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My Life, Volume II

R >> Richard Wagner >> My Life, Volume II




In addition to our pets, our older Zurich friends had also
remained faithful to us, in spite of the catastrophe which had
befallen my family life. Sulzer was without a doubt the worthiest
and most important of these friends. The profound difference
between us both in intellect and temperament seemed only to
favour this relationship, for each was constantly providing
surprises for the other; and as the divergencies between us were
radical, they often gave rise to most exhilarating and instructive
experiences. Sulzer was extraordinarily excitable and very
delicate in health. It was quite against his own original desire
that he had entered the service of the state, and in doing so he
had sacrificed his own wishes to a conscientious performance of
duty in the extremest sense of the word, and now, through his
acquaintance with me, he was drawn more deeply into the sphere of
aesthetic enjoyment than he regarded as justifiable. Probably he
would have indulged less freely in these excesses, had I taken my
art a little less seriously. But as I insisted upon attaching an
importance to the artistic destiny of mankind which far
transcended the mere aims of citizenship, I sometimes completely
upset him. Yet, on the other hand, it was just this intense
earnestness which so strongly attracted him to me and my
speculations. This not only gave rise to pleasant conversation
and calm discussion between us, but also, owing to a fiery temper
on both sides, sometimes provoked violent explosions, so that,
with trembling lips, he would seize hat and stick and hurry away
without a word of farewell. Such, however, was the intrinsic
worth of the man, that he was sure to turn up again the next
evening at the accustomed hour, when we both felt as though
nothing whatever had passed between us. But when certain bodily
ailments compelled him to remain indoors for many days, it was
difficult to gain access to him, for he was apt to become furious
when any one inquired about his health. On these occasions there
was only one way of putting him in a good temper, and that was to
say that one had called to ask a favour of him. Thereupon he was
pleasantly surprised, and would not only declare himself ready to
oblige in any way that was in his power, but would assume a
really cheerful and benevolent demeanour.

A remarkable contrast to him was presented by the musician
Wilhelm Baumgartner, a merry, jovial fellow, without any aptitude
for concentration, who had learned just enough about the piano to
be able, as teacher at so much an hour, to earn what he required
for a living. He had a taste for what was beautiful, provided it
did not soar too high, and possessed a true and loyal heart, full
of a great respect for Sulzer, which unfortunately could not cure
him of a craving for the public-house.

Besides this man, there were two others who had also from the
very first formed part of our circle. Both of them were friends
of the pair I have already mentioned; their names were Hagenbuch,
a worthy and respectable deputy cantonal secretary; and Bernhard
Spyri, a lawyer, and at that time editor of the Eidgenossische
Zeitung. The latter was a singularly good-tempered man, but not
overburdened with intellect, for which reason Sulzer always
treated him with special consideration.

Alexander Muller soon disappeared from our midst, as he became
more and more engrossed by domestic calamities, bodily
infirmities, and the mechanical drudgery of giving lessons by the
hour. As for the musician Abt, I had never felt particularly
drawn towards him, in spite of his Schwalben, and he too speedily
left us to carve a brilliant career for himself in Brunswick.

In the meantime, however, our Zurich circle was enriched by all
kinds of additions from without, mainly due to the political
shipwrecks. On my return, in January, 1850, I had already found
Adolph Kolatschek, a plain, though not unprepossessing-looking
man, though he was a bit of a bore. He imagined himself born to
be an editor, and had founded a German monthly magazine, which
was to open a field for those who had been outwardly conquered in
the recent movements to continue their fight in the inner realm
of the spirit. I felt almost flattered at being picked out by him
as an author, and being informed that 'a power like mine' ought
not to be absent from a union of spiritual forces such as was to
be established by his enterprise. I had previously sent him from
Paris my treatise on Kunst und Klima; and he now gladly accepted
some fairly long extracts from my still unpublished Oper und
Drama, for which he moreover paid me a handsome fee. This man
made an indelible impression on my mind as the only instance I
have met of a really tactful editor. He once handed me the
manuscript of a review on my Kunstwerk der Zukunft, written by a
certain Herr Palleske, to read, saying that he would not print it
without my express consent, though he did not press me to give
it. It was a superficial article, without any true comprehension
of the subject, and couched in most arrogant terms. I felt that
if it appeared in this particular journal it would certainly
demand inconvenient and wearisome rejoinders from me, in which I
should have to restate my original thesis. As I was by no means
inclined to enter upon such a controversy, I agreed to
Kolatschek's proposal, and suggested that he had better return
the manuscript to its author for publication elsewhere.

