My Life, Volume I

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My Life, Volume 1

By Richard Wagner

TABLE OF CONTENTS

PREFACE
CONTENTS
MY LIFE

PART I. 1813-1842
PART II. 1842-1850 (Dresden)

PREFACE

The contents of these volumes have been written down directly
from my dictation, over a period of several years, by my friend
and wife, who wished me to tell her the story of my life. It was
the desire of both of us that these details of my life should be
accessible to our family and to our sincere and trusted friends;
and we decided therefore, in order to provide against a possible
destruction of the one manuscript, to have a small number of
copies printed at our own expense. As the value of this
autobiography consists in its unadorned veracity, which, under
the circumstances, is its only justification, therefore my
statements had to be accompanied by precise names and dates;
hence there could be no question of their publication until some
time after my death, should interest in them still survive in our
descendants, and on that point I intend leaving directions in my
will.

If, on the other hand, we do not refuse certain intimate friends
a sight of these papers now, it is that, relying on their genuine
interest in the contents, we are confident that they will not
pass on their knowledge to any who do not share their feelings in
the matter.

Richard Wagner

CONTENTS

Part I. 1813-1842

Childhood and Schooldays
Musical Studies
Travels in Germany (First Marriage)
Paris: 1839-42

Part II. 1842-1850 (Dresden)

'Rienzi'
'The Flying Dutchman'
Liszt, Spontini, Marschner, etc.
'Tannhauser'
Franck, Schumann, Semper, Gutzkow, Auerbach
'Lohengrin' (Libretto)
Ninth Symphony
Spohr, Gluck, Hiller, Devrient
Official Position.
Studies in Historical Literature
'Rienzi' at Berlin
Relations with the Management, Mother's Death, etc.
Growing Sympathy with Political Events, Bakunin
The May Insurrection
Flight: Weimar, Zurich, Paris, Bordeaux, Geneva, Zurich

ILLUSTRATIONS [not shown in e-text]

FRONTISPIECE FOR VOLUME I

Richard Wagner in 1842, from the Portrait by E. Kietz.

FRONTISPIECE FOR VOLUME II

Richard Wagner about 1872 by Lenbach.

Original in the possession of Frau Cosima Wagner
These frontispieces are used by the courtesy of Mr. F. Bruckmann.

MY LIFE

PART I

1813-1842

I was born at Leipzig on the 22nd of May 1813, in a room on the
second floor of the 'Red and White Lion,' and two days later was
baptized at St. Thomas's Church, and christened Wilhelm Richard.

My father, Friedrich Wagner, was at the time of my birth a clerk
in the police service at Leipzig, and hoped to get the post of
Chief Constable in that town, but he died in the October of that
same year. His death was partly due to the great exertions
imposed upon him by the stress of police work during the war
troubles and the battle of Leipzig, and partly to the fact that
he fell a victim to the nervous fever which was raging at that
time. As regards his father's position in life, I learnt later
that he had held a small civil appointment as toll collector at
the Ranstadt Gate, but had distinguished himself from those in
the same station by giving his two sons a superior education, my
father, Friedrich, studying law, and the younger son, Adolph,
theology.

My uncle subsequently exercised no small influence on my
development; we shall meet him again at a critical turning-point
in the story of my youth.

My father, whom I had lost so early, was, as I discovered
afterwards, a great lover of poetry and literature in general, and
possessed in particular an almost passionate affection for the
drama, which was at that time much in vogue among the educated
classes. My mother told me, among other things, that he took her to
Lauchstadt for the first performance of the Braut von Messina, and
that on the promenade he pointed out Schiller and Goethe to her,
and reproved her warmly for never having heard of these great men.
He is said to have been not altogether free from a gallant interest
in actresses. My mother used to complain jokingly that she often
had to keep lunch waiting for him while he was paying court to a
certain famous actress of the day [FOOTNOTE: Madame Hartwig]. When
she scolded him, he vowed that he had been delayed by papers that
had to be attended to, and as a proof of his assertion pointed to
his fingers, which were supposed to be stained with ink, but on
closer inspection were found to be quite clean. His great fondness
for the theatre was further shown by his choice of the actor,
Ludwig Geyer, as one of his intimate friends. Although his choice
of this friend was no doubt mainly due to his love for the theatre,
he at the same time introduced into his family the noblest of
benefactors; for this modest artist, prompted by a warm interest in
the lot of his friend's large family, so unexpectedly left
destitute, devoted the remainder of his life to making strenuous
efforts to maintain and educate the orphans. Even when the police
official was spending his evenings at the theatre, the worthy actor
generally filled his place in the family circle, and it seems had
frequently to appease my mother, who, rightly or wrongly,
complained of the frivolity of her husband.

