PARIS, 1839-1842.
That a young artist but six and twenty years of age, with a wife
dependent on him for existence, unknown to fame, almost penniless, and
even without art works that he could show in evidence of his ability,
should boldly assault the stronghold of European musical criticism,
confident of success, often flitted before Wagner’s mind in after-life
as an act of temerity closely allied to insanity. “And ah!” he has added
in tones of bitter pain, “I had to pay for it dearly: my privations and
sufferings were as the tortures in Dante’s ‘Purgatorio.’” “But why did
you undertake such a seemingly Quixotic expedition?” I asked. “Because
at that time Paris was the resort of almost every artist of note,
whether painter, sculptor, poet, or musician, and even statesmen, when
all Europe clothed itself with the livery of Paris fashion.” He felt
within him a power which urged him forward without fear of failure, and
so he came to Paris.
Germany offered no encouragement to native talent. Paris was the gate to
the fatherland. First achieve success in Paris, and then his German
countrymen would receive him with open arms. It is true, that even a
short residence in Paris invested an artist with a certain superiority
over his confrères.
As Wagner had but a very imperfect acquaintance with the French
language, he at once sought out the relative of the Mansons to whom he
had been recommended. I have been unable to recall the surname of
Wagner’s new friend, but do remember well that he was spoken of as
Louis. This Monsieur Louis was a Jew and a German. He proved an
exceedingly faithful and constant companion of Wagner’s during his stay
in Paris, indeed played the part of factotum to the Wagner household. He
must have been quite an exceptional friend, for on one occasion, when
Wagner and I were discussing Judaism _per se_, he turned to me and with
unusual warmth even for him, said, “How can I feel any prejudice against
the Jews as men, when I sincerely believe that it was excess of
friendship of poor Louis for me that killed him,--running about in all
weathers, exerting himself everywhere, undertaking most unpleasant
missions to find me work, and all whilst suffering from consumption. He
did it too from pure love of me without any thought of self.” Through
the aid of Louis he found a modest lodging in a dingy house. The future
was so much an uncertainty that with the remembrance of the first days
of the Boulogne expensive hotel before him, he yielded to Minna’s
persuasiveness and reconciled himself to the new abode. He was told that
Molière was born there; indeed, a bust of the great Frenchman did, I
believe, adorn the front of the house, and this helped to make him
accept his new quarters with a little more contentment than his own
ambitious notions would have admitted.
[Sidenote: _TROUBLES IN PARIS._]
Settled in his scantily furnished rooms, with ready business habits, so
unusual in a genius, he made it his first duty to call wherever he had
been recommended. Difficult as it may be in any European city to gain
access to the houses of prominent men, in Paris the troubles are
greater, if only on account of that terrible Cerberus, the concierge,
who instinctively divines an applicant for favours, and as skilfully
throws obstacles in the way while angling for pourboires.
Disappointment upon disappointment met Wagner. Nowhere was he
successful. In speech at all times he uttered himself _en prince_, and
for a man seeking the favour and patronage of others this feature
militated against him. Meyerbeer had told him in Boulogne that letters
of introduction would avail him little or nothing, and that only by
personal introduction could he hope to make headway. But though
unsuccessful in every direction, he was not the man to give up without
desperate efforts. In a few months his funds were entirely exhausted.
Where to turn for the necessary money to provide the daily sustenance
was the exciting trouble of the moment. His family in Germany had helped
him at first, but material help soon gave place to sage advice. Barren
criticism on his “mad” Parisian visit, and admonition on his present
mode of existence, Wagner would not brook, and so communications soon
ceased between him and Germany. But how to live was the harrowing
question. It is with feelings of acute pain that I am forced to recall
the deep distress that overwhelmed this mighty genius, and the
humiliating acts to which cruel necessity drove him. After one more
wretched day than the last he suggested to Minna the raising of
temporary loans upon her trinkets. Let the reader try and realize the
proud Wagner’s misery and anguish, when Minna confessed that such as she
had were already so disposed of, Louis having performed the wretched
office.
[Sidenote: _ARRANGING POPULAR MUSIC._]
This state of sad absolute poverty lasted for months. He could gain no
access to theatres or opera house. He offered himself as chorus master,
he would have taken the meanest appointment, but everything failed him.
