KÖNIGSBERG AND RIGA
"To extricate myself from the petty commerce of the German
stage."--WAGNER
Minna Planer, as she was called, was the daughter of a spindle-maker,
and according to Praeger,[8] who knew her well, went on the stage
not because she was endowed with histrionic talent, but because it
was necessary for her to contribute to the support of her father's
family. Wagner had become engaged to her while at Magdeburg, and he
married her on Nov. 24, 1836, at Königsberg. He was twenty-three
years old and the wisdom of his marriage was what might have been
expected of a boy. From all the testimony it appears that the first
wife of Richard Wagner was a good, gentle, loving woman, devoted
to him in a mild, unimpassioned manner, and utterly incapable of
understanding him. At the outset of their married life, she was
almost as improvident as he, and the burden of debt which he had
accumulated at Magdeburg grew larger at Königsberg. Later at Riga
these two poor children lived in a house in the outskirts of a town
and had to take a cab whenever they went to the theatre!
[Footnote 8: "Wagner as I Knew Him," by Ferdinand Praeger, New York,
1892.]
In later years Minna learned the meaning of economy, and she
struggled bravely to make both ends meet, when there was nothing
but ends. But never did she perceive the genius of her husband, and
for that reason she was always impatient with his dreams of great
achievements, when money could have been earned by prosaic labour
at the expense of hazy aspirations. A woman of tender eye and sweet
speech, she commanded the sympathy of Wagner's friends, and it was
indeed a fatal misfortune for this gentle dove that she was mismated
with an eagle. Certainly she suffered much and bore with patience,
not only the privations of domestic life in straitened circumstances,
but also the waywardness and eccentricities of a mind beyond her
comprehension. Praeger says:
"As years rolled by and the genius of Wagner assumed more definite
shape and grew in strength, she was less able to comprehend the
might of his intellect. To have written the 'Novice of Palermo'
at twenty-three and to have been received so cordially was to her
unambitious heart the zenith of success. More than that she could
not understand, nor did she ever realise the extent of the wondrous
gifts of her husband. After twenty years of wedded life it was much
the same. We were sitting at lunch in the trimly kept Swiss châlet at
Zurich in the summer of 1856, waiting for the composer of the then
completed 'Rienzi,' 'Dutchman,' 'Tannhäuser' and 'Lohengrin' to come
down from his scoring of the 'Nibelungen,' when in full innocence she
asked me, 'Now, honestly, is Richard such a great genius?' On another
occasion, when he was bitterly animadverting on his treatment by the
public, she said, 'Well, Richard, why don't you write something for
the gallery?'"
That there was another side to the story is certain. From the
beginning, though tender and considerate of his wife when at her
side, and fully awake to her excellencies, Wagner was a victim of
those irregularities of temperament which seem inseparable from
genius, especially musical genius. He was inconstant as the wind,
a rover, a faithless husband. His misdoings amounted to more than
peccadilloes. He was guilty of many liaisons and the Sybaritic
character of his self-indulgences increased as the years went by.
It is not possible to give the details of these secrets of Wagner's
life; but it must suffice to say that while Minna was unsuited to
him through her inability to understand him, she was more sinned
against than sinning. She was a faithful and devoted wife, patient
in adversity and modest in prosperity. It is impossible to say the
same of him as a husband. For twenty-five years they struggled along
together, and the history of their existence makes one sympathise
deeply with this sweet little woman. Enduring the most bitter
privations, she saw a husband, who could have earned a good living
by writing for the popular taste, deliberately refusing to do so
and following the promptings of what must have seemed to her the
wildest dreams. This same husband was also luxurious in habit, and
was always deeply in debt. The wolf was continually at the Wagner
door, even when the master had what to a less fastidious person would
have seemed abundance. Wagner, on the other hand, must have hungered
and thirsted for a companion who would understand his ideals and his
purposes, and be willing to wait with him for the triumph that was
sure to come. That these two ill-mated persons would separate was
almost inevitable. It may be briefly recorded at this point that they
did separate in August, 1861. Minna went to live in Dresden, where
she died on Jan. 25, 1866.
The grip of poverty in Königsberg seems to have strangled the voice
of Wagner's muse. He says in the Autobiography: "The year which
I spent in Königsberg was completely lost to my art by reason of
the pressure of petty cares. I wrote one solitary overture: 'Rule
Britannia.'" He wrote also about this time an overture entitled
"Polonia." The former is lost, but the Wagner family has the
manuscript of the latter. The state of the composer's mind, and the
actions to which it led are now best told in the "Communication to My
Friends":
"One strong desire then arose in me, and developed into an
all-consuming passion: to force my way out from the paltry
squalor of my situation. This desire, however, was busied
only in the second line with actual life; its front rank
made towards a brilliant course as artist. To extricate
myself from the petty commerce of the German stage, and
straightway try my luck in Paris: this, in a word, was the
goal I set before me. A romance by H. König, 'Die Hohe
Braut,' had fallen into my hands; everything which I read
had only an interest for me when viewed in the light of
its adaptability for an operatic subject: in my mood of
that time, the reading of this novel attracted me the more,
as it soon conjured up in my eyes the vision of a grand
opera in five acts for Paris. I drafted a complete sketch
and sent it direct to Scribe in Paris with the prayer that
he would work it up for the Grand Opéra there and get me
appointed for its composition. Naturally this project ended
in smoke."
