Chapter 1

This etext was produced by John Mamoun <[email protected]>, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team

Correspondence of Wagner and Liszt, Volume 2 (1889)

By Richard Wagner; Franz Liszt; Francis Hueffer (translator)

TABLE OF CONTENTS

BRIEF BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH CORRESPONDENCE OF WAGNER AND LISZT, Volume 2 INFO ABOUT THIS E-TEXT EDITION

BRIEF BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH

The German musical genius Richard Wagner (1811-1883) could be considered to be one of the ideological fathers of early 20th century German nationalism. He was well-suited for this role. Highly intelligent, sophisticated, complex, capable of imagining whole systems of humanistic philosophy, and with an intense need to communicate his ideas, he created great operas which, in addition to their artistic merits, served the peculiar role of promoting a jingoistic, chauvenistic kind of Germanism. There are things in his operas that only a German can fully understand, especially if he would like to see his country closed off to outsiders. It is unlikely, however, that Wagner expected these ideas to achieve any popularity. Time and again he rails against philistines, irrational people and politicians in his letters. With great exasperation and often depression he expressed little hope that his country would ever emerge out of its "philistinism" and embrace "rational" ideas such as he propagated. Add to this the great difficulties he had in getting his works performed, and one might assume that he felt himself to be composing, most of the time, to audiences of bricks. Yes, his great, intensely beloved friend Liszt believed in, fully understood, and greatly appreciated Wagner's works, but Liszt was just one in a million, and even he, as Wagner suggested, associated with a base coterie incapable of assimilating Wagnerian messages. Considering the sorry state of music and intellectualism in Wagner's time and setting, he surely would have been surprised if his operas and his ideas achieved any wide currency. That he continued to work with intense energy to develop his ideas, to fix them into musical form and to propagate them, while knowing that probably no sizeable population would ever likely take note of them, and while believing that his existence as an underappreciated, rational individual in an irrational world was absurd and futile, is a testimony to the enormous will-power of this "ubermensch."

CORRESPONDENCE OF WAGNER AND LISZT, VOLUME 2

143.

DEAREST RICHARD,

Yesterday (Saturday, January 7th) first performance of "Lohengrin" at Leipzig. The public, very numerous in spite of double prices, displayed much sympathy and admiration for this wonderful work. The first act went tolerably well as far as the artists were concerned. Rietz conducted in a precise and decent manner, and the ENSEMBLES had been carefully studied. The second and third acts, however, suffered much from the faults and shortcomings of both chorus and principals. Further performances will, no doubt, show an improvement, although the Leipzig theatre does certainly not possess the proper singers and scenic artists. The flagging in the second act, which I previously took the liberty of pointing out to you, was felt very much on this occasion, and the public seemed painfully and unmistakably tired. The tempi of the choruses seemed to me considerably too fast, and there was more than one break-down in this scene. Altogether, without self-conceit, I may say that the Leipzig performance is inferior to ours, as you will probably hear from other quarters. On the other hand the Leipzig public is in many respects superior to ours, and I feel convinced that the external success of yesterday's performance will prove very considerable indeed. The grand success of this work can no longer be denied; of that we should be glad, and the rest will follow sooner or later. The actors, Rietz and Wirsing, were called after the first act, and after the last the representatives of the principal parts had to appear again. T., who had come from Paris for this performance, was very dissatisfied with it. I toned him down, not thinking it advisable to impair the chief thing by detailed criticism. Before all, let it be stated that "Lohengrin" is the grandest work of art which we possess so far, and that the Leipzig theatre by performing it has done credit to itself.

If you have to write to Leipzig show yourself, to please me, friendly and appreciative of their goodwill, and of the success which cannot be denied. The only remark you might make concerns the quick tempo of the choruses in Act II., Scene iii., and of the "Lohengrin" passage in the third act

[Here, Liszt illustrates with a 4-bar musical score example where the words, "Ath----mest Du nicht die su--ssen Dufte" are sung.]

as compared with YOUR METRONOMIC INDICATION. This is the more necessary as the chorus practically broke down, and these passages failed to produce their due effect.

On the next birthday of the Grand Duchess (April 8th) "Lohengrin" will be given here, with Gotze (at present professor of singing at the Leipzig Conservatoire, late first tenor of this theatre) and Frau Fastlinger, and about the middle of May Tichatschek will sing the part here twice. Zigesar has also asked X. to sing Ortrud, and has offered her as well as Tichatschek very decent terms, but her answer is somewhat vague and undecided: "Unless I have to go to England at that time," etc.