With no prospect of succeeding as a musician, he turned to the press. As
he possessed a facile pen and a wide acquaintance with current
literature, he sought for existence as a newspaper hack. Here he
succeeded, and deemed himself fortunate to obtain even that thankless
work. The one man to whom he owed the chief means of existence during
this wretched Paris sojourn was a Jew, Maurice Schlesinger, the great
music publisher and proprietor of the “Gazette Musicale,” a weekly
periodical. It is curious to note how again he finds a kind friend in a
Jew. For Schlesinger he wrote critical notices and feuilletons upon art
topics, one, now famous in Wagner’s collected writings as “A Pilgrimage
to Beethoven.” The pilgrimage is wholly imaginary for as I have already
stated Wagner never saw Beethoven. The paper itself contains some
remarkable foreshadowings of the matured, thinking Wagner and his
revolutionary art principles. He also wrote for other papers, Schumann’s
“Die Neue Zeitschrift,” for a Dresden journal, and the “Europa,” a
fashionable art publication which occasionally printed original tonal
compositions. For this last paper he wrote three romances, “Dors mon
enfant,” “Attente,” and “Mignonne.” He hoped by these to gain some entry
into the Paris fashionable world, but, though he tried to assimilate his
style to the popular drawing-room ballad of the day, his songs were
pronounced “too serious,” and met with no success.
But alas! his literary work was not financially productive enough, and
dire necessity drove him to very uncongenial musical drudgery. For the
same music-seller, Schlesinger, he made “arrangements” from popular
Italian operas, for every kind of instrument. He told me that “La
Favorita” had been arranged by him from the first note to the last. The
whole of this occupation, to a man as intimate with the orchestra as he,
was an easy task, yet very uninteresting and to him humiliating. But
though suffering actual privation, he would not give lessons in music.
Teaching was an occupation which, even in the darkest days, he would not
entertain for a moment.
Such were the means by which Richard Wagner gained an existence during
his Paris sojourn. But they were not productive enough. Often he was in
absolute want. It was then in this hour of tribulation that the golden
qualities of Minna were proved. Sorrow, the touch-stone of man’s worth,
tried her and she was not found wanting. The hitherto quiet and gentle
housewife was transformed into a heroine. Her placid disposition was
healing comfort to the disappointed, wearied musician. The whole of the
Paris period is “a gem of purest ray serene” in the diadem of Minna
Wagner. Thoughts of what the self-denying, devoted little woman did then
has many a time brought tears to Wagner’s eyes. The most menial house
duties were performed by her with willing cheerfulness. She cleaned the
house, stood at the wash-tub, did the mending and the cooking. She hid
from the husband as much of the discomforts attaching to their poor
home as was possible. She never complained, and always strove to present
a bright, cheerful face, consoling and upholding him at all times. In
the evening she and his dog, the same that was temporarily lost in
London, were his regular companions on the boulevards. The bustle of
life and the Parisians diverted him from more anxious thoughts, whilst
supplying him with constant food for his ever-ready wit.
In dress Wagner was at all times scrupulously neat. After nearly a
year’s residence in Paris, the clothes he had brought with him from
Germany were showing sad signs of wear. The year had been fruitless from
a money point, and his wardrobe had not been replenished. His
sensitiveness on this topic was of course well known to Minna. To give
him pleasure she hunted Paris to find, if possible, some German tailor
in a small way of business who, swayed by the blandishments of Minna,
provided her with a suit of clothes for her husband for his birthday,
22d May, 1840, agreeing to wait for payment until more favourable times.
This delicate and thoughtful attention on the part of Minna deeply
touched Wagner, and he related the incident to me in illustration of the
loving affection she bore him. He said that during those three years of
pinching poverty and bitter disappointments his temperament was variable
and trying. It was hard to bear with him. Vexed and worn with fruitless
trials to secure a hearing for his “Rienzi,” angered at witnessing the
lavish expenditure at the opera house upon works inferior to his own, he
has admitted that his already passionate nature was intensified, and yet
all his outbursts were met by Minna in an uncomplaining, soothing
spirit, which, the first fury over, he was not slow to acknowledge. Her
sacrifices for him and all she did became only known years after, when
their worldly position had changed vastly for the better. He never
forgot her devotion, nor did he ever hide his indebtedness and gratitude
to her from his friends.
[Sidenote: _FRIENDSHIP WITH JEWS._]
During the three years that Wagner was in Paris, he was brought into
communication with several prominent men in the world of art, men
eminent in literature, in music, both as composers and as executants, in
painting, and other phases of art. Of the dozen or so of men with whom
he thus became more intimately acquainted, the greater portion were his
own countrymen and about half were Jews. This constant close intimacy of
Wagner with the descendants of Judah is a curious feature in his life,
and shows that when he wrote as strongly as he did of Jews and their art
work, his judgments were based upon close personal knowledge of the
question. As may be supposed, the acquaintance of a young man between
twenty-six and thirty years of age with these several thinkers and
writers, could not fail to influence, more or less, an impressionable
and receptive nature.