How deeply the homeless artist, hard pressed by life and tossed
to and fro, longed to feel himself at home in a sympathetic
family circle, was proved by the fact that a year after his
friend's death he married his widow, and from that time forward
became a most loving father to the seven children that had been
left behind.

In this onerous undertaking he was favoured by an unexpected
improvement in his position, for he obtained a remunerative,
respectable, and permanent engagement, as a character actor, at
the newly established Court Theatre in Dresden. His talent for
painting, which had already helped him to earn a livelihood when
forced by extreme poverty to break off his university studies,
again stood him in good stead in his position at Dresden. True,
he complained even more than his critics that he had been kept
from a regular and systematic study of this art, yet his
extraordinary aptitude, for portrait painting in particular,
secured him such important commissions that he unfortunately
exhausted his strength prematurely by his twofold exertions as
painter and actor. Once, when he was invited to Munich to fulfil a
temporary engagement at the Court Theatre, he received, through the
distinguished recommendation of the Saxon Court, such pressing
commissions from the Bavarian Court for portraits of the royal
family that he thought it wise to cancel his contract altogether.
He also had a turn for poetry. Besides fragments--often in very
dainty verse--he wrote several comedies, one of which, Der
Bethlehemitische Kindermord, in rhymed Alexandrines, was often
performed; it was published and received the warmest praise from
Goethe.

This excellent man, under whose care our family moved to Dresden
when I was two years old, and by whom my mother had another
daughter, Cecilia, now also took my education in hand with the
greatest care and affection. He wished to adopt me altogether,
and accordingly, when I was sent to my first school, he gave me
his own name, so that till the age of fourteen I was known to my
Dresden schoolfellows as Richard Geyer; and it was not until some
years after my stepfather's death, and on my family's return to
Leipzig, the home of my own kith and kin, that I resumed the name
of Wagner.

The earliest recollections of my childhood are associated with my
stepfather, and passed from him to the theatre. I well remember
that he would have liked to see me develop a talent for painting;
and his studio, with the easel and the pictures upon it, did not
fail to impress me. I remember in particular that I tried, with a
childish love of imitation, to copy a portrait of King Frederick
Augustus of Saxony; but when this simple daubing had to give
place to a serious study of drawing, I could not stand it,
possibly because I was discouraged by the pedantic technique of
my teacher, a cousin of mine, who was rather a bore. At one time
during my early boyhood I became so weak after some childish
ailment that my mother told me later she used almost to wish me
dead, for it seemed as though I should never get well. However,
my subsequent good health apparently astonished my parents. I
afterwards learnt the noble part played by my excellent
stepfather on this occasion also; he never gave way to despair,
in spite of the cares and troubles of so large a family, but
remained patient throughout, and never lost the hope of pulling
me through safely.

My imagination at this time was deeply impressed by my
acquaintance with the theatre, with which I was brought into
contact, not only as a childish spectator from the mysterious
stagebox, with its access to the stage, and by visits to the
wardrobe with its fantastic costumes, wigs and other disguises,
but also by taking a part in the performances myself. After I had
been filled with fear by seeing my father play the villain's part
in such tragedies as Die Waise und der Morder, Die beiden
Galeerensklaven, I occasionally took part in comedy. I remember
that I appeared in Der Weinberg an der Elbe, a piece specially
written to welcome the King of Saxony on his return from
captivity, with music by the conductor, C. M. von Weber. In this
I figured in a tableau vivant as an angel, sewn up in tights with
wings on my back, in a graceful pose which I had laboriously
practised. I also remember on this occasion being given a big
iced cake, which I was assured the King had intended for me
personally. Lastly, I can recall taking a child's part in which I
had a few words to speak in Kotzebue's Menschenhass und Reue
[Footnote: 'Misanthropy and Remorse.'], which furnished me with
an excuse at school for not having learnt my lessons. I said I
had too much to do, as I had to learn by heart an important part
in Den Menschen ausser der Reihe. [Footnote: 'The Man out of the
Rank or Row.' In the German this is a simple phonetic corruption
of Kotzebue's title, which might easily occur to a child who had
only heard, and not read, that title.--EDITOR.]

On the other hand, to show how seriously my father regarded my
education, when I was six years old he took me to a clergyman in
the country at Possendorf, near Dresden, where I was to be given
a sound and healthy training with other boys of my own class. In
the evening, the vicar, whose name was Wetzel, used to tell us
the story of Robinson Crusoe, and discuss it with us in a highly
instructive manner. I was, moreover, much impressed by a
biography of Mozart which was read aloud; and the newspaper
accounts and monthly reports of the events of the Greek War of
Independence stirred my imagination deeply. My love for Greece,
which afterwards made me turn with enthusiasm to the mythology
and history of ancient Hellas, was thus the natural outcome of
the intense and painful interest I took in the events of this
period. In after years the story of the struggle of the Greeks
against the Persians always revived my impressions of this modern
revolt of Greece against the Turks.

