WAGNER’S SEDITION.
Well might Herr von Beust, the king of Saxony’s chosen prime minister during March and April, 1849, when speaking in the Dresden chamber on the 15th August, 1864, or fifteen years after the terrible May days of 1849 that condemned Richard Wagner to exile, describe this revolt as an “insurrection that embraced the whole of the people of Saxony.” After such striking, conclusive testimony to the character of the revolt, from the highest minister of the crown, no stigma can attach to Wagner or any member who united in defenceof the liberty of the subject, but rather is such action to be commended.
One more fact from the official report now before me: of Prussian and Saxon troops thirty-four are recorded dead and a hundred wounded; whereas, of the people, or “insurgents,” one hundred and ninety men, seven women killed, and a hundred and eleven men and four women wounded, besides “about fifty more” of the people admittedly killed by the soldiery, and then thrown into the Elbe, or a gross total of a hundred and thirty-four soldiers killed and wounded against three hundred and sixty-two people.
And now as to the source of the government charge and the reason of its intolerant bearing for thirteen years towards Richard Wagner. I have already referred to the note taken upon Roeckel, which Wagner wrote and addressed to him at Prague, urging his immediate return. Further, I have reproduced the revolutionary paper which Wagner read before the Fatherland Union, a copy of which figures in the official indictmentreWagner. There yet remain other incriminating documents, and occasional words uttered by prisoners under examination, besides the knowledge the government possessed of his close intimacy with that revolutionary directing spirit, Bakunin, and also with August Roeckel; and further, his membership in the Union. But the chief materials for the government accusation were furnished by poor Roeckel himself. There was, first, the letter taken upon him—“Return immediately ... excitement may precipitate a premature outbreak.” Then his house was sacked. He was the editor and proprietor of the “Volksblatte,” the people’s paper.Naturally, therefore, documents and papers of every description were found in profusion, held to incriminate several persons. Here copies were found of the June, 1848, paper, by Richard Wagner, on the “Abolition of the Monarchy,” and articles written by him for the “Volksblatte,” then minutes of meetings of the Fatherland Union and of the sub-committee. In a letter from his wife to me, detailing the incidents of the sacking of his house in Dresden, she says, “Every paper, printed and in manuscript, was taken away by the police officer who accompanied the military guard”; and, further, she says, “When I was ordered to leave Dresden I went first to Leipzic and Halle, thence to Weimar, and at each town, when it became known who we were, I and my five children were received with every sign of affection; at Leipzic the townspeople coming out in a body to welcome us.”
A CHIEF OF INSURRECTION.
Roeckel’s wife was ordered to quit Dresden so that she might not witness the execution of her husband. Both Bakunin and Roeckel were, by order of the Prussian commander, to be shot in the market place, an order only countermanded when it was thought that further information could be extracted from them. Ten days after Roeckel’s capture he was brought up for investigation, in company with Heubner, the head of the provincial government, Heinze, the military commander of the people, and Bakunin, directing spirit. These four men were all chained. From this time each was examined and interrogated separately. Roeckel’s investigations were endless. He could not at the time perceive why he was repeatedly cross-questioned on the same point. Alas, it was too cruelly potent when, onthe 14th January, 1850, or nineteen months after he was taken prisoner, for the first time he heard specifically with what he was charged, and his sentence,—death. He saw then clearly that the last part of Wagner’s note to him had been interpreted as implying a general organized rising throughout Saxony at a moment to be decided upon by the leaders, Bakunin, Heubner, Todt, Wagner, and Roeckel—“return immediately ... the excitement will precipitate a premature outbreak.” The official interpretation was entirely wrong. No decision of the kind had been arrived at. There was a complete lack of organization. They wished to be prepared for emergencies, but a deliberate attack was not contemplated. However, it sufficed to include Wagner among the chiefs of the insurrection.
Then there were Bakunin’s letters to the sympathizers at Prague, unaddressed. By all manner of cunning questions that legal ingenuity could suggest was it sought to drag out from Roeckel in his cell, the names of the leaders at Prague. The addresses of several personages were found in the sacking of Roeckel’s house, and these were all arraigned. For a year these secret investigations were carried on, in June, July, and August at Dresden, and subsequently at the fortress of Königstein. On the last day of August, 1849, Heubner, Bakunin, and Roeckel seem to have been confronted separately by a witness who swore to the part actually played by Wagner during the rising. Refusing to utter a word that should incriminate their friend, they were transported that night in three separate wagons to the impregnable fortress of Königstein. Officers with loaded revolvers sat inside each conveyance, a troop of mountedsoldiery forming the van and rear of the cavalcade. The night had been chosen, as these men were known to be beloved of the people; they were martyrs in a nation’s cause, and it was feared that, should it become known who were the prisoners being conveyed, a rescue might be attempted. Inside the prison house, Roeckel met with kind treatment and was permitted to receive letters from his friends. The nobility of his character, his integrity, fearlessness, and unselfishness had rendered him so popular that the directors of the Royal Library at Dresden placed their whole store of books at his disposal. Within the walls of his prison he was equally popular, warders and soldiers uniting to form a plan for his escape, and that of Heubner and Bakunin. Roeckel and Bakunin declared themselves ready, but Heubner refused, whereupon Roeckel and Bakunin declined to hazard the attempt without their friend. It is to these efforts of the soldiers that Wagner refers in a letter to Edward Roeckel, brother of August, which appears later on. The friendliness of the warders being perceived by the authorities, Roeckel was removed to that Bastille of Saxony, the fortress of Waldheim, and Bakunin to Prague.
WAGNER’S ACTIVE PART.
