1862-1868.
MUNICH.
Successful Concerts--Plans for a New Theatre--Offenbach's Music
Preferred--Concerts Again--New Hindrances and Disappointments--King
Louis of Bavaria--Rescue and Hope--New Life--Schnorr--"Tannhaeuser"
Reproduced--Great Performance of "Tristan"--Enthusiastic
Applause--Death of Schnorr--Opposition of the Munich Public--Unfair
Attacks Upon Wagner--He Goes to Switzerland--The
"Meistersinger"--The Rehearsals--The Successful
Performance--Criticisms.
_O, thus descendest thou at last to me,
Fulfilment, fairest daughter of the Gods._
Goethe.
The pressure of circumstances, as well as the natural desire, to break
ground for himself and his new creations, induced him for a time to
give concerts with selections from them. He met with marked success
before the unprejudiced hearers of Vienna, Prague, St. Petersburg, and
Moscow. His visit to Russia especially yielded him a handsome sum,
with which he returned to Vienna to await the representation of
"Tristan," but owing to the physical inability of Ander, the work
finally had to be laid aside. Wagner felt also that intelligence as
well as good-will for the cause were lacking; even the Isolde-Dustman
did not at heart believe in it. "To speak frankly, I had enough of it
and thought no more about it," he tells us.
During this time he published the Nibelungen-poem, and in April, 1863,
wrote the celebrated preface which eventually led to the consummation
of his desires. He had with Semper conceived the design of a theatre
which after the Grecian style should confine the attention of the
entire audience to the stage, by its amphitheatric form, thus
rendering impossible the mutual staring of the public or at least
making it less likely to occur. Because of the oft repeated experience
of the deeper effect of music when heard unseen, the orchestra was to
be placed so low that no spectator could see the movements of the
performers, while at the same time it would result in the more
complete harmony of sound from the many and various instruments. In
such a place, consecrated to art alone and not to pleasure of the eye,
the "stage-festival-play" was to be produced. But would it be possible
for lovers of art to provide the means, or was there perhaps a prince
willing to spend for this purpose only as much as the maintenance for
a short period of his imperfect Opera-house cost him? "In the
beginning was the deed," he says with _Faust_, and adds sadly enough
in a postscript: "I no longer expect to live to see the representation
of my stage-festival-play, and can barely hope to find sufficient
leisure and desire to complete the musical composition."
He next thought that the court Opera-house in process of erection in
Vienna might be utilized by limiting the number of performances and
securing a careful representation of the style of the works produced.
Had not Joseph II. recognized the theatre as "contributing to the
refinement of manners and of taste"? He even offered to prepare
specially for Vienna a more condensed work, the "Meistersingers." The
reply was, however, that the name of Wagner had for the present
received sufficient consideration, and that it was time to give a
hearing to some other composer. "This other name was Jacques
Offenbach," adds Wagner. It needs no comment.
Again followed concerts, first in Prague, where "Tristan" was
requested, then in Carlsruhe, where he had long been forgotten,
although the prince's own love for art had not been extinguished. The
Carlsruhe and Mannheim orchestras acknowledged that they now first
fully realized that they were artists. A negotiation for permanent
settlement at the grand-ducal court failed, owing to the opposition of
the courtiers. Wagner had demanded a court-carriage! Frederick the
Great has said, it is true, that geniuses rank with sovereigns; but
then this was too much, too much! Then too, he had, O horror! spent
the beautiful ducats which the grand-duke had presented him, in
entertaining of an evening the musicians who had executed the work.
Where would such pretensions, such extravagance lead? The same
courtiers, however, did not consider it robbery for many years
shamefully to abridge the income of their noble prince until they
finally stood disgraced themselves and escaped punishment only through
the inexhaustible kindness of their monarch.
