CHAPTER XV

THE CHARACTER OF THE MAN

"Close up his eyes and draw the curtains close, And let us all to meditation."--HENRY VI.

"The noble and kindly man as his friends knew him, and the aggressive critic and reformer addressing the public, were as two distinct individuals." These words of Edward Dannreuther are the explanation of the many contradictory reports as to the personality of Wagner. Those to whom he opened his inner self, to whom he addressed his feelings and his hopes, who, in a word, understood him as both man and artist, were united in praise of his personality. Liszt, Praeger, Uhlig, Roeckel, Fischer, Von Bülow, Judith Gautier, Baudelaire, Frau Wille--all the company of Wagner's friends and helpers loved his nature and found in him none of that arrogance, that intolerance, that insufferable conceit, which the unsympathetic outer world condemned. With his friends, who understood the purpose of his life and the aims of his ambition, he was generally in a state of spiritual relaxation, and was simply himself. With those who failed to understand him, and with all those whom he recognised as enemies of his artistic ideas, he never relaxed the spirit of determined opposition to indolent and slothful conceptions of life and art; and with them he was consequently always in a mood of hostility. To such he was rude, discourteous, and intolerant. His nature was irritable, and even his friends had to endure curt and hasty speech at times. To his enemies he was never polite, except occasionally in written communication. He was not a politic man, for he was too nervous in habit and too impulsive in utterance. He possessed the gentle art of making enemies as few other men could, yet he was highly successful in gaining friends, and those whom he got he kept. His early Dresden friends were always his friends. The Zurich coterie adored him to the end. Those who were intimately associated with him in Bayreuth loved and reverenced him. Muncker, the burgomaster of Bayreuth, whose book was translated into curious English by another German,[29] could write thus of him:

"With passionate warmth he was beloved by numerous friends who for a lengthy space of time could not grasp the idea of his death. In a full measure he deserved this love. He was a man as good as he was great. In his nature height of mind, depth of feeling, and childlike amiability were blended. The energetic strength of his will was paired with heartfelt mildness; the susceptibility of his mood, attributable to his many adversities and to his heart trouble, with an unfailing and sincere desire for reconciliation; the seriousness of his mind, which in social intercourse involuntarily mastered all, with an inexhaustible love for jest and humour. He loved and was mindful for every creature, man or animal, that needed help or sympathy. Courageous truthfulness was the foundation of his character. Therefore he was simple and natural in his demeanour and an outspoken enemy of all bombast. He was proud, but modest in spite of his consciousness of what he desired, knew, and accomplished. As his memory retained alive what long already was past, so he thankfully never forgot the good that others had done him, and faithfully clung to his friends, even if time and space separated them from him. Himself clear in his thoughts and intentions, he demanded the same clearness in those who wished to associate with him."

[Footnote 29: I have taken the liberty of changing the wording of the translation in two places where the meaning was obscure.]

The testimony of others who knew Wagner longer and more intimately than Muncker is in a similar vein. It is difficult in the face of such evidence to accept the assertions of those contemporaries who saw in him only the narrowest and most selfish egotism. That he had serious faults and many foibles goes without saying. That he was an agreeable companion to any one not absorbed in his artistic ideas cannot be believed. Geniuses, self-centred as they must be, devoured day and night by passionate yearning for the attainment of ideal ends, are not often pleasant acquaintances. Wagner did not differ from other great men. People who were uncongenial to him have said that he was invariably rude and overbearing. Edward Dannreuther, who was his friend, says: "He had no pronounced manners in the sense of anything that can be taught or acquired by imitation. Always unconventional, his demeanour showed great refinement. His habits in private life are best described as those of a gentleman. He liked domestic comforts, had an artist's fondness for rich color, harmonious decoration, out-of-the-way furniture, well-bound books and music, etc."

