I have the most affectionate letter from Bamberg. They want me back there, offer me greater advantages, urging that I was the first and only conductor there, whilst at Dresden I am but second. But can they understand to whom I am second? Such a man as Richard Wagner I never yet met, and you know I am not inclined to Caesar’s maxim, that it were better to be the first in a village than the second in Rome. I have begun to rescore my opera under Wagner’s supervision; his frank criticism has opened my eyes to some very important instrumental defects. His notions of scoring are most novel, most daring, and altogether marvellous; but not more so than his elevated notions about the high purpose of the dramatic art; indeed, they foreshadow a new era in the history of art.Dresden.
I have the most affectionate letter from Bamberg. They want me back there, offer me greater advantages, urging that I was the first and only conductor there, whilst at Dresden I am but second. But can they understand to whom I am second? Such a man as Richard Wagner I never yet met, and you know I am not inclined to Caesar’s maxim, that it were better to be the first in a village than the second in Rome. I have begun to rescore my opera under Wagner’s supervision; his frank criticism has opened my eyes to some very important instrumental defects. His notions of scoring are most novel, most daring, and altogether marvellous; but not more so than his elevated notions about the high purpose of the dramatic art; indeed, they foreshadow a new era in the history of art.
Dresden.
BERLIOZ AND WAGNER.
An incident of interest in the first part of 1843 was a visit of Hector Berlioz to Wagner. The great Frenchman came to hear “Rienzi.” Satisfied he was not; about the only number that he thought meritorious was the prayer. With the “Dutchman,” which he also heard, he was even still less contented. He complained of the excess of instrumentation. This is curious, to put it gently, that a composer who employs four orchestras with twelve kettledrums in one work, whose own scoring is noted for excessive employment of means,should make such a charge. It is inexplicable. The truth is, Berlioz was jealous of Wagner. Roeckel had been intimate with Berlioz in Paris. The father of Roeckel was the impressario who introduced the first complete German opera troupe to Paris and London. He had been an intimate friend of Beethoven, had impersonated “Florestan” in “Fidelio,” and, indeed, had been tutored by the composer for the tenor part. The elder Roeckel’s company included Schroeder-Devrient when he went to Paris. August Roeckel was therefore well known to Berlioz, and Schroeder-Devrient, having travelled with Roeckel’s father, and being known intimately by August, was also a link between Wagner and himself. When, therefore, Berlioz came to Dresden, August was delighted, and was always present at the friendly meetings of the two composers. He wrote to me that their meetings were embarrassed. Wagner was first attracted, but the cold, austere, though always polished demeanour of Berlioz checked Wagner’s enthusiasm. He had the air of patronizing Wagner; his speech was bitter, freezing the boisterous expansiveness of Wagner. At times the conversation was so strained that Roeckel was of opinion that Berlioz intentionally slighted Wagner. The more they were together, the less they appeared to understand each other; and yet, notwithstanding the fastidious criticism, the constant fault-finding of Berlioz, he took pains to arrange meetings with Wagner, naturally fascinated by the vigour with which Wagner discussed art.
A TOUCH OF HIS HUMOUR.
However inclined the Dresden musical press may have been to be captious and antagonistic towards Wagner, there were certain decided evidences of gifts whose existence they could not deny, and which they were reluctantly compelled to acknowledge, in spite of their openly pronounced hostility. The rehearsing and conducting of “Rienzi” and the “Dutchman” had established Wagner’s reputation as a conductor of unusual ability. “But,” said his censorious critics, “that proves nothing, for he worked with heart and soul to secure success, just because the operas were his own. Wait until he is called upon to produce a classic; then we shall see.” They had not to wait long. Within a month, Gluck’s “Armide” and Mozart’s “Don Giovanni” were performed under his bâton. His reading of both was original. He had, first, his individual conception of the opera as an organic art work, and then very pronounced views as to the manner in which each should be studied and performed. He spared not the orchestra. This not unnaturally created among the less intelligent some amount of irritation. Custom had sanctioned a certain slovenly rendering, and they revolted at the revolutionary spirit of the new conductor. But the openly expressed appreciation of the unquestioned abilitiesof the conductor by the leading members of the orchestra, was not without effect upon the malcontents. The friction did not last long; a marked improvement was felt by all, and Wagner’s irrepressible animal spirits and jocularity won over even the drudges. I have it from August Roeckel, his colleague at the desk, that the intelligent members of the orchestra idolized Wagner, and never wearied under his bâton.
Wagner was possessed of a keen sense of euphonic balance. The predominance of one section of the orchestra over another, except where specially required to produce certain effects, he would not tolerate, be the defaulting instrument ever so difficult to control. On one occasion the trombones were excessively noisy at a “Rienzi” rehearsal in the overture, where they should accompany the violinspiano. Their braying aroused Wagner’s anger; however, with ready wit, instead of a reproof, a joke, and turning good-humouredly to the culprits, he laughingly said, “Gentlemen, if I mistake not, we are in Dresden, and not marching round Jericho, where your ancestors, strong of lung, blew down the city walls.” The humour of the admonition was not lost, and after a moment’s general hilarity Wagner obtained the desired effect.
SPOHR’S KINDLY DEED.
Wagner was a born disciplinarian. He held the orchestra completely in the palm of his hand. The members were so many pawns which he moved at will, responding to his slightest expressed wish. The rigid enforcement of his will upon the players became talked of outside the doors of the theatre. The critics could not understand why he should wish to change the order of things, have a greater number and longer rehearsalsthan any one else, and have the works performed in his heterodox way; and so, they first ridiculed him, and then uncompromisingly attacked him, attacks which, it is regrettable to add, lasted all the years he remained in Dresden. But for all this, he was not to be deterred from his purpose. He knew what he wanted, and meant to have it, and in this Wagner has again and again acknowledged to me his indebtedness to August Roeckel, who so ably seconded his chief. According to Wagner’s notions the masterpieces of German musicians could never be properly understood by the music-loving public, owing to their imperfect and faulty rendering under conductors who were so many automaton time-beaters. Great works of all descriptions were produced in a styleless manner, no regard, indeed, but very little effort, being made to discover the intention of the composer. All were rendered in the same pointless manner. This was revolting to his sense of artistic probity, therefore when he held the office of conductor he altered this almost dishonest state of things, for it was dishonest not to seek to reproduce a composer’s intention. Thus the works of all masters suffered. Therefore Wagner made it a rule that whatever he conducted should be, when possible, entirely committed to memory. His earnestness became infectious, until players and singers became animated by one feeling. They felt that he, at the desk, was as much a worker as any of them, and the result was a performance hitherto unknown for perfection. It happened, therefore, that when “Don Giovanni” was given, according to his feelings and as he willed it, the critics fell upon him fiercely, going so far even as to declare he did not understand Mozart, so unexpectedlynew did they find his conception. The contest waged hotly. A large and important body of directors of art opinion selected the phlegmatic Reissiger as their idol, and lauded him indiscriminately. It is, to say the least, strange that there should have been found any one to prefer a man of the diminutive talents of Reissiger to Richard Wagner. The former was a pure mechanic, respectable in his way, but completely overshadowed by the mighty genius of Wagner. This study of conductors and conducting was a phase of his art to which Wagner devoted much careful thought, embodying at a later period his views in a pamphlet on the subject, which will be found invaluable by orchestral conductors of every degree.
