She had turned round once or twice during the scene to look at me.
I found her most intelligent; she knew England and had heard
Rubinstein and Joachim play at the Monday Pops. She had been to
the Tower of London, Madame Tussaud's and Lord's.
The officer kept my fan in his hands and, instead of going out in the entr'acte, stayed and listened to our conversation. When the curtain went up and the people returned to their seats, he still held my fan. In the next interval the lady and the girls went out and my left-hand neighbour opened conversation with me. He said in perfect English:
"Are you really as fond of this music as you appear to be?"
To which I replied:
"You imply I am humbugging! I never pretend anything; why should you think I do? I don't lean back perspiring or cover my face with a handkerchief as your compatriots are doing, it is true, but…"
HE (interrupting): "I am very glad of that! Do you think you would recognise a motif if I wrote one for you?"
Feeling rather nettled, I said:
"You must think me a perfect gowk if you suppose I should not recognise any motif in any opera of Wagner!"
I said this with a commanding gesture, but I was far from confident that he would not catch me out. He opened his cigarette- case, took out a visiting card and wrote the Schlummermotif on the back before giving it to me. After telling him what the motif was, I looked at his very long name on the back of the card: Graf von— .
Seeing me do this, he said with a slight twinkle: