and divided Venice. He was amazed in such a narrow calle to find such a large house, to suspect that Sansovino had even designed it. Everyone admired the house where I was born, but I loved every corner of it, from the large room where the boats unloaded the coal for the boiler to the attic and roof terrace.
Passing through the white room with the mirrors, I glanced towards the floor in the corner, where two columns divided the room from the red room with the paintings by Bassano and Zucarelli. Too bad I didn't have the slightest musical talent, I thought. And to think that my grandfather had much. One day Wagner, his great friend, arrived in Calle del Rimedio accompanied by Liszt who, as soon as he saw the piano, immediately sat down to play and Wagner stood next to him in accompaniment. Then they asked my grandfather to fetch his violin and together they improvised a little concert.
Without suspecting that Wagner was a friend of my grandfather, I would have loved his son, Siegfried. To celebrate my fourth birthday, Aunt Emma had taken me to a matinee at the Phoenix, where they performed Das Rheingold. From the top of the stage I had followed the story of the blond Siegfried, admiring his courage and his heroism. When I saw him lay lifeless on a pile of wood, I burst into tears. Amid the applause the lights had come back on and in front of the large velvet curtain, where he had just died, here was Siegfried bowing to the audience.
"And alive! And alive!" I shouted jumping for joy and he turned to me and kissed me with his hand. It was my first love, Siegfried.
From the white room I turned towards the entrance, running down the stairs, I liked running down the stairs, as I liked running up-down the steps of the bridges.
On the Ponte del Rimedio I turned to take a look at the...
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