An incident of this year, 1843, his first at Dresden, to which Wagner referred with pleasure, was the performance of the “Dutchman” at Cassel by Spohr. It was done entirely on its merits, without any solicitation from Wagner, the pleasure being intensified by reason of the ripe age of the conductor and his well-known reverence for the orthodox. Spohr was sixty-nine, and Richard Wagner thirty. Wagner felt and expressed himself as deeply touched at the interest a musician of such opposite tendencies should take in his work, particularly, too, on receiving later a letter from Spohr expressing the delight he experienced on making the acquaintance of a young artist who showed in all he did such earnestness and striving after truth. When Wagner related this to me, wondering at the curious contradiction in Spohr’s character, I remarked that the solution seemed to lie in the gentle, almost effeminate nature of Spohr, whichfound its completion in the robust, manly vigour of Wagner’s own conceptions.
How Spohr could have been attracted by Wagner, and repulsed by the “last period” of Beethoven, is a contradiction difficult to account for; but that it existed is beyond doubt, for the last time he was in London, about 1850-51, I put the question direct to him whether it was true, as asserted, that he had stigmatized the third period of Beethoven as “barbarous music,” to which he promptly and emphatically replied, “Yes, I do think it barbarous music.” After the performance at Cassel, Wagner endeavoured to get the “Dutchman” accepted elsewhere, but signally failed; from Munich, where a quarter of a century later he was to be the ruling spirit, came the discouraging response that “it was not German enough,” though the composer thought this its distinguishing merit.
HIS PECULIAR DRESS.
The acrimoniously bitter attacks that were made upon Wagner, during his first year at Dresden, increased in poignancy, as he showed himself uncontrolled by custom’s laws. He affected a careless, defiant attitude towards all criticism, whereas he was abnormally sensitive to journalistic opinion. He could scoff, play the cynic, treat his opponent with derisive scorn, but it was all simulated; the iron entered into his soul, and he chafed and grew irritable under it. It was as though he suffered a bodily castigation. He brooded over the attacks, and there can be no doubt that they caused him moments of acute pain. It is true that in combat he could parry and thrust with as much vigour as his opponents; that the sting of his reproof was as torturing as any he suffered; perhaps even that hisassaults were more annihilating than the occasion demanded; yet with it all, though he emerged from the contest victorious, he suffered deeply, acutely. There can be no doubt that the genesis of this hostile criticism was directed more against the man than his art work, and that wounded personality played an important part in it. Richard Wagner was seen to be a man of artistic taste, with proclivities which were exhibited in his domestic surroundings, novel, perhaps, to the somewhat heavy Dresdenites. First, Wagner’s attire was different from that of the ordinary individual. He persisted in wearing in the house a velvet dressing-gown and a biretta, truly an uncommon head-gear. His apartments were asserted to be upholstered luxuriously. And in these things the art critics (?) saw a target for ridicule and sarcasm. Now that his apartments were furnished in a costly manner is absolutely untrue. Wagner had a keen appreciation of the beautiful, and loved tasty decoration, but it was secured at the minimum of cost. The thrifty Minna contrived and invented, to gratify Wagner’s fancies, at an outlay which does credit to German thrift. And yet there were found Dresden journals that went so far as to discuss his mode of living, attributing all the apparent extravagance to gratification of an over-rated self-esteem, the appeasing of an inordinate vanity.
A year of vexation! a year of consolidation was 1844! From Wagner I have often heard it: “My failures were the stepping-stones to success”; and this year, when the hot blood of ambition coursed violently through his youthful veins, when he aimed as high as the heavens, and met with failures everywhere, whendirectors of German opera houses returned his scores “unopened” or pronounced them unripe and lacking in melody, truly, it was an epoch of bitter disappointment. Attacked relentlessly by journalistic hacks, imbued with the bitter feeling that he was the rejected of his countrymen; that for him there was not a glimmer of hope of success on the German stage, and yet convinced of his own exceptional gifts, and the living truth of the mission he was destined to accomplish, he, broken down in spirit, angered with the world, and fractious with himself, retired from all intercourse with his fellow-men, shunned society as the plague, appeared at the Dresden theatre only when absolutely necessary, and went into seclusion, accessible to none except August Roeckel. Of this gloomy period, and the devotion of his friend, Wagner has left it on record. “I left the world, retired from public life, and lived in the closest communion with one intimate companion only, one friend, who was so full of sympathy for me, so wholly engrossed in my artistic development, that he ignored his own unquestioned talents, artistic instinct, and inventive powers, and cast to the winds his own chances of worldly success. This companion of my gloom was Roeckel.” In referring to his friend’s self-abnegation, Wagner evidently alludes to Roeckel’s opera, “Farinelli,” which the composer had withdrawn from the Dresden repertoire through excess of modesty, over-awed, as he was, by his conception of Richard Wagner’s genius.
HE PRODUCES “ARMIDE.”
This tribute to the constancy and humble workship of August Roeckel is not a whit too much. Roeckel idolized Wagner. The two men were the complementof each other; whilst the vivacious imagination of Wagner inspired admiration in Roeckel, the latter’s placid, closely-reasoned logic soothed the excitable poet-musician. All Roeckel’s letters to me of this period—and he was an excellent correspondent—might be summed up in the word “Wagner.” The minutest incidents of work and details of their conversations are related. This poor Roeckel suffered thirteen years imprisonment, from May, 1849, when his friend Wagner escaped. At the termination of his confinement, the two friends met with a warmth of affection difficult to describe. Seeing, then, the intimacy of the men during this year of retirement, it is the letters of August Roeckel which will supply the faithfullest record of Wagner’s life and work.