It was an odd freak of fortune that almost immediately after Wagner had
settled in Paris, he should, by accident, meet in the streets an old
friend from Leipzic, Heinrich Laube. It was in a paper edited by Laube
that Richard Wagner’s first printed article on the non-existence of
German opera had appeared. That was when Wagner was about one and
twenty. Laube was a political revolutionist who underwent several terms
of imprisonment for daring to utter his thoughts about Germany and its
government through his paper. But prison confinement never controlled
the dauntless courage of the patriot. He was a man of considerable and
varied gifts. It is not only as a political demagogue that he will be
known in future times, but as a philosopher, novelist, and playwright.
In Leipzic he had shown himself very friendly to Wagner, whose sound,
vigorous judgment attracted him, and now after hearing of Wagner’s
precarious situation, offered to introduce him to Heine. Such an
opportunity could not be lost, and so the cultured Hebrew poet and
Richard Wagner met.
[Sidenote: _MEETS HEINRICH HEINE._]
A curious trio this: Laube, hard-featured and unpleasant to look upon,
with a weirdness begotten possibly of frequent incarcerations,--a
strange contrast to the handsome, regular-featured, soft-spoken Heine;
and then the pale, slim, young Wagner, short in stature, but with
piercing eyes and voluble speech which surprised and amazed the cynical
Heine. When Heinrich Heine heard that Meyerbeer had given Wagner
introductions, he doubted the abilities of the newcomer. Heine was
strongly biassed against Meyerbeer and distrusted his sincerity.
Although the meeting with Laube was a delight to Wagner, as it brought
back to him all his youthful enthusiasm and hope, yet his appreciation
of the accomplished writer, which in Leipzic amounted almost to
reverence, had been by time and events considerably lessened. Wagner’s
greatest majesty, earnestness, was wanting in Laube. The litterateur in
Wagner’s estimation had no fixed purpose, no ideal. He frittered away
considerable gifts in innumerable directions. Incongruities the most
glaring not unfrequently appeared in his writings. A paragraph of sound
philosophical reasoning would be followed by a page of the merest
bombastic phraseology. In his dramatic efforts tragedy and farce were
placed in amazing juxtaposition. He wrote a large number of novels, but
not one proved entirely satisfactory. “Reisenovellen” was an imitation
of Heine, but it fell immeasurably below the standard attained by his
model. His best literary production was, without doubt, the history of
his life in prison, which interests and touches us by its simplicity.
However, Wagner could not resist the attraction which Laube’s
peculiarities possessed for him. The litterateur’s unprepossessing
pedantic exterior contrasted strangely with his voluptuous and
imaginative mind. Possessed of a brain specially fitted for the
conception of the noblest schemes for the freedom of human thought, he
often childishly indulged in a roguish _plaisanterie_. From a thoughtful
disquisition on the philosophy of Hegel he glides into the description
of such unworthy topics as a ball-room, love behind the scenes,
coffee-room conversation, etc. But, curiously, his revolutionary
tendencies in all other matters were in strange contrast to his
tenacious clinging to the then existing opera form, and Wagner’s
outspoken notions about the regeneration of the opera into that of the
musical drama were vehemently opposed by him.
In Heinrich Heine Wagner found a more congenial listener to his advanced
theories. Although Heine’s appreciation of music was not based on any
more solid ground than that of a general acquaintance with the operas
then in vogue, he was far more affected, and was a greater critic on the
tonal art than his contemporary, Laube. Heine had resided in Paris since
1830, and was thoroughly acclimatized to Parisian taste. He was accepted
as the representative of modern German poetry, and his works,
particularly “Les deux Grenadiers,” “Les Polonais de la vraie Pologne,”
were popular amongst all classes. Heine was pre-eminently spiritual, a
quality exceedingly appreciated by the French; hence his popularity.
However serious or painful the topic, Heine could enliven it by his
clever Jewish antithetic wit. Heine received Wagner with a certain
amount of reserve. His respect for musicians was not great. He had found
many who, with the exception of their musical knowledge, were
uncultured. Wagner’s thorough acquaintance with literature, especially
that of the earlier writers, agreeably surprised him, and the composer’s
elevated idea of the sacred mission of music touched the nobler chords
of the poet’s nature. His opinion on Wagner, as quoted by Laube,
presents an interesting example of Heine’s perspicacity. As a specimen
of unaffected appreciation from a critic like Heine, who rarely sat in
judgment without giving vent to a vitiated vein of sarcasm, it is most
interesting.
