r with the joy of the dance, the free
ecstatic movements of free things in the waves. The filching of the
Rheingold, the hoarse shout of laughter from Alberich's love-foresworn
lips, and the terrified cries of the luckless watchers were as real as
life. Walhall did not confuse her, for now she caught clues to the
meaning of the mighty epic. Wotan and Fricka--ah, Meg did not look so
stout, and how lovely her voice sounded!--Loki, mischief-making,
diplomatic Loki; the giants, Fafner and Fasolt; Freia, and foolish,
maimed, malicious Mime--these were not mere papier-mache, but
fascinating deities. She saw the gnomes' underworld, saw the ring, the
snake and the tarnhelm; she heard the Nibelungs' anvil chorus--so
different from Verdi's--saw the giants quarrelling over their booty;
and the sonorous rainbow seemed to bridge the way to a fairer land. As
the Walhall march died in her ears she found herself outside on the
dusky, picturesque esplanade and forgot all about Meg, remembering her
only as Fricka. With the others she slowly trod the path that had been
pressed by the feet of art's martyrs. Mrs. Fridolin then gave tongue to
her whirring brain:

"Oh! the magic of it all," she gasped.

"I'm afraid I rather agree with Nordau, Mrs. Fridolin--the whole affair
reminds me of a tank-drama I once saw in Chicago." It was the cool voice
of Miss Bredd that sounded in the hot, humming lane punctuated by vague,
tall trees....

Mrs. Fridolin and her party went to Sammett's for dinner that evening.
This garden, once Angermann's and made famous by Wagner, is still a
magnet. The Americans listened calmly to furious disputes, in a
half-dozen tongues, over the performance to the crashing of dishes and
the huddling of glasses always full, always empty. Arthmann ordered the
entire menu, knowing well that it would reach them after much delay in
the inevitable guise of veal and potatoes. The women were in no hurry,
but the sculptor was. He drummed on the table, he made angry faces at
his neighbors--contented looking Germans who whistled themes from
"Rheingold"--and when Herr Sammett saluted his guests with a crazy
trombone and crazier perversion of the Donner motive, Arthmann jumped up
and excused himself. The two hours and a half in the theatre had made
him nervous, restless, and he went away saying that he would be back
presently. Mrs. Fridolin was annoyed. It did not seem proper for three
ladies to remain unaccompanied in a public garden, e