And now for the first time was Roeckel brought before a properly constituted tribunal. It was on the morning of the 14th January, 1850, that he heard for the first time the charge formulated against him and the sentence. The official accusation of my friend is before me, and as Richard Wagner is concerned, I will summarize the charge. It consists of eight distinct counts to the effect that he, Roeckel, had placed himself at the disposal of the provisional government, constructed barricades,was present at military councils, received the convoys of men and provisions that were brought into Dresden by Wagner and others, prepared tar brands, was concerned in a plot for a general uprising in the principalities to overthrow the lawful rulers, as proved by the letter from Richard Wagner taken upon him, etc., etc. The sentence passed upon Roeckel was death, Heubner and Bakunin having been brought up for trial and sentenced at the same time. The friends shook hands for the last time.
Outside a party had arisen demanding a second trial. The clamour was strong, so that a rehearing was conceded, but the second court, on 16th April, 1850, only confirmed the judgment of the first, the extreme penalty, however, being commuted by the king, who had under all circumstances shown himself averse to capital punishment, to imprisonment for life. Roeckel was, however, reprieved after having been incarcerated nearly thirteen years.
And now for the actual part played by Wagner. Throughout he was most active. He was, as he says, “everywhere.” His genius for organizing and directing, which we have seen carried to such perfection on the stage, proved of infinite value during those anxious days. An outbreak had long been expected, but not at the moment it actually took place, and when it came he was found ready to carry out the work appointed him. Though not on the executive of the provisional government, he was consulted regularly by the heads, and as he says, “it was pure accident” he was not taken prisoner with Heubner and Bakunin, as he had but “left them the night before their arrest to meet them in the morning for consultation.”
LEAD FROM THE HOUSE-TOPS.
His temperament, all who have come into contact with him well know, was very excitable, and under such a strain as he then endured it was at fever pitch. Hainberger related to me a dramatic episode which thrilled Wagner’s frame and stirred the whole of the eye-witnesses. I recounted it subsequently to Wagner, and he agreed entirely as to the truth of Hainberger’s recital. It was in the morning about eight o’clock, the barricade at which Wagner and Hainberger were stationed was about to receive such morning meal as had been prepared, the outposts being kept by a few men and women. Amongst the latter was a young girl of eighteen, the daughter of a baker belonging to this particular barricade. She stood in sight of all, when to their amazement a shot was suddenly heard, a piercing shriek, followed by the fall of the girlish patriot. The miscreant Prussian soldier, one of a detachment in the neighbourhood, was caught redhanded and hurried to the barricade. Wagner seized a musket and mounting a cart called out aloud to all, “Men, will you see your wives and daughters fall in the cause of our beloved country, and not avenge their cowardly murder? All who have hearts, all who have the blood and spirit of their forefathers, and love their country follow me, and death to the tyrant.” So saying he seized a musket, and heading the barricade they came quickly upon the few Prussians who had strayed too far into the town, and who, perceiving they were outnumbered, gave themselves up as prisoners. This is but one of those many examples of what a timid man will do under excitement, for I give it as my decided opinion, and I have no fear of lack of corroboration, that Richard Wagner was not personally brave. I haveclosely observed him upon many occasions, and though entering into a quarrel readily enough,—once in the London streets with a grocer who had cruelly beaten his horse,—he always moved away when it looked like coming to blows. This might be termed discretion; well, he was discreet, there are no two opinions about that, but I distinctly affirm that what is commonly understood by personal bravery, Wagner possessed none of it.
He was ever ready to harangue the people; his volubility, excitability, and unquenchable love of freedom instigating him at all times. This was well known to the government, as also the foregoing incident, I am convinced, for, be it remembered, Wagner and his companions only made the Prussian soldiers prisoners, and it is not supposing the impossible that on release they would have reported fully who it was that led, musket in hand, the people against them.
Another incident of the campaign, and this time the author is Wagner. When it was reported that the ammunition was running short, the not very original idea sprang from him in this instance to use the lead from the house-tops. That Wagner’s very active participation was fully reported to the government, is proved by their attitude towards him. They expected to take him prisoner with Heubner and Bakunin, for he was constantly with them, and they were betrayed by the Prussians; and, as Wagner says, it was “pure accident” only that he was not taken with them.
As soon as the leaders were taken, and Wagner saw there was no use in continuing the conflict, he fled. He knew not in what direction to turn, but the thought of his precious manuscripts which he had with himdetermined his course—Weimar, Liszt. And so it fell out. Liszt was good and sheltered him, and interested himself so far as to go to the police official at Weimar to try and discover whether any warrant had been issued for his apprehension. Wagner remained below while Liszt entered to inquire. He was not kept in suspense long. Liszt hurried out breathless and excited. “For the love of God, stay not a moment; a warrant has been issued and is upstairs now waiting to be executed, but I have prevailed upon H——, who out of friendship will not put it into execution for an hour.” Under Liszt’s advice he left for Paris, the Weimar virtuoso being intrusted with Wagner’s precious manuscripts. He went to Paris, but remained a few weeks only, seeking an asylum in Zurich, of which city in the October following he became a naturalized subject.
In the summer of 1853 he thought of quitting Zurich, information which was soon conveyed to the Dresden government, who at once issued the following proclamation. I draw attention to the words “most prominent,” and further to the date, June, 1853; or, it should be borne in mind, four years after the Revolution. It ran as follows:—
A HAPPY ACCIDENT.
Wagner, Richard, late chapel master of Dresden, one of the most prominent supporters of the party of insurrection, who by reason of his participation in the Revolution of May, 1849, in Dresden, has been pursued by police warrant, this is to give notice that it having transpired he intends to leave Zurich, where he at present resides, in order to enter Germany, he should be arrested; whereby, for the better purpose of apprehension, a portrait of the said Richard Wagner is hereby given, so that should he touch German land he may at once be delivered over to the police authorities at Dresden.
