"What people?"
Cosima called me, by a gesture, near to her, and from there I could see why my hosts were keeping so quietly out of sight. A coach full of tourists had stopped before the steps of the house. A personage clothed entirely in brown holland, against which appeared the black cord of a lorgnette, was interviewing the servant. I thought at first sight that it was a question of some tiresome acquaintance whom they were endeavouring to get rid of as politely as possible; but I soon comprehended that these were foreign tourists, entire strangers, who, with an incredible assurance, insisted upon visiting Richard Wagner. This excursion was doubtless fitted in between the ascension of the Righi and the promenade to the Lion of Lucerne. They insisted with unparallelled impertinence, feigning not to comprehend the assertions of the servant, prolonging the discussion wilfully, while, in the little grove near-by, one dared not breathe, for fear of being discovered. At length Jacob persuaded these intruders that the Master was absent. The carriage was started again amid the creaking of old iron, the gravel of the drive crunched under the wheels, and the vehicle, crowded with green umbrellas, blue veils, and red shawls, went back down the hill.
"At last we are free!" cried the Master, rising.
"How," said I, "could you believe that I would bring such a rabble here?"
"You arrived at the same time," said he; "but I ought not to have suspected you."
"Nor to have given me that terrible look!"
"The look was for the tourists," said he, laughing. "I am simply beset by the audacity of these strangers," added he. "This scene is very often repeated. The worst of it is that Jacob is against me. He finds all these people very distinguished, and cannot understand why I refuse to see them."
"What a queer situation it would be if one were to receive them. What would they say, and what attitude of mind would they reveal?"
"They relate a curious anecdote of Goethe with regard to a similar adventure," said Wagner. "He was so often intruded upon by the curious in his house in Weimar, that one day, made impatient by the determination of an unknown Englishman to force an entrance, he suddenly ordered his servant to show him in. The Englishman entered. Goethe planted himself erect in the centre of the room, his arms crossed, his eyes on the ceiling, motionless like a statue.
"Surprised for the moment, the stranger soon comprehended the situation, and without being in the least disconcerted, he put on his glasses, walked slowly round Goethe, inspected him from head to foot, and went out without saluting. It is difficult to say," concluded the Master, "which of the two showed the keener wit."