08-at the shrine of st. wagner-第4节

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of　the　boxes　the　conversation　and　laughter　are　so　loud　as　to

divide　the　attention　of　the　house　with　the　stage。　　In　large

measure　the　Metropolitan　is　a　show…case　for　rich　fashionables　who

are　not　trained　in　Wagnerian　music　and　have　no　reverence　for　it；

but　who　like　to　promote　art　and　show　their　clothes。



Can　that　be　an　agreeable　atmosphere　to　persons　in　whom　this

music　produces　a　sort　of　divine　ecstasy　and　to　whom　its　creator

is　a　very　deity；　his　stage　a　temple；　the　works　of　his　brain　and

hands　consecrated　things；　and　the　partaking　of　them　with　eye　and

ear　a　sacred　solemnity？　　Manifestly；　no。　　Then；　perhaps　the

temporary　expatriation；　the　tedious　traversing　of　seas　and

continents；　the　pilgrimage　to　Bayreuth　stands　explained。　　These

devotees　would　worship　in　an　atmosphere　of　devotion。　　It　is　only

here　that　they　can　find　it　without　fleck　or　blemish　or　any

worldly　pollution。　　In　this　remote　village　there　are　no　sights　to

see；　there　is　no　newspaper　to　intrude　the　worries　of　the　distant

world；　there　is　nothing　going　on；　it　is　always　Sunday。　　The

pilgrim　wends　to　his　temple　out　of　town；　sits　out　his　moving

service；　returns　to　his　bed　with　his　heart　and　soul　and　his　body

exhausted　by　long　hours　of　tremendous　emotion；　and　he　is　in　no

fit　condition　to　do　anything　but　to　lie　torpid　and　slowly　gather

back　life　and　strength　for　the　next　service。　　This　opera　of

〃Tristan　and　Isolde〃　last　night　broke　the　hearts　of　all　witnesses

who　were　of　the　faith；　and　I　know　of　some　who　have　heard　of　many

who　could　not　sleep　after　it；　but　cried　the　night　away。　　I　feel

strongly　out　of　place　here。　　Sometimes　I　feel　like　the　sane

person　in　a　community　of　the　mad；　sometimes　I　feel　like　the　one

blind　man　where　all　others　see；　the　one　groping　savage　in　the

college　of　the　learned；　and　always；　during　service；　I　feel　like　a

heretic　in　heaven。



But　by　no　means　do　I　ever　overlook　or　minify　the　fact　that

this　is　one　of　the　most　extraordinary　experiences　of　my　life。　　I

have　never　seen　anything　like　this　before。　　I　have　never　seen

anything　so　great　and　fine　and　real　as　this　devotion。



FRIDAY。Yesterday's　opera　was　〃Parsifal〃　again。　　The　others

went　and　they　show　marked　advance　in　appreciation；　but　I　went

hunting　for　relics　and　reminders　of　the　Margravine　Wilhelmina；

she　of　the　imperishable　〃Memoirs。〃　　I　am　properly　grateful　to　her

for　her　（unconscious）　satire　upon　monarchy　and　nobility；　and

therefore　nothing　which　her　hand　touched　or　her　eye　looked　upon

is　indifferent　to　me。　　I　am　her　pilgrim；　the　rest　of　this

multitude　here　are　Wagner's。



TUESDAY。I　have　seen　my　last　two　operas；　my　season　is

ended；　and　we　cross　over　into　Bohemia　this　afternoon。　　I　was

supposing　that　my　musical　regeneration　was　accomplished　and

perfected；　because　I　enjoyed　both　of　these　operas；　singing　and

all；　and；　moreover；　one　of　them　was　〃Parsifal；〃　but　the　experts

have　disenchanted　me。　　They　say：



〃Singing！　　That　wasn't　singing；　that　was　the　wailing；

screeching　of　third…rate　obscurities；　palmed　off　on　us　in　the

interest　of　economy。〃



Well；　I　ought　to　have　recognized　the　signthe　old；　sure

sign　that　has　never　failed　me　in　matters　of　art。　　Whenever　I

enjoy　anything　in　art　it　means　that　it　is　mighty　poor。　　The

private　knowledge　of　this　fact　has　saved　me　from　going　to　pieces

with　enthusiasm　in　front　of　many　and　many　a　chromo。　　However；　my

base　instinct　does　bring　me　profit　sometimes；　I　was　the　only　man

out　of　thirty…two　hundred　who　got　his　money　back　on　those　two　operas。