ical career would finish very pleasingly if only I
could live for a hundred and forty years" _(Memoires_, II, 390).]

[Footnote 107: This solitude struck Wagner. "Berlioz's loneliness is not
only one of external circumstances; its origin is in his temperament.
Though he is a Frenchman, with quick sympathies and interests like those
of his fellow-citizens, yet he is none the less alone. He sees no one
before him who will hold out a helping hand, there is no one by his side
on whom he may lean" (Article written 5 May, 1841). As one reads these
words, one feels it was Wagner's lack of sympathy and not his
intelligence that prevented him from understanding Berlioz. In his heart
I do not doubt that he knew well who was his great rival. But he never
said anything about it--unless perhaps one counts an odd document,
certainly not intended for publication, where he (even he) compares him
to Beethoven and to Bonaparte (Manuscript in the collection of Alfred
Bovet, published by Mottl in German magazines, and by M. Georges de
Massougnes in the _Revue d'art dramatique_, 1 January, 1902).]

WAGNER

"SIEGFRIED"

There is nothing so thrilling as first impressions. I remember when, as
a child, I heard fragments of Wagner's music for the first time at one
of old Pasdeloup's concerts in the Cirque d'Hiver. I was taken there one
dull and foggy Sunday afternoon; and as we left the yellow fog outside
and entered the hall we were met by an overpowering warmth, a dazzling
blaze of light, and the murmuring voice of the crowd. My eyes were
blinded, I breathed with difficulty, and my limbs soon became cramped;
for we sat on wooden benches, crushed in a narrow space between solid
walls of human beings. But with the first note of the music all was
forgotten, and one fell into a state of painful yet delicious torpor.
Perhaps one's very discomfort made the pleasure keener. Those who know
the intoxication of climbing a mountain know also how closely it is
associated with the discomforts of the climb--with fatigue and the
blinding light of the sun, with out-of-breathness, and all the other
sensations that rouse and stimulate life and make the body tingle, so
that the remembrance of it all is carved indelibly on the mind. The
comfort of a playhouse adds nothing to the illusion of a play; and it
may even be due to the entire inconvenience of the old concert-rooms
that I owe my vivid recollection of my first meeting with Wagner's work.

How