WIVES OF THE COMPOSERS
Among the women who have influenced music without actually creating it,
none have had greater chances to use their power than the wives of the
famous composers. Often they have been endowed with no inconsiderable
musical genius themselves, but have sacrificed their claim to renown
upon the altar of domestic duty. Sometimes, in rare instances, they have
had the ability to perform the double task of caring for the household
and continuing their own musical labours. Their story is an interesting
one, and from the time of the great John Sebastian Bach, who stands as a
model of domestic purity, down even to the present day, they have played
a large part in shaping the musical destinies of the world.
From the twelfth to the seventeenth century is a long gap, and music
underwent many changes during this period. After the passing of the
minstrel knights, popular music fades out of sight. That it had an
existence, however, is amply proven. The Jongleurs must have continued
long after their masters were stamped out, for their direct successors
are with us to-day, and our hand-organ is the descendant of their
fearful and wonderful organistrum. The entire school of English national
music saw its palmiest days during this epoch. Even on the Continent,
the great schools of contrapuntists delighted to show their skill by
employing as their cantus firmus, or chief part, some well-known popular
song, such as "L'Homme Armé," for example.
In Germany, the mantle of the Minnesingers fell upon the guilds of
musical amateurs in the growing commercial cities. Less poetic than
their predecessors, these Mastersingers, as they named themselves, often
took refuge in arbitrary rules and set metrical forms that made a poor
substitute for real inspiration. That there was some genuine poetic
feeling and humour among them is shown by the work of Hans Sachs, the
greatest of their number. He wrote many poems and plays, of which the
"Fassnachtspiele" were the most popular and the most mirth-provoking.
Contrary to the version of his life given in Wagner's opera, he
succeeded in making a second marriage late in life; and contrary to the
general experience in such cases, the marriage was a happy one, for his
young wife was exceedingly proud of her famous husband. But in the
actual creative work of the Mastersingers woman played no part.
Sacred music and the science of composition flourished as never before.
There is an appropriate saying that old music was horizontal, while now
it is vertical; and the contrast between the interweaving of parts,
proceeding smoothly together, and our single melodies supported by
massive chords, is aptly illustrated by the remark. This very
interweaving led to a style of music that was extremely complex,
affording chances for intellectual and mathematical skill rather than
emotional fervour. It has been customary to say that this style of
composition was unsuited to women, and to pass over the epoch with the
casual remark that no women composers appear within its limits. But
modern research has shown the futility of this statement.
The records of the Netherland schools are meagre, so it is to Italy that
we must turn for the earliest examples of skilled women composers. The
first great name is that of Maddalena Casulana, who was born at Brescia
about 1540. Her published compositions took the shape of two volumes of
madrigals, issued in 1568 and 1583. Next in point of time comes Vittoria
Aleotti, a native of Argenta. Her _magnum opus_ was published at Venice,
in 1593, under the flowery title, "Ghirlanda dei Madrigali a 4 Voci."
Francesca Baglioncella, born at Perugia in the same century, is another
exponent of the art, while Orsina Vizzani, who first saw the light of
day at Bologna in 1593, not only composed many pieces in this form, but
by playing her own and others'[3] works did much to make it popular with
all music-lovers in Italy.
The year 1600 saw the beginning of opera, due to the work of Peri and
his Florentine compeers in trying to--
"Revive the just designs of Greece."
Among the early operatic composers is found the charming and
accomplished Francesca Caccini, daughter of that Giulio Caccini who was
Peri's friend and most formidable rival. Born at Florence in 1581, and
educated in the most thorough manner, she was for many years the idol of
her native city, not only because of her great talent in singing and
composition, but also on account of the exquisite beauty of her Latin
and Tuscan poetry. Among other musical works by her are two examples of
the new form,--"La Liberazione di Ruggiero" and "Rinaldo
Innamorato,"--both of which are preserved to us. A later composer in the
same field was Barbara Strozzi, whose opera, "Diporti d'Euterpe," was
successfully received at Venice in 1659. In Ricordi's modern collection
of old Italian songs are some charming examples of her skill in other
directions.
In the domain of Italian sacred music, too, the women were not inactive.
