"Schnorr was the son of a celebrated painter, and had received a fine education. He was very gifted in all the arts, and by reason of one more rare and wonderful gift, that of an incomparable voice, he had been drawn toward music and the stage. From his first acquaintance with the works of Richard Wagner, Schnorr had comprehended and profoundly loved them. Despite the increasing celebrity of the young artist, the Master for a long time rather dreaded to see him because of what he had heard of his too great corpulence: he feared that this physical imperfection might prejudice and render him unjust to all his other qualities. So, because he was little skilled in concealing his impressions, he avoided being brought in contact with the interpreter of his works. It was, therefore, with great secrecy that he went one evening to Karlsruhe (where Schnorr was engaged for a representation of _Lohengrin_) and entered the theatre without being recognised.
"Later, the Master himself told the story of that wonderful evening.
"'All my apprehensions very soon disappeared. It is true that the first appearance of the Knight of the Swan as he drew near to the shore, looking like a young Hercules, made a rather strange impression upon me, but this disappeared as the hero advanced. The peculiar charm of the messenger from God works instantly. Of this character one did not ask, "Who is he?" but said, "It is he."
"'Truly, this sudden and profound impression can only be compared to a kind of enchantment. I remember having felt this very decidedly when I was a boy, concerning the great Schroeder-Devrient. I have never experienced it since so strongly, so decisively as at the entrance of Ludwig Schnorr in _Lohengrin_. While I recognised, in the course of his interpretation, that in many ways his understanding and rendering of my work had not yet attained maturity, yet even in that I saw the charm of a youthful purity still untouched, of a virgin soil that promised to bring forth flowers of great artistic perfection. The fervour, the tender exaltation that burned in the marvellously love-filled eyes of this very young man, made me feel vaguely how ill-omened might be the fire by which they were enkindled. Very soon I discovered in him a being who, by the very reason of his unlimited gifts, inspired in me a tragic pity.'