Part 44

Dear L.,--The opening of the Rigsdag is a great event in Stockholm. The Corps Diplomatique met in the room in the palace called Kronesal. The walls are covered with the three gold crowns of the Swedish coat of arms painted on a blue background. They passed on through the rooms of the Order of the Sword, which had just as many swords on its walls as the other had crowns. You can never make a mistake as to where you are! The ladies were told to wear toilette de ville, and the gentlemen to dress in gala uniform.

Just before the time the King was to come in we were ushered down a little narrow staircase which led into the Rigsdag, passed in front of the throne, and went up a still narrower staircase to the gallery reserved for the diplomats, which seemed very shaky. Some day when the Rigsdag is opening there will be a collapse of diplomats.

The body of the hall was filled with the gentlemen, all the members of the two Chambers in evening dress and the court officials in their uniforms.

When the Queen is present, which is not often, she sits opposite the Corps Diplomatique, surrounded by the ladies of the court, who wear little white fur capes over their shoulders.

The galleries on both sides were filled with the nobility and society. The throne on which King Oscar sat is on a raised platform filling the whole end of the hall. The throne is unique, made of silver, silver lions supporting it on both sides. Back of the throne was a long blue velvet curtain hanging from the canopy.

Everything was ready and every one in his place. A deep silence reigned throughout. There was a blast of trumpets; every one stood up, and the King came down the same little staircase we had. He looked very majestic in his splendid robes of ermine, over which hung the blue Order of the Seraphim, the highest order in Sweden, and of course all his other decorations. The crown he wears is magnificent, made of costly jewels, and, I should think, very heavy, causing the King to hold his head very straight and steady. He looked up at the loge of the diplomats, made a slight inclination of the head, then mounted the few steps of the throne and sat in his silver chair.

The Crown Prince came next, followed by Prince Carl and Prince Eugen. The three are as tall as the King. They wore blue velvet mantles trimmed with ermine, their uniforms showing underneath, and as if they had been handed down, but not let down, from former and shorter Princes.

They wore crowns which seemed difficult to balance on their heads.

The King took the Proclamation from the hands of his Rigskanzler and, standing up, read it in a loud and clear voice. He did not use his eye-glasses, because the letters were made so large that he could read without them. It was a fine and thrilling moment.

The Rigsdag being opened, the King left as he had come.

STOCKHOLM, 1892.

Dear L.,--Prince Chira, one of the sons of the King of Siam, came to see us to-day. He has just returned from St. Petersburg. We were very glad to see him again. We knew him so well in Copenhagen, where he has been living for some years. He has been in the Danish army, and, although only nineteen years old, has passed the most difficult examinations, and is now an officer. He talks English, French, and Danish with equal facility. When at Aalholm he entered into all our games and charades with enthusiasm.

He did not mind at all being dressed up as a Sambo, and favored particularly a yellow wig. He has very yellowish skin, almond eyes, and beautiful white teeth. He came to see us straight from the castle, where he had been to see the King. He was very enthusiastic about his Majesty (who is not?). He told us how the King had taken the grand cordon of the Seraphim Order off his own shoulders and hung it on his. The King being a giant, and Prince Chira about the size of a boy of ten, you can imagine how the cordon fitted him. Chira said, "I reached up to about the King's waist, and when the King put the cordon on me it trailed on the ground, and I kept tripping over it when I left the room. It is most awkward," he added, laughing, "and I must wear it to-night at the big dinner at court which the King gives me."

"Leave it with me, and I will have a tuck made in it and send it to you before dinner." This he did. We measured off how much of a tuck should be made, and sent it to him in time. He came the next day to thank me and bid us good-by. He said, "I looked splendid last night in my cordon."

In June and July it is never really dark in these latitudes. The sun shines till eleven o'clock, the birds sing and bustle about during the so-called night, and the cocks begin to crow at absurd hours. They must be perplexed as to what they are doing all these months. The early bird has to be very early to get off with the worm.

BAYREUTH, August, 1893.

Dear L.,--At last my dream of dreams has become a reality--under what enchanting conditions! Mrs. L., my beloved friend, invited me to stay three weeks with her in the apartment which she has taken, 28 Opernstrasse, which was the habitation of Wagner's special doctor. Mrs. L.'s other guests were her sister, her niece, and Mr. and Mrs. Brimmer from Boston. Johan promised to join us later. Mrs. L, had her own cook and servants, and we lived like princes of the blood. A walk about the streets in the morning, then a sumptuous lunch, and then a little siesta to fit us for the rest (or rather fatigue) of the day.

At a little before four the carriages were at the door and we drove up the hill to the Shrine, passing the foot-sore and weary pilgrims toiling on their way. The servant took our hats and coats, for no one must wear a hat in the audience, and no one needed a coat in this awful heat.