Catterina Assandra, at the beginning of the seventeenth century, wrote a
number of religious works, of which "Veni Sancte Spiritus," for two
voices, achieved more than passing fame. Margarita Cozzolani and
Lucrezia Orsina Vezzana, both Catholic sisters, won renown by their
motets and other sacred works. Cornelia Calegari, born at Bergamo in
1644, won the plaudits of her nation by her wonderful singing and
organ-playing, as well as by her many compositions. Her first book of
motets was published in her fifteenth year, and met with universal
success. The highest forms possessed no difficulties for her, and among
her works are several masses for six voices, with instrumental
accompaniment. These names are enough to show that woman was able to
hold her own, even in a period when music had apparently banished those
emotional qualities with which she is said to be most in sympathy.
The women of other countries were not idle in this period of musical
activity. Germany, in spite of her meagre records, can show at least one
great name. Madelka Bariona, who lived during the sixteenth century,
upheld the musical reputation of her country by publishing seven
five-voiced psalms at Altdorf, in 1586. Bernarda Ferreira de Lacerda was
of Portuguese nationality. She won great renown by her writings and her
knowledge of languages. Philip II. of Spain wished to entrust her with
the education of his children, but she declined, alleging as her reason
that she wished to devote all her time to study. Many of her manuscript
compositions and musical writings are preserved in the Royal Library at
Madrid.
France can boast of a real genius in Clementine de Bourges, who was born
at Lyons in the sixteenth century. Such authorities as Mendel and Grove
accord her a rank with the very greatest of her time. She held a high
position among the intellectual leaders of that day, as much by her
great learning as by her musical skill. She shows complete mastery of
many instruments, and her gifts in composition are amply proven by her
four-part chorus, which can be found in J. Paix's organ collection. Her
career was brought to an untimely end by grief. She was engaged to Jean
de Peyrat, a royal officer, who met his death in a skirmish with the
Huguenots in 1560. Her sorrow at this disaster proved incurable, and she
died in the next year.
Although the unfortunate Mary, Queen of Scots, belongs to a more
northern land, the credit of her talents may be fairly accorded to
France, where she received her education. She made no musical attempts
in the more ambitious forms, but wrote many songs, among which "Las! en
mon doux Printemps" and "Monsieur le Provost des Marchands" met with
considerable success in their day.
With the advent of Bach, music was no longer the dry mathematical study
that it had been during the later middle ages, for in his hands it
became imbued with true feeling. Descended from a famous family of
musicians, he was born at the little German town of Eisenach, in 1685.
Receiving his early education at Ohrdruf, he showed himself endowed with
unusual genius. Forced to make his way when fifteen years old, he
supported himself in the Convent School of St. Michael's, at Luneburg,
by means of his musical talents. After a short term as court musician at
Weimar, he became organist of the New Church at Arnstadt, and here he
met the woman who was to be his first wife. Almost the earliest mention
of her is made in a report of the consistory, criticizing the young
organist for certain breaches of discipline. From this report, it
appears that he had asked for four weeks' leave for study, and had
stayed away four months; he had played interludes that the reverend
board considered too long and too intricate; and, on being reproved, he
had made them too short; and once, during the sermon, he had gone forth
and spent these stolen moments in a wine-cellar. The final charge asks
by what authority he has latterly allowed a strange maiden to appear,
and to make music in the choir. This "strange maiden," who made music
with Bach in the solitude of the empty church, was none other than his
cousin, Maria Barbara. A year later (1707) he married her, and took her
to Mühlhausen, where he had found a less troublesome post as organist in
the Church of St. Blasius.
The domestic life of Bach and his wife was a pattern for married couples
of all time. All his friends unite in calling him an especially
excellent "Haus-Vater," a term of commendation applied to those men who
remember their duty to their own families, and do not sacrifice domestic
happiness to fame and fortune. Personally he was pleasant to every one,
mere acquaintances as well as intimate friends, and his house was always
the centre of a lively gathering. With his wife, he took sedulous care
of the education of his children, of whom there were no less than six at
her early death in 1720.
