This book is, in reality, only addressed to the small number of the initiated who, having broken through the occult precinct of the new art, have the incomparable joy of admiring without reserve all that is worthy of admiration. They will find in these pages, in addition to certain characteristic traits of the master, drawn from life, and from which they will be able to modify the ideas which they may have received from fantastic portraits, the detailed analyses of poems which have not been translated into French, and, above all, that of Parsifal. These analyses will enable those undertaking the pilgrimage to Bayreuth, and who do not understand German, to follow the representations. My sole ambition is to be useful to the extent of my power to this intelligent minority, who, in my opinion, alone form this world, and who, I truly hope, may alone form another, should it exist; for I am convinced, with Charles Baudelaire, that paradise is made up of the small number of chosen ones. CONTENTS. Part First RICHARD WAGNER Part Second RICHARD WAGNER'S POETIC WORK. From Rienzi to Tristan and Isolde RIENZI--THE FLYING DUTCHMAN--TANHÄUSER--LOHENGRIN--TRISTAN AND ISOLDE. THE MASTERSINGERS OF NUREMBERG THE RING OF THE NIBELUNG RHINEGOLD (introductory)--WALKYRIA (first day)--SIGFRID (second day) --GLOOM OF THE GODS (third day) PARSIFAL: A LYRICAL FEAST FIRST ACT--SECOND ACT--THIRD ACT. RICHARD WAGNER. It was under rather peculiar circumstances that the name of Wagner was mentioned in my presence, for the first time, the evening of the first representation of Tanhäuser in Paris. I had left school the day before on a vacation, and if this great combat in regard to Tänhauser had been mentioned in my hearing, I, at least, remembered nothing of it. I was accidentally crossing the Passage de l'Opéra with my father, the evening of this representation, during an _entr'acte_. The passage was crowded; a gentleman, who approached my father with a bow, stopped us. He was rather small, thin, with hollow cheeks and a prominent nose, a broad forehead and brilliant eyes. He began to speak of the representation, at which he had been present, with malignant intensity, and such a ferocious joy at seeing the confirmation of its failure, that, carried away by an involuntary sentiment, I suddenly emerged from the silence and reserve imposed upon one of my age, to cry with astonishing impertinence, "In hearing you, sir, it is easy to divine that a great work is in question, and that you speak of a brother-artist." "Now, what has come over you, naughty child," said my father, wishing to reprove me, but quietly laughing to himself. "Who is it?" I asked, when the gentleman had left us. "That was Hector Berlioz."