Tichatschek is again behaving splendidly on this occasion, and I thank you for the few friendly lines you have written to him, for he really deserves it by his warm friendship for you and your works. He came to Leipzig together with Krebs, and during the entr'acte we met at the buffet, when he told me that you had written to him, which I was very glad to hear. The Hartels have sent you three hundred thalers for the nine pieces from "Lohengrin."

Farewell, and let me soon hear from you.

Your

FRANZ.

January 8th, 1854.

144.

DEAREST FRIEND,

The "Rhinegold" is done, but I also am done for. Latterly I had intentionally dulled my feeling by means of work, and avoided every opportunity of writing to you before its completion. Today is the first forenoon when no pretext prevents me any longer from letting the long-nourished and pent-up grief break forth. Let it break forth, then. I can restrain it no longer.

In addition to your very kindly notice of the Leipzig "Lohengrin," I also received that of the "Deutsche Allgemeine"

Zeitung, and discover in it the scornful punishment inflicted upon me for the crime I committed against my being and my inmost conscience when, two years ago, I became unfaithful to my rightful determination and consented to the performance of my operas. Alas! how pure and consistent with myself was I when I thought only of you and Weimar, ignored all other theatres, and entirely relinquished the hope of any further success.

Well, that is over now. I have abandoned my purpose, my pride has vanished, and I am reduced to humbly bending my neck under the yoke of Jews and Philistines.

But the infamous part is that by betraying the noblest thing in my possession I have not even secured the prize which was to be the equivalent. I remain, after all, the beggar I was before.

Dearest Franz, none of my latter years has passed without bringing me at least once to the verge of the resolution to put an end to my life. Everything seems so waste, so lost! Dearest friend, art with me, after all, is a pure stop-gap, nothing else, a stop-gap in the literal sense of the word. I have to stop the gap by its means in order to live at all. It is therefore with genuine despair that I always resume art; if I am to do this, if I am to dive into the waves of artistic fancy in order to find contentment in a world of imagination, my fancy should at least be buoyed up, my imagination supported. I cannot live like a dog; I cannot sleep on straw and drink bad whisky. I must be coaxed in one way or another if my mind is to accomplish the terribly difficult task of creating a non-existing world. Well, when I resumed the plan of the "Nibelungen" and its actual execution, many things had to co-operate in order to produce in me the necessary, luxurious art-mood. I had to adopt a better style of life than before; the success of "Tannhauser," which I had surrendered solely in this hope, was to assist me. I made my domestic arrangements on a new scale; I wasted (good Lord, wasted!) money on one or the other requirement of luxury. Your visit in the summer, your example, everything, tempted me to a forcibly cheerful deception, or rather desire of deception, as to my circumstances. My income seemed to me an infallible thing. But after my return from Paris my situation again became precarious; the expected orders for my operas, and especially for "Lohengrin," did not come in; and as the year approaches its close I realise that I shall want much, very much, money in order to live in my nest a little longer. I begin to feel anxious. I write to you about the sale of my rights to the Hartels; that comes to nothing. I write to Berlin to my theatrical agent there. He gives me hopes of a good purchaser, whom I refer to the first performance of "Lohengrin" at Leipzig. Well, this has taken place, and now my agent writes that after such a success he has found it impossible to induce the purchaser to conclude the bargain, willing as he had previously been.

Confess that this is something like a situation. And all this torture, and trouble, and care about a life which I hate, which I curse! And, in addition to this, I appear ridiculous before my visitors, and taste the delightful sensation of having surrendered the noblest work of my life so far to the predetermined stupidity of our theatrical mob and to the laughter of the Philistine.

Lord, how must I appear to myself? I wish that at least I had the satisfaction that some one knew how I appear to myself.

Listen, my Franz; you must help me! I am in a bad, a very bad, way. If I am to regain the faculty of holding out (this word means much to me), something thorough must be done in the direction of prostituting my art which I have once taken, otherwise all is over with me. Have you thought of Berlin again? Something must be done there if all is not to come to a stop.

Before all, I must have money. The Hartels have been very liberal, but what is the good of hundreds where thousands are needed? If the Berlin purchase had come to something, I might at least have used the offer in order to prove to a man of business here that I possessed "capital," and to induce him to lend me the necessary sum for three years, paying back one-third every year. But this hope also has vanished. No one will undertake such an affair unless he has personal confidence in my future (?) successes. Such a man, dearest Franz, you must find for me. Once more, I want from 3,000 to 4,000 thalers in order to find perfect rest and equipoise. That much my operas may well bring me in in three years IN CASE something real is done for "Lohengrin," so as to save it. I am willing to lease my rights to the lender; my rights in "Tannhauser" and "Lohengrin" shall be secured to him in any way he thinks desirable or necessary. If I am not worthy of such a service, then you must own that I am in a bad way, and all has been a mistake! Help me over this, and I will undertake once more to hold out.