He tells me that Wagner spoke of himself as “one crying in the desert.” But few sympathized with him, his breaking away from the “Rienzi” period being frowned upon, but that through all disappointment Wagner’s inexhaustible animal spirits never left him. The following letter is dated March, 1844:—
Wagner has returned from Berlin, very morose in temper; the “Flying Dutchman” did not touch the scoffing Berliners, who certainly have less poetical feeling than most Germans; they only saw in Schroeder-Devrient a star, and in the touching drama an opera like other operas; yet they pose as profound art critics. Bah! they are simply stupid!Since then we have had “Hans Heiling” and “Vampyr.” Wagner thinks much of Marschner’s natural gifts, but finds that his general intelligence is not on a level with his musical gifts, and that this is often painfully evident in his recourse to commonplace padding.... I wish you could have witnessed the work of the old Gluck “Armide,” most tenderly cared for by Wagner. I doubt thatit ever was rendered with such reverence,—nay, not even in Paris. We have also had what Wagner considers the masterwork of Mendelssohn, “Midsummer Night’s Dream,” with which he also took considerable pains, although fully aware of the composer’s unfriendly feeling towards himself.
Wagner has returned from Berlin, very morose in temper; the “Flying Dutchman” did not touch the scoffing Berliners, who certainly have less poetical feeling than most Germans; they only saw in Schroeder-Devrient a star, and in the touching drama an opera like other operas; yet they pose as profound art critics. Bah! they are simply stupid!
Since then we have had “Hans Heiling” and “Vampyr.” Wagner thinks much of Marschner’s natural gifts, but finds that his general intelligence is not on a level with his musical gifts, and that this is often painfully evident in his recourse to commonplace padding.... I wish you could have witnessed the work of the old Gluck “Armide,” most tenderly cared for by Wagner. I doubt thatit ever was rendered with such reverence,—nay, not even in Paris. We have also had what Wagner considers the masterwork of Mendelssohn, “Midsummer Night’s Dream,” with which he also took considerable pains, although fully aware of the composer’s unfriendly feeling towards himself.
Later I find the following:—
You cannot conceive what a system of espionage has grown up about Wagner, how keenly all his actions are criticised. He deemed it advisable to rearrange the seating of the band (I send you a plan); but oh! the hubbub it has produced is dreadful. “What! change that which satisfied Morlacchi and Reissiger?” They charge Wagner with want of reverence for tradition and with taking delight in upsetting the established order of things.
You cannot conceive what a system of espionage has grown up about Wagner, how keenly all his actions are criticised. He deemed it advisable to rearrange the seating of the band (I send you a plan); but oh! the hubbub it has produced is dreadful. “What! change that which satisfied Morlacchi and Reissiger?” They charge Wagner with want of reverence for tradition and with taking delight in upsetting the established order of things.
In the middle of the year it seems the “Faust” overture was performed; the reception was disheartening. It was another disappointment, and showed Wagner how little the public was in sympathy with his art ideal. Although performed twice, it produced no effect.
SPONTINI AND “LA VESTALE.”
This is not to be wondered at [writes Roeckel]; for in the judgment of some here it compares favourably with the grandest efforts of Beethoven. Such a work ought to be heard several times before its beauties can be fully perceived.Wagner day by day becomes to me the beacon-light of the future; his depth of thought, his daring philosophical investigations, his unrestrained criticism, startle one out of the every-day optimism of the Dresden surroundings. The only ready ear besides myself is Semper, who, however, agrees with Wagner’s outbursts only so far as they are applicable to his own art, architecture, as in music he is but a dilettante. Much of Wagner’s earnestness in his demands for improvement in art matters is attributed by the opposition to self-glorification. At the head of it stands Reissiger, who can not and will not accept the success of “Rienzi” asbona fide. He is forever hinting at some nefarious means, and cannot understand why his own operas should fail with the same public, unless, indeed, hestupidly adds, it is because he neglected to surround himself with a “life-guard of claqueurs”; but he was a true German, and against such malpractices. You can imagine how such things annoy Wagner; and although he eventually laughs, it is not until they have left a scar somewhere. For myself, I wonder how he can mind such stuff. I keep it always from him, but nevertheless it always seems to reach him; and Minna is not capable of withholding either praise or blame from him, although I have tried hard to prove to her that it affects her husband deeply, whose health is none of the strongest. Another annoyance is the Leipzic clique, with Mendelssohn at the head, or, to put the matter into the right light, as the ruling spirit. He gives the watchword to the clique, and then sneaks out of sight, as if he lived in regions too refined and sublime to bother himself about terrestrial affairs. But the worst sore is that coming from our intendant. He has not the shadow of an idea upon music; takes all his initiative from current phrases learnt by heart; he is the veriest type of a courtier, and hates nothing so much as “revolutionary” suggestions from a subordinate, for as such he rates the conductors, nor has he a glimpse of discernment as to their relative merits, and finding Reissiger always ready to bow to his aristocratic acumen, he evidently thinks him the more gifted. The matter is not made better by the bitter tone of the press, which, arrogating to itself the office of defenders of true art, smites heavily the “iconoclast Wagner.” Schladebach leads them, and unfortunately, his prominent position inspires courage in scribblers.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .We have had a very interesting event here. Spontini came to conduct his “Vestal.” It was done twice. He is a composer who has said what he had to say in his own manner. He commands respect, is full of dignity and amiability. Wagner had trained the orchestra well; his respectful bearing to the veteran composer incited them to exert themselves heart and soul. The result was a very satisfactory rendering. But after the second performance, a peremptory order came from Luttichorn, that the “Vestal” was not to be repeated, and Wagner was to convey the decision to Spontini. Wagner prayed me to accompany him; first, because he does not speak French so fluently as I do; and secondly, since Spontini had shown himself very friendly towards me, and it was hoped my presence might calmthe composer’s expected anger, for Spontini is known for his irritability on such occasions. We went. The time was most opportune, for as a new dignity had just been conferred upon him by the Pope, his vanity was so flattered that he listened with unruffled temper to what was, for him, unpleasant news.December, 1844.
