It was the 25th of August, anniversary day of the birth of King Ludwig II. Munich was adorned with flags, and its regiments marched in full dress uniforms of sky blue. We had heard one of their bands play before the Royal Palace the very "Huldigung-Marsch"—which I had so laboriously deciphered at four hands with Wagner. The King was not in Munich, but would come in time to be present at the dress rehearsal of the Rheingold, which was to take place on Friday the 27th of August—two days later.
Ludwig II., who was adored by his people, did not seek for ovations. On the contrary, he avoided them as often as possible, and thereby greatly disappointed the Bavarian people, who were always eager to see him and were so rarely gratified!
It appeared indeed, that all the young girls of the kingdom, and even perhaps, all the women, were in love with their youthful and charming sovereign; but he was haughty and reserved by nature, and in the wonderful locations which he had chosen for his castles he lived almost alone, surrounded by the splendours of art and the beauties of Nature.
This, however, did not prevent him from fulfilling his duties as king; he had according to custom inaugurated the International Exposition of Painting, and had left the city the same day. Very few would have the opportunity of seeing him when he should return to hear the work of his great friend.
I, too, was born on the 25th of August, the day of St Ludwig the king, so it was also my fête-day. I had told Cosima this fact because of my vain-glory in possessing something in common with the royal archangel. To my great surprise, she remembered it and sent me a charming parasol, of a new model, which they called, "Sea-side parasol," the novelty consisting in the fact that it could also be used as a cane. So, in promenading through Maximilianstrasse, I liked better to lean upon my parasol than to open it and shelter myself from the sun.
Many pilgrims were to be seen in Munich, come from all sides to hear the Rheingold. Among them were pointed out to us, Madame Pauline Viardot, Saint-Saëns, Tourguenef, Baron von Leon, manager of the theatre at Weimar, and many others whom I have forgotten.
We were all very nervous and excited. Only two days more! Would everything be ready? Hans Richter could not conceal his disquietude, so many things about the conduct of the manager seemed to him to be ambiguous.
"Perfall will not allow anything to be seen of his stage arrangements," said he, "but he has the expression of a traitor."
"Perfall, Perfide!"
One would have said that the labours of the Cyclops were taking place behind the walls of the long closed theatre. There were rumours of steam engines, hoisted upon the stage by means of lifting machines and pulleys. For what purpose? Truly it was very terrifying; what would come of all this mystery?