Through Kolatschek I also learned to know Reinhold Solger, a
really excellent and interesting man. But it did not suit his
restless and adventurous spirit to remain cooped up in the small
and narrow Swiss world of Zurich, so that he soon left us and
went to North America, where I heard that he went about giving
lectures and denouncing the political situation in Europe. It was
a pity that this talented man never succeeded in making a name
for himself by more important work. His contributions to our
monthly journal, during the brief term of his stay in Zurich,
were certainly among the best ever written on these topics by a
German.

In the new year, 1851, Georg Herwegh also joined us, and I was
delighted to meet him one day at Kolatschek's lodgings. The
vicissitudes which had brought him to Zurich came to my knowledge
afterwards in a somewhat offensive and aggressive manner. For the
present, Herwegh put on an aristocratic swagger and gave himself
the airs of a delicately nurtured and luxurious son of his times,
to which a fairly liberal interpolation of French expletives at
least added a certain distinction. Nevertheless, there was
something about his person, with his quick, flashing eye and
kindliness of manner, which was well calculated to exert an
attractive influence. I felt almost flattered by his ready
acceptance of my invitation to my informal evening parties, which
may, perhaps, have been fairly agreeable gatherings, as Bulow
entertained us with music, though to me personally they afforded
no mental sustenance whatever. My wife used to declare that, when
I proceeded to read from my manuscript, Kolatschek promptly fell
asleep, while Herwegh gave all his attention to her punch. When,
later on, as I have already mentioned, I read my Oper und Drama
for twelve consecutive evenings to our Zurich friends, Herwegh
stayed away, because he did not wish to mix with those for whom
such things had not been written. Yet my intercourse with him
became gradually more cordial. Not only did I respect his
poetical talent, which had recently gained recognition, but I
also learned to realise the delicate and refined qualities of his
richly cultivated intellect, and in course of time learned that
Herwegh, on his side, was beginning to covet my society. My
steady pursuit of those deeper and more serious interests which
so passionately engrossed me seemed to arouse him to an ennobling
sympathy, even for those topics which, since his sudden leap into
poetic fame, had been, greatly to his prejudice, smothered under
mere showy and trivial mannerisms, altogether alien to his
original nature. Possibly this process was accelerated by the
growing difficulties of his position, which he had hitherto
regarded as demanding a certain amount of outward show. In short,
he was the first man in whom I met with a sensitive and
sympathetic comprehension of my most daring schemes and opinions,
and I soon felt compelled to believe his assertion that he
occupied himself solely with my ideas, into which, certainly, no
other man entered so profoundly as he did.

This familiarity with Herwegh, in which an element of affection
was certainly mingled, was further stimulated by news which
reached me respecting a new dramatic poem which I had sketched
out for the coining spring. Liszt's preparations in the late
summer of the previous year for the production in Weimar of my
Lohengrin had met with more success than, with such limited
resources, had hitherto seemed possible. This result could
naturally only have been obtained by the zeal of a friend endowed
with such rich and varied gifts as Liszt. Though it was beyond
his power to attract quickly to the Weimar stage such singers as
Lohengrin demanded, and he had been compelled on many points to
content himself with merely suggesting what was intended to be
represented, yet he was now endeavouring by sundry ingenious
methods to make these suggestions clearly comprehensible. First
of all, he prepared a detailed account of the production of
Lohengrin. Seldom has a written description of a work of art won
for it such attentive friends, and commanded their enthusiastic
appreciation from the outset, as did this treatise of Liszt's,
which extended even to the most insignificant details. Karl
Ritter distinguished himself by providing an excellent German
translation of the French original, which was first published in
the Illustrirte Zeitung. Shortly after this Liszt also issued
Tannhauser in French, accompanied by a similar preface on its
origin, and these pamphlets were the chief means of awakening,
now and for long after, especially in foreign countries, not only
a surprisingly sympathetic interest in these works, but also an
intimate understanding of them such as could not possibly have
been attained by the mere study of my pianoforte arrangements.
But, far from being satisfied with this, Liszt contrived to
attract the attention of intellects outside Weimar to the
performances of my operas, in order, with kindly compulsion, to
force them upon the notice of all who had ears to hear and eyes
to see. Although his good intentions did not altogether succeed
with Franz Dingelstedt, who would only commit himself to a
confused report on Lohengrin in the Allgemeine Zeitung, yet his
enthusiastic eloquence completely and decisively captured Adolf
Stahr for my work. His detailed view of Lohengrin in the Berlin
National-Zeitung, in which he claimed a high importance for my
opera, did not remain without permanent influence upon the German
public. Even in the narrow circle of professional musicians its
effects seem not to have been unimportant; for Robert Franz, whom
Liszt dragged almost by force to a performance of Lohengrin,
spoke of it with unmistakable enthusiasm. This example gave the
lead to many other journals, and for some time it seemed as
though the otherwise dull-witted musical press would
energetically champion my cause.