This is not to be wondered at [writes Roeckel]; for in the judgment of some here it compares favourably with the grandest efforts of Beethoven. Such a work ought to be heard several times before its beauties can be fully perceived.
Wagner day by day becomes to me the beacon-light of the future; his depth of thought, his daring philosophical investigations, his unrestrained criticism, startle one out of the every-day optimism of the Dresden surroundings. The only ready ear besides myself is Semper, who, however, agrees with Wagner’s outbursts only so far as they are applicable to his own art, architecture, as in music he is but a dilettante. Much of Wagner’s earnestness in his demands for improvement in art matters is attributed by the opposition to self-glorification. At the head of it stands Reissiger, who can not and will not accept the success of “Rienzi” asbona fide. He is forever hinting at some nefarious means, and cannot understand why his own operas should fail with the same public, unless, indeed, hestupidly adds, it is because he neglected to surround himself with a “life-guard of claqueurs”; but he was a true German, and against such malpractices. You can imagine how such things annoy Wagner; and although he eventually laughs, it is not until they have left a scar somewhere. For myself, I wonder how he can mind such stuff. I keep it always from him, but nevertheless it always seems to reach him; and Minna is not capable of withholding either praise or blame from him, although I have tried hard to prove to her that it affects her husband deeply, whose health is none of the strongest. Another annoyance is the Leipzic clique, with Mendelssohn at the head, or, to put the matter into the right light, as the ruling spirit. He gives the watchword to the clique, and then sneaks out of sight, as if he lived in regions too refined and sublime to bother himself about terrestrial affairs. But the worst sore is that coming from our intendant. He has not the shadow of an idea upon music; takes all his initiative from current phrases learnt by heart; he is the veriest type of a courtier, and hates nothing so much as “revolutionary” suggestions from a subordinate, for as such he rates the conductors, nor has he a glimpse of discernment as to their relative merits, and finding Reissiger always ready to bow to his aristocratic acumen, he evidently thinks him the more gifted. The matter is not made better by the bitter tone of the press, which, arrogating to itself the office of defenders of true art, smites heavily the “iconoclast Wagner.” Schladebach leads them, and unfortunately, his prominent position inspires courage in scribblers.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
We have had a very interesting event here. Spontini came to conduct his “Vestal.” It was done twice. He is a composer who has said what he had to say in his own manner. He commands respect, is full of dignity and amiability. Wagner had trained the orchestra well; his respectful bearing to the veteran composer incited them to exert themselves heart and soul. The result was a very satisfactory rendering. But after the second performance, a peremptory order came from Luttichorn, that the “Vestal” was not to be repeated, and Wagner was to convey the decision to Spontini. Wagner prayed me to accompany him; first, because he does not speak French so fluently as I do; and secondly, since Spontini had shown himself very friendly towards me, and it was hoped my presence might calmthe composer’s expected anger, for Spontini is known for his irritability on such occasions. We went. The time was most opportune, for as a new dignity had just been conferred upon him by the Pope, his vanity was so flattered that he listened with unruffled temper to what was, for him, unpleasant news.
December, 1844.
Perhaps the event of the year was the removal of the remains of Weber from London to Dresden. An earnest committee had been working some time towards this end; concerts and operatic performances had been given in Germany and subscription lists opened to provide the necessary funds. Wagner was truly enthusiastic in the matter, but August Roeckel merits equal tribute. It was arranged that the deceased musician’s eldest son, Max von Weber, should come to London to carry out the necessary arrangements. He came in June, 1844, and was the guest of Edward Roeckel. We met daily. Max von Weber was a bright, intelligent man. Enthusiastic for the cause, I accompanied him everywhere, soliciting subscriptions from compatriots in this country and interviewing the authorities to facilitate the removal.
August Roeckel writes:—
AT THE GRAVE OF WEBER.
All Dresden was in excitement; the event produced a profound sensation. The body was received by us all. We had been rehearsing for some time a funeral march arranged by Wagner from themes in “Euryanthe.” The loving care bestowed by Wagner on the rehearsals touched every one. It was clear that his whole heart was in the work. His own opinion is that he never succeeded in anything as in this. The soft, appealing tones of the wood-wind were wonderfully pathetic, and when the march was performed in the open air, accompanying the body, not a member of the cortège or bystander but was moved. And then the scene at the grave! Schulz delivered an oration, and Richard Wagner too. Wagnerhad composed and written his out. Think of the care! He wished to avoid being led away at the sight of the mourners’ grief, and the great concourse which was sure to be present, and so he learned his speech by heart. The impression produced upon me was such a one as I never before experienced. Deep sympathy reigned everywhere; all the musicians adored Weber; and the towns-people, members of whom had known that lovable man personally, did honour to Germany’s great son, for national sentiment played an important part in the matter. You know that in ordinary conversation, the strong accent of the Leipzic dialect is the common speech of Richard Wagner, but when delivering his oration, his utterance was pure German, his measured periods were declaimed in slow, clear, ringing tones, showing unmistakable evidence of histrionic power. As an effort of will it was remarkable, and surprised all his intimate friends.
All Dresden was in excitement; the event produced a profound sensation. The body was received by us all. We had been rehearsing for some time a funeral march arranged by Wagner from themes in “Euryanthe.” The loving care bestowed by Wagner on the rehearsals touched every one. It was clear that his whole heart was in the work. His own opinion is that he never succeeded in anything as in this. The soft, appealing tones of the wood-wind were wonderfully pathetic, and when the march was performed in the open air, accompanying the body, not a member of the cortège or bystander but was moved. And then the scene at the grave! Schulz delivered an oration, and Richard Wagner too. Wagnerhad composed and written his out. Think of the care! He wished to avoid being led away at the sight of the mourners’ grief, and the great concourse which was sure to be present, and so he learned his speech by heart. The impression produced upon me was such a one as I never before experienced. Deep sympathy reigned everywhere; all the musicians adored Weber; and the towns-people, members of whom had known that lovable man personally, did honour to Germany’s great son, for national sentiment played an important part in the matter. You know that in ordinary conversation, the strong accent of the Leipzic dialect is the common speech of Richard Wagner, but when delivering his oration, his utterance was pure German, his measured periods were declaimed in slow, clear, ringing tones, showing unmistakable evidence of histrionic power. As an effort of will it was remarkable, and surprised all his intimate friends.