In Loewenberg, in Breslau, and again in Vienna, everywhere Wagner met
with abundant success. But what of the real goal? "The public met him
with enthusiasm wherever he showed himself, but on the other hand the
leading critics remained cold or hostile and the directors of the
theatres closed their doors to him," his biographer, Glasenapp, says
truthfully enough. Of the Nibelungen-poem also no notice had been
taken except in a very narrow circle. Here and there a copy of the
little volume, bound in red and gold, could be found, but the owner
was sure to belong to the school of Liszt or Wagner. "How could the
poetic work of an opera-composer bear serious consideration in
contrast with the elaborate literary productions of professional
poets?" Wagner says with justice. He felt himself rejected everywhere,
and just where alone he desired admission.
"For me there shone no star that did not pale,
No cheering hope of which I was not reft;
To the world's whim, changing with every gale,
And all its vain caprices, I was left;
To nobler art my aspirations soared,
Yet I must sink them to the common horde.
"He that our heads had crowned with laurels green,
By priestly staff whose verdure had decayed,
Robbed me of Hope's sweet solaces, and e'en
The last delusive comfort caused to fade;
Yet thus was nourished in my soul serene
An inward trust, by which my faith was stayed;
And if to this trust I prove ever true
The withered staff shall blossom forth anew.
"What deep in my own heart I did discern,
Dwelt also, silent, in another's breast;
And that which in his eager soul did burn,
Within my youthful heart peaceful did rest;
And as he half unconsciously did yearn
For all the Spring-time joys that were in quest,
The Spring's delightsomeness our souls shall nourish,
And newer verdure round our faiths shall flourish."
On his seventeenth birthday, the 25th of August, 1861, the grandson of
that King Louis of Bavaria who was the first among the princes of
Germany to again take an active interest in the plastic arts,
witnessed a performance of "Lohengrin," the first play that he had
seen. Full of enthusiasm, he inquired for the other works of this
master. Wagner's writings convinced him, who now had on his desk only
the busts of Beethoven and Wagner, that the one seemed likely to meet
the same fate that the other had in fact encountered--to sink into the
grave before the attainment of his goal and of his fame. His silent
vow was to reach out his hand to this "one" as soon as he should be
king. Two years later, the "Ring of the Nibelungen" appeared in
print. In it was the question: "Will this prince be found?" In the
following spring the author of the work was in dire distress in
Vienna. The silver rubles had rapidly disappeared. How could such
common treasures be heeded by him who had at his disposal the Holy
Grail? But inexorably approached the danger of loss of personal
liberty. He had to fly. A friend had provided him a refuge on his
estate in Switzerland. On the way there he remained a few days in
Stuttgart. Of a sudden the friend's door-bell is rung, but Wagner's
presence is denied. The stranger urges pressing business, and on
inquiry informs the master of the house--who was none other than Carl
Eckert, subsequently Hofkapellmeister at Berlin--that he comes in
the name of the King of Bavaria! Louis II. by the sudden death of
Maximilian II. had been called to the throne in March, 1864, and
one of his first acts was the invitation extended to the artist,
so enthusiastically admired.
"Now all has been won, my most daring hopes surpassed. He places all
his means at my disposal," with these words he sank upon his friend's
breast. In a short time he was in Munich.
"He has poured out his wealth upon me as from a horn of plenty," was
the expression he used immediately after the first audience. "What
shall I now tell you? The most inconceivable and yet the only thing I
need has attained its full realization. In the year of the first
representation of my 'Tannhaeuser,' a queen gave birth to the good
genius of my life, who was destined to bring me out of deepest want
into the highest happiness. He has been sent to me from heaven.
Through him I am, and comprehend myself," he wrote, a few months
later, after he had settled down in Munich, to a lady friend.
King Louis was a youth of true kingly form. In his beautiful eye there
was at the same time a quiet enthusiasm. His keen understanding was
accompanied by a lively imagination and a true soul, so that nature
had endowed him with the three principal mental powers in noble
proportions. His disposition is indicated by the words: "You are a
Protestant? That is right. Always liberal." And after the style of
youthful inexperience: "You likewise do not like women? They are so
tedious." His soul and mind were open to the joyous reception of all
ideal emotions. This was indeed a youthful king, as only such an
artist could have wished, and permanently attracted. "To the Kingly
Friend," is the title of the dedication of the "Walkuere," in the
summer of 1864.