The history of Wagner's first attempt to reach the goal of the opera
composer of his day, the stage of the Grand Opéra in Paris, is worthy
of particular note. He despatched the manuscript and a letter
for Scribe to his brother-in-law, Friedrich Brockhaus, to send to
Paris. Hearing nothing, he wrote again six months later, and sent
to Scribe a copy of the score of "Das Liebesverbot" as a specimen
of his work. Scribe answered this letter courteously and expressed
interest in Wagner and his music. The composer again sent him a copy
of the scenario of "Die Hohe Braut," but put it into the post without
any stamps and so never heard of it again, nor received an answer
from Scribe. These facts were recorded in an old note book in which
Wagner made first draughts of his letters. The letter giving this
information was addressed to one Lewald, a Leipsic journalist who had
lived in Paris, and, after reciting the facts, Wagner asked him to
find out whether Scribe had received the second letter and whether
he was still favourably inclined. If so, Wagner said, he had another
operatic plan in his mind, the book of "Rienzi," which was just
the thing for Paris. This letter was published in the _Frankfurter
Zeitung_, and will be found quoted in Mr. Finck's "Wagner." Nothing
came of this correspondence, and Wagner was fated not to enter
Paris till some time later, and then to find it a city of continual
disappointment.
In the spring the Königsberg Theatre failed and again Wagner was out
of employment. Like many other theatrical folk, the moment his salary
stopped he was in straits. So once more he called upon Dorn for
help. This critic had written of the "Rule Britannia" overture that
it was a medley of Bach, Beethoven, and Bellini, but he still had
faith in the genius of Wagner. So through his influence Wagner was
appointed director of music in the theatre at Riga, on the Russian
side of the Baltic, under Karl von Holtei as manager. Wagner's wife
and her sister, Theresa Planer, were also engaged for the comedy
performances. Riga was a more prosperous town than either Magdeburg
or Königsberg and at first Wagner, delighted with the higher salary,
set to work with evident pleasure. The material in the company was
good, and the composer was sufficiently interested in the singers
to write several airs for them. He also conducted ten orchestral
concerts, at which his overtures, "Rule Britannia" and "Columbus,"
were performed. He began to write a comic opera entitled "Die
Glückliche Bärenfamilie" ("The Happy Bear Family") for which he found
the material in a story in the "Arabian Nights." "I had only composed
two numbers for this," he says, "when I was disgusted to find that I
was again on the high road to music-making à la Adam. My spirit, my
deeper feelings, were wounded by this discovery, and I laid aside the
work in horror. The daily studying and conducting of Auber's, Adam's,
and Bellini's music contributed its share to a speedy undoing of my
frivolous delight in such an enterprise."
That inexpressible dissatisfaction with the extant state of the
theatre, which finally made Wagner the reformer of the lyric drama,
was already at work. The purely commercial spirit of the play-house
was rapidly becoming intolerably antagonistic to him. He held
himself aloof from the actors. He lived far away from the theatre.
He shut himself up within himself, and he began to cherish dreams
of breaking the sordid bondage of the German stage and reaching out
into a broader and more vigorous artistic atmosphere. He laboured
assiduously at Riga for good performances. The manager begged him not
to overwork the singers, but the singers liked his enthusiasm and
seconded his efforts. At this time, in his unsettled state of mind,
he worshipped Bellini, and exalted the Italian song above all other
forms of operatic music. He had "Norma" performed for his benefit on
Dec. 11, 1837. He wrote articles praising Bellini, and his enemies
delighted to quote these forty years later as evidence of Wagner's
inconsistency. This undeveloped youth of twenty-four was groping for
the path toward which his genius impelled him. That he could not find
it at once was not remarkable. He needed the discipline of a larger
experience and a closer contact with the great world. As yet he had
been but playing in the nursery. His first pointed lessons were about
to be received.
In the spring of 1839 his contract with Holtei expired. He could
not find employment. He even wrote to the director of the theatre
offering to return as assistant director or copyist, in fact, to do
anything except, as he ironically said, black boots or carry water.
Nothing came of all this, and debts began to press heavily on this
most improvident of men. He had a grand opera partly written. It was
made on the Meyerbeerian last, and that was fashionable in Paris.
Thither he determined to go. But when he endeavoured to leave Riga,
he could not get a passport because of his debts. So with his wife
and his dog, he stole away like a thief in the night. Minna went
across the border into Germany disguised as the wife of a lumberman.