I shall shortly have occasion to describe what it was that
eventually gave quite a different direction to this movement.
Meanwhile Liszt felt emboldened by these kindly signs to
encourage me to renew my creative activity, which had now for
some time been interrupted. His success with Lohengrin gave him
confidence in his ability to execute a yet more hazardous
undertaking, and he invited me to set my poem of Siegfried's
Death to music for production at Weimar. On his recommendation,
the manager of the Weimar theatre, Herr von Ziegesar, offered to
make a definite contract with me in the name of the Grand Duke. I
was to finish the work within a year, and during that period was
to receive a payment of fifteen hundred marks (L75).

It was a curious coincidence that about this time, and also
through Liszt, the Duke of Coburg invited me to arrange the
instrumentation for an opera of his own composition, for which he
offered me the sum of two thousand seven hundred marks (L135). In
spite of my position as an outlaw, my noble patron and would-be
employer offered to receive me in his castle at Coburg, where, in
quiet seclusion with himself and Frau Birchpfeiffer, the writer
of the libretto, I might execute the work. Liszt naturally
expected nothing more from me than a decent excuse for declining
this offer, and suggested my pleading 'bodily and mental
depression.' My friend told me afterwards that the Duke had
desired my co-operation with him in his score on account of my
skilful use of trombones. When he inquired, through Liszt, what
my rules for their manipulation were, I replied that before I
could write anything for trombones I required first to have some
ideas in my head.

On the other hand, however, I felt very much tempted to entertain
the Weimar proposal. Still weary from my exhausting labour on
Oper und Drama, and worried by many things which had a depressing
effect on my spirits, I seated myself for the first time for many
months at my Hartel grand-piano, which had been rescued from the
Dresden catastrophe, to see whether I could settle down to
composing the music for my ponderous heroic drama. In rapid
outline I sketched the music for the Song of the Norns, or
Daughters of the Rhine, which in this first draft was only
roughly suggested. But when I attempted to turn Brunhilda's first
address to Siegfried into song my courage failed me completely,
for I could not help asking myself whether the singer had yet
been born who was capable of vitalising this heroic female
figure. The idea of my niece Johanna occurred to me, whom, as a
matter of fact, I had already destined for this rule when I was
still in Dresden on account of her various personal charms. She
had now entered upon the career of prima donna at Hamburg, but,
judging from all the reports I had received, and especially from
the attitude towards me that she openly adopted in her letters to
her family, I could only conclude that my modest hopes of
enlisting her talents on my behalf were doomed to disappointment.
I was, moreover, confused by the fact that a second Dresden prima
donna, Mme. Gentiluomo Spatzer, who had once enraptured Marschner
with Donizetti's dithyrambics, kept hovering perpetually before
my mind as a possible substitute for Johanna. At last, in a rage,
I sprang up from the piano, and swore that I would write nothing
more for these silly fastidious schoolgirls. Whenever I saw any
likelihood of being again brought into closer contact with the
theatre I was filled with an indescribable disgust which, for the
time being, I was unable to overcome. It was some little
consolation to discover that bodily ill-health might possibly be
at the bottom of this mental disorder. During the spring of this
year I had been suffering from a curious rash, which spread over
my whole body. For this my doctor prescribed a course of sulphur-
baths, to be taken regularly every morning. Although the remedy
excited my nerves so much that later on I was obliged to adopt
radical measures for the restoration of my health, yet in the
meantime the regular morning walk to the town and back,
surrounded by the fresh green and early spring flowers of May,
acted as a cheerful stimulant on my mental condition. I now
conceived the idea of the poem of Junger Siegfried, which I
proposed to issue as a heroic comedy by way of prelude and
complement to the tragedy of Siegfrieds Tod. Carried away by my
conception, I tried to persuade myself that this piece would be
easier to produce than the other more serious and terrible drama.
With this idea in my mind I informed Liszt of my purpose, and
offered the Weimar management to compose a score for Junger
Siegfried, which as yet was unwritten, in return for which I
would definitely accept their proposal to grant me a year's
salary of fifteen hundred marks. This they agreed to without
delay, and I took up my quarters in the attic-room evacuated the
previous year by Karl Ritter, where, with the aid of sulphur and
May-blossom, and in the highest spirits, I proposed to complete
the poem of Junger Siegfried, as already outlined in my original
design.