Bach was not the man to remain long a widower, and in the next year the
bereaved composer's fancy lightly turned to thoughts of a second
marriage. His choice fell upon Anna Magdalena Wulken, a Cöthen court
singer of twenty-one years, and the happy consummation occurred on
December 3d. She was a good musician, and did much to enliven the
domestic circle by her beautiful soprano voice. Not content with merely
taking part in her husband's works, she learned from him to play the
clavier and read figured bass, and rendered him valuable aid by copying
music for him.
Soon after the marriage, Bach and his wife started a manuscript music
book, entitled "Clavier Büchlein von Anna Magdalena Bach, Anno 1720." On
the first page was written a playful denunciation of the melancholy and
hostility to art that were so often inculcated by the Calvinism of that
time. This book and another of the kind, which followed it five years
later, are both preserved in the Royal Berlin Library. In them are a
series of clavier pieces, by Bach, Gerhard, and others; a number of
hymns and sacred songs; one of several humourous song's, describing the
reflections of a smoker; and still others, apparently addressed to his
wife, and giving fresh proofs of his devotion to her. Her portrait was
painted by Cristofori, but disappeared after being in the possession of
one of the sons.
As a result of his second marriage, Bach was blessed with thirteen more
children, six sons and seven daughters. All his children loved him, and
his kindness and sincerity enabled him to retain their respect as well
as their affection. In all his activity he was never too busy to save
some time for the family circle, where, in later life, he would take the
viola part in the concerted music that cheered his domestic hearth. It
is sad to think of the poor wife's fate in contrast with so much family
happiness. After Bach's death, in 1750, she struggled bravely to support
her children, but became gradually poorer, and was forced to end her
days in an almshouse, and be buried in a pauper's grave.
Less happy than Bach in his married life was Franz Josef Haydn. After a
boyhood of poverty and struggles, he obtained a position as
Kapellmeister to a Bohemian nobleman, Count Morzin. This post was none
too lucrative, however, for it brought the composer only about one
hundred dollars a year, while his teaching could not have provided him
with much extra wealth, and his compositions brought him nothing. Yet
his financial troubles did not deter him from seeking those of
matrimony, in spite of the fact that Count Morzin never kept married men
in his service. According to the poet Campbell, marriage looks like
madness in nine cases out of ten; and Haydn's venture was certainly no
exception.
The one upon whom the composer's affections lighted was the younger
daughter of a barber named Keller. He had met her while a choir-boy in
the Church of St. Stephen, at Vienna, and she had afterward become one
of his pupils. For some unexplained reason,--let us hope it was not
because of the young composer's love,--she took to the veil, and
renounced the wickedness and the marriages of the world. The barber,
possibly hoping to lighten the suitor's disappointment, and very
probably wishing to have both daughters off his hands, promptly
suggested to the young lover that he take the elder sister instead.
Apparently realizing that marriage at best is but a lottery, Haydn
accepted the proposition.
The wedding took place at St. Stephen's, on November 26, 1760. Whether
Count Morzin would have made an exception in Haydn's case, and retained
him in spite of this event, there is no means of telling, for that
nobleman met with financial reverses, and was forced to give up his
musical establishment. Fortunately for the young genius, some of his
works had been heard and admired by the Prince Paul Esterhazy, who
showed his musical discernment by taking Haydn into his service and
becoming a lifelong patron of the composer.
There was little real affection between Haydn and his wife at the start
of their life journey together. He declared, however, that he really
began to have some feeling for her, and would have come to entertain
still warmer sentiments toward her if she had behaved at all reasonably.
But unfortunately, she did not seem to be capable of behaving
reasonably. The wives of great men are usually proud of the attainments
of their husbands, and take no pains to conceal this fact. But the
barber's daughter of Vienna was totally lacking in any real appreciation
of her gifted consort. As Haydn himself observed once, it would have
made no difference if he had been a shoemaker instead of an artist. She
used his manuscript scores as curl-papers and underlays for the family
pastry; she made continual use of the conjugal privilege of going
through his pockets and abstracting the cash; and once, when he was in
London, her calm selfishness rose to the point of asking him to buy a
certain house, which she admired, so that she might have a home provided
for her widowhood.