Wagner, Richard, late chapel master of Dresden, one of the most prominent supporters of the party of insurrection, who by reason of his participation in the Revolution of May, 1849, in Dresden, has been pursued by police warrant, this is to give notice that it having transpired he intends to leave Zurich, where he at present resides, in order to enter Germany, he should be arrested; whereby, for the better purpose of apprehension, a portrait of the said Richard Wagner is hereby given, so that should he touch German land he may at once be delivered over to the police authorities at Dresden.
The question then arises, is it to be supposed that a man thus pursued by the Saxon government had taken little or no part in the insurrection? There cannot be any doubt as to the answer. As I have before stated, Richard Wagner was deeply implicated in revolutionary proceedings before the May days of 1849, facts within the cognizance of the government. They knew he was a member of the political society, Fatherland Union, the centre of Saxon discontent; it was notorious that the conductor, Wagner, had written and read a celebrated paper in June, 1848, before the society, advocating the abolition of the monarchy; his most intimate companion and confidant was the second conductor, Roeckel, dismissed from office by reason of his revolutionary (?) practices, and he, Wagner, had already expressed his regret for hasty language condemnatory of the powers, and what was even still more convincing evidence, did he not stand convicted by his own handwriting—the short note taken on the person of August Roeckel, besides the evidence of his having contributed articles to Roeckel’s paper? It is then a matter of universal rejoicing, that the “pure accident” did prevent his meeting Bakunin and Heubner, for, judging from the sentence of death passed upon those two, and upon Roeckel, it is more than probable that the same sentence would have been pronounced against him.
That the government regarded Roeckel and Wagner in much the same light, is to my mind further shown by the similarity in time of their respective imprisonment and exile—August Roeckel serving nearly thirteen years, and Richard Wagner’s amnesty dating March, 1862. Several persons of high rank intercededfor him, among them Napoleon the Third, who, after the “Tannhäuser” fiasco in Paris of 1861, expressed himself amazed at the fatherland exiling so great a son. After the perusal of the following letter, dated by Wagner, Enge, near Zurich, 15th March, 1851, future biographers can no longer ignobly treat the patriotism of Wagner by striving to whitewash or gloss over the part he played during those sad days. It is addressed to my life-long friend, Edward Roeckel (the brother of August), now living at Bath, where he has resided since 1849.[2]
LETTER TO EDWARD ROECKEL.
Enge, near Zurich, 15th March, 1851.My Dear Friend: Many a time have I longed to write to you, but have been compelled to desist, uncertain as to your address. But now I must take my chance in sending you a letter, as the occasion is pressing, and I have to claim your kindness in the interest of another. I will, therefore, at once explain matters, and so have done with the immediate cause of this letter.A young man, Hainberger, still very young, half German, half Pole, at present my exile companion in Switzerland, originally found refuge in the Canton Berne. This canton has expelled all political refugees, refusing to harbour them any longer, and, indeed, no canton will now receive another exile, at most keeping those already domiciled there; thus Hainberger is obliged to seek sanctuary either in England or America. Being a good violinist, I had already secured for him several months’ engagement in the Zurich orchestra. His present intention, if possible, is to go next winter to Brussels, in order to profit by lessons from de Beriot, but alas! for him, his most reactionary Austrian parents and relations are as yet too angry with him to permit him to hope of their furnishing the necessary money for that plan. Until he can expect a change in that quarter, he does not wish to go as far as America, but prefers London, there to await that happy reconciliation with his relations. Meanwhile, and in order to ensure the means of subsistence, he would much like to find an engagement in one of the Londonorchestras. As he does not know a soul in London to whom he could apply for help in this case, I turn to you in friendship, to assist in procuring him such an engagement. And, further, besides knowing no one in London, my young friend does not speak English. If, therefore, you could indicate any house where he could live moderately, and make himself understood, you would confer a great favour on me. Could we not direct him at once to Praeger? I take a deep interest in this young man, as he is of an amiable disposition, and I have become closely acquainted with him at Dresden, where indeed he stayed for some long time, with August. He is really a talented violinist, and possesses letters of recommendation from his masters, Helmsberger and David (in the first instance, he was a pupil of Jansa), which he wishes to be known, as he believes the name of Helmsberger a guarantee. If you are willing to do me this service I beg, in my name, that he may be sustained in all power.Now to another matter. During the last few years much has occurred of a most painful nature, and oft have I thought of your sorely tried brotherly devotion. We were all compelled to be prepared for extremes during those times, for it was no longer possible to endure the state of things in which we lived, unless we had become unfaithful to ourselves. I, for my part, long before the outbreak of the Revolution, was incapable of anything but contemplating that inevitable catastrophe. What in me was a mixture of contemplation, was with August all action. His whole being was impelled to energetic activity. It was not until the fourth day of the outbreak at Dresden that I saw him on a Monday morning for the first and last time. For some time after he was captured, I could get no news of him but what I gathered from the public journals. Although I had not accepted a special rôle, yet I was present everywhere, actively superintending the bringing in of convoys, and indeed, I only returned with one from the Erzgebirge[3]to the town hall, Dresden, on the eve of the last day. Then I was immediately asked on all sides after August, of whom since Monday evening no tidings had been received, and so, to our distress, we were forced to conclude that he had either been taken prisoner or shot.A CONVENIENT MEMORY.I was actively engaged in the revolutionary movement up to itsfinal struggle, and it was a pure accident that I, too, was not taken prisoner in company with Heubner and Bakunin, as I had but taken leave of them for the night to meet in consultation again the next morning. When all was lost, I fled first to Weimar, where, after