One day, when I had been in this country home scarcely a year, a
messenger came from town to ask the vicar to take me to my
parents' house in Dresden, as my father was dying.

We did the three hours' journey on foot; and as I was very
exhausted when I arrived, I scarcely understood why my mother was
crying. The next day I was taken to my father's bedside; the
extreme weakness with which he spoke to me, combined with all the
precautions taken in the last desperate treatment of his
complaint--acute hydrothorax--made the whole scene appear like a
dream to me, and I think I was too frightened and surprised to
cry.

In the next room my mother asked me to show her what I could play
on the piano, wisely hoping to divert my father's thoughts by the
sound. I played Ueb' immer Treu und Redlichkeit, and my father
said to her, 'Is it possible he has musical talent?'

In the early hours of the next morning my mother came into the
great night nursery, and, standing by the bedside of each of us
in turn, told us, with sobs, that our father was dead, and gave
us each a message with his blessing. To me she said, 'He hoped to
make something of you.'

In the afternoon my schoolmaster, Wetzel, came to take me back to
the country. We walked the whole way to Possendorf, arriving at
nightfall. On the way I asked him many questions about the stars,
of which he gave me my first intelligent idea.

A week later my stepfather's brother arrived from Eisleben for
the funeral. He promised, as far as he was able, to support the
family, which was now once more destitute, and undertook to
provide for my future education.

I took leave of my companions and of the kind-hearted clergyman,
and it was for his funeral that I paid my next visit to
Possendorf a few years later. I did not go to the place again
till long afterwards, when I visited it on an excursion such as I
often made, far into the country, at the time when I was
conducting the orchestra in Dresden. I was much grieved not to
find the old parsonage still there, but in its place a more
pretentious modern structure, which so turned me against the
locality, that thenceforward my excursions were always made in
another direction.

This time my uncle brought me back to Dresden in the carriage. I
found my mother and sister in the deepest mourning, and remember
being received for the first time with a tenderness not usual in
our family; and I noticed that the same tenderness marked our
leave-taking, when, a few days later, my uncle took me with him
to Eisleben.

This uncle, who was a younger brother of my stepfather, had
settled there as a goldsmith, and Julius, one of my elder
brothers, had already been apprenticed to him. Our old
grandmother also lived with this bachelor son, and as it was
evident that she could not live long, she was not informed of the
death of her eldest son, which I, too, was bidden to keep to
myself. The servant carefully removed the crape from my coat,
telling me she would keep it until my grandmother died, which was
likely to be soon.

I was now often called upon to tell her about my father, and it
was no great difficulty for me to keep the secret of his death,
as I had scarcely realised it myself. She lived in a dark back
room looking out upon a narrow courtyard, and took a great
delight in watching the robins that fluttered freely about her,
and for which she always kept fresh green boughs by the stove.
When some of these robins were killed by the cat, I managed to
catch others for her in the neighbourhood, which pleased her very
much, and, in return, she kept me tidy and clean. Her death, as
had been expected, took place before long, and the crape that had
been put away was now openly worn in Eisleben.

The back room, with its robins and green branches, now knew me no
more, but I soon made myself at home with a soap-boiler's family,
to whom the house belonged, and became popular with them on
account of the stories I told them.

I was sent to a private school kept by a man called Weiss, who
left an impression of gravity and dignity upon my mind.

Towards the end of the fifties I was greatly moved at reading in
a musical paper the account of a concert at Eisleben, consisting
of parts of Tannhauser, at which my former master, who had not
forgotten his young pupil, had been present.

The little old town with Luther's house, and the numberless
memorials it contained of his stay there, has often, in later
days, come back to me in dreams. I have always wished to revisit
it and verify the clearness of my recollections, but, strange to
say, it has never been my fate to do so. We lived in the market-
place, where I was often entertained by strange sights, such, for
instance, as performances by a troupe of acrobats, in which a man
walked a rope stretched from tower to tower across the square, an
achievement which long inspired me with a passion for such feats
of daring. Indeed, I got so far as to walk a rope fairly easily
myself with the help of a balancing-pole. I had made the rope out
of cords twisted together and stretched across the courtyard, and
even now I still feel a desire to gratify my acrobatic instincts.
The thing that attracted me most, however, was the brass band of
a Hussar regiment quartered at Eisleben. It often played a
certain piece which had just come out, and which was making a
great sensation, I mean the 'Huntsmen's Chorus' out of the
Freischutz, that had been recently performed at the Opera in
Berlin. My uncle and brother asked me eagerly about its composer,
Weber, whom I must have seen at my parents' house in Dresden,
when he was conductor of the orchestra there.

