Mister--" "Arthmann,
madame," said the sculptor. They all shook hands after the singer had
released her mother from a huge, cavernous hug. "But Meg, Meg, where is
your chaperon?" Fridolina looked at the young man: "Why, mamma, it was
the _Hausfrau_ who let you in, of course." Miss Bredd smiled cynically.

III

Up the Via Dolorosa toiled a Sunday mob from many nations. The long,
nebulous avenue, framed on either side by dull trees, was dusty with
the heels of the faithful ones; and the murmur of voices in divers
tongues recalled the cluttering sea on a misty beach. Never swerving,
without haste or rest, went the intrepid band of melomaniacs speaking of
the singers, the weather and prices until the summit was reached. There
the first division broke ranks and charged upon the caravansary which
still stood the attacks of thirsty multitudes after two decades. Lucky
ones grasped Schoppen of beer and Rhine wine hemmed in by an army of
expectant throats, for the time was at hand when would sound Donner's
motive from the balcony: music made by brass instruments warning the
elect that "Rheingold" was about to unfold its lovely fable of water,
wood and wind.

Mrs. Fridolin went to the theatre and longed with mother's eyes for the
curtains to part and discover Fricka. She took her seat unconcernedly;
she was not an admirer of Wagner, educated as she had been in the florid
garden of Italian song. The darkness at first oppressed her. When from
mystic space welled those elemental sounds, not mere music, but the
sighing, droning, rhythmic swish of the waters, this woman knew that
something strange and terrible was about to enter into her
consciousness. The river Rhine calmly, majestically stole over her
senses; she forgot Bellini, Donizetti, even Gounod and soon she was with
the Rhine Daughters, with Alberich.... Her heart seemed to stop. All
sense of identity vanished at a wave of Wagner's wand, as is absorbed
the _ego_ by the shining mirror of the hypnotist. This, then, was the
real Wagner--a Wagner who attacked simultaneously the senses, vanquished
the strongest brain; a Wagner who wept, wooed, sang and surged, ravished
the soul until it was brought lacerated and captive to the feet of the
victorious master magician. The eye was promise-crammed, the ears sealed
with bliss, and she felt the wet of the waters. She breathed hard as
Alberich scaled the slimy steeps; and the curves described by the three
swimming mermaids filled he