This curious and interesting feature of dropping the somewhat harsh Leipzic accent and delivering himself in the purest German remained with Wagner to the last. On all what might be termed state occasions, when addressing an assembly his speech was clear, measured, and dignified; not a trace of his Leipzic accent was observable. It should be explained that the Leipzic accent is a sort of sing-song, almost whining utterance, with as strongly marked a pronunciation compared to pure German as that of a broad Somerset dialect to pure English.
THEstory of the composition of “Tannhäuser,” poem and music, is a forcible illustration of the proverb, that the life of a man is reflected in his works. Of the music and the performance of “Tannhäuser” in October, 1845, at Dresden, I wrote a notice for a London periodical, called the “English Gentleman.” This was the first time, I believe, that Wagner’s name was mentioned in England. They were exciting times, and it is of exceptional interest at this epoch to reflect upon the judgment of the composer at the birth of “Tannhäuser.”
When the legend first engaged Wagner’s attention, with a view to its composition, he was not thirty years old. It will be remembered that the transformation from Paris poverty to a comparative Dresden luxury infused new life into him. He tells me, “I resolved to throw myself into a world of excitement, to enjoy life, and taste fully its pleasures.” And he did. It was in this mood of feverish excitation that the Venus love invaded him. His state was one of intense nervous tension. The poem was worked out, but not in the shape we now have it. The end was subsequently changed. The poetry and music simmered in his brain for three years. He began elated, filled with sensations of ecstasy. He ended dejected, fearing that death would intervene before the last notes were written.
THE WRITING OF “TANNHÄUSER.”
Now wherein lies the explanation of this? Let me recount briefly his life during these three years, and the reason will at once be perceived. He had opened his Dresden career with brilliancy. “Rienzi” had proved a great success; he had been appointed conductor to the court, a competence of 1500 thalers or £ 225 yearly was guaranteed him, and his horizon seemed brighter;—but the reverse soon began to show itself. The “Dutchman,” by which he had hoped to increase his reputation, proved a failure; even “Rienzi” was refused outside Dresden, and the press was violently inimical. His excited sanguine temperament had received a grievous shock. At Berlin, the “Dutchman” proved so abortive, that he took counsel with himself, and resolved that this “Tannhäuser” should not be written for the world, but for those who had shown themselves in sympathy with him. As “Tannhäuser” neared its completion, his state grew more morbid and desponding. His only solace, outside Roeckel, was his dog. It was a common saying with Wagner that his dog helped him to compose “Tannhäuser.” It seems that when at the piano, at which he always composed, singing with his accustomed boisterousness, the dog, whose constant place was at his master’s feet, would occasionally leap to the table, peer into his face, and howl piteously. Then Wagner would address his “eloquent critic” with, “What? it does not suit you?” and shaking the animal’s paw, would say, quoting Puck, “Well, I will do thy bidding gently.”
THE REVOLUTION OF 1849.
During the composition Tichatschek, who was to impersonate the hero, practised such portions as were already written. His enthusiasm was unbounded, and with Roeckel, he urged the Dresden management to providespecial scenery. The appeal was responded to, and painters were even brought from Paris. On the 19th October, 1845, the opera was performed, Johanna Wagner, aged nineteen, the daughter of his brother Albert, singing the part of Elizabeth. As an illustration of Richard Wagner’s thoroughness and attention to detail, I would mention that for this performance he wrote a prefatory notice to the book of words, in which he explained the purport of the story, with the object of ensuring a better understanding of the drama by the public. The performance, alas, was only a partial success, nor was a second representation, given within a fortnight, any more successful. The music was unlike anything heard before. It was noised abroad that passages had been written for the first violins which were unplayable, and the audience listened expectantly for the “scramble.” No doubt there were violin passages as difficult as original, but the heart of the leader, Lipenski, was in his work, and he set himself so earnestly to teach individually each violinist difficult phrases, even carefully noting the fingering, that the performance was anything but a “scramble.” Then the critics ridiculed the hundred and forty-two bars of repetition in the overture for the violins. This confession of superficial intellect was not confined to Dresden critics; a dozen years later, that sound musician, Lindpaintner, expressed the opinion to me that the first eight bars of the overture were “sublime,” but that the remainder was all “erratic fiddling.” Such were the criticisms (?) passed upon the work. Wagner saw there was no hope of its acceptation elsewhere, and thinking to bring it prominently before Germany, wrote in the following year forpermission to dedicate the work to the king of Prussia. The reply was to the effect that if he would arrange portions of it for military performance, it might in that manner be brought to the notice of the king, and perhaps his request complied with. It is needless to say Wagner did nothing of the kind, and “Tannhäuser” sank temporarily into oblivion.
As the part which Richard Wagner played in the Revolution of 1848-49 is of absorbing interest, the incidents which led up to it are of importance to be carefully noted. The first sign of the coming opposition to the government appeared in 1845. In itself it was slight, when we think of the terrible struggle that was shortly to be carried on with such desperation, but it shows the embers of revolt in Wagner, which were later fanned into a glowing flame by the patriot, August Roeckel. Wagner’s heart, as that of all men, revolted at the cause, but had it not been for the “companion of my solitude,” as Wagner calls Roeckel, he would never have taken so active a part in the struggle for liberty. Upon this part, I cannot lay too much stress.
Throughout Saxony, a feeling had been growing against the restraint of the Roman Catholic ritual. One Wronger, a Roman Catholic priest, proposed certain revisions and modifications. To this the Dresden court, steadfastly ultramontane, offered violent opposition, and Duke Johann, brother of the king, showed himself a prominent defender of the faith.
The struggle was precipitated by the following incident. In his capacity as general commandant of the Communal guard, the Duke entered Leipzic one day in August, to review the troops. He and his staff werereceived, on the parade ground, by a large concourse of spectators with such chilling silence that, losing command of himself, the Duke at once broke off the projected review. Later in the day, while at an hotel on the city boulevard, some street urchins marched up and down singing, “Long live Wronger.” In a moment a tumult arose, upon which the royal guard stationed outside the hotel, by whose order is not known, fired upon the citizens promenading in the town. “The street,” writes Roeckel, “was bathed in blood.” This caused a tremendous stir throughout Saxony. This wanton act of butchery was openly denounced by Roeckel and Wagner, in terms so emphatic that they were called upon to offer some sort of apology to the court. The two friends arranged a meeting with Reissiger, Fisher, and Semper, when the subject was discussed, with the result that it was deemed advisable, while holding service under the court, to express regret at the exuberance of the language, and the matter was allowed to drop. But it rankled in Wagner. His position of a servitor was irksome; he became restive in his royal harness, and vented his annoyance in anonymous letters to the papers. From this time his interest in the political situation increased; continually stimulated by Roeckel, his sympathies were always with the people, his pen ready to support his feelings. And so the time wore on till the outbreak of 1848.