a few days, I was informed that a warrant of apprehension was to be put in motion after me. I consulted Liszt about my next movements. He took me to a house to make inquiries on my behalf. While awaiting his return in the street, I suddenly caught sight of Lullu,[4]who told me her mother had arrived at Weimar, was living close by, and gave me their address, I promising to call at once; but on Liszt returning he told me that not a moment was to be lost, the warrant of apprehension had been received, and I must quit Weimar at once. It became, therefore, impossible to call on August’s wife; and only now, as I am writing, does it strike me that “Linchen”[5]might perhaps think my behaviour unfeeling. I beg of you, then, when you have an opportunity, if she may have considered me wanting in sympathy, to explain how the matter then stood, as I should feel deeply distressed at such a belief existing. I heard from Dresden that, thanks to your brotherly devotion, the family of the unhappy August have been well provided for. Where they at present reside I do not know. As regards August, from whom, alas, I have not yet received any detailed information, I can, thinking of the terrible trial he is now undergoing, have only one profound anxiety, that is, his health. Should he lose this, it would be the worst possible thing; for his imprisonment cannot last eternally, of that there is no doubt. I cannot speak of “plots,” as of them I know nothing authoritatively, and most likely they even do not exist, but a glance at the affairs of Europe clearly shows that the present state of things can be but shortlived. Good health and patience are most to be desired for those who suffer the keenest under existing circumstances. Happily, August’s constitution is of the kind that gives every hope for him. I know, from his manner of living, that neither an active nor a sedentary life affect him deeply. But one thing is to be feared, viz. that his patience will not last him; and alas, in this respect I have heard, to my sorrow, that he has been incautious, and suffers in consequence stricter discipline. Altogether, however, I believe that the political prisoners in Saxony are treated humanely,and we must hope that by prudent behaviour August will soon experience milder treatment, could we but influence him in respect to his easily understood passionate outbreaks.I live here very retired with my wife, receiving from certain friends in Germany just sufficient monetary assistance. My special grief is my art, which, though I had my freedom of action, I could not unfold. I was in Paris, intended even going to London, but the feeling of nausea, engendered by such art excursions, drove me back here; and so I have taken to write books, amongst others, “Das Kunstwerk der Zukunft,” and, on a larger scale, “Oper und Drama,” my last work. I could also turn again to composing “Siegfried’s Tod,” but after all, it would only be for myself, and that in the end is too mournful. Dear Edward, write to me. Perhaps I may hear much news from you, and I would greatly like to hear how you are getting on. Farewell. Be assured of my heartiest devotion.Richard Wagner.
Enge, near Zurich, 15th March, 1851.
My Dear Friend: Many a time have I longed to write to you, but have been compelled to desist, uncertain as to your address. But now I must take my chance in sending you a letter, as the occasion is pressing, and I have to claim your kindness in the interest of another. I will, therefore, at once explain matters, and so have done with the immediate cause of this letter.
A young man, Hainberger, still very young, half German, half Pole, at present my exile companion in Switzerland, originally found refuge in the Canton Berne. This canton has expelled all political refugees, refusing to harbour them any longer, and, indeed, no canton will now receive another exile, at most keeping those already domiciled there; thus Hainberger is obliged to seek sanctuary either in England or America. Being a good violinist, I had already secured for him several months’ engagement in the Zurich orchestra. His present intention, if possible, is to go next winter to Brussels, in order to profit by lessons from de Beriot, but alas! for him, his most reactionary Austrian parents and relations are as yet too angry with him to permit him to hope of their furnishing the necessary money for that plan. Until he can expect a change in that quarter, he does not wish to go as far as America, but prefers London, there to await that happy reconciliation with his relations. Meanwhile, and in order to ensure the means of subsistence, he would much like to find an engagement in one of the Londonorchestras. As he does not know a soul in London to whom he could apply for help in this case, I turn to you in friendship, to assist in procuring him such an engagement. And, further, besides knowing no one in London, my young friend does not speak English. If, therefore, you could indicate any house where he could live moderately, and make himself understood, you would confer a great favour on me. Could we not direct him at once to Praeger? I take a deep interest in this young man, as he is of an amiable disposition, and I have become closely acquainted with him at Dresden, where indeed he stayed for some long time, with August. He is really a talented violinist, and possesses letters of recommendation from his masters, Helmsberger and David (in the first instance, he was a pupil of Jansa), which he wishes to be known, as he believes the name of Helmsberger a guarantee. If you are willing to do me this service I beg, in my name, that he may be sustained in all power.
Now to another matter. During the last few years much has occurred of a most painful nature, and oft have I thought of your sorely tried brotherly devotion. We were all compelled to be prepared for extremes during those times, for it was no longer possible to endure the state of things in which we lived, unless we had become unfaithful to ourselves. I, for my part, long before the outbreak of the Revolution, was incapable of anything but contemplating that inevitable catastrophe. What in me was a mixture of contemplation, was with August all action. His whole being was impelled to energetic activity. It was not until the fourth day of the outbreak at Dresden that I saw him on a Monday morning for the first and last time. For some time after he was captured, I could get no news of him but what I gathered from the public journals. Although I had not accepted a special rôle, yet I was present everywhere, actively superintending the bringing in of convoys, and indeed, I only returned with one from the Erzgebirge[3]to the town hall, Dresden, on the eve of the last day. Then I was immediately asked on all sides after August, of whom since Monday evening no tidings had been received, and so, to our distress, we were forced to conclude that he had either been taken prisoner or shot.
A CONVENIENT MEMORY.
