airs? and then 'tanne.' What can that
word mean?"
Then the lady's wrath broke forth:
"Sir, _'tanner'_ is a slang word, which means 'to annoy, to bore, to
exasperate' in polite speech. It is, for example, what you are doing
here at this moment. I have given proof of extraordinary patience
because I am a gentlewoman, but now that you dare to speak offensively
of a man whom I believe to be the greatest genius that ever existed,
that I will not endure. You have wounded my dearest convictions. You
are an idiot and a ruffian, and I have the pleasure of showing you the
door, and of charging you never to come to my house again."
Wagner laughed till he cried.
It was necessary to explain, in the midst of the bravos and the
recalls, that the word of the charade was "Tarlatane": A lady in a
tarlatane dress ... a man who "tard la tanne," "stays late and bores."
[1] "La" A, given for the tuning of the instruments.
[2] A well-known place of entertainment in Paris.
[3] Allusion of that time to "Tannhäuser." "Il m'ennuie aux récitatifs
et il me tanne aux airs."