BEETHOVEN’S “NINTH SYMPHONY.”
In the spring of 1846 an event occurred which had a great deal to do with my subsequent introduction of Wagner to the London public. It was his conducting of the “Ninth Symphony.” A custom existed in Dresden, of giving annual performances on Palm Sunday for thebenefit of the pension fund of the musicians of the royal opera. Two works were usually produced, one a symphony, the two conductors dividing the office of conductor. This year the symphony fell to Wagner, and he elected to perform the “Choral.” When a youth he had copied it entirely at Leipzic, knew it almost by heart, and regarded it as the greatest of Beethoven’s works, the one in which the great master had felt the inadequacy of instrumental music to express what he wished to convey, and that the accents of the human voice were imperatively necessary for its full and complete realization. When it became known what symphony had been selected the orchestra revolted. They implored Wagner to produce another. The ninth had been done under Reissiger and proved a failure, in which verdict Reissiger had agreed, himself going so far as to describe that sublime work as “pure nonsense.” But Wagner was inexorable. The band, fearing poor receipts, sought the aid of Intendant Luttichorn: to no purpose, however. Wagner’s mind was made up, and he set to work with his usual thoroughness and earnestness. To avoid expense he borrowed the orchestral parts from Leipzic, learned the symphony by heart, and went through all the band parts himself, marking the nuances and tempi. As to rehearsals, he was unrelenting. For the double basses he had special meetings, would sing and scream the parts at them. He increased the chorus by choir-boys from neighbouring churches, and worked for the success of the performance with an energy hitherto unknown. To Roeckel he detailed the practice of the best portion of the band, whilst he persisted with the less skilful. The resultwas a performance as successful financially as artistically. More money was taken than at any previous concert, and the fame of Richard Wagner increased mightily. This performance brings out prominently certain features in Wagner’s character which enable us to see how, through subsequent reverses, he was able to achieve success. First, witness his courage and indomitable will in overcoming the obstacles of Luttichorn’s opposition and the ill-will of the orchestra, the want of funds; then his earnestness and care in committing the score to memory, his energy at rehearsals, his forethought and wondrous grasp of detail evident in the programme he wrote explaining the symphony, and his untiring efforts to succeed. Such points of character show of what material the man was made, how in all he did he was thorough, and how firmly impressed with the conviction that he must succeed.
THE FASHIONABLE OPERA.
The analytical remarks he appended to the symphony were not those that the musical world now know as Richard Wagner’s programme, but a shorter and more discursive exposition. The year was 1846, but two from the revolution. The spirit of the brotherhood of nations was in the air, and the references of Schiller to this world’s bond of union were seized by Wagner as presenting the means of contemplating Beethoven’s work from a more exalted elevation than that of an ordinary symphony. It was currently known that the poet had originally addressed his “Ode to Liberty! the beautiful spark of heaven,” but that the censor of the press had struck out “Freiheit” (liberty), and Schiller had substituted “Freude” (joy). The sentiment, then, was one shared by all, and there can be no questionthat the success of the final chorus was as much owing to the inspiriting language as to the tonal interpretation.
Of recent years much has been said of Wagner’s attitude towards the opinions upon Italian opera. The years he served at the conductor’s desk at Dresden, at the period when the sap of his art ambition was rising rapidly, truly brought him into intimate acquaintance enough with the fashionable works of French and Italian masters, but his resentment, I can vouch, was not directed against the composer. He often and often pointed out to me what, in his opinion, were passages which seemed to betoken the presence of real gift. What he did regret was that their faithful adherence to an illogical structure should have crippled their natural spontaneity. That the talent of the orchestra, too, should be thrown away on puerile productions annoyed him. But Wagner was nothing if not practical, and after a season of light opera, the conducting of which was shared by Reissiger and Roeckel, he writes, “After all, the management are wise in providing just that commodity for which there is demand.” When his own “Tannhäuser” was produced with its new ending, he was charged in the press with being governed too much by reflection, that his work lacked natural flow, that he was domineered by reasoning at the expense of feeling. To this Wagner replied in very weighty words, significant of the thought which always governed the earnest artist, “The period of an unconscious productivity has long passed: an art work to endure the process of time, and to satisfy the high culture which is around us, must be solidly rooted in reason and reflection.” Such utterancesare clearly traceable to his elevated appreciation of poetry and keen reasoning faculties.
“Lohengrin,” beyond contradiction the most popular of all Wagner’s operas, or music-dramas, for it should be well remembered that Wagner in all his literary works up to the last persistently applies the term “opera” to “Lohengrin,” and its two immediate predecessors, whilst music-drama was not employed until 1851, and then only for compositions subsequent to that period. The popularity of “Lohengrin” is not confined to its native soil, Germany, but all Europe, England, Russia, Italy, Spain, Portugal, and Denmark (shameful to add, France alone excepted), and America and Australia, have received it with acclamations. And why? The secret of it? For learned musicians too, anti-Wagnerians though they be, accepted it. From notes in my possession, I think the explanation becomes clear. Wagner writes at that time, “Music is love, and in my projected opera melody shall stream from one end to the other.” The form, too, does not break from traditions. It is the border between the old and new. When “Lohengrin” was composed, not one of his theoretical works had been penned. He was untrammelled then. The principles upon which his subsequent works were based can only be applied, he says, to the first three operas “with very extensive limitations.” Hence he satisfies the orthodox in their two fundamental principles, “form and melody.” “Lohengrin” is a love-poem; to Wagner, then, music was love, and he was intent on writing melody as then understood throughout the new work.
AT WORK ON “LOHENGRIN.”
The network of connection that exists between Wagner’s opera texts, is but one of the many examples which might be adduced of the sequential thought characteristic of the composer. Each was suggested by its predecessor. The contest of the Minnesingers’ “Tannhäuser” was naturally followed by the story of the Mastersingers, first sketched in 1845, the year of the “Tannhäuser” performance, and then Elsa the love-pendant of innocence and purity to the material, voluptuous Venus.
