"Pardon me, Madame, for venturing to complete, with the aid of my imperfect French, your knowledge of my music—a knowledge otherwise so thorough and profound as truly to have surprised and touched me.
"I shall probably go to Paris before long, perhaps even this winter, and I delight in the anticipation of the real pleasure of taking your hand and telling you in person what good you have done to your very grateful and sincere,
"RICHARD WAGNER."
Wagner did not come to Paris that winter, so I looked for him in vain. But my longing to see him had become irresistible since the Master had written that he would like to know me.
There was only one thing to do—to go to Lucerne. But how should I be received? Strange stories were told about Wagner. One authority reported that he had a seraglio of women of all countries and of all colours, clothed magnificently, but that no one ever crossed his threshold.
Someone else described him as an unsociable man, gloomy and disagreeable, living alone in strict seclusion, his only companion a great black dog....
The idea of this stern solitude was not incongruous, and rather pleased me; but I was greatly troubled lest the Master might feel forced to permit my intrusion only through some sentiment of gratitude or courtesy.
Therefore I wrote a rather complicated letter, saying that I should pass through Lucerne with some friends, on my way to an exhibition of paintings at Munich. It would be only a flying visit, I wrote, and I begged him to tell me if he would be there at that time, and if I might go to pay my respects to him.
He would understand from this that I should not disturb him by staying too long.
The following letter completely reassured me:—