rehearsals. But I was not to be so easily baffled, and one afternoon I
sneaked into the lobby and succeeded in catching some wonderful
orchestral strains by applying my ear to a keyhole. But my pleasure
was short-lived. An attendant espied me and summarily ordered me off
the premises, despite my humble entreaties and attempts at bribery. I
now resolved to make a personal appeal to Wagner; so, a few days
later, as he was entering the theatre, arm in arm with Wilhelm, I
boldly walked up to him and told him I had bought tickets to all the
performances, but was very anxious to attend the rehearsals, adding
that I represented a New York and a Boston journal. At the mention of
the word newspaper, a frown passed over his face, and he said, rather
abruptly, "I don't care much about newspapers. I can get along without
them." But, in a second, a smile drove away the frown and he added: "I
have given orders that no one shall be admitted. However, you have
come a long way--and as I have found it necessary to make some
exceptions, I will admit you too." He then asked for my card and told
me I would be admitted by mentioning my name to the doorkeeper. That
he did not bear any deep resentment against me for unfortunately being
a newspaper man, he showed the next day, by walking up to me and
asking me if I had succeeded in getting in.

I mention these incidents because I think they help to disprove the
notion that modern music has less power over the actions and feelings
of men than primitive and ancient music. It was the wild enthusiasm
inspired in me by Wagner's earlier operas that led me irresistibly to
Bayreuth, and I really would have been willing to toil as a slave for
years rather than miss this festival. And my experience was that of
hundreds who had saved up their pennies for this occasion, or had
formed pools and drawn lots if the sum was too small. I met three men
in Bayreuth who had scraped together enough money for a third-class