Wagner himself was aided by a Königsberg friend, Abraham Möller, who
hid him in an empty sentry box till he could slip past the pickets
on the boundary line. This same Möller went with him to the port of
Pillau, where he, his wife, and his dog embarked on a sailing vessel
for London, thence to descend upon Paris.[9] Paris was to be assailed
with one opera completed and another half done. This second work was
"Rienzi." During the years of struggle at Magdeburg, Königsberg,
and Riga, while searching for material for a grand opera book, he
had read Bulwer's novel, "Rienzi," and the subject seemed to him to
be promising. The grandeur of the plan and the opportunities for
operatic effects fired his mind, and in the summer of 1838 he began
the libretto. At Riga, when he was holding himself aloof from the
surroundings of the theatre, he was at work composing the music, and
in the spring of 1839 the first two acts were finished. He had aimed
to make this an imposing work, too grand in plan for production at a
provincial German theatre. So it was with this uncompleted score that
he put to sea, a sea far vaster than he at the time imagined it to
be. For before leaving Riga he had fallen upon Heine's version of the
legend of the "Flying Dutchman," and this sea voyage was to make the
story vital in his mind and inspire him with the music for the first
work in which the Wagner of the immortal dramas was revealed. He says
in the autobiography:
"This voyage I never shall forget as long as I live; it lasted three
and a half weeks and was rich in mishaps. Thrice did we endure the
most violent of storms, and once the captain found himself compelled
to put into a Norwegian haven. The passage among the crags of Norway
made a wonderful impression on my fancy; the legends of the Flying
Dutchman, as I heard them from the seamen's mouths, were clothed for
me in a distinct and individual colour, borrowed from the adventures
of the ocean through which I was then passing."
[Footnote 9: Mr. Finck, who relates these facts, obtained them
from articles in the _Frankfurter Zeitung_ and from some of Dorn's
writings.]
But at length London was reached, and Wagner, Minna, and the great
Newfoundland dog were set down at a comfortless little hotel in Old
Compton Street, Soho, a dozen doors from Wardour Street, with the
purlieus of Seven Dials on one side of them and Oxford and Regent
Streets within a few minutes' walk.[10] His first experience in the
capital of Great Britain was the loss of his magnificent Newfoundland
dog, to which he was much attached. Fortunately the intelligent beast
found its master. Wagner was not far away from the house in which
Weber had lived when he was in London, and "to that shrine he made
his first pilgrimage." He visited the Naval Hospital at Greenwich and
was duly impressed by the sight of the shipping on the Thames. He
went over the hospital ship _Dreadnaught_, one of Nelson's old fleet,
and he visited Westminster Abbey, where he paid special attention to
the Poets' Corner. Standing before the statue of Shakespeare, he was
carried away into a long reverie on the manner in which this master
had triumphed by throwing aside all the rules of the old classic
writers, and Praeger sees in this one of the germs of Wagner's daring
reforms. The reverie ended when the patient Minna plucked him by
the sleeve and said, "Come, dear Richard, you have been standing
here for twenty minutes like one of these statues and not uttering a
word." And that was about the substance of Wagner's first experience
in London. He says in his autobiography that nothing interested him
so much as the city itself and the Houses of Parliament. He did not
visit a single theatre.
[Footnote 10: Praeger is the only authority for the incidents of
Wagner's first visit to London.]
He now set out for Paris by way of Boulogne, and at the latter
place he tarried four weeks, because the most influential man in
the operatic world of France, Giacomo Meyerbeer, was there enjoying
his summer rest. It was of vital importance to Wagner to make the
acquaintance of this great personage, and he did not think that the
expense of a month's stay was too much to pay for the advantage.
Meyerbeer, who was not averse to playing the dictator, received the
poor German kindly, and after reading the libretto of "Rienzi,"
praised it highly. He was also flattering in his commendation of the
two acts of the music which Wagner had finished. He was dubious as to
the future of this young man, who had nothing on which to live while
he lingered about the gates of the mighty in Paris, but he promised
to do what he could for him. He said that letters of introduction
were well enough in their way, but that persistence was the most
valuable lever to success. With this advice he gave Wagner letters to
Anténor Jolly, director of the Théâtre Renaissance, which produced
musical works as well as plays; to Léon Pillet, director of the Grand
Opéra; to Schlesinger, the publisher, and to Habeneck, the famous
conductor.
Armed with these letters, and with that naïve trust in the future
which deserted him only in his equally naïve periods of utter
despondency, Wagner set out for Paris, where he arrived in September,
1839. Only twenty-six years old, he had already produced two operas,
partly written a third, and conceived the germ of a fourth, which
was to make him famous. His experiences in Paris were to be of the
bitterest kind, but of the most vital importance to his future
career. He remained in the French capital till April 7, 1842, and
in the intervening time disclosed himself as an artist, although as
a man he nearly starved. Out of trials and tribulations are great
spirits moulded. It was necessary for Wagner to despair of pecuniary
success before he found the true path to immortal fame.