Dear friend, do not be angry. I have a claim on you as on my creator. You are the creator of the person I am now; I live through you: it is no exaggeration. Take care of your creation. I call this a duty which you have towards me.

The only thing I want is money; that at least one ought to be able to get. Love I abandon, and art!

Well, the "Rhinegold" is ready, readier than I ever thought it would be. I went to this music with so much faith, so much joy; and with a true fury of despair I continued, and have at last finished it. Alas! the need of gold held me too in its net. Believe me, no one ever has composed in this manner; my music, it seems to me, must be terrible; it is a slough of horrors and sublimities.

I shall soon make a clean copy, black on white, and that will probably be the end of it; or shall I give permission to have this also performed at Leipzig for twenty louis d'or? I cannot write more to you today. You are the only person to whom I could tell such a thing; no one else has an idea of it, least of all the people near me.

Do not think that the news of Leipzig has made me suddenly desperate. I anticipated this, and knew everything beforehand. I can also imagine that the Leipzig failure may still be repaired, that "it is not as bad as we think," and much more to the same effect. It may be, but let me see evidence. I have no faith, and only one hope: sleep, sleep, so profound, so profound, that all sensation of the pain of living ceases. That sleep at least is within my reach; it is not so difficult to get.

Good heavens, I give you bad blood as well! Why did you ever come across me?

The present of the Princess caused me a smile,--a smile over which I could shed tears. I shall write to her when I have lived through a few more days; then I shall also send you my portrait, with a motto, which might make you feel awkward after all. How are you? Burn this letter: it is godless; but I too am godless. Be you God's saint, for in you alone I still have faith. Yea! yea! and once more yea!

Your

R. W.

January 15th, 1854

Something must be done in London; I will even go to America to satisfy my future creditor; this too I offer, so that I may finish my "Nibelungen."

145.

My dearest Franz,

I write once more to try whether I can ease my heart a little.

Dearest friend, this continual suffering is becoming at last intolerable. Always to submit to things, never, even at the risk of one's own perdition, to give a turn to the wheel of suffering and to determine its direction--that must at last rouse the meekest of men to revolt. I must now act, do something. Again and again the thought comes to me of retiring to some distant corner of the world, although I know full well that this would mean only FLIGHT, not the conquest of a new life, for I am too LONELY. But I must at least begin something that will make my life, such as it is, sufficiently tolerable to enable me to devote myself to the execution and completion of my work, which alone can divert my thoughts and give me comfort. While here I chew a beggar's crust, I hear from Boston that "Wagner nights" are given there. Every one persuades me to come over; they are occupying themselves with me with increasing interest; I might make much money there by concert performances, etc. "Make much MONEY!" Heavens! I don't want to make money if I can go the way shown to me by my longing. But if I really were to undertake something of this kind, I should even then not know how to get with decency out of my new arrangements here in order to go where I could make money. And how should I feel there?

Alas! this is so impossible that the impossibility is equalled only by the ridiculous position into which I sink when I commence brooding over the possibility of the plan. My work, my "Nibelungen," would then of course be out of the question.

This WORK is truly the only thing which still ties me to the desire of life. When I think of sacrifices and demand sacrifices, it is for this work; in it alone I discover an object of my life. For its sake I must hold out, and hold out here, where I have got a foothold, and have settled down to work. If I consider it rightly, all my intended action can only have the object of enabling me to hold out till the completion of my work. But for that very reason I can DO nothing; all must be done by OTHERS. On that account I latterly again felt the liveliest desire to obtain my amnesty, and thus to gain free access to Germany. In that case I might at least be active in helping on the performances of my operas. I might at last produce "Lohengrin" myself, while as it is I torture myself for the sake of it. The most necessary thing for the moment seems to me to repair the Leipzig disaster; I was on the point of venturing there without passport and of endangering my personal liberty (good God! "liberty!" What irony!). In calmer moments I intended to write to the King of Saxony, till this also appeared quite useless and even dishonourable to me. Then again, as lately as last night, I thought of writing to the Grand Duke to explain my new situation to him and to ask him for his energetic intercession at Dresden. But this morning early I came to think that this also would be in vain, and probably you agree with me. Where can ENERGY and real WILL be found? Everything has to be done by halves, quarters, or even tenths or twelfths, a la X.

So I sit down again, cross my arms, and surrender myself to pure, unalloyed SUFFERING. I can do nothing, except create my "Nibelungen"; and even that I am unable to do without great and energetic help.