About the same time the Jungfernkranz was zealously played and
sung by some friends who lived near us. These two pieces cured me
of my weakness for the 'Ypsilanti' Waltz, which till that time I
had regarded as the most wonderful of compositions.

I have recollections of frequent tussles with the town boys, who
were constantly mocking at me for my 'square' cap; and I
remember, too, that I was very fond of rambles of adventure among
the rocky banks of the Unstrut.

My uncle's marriage late in life, and the starting of his new
home, brought about a marked alteration in his relations to my
family.

After a lapse of a year I was taken by him to Leipzig, and handed
over for some days to the Wagners, my own father's relatives,
consisting of my uncle Adolph and his sister Friederike Wagner.
This extraordinarily interesting man, whose influence afterwards
became ever more stimulating to me, now for the first time
brought himself and his singular environment into my life.

He and my aunt were very close friends of Jeannette Thome, a
queer old maid who shared with them a large house in the market-
place, in which, if I am not mistaken, the Electoral family of
Saxony had, ever since the days of Augustus the Strong, hired and
furnished the two principal storeys for their own use whenever
they were in Leipzig.

So far as I know, Jeannette Thome really owned the second storey,
of which she inhabited only a modest apartment looking out on the
courtyard. As, however, the King merely occupied the hired rooms
for a few days in the year, Jeannette and her circle generally
made use of his splendid apartments, and one of these staterooms
was made into a bedroom for me.

The decorations and fittings of these rooms also dated from the
days of Augustus the Strong. They were luxurious with heavy silk
and rich rococo furniture, all of which were much soiled with
age. As a matter of fact, I was delighted by these large strange
rooms, looking out upon the bustling Leipzig market-place, where
I loved above all to watch the students in the crowd making their
way along in their old-fashioned 'Club' attire, and filling up
the whole width of the street.

There was only one portion of the decorations of the rooms that I
thoroughly disliked, and this consisted of the various portraits,
but particularly those of high-born dames in hooped petticoats,
with youthful faces and powdered hair. These appeared to me
exactly like ghosts, who, when I was alone in the room, seemed to
come back to life, and filled me with the most abject fear. To
sleep alone in this distant chamber, in that old-fashioned bed of
state, beneath those unearthly pictures, was a constant terror to
me. It is true I tried to hide my fear from my aunt when she
lighted me to bed in the evening with her candle, but never a
night passed in which I was not a prey to the most horrible
ghostly visions, my dread of which would leave me in a bath of
perspiration.

The personality of the three chief occupants of this storey was
admirably adapted to materialise the ghostly impressions of the
house into a reality that resembled some strange fairy-tale.

Jeannette Thome was very small and stout; she wore a fair Titus
wig, and seemed to hug to herself the consciousness of vanished
beauty. My aunt, her faithful friend and guardian, who was also
an old maid, was remarkable for the height and extreme leanness
of her person. The oddity of her otherwise very pleasant face was
increased by an exceedingly pointed chin.

My uncle Adolph had chosen as his permanent study a dark room in
the courtyard. There it was that I saw him for the first time,
surrounded by a great wilderness of books, and attired in an
unpretentious indoor costume, the most striking feature of which
was a tall, pointed felt cap, such as I had seen worn by the
clown who belonged to the troupe of rope-dancers at Eisleben. A
great love of independence had driven him to this strange
retreat. He had been originally destined for the Church, but he
soon gave that up, in order to devote himself entirely to
philological studies. But as he had the greatest dislike of
acting as a professor and teacher in a regular post, he soon
tried to make a meagre livelihood by literary work. He had
certain social gifts, and especially a fine tenor voice, and
appears in his youth to have been welcome as a man of letters
among a fairly wide circle of friends at Leipzig.

On a trip to Jena, during which he and a companion seem to have
found their way into various musical and oratorical associations,
he paid a visit to Schiller. With this object in view, he had
come armed with a request from the management of the Leipzig
Theatre, who wanted to secure the rights of Wallenstein, which
was just finished. He told me later of the magic impression made
upon him by Schiller, with his tall slight figure and
irresistibly attractive blue eyes. His only complaint was that,
owing to a well-meant trick played on him by his friend, he had
been placed in a most trying position; for the latter had managed
to send Schiller a small volume of Adolph Wagner's poems in
advance.