"O gracious king! protector of my life!
Thou fountain of all goodness, all delight;
Now, at the goal of my adventurous strife,
The words that shall express thy grace aright
I seek in vain, although the world is rife
With speech and printed book; and day and night
I still must seek for words to utter free
The gratitude my heart doth bear to thee."
Thereupon follow the three verses quoted above, and it comes to a
close:
"So poor am I, I keep but only this--
The faith which thou hast given unto me;
It is the power by which to heights of bliss
My soul is lifted in proud ecstacy;
But partly is it mine, and I shall miss
Wholly its power, if thou ungracious be;
My gifts are all from thee, and I will praise
Thy royal faith that knows no change of days."
Of the latter there was to be no lack, although it was put to a severe
test, and thus the artist reached at last the goal of his effort,
referred to above, where he stands to-day, the artistic savior of his
nation and his time.
As the main thing, the completion of the Nibelungen-Ring was taken in
hand. In the meantime, however, a model exhibition of the new
art-style was to be given, with "Tristan." For this purpose Schnorr
was invited, at that time residing in Dresden. Wagner says, when he
first met him at Carlsruhe, in 1862: "While the sight of the
swan-knight, approaching in his little boat, gave me the somewhat odd
impression of the appearance of a young Hercules (Schnorr suffered
from obesity), yet his manner at once conveyed to me the distinct
charm of the mythical hero sent by the gods, whose identity we do not
study but whom we instinctively recognize. This instantaneous effect
which touches the inmost heart, can only be compared to magic. I
remember to have been similarly impressed in early youth by the great
actress, Schroeder-Devrient, which shaped the course of my life, and
since then not again so strongly as by Schnorr in Lohengrin." He had
found in him a genuine singer, musician, and actor, possessing above
all unbounded capacity for tragic roles.
He was put to the test at first in "Tannhaeuser," and in this new
role he also produced an entirely new impression, of which the Munich
public, led by Franz Lachner, in the worn-out tracks of the latter-day
classics, had its first experience. Then followed the rehearsals for
"Tristan," which Schnorr had already fully mastered, with the
exception of a single passage, "Out of Laughter and Weeping, Joys and
Wounds," the terrible love-curse in the third act. By his wonderful
power of expression, the master had "made this clear to him." At the
rehearsal of this act, Wagner staggered to his feet, profoundly moved,
and embracing his wonderful friend, said softly that he could not
express his joy over his now realized ideal, and Schnorr's dark eye
flashed responsive pleasure. Buelow, who, as concert-master to the
king, now resided in Munich, likewise conducted with wonderful
precision the orchestra which Wagner himself had thoroughly rehearsed,
and so the invitation was issued to this "art-festival" wherever
Wagner's art had conquered hearts. It was to show how far the problem
of original and genuine musico-dramatic art had been solved, and
whether the people were ready for it and prepared to share in its
grandest and noblest triumphs.
The public rehearsal was festive in its character. The whole musical
press of Germany and some of the foreign critics were present.
Wagner was called after every act. Unfortunately, the representation
proper was delayed for nearly four weeks through the sickness of
Frau Garrigues-Schnorr, who took the role of Isolde, so that the
Munich people were after all the principal attendants. The applause
was nevertheless enthusiastic, and the success of the memorable
"art-festival" of June 10, 1865, admission to which was not to be had
for money, but by invitation of Wagner and his royal friend, was an
accomplished fact, notwithstanding the work had been by no means fully
comprehended, for this required time. Unfortunately, the noble artist
died a short time after, in Dresden, from the effects of a cold, to
which the utter disregard of the theatre managers in Munich had
exposed him in the scene where he had to lie wounded on a couch.
Wagner was deeply affected. He conceived he had lost the solid stone
work of his edifice, and would now have to resort to mere bricks. It
is certain he never found a Siegfried as great as this Tristan.
