Richard Wagner was an undersized man with a head too large for his body, a sickly figure with bad nerves and delusions of grandeur.
He was a monster of conceit. He viewed the world and people solely in relation to himself. To him, he was not only the most important person in the world, but the only one who existed. He believed himself to be among the greatest dramatists, thinkers, and composers. Listening to him, one would think he was Shakespeare, Beethoven, and Plato combined into a single person. And one had ample opportunity to listen, for he was one of the most exhausting conversationalists ever. An evening with Wagner meant an evening spent listening to a monologue. He could be brilliant or maddeningly tiresome, but his sole topic was always himself: his thoughts and his deeds.
He had a mania for being right. The slightest disagreement on the most trivial point would trigger a harangue lasting hours. With exhausting volubility, he would prove himself right in countless ways until his listener, stunned and deafened, would agree simply for the sake of peace.