Through all his troubles, Haydn preserved a dignified silence about his
domestic unhappiness, and in his letters it is mentioned only twice. For
a long time he bore the trials patiently, but at length was forced to
give up the household and live apart from his domestic tormentor. The
woman who had hoped for a permanent home in her widowhood ended her
lonely existence in 1800, nine years before the close of her husband's
career.
With these facts in view, it is not surprising to find that Haydn at
times sought elsewhere the consolation he was denied at home. He was
fond of feminine companions, especially when they were well endowed with
personal attractions. He must have possessed ingratiating manners, for
he certainly could not boast of great personal attractions, and he
himself admitted that his fair admirers were, "At any rate, not tempted
by his beauty." His natural tenderness showed itself in a passionate
fondness for children,--a blessing denied to his own home.
One of his most violent friendships had for its object a young Italian
singer of nineteen, Luigia Polzelli. Apparently she was not happy with
her husband, and a bond of mutual sympathy drew the composer to her.
After the death of her husband, she persuaded Haydn to sign a promise to
marry her if his wife should die, but the composer afterward repudiated
the agreement, very likely not wishing to repeat his first matrimonial
blunder.
Another romance is found in the love-letters sent to the composer by a
charming London widow named Schroeter. Without overstepping the bounds
of propriety, he was able to draw some profit from this episode, for he
gave lessons to his fair admirer, and allowed her to do manuscript
copying for him. Apparently the friendship was more of her seeking than
of his own, as her letters to him bear witness. These are copied neatly
in one of his note-books, along with various amusing "Anectods," a
description of a London fog, "thick enough to be spread on bread," and
an excellent receipt for making the Prince of Wales's punch.
Mozart was another musical genius who was forced to accept as second
choice the sister of his first love, though in his case the results
were not so disastrous as with Haydn. It was in Mannheim, on the way to
Paris, that Mozart made the acquaintance of the copyist Weber, and
succumbed to the charms of his daughter, Aloysia. But Leopold Mozart,
wisely playing the rôle of stern father, soon sped the susceptible youth
on his way to the French capital. It is a French proverb that tells
us,--
"Nous revenons toujours
À nos premiers amours,"--
and a year later he returned. But Aloysia, now famous by her singing,
soon made it plain that his affection was no longer returned. Mozart
seems to have borne the blow well, and soon after her marriage to the
actor Lange, who proved a jealous husband, he wrote home his decision to
wed her younger sister, Constance. After much opposition from members of
both families, he carried out his intention.
As in Haydn's case, the young couple were forced to live on "bread and
cheese and kisses," with none too much of the first two articles.
Mozart, more than any other composer, met with undeserved hardships. On
every side his music was praised and his genius admired, but nobles and
princes, and even the emperor, would give him no material aid. He made a
devoted husband, and much of the money that disappeared so readily from
his hands was probably used for the benefit of his wife, whose health
was not of the best. Their life (in Vienna at first) was a continual
effort to solve the old vexed problem of making both ends meet, and
Constance must be given high praise for the wonderful skill with which
she managed the small and uncertain income of her husband. Several times
the young couple were brought face to face with the direst need, but
their patience and cheerfulness carried them through the crisis. On one
occasion, when there was no fuel on hand and no money to buy any, a
visitor found the pair busily engaged in waltzing about their bare room
in order to keep warm. At another time they were rescued from their
extremity only by the kindness of their friend, the Baroness
Waldstätten, who intervened just in time to save them from beggary.
After three years, Leopold Mozart relented enough to visit his
daughter-in-law, whom he found far more deserving than he had expected;
but he himself was not well off, and could be of little financial help.
That Constance was of great aid to her husband, in spite of an
easy-going nature, cannot be doubted. She possessed the faculty of
telling interesting stories and novelettes, and with this apparently
inexhaustible fund of invention she would amuse him between his periods
of work. The description that we have of the composition of the great
"Don Giovanni" overture gives a pleasing illustration of this phase of
the family life. Owing to rehearsals and other work, the day before the
performance arrived with no overture yet written. In the evening,
according to his custom, Mozart began the task by sketching out the
themes and a general plan of construction for the work. Near him sat his
wife, ready to entertain him with her pleasing tales when he looked up
from his work. For one or two hours he did indulge in actual repose; but
all through the rest of the night he continued the work, relieving his
mental concentration by listening to the storiettes or occasionally
sipping a glass of his favourite punch. The manuscript was completed and
ready for the copyist the next morning at seven o'clock, and along with
the other numbers scored a complete success in the evening.