Another contingency temporarily interfered with the undertaking of the
two friends, and that was the opposition of the Munich public, which
resulted in Wagner's permanent withdrawal from the city. To this
public a person was indeed strange who made such unusual artistic
demands, while the personal character and habits of Wagner at that
time were probably nowhere more strange than in Bavaria, which had
obtained its education at the hands of the Jesuit priests. It is true,
the good qualities, such as simplicity of manners and habits of life,
had remained, but the intellectual horizon had become a comparatively
narrow one, and, what was worse, the clerical and aristocratic
Bavarian party feared it would lose its power if a man like Wagner
were to remain permanently about the king. George Herwegh has
described comically enough the Witches-Sabbath, which that party, in
1865, with the aid of other hostile factions, enacted, and which
forced Wagner once more into foreign lands.
Munich, accustomed to simplicity, took exception to the rich style in
which Wagner furnished the villa presented by the king, and to the
expansion of the civil-list for the construction of the theatre, which
was to cost seven million marks, though it would have made Munich a
festival-place for all Germany, and cultivated society the world over.
The press from day to day printed some fresh calumny. It even assailed
the private character of the artist after a fashion that provoked him
to a very effective public defense. Even very sensible people became
possessed, in an unaccountable manner, with the prevalent idea that
Wagner was destroying Bavaria's prosperity. A not unknown author of
oriental poetry, said ignorantly enough, that it was well such a tramp
was finally to be driven off the street; and a college professor, who,
it is true, had a son, a self-composer in Beethoven's meaning of the
word, and who could therefore have performed all that Wagner did,
added to this the brutal, insolent assertion, "the fellow deserves
to be hanged." At last they prevailed upon the king, to whom this
had been foolsplay, to listen at least to what unprejudiced men
would tell him of public opinion in Bavaria. To the minister and
the police-superintendent were added an esteemed ultra montane
government counselor, an arch bishop and others who were reputed to be
unprejudiced. His reply, "I will show to my dear people that I value
their confidence and love above everything," proves that they finally
succeeded in misleading even the greatest impartiality. The king
himself requested the artist to leave Munich for some time and gave
him an annuity of 15,000 marks. When this had been done, a public
declaration of the principal party in Bavaria showed that the
so-called "displeasure of the people" about political machinations
and the like had been empty talk. Political, social, and artistic
intrigues and base envy alone had given birth to this ghost.
This happened near the close of the year 1865. Wagner again turned to
Switzerland. The king's affection for him had only been increased by
these occurrences. He even visited his friend in his voluntary exile,
who in turn had no more ardent desire than to meet such love with
deeds, and calmly prepared himself again for new work. His longing for
Munich had forever vanished. It is true, some of the nobler citizens
sought to wipe out the disgrace with which the city had covered
itself, by sending a silver wreath to Wagner on his birthday in 1866.
The rejection of Semper's splendid design for the theatre by the
civil-list led his thoughts anew to the wide German fatherland, and he
at once returned to the Meistersingers, in the hope that by this more
intelligible work the public would finally turn to him, and that
then the great German people would assist in the erection of a
festival-building for a national art-work and thus realize his grand
ideal. We know to-day that he succeeded in uniting them in this great
work.
The next important step in that direction was the representation of
the "Meistersinger" in Munich in 1868. In the course of time Wagner
dominated the stage in a manner which had not been witnessed since
"Lohengrin."