And here we come upon one of the traits of this singular man, which has properly given rise to the largest amount of derogatory comment. He certainly had luxurious tastes, and he never resisted the temptation to gratify them even when he could not afford to do so. He loved fine surroundings. He was fond of rich garments, especially for indoor wear during his working hours. In later years, when his worldly position had improved somewhat, he employed an expensive Viennese dressmaker to make the silken robes which he wore in the house. He sent her the most elaborate designs for his dressing-gowns, which he seems to have planned with fastidious care. He paid her absurd prices for his robes. This was only one form of Wagner's extravagance. He wore silk underwear at all times, and Praeger endeavours to show that he was forced to do this in order to diminish as far as possible the irritability of his skin caused by the erysipelas, of which he was a lifelong victim. Wagner himself realised that his habits were luxurious, but he held that luxury was a necessity to him. He knew that he would be blamed for taking this position, and in a letter of 1854 to Liszt he wrote:

"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 myself frequently surprised at considering so many 'useless' things indispensable." Later in the same year he wrote a letter in which he shows plainly how his craving for luxurious surroundings as an aid to work affected his financial affairs. He said:

"I cannot live like a dog. I cannot sleep on straw and drink bad whiskey. I must be coaxed in one way or another if my mind is to accomplish the terribly difficult task of creating a non-existent 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 'Tannhäuser,' 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."

That there is a plaintive and unmanly weakness in all this is not to be denied. But we have to bear in mind that if Wagner had not received the assistance of his friends and been enabled to live as he wished to live and to work according to his fancies, we should not require biographies of him, and his great dramas would not have been the delight of two continents. That there was still further weakness in the metal of this man is shown by the extremities of depression into which he sank. Suicidal thoughts were no strangers to him and restlessness and discouragement were much too common. In a letter of March 30, 1853, he says to Liszt:

"What can help me? My nights are mostly sleepless, weary, and miserable. I rise from my bed to see a day before me which will bring me not one joy. Intercourse with people who torture me and from whom I withdraw to torture myself! I feel disgust at whatever I undertake. This cannot go on. I cannot bear life much longer."

Yet in spite of these pitiable feelings the artistic impulse was all potent within him. In the beginning of 1859 he wrote to his fidus Achates: "Believe me implicitly when I tell you that the only reason for my continuing to live is the irresistible impulse of creating a number of works of art which have their vital force in me. I recognise beyond all doubt that this act of creating and completing alone satisfies me and fills me with a desire of life, which otherwise I should not understand." And yoked with these ideas always went his conviction that the world owed him a gratuitous living that he might accomplish the creative functions of his genius. In October, 1855, he wrote to the amiable Franz:

"America is a terrible nightmare. If the New York people should ever make up their minds to offer me a considerable sum, I should be in the most awful dilemma. If I refused, I would have to conceal it from all men, for everyone would charge me in my position with recklessness. Ten years ago I might have undertaken such a thing, but to have to walk in such by-ways now in order to live would be too hard--now when I am fit only to do and to devote myself to that which is strictly my business. I should never finish the 'Nibelungen' in my life. Good gracious! such sums as I might earn in America people ought to give me without asking anything in return beyond what I am actually doing, and which is the best that I can do."

And then he adds pathetically that he is better fitted to spend money than to earn it.

In such a man as Wagner the artistic traits are dominant. They rule the personality. The conviction of this man that he had in him the conception of epoch-making works, and his recognition of the fact that the world was his artistic enemy, were the moving forces of his life. Without constantly keeping this in mind, it is quite impossible to comprehend the character of Wagner. It explains at once its weakness and its strength. It accounts even for his domestic history, while it does not justify it. His first wife was a good woman, and in a way he loved her. But she was never able to become an essential part of his life, because she could not enter into his artistic thoughts and purposes. Hence she was unable to control his impulses to wander. Cosima von Bülow understood him before she went to live under the immediate influence of his mind. That they should have been drawn to one another was inevitable. He who in letters to Liszt had cried out in anguish of his need of a home and woman's care was very ready to accept them at her hands at no matter what sacrifice, and she in the same spirit was ready to give them. To her Wagner was constant in spite of the fact that temperamentally he was an inconstant man. She controlled his desires, and they needed control.