I must now give some account of the cordial relations which, ever
since my departure from Dresden, I had maintained with Theodor
Uhlig, the young musician of the Dresden orchestra, which I have
already described, and which by this time had developed into a
genuinely productive association. His independent and indeed
somewhat uncultivated disposition had been moulded into a warm,
almost boundless devotion to myself, inspired both by sympathy
for my fate and a thorough understanding of my works. He also had
been among the number of those who had visited Weimar to hear my
Lohengrin, and had sent me a very detailed account of the
performance. As Hartel, the music-dealer in Leipzig, had
willingly agreed to my request to publish Lohengrin on condition
that I should not demand any share in the profits, I entrusted
Uhlig with the preparation of the pianoforte arrangement. But it
was more the theoretical questions discussed in my works that
formed the chief link that bound us together by a serious
correspondence. The characteristic which especially touched me
about this man, whom from his training I could regard merely as
an instrumentalist, was that he had grasped with clear
understanding and perfect agreement those very tendencies of mine
which many musicians of apparently wider culture than his own
regarded with almost despairing horror, as being dangerous to the
orthodox practice of their art. He forthwith acquired the
literary facility necessary for the expression of his agreement
with my views, and gave tangible proof of this in a lengthy
treatise on 'Instrumental Music,' which appeared in Kolatschek's
German monthly journal. He also sent to me another strictly
theoretical work on the 'Structure of Musical Theme and Phrase.'
In this he showed the originality of his ideas about Mozart's and
Beethoven's methods, to an extent which was only equalled by the
thoroughness with which he had mastered the question, especially
where he discussed their highly characteristic differences. This
clear and exhaustive treatise appeared to me admirably adapted to
form the basis for a new theory of the higher art of musical
phrasing, whereby Beethoven's most obscure construction might be
explained, and elaborated into a comprehensible system that would
allow of further application. These treatises attracted the
attention of Franz Brendel, the astute publisher of the Neue
Zeitschrift fur Musik, to their brilliant young author. He was
invited by Brendel to join the staff of his paper, and soon
succeeded in changing his chief's previous attitude of
indecision. As Brendel's aims were on the whole perfectly
honourable and serious, he was quickly and definitely led to
adopt those views which from this time began to make a stir in
the musical world under the title of the 'New Tendency.' I
thereupon felt impelled to contribute an epoch-making article to
his paper on these lines. I had noticed for some time that such
ill-sounding catch-phrases as 'Jewish ornamental flourishes'
(Melismas), 'Synagogue Music,' and the like were being bandied
about without any rhyme or reason beyond that of giving
expression to meaningless irritation. The question thus raised
regarding the significance of the modern Jew in music stimulated
me to make a closer examination of Jewish influence and the
characteristics peculiar to it. This I did in a lengthy treatise
on 'Judaism in Music.' Although I did not wish to hide my
identity, as its author, from all inquiries, yet I considered it
advisable to adopt a pseudonym, lest my very seriously intended
effort should be degraded to a purely personal matter, and its
real importance be thereby vitiated. The stir, nay, the genuine
consternation, created by this article defies comparison with any
other similar publication. The unparalleled animosity with which,
even up to the present day, I have been pursued by the entire
press of Europe can only be understood by those who have taken an
account of this article and of the dreadful commotion which it
caused at the time of its publication. It must also be remembered
that almost all the newspapers of Europe are in the hands of
Jews. Apart from these facts, it would be impossible to
understand the unqualified bitterness of this lasting
persecution, which cannot be adequately explained on the mere
ground of a theoretical or practical dislike for my opinions or
artistic works. The first outcome of the article was a storm
which broke over poor Brendel, who was entirely innocent, and,
indeed, hardly conscious of his offence. This erelong developed
into a savage persecution which aimed at nothing less than his
ruin. Another immediate result was that the few friends whom
Liszt had induced to declare themselves in my favour forthwith
took refuge in a discreet silence. As it soon seemed advisable,
in the interests of their own productions, to give direct
evidence of their estrangement from me, most of them passed over
to the ranks of my enemies. But Uhlig clung to me all the more
closely on this account. He strengthened Brendel's weaker will to
endurance, and kept helping him with contributions for his paper,
some of them profound and others witty and very much to the
point. He fixed his eye more particularly on one of my chief
antagonists, a man named Bischoff, whom Hiller had discovered in
Cologne, and who first invented for me and my friends the title
of Zukunftsmusiker ('Musicians of the Future'). With him he
entered into a prolonged and somewhat diverting controversy. The
foundation had now been laid for the problem of the so-called
Zukunftsmusik ('Music of the Future'), which was to become a
European scandal, in spite of the fact that Liszt quickly adopted
the title himself with good-humoured pride. It is true that I had
to some extent suggested this name in the title of my book,
Kunstwerk der Zukunft; but it only developed into a battle-cry
when 'Judaism in Music' unbarred the sluices of wrath upon me
and my friends.

