serted that he and his family had
a great respect for the theatre, and it shocked them to find so many
Englishmen who did not respect it. I mention this because it shows
clearly the spirit in which Bayreuth is now being worked. The Wagner
family are not shocked when Wagner's music is caricatured by an
octogenarian tenor or a twenty-stone prima donna; they are shocked
when in very hot weather a few people wear the costume in which they
suffer least discomfort. So the place is becoming a mere fashionable
resort, that would cause Wagner all the pangs of Amfortas could he
come here again. The women seem to change their dresses for every act
of the opera; the prices of lodgings, food, and drinks are rapidly
rising to the Monte Carlo standard; a clergyman has been imported to
preach on Sunday to the English visitors; one sees twenty or thirty
fashionable divorce cases in process of incubation; and Siegfried
Wagner conducts. With infinite labour Wagner built this magnificent
theatre, the most perfect machine in the world for the reproduction of
great art-works; and Mrs. Wagner has given it as a toy to her darling
son that he may amuse himself by playing with it. And, like a baby
when it gets a toy, Siegfried Wagner is breaking it to pieces to see
what there is inside. Unless it is taken from him until he has spent a
few years in learning to play upon instead of with it, Bayreuth will
quickly be deserted. Already it is in decadence. I shall always come
to Bayreuth, for reasons already given; but fashions change, and the
people who come here because it is the fashion will not be long in
finding other resorts; and those who want only to see the music-plays
adequately performed will have learnt that this is not the place for
them. With one voice the ablest German, French, and Dutch critics are
crying against the present state of things; and it is certainly the
duty of every English lover of Wagner to refuse to take tickets for
the performances that are to be conducted by Wagner's son. Bayreuth
promises us the best artists. Whether some of the singers are or are
not the best artists is largely a matter of taste. But that Siegfried
Wagner is the best conductor procurable in Germany is too preposterous
a proposition to be considered for a moment. He may be some day; but
that day is far off.

As for the representation of "Parsifal," I should not trouble to
discuss it had not Mr. Chamberlain's book on Wagner lately come my
way. It sho