The signal to enter the auditorium is given by a blast of trumpets, generally the four bars of the most well-known melody in the to-be-given opera. The only boxes in the theater are in the rear, and Madame Wagner sits with her family in the middle one. After the people have taken their seats the house becomes pitch-dark, and from the depths of the unknown one hears the first notes of the overture. Then the curtains are noiselessly drawn up. After this no one dares to breathe--woe to the unlucky one who gets a fit of sneezing or a tickling in the throat; better die at once than be the recipient of all the inward curses that are hurled at you! The first act generally lasts an hour, and the people emerge from the stifling auditorium into the fresh air with a sigh of relief. The Germans make dashes of kangaroo leaps toward the casks of beer, and then rush for the tents where they get something to eat at the price of blood.

The entr'acte lasts an hour; then we hear the blasts of the four heralds again, which is the signal for the second act to commence, and so on until ten o'clock at night. Then home, where we find a gorgeous diner-soupertoire which triumphantly ends a day of emotion.

Wagner's operas, which lay about on our tables, all seem to have been given by him to meinem lieben Freund, the doctor. How I regret that dishonesty did not get the upper hand! How easy it would have been for me to have purloined a book and its signature, but I am proud to say that I resisted, and my collection of autographs is to this day devoid of anything from Richard Wagner, showing that virtue is not always its own reward, since I regret having been virtuous.

The off days were also delightful. We drove to the Hermitage, lingered in the grounds belonging to the gentle and clever Margräfin, and wondered if her tiny little court was not a trifle ennuyenx! One could fancy her sitting under the shady trees of the charmille, sewing beads on some bags, specimens of which were exhibited to us by an officious menial, and were of the most hideous description. I say hideous because I hate beads and all their works. I have just finished reading her memoirs, and I can only think how small their talk must have been--how narrow their visions!

We drove to the other pretty resort, Bellevue, and meandered about the rococco gardens, and sat on the stone benches surrounding the lake, and watched the graceful movements of the swans as they tried to avoid the spray from the fountains. We tried not to see the native music-lovers who clustered in crowds about the tables, which were covered with red checker-board table-covers and drinking-mugs. They sit under these lovely shady groves for hours, in their thick coats, which they wear in any season and in any climate, their ponderous field-glasses slung over their fat shoulders and their pockets bulging with guide-books and postal cards, swallowing by barrelfuls the cool and beloved beer and eating Butterbrod by platefuls.

On Saturday evenings Madame Wagner--called familiarly Frau Cosima--opens her salon, and every one goes who can get an invitation. There is generally music, and the best-artists from the Opera-house are delighted to sing. Also the inevitable pianist who is "the finest interpreter of Chopin." (Did you ever know one who was not?)

Very interesting evenings, these, because one sees all the notabilities that flock to Bayreuth. Princes, plebeians, and artists meet here in the limitless brotherhood of music.

Madame Nordica has been singing throughout this season. Her Lohengrin is Van Dyke, and Gruning plays Tristan to her Isolde. Her voice is charming, and she acts very well, besides being very good to look at. She has a promising affaire de coeur with a tenor called Dohme, Hungarian by birth, and, I should say, anything by nature. He is handsome, bold, and conceited, and thinks he can sing "Parsifal." Madame Nordica has, I believe, sung for nothing, on the condition that her fiancé should make his début here previous to taking the world by storm, but Madame Cosima, with foresight and precaution, has been putting him off (and her on) until the last day of the season, which was yesterday. Then Frau Cosima allowed him to make his appearance, upon which he donned his tunic, put on the traditional blond wig, took his spear in hand, and set forth to conquer. His first phrase, "Das weiss ich nicht" which is about all he has to say in the first act, was coldly received. However, his bare legs and arms were admired from the rear as he stood his half-hour looking at the Holy Grail. In the second act, where he resists Kundry's questionable allurements, he did passably well, though he gave the impression that even for a reiner Thor--the German for a virtuous fool--she had no charms. She was a masterful, fat, and hideous German lady, and when she twisted a curl out of her yellow wig and sang, "Diese Loche" and cast her painted lips at him with the threat, "Diese Lippe" he remained hopelessly indifferent, with a not-if-I-know-it expression on his face. He was neither a singer nor an actor, and did not have a shadow of success. But he thought he had, and that was enough for him. It is not allowed in Bayreuth to show any sign of approval (or the contrary) until the curtain falls on the last act of the last performance. Then the public calls the artists out en masse. Parsifal came with the others, and looked more like an Arab beggar than anything resembling a Parsifal. Madame Nordica took her fiancé off the next day. She received from Madame Cosirna a lace fan, with thanks, for her exertions during the Bayreuth season, but she was repaid enough by the satisfaction of seeing her fiancé make his début, his first and last appearance, I fancy.

They went to Nuremberg the next day and had rooms near ours. We could hear her trilling with joy during their dinner duets, and when I went to see her in her apartment the Conquering Hero told stories about himself which I accepted at a fifty-per-cent. discount. Madame Nordica has certainly the loveliest of voices. What a pity the tenor of her life should not have a better chance to run smooth, for run smooth it will not with such a Thor in her possession.

STOCKHOLM, June, 1894.