My book, Oper und Drama, was published in the second half of this
year, and, so far as it was noticed at all by the leading
musicians of the day, naturally only helped to add fuel to the
wrath which blazed against me. This fury, however, assumed more
the character of slander and malice, for our movement had
meantime been reduced by a great connoisseur in such things,
Meyerbeer, to a clearly defined system, which he maintained and
practised with a sure hand until his lamented death.

Uhlig had come across my book, Oper und Drama, during the early
stages of the furious uproar against me. I had presented him with
the original manuscript, and as it was nicely bound in red, I hit
upon the idea of writing in it, by way of dedication, the words,
'RED, my friend, is MY theory,' in contradistinction to the
Gothic saying, 'Grey, my friend, is all theory.' This gift
elicited an exhilarating and most delightful correspondence with
my lively and keen-sighted young friend, who, after two long
years of separation, I felt sincerely desirous of seeing again.
It was not an easy matter for the poor fiddler, whose pay was
barely that of a chamber musician, to comply with my invitation.
But he gladly tried to overcome all difficulties, and said he
would come early in July. I decided to go as far as Rorschach, on
the Lake of Constance, to meet him, so that we might make an
excursion through the Alps as far as Zurich. I went by a pleasant
detour through the Toggenburg, travelling on foot as usual. In
this way, cheerful and refreshed, I reached St. Gall, where I
sought out Karl Ritter, who, since Bulow's departure, had
remained there alone in curious seclusion. I could guess the
reason of his retirement, although he said that he had enjoyed
very agreeable intercourse with a St. Gall musician named
Greitel, of whom I never heard anything further. Though very
tired after my long walking tour, I could not refrain from
submitting the manuscript of my Jungcr Siegfried, which I had
just finished, to the quick and critical judgment of this
intelligent young man, who was thus the first person to hear it.
I was more than gratified by its effect upon him, and, in high
spirits, persuaded him to forsake his strange retreat and go with
me to meet Uhlig, so that we might all three proceed over the
Santis for a long and pleasant stay in Zurich. My first glance at
my guest, as he landed at the familiar harbour of Rorschach,
filled me at once with anxiety for his health, for it revealed
but too plainly his tendency to consumption. In order to spare
him, I wished to give up the proposed mountain climb, but he
eagerly protested that exercise of this kind in the fresh air
could only do him good after the drudgery of his wretched
fiddling. After crossing the little canton of Appenzell, we had
to face the by no means easy crossing of the Santis. It was my
first experience also of travelling over an extensive snow-field
in summer. After reaching our guide's hut, which was perched on a
rugged slope, where we regaled ourselves with exceedingly frugal
fare, we had to climb the towering and precipitous pinnacle of
rock which forms the summit of the mountain, a few hundred feet
above us. Here Karl suddenly refused to allow us, and to shake
him out of his effeminacy I had to send back the guide for him,
who, at our request, succeeded in bringing him along, half by
force. But now that we had to clamber from stone to stone along
the precipitous cliff, I soon began to realise how foolish I had
been in compelling Karl to share our perilous adventure. His
dizziness evidently stupefied him, for he stared in front of him
as though he could not see, and we had to hold him fast between
our alpenstocks, every moment expecting to see him collapse, and
tumble into the abyss. When we at last attained the summit, he
sank senseless on the ground, and I now fully understood what a
terrible responsibility I had undertaken, as the yet more
dangerous descent had still to be made. In an agony of fear,
which, while it made me forget my own danger altogether, filled
me with a vision of my young friend lying shattered on the rocks
below, we at last reached the guide's cottage in safety. As Uhlig
and myself were still determined to descend the precipitous
further side of the mountain, a feat which the guide informed us
was not without danger, I resolved to leave young Ritter behind
in the hut, as the indescribable anguish I had just endured on
his behalf had been a warning to me. Here he was to await the
return of our guide, and in his company take the not very
dangerous path by which we had come. We accordingly parted, as he
was to return in the direction of Gall, while we two roamed
through the lovely Toggenburg valley, and the next day by
Rappersweil to the Lake of Zurich, and so home. Not until many
days later did Karl relieve our anxiety concerning him by
arriving at Zurich. He remained with us a short time, and then
departed, probably wishing to escape being tempted into more
mountain climbing, which we had certainly planned. I heard from
him afterwards when he had settled for some time in Stuttgart,
where he seemed to be doing well. He soon made great friends with
a young actor, and lived on terms of great intimacy with him.

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