I try and write every day, but am so much taken up and so tired when I come in that I don't always find the moment. W. is all right again. He really got quite a chill from the cold night journey--and for two or three days sat _in_ the fire. Francesco, the Italian servant, took excellent care of him--was so sympathetic the night we had some music and W. couldn't appear. It was a pleasant evening--a Russian Prince (I forget his name, and couldn't probably spell it if I remembered), a great friend of Mary's, an excellent musician and a great Wagnerian offered to come and play some of the Nibelungen. I was delighted as I only know Tannhäuser and Lohengrin. I remember now your sigh of relief when Seilern and I finished playing à 4 mains the Walpurgis Night years ago in the Champs Elysées. I daresay it was trying for the public--but we enjoyed ourselves immensely. The big drawing-room looked very pretty, with plenty of flowers, and I think there were about 50 people--almost all (except Lottie and Madame de Tchiatcheff) ardent admirers of the great man. One lady appeared in a sort of loose, red gown (it seems red is the only colour Wagner admits), her hair, very pretty, blonde, hanging down her back, just tied with a ribbon--and carrying two partitions. Mary said, "Wouldn't you like to sit by her, and she will explain it all to you?"--but I said there was nothing I would like so little. I knew enough of the legend to be able to follow, and moreover I had always heard that Wagner's descriptive music was so wonderful that one understood everything without any text, etc. The great man appeared--the grand piano was opened all over to give as much sound as possible--and he requested absolute silence. He played beautifully--it was enchanting--one quite heard the little waves in which the Rhein-Töchter were disporting themselves. It was wonderfully melodious and delicate--I should have liked it to go on forever. He played for about three-quarters of an hour--all Rheingold--then suddenly pushed back his chair, and rushed to the anteroom, exclaiming "de l'air--de l'air," followed by all the red and musical ladies. It is a pity there must always be such a pose with Wagner--for really the music was a joy. I met of course quantities of old friends, and agreed to go to Lottie Van Schaick's ball. February 12, 1880.