“I cannot help feeling a lively interest in Wagner. He is endowed with
an inexhaustible, productive mind, kept almost uninterruptedly in
activity by a vivacious temperament. From an individuality so replete
with modern culture, it is possible to expect the development of a solid
and powerful modern music.” Heine could never refrain from employing a
degenerated imitation of irony, called persiflage, as a weapon for the
purpose of mockery, and for the production of effect. Heine’s
imagination is bold, and his language idiosyncratic, though not
affected. His sentiment is deep, but his fault is the want of an ideal
outside the circle of his own ideas. In his poems, effeminate tenderness
is contrasted by a vigorous boldness, the purest sentiment by sensual
frivolity, noble thought by the meanest vulgarity, and lofty aspirations
by painful indifference. Whilst overturning all existing theories and
institutions, he failed to establish any one salutary doctrine.
[Sidenote: _SCHLESINGER’S ADMIRATION._]
It was a happy chance for Wagner that a man in the prominent position of
Schlesinger should have interested himself in a young musician, whose
nature was the opposite of his own. A shrewd music-seller, with an eye
always to the main chance, and an art enthusiast in close intimacy, was
a strange spectacle, only to be accounted for by the fact that opposite
natures attract, whereas similar characters repel each other.
Schlesinger admired in Wagner the very qualities of earnestness and
enthusiasm which were lacking in his own being. Meyerbeer was his deity.
It was one day in a mail coach that I found myself the travelling-companion
of Schlesinger. He talked the whole day, of Meyerbeer principally. He
said that Meyerbeer showed a commercial sagacity in composing his works
which was remarkable. Behind the stage he was as painstaking with
artists and the _mise-en scène_ as he was careful in the comfortable
seating of critics. Not the smallest journalist, nor even their
relations, failed to be seated well. Meyerbeer was the embodiment of the
art of _savoir faire_. It seemed to me, then, a curious contradiction in
my companion’s character, that he could regard such phases in a man’s
character as wonderful, and at the same time have listened to the
intemperate outpourings of the earnest Wagner. But it was so.
At the back of Schlesinger’s music shop was a room where artists
casually met for conversation. Wagner, owing to the “musical
arrangements” for the firm and being writer for Schlesinger’s “Gazette
Musicale,” was a frequent visitor. He met many known men and noted their
speech. It all tended one way. The French were light-hearted, persiflage
was a principal subject of their composition, and for such a public only
light dainties were to be provided. They wanted the semblance and not
the reality. Amusement first and truth after. His own romances, penned,
as he hoped, in a fittingly light manner, were not light enough and as a
consequence were not pleasing enough.
[Sidenote: _WAGNER AND BERLIOZ._]
With Berlioz his relations were less happy. The two men met often, but
were mutually antagonistic. They admired each other always. Both were
serious and earnest, but their friendship was never intimate. In
after-life the same strained bearing towards each other was maintained.
From close observation of the two men under my roof, at the same table,
and under circumstances when they were open heart with each other, I
should say however that the constraint arose purely from their
antagonistic individualities. Berlioz was reserved, self-possessed, and
dignified. His clear, transparent delivery was as the rhythmic cadence
of a fountain. Wagner was boisterous, effusive, and his words leaped
forth as the rushing of a mountain torrent. Wagner undoubtedly in Paris
learned much from Berlioz. The new and refined orchestration taught, or
perhaps I should rather say indicated, to Wagner what could be done with
the orchestra. Indeed, Wagner has said that the instrumentation of
Berlioz influenced him, but disagrees with the use to which the
orchestra was put. To Berlioz it was the end: to Wagner, a means.
Berlioz expended his ideas in special colouristic effects, whilst
Wagner’s pre-eminent desire was truthfulness of situation, the orchestra
serving as the medium for the delineation of his ideas. Wagner paid
Berlioz a tribute in Paris by declaring that he was distinguished from
his Parisian colleagues, that he did not compose for money, and then in
the same breath sarcastically asserts that “he lacks all sense of
beauty.” This I think unfair, nor do I consider it as representing what
Wagner really wished to convey. Berlioz was undoubtedly possessed of
ideality, his intentions were noble and earnest, but in their execution
he fell short of his conceptions. However, he towers above all French
composers for earnestness of purpose and strength of intellect.