I was actively engaged in the revolutionary movement up to itsfinal struggle, and it was a pure accident that I, too, was not taken prisoner in company with Heubner and Bakunin, as I had but taken leave of them for the night to meet in consultation again the next morning. When all was lost, I fled first to Weimar, where, after a few days, I was informed that a warrant of apprehension was to be put in motion after me. I consulted Liszt about my next movements. He took me to a house to make inquiries on my behalf. While awaiting his return in the street, I suddenly caught sight of Lullu,[4]who told me her mother had arrived at Weimar, was living close by, and gave me their address, I promising to call at once; but on Liszt returning he told me that not a moment was to be lost, the warrant of apprehension had been received, and I must quit Weimar at once. It became, therefore, impossible to call on August’s wife; and only now, as I am writing, does it strike me that “Linchen”[5]might perhaps think my behaviour unfeeling. I beg of you, then, when you have an opportunity, if she may have considered me wanting in sympathy, to explain how the matter then stood, as I should feel deeply distressed at such a belief existing. I heard from Dresden that, thanks to your brotherly devotion, the family of the unhappy August have been well provided for. Where they at present reside I do not know. As regards August, from whom, alas, I have not yet received any detailed information, I can, thinking of the terrible trial he is now undergoing, have only one profound anxiety, that is, his health. Should he lose this, it would be the worst possible thing; for his imprisonment cannot last eternally, of that there is no doubt. I cannot speak of “plots,” as of them I know nothing authoritatively, and most likely they even do not exist, but a glance at the affairs of Europe clearly shows that the present state of things can be but shortlived. Good health and patience are most to be desired for those who suffer the keenest under existing circumstances. Happily, August’s constitution is of the kind that gives every hope for him. I know, from his manner of living, that neither an active nor a sedentary life affect him deeply. But one thing is to be feared, viz. that his patience will not last him; and alas, in this respect I have heard, to my sorrow, that he has been incautious, and suffers in consequence stricter discipline. Altogether, however, I believe that the political prisoners in Saxony are treated humanely,and we must hope that by prudent behaviour August will soon experience milder treatment, could we but influence him in respect to his easily understood passionate outbreaks.
I live here very retired with my wife, receiving from certain friends in Germany just sufficient monetary assistance. My special grief is my art, which, though I had my freedom of action, I could not unfold. I was in Paris, intended even going to London, but the feeling of nausea, engendered by such art excursions, drove me back here; and so I have taken to write books, amongst others, “Das Kunstwerk der Zukunft,” and, on a larger scale, “Oper und Drama,” my last work. I could also turn again to composing “Siegfried’s Tod,” but after all, it would only be for myself, and that in the end is too mournful. Dear Edward, write to me. Perhaps I may hear much news from you, and I would greatly like to hear how you are getting on. Farewell. Be assured of my heartiest devotion.
Richard Wagner.
And now for a few closing remarks upon this revolutionary epoch. I have alluded to the whitewashing, as it were, of Wagner by his biographers when treating of this period. If it were asked who is to blame, the answer might fairly be, “Imperfect or inadequate knowledge of the facts,” fostered, I regret to add, by Wagner’s own later utterances and writings upon the point. When Wagner visited London in 1855, the Revolution and the thousand and one episodes connected therewith were related and discussed fully and dwelt upon with affection, but as the years rolled on he exhibited a decided aversion towards any reference to his participation. Perhaps we should not judge harshly in the matter; he had suffered much and there were not wanting, and I fear it may be said there are still not wanting, those who speak in ungenerous, malignant tones about the court conductor being false to his oath of allegiance,of the demagogue luxuriating in the wealth of a royal patron. Wagner’s art popularity was increasing and his music-dramas were gradually forcing themselves upon the stage, and he did not wish his chance of success to be marred by the everlastingly silly and spiteful references to the revolutionist. But whether he was justified in writing as he did, in permitting almost an untruth to be inferred and history falsified, I should not care to decide. As, however, I am of opinion that the lives of great men (their public actions at least) are the property of posterity, I have stated what I know to have been the true facts, and will bring my remarks to a close by appending a few extracts from Wagner’s early and later writings upon this point which, read by the light of the uncontrovertible facts, I leave for each to form his own opinion:—
(1) Paper on the “Abolition of the Monarchy,” read before the Fatherland Union, dated 16th June, 1848.(2) Note to August Roeckel: “Return immediately; a premature outbreak is feared.”—May, 1849.(3) Letter to Edward Roeckel: March, 1851:(a) “It was no longer possible to endure the state of things in which we lived.”(b) “I was present everywhere, actively superintending the bringing in of convoys, etc.”(c) “I was actively engaged in the revolutionary movement up to its final struggle.”(4) His active participation, related by himself to me, corroborated by Hainberger’s testimony. (I should add that Hainberger came to London in April, 1851, stayed with me, and that I secured for him lessons and a place in the orchestra of the New Philharmonic.)(5) Max von Weber, son of Carl Maria von Weber, told me that he was present during the Revolution, and saw Wagner shoulder his musket.
(1) Paper on the “Abolition of the Monarchy,” read before the Fatherland Union, dated 16th June, 1848.
(2) Note to August Roeckel: “Return immediately; a premature outbreak is feared.”—May, 1849.
(3) Letter to Edward Roeckel: March, 1851:
(a) “It was no longer possible to endure the state of things in which we lived.”(b) “I was present everywhere, actively superintending the bringing in of convoys, etc.”(c) “I was actively engaged in the revolutionary movement up to its final struggle.”
(a) “It was no longer possible to endure the state of things in which we lived.”
(b) “I was present everywhere, actively superintending the bringing in of convoys, etc.”
(c) “I was actively engaged in the revolutionary movement up to its final struggle.”