In this story of “Lohengrin,” Wagner wavered for a time whether the hero should not remain on earth with Elsa. This ending he was going to adopt, Roeckel informs me, out of deference to friends and critics, but Wagner told me that Roeckel argued so eloquently for the return of Lohengrin to his state of semi-divinity, that to permit the hero to lead the life of a citizen would clash harshly with the poetic aspect, and so Wagner, strengthened in his original intention, reverted to his first conception. Allusion is made to this by Wagner in “A Commutation to my Friends,” written in Switzerland, 1851; the friend there referred to is August Roeckel.
During the composition of “Lohengrin” Wagner was at deadly strife with the world. He flattered where he despised. He borrowed money where he could. Just then the world was all black to Wagner. Of no period of his life can it be said that Wagner managed his finances with even ordinary care. He always lived beyond his means. Though he was in receipt of £225 a year from the Dresden theatre, a respectable income for that period be it remembered, he did not restrict his expenses. And so his naturally irritable temperament was intensified and he resolutely threw himself into the “Lohengrin” work, determined not to write for a public whose taste was vitiated by “theatres having no other purpose but amusement,” but to pour his soul out in the love-strains with which his heart was bursting. The original score shows that the order of composition was Act III, I, II, and the prelude last, the whole covering a period of eleven months, from September, 1846, to August, 1847. It was unusual for Wagner to compose in this manner; indeed, as far as I am aware, it was the only work so written.
At the time Wagner was meditating upon the “Lohengrin” music, when it was beginning to assume a definite shape in his mind, weighed down with the feeling of being “rejected” by his countrymen and depressed in general circumstances, the following letter, written to his mother, throws a charming sidelight upon Wagner, the man. The deep filial tenderness and poetic sentiment that breathe throughout it, touch and enchant us.
A LETTER TO HIS MOTHER.
My Darling Mother: It is so long since I have congratulated you on your birthday, that I feel quite happy to remember it once at the right time, which I have, alas, in the pressure of circumstances, so often overlooked. To tell you how intensely it delights me to know you body and soul among us; to press your hand from time to time; and to recall the memory of my own youth so lovingly tended by you. It is the consciousness that you are with us that makes your children feel one family. Thrown hither and thither by fate, forming new ties, they think of you, dearest mother, who have no other ties in this world than those which bind you to your children. And so we are all united in you: we are all your children. May God grant thee this happiness for years yet to come, and keep you in health and strength to see your children prosper until the end of your time.When I feel myself oppressed and hindered by the world, always striving, rarely enjoying complete success, oft a prey to annoyancesthrough failure, and wounded by the rough contact with the outer world, which, alas, so rarely responds to my inner wish, nothing remains to me but the enjoyment of nature. I throw myself weeping into her arms. She consoles me, and elevates me, whilst showing how imaginary are all those sufferings that trouble us. If we strive too high, Nature shows us that we belong to her, are her outgrowth, like the trees and plants, which, developing themselves from her, grow and warm themselves in the sun of heaven, enjoy the strengthening freshness, and do not fade or die till they have thrown out the seed which again produces germs and plants, so that the once created lives an eternity of youth.When I feel how wholly I belong also to nature, then vanishes every selfish thought, and I long to shake every brother-man by the hand. How can I then help yearning for that mother from whose womb I came forth, and who grows weaker while I increase in strength? How do I smile at those societies which seek to discover why the loving ties of nature are so often bruised and torn asunder.My darling mother, whatever dissonances may have sounded between us, how quickly and completely have they disappeared. It is like leaving the mist of the city to enter into the calm retreat of the wooded valley, where, throwing myself upon mossy earth, with eyes turned towards heaven, listening to the songsters of the air, with heart full, the tear unchecked starts forth, and I involuntarily stretch my hand towards you, exclaiming, “God protect thee, my darling mother; and when He takes thee to Himself, may it be done mildly and gently.” But death is not here: you live on through us; and a richer and more eventful life perhaps awaits you through us than yours ever could have been. Therefore, thank God who has so plentifully blessed you.Farewell, my darling mother,Your son,Richard.Dresden, 19th September, 1846.
My Darling Mother: It is so long since I have congratulated you on your birthday, that I feel quite happy to remember it once at the right time, which I have, alas, in the pressure of circumstances, so often overlooked. To tell you how intensely it delights me to know you body and soul among us; to press your hand from time to time; and to recall the memory of my own youth so lovingly tended by you. It is the consciousness that you are with us that makes your children feel one family. Thrown hither and thither by fate, forming new ties, they think of you, dearest mother, who have no other ties in this world than those which bind you to your children. And so we are all united in you: we are all your children. May God grant thee this happiness for years yet to come, and keep you in health and strength to see your children prosper until the end of your time.
When I feel myself oppressed and hindered by the world, always striving, rarely enjoying complete success, oft a prey to annoyancesthrough failure, and wounded by the rough contact with the outer world, which, alas, so rarely responds to my inner wish, nothing remains to me but the enjoyment of nature. I throw myself weeping into her arms. She consoles me, and elevates me, whilst showing how imaginary are all those sufferings that trouble us. If we strive too high, Nature shows us that we belong to her, are her outgrowth, like the trees and plants, which, developing themselves from her, grow and warm themselves in the sun of heaven, enjoy the strengthening freshness, and do not fade or die till they have thrown out the seed which again produces germs and plants, so that the once created lives an eternity of youth.
When I feel how wholly I belong also to nature, then vanishes every selfish thought, and I long to shake every brother-man by the hand. How can I then help yearning for that mother from whose womb I came forth, and who grows weaker while I increase in strength? How do I smile at those societies which seek to discover why the loving ties of nature are so often bruised and torn asunder.
My darling mother, whatever dissonances may have sounded between us, how quickly and completely have they disappeared. It is like leaving the mist of the city to enter into the calm retreat of the wooded valley, where, throwing myself upon mossy earth, with eyes turned towards heaven, listening to the songsters of the air, with heart full, the tear unchecked starts forth, and I involuntarily stretch my hand towards you, exclaiming, “God protect thee, my darling mother; and when He takes thee to Himself, may it be done mildly and gently.” But death is not here: you live on through us; and a richer and more eventful life perhaps awaits you through us than yours ever could have been. Therefore, thank God who has so plentifully blessed you.