My dearest, my only friend, listen. I CAN do nothing unless others do it for me. The sale of the rights of my operas must be brought about, unless I am to free myself from my situation by violent means. In the way of pure business this has become impossible by the Leipzig performance, which, if my wish and my conditions had been observed, would not have taken place; it must be simply a work of friendship. To no one but you can I explain myself accurately, because you are the only one who can understand at its true estimate, and without a shake of the head, my position, such as it has been brought about by my moods, inclinations, whims, and wants. How can I expect a Philistine to comprehend the transcendent part of my nature, which in the conditions of my life impelled me to satisfy an immense inner desire by such external means as must to him appear dangerous, and certainly unsympathetic? No one knows the needs of people like us; I am my self frequently surprised at considering so many "useless" things indispensable. To YOU alone can I explain how painfully I am placed, and how necessary immediate help is to me. This is the first and most indispensable thing to preserve me for my whole future. Owing to my extreme sensitiveness in this matter, I shall otherwise be compelled--because for such a frivolous reason I do not want to take my own life--to start at once and fly to America.

I am in a pitiful condition, and I know that to such a friend as you pity comes from love. Give me up if you can; that will settle all. With my terrible care my violent nervous disorder has also returned. During my work I frequently felt quite well; the thunder-clouds seemed to have cleared away. I often felt beautifully elevated, gently supported; generally I was silent, but it was from inner joy; even hope wound itself softly round my heart; the children of fable came to the weeping elf, saying, "Weep not; thou too mayst still be happy." But the word resounded from farther and farther distance, till at last I could hear it no longer. Silence! now the old night holds me again; let it devour me altogether!

Pardon me. I CANNOT help it.

Farewell, my Franz; farewell; farewell.

Your

R. W.

146.

Dear Friend,

You were going to send me your "Kunstler." Why does it not arrive?

How about the "Faust" symphony? I am writing the "Rhinegold" at once in full score. I did not see my way to jotting down clearly the introduction (the depth of the Rhine) as a sketch; so I hit upon the full score. This is a slower way of proceeding, and my head is still a little confused.

The Princess has done well; greet her and thank her warmly from me. Who knows how it will turn out? I do not care to know.

This is a sign of life to which you must respond sympathetically.

Your

R. W.

Zurich, February 7th, 1854

147.

Dearest Richard,

It is a sad fate that we have to live apart from each other. I can tell you nothing but that I think of you constantly and love you from my heart of hearts.

Latterly my time has been painfully occupied by all manner of business, visits, work, etc. I have written to nobody, as you may well imagine, because you did not receive a letter from me.

Together with this I send you the score of my "Kunstler" chorus, and between this and the autumn I intend to publish half-a-dozen orchestral pieces, also in full score. By October the "Faust" symphony will be finished, which also will be published soon afterwards.

Let us leave these trifles alone and speak of your "Rhinegold." Have you really finished it? That has been wonderfully quick work indeed. You know how delighted I should be if you would let me see the score. Send it to me as soon as you can do without it.

In the meantime I have not neglected your pecuniary affairs, and hope that my intentions will not be frustrated. CANDIDLY answer me two questions:--

1. Have you pressing debts, and what sum do you absolutely require to meet them?

2. Can you manage to live this year on your present income?

There is a probability that Berlin may come off next autumn, and in that case I shall let you know the little result of my effort in good time. For the present DO NOT SPEAK ABOUT IT. Dorn was here, and conducted the second performance of his "Nibelungen." The work is to be given at Berlin in six weeks.

Brendel wrote several things to me about the "Lohengrin" affair in Leipzig. In my opinion, nothing further can be done for the moment, and you have every reason to be calm and SATISFIED. Lohengrin's barque is drawn by a swan; the cackling of geese and the barking of dogs are of no avail.

Berlioz is coming to Hanover at the end of March, and goes from there to Dresden, where he will conduct a few concerts at the theatre. Fischer wrote to me recently about an intended performance of "Cellini" at Dresden. This is as yet a secret, which I, for my part, should like to see made public very soon. The opera is Berlioz's freshest and roundest work, and its failure in Paris and London must be attributed to low villainy and misapprehension. It would be a fine thing if Dresden were to offer him a brilliant REVANCHE, such as he deserves.

Brendel will publish his book within a few days. When you have read it, tell me your candid opinion. Raff also has finished a stout volume on the "Wagner Question" (!). He refuses to show me ANYTHING of it, although he has read parts to several other persons. Fortunately you are no longer to yourself nor to me a QUESTION....

[Here, Liszt illustrates with a 3 1/2 bar musical score example where the words "Ath - mest Du nicht die hol den Duf - te--" are sung.]

Live in your "Rhinegold," and think lovingly of

F. L.

WEYMAR, February 21st, 1854.

148.

DEAR FRANZ,