Wahnfried! This word, which at first seemed to me to contain a regret, held, perhaps, on the contrary a hope. The house, constructed upon Wagner's own plan, appears at the end of a long avenue; it is built of grayish red stones, almost square, and without other ornament than the fresco upon the front, which recalls a scene from the Nibelungen. A straight flight of steps leads to the door; that opens upon a small anteroom, which again communicates with a large vestibule, very high, and lighted from the top. It is surrounded, on a level with the first story, by a gallery, decorated with paintings, representing Eastern scenes. The floor is paved with flagstones, divans are placed in the angles, together with marble statues of Wagner's heroes, the work of enthusiastic sculptors, and a large American organ with brass stops. At the right is the dining-room; on the left a little salon filled with objects of art. Facing this is the great hall of reunion, vast and sumptuous, at once library and working-room. It is terminated by a glass rotunda opening into the garden, where a fountain is babbling joyously. The theatre, which stands outside of the city on a hill, is a construction of simple aspect, somewhat resembling the palace of the Trocadéro. When I saw it for the first time rising majestically on the height, illumined by the rays of the setting sun; when I saw that contemplative crowd slowly ascending on every side toward this temple of art, I could not restrain tears of joy. The dream of this man's entire life was thus at last realized. The world that had persecuted him hastened finally to greet him with a rapture beyond precedent. He, once so persecuted, enjoyed even in life his apotheosis. This new phase of his life had changed nothing in his manner of being; this immense triumph failed to intoxicate him; he did not even appear to be greatly impressed. It seemed to me that the Nibelungen were far from his mind, which already meditated new creations. He made me visit the theatre in all its details, from the hidden orchestra, sunk beneath the stage, to the mechanism which held suspended the Undines of the Rhine. We had to climb everything that was practicable, descend to the floor under the stage; and I perceived that the master had lost none of his agility of Tribscheu. Those who were present at the admirable representations of 1876, where everything had been prepared and directed by Wagner, will never forget them. A like solemnity has not been reproduced since the great theatrical celebrations of ancient Greece, and will remain a great event in the future history of art. I shall close these few pages, written from memory, by the relation of my last visit to the master, copied from my travelling note book. BAYREUTH, 29th of September, 1881.