Although Wagner often and strongly disagreed with Heine’s judgment in
matters of art, yet with one, the poet’s racy notice dated April, 1840,
published in “Lutèce,” a miscellaneous collection of letters upon
artistic and social life in Paris, he felt that the pungent criticism
was not altogether wide of the truth. Wagner kept the notice, and when
he and Berlioz were in this country together in 1855, he gave it to me,
remarking that though grotesque it was in the main faithful. As it is
very interesting I reproduce it:--
We will begin to-day by Berlioz, whose first concert has served as
the début of the musical season, as the overture, so to speak. His
productions, more or less new, which have been performed, found a
just tribute of applause, and even the most indolent present were
aroused by the force of his genius, which revels in creations of
the “grand master.” There is a flapping of wings, but it is not of
an ordinary bird, it is a colossal nightingale, a skylark of the
grandeur of the eagle, as it existed, it is said, in the primitive
world. Yes, the music of Berlioz, in general, has for me something
primitive, if not antediluvian, and it makes me think of extinct
gigantic beasts, of mammoths, of fabulous worlds, and of fabulous
sins; indeed, of impossibilities piled one upon another. His magic
accents recall to us Babylon, the suspended gardens of Semiramis,
the marvels of Nineveh, the bold edifices of Mizraim, such as are
seen in the pictures of the Englishman, Martin. Indeed, if we seek
for analogous productions in the realms of the painter’s art, we
find a perfect resemblance with the elective Berlioz and the
eccentric Englishman. The same outrageous sentiment of the
prodigious, of the excessive, of material immensity. With one
brilliant effect of light and darkness, with the other thundery
instrumentation: with one little melody, with the other little
colour, in both a perfect absence of beauty and of naïveté. Their
works are neither antique nor romantic, they recall to us neither
the Greek pagan, nor the mediæval catholic, but seem to lift us to
the highest point of Assyrico-Babylonio-Egyptian architecture, and
bear us back to those poems in stone which trace in the pyramids
the passion of humanity, the eternal mystery of the world.
[Sidenote: _A NATIONAL DRAMA._]
Of the other notabilities in the art world with whom Richard Wagner came
into contact in Paris, the chief were Halévy, Vieuxtemps, Scribe, and
Kietz. For Halévy he had great admiration. His music was honest. It had
a national flavour in it. It was of the French, French. There was a
visible effort to reflect in tones the mind and sentiment of a people
which was highly meritorious. He was the legitimate descendant of Auber,
the founder of a really national French opera. If conventionality proved
too strong for Auber, Halévy made less effort to throw off the thraldom.
The latter was wholly in the hands of opera directors, singers, ballet
masters, etc. Had he been a strong man, an artist of determination,
governed more with the noble desire to elevate his glorious art than of
pleasing popular favourites, he might have done great things. Opera
comique represented truly the national taste of the Gauls. Auber and
Halévy were the men who, assisted by Boildieu, could have laid a sure
foundation, but conventionality proved too powerful for all three.
It is not difficult to understand why Wagner so constantly made a
“national music-drama” the subject of discourse. In his judgment a drama
reflecting the culture and life of a people was the noblest teacher of
men. It appeals direct to the heart and understanding. It is the mirror
of themselves, purified, idealized, and as such cannot fail to be the
most powerful and effective moral instructor. “National drama” was an
undying subject with Wagner. His constant effort was the founding of a
national art for his own compatriots. It was the ambition of his life,
so that after the first and so grandly successful festival performance
of the “Nibelungen” in the Bayreuth theatre, 1876, his address to the
spectators began, “My children, you have here a really German art.” No
wonder, then, that he spoke in Paris with such earnestness of the
absence of a true national opera, and of the destruction of such as
there promised to be through the attention lavished on Rossini and
Donizetti. Halévy’s “La Juive,” a grand opera, Wagner considered a
particularly praiseworthy work, and thought it promised great things. So
much did he consider it worthy of notice, that when later on he became
conductor of the Dresden Opera House, he devoted great attention to its
production and adequate rendering.
Vieuxtemps, Wagner met occasionally, but was on less intimate terms with
him. He admired him as a virtuoso on the violin; he had a grand style,
but in his conversation and writings he was without any distinguishing
or attractive ability, adhering so steadfastly to the rigid classical
form that there was little sympathy between them. In Scribe he admired
the skill and esprit of his stage works. He saw that the Frenchman most
accurately gauged the taste of his public and was dexterous in the
manipulation of his matter. Scribe was not then at anything like the
zenith of his power, yet was possessed of a finish and delicacy in
writing that Wagner admired. Lastly, Kietz, a painter from Germany, of a
certain merit, was perhaps one of his most intimate friends. He painted
a portrait of Richard Wagner which is now regarded as very excellent.
Full of fun, his jocularity harmonized completely with Wagner’s own
humour, and, united with Louis, the three were ever at their most
comfortable and happy ease.