BOULOGNE, 1839.
[Sidenote: _MEETING WITH MEYERBEER._]
The passage to Boulogne began pleasantly, but a bad sailor at all times,
he did not escape the invariable discomforts of a channel journey. His
large Newfoundland dog, for whom he had an affection almost parental,
was on board, and excited general interest. Two Jewish ladies, named
Manson, mother and daughter, hearing Wagner speak German to his wife and
dog, soon entered into conversation with him through the medium of the
dog. Speaking a vitiated German with a facility which seems to be the
heirloom of the tribe of Judah, they discussed music, and with a
familiarity also characteristic of the race they told Wagner they were
going to spend a few days in Boulogne before proceeding to Paris.
Interested in music, they at once blundered into the delusion, common to
all the race, that every great composer was a Jew, supporting their
assertion by naming Mendelssohn, Halévy, Rossini, and their personal
intimate, Meyerbeer, including also Haydn, Mozart, and Weber. Wagner
seized with such eagerness at the name of Meyerbeer that he did not stop
to disprove the supposed Israelitic descent of Haydn, Mozart, and Weber.
As the ladies were going to call on Meyerbeer, they promised to apprise
him of Wagner’s intended visit. In this opportune meeting, Wagner
thought fate seemed to be stretching out a helping hand to the young
German, he who had abandoned in disgust his post of conductor at Riga,
to compel the admiration of Paris for his genius. With Meyerbeer at
Boulogne and a friendly introduction to the ruler of the Paris Grand
Opera, the future seemed promising. Notwithstanding his wife’s
misgivings he did not hesitate to accompany his travelling companions to
their hotel. The expenses were so great, and out of all proportion to
his scanty funds, that in a few days he sought a more humble abode.
He saw Meyerbeer, and though he was received amicably enough, yet were
his first impressions not altogether agreeable. The ever-present smile
of the composer of the “Huguenots” seemed studied and insincere, as
though it was rather the outcome of simulated affability than of natural
good feeling. Meyerbeer was a polished courtier, his manners bland and
his speech unctuous. Diplomatic, committing himself to nothing, he
seemingly promised everything. The impassioned language of the young
idealist, his fervid outpourings on art, surprised and startled the
worldly-wise Meyerbeer. The earnest expression of honest conviction
rarely fails to excite interest even in the shrewd business man of the
world. Meyerbeer listened attentively to Wagner’s story of his early
struggles, and of his hopes for the future, ending by fixing a meeting
for the next day, when the “Rienzi” poem might be read. The subject and
treatment pleased Meyerbeer greatly. From all that is known of him, it
is clear that his great and only gift lay in the treatment of spectacle.
The stage effects which “Rienzi” offered were many, and the situations
powerful. Both features were then adjudged imperative for a successful
grand opera in Paris, and in proportion as the “Rienzi” book promised
spectacular display, so Meyerbeer grew eulogistic and generous in his
promises of help. Wagner was strongly of opinion that Meyerbeer’s first
friendly feeling was won entirely by the striking tableaux of the story.
Meyerbeer discussed with Wagner kindred scenes and situations in “Les
Huguenots,” and such comparison was made between the two books, that
Wagner was forced to the conclusion that effect was the chief aim of
Meyerbeer, and truth a subordinate consideration.
[Sidenote: _MEYERBEER HEARS “RIENZI.”_]
But to have won the unstinted praise of the enormously popular opera
composer seemed to promise immediate and certain success. It unduly
elated him, so that when he experienced the difficulties of getting his
work accepted at the Paris Grand Opera House, the shock was more severe
and harder to bear. But in Boulogne everything augured well. Indeed,
Meyerbeer expressed himself so strongly on the libretto as to request
Scribe to write one for him in imitation of it. When talking over this
incident with me, Wagner said that he believed Meyerbeer’s lavish praise
of the book was uttered partly with a view to its purchase, but that
Wagner’s enthusiasm for his own work prevented Meyerbeer making a direct
offer. However this may have been, from Wagner’s plain language to me
there is no doubt at all in my mind that Meyerbeer did feel his way to
purchase the “Rienzi” text for his own purpose. Another meeting was
arranged for trying the music. On leaving Meyerbeer, he went direct to
relate all to the expectant Minna. As was his wont at all times after an
event of unusual import, he made this a cause of festivity. With Minna
he went to dine at a restaurant, and with juvenile exultation ordered
his favourite beverage, a half bottle of champagne. To Wagner champagne
represented the perfection of “terrestrial enjoyment,” as he often
phrased it. While sipping their wine they met their newly made
acquaintances, the Mansons. Flushed with his recent success, he
recounted the whole of the morning episode. The Mansons advised him to
stay in Boulogne as long as he could whilst Meyerbeer was there, arguing
that he was such an amiable man, and since his good-will had been won
was sure to do all he could to promote Wagner’s success; and they added
significantly, “He has the power to do all.”
The trying over of the “Rienzi” music with Meyerbeer was as successful
as the reading of the book. Two acts only were then completed, but with
these Meyerbeer expressed himself perfectly satisfied. It was just the
music to be successful in Paris, and he prognosticated for Wagner a
triumph with the Parisians. In discussing the incident with me, Wagner
said he believed Meyerbeer’s laudation of the music was perfectly
sincere, “for,” he cynically added, “the first two acts are just the
very part of the opera which please me least, and which I should like to
disown.” It means that Meyerbeer committed the unpardonable fault in
Wagner’s eyes of praising the careful and neat writing of the composer
when the score was opened. On all occasions Wagner would become
irritated if his really remarkably neat writing were praised. He would
say it was like praising the frame at the expense of the picture, and a
slight on the intelligence of the composer.
Wagner took his place at the piano without being asked, and impetuously
attacked the score in his own rough-and-ready manner. Meyerbeer was
astonished at the rough handling of his piano. He was himself a highly
finished performer on the instrument, having begun his public artistic
career as a pianist. Wagner supplied as well as he could the vocal parts
(with as little technical perfection as his piano-playing), whilst
Meyerbeer carefully studied the score over the performer’s shoulder. The
opinion of Meyerbeer was most flattering, his admiration for Wagner
intensifying greatly when at a subsequent meeting he went through the
only complete work Wagner had brought with him to conquer Paris--“Das
Liebesverbot.” Before such lavish and warm praise Wagner’s first
distrust of Meyerbeer melted as snow before the sun’s rays. Meyerbeer
pointed to what he considered many admirable stage effects in the “Das
Liebesverbot” libretto, and thought that a man so young who could write
that and the “Rienzi” text was sure of future celebrity as a dramatist.
Meyerbeer was profuse in his promises of help, and proposed at once to
recommend him to the director of a small Paris theatre and opera house,
though he pointed out to Wagner that letters of recommendation were of
little avail compared to personal introduction. But buoyed with such
testimonials and a letter from the Mansons, he left Boulogne, where he
was known as “le petit homme avec le grand chien,” for Paris, again
accompanied by his wife and dumb friend.