Some blame has attached to Constance for the lack of exact knowledge
about Mozart's grave. At the hour of his burial, in the public cemetery,
a violent storm drove away all the mourners. There was a cholera scare
in Vienna at the time, which kept many people away from the graveyard.
Her own neglect of the matter may have been caused by illness, but,
whatever the reason, the fact remains that when public interest was
aroused the exact location of Mozart's grave could no longer be defined.
The life of Carl Maria von Weber was tinged in its earlier years with
the romance that seemed to pervade all phases of life in his native
country. Germany had just passed through one of her rare but regular
periods of national awakening, and every one was full of a keen spirit
of patriotic originality in life, letters, and art, as well as in music.
Gifted with unusual talents, trained in the paternal hope of his
becoming a boy prodigy like Mozart, and urged by the need of making his
own career, he soon made a name for himself by his personal charms as
well as his talents. A welcome guest in the homes of aristocracy and
cultivation, he possessed a roving disposition and a spirit of adventure
that made his life not unlike that of the early Troubadours.
It was in Vienna that he met his future wife. Being given charge of the
opera at Prague, he journeyed to the Austrian capital for the purpose of
engaging singers, and among them brought back the talented Caroline
Brandt. He soon wished to enter into closer relations with this singer,
but found obstacles in the way of marriage. She was unwilling to
sacrifice at once a career that was winning her many laurels, and she
did not wholly approve of the wandering life that the gifted young
manager had led up to the time of their meeting. We find him
discontented with this situation, and travelling about in search of a
better and more important post; and during one of these trips he
received a letter from Caroline, saying that they had better part. This
brought forth the accusation from the embittered Weber that "Her views
of high art were not above the usual pitiful standard, namely, that it
was but a means of procuring soup, meat, and shirts." There can be no
doubt, however, that her influence was of the utmost value in steadying
his efforts.
When Weber was once back in Prague, her real love for him overcame all
scruples, and she showed herself ready to wait until he should attain a
post of sufficient value to permit their marriage. After putting the
Prague opera on a stable basis, he looked about for a long time in vain,
until finally he obtained a life position as conductor in Dresden. At
last he was able to return to Prague and marry his faithful Caroline,
with the certainty of being able to provide her a home. The newly wedded
pair made a triumphant concert tour, and settled down to a life of
domestic felicity in Dresden. It can hardly be said that Weber lived
happily ever afterward, for he found many troubles in connection with
his new post. But his married life was such a constant source of joy to
him that he felt always inspired with fresh energy to overcome all
difficulties. It was during his married career that he won those immense
popular successes, with "Der Freischütz," "Euryanthe," and "Oberon,"
that gave the most brilliant lustre to a name already immortal. The last
opera took him to London, away from his beloved family. Aware of his
failing health, he made every effort to reach home, but that boon was
denied him, and he died without another view of those who would have
been anxious to soothe his last moments.
Ludwig Spohr was another composer who possessed a musical wife. He came
of a musical family, his father being a flutist, while his mother played
the piano and sang. Ludwig took up the violin at five years of age, and
at six was able to take part in concerted music. His compositions began
at about the same time. After a youth of earnest study, long practice,
and successful tours, he finally became leader in the band of the Duke
of Gotha. It was there that he met Dorette Scheidler, the famous
harpist, whom he afterward married. Her influence is seen in his later
compositions, for he wrote for her a number of sonatas for harp and
violin, as well as a good many harp solos. The musical pair went on many
tours, always sharing the honours of the performances.
Still more evident is the influence of woman upon music in the case of
Hector Berlioz. This great genius, born in 1803, was the son of an opium
eater, and the morbid character of most of his works may be traced to
this cause. Berlioz studied at the Paris Conservatoire, but his
sensational style did not win favour with the classical Cherubini, and
the young man was forced to work against many difficulties. He was even
forbidden at one time to compete for the _Prix de Rome_, and came near
giving up his career in dejection.