(4) His active participation, related by himself to me, corroborated by Hainberger’s testimony. (I should add that Hainberger came to London in April, 1851, stayed with me, and that I secured for him lessons and a place in the orchestra of the New Philharmonic.)
(5) Max von Weber, son of Carl Maria von Weber, told me that he was present during the Revolution, and saw Wagner shoulder his musket.
A SIGNIFICANT OMISSION.
As I have stated, the general drift of Wagner’s references to the Revolution is to minimize his share; I content myself with two extracts only:—
1. From “Eine Mittheilung an meine Freunde” (a communication to my friends), vol. IV. of his collected writings, and dated 1851: “I never had occupied myself really with politics.”2. “The Work and Mission of my Life,” the latest of Wagner’s published writings, written in 1876 for America: “In my innermost nature I really had nothing in common with its political side,”i.e.of the Revolution.
1. From “Eine Mittheilung an meine Freunde” (a communication to my friends), vol. IV. of his collected writings, and dated 1851: “I never had occupied myself really with politics.”
2. “The Work and Mission of my Life,” the latest of Wagner’s published writings, written in 1876 for America: “In my innermost nature I really had nothing in common with its political side,”i.e.of the Revolution.
The significant omission of “The Abolition of the Monarchy” paper from his eleven volumes of “Collected Writings,” a collection which includes shorter papers written too at earlier periods than the above, may also be noted.
“TERRIBLY IN EARNEST.”
PURSUEDby a police warrant, Wagner first sought refuge and a home in Paris. The French capital possessed alluring attractions for him, but his reception, in 1849, was no brighter or more promising than it had been ten years earlier. He therefore left Paris, after a few weeks, and went to Zurich. Here he found a true home and hearty friends, and felt, as far as was possible, so contented that in the autumn following he became a naturalized subject. And yet Wagner used to say his forced exile pressed sore upon him, and there is no doubt he did chafe under it, and strove hard to free himself from its galling chains. He could not settle to work. He endeavoured to open communications with August Roeckel, through influential friends in Dresden, but was unsuccessful. When in Paris, and whilst still under the influence of the multitudinous, unsettling thoughts that had pressed him into the ranks of liberty, making him one of its most energetic champions, he endeavoured to negotiate with the editor of a newspaper of standing, for a series of letters, on the interesting and timely topic of “The Revolution, and its Relation to Art.” But the proposal came to nothing. He was told the time was inopportune. “Strange and silly people,” was his comment, and he left the Parisiansfor the more homely, though heavier folk, of Zurich.
And still he could not tear himself away from Paris. The city and people fascinated him then and at all times, and he returned, in the early part of 1850, to make another effort in the cause of art. Though his invectives were frequent and bitter, yet I have seen enough, and know enough, of the inner Wagner, to state positively that he highly esteemed the French intellect and judgment in matters of art. This is one of those curious paradoxes in Richard Wagner’s character. He could never refer to the French without some sarcastic allusion to their frivolity. At all times Wagner was “terribly in earnest,” and he almost took it as a personal insult to see the French full of sensuous enjoyment, and regarding art as a pleasant, agreeable relaxation, at the end of the day’s labour. And yet he strove to succeed there for all that; even in 1860, when he was again in Paris, his feelings were precisely the same. Writing on this point, some sixteen years later, he says: “I thought that it was there (i.e.Paris) only that I could find the atmosphere so necessary to the success of my art,[6]that element of which I so much stood in need.”
His success in 1849-50, however, was no more than it had been hitherto. His vanity was piqued at his reception. He visited old acquaintances, and was received with a patronizing friendship, as one who had come to Paris, an aspirant for fame. They would not see in him the “Tannhäuser” composer, the prophet who had come to baptize them with the pure, holy water of the true in art. His pride was wounded.
He was envious, too, of that smooth, highly polished gracefulness which the French possess in the small matters of every-day life, and which he was conscious he lacked. Though refined in intellect, courteous in bearing, carrying himself with majestic dignity when occasion demanded, yet Richard Wagner’s natural characteristic was a plainness and directness of speech, which often took the form of abruptness. “Amiability usually runs into insincerity,” says Mr. Froude, when describing Carlyle’s character in the “Reminiscences,” and Wagner was at all times sincere. Sensitive, too, as artists commonly are, he saw the Parisians resolving life and art into a pastime, and doing it with an elegant, natural gracefulness that was absent in his own serious utterances of the heart. Impatient of incapacity, blunt in speech, and vehement in declamation, even with bursts of occasional rudeness, he was angered and jealous, that a people—his intellectual inferior—should take life so easily.
NOT FOND OF EXILE.
Sick in heart, he soon became sick in body; seriously ill indeed. On his recovery, feeling naught congenial to him in Paris, he left again for Zurich, via Bordeaux and Geneva. At Bordeaux an episode occurred similar to one which happened later at Zurich, about which the press of the day made a good deal of unnecessary commotion and ungenerous comment. I mention the incident to show the man as he was. The Opposition have not spared his failings, and over the Zurich incident were hypercritically censorious. The Bordeaux story I am alluding to, is, that the wife of a friend, Mrs. H——, having followed Wagner to the south, called on him at his hotel, and throwing herself at his feet, passionatelytold of her affection. Wagner’s action in the matter was to telegraph to the husband to come and take his wife home. On telling me the story, Wagner jocosely remarked that poor Beethoven, so full of love, never had his affection returned, and lived and died, so it is said, a hermit.
Another adventure of this description took place at Berlin, which to my mind is a verification of the homeopathic doctrine,similia similibus curantur, for I often taunted him with possessing, though in homeopathic doses, just those very failings he denounced in others, viz. amorousness, Hebraic shrewdness, and the Gallic love of enjoyment. When he was in a jocular mood he would laugh heartily at my endeavour to prove the truth of my opinions by the citation of instances, and occasionally he would admit the impeachment, whereas, at other times, he would become irritated, and put an end to any such conversation by charging me with having lost all my German feeling under the pernicious influence of a London fog.
