One morning there was a rehearsal, conducted by Wagner, of music by Wagner. Of course, it was not Richard, but his son Siegfried. Even so, it was as much a surprise as when I had met Tchaikovsky’s brother in Russia. I felt I was confronting something almost prehistoric. A polite man of about fifty-five, he politely and apologetically conducted his father’s and his own music. I thought his overture, entitled Little Hat or something, had charm.