On the Parisian stage was a beautiful Irish actress, named Harriet
Smithson, who was performing the plays of Shakespeare. Berlioz at once
fell in love with her, but it was some time before his needy
circumstances allowed him to lay his suit before her. When he did so,
his passion found shape and expression in a great musical work,--the
Symphonic Fantastique.
This is a weird and sinister composition, but very effective. It is in
five movements. The first represents a young man seeing his ideal and
falling in love with her, the object of this sudden affection being
depicted by a tender theme on the violin. This theme pervades the entire
work. In the second movement, which represents a ball, it signifies the
entrance of the fair one. The third movement is called "In the Fields,"
and contains a duet between the two lovers in the guise of a shepherd
and shepherdess. They are portrayed by an English horn and an oboe, the
result being one of the great instrumental dialogues that are sometimes
found in-works of the tone masters. An effective touch is the
introduction of a thunder-storm, after which the English horn begins a
plaintive note of inquiry, but meets with no reply. In the fourth
movement, the young man has slain his love in a fit of jealousy, and is
on his way to execution. Very powerful music expresses the fatal march,
interrupted every now and then by the surging footsteps of the crowd. At
its close, the hero ascends the scaffold; amid a hush, the tender love
theme reappears, but is obliterated by a sudden crash of the full
orchestra, and all is still. Berlioz, however, does not let his hero
rest in the grave, but adds a fifth movement to show him in the infernal
regions. Piccolo and other wild instruments depict the fury of the
demons, a parody on the Dies Iræ follows, and even the tender
love-theme is not spared, but is turned into the most vulgar of waltzes.
This musical love-letter was understood, and Miss Smithson afterward
married the great composer. But, unfortunately, the romance stopped at
this point, and they did not "live happily ever afterward." The actress
was forced by an accident to leave the stage permanently. She and her
husband did not agree well, and were continually at odds. Finally she
took to drink, and a separation soon followed. Berlioz married again,
his second wife being the singer, Mlle. Recio. He outlived her, and in
later life was taken care of by her mother.
The symphony, incidentally, was so successful at its first performance
that a strange-looking man rushed to the platform, saluted the composer,
and sent him a more substantial token in the shape of twenty thousand
francs. The stranger proved to be Paganini, but that famous violinist
was such a miser that the story has been doubted. It is said that he
acted in behalf of an unknown benefactor, but his enthusiasm at the
performance seems to disprove this, and the work possesses just the dark
and sinister character that would appeal to Paganini.
Another composition inspired by the same love episode is the "Romeo and
Juliette" Symphony. Berlioz tried to make all his music tell a story,
and he believed in the theory that tones could be made to represent
ideas in a much greater degree than is usually supposed. The result is
shown in many characteristic passages in his works, an excellent example
being the gentle and melancholy theme that typifies Childe Harold in the
symphony of that name. But Berlioz carried his idea to extremes, and
fairly earned the half-reproach of Wagner, who said of him: "He ciphers
with notes." That Berlioz could write with more direct beauty is shown
by his practical joke at the expense of the critics; for he pretended to
unearth an old piece by a certain Pierre Ducré, which they praised
greatly in contrast with his own works, and after they had done their
worst, Berlioz proved that he himself was the mythical Ducré.
Giuseppe Verdi was another great musician who felt the full richness of
domestic happiness, if only for a time. Born in the little hamlet of Le
Roncole in 1813, he proved himself possessed of unusual talent, and
after a time went to Busseto for lessons. There he came to the notice of
M. Barezzi, who became the friend and patron of the young student. The
story of his being refused at the Milan Conservatory, and afterward
amazing the authorities by his speed in composing fugues, is too well
known to need repetition. After his Milan studies, we find him back at
Busseto, in love with Barezzi's daughter Margherita. The father, unlike
the usual stern parent who repels impecunious musicians, gave his
permission for their union, which took place soon after, in 1836.