Back in Zurich, he could not force himself to compose. He could not, and never did, take kindly to his compulsory exile, even appealing himself to the authorities more than ten years later for permission to re-enter his fatherland. And yet I have no hesitation in asserting that the world should regard it as a boon for art that he was thus driven into exile. Away from the theatre and the busy activity connected with his office of conductor, he had time to reflect over the many schemes for the elevation of art that constantly held communion with his inner self. Freed from the contact of that vortex of petty agitation which constitutes theactive life of the stage, and of which every individual, no matter how inferior his grade, thinks himself the chief attraction, he gained that repose which enabled him to see art matters in their just proportion. His state, he described to me, as that spoken of by both Aristotle and Plato: “One of the highest happinesses attained through the pleasures of the intellect by the contemplative life.” Indeed, it can be maintained, that all the great works of his after-life were either completed or sketched during those years of exile.
THE VILLA AT ZURICH.
To begin with his literary work. In this branch of thought he was remarkably active. For five whole years, the first five of his Zurich life, I remember he said he did not compose a bar; all was literary outpouring, and so much was he given to reflection on the strange position in which he found himself in the art world, and the manner in which his operas had been received, that he even seriously considered the question whether music was his province, whether he should not reject tonal composition entirely in favour of the spoken drama. In a letter of that period he says, “I spend my time in walking, reading, and literary work.” And when one considers what Wagner did during those years of banishment, it will be seen how hard a worker he was. His exile lasted for something like twelve years, and during that time he wrote those masterly expositions: “Art and Revolution,” “The Art Work of the Future,” “Art and Climate,” “Judaism in Music,” and “Opera and Drama,” whilst, as regards the music-drama, he wrote the whole of the words and music of the “Nibelung’s Ring,” “Tristan and Isolde,” the “Mastersingers” (1861-62), and a fragment of music subsequently embodied and amplified in “Parsifal.”
Wagner met with many reverses in the early portion of his career, but he also, on occasions, enjoyed exceptionally good fortune. Though caged, as he said, like an angry, irritable lion in Zurich, longing to burst his prison door, yet he met everywhere with troops of friends. The personnel of the opera house united to do him honour, and individually he was treated with hearty good will. One of his ardent admirers and intimate friends was Madame Wesendonck, the wife of a wealthy retired merchant who had come, with her husband, to take up her abode in Zurich. Wesendonck was a musical amateur, but not so gifted as his wife, who was enthusiastic for Wagner. Wesendonck had purchased some land overlooking the beautiful lake, and was building himself a house there. For that purpose he had brought architects and upholsterers from Paris. While the building was in course of erection, a very pretty chalêt adjoining the property became untenanted, which it was stated was about to be used as an asylum. Such information was not pleasant to Wesendonck, and at the suggestion and wish of his wife he purchased it and rented it to Wagner for a nominal sum. This really charming villa was an immense delight to Wagner. Hitherto, living in the town, he had grown fractious under the infliction of noises and cries inseparable from the bustle of civic life, and the “Retreat,” as he called the chalêt, afforded him a pleasure, and procured that quiet comfort invaluable to him at that period of thought.
At the house of his friends there were frequent gatherings of musicians from Zurich and neighbouring towns,at which, it seems, he often delivered himself of lengthy harangues on his view of art, to find that one only of those who applauded him comprehended the heart of the thing he spoke of. He said it was with him, just as it had been with the unfortunate Hegel, the philosopher, who with facetious cynicism remarked, that “nobody understands me, except one disciple, and he misunderstands me.” Perhaps the fault was partly his own. His fervid perorations were ambitious, and he spoke above the heads of his hearers. They saw in him only the composer of “Tannhäuser” and “Lohengrin,” whereas he felt within himself the embryo of the colossal tetralogy; and how could they comprehend, then, a man who addressed his inward clamourings rather than his auditors. When I say the embryo of the tetralogy, I include the musical sketch of certain of the leading ideas, for the whole of the Nibelung poem was completed, and a few copies printed in 1853 for his intimate friends, of one copy of which I am the fortunate possessor.
CONDUCTING THE OPERA.
On recalling the occasion, when in 1855 Wagner gave me a bound copy of his “Nibelung lied,” one incident stands out prominently. On studying the poem I had been struck with the keen dramatic insight displayed by Wagner throughout his treatment of the old Norse sagas: the laying out of the ground plan, the sequence of the story, the exclusion of extraneous and subsidiary matter, the many powerful and striking tableaux presented, the crisp dialogue and scholarly retention of the alliterative verse, the merit of these features being increased by the high literary standard attained throughout the work. Now when I congratulated Wagner on the literary skill he had shown, he grew peevish;and indeed he resented at all times praise of his poetic ability, seeming to think that in some measure it was a denial of his musical power.
Some portion of the Nibelung poem Wagner read to his small circle of intimates in London. At that time Richard Wagner was forty-two years of age, and his histrionic powers, at all times great, were perhaps then at their best. With his head well thrown back, he declaimed his poem with a majestic earnestness that cast a spell over all. But of his histrionic and mimetic powers I shall have something to say later on.
