But it is the other horizon only which interests us; that slender promontory over there, which advances at a gentle slope, closing half the passage. Toward that point the breeze gently wafts our rounded sail. There is Tribschen, the domain of Richard Wagner!
A swan floats upon the lake, majestically parting the clear water with his snowy breast, and we imagine we can see between his wings the golden chain which yoked him to Lohengrin's little shallop. To our imagination the green Righi is Mount Salvat; the temple of the Grail must be concealed there behind the vigilant trees, and we search at the summit of Pilate for the giant portal of divine Walhalla.
But we are nearing the promontory; we can distinguish the slender poplars that stand erect upon its extreme point, then the trees and tufted shrubs ranged behind, and there, through an opening in the branches, we can even see a gable and a window of the house.
And now we reach the shore. The boat floats under a little shed built upon piles.
With what deep emotion we set foot upon this sacred soil!
There is no door, no hedge, no limit to this garden; the lake, the hills, the forests, the Alps, the whole world seems a part of it, and even as this thought appeals to our young enthusiasm, so also is it true and prophetic, since the world shall, in truth, become the domain of the great one who dwells here.
The earth rises in a gentle slope toward the house, which we see at the other side of a wide lawn. It seems a very simple house, all of gray, long and low under its roof of reddish tiles. In the centre a double flight of seven or eight steps, guarded by an iron balustrade, leads to the drawing-room.
We advance slowly, full of emotion and thoughtful, as at the threshold of a temple. Some one has seen us, undoubtedly, as the Master appears at the door of the drawing-room and descends the steps, a big black Newfoundland bounding by his side.
With an air at once ceremonious and cordial, Wagner bids us enter.
A tall and slender young woman, with a noble and distinguished air, a sweet smile and very blue eyes under her beautiful blond hair, stands in the centre of the drawing-room, surrounded by four little girls, one of them an infant.