The young poet was much embarrassed to hear Schiller address him
in flattering terms on the subject of his poetry, but was
convinced that the great man was merely encouraging him out of
kindness. Afterwards he devoted himself entirely to philological
studios--one of his best-known publications in that department
being his Parnasso Italiano, which he dedicated to Goethe in an
Italian poem. True, I have heard experts say that the latter was
written in unusually pompous Italian; but Goethe sent him a
letter full of praise, as well as a silver cup from his own
household plate. The impression that I, as a boy of eight,
conceived of Adolph Wagner, amid the surroundings of his own
home, was that he was a peculiarly puzzling character.

I soon had to leave the influence of this environment and was
brought back to my people at Dresden. Meanwhile my family, under
the guidance of my bereaved mother, had been obliged to settle
down as well as they could under the circumstances. My eldest
brother Albert, who originally intended to study medicine, had,
upon the advice of Weber, who had much admired his beautiful
tenor voice, started his theatrical career in Breslau. My second
sister Louisa soon followed his example, and became an actress.
My eldest sister Rosalie had obtained an excellent engagement at
the Dresden Court Theatre, and the younger members of the family
all looked up to her; for she was now the main support of our
poor sorrowing mother. My family still occupied the same
comfortable home which my father had made for them. Some of the
spare rooms were occasionally let to strangers, and Spohr was
among those who at one time lodged with us. Thanks to her great
energy, and to help received from various sources (among which
the continued generosity of the Court, out of respect to the
memory of my late stepfather, must not be forgotten), my mother
managed so well in making both ends meet, that even my education
did not suffer.

After it had been decided that my sister Clara, owing to her
exceedingly beautiful voice, should also go on the stage, my
mother took the greatest care to prevent me from developing any
taste whatever for the theatre. She never ceased to reproach
herself for having consented to the theatrical career of my
eldest brother, and as my second brother showed no greater
talents than those which were useful to him as a goldsmith, it
was now her chief desire to see some progress made towards the
fulfilment of the hopes and wishes of my step-father, 'who hoped
to make something of me.' On the completion of my eighth year I
was sent to the Kreuz Grammar School in Dresden, where it was
hoped I would study! There I was placed at the bottom of the
lowest class, and started my education under the most unassuming
auspices.

My mother noted with much interest the slightest signs I might
show of a growing love and ability for my work. She herself,
though not highly educated, always created a lasting impression
on all who really learnt to know her, and displayed a peculiar
combination of practical domestic efficiency and keen
intellectual animation. She never gave one of her children any
definite information concerning her antecedents. She came from
Weissenfels, and admitted that her parents had been bakers
[FOOTNOTE: According to more recent information--mill owners]
there. Even in regard to her maiden name she always spoke with
some embarrassment, and intimated that it was 'Perthes,' though,
as we afterwards ascertained, it was in reality 'Bertz.' Strange
to say, she had been placed in a high-class boarding-school in
Leipzig, where she had enjoyed the advantage of the care and
interest of one of 'her father's influential friends,' to whom
she afterwards referred as being a Weimar prince who had been
very kind to her family in Weissenfels. Her education in that
establishment seems to have been interrupted on account of the
sudden death of this 'friend.' She became acquainted with my
father at a very early age, and married him in the first bloom of
her youth, he also being very young, though he already held an
appointment. Her chief characteristics seem to have been a keen
sense of humour and an amiable temper, so we need not suppose
that it was merely a sense of duty towards the family of a
departed comrade that afterwards induced the admirable Ludwig
Geyer to enter into matrimony with her when she was no longer
youthful, but rather that he was impelled to that step by a
sincere and warm regard for the widow of his friend. A portrait
of her, painted by Geyer during the lifetime of my father, gives
one a very favourable impression of what she must have been. Even
from the time when my recollection of her is quite distinct, she
always had to wear a cap owing to some slight affection of the
head, so that I have no recollection of her as a young and pretty
mother. Her trying position at the head of a numerous family (of
which I was the seventh surviving member), the difficulty of
obtaining the wherewithal to rear them, and of keeping up
appearances on very limited resources, did not conduce to evolve
that tender sweetness and solicitude which are usually associated
with motherhood. I hardly ever recollect her having fondled me.
Indeed, demonstrations of affection were not common in our
family, although a certain impetuous, almost passionate and
boisterous manner always characterised our dealings. This being
so, it naturally seemed to me quite a great event when one night
I, fretful with sleepiness, looked up at her with tearful eyes as
she was taking me to bed, and saw her gaze back at me proudly and
fondly, and speak of me to a visitor then present with a certain
amount of tenderness.