The artistic aspirations which governed his entire career made it a disappointment. Wagner died a disappointed man. That he was gratified by the production of the "Ring" at Bayreuth there need be no denial. That he enjoyed to the fullest the praises of those who seemed to comprehend his ideals is beyond doubt. But, nevertheless, he realised that he had not penetrated the public mind. He saw plainly that the applause for his works was not for their revelation of a new standpoint in operatic art, but for their purely theatrical effectiveness. The public never saw beneath the surface. He felt that he was wholly misunderstood. In a letter of 1859 to Liszt he said:

"I never had much pleasure in the performance of one of my operas, and shall have much less in the future. My ideal demands have increased, compared with former times, and my sensitiveness has become much more acute during the last ten years while I lived in absolute separation from artistic public life. I fear that even you do not quite understand me in this respect, and you should believe my word all the more implicitly."

Again and again he spoke in no doubtful terms of his knowledge that the public did not understand his aims. He was delighted by every evidence of sympathy, but he suffered untold agonies of mind from the fact that "Tannhäuser," "Lohengrin," and "Die Meistersinger" were treated by the world as mere operas, and that there was no evidence that the operatic public understood his departure from the old and insincere methods of the commercial theatre. The disappointment which Wagner experienced from the failure of the world to grasp his ideals would have continued, had he lived longer. Even now only a few ardent lovers of the loftiest things in art have entered fully into the spirit of his conceptions. One has only to attend a performance of "Siegfried" before an ordinary audience of professed Wagnerites to see how far short of a complete understanding of Wagner his friends still are. Thousands of well-meaning persons regard themselves as disciples of this unique master when they have learned the contents of Hans von Wolzogen's handbooks and can identify every leading motive in each score when it is heard in the orchestra. The praise of all such people was vinegar and gall to Wagner. He felt that he was utterly misunderstood, and that was torture to his sensitive spirit.

He was unhappy, too, because he could not get his works properly performed. Perhaps he never experienced deep delight at any representation except the first of "Tristan und Isolde," in which the splendid work of Schnorr filled him with joy. But his "Lohengrin" and his "Tannhäuser" were never given to his satisfaction, for there were absolutely no singers who united the ability to declaim the recitative and to deliver the plentiful cantilena also. Not only was there a lack of singers, but there were no stage managers who understood him, and so all over Germany his works were performed in a spirit foreign to their poetic content, and the master was misrepresented to a public which would have found it almost impossible to comprehend him in the most favourable conditions. Mr. Dannreuther says: "The composer of 'Tristan' confronted by the Intendant of some Hoftheater, fresh from a performance of Herr von Flotow's 'Martha'! A comic picture, but unfortunately a typical one, implying untold suffering on Wagner's part."

Wagner was under medium size, but had the appearance of being somewhat taller than he really was. In 1849 the police description of him ran thus: "Wagner is 37 to 38 years old, of middle height, has brown hair, wears glasses; open forehead; eyebrows brown; eyes grey-blue; nose and mouth well proportioned; chin round. Particulars: in speaking and moving he is hasty." Animation marked all his ways, and at times he revelled in the wildest spirits. Periods of deep depression occurred to him, but his nervous energy seldom deserted him.

The study of his personality will always bring one back to the same point. He was entirely dominated by his artistic nature and ambition. His life can be understood only by an analysis of his motives based on this premise. Wagner, the man, was the creature of Wagner, the dreamer of "Siegfried." There has never been a clearer instance of the mastery of genius. He was unceasingly driven by it from boyhood to the grave. It made him selfish, intolerant, dogmatic, dictatorial. But it achieved its ends. The grave at Wahnfried contains only ashes. All that was vital in Richard Wagner lives still in the dramas and the prose works. The forces which were in the man are just as active now as they were when he laughed and stormed in the villa at Bayreuth.