Farewell, my darling mother,
Your son,Richard.
Dresden, 19th September, 1846.
It was well for Wagner that his mind was occupied with the composition of “Lohengrin” during 1846-47, for by the summer of the latter year the pressure of circumstanceshad become so acute that notwithstanding his exceptional elasticity of spirits the mental worry must have resulted in a more distressing depression than that which we know did take hold of him. This exuberance of youthful frolic is an important characteristic of Wagner. It was his sheet anchor, a refuge from annoyances that would have incisively irritated or crushed another. True, he would burst into a passion at first,—there is no denying his passionate nature,—but it was of short duration and once over the boisterous merriment of a high-spirited school-boy succeeded. Though deeply wounded, as only finely strung sensitive natures can be, he was quick to recover, and whilst animadverting upon the denseness of those who slighted his art, he distorted the incident and treated it as worthy of affording fun only. Wagner identified himself with his art body and soul, his breath of life was art, his pulse throbbed for art, and to wound him was insulting art. His success was the triumph of art, and the sacrifices his friends made of mental energy, wealth, and time were regarded by him but as votive offerings to the altar of the divine art, honouring the donor. Then when his scores of “Rienzi,” the “Dutchman,” and “Tannhäuser” were returned unopened by managers, he turned with undiminished ardour upon “Lohengrin,” doubting his capacity to realize in tones his feelings, but with dauntless fortitude to write his “love-music” for the glory of art, conscious that its scenic interpretation was, for the present at least, a very improbable circumstance.
PUBLISHING THREE OPERAS.
What, in Wagner’s character at all times, inspires our admiration is his courage. “He never knew when he was beaten.” Weighed down with monetary difficulties,—though his poor means were made rich by the wealth of love and ready invention of Minna, whose patience and self-denial he was always ready to extol,—with a cloudy art horizon, he sought to approach the great public in a more direct manner than by stage representations, by publishing the three operas already composed. It was not a difficult matter; he was a local celebrity, and on the strength of his reputation he entered into an engagement with a Dresden firm, Messrs. Meser and Co. The large initial cost was borne by the firm, but the liability was Wagner’s. Messrs. Meser and Co. predicted a success, and risking nothing, or comparatively nothing, urged the issue of “Rienzi,” “Dutchman,” and “Tannhäuser.” The contract was signed, the works were produced, but alas, the forecast was pleasant to the ear but breaking in the hope. There was absolutely no sale, and claims were soon preferred on the luckless composer for the cost of production. Of course they could not be met. Wagner had no available funds, his income was insufficient for his daily needs, and so he borrowed, borrowed where he could, sufficient to temporarily appease the publishers. This debt, paid by instalments, hung over him as a black cloud for years, always breaking when he was least equal to meet it. How he has stormed at his folly, and regretted his heedlessness of the future, but the demand met, his tribulation was immediately forgotten. A brother of mine, passing through Dresden in 1847, wrote to me of his surprise at the state of Wagner’s finances, and of the sum that was necessary to keep him afloat, which under my direction was immediately supplied.
It was then that Wagner wrote to me: “Try and negotiatefor the sale of my opera ‘Tannhäuser’ in London. If there be no possibility of concluding a bargain, and gaining a tangible remuneration for me, arrange that some firm shall take it so as to secure the English copyright.” I went off at once to my friend Frederick Beale, the head of the house Cramer, Beale and Co., now Cramer and Co. Though Frederick Beale was an enthusiast in art, with a sense beyond that of the ordinary speculator in other men’s talent, yet “he could not see his way to publishing ‘Tannhäuser.’” I knew Beale would have done much for me, our relations being of so intimate a character, but the times “were out of joint,” his geniality had just then led him to accept much that proved a financial loss to the firm, and so the work which, as time now shows, would have produced a future, was rejected, yes, rejected, though on behalf of Wagner I offered itfor nothing. It is the old, old story; Carlyle offering his “Sartor Resartus” for nothing, Schubert his songs, etc., etc., and rejected as valueless by the purblind publisher. The publisher invariably is the man of his period; he is incapable of seeing beyond his age, and thrusts aside the genius who writes for futurity. “Wouldst thou plant for eternity?” asks Carlyle, “then plant into the deep, infinite faculties of man, his fantasy and heart; wouldst thou plant for a year and a day? then plant into his shallow, superficial faculties, his self-love and arithmetical understanding.”
INOWcome to perhaps the most important period in Richard Wagner’s life, full of deep interest in itself, and pregnant with future good to our art. Additional interest is further attached to it because of the incomplete or inaccurate accounts given by the many Wagner biographers. For this shortcoming, this unsatisfactory treatment, Wagner is himself to blame. He has left behind him rich materials for an almost exhaustive biography; he was a man of great literary power, a clear and full writer, and yet, with reference to the part he played in the revolution in Saxony, of 1848-49, he is singularly, I could almost say significantly, silent, or, when he does allude to it, his references are either incomplete or misleading.
Wagner was an active participator in the so-called Revolution of 1849, notwithstanding his late-day statements to the contrary. During the first few of his eleven years of exile his talk was incessantly about the outbreak, and the active aid he rendered at the time, and of his services to the cause by speech, and by pen, prior to the 1849 May days; and yet in after-life, in his talk with me, I, who held documentary evidence, under his own hand, of his participation, he in petulant tones sought either to minimize the part he played, or to explain it awayaltogether. This change of front I first noticed about 1864, at Munich. But before stating what I know, on the incontestable evidence of his own handwriting, his explicit utterances to me, the evidence of eyewitnesses, and the present criminal official records in the procès-verbal Richard Wagner, of his relations with the reform movement (misnamed the Revolution); I will at once cite one instance of his—to me—apparent desire to forget the part he enacted during a trying and excited period.
Wagner was a member of a reform union; before this body he read, in June, 1848, a paper of revolutionary tendencies, the gist of which was abolition of the monarchy, and the constitution of a republic. This document, of somewhat lengthy proportions, harmless in itself, which was printed by the union, constituted part of the Saxon government indictment against Richard Wagner. From 1871-1883 Wagner edited his “Collected Writings,” published by Fritsch, of Leipzic, in eleven volumes; these include short sketches on less important topics, written in Paris, in 1841, but this important and interesting statement of his political opinions is significantly omitted. Comment is needless.