It has been truthfully said that there was something more surprising
than the highly poetic "Tristan," namely, the artist himself, who so
shortly after could create a picture of such manifold coloring as the
"Meistersinger." But with equal truth the same observer of Wagner says
that whoever is astounded at this achievement has but little
understood the one essential point in the nature and life of all
really great Germans. "He does not know on what soil alone that
many-sided humor displayed by Luther, Beethoven, and Wagner can grow,
which other nations do not at all comprehend, and which even the
Germans of to-day seem to have lost; that mixture, pure as gold, of
simplicity, deep, loving insight, mental reflection and rollicking
humor which Wagner has poured out like a delightful draught for all
those who have keenly suffered in life, and who turn to him, as it
were, with the smile of the convalescent." Another German, Sebastian
Bach, might have been named whom Wagner resembles most in that
universal dominating quality of mind which is even visible in the
half-ironical, laughing eye of the simple Thuringian chorister, and
brings home to us the truth of Faust's words, "creating delights
for the gods to enjoy." He played at that time many of Bach's
compositions, such as the "Well Tempered Clavicord," with his young
assistant, Hans Richter, who had been recommended to him from Vienna
as a copyist. What cared he for all this wild whirl of silly fancies
and boorish conceit, so long as he, a genuine Prometheus, could create
something new after the grandest models! In speaking of "Tannhaeuser"
he tells us how supremely happy he was when occupied with the
delightful work of real creation. "Before I undertake to write a verse
or sketch a scene, I am already filled with the musical spirit of my
creation," he writes in the year 1864. "All the characteristic motives
are in my brain, so that when the text is done and the scenes
arranged, the opera itself is completed, and the detailed musical
treatment becomes rather a thoughtful and quiet after-work which the
moment of actual composition has already preceded." The humor which at
times prompted even the aged Beethoven to spring over tables and
benches, frequently seized upon our master in such strange fashion
that in the midst of company he would suddenly stand upon his head in
a corner of the room for some time.
His friends observed with pleasure his rapturous happiness in the
certainty of reaching the goal, even though it should bring him to the
grave during this period of the "Meistersinger" composition. He lived
in the most quiet retirement upon a small and beautiful estate in
Triebscheu, near Lucerne, where Frau von Buelow, with her children,
provided for his domestic comfort. His own wife had unexpectedly died
a short time before. During her last years she had lived separately
from the "fiery wheel" whose mad flight she could no longer grasp
nor endure, but by no means in that poverty which the abominably
slanderous press of Munich and elsewhere had accused him of inflicting
upon her. On the contrary, she lived in circumstances fully
corresponding to her husband's means.
In October, 1867, after the lapse of 22 years, the "Meistersinger" was
at last completed. He now strove to secure as far as possible a model
representation. It was of course to take place in Munich, where
"Tristan" had already given the orchestra at least a sure tradition of
style. The event was destined to win for him the very heart of the
nation. If the general culture of the last generation by its shallow
optimism and stale humanitarianism blunted the feeling for the tragic,
as Wagner for the first time had deeply expressed it, yet of one
quality we were never deprived, it ever remained undisturbed, and
that was our German good-nature, from the depths of which humor
springs. At a casual meeting in Kuxhasen, during a friendly contest in
the expression of emotions by gestures of the face, even the great
Kean could not rival the greater Devrient in one thing, and had to
yield to him the victory, and that was the tearful smile which springs
from real compassion with the sorrows of humanity. It was with this
"German good-nature" that Wagner this time conquered the nations. It
was Beethoven who had again quickened the flow from this deepest
source of blessing in life which Shakespeare had been the first to
fully open. By it, Wagner's soul has ever kept its warmth and spirit.
Who that was present does not think with joyous emotion of those
Munich May-days of 1868?
His pamphlet, "German Art and German Politics," had directed the
attention of the narrower circle of Wagner's friends at least
to the great fact that the artificial French civilization which had
prevailed during the last generation could be banished by a real
intellectual culture, and that in this work the highest form of art,
the stage-festival-play, would take a prominent and important part. A
masterly performance of Lohengrin in the spring of 1868, in honor of
the Crown-Prince of Prussia, was a striking illustration of this,
especially to Munich circles. It may also have influenced the mood of
the performers in whose hands the ultimate realization of an object
after all rests. "Even in after years Wagner confessed he had never
felt greater satisfaction in his experiences with an opera company
than at the first representation of the 'Meistersinger.'" The
performers also speak of the persuasive grace and the fresh, animating
cheerfulness with which the master, an example for all in his restless
activity, moved among them and gave to each individual his constant
directions. This remark of his biographer tells everything.
The rehearsals were this time even more artistically satisfactory to
all the participants than those of "Tristan." This art-work was easier
of comprehension owing to its more familiar subject and natural tone.
