we
arrived at Bayreuth the babel of English voices was so delightfully
homelike, American clothes on American women were so good to see, and
Bayreuth itself was so picturesque, that we forgot the heat and drove to
the opera-house full of delight.

I am sorry that it is fashionable to like Wagner, for I really should
like to explain the feelings of perfect delight which tingled in my
blood as I realised that I was in the home of German opera--in the city
where the master musician lived and wrote, and where his widow and son
still maintain their unswerving faithfulness toward his glorious music.
I am a little sensitive, too, about admitting that I like Carlyle and
Browning. I suppose this is because I have belonged to a Browning and
Carlyle club, where I have heard some of the most idiotic women it was
ever my privilege to encounter, express glib sentiments concerning these
masters, which in me lay too deep for utterance. It is something like
the occasional horror which overpowers me when I think that perhaps I am
doomed to go to heaven. If certain people here on earth upon whom I have
lavished my valuable hatred are going there, heaven is the last place I
should want to inhabit. So with Wagner.

"Parsifal!" That sacred opera which has never been performed outside of
this little hamlet. I was to see it at last!

I was prepared to be delighted with everything, and the childishness of
the little maid who took charge of our hats before we went in to the
opera charmed me. My hat was heavy and hot, and I particularly disliked
it, owing to the weight of the seagull which composed one entire side of
it, and always pulled it crooked on my head. The little maid took the
hat in both her arms, laid her round red cheek against the soft feathers
of the gull, kissed its glass bead eyes, and smilingly said in German:

"This is the finest hat that has been left in my charge to-day!"

Verily, the opera of "Parsifal" began auspiciously. Quite puffed up with
vainglorious pride over the little maiden's admiration of one of my
modest possessions, while Bee's and Mrs. Jimmie's ravishing masterpieces
had received not even a look, we met Jimmie bustling up with programmes
and opera-glasses, and went toward the main entrance. We showed our
tickets, and were sent to the side door. We went to the side door, and
were sent to the back door. At the back door, to our indignation, we
were sent up-stairs. In vain Jimmie expostulated, and said that t