On Saturday evenings Madame Wagner—­called familiarly Frau Cosima—­opens her salon, and every one goes who can get an invitation.  There is generally music, and the best-artists from the Opera-house are delighted to sing.  Also the inevitable pianist who is “the finest interpreter of Chopin.” (Did you ever know one who was not?)

Very interesting evenings, these, because one sees all the notabilities that flock to Bayreuth.  Princes, plebeians, and artists meet here in the limitless brotherhood of music.

Madame Nordica has been singing throughout this season.  Her Lohengrin is Van Dyke, and Gruning plays Tristan to her Isolde.  Her voice is charming, and she acts very well, besides being very good to look at.  She has a promising affaire de coeur with a tenor called Dohme, Hungarian by birth, and, I should say, anything by nature.  He is handsome, bold, and conceited, and thinks he can sing “Parsifal.”  Madame Nordica has, I believe, sung for nothing, on the condition that her fiance should make his debut here previous to taking the world by storm, but Madame Cosima, with foresight and precaution, has been putting him off (and her on) until the last day of the season, which was yesterday.  Then Frau Cosima allowed him to make his appearance, upon which he donned his tunic, put on the traditional blond wig, took his spear in hand, and set forth to conquer.  His first phrase, “Das weiss ich nicht” which is about all he has to say in the first act, was coldly received.  However, his bare legs and arms were admired from the rear as he stood his half-hour looking at the Holy Grail.  In the second act, where he resists Kundry’s questionable allurements, he did passably well, though he gave the impression that even for a reiner Thor—­the German for a virtuous fool—­she had no charms.  She was a masterful, fat, and hideous German lady, and when she twisted a curl out of her yellow wig and sang, “Diese Loche” and cast her painted lips at him with the threat, “Diese Lippe” he remained hopelessly indifferent, with a not-if-I-know-it expression on his face.  He was neither a singer nor an actor, and did not have a shadow of success.  But he thought he had, and that was enough for him.  It is not allowed in Bayreuth to show any sign of approval (or the contrary) until the curtain falls on the last act of the last performance.  Then the public calls the artists out en masse.  Parsifal came with the others, and looked more like an Arab beggar than anything resembling a Parsifal.  Madame Nordica took her fiance off the next day.  She received from Madame Cosirna a lace fan, with thanks, for her exertions during the Bayreuth season, but she was repaid enough by the satisfaction of seeing her fiance make his debut, his first and last appearance, I fancy.

They went to Nuremberg the next day and had rooms near ours.  We could hear her trilling with joy during their dinner duets, and when I went to see her in her apartment the Conquering Hero told stories about himself which I accepted at a fifty-per-cent. discount.  Madame Nordica has certainly the loveliest of voices.  What a pity the tenor of her life should not have a better chance to run smooth, for run smooth it will not with such a Thor in her possession.