In a couple of years he settled down in Milan, with his wife and two
children. Success began to crown his efforts, and his career of opera
composer was well begun, when his domestic happiness came to a complete
end. First one child fell sick and died of an unknown malady, then the
second followed it in a few days, and within two months the bereaved
mother was stricken with a fatal inflammation of the brain. In the midst
of all these misfortunes, Verdi was kept at work by a commission for "Un
Giorno di Regno," which was to be a comic opera! Little wonder that the
wit oozed out of the occasion, and the performance proved a failure. The
despondent Verdi resolved to give up his career altogether, and only by
the insistence of the manager, Merelli, was he finally persuaded to
resume his occupation. In later life he married again, passing a placid
existence on his extensive estates.
The domestic career of Richard Wagner has formed the subject for endless
discussions. His birth, his early studies, his university career, and
his start as a professional musician, all took place in Leipsic. There,
too, he met the famous opera singer, Wilhelmine Schroeder-Devrient,
whose gifts made such an impression on the young composer. It was the
excellence of her acting, as well as her singing, that gave the embryo
reformer his first ideas of the intimate union of drama and music that
is one phase of his later operatic greatness. Many of his leading rôles
were written for her, and as late as 1872 he stated that whenever he
conceived a new character he imagined her in the part.
His work as leader took him first to Magdeburg. The failure of his early
opera, "Das Liebesverbot," put an end to this enterprise, and soon
afterward he appeared as concert leader in Koenigsberg. There he met and
married his first wife, Wilhelmina (or Minna) Planer. Their natures were
different in many respects. While he displayed many of the vagaries of
genius, she was patient and practical, and, if not wholly understanding
the highest side of his nature, she gave up her own career to help him
through his days of poverty and struggle.
The first venture of the wedded pair was at Riga, where Wagner was
engaged for a term to conduct in a new theatre. After this, they took
ship for Paris, and the stormy passage gave Wagner many a suggestion
for his "Flying Dutchman." It was in the French capital that Minna's
domestic qualities were given their most severe trial, for the composer
found little or no chance to produce his own works, and was forced to
gain a precarious living by the commonest musical drudgery. Probably her
constant care and economy were all that turned the scale in favour of
success. At length the Dresden authorities became interested in some of
the earlier operas, and Wagner was liberated from his dependent
position.
The stay in Dresden being cut short by the political troubles of 1848
and 1849, Wagner found a home in Zurich, where his wife soon joined him.
There he wrote or sketched the grand works that came to full fruition in
his later life. After years of exile, he came back to Germany, where his
pursuit of fortune was still in vain, and might have ended in suicide
but for the sudden patronage of his royal admirer, the mad King Ludwig
of Bavaria. It was at this time that the differences in character began
to cause domestic infelicity in the Wagnerian household. Finally the
pair separated, and, although he did not leave Minna in want, yet she
was compelled to pass the last few years of her life in seclusion and
loneliness, while he basked in the favour of royalty, and found the
high position that had so long been denied him. It is usually claimed by
Wagner's most rabid partisans that she was unable to hold her place in
the new surroundings, and that his genius needed a helpmate more in
sympathy with his high ideals. Admitting the truth of these assertions,
the fair-minded critic must accept them as an explanation, at least, of
his conjugal ingratitude, but Minna's faithful performance of duty in
the early days will not allow them to stand as a valid excuse.
Wagner's second marriage with Cosima, daughter of Liszt and divorced
wife of Von Bülow, resulted happily. The devotion of the new helpmate to
the Wagnerian cause has survived the master's death by many years, and
is still witnessed by the musical world. The domestic bliss of their
married life is well shown in the beautiful Siegfried Idyll, which
Wagner composed as a surprise for his wife on their son's birthday.
[Illustration: RICHARD AND COSIMA WAGNER.]
Among living composers gifted with musical wives, the most preëminent is
Richard Strauss. As Clara Schumann could perform her husband's works, so
the wife of Strauss, who is an excellent singer, is at her best when
giving her husband's songs. Like Grieg's wife, she is more successful
than all other singers in this rôle of domestic devotion. She usually
appears with him as accompanist, a position in which he excels, and each
modestly tries to make the other respond to the applause that is sure to
follow their performance.