At the director's desk stood Buelow--"a fine head with clear cut
features, bold arched forehead and large eyes." Opposite to him on the
stage stood Wagner, likewise a very active form of medium height. "All
his features bear the impress of an unsubdued will which underlies his
whole nature," says a Frenchman. "It shows itself everywhere--in the
broad and prominent forehead, in the excessive curve of the strong
chin, in the thin and compressed lips, up to the strong eyebrows,
which disclose the long excitements of a life of suffering; it is the
man of battle, whom we know by his life, the man of thought, who,
never content with the past, looks constantly to the future." Closely
attending, he accompanied every tone with a fitting gesture for the
performer. Only when Mallinger sang the role of the goldsmith's little
daughter, Eva, he paused and listened approvingly with a smiling face.
It was clear that, like Prometheus among his lifeless forms, he
animated them with the breath of the soul and roused them into life.
Beckmesser, the Marker, by his drastic presentation alone expressed
the full measure of furious wrath over the shoemaker's mockery of
his beautiful singing. Such a display of art was new to all. The
Court-Kapellmeister Esser of Vienna, admitted that for the first time
he knew what dramatic, as compared with Kapellmeister-music, was; and
the excellent clarinet-player Baermann, who had personally known
Weber, felt himself in a new world, of which he said that one who did
not know how to appreciate it was not worthy of it and that those who
did not understand it were served rightly in being debarred from this
enjoyment.
At the close of the rehearsals, Wagner expressed his great pleasure to
all the performers; only the artist could again elevate art, and in
contrast with the foreign style, hitherto cultivated, they would
create our own distinctive art. The performance itself was intended to
show to what height and dignity the drama could be elevated when
earnest zeal and true loyalty are enlisted in its service. It was a
touching proof of enthusiastic gratitude for the noble results to
which he had led them, when they all gathered around him to press his
hand or kiss his arms and shoulders. It was the first time that poet
and artist were reunited and in harmony. A hopeful moment for our
art! The enthusiasm lasted fully half of that fragrant summer night.
Such were the hopes realized by the happy impression the performance
itself made upon everyone. The harmony of action, word, music, and
scenery had hitherto never been consciously felt to such a degree. The
rejoicing was general. The Sunday-afternoon service, so devout and
home-like, the busy apprentices, the worthy masters, the "young
Siegfried" Walther von Stolzing, the thoughtful, noble burgher form
of Hans Sachs, and finally, lovely little Eva, no wonder it all
produced supreme ecstasy. Wagner, sitting in the imperial box at the
side of the king, cared not for the tumultous applause of those who
had so grievously wronged him, but gave himself up to the enjoyment of
this moment of the highest happiness, which perhaps was best reflected
in the eyes of his noble friend. Finally, however, when the demand
became too imperious, the king himself probably urged Wagner to go
forward, and from the royal box he made his acknowledgment, too deeply
stirred and agitated to utter a word. For the welfare of the nation
and the time, we see here realized in its wide significance the
vision of Schiller:
"Thus, King and Singer shall together be
Upon the mountains of humanity."
The friend of the cause will find a correct account of all these ever
memorable occurrences in the "Musical Sketchbook--An Exposition of the
State of the Opera at the present Time," of 1869, concerning which the
master wrote to the author: "You will readily believe that much,
indeed the most, of what you have written, has greatly affected and
deeply touched me, and I shall therefore say nothing about your work
itself except to express for all this my great and intense pleasure!"
The criticisms of different persons presented a many-colored picture
of which an amusing sketch will also be found in the book referred to.
How many Beckmessers came to light there! The most concise and
worthiest expression of the prevalent feeling of final victory for the
cause is found in the verses of Ernst Dohm, with which we close this
grand chapter, the morning greeting of noble deeds:
No mistakes, no faults were found.
No,--but purely, lovely singing,
Captivating every heart,
Honor to the master bringing,
Glorifying German art--
Did the Mastersong resound.
Soon, as standard bearers strong,
From the strand of Isar, we
Will go forth with Mastersong
Through United Germany.