artist's works
was a small one, in which hung a single picture. You little guess that
that picture was no other than Jean Francois Millet's "Angelus."
Millet's dear little "Angelus," that hymn of resignation and peace,
alongside of all this roar and carnage of battle! The exhibitor thought,
perhaps, that a sedative might be needed after the strong dose of
Vassili Vereschagin, but I imagine that no one who went into that little
room after the others was in a mood to listen to Millet's message.

* * * * *

_March 19._

Yesterday morning I went to see the Richmond Libby Prison, a four-story,
huge brick building which has been removed here from Richmond, over a
distance of more than a thousand miles, across the mountains of
Pennsylvania. This is, perhaps, as the circular says, an unparalleled
feat in the history of the world. The prison has been converted into a
museum, illustrating the Civil War and African Slavery in America. The
visit proved very interesting. In the afternoon I had a drive through
the beautiful parks of the city.

In the evening I went to see "Tannhaeuser" at the Auditorium. Outside,
the building looks more like a penitentiary than a place of amusement--a
huge pile of masonry, built of great, rough, black-looking blocks of
stone. Inside, it is magnificent. I do not know anything to compare with
it for comfort, grandeur, and beauty. It can hold seven thousand people.
The decorations are white and gold. The lighting is done by means of arc
electric lights in the enormously lofty roof--lights which can be
lowered at will. Mr. Peck kindly took me to see the inner workings of
the stage. I should say "stages," for there are three. The hydraulic
machinery for raising and lowering them cost $200,000.

Madame Lehmann sang grandly. I imagine that she is the finest lady
exponent of Wagner's music alive. She not only sings the parts, but
looks them. Built on grand lines and crowned with masses of blond hair,
she seems, when she gives forth those volumes of clear tones, a Norse
goddess strayed into the nineteenth century.

M. Gounod describes Wagner as an astounding prodigy, an aberration of
genius, a dreamer haunted by the colossal. For years I had listened to
Wagner's music, and, like most of my compatriots, brought up on the
tuneful airs of Bellini, Donizetti, Rossini, Verdi, Auber, etc., I
entirely failed to appreciate the music of the future. All I could say
in its fav