At Zurich he interested himself largely in the opera house. He sought to control the local taste, but the directors were governed with one thought and that, that only such works as bore the hall-mark of Paris success could succeed in Zurich. Accepting the state of things, he conducted performances of “Robert le Diable,” “Les Huguenots,” “Guillaume Tell,” Halévy’s “La Juive,” Donizetti’s “La Fille du Regiment,” and other works of similar type. He even conducted the rehearsals, attending and exerting himself at these for the benefit, however, of Hans von Bülow, who had become his pupil. I know he was deeply attached to Bülow; he spoke of him with enthusiasm, praised his wonderful reading at sight, and was much impressed by his general culture. There is no doubt that Bülow merited the high opinion Wagner held of him, as subsequent events have proved.
On Richard Wagner’s fortieth birthday, 22 May, 1853, a grand Wagner festival was held at Zurich, musicians from neighbouring towns being invited. All the principal theatres responded with the exception of Munich, which through its conductor, Lachner, refused to permitorchestral members of the theatre to attend, giving as the flimsy pretext that journeymen,i.e.orchestral performers, could not be granted passports. Lachner as a composer has found his level, and there it is wise to leave him. I will only note the curious fate which later made Wagner supreme at Munich and, further, how odd it was that when Wagner was conducting the Philharmonic concerts in London, Mr. Anderson informed him that it was the wish of the directors he should produce a prize symphony of Lachner. The proposition startled Wagner and perhaps, somewhat contemptuously, he exclaimed, “What! have I come all this way to conduct a prize symphony by Lachner? No! no!” and he would not either, not because the composition was superscribed “Lachner,” but because of the really wretched Kapellmeister music it was.
The Wagner festival at Zurich was very gratifying to him. For a whole week he was fêted, and at the close received an ovation that took all his self-control. He addressed the audience in faltering accents, and on bidding his friends farewell he broke down entirely—that they should return to the fatherland and he an exile. Such a wail of anguish went out from his heart as only those who have known the sensitive character of the man can understand.
LOVE FOR HIS DOG.
From the time Wagner went into exile his health generally gave way. Constant brooding over his enforced isolation from his countrymen induced melancholia, and in its train a malignant attack of his old enemy, dyspepsia. His wife, fortunately, was of a homely nature with a buoyancy of spirits, the value of which cannot be over-estimated, nor, must I add, was Wagner insensible toher worth. But with these terrible fits of dyspepsia which prostrated him for days, there also came, as one ill upon another, attacks of erysipelas. When he had the strength, he fought against them, but more often he succumbed. He sought relief at hydropathic establishments, for which form of prevention and cure he retained a fancy for many years. The bracing air of the mountains, too, he sought as a means of removing the ills under which he suffered. He was fond, too, of taking “Peps” with him in these rambles. “Peps,” it will be remembered, was the dog who, he used to assert, helped him to compose “Tannhäuser.” He was passionately fond of his dog, referred to him in his letters with affection, and ascribed to him feelings and a perceptiveness only possible from a man loving the animal kingdom as he did. All who remember the last sad incidents connected with the interment at Wahnfried will think of the faithful canine creature (a successor of “Peps”), who came to lie on the grave, and could not be induced to quit the spot where his master was buried. As it was there, so it was at Zurich. He loved “Peps” with a human love. Taking his constitutional on the Zurich mountains, “Peps” his companion, reflecting upon his treatment by his fatherland, he would declaim against imaginary enemies, gesticulate, and vent his irascible excitement in loud speeches, when “Peps,” “the human Peps,” as he called him, with the sympathy of the intelligent dumb creation, would rush forward, bark and snap loudly as if aiding Wagner in destroying his enemies, and then return, plainly asking for friendly recognition for the demolition. Such an expression of sympathy delighted Wagner, and he was very pleased to rehearse it all to hisfriends, calling in “Peps” to go through the performance, and I must say the dog seemed to understand and appreciate it all. Numerous anecdotes of this kind he could tell, and he generally capped them with such a remark as, “‘Peps’ has more sense than your wooden contrapuntists,” pointing his speech by naming the authors of some concocted Kappelmeister music who were specially objectionable to him.
ASregards his literary productions, that which provoked most discussion and engendered a good deal of acrimonious hostility towards him was “Judaism in Music.” No one knowing Wagner, and writing any reminiscences of him, no matter how slight, could omit reference to this subject. Any such treatment would be incomplete, though it would be easy to understand such omission, for no friend of Richard Wagner would elect to put him in the wrong, nor care to admit that his attitude towards the descendants of Abraham, in certain phases, was as unreasoned, and perhaps as ungenerous, as that of earlier anti-Semitic agitators of the fatherland. However, an impartial critic must confess that in Wagner’s attacks on the Jews and their treatment of art, he has, in much that he says, force and truth on his side. Unfortunately, much of the cogency of his reasoning is weakened in the eyes of many by the introduction of the names of two of his prominent contemporaries, Mendelssohn and Meyerbeer, both of Hebraic descent. His attack is put down to personal spite, jealousy born of anger at the success of his rivals. Never was charge more groundless. Richard Wagner was high above such small-minded enmity. His was a nature incapable of mean, paltry envy. Rancour wasnot in him. Yet how could an attack upon “Judaism in music” be maintained without indicating Semitic composers, in whose works supposed shortcomings and spurious art were to be found? That he was not animated by any personal motive I am convinced, and that the things he wrote of lay deep, deep in his heart, I am equally persuaded. Finding in me a partial antagonist, he debated the question freely. Perhaps, too, it was a subject impossible of exclusion from our discussion, since, when he came here (London) in 1855, or three years after his Jew pamphlet had been published, the press spared not its sneers and satire for a man who only saw in the grand composer of “Elijah” “a Jew,”[7]the man Wagner, whom “it would be a scandal to compare with the men of reputation this country (England) possesses, and whom the most ordinary ballad writer would shame in the creation of melody, and of whose harmony no English harmonist of more than one year’s growth could be found sufficiently without ears or education to pen such vile things.”