Part 11

"After the production of the _Meistersinger_ at Munich, and the attention it attracted, many propositions were made to me. At first they spoke of sending a German troupe, to give my six operas, one after another, in Paris; then some one wished to attempt _Lohengrin_ in Italian, then again _Lohengrin_ in French, and so on. In short, there were no less than five projects that summer, concerning the representations of my works in Paris. Yet I did not encourage any one of them. When M. Pasdeloup told me that he had accepted the directorship of the Théâtre Lyrique with the intention of giving several of my works, I did not feel that I could refuse to this zealous and capable friend, the authorisation for bringing them out; and, as he desired to begin with _Rienzi_, I said to him that, in fact, of all my operas, that one had always seemed to me best adapted to the French stage. Written, thirty years ago, with a view to Grand Opera, _Rienzi_ does not present so many difficulties to the singers, nor will it offer to the Parisian public so much that is unusual as the works which have followed it. Both in subject and in musical form, it is closely related to the operas that have been popular in Paris for a long time, and I still believe that, if it is richly mounted and given with spirit, it has a chance of success. That success I wish for it with all my heart, and still more success to my friend M. Pasdeloup, who, of his own free will, has valiantly and energetically upheld my cause for a number of years. But I should be unwise to wish to contribute to that success by my presence. My nature as well as my destiny have decreed for me the concentration and the solitude of work, and I feel myself to be absolutely unfit for any exterior enterprise. Either _Rienzi_ will make its way without me, or, if it is not capable of doing so, my assistance cannot help it and we can only suppose that the conditions are unfavourable.

"Such is, in a few words, my point of view and the line of conduct which I have decided, or rather, which I am called upon to follow, with regard to the representation of my works in Paris, whichever they may be. And please, Madame, do not see in this reserve any sign of unreasonable disdain, which could be assumed to mask a deeper feeling of rancour. I am very far from pooh-poohing a Paris success, and I even assure you that I have always considered it one of the numerous ironies of my fate that _Rienzi_, composed within sight of Paris, was not given there long ago, when that work of my youth still held for me all its freshness. But, since you speak of the renown that I have acquired in Germany, permit me to tell you, Madame, that all such renown has come without my personal participation, with the help only of a few friends, in the midst of the howls of the entire Press of the North and of the South. It has come because of my works alone, and in spite of the obstacles that my political situation opposed to the extended knowledge of my operas. It is in the same way that I wish to succeed in Paris, where I have found very devoted friends, who are too intelligent for me to fear to leave the fate of my works in their hands. If you were to say to me, Madame, that a representation ought to conform to my intentions, and therefore my presence at the rehearsals would be above all necessary to the success of the enterprise, I should reply to you that _Tannhäuser_ and _Lohengrin_ have been mutilated by the greater number of German Capellmeisters, in a way that could not be exceeded upon the worst French stage, and that is only since the King of Bavaria has accorded me his protection that it has been possible for me to make my dramatic and musical intentions known in an important theatre.

"Believe me, Madame, things being as they are, there is nothing for me to do but devote myself entirely to the writing of my operas, and as to their fate, in my own country as well as abroad, to leave it to their guiding star and to my friends. I am not the man for compromises, and yet these compromises are sometimes indispensable.

"I keep out, then, in order not to render more difficult to my French friends the rugged path they have chosen in attempting to naturalise in France an essentially Germanic individuality. If this naturalisation is possible, it will be accomplished by them without my help; if it is not possible, I shall deplore their pains, at the same time consoling myself in the thought that they as well as I have drawn their forces elsewhere than from the idea of a success, and that their conviction, like mine, renders them independent of good or of bad fortune.

"Pray, Madame, pardon the length of this explanation, and believe me gratefully and respectfully yours,

"RICHARD WAGNER."

"The Master was nevertheless, very well satisfied with the success of the piece," said Cosima, "and above all, with the expressions of appreciation that it won for him from unknown friends. Then too, in order to celebrate his birthday, the 22nd May--inspired by one of the most popular scenes in the opera--I dressed the children as 'Messengers of Peace' and while an invisible choir sang for them, the little girls, all four of them, marched, keeping step with one another, into the drawing-room with travelling staffs in their hands. Wagner thought it a very pretty idea."

"Eva as a messenger of peace must have been delicious...."

"I also preserved your father's article about _Rienzi_,[1] which was very good," said Cosima. "Wagner ought to have written to thank him."

"If they represent _Rienzi_ again," said I, "we shall also faithfully renew our pilgrimage to the theatre. Think of us then, two and a half weeks from now, as going every day from the heart of Neuilly to the Théâtre Lyrique, and never failing to be in our places in time for the Overture!"

ARTICLE PUBLISHED IN THE "JOURNAL OFFICIEL"

Rarely has Parisian curiosity been more vividly excited than by the following simple words inscribed upon the placards of the "Théâtre-Lyrique."

_Tuesday, first representation of Rienzi_,

_Opera in five Acts, by Richard Wagner._

In an age when the general interest is certainly not with works of art, Wagner has the gift of stimulating the public, of calling forth frantic enthusiasms and provoking violent repulsions.

The mere mention of his name assembles clouds in the most serene heavens, clouds which soon grow into a storm, lightning breaks out in intermittent flashes, thunder mutters and growls above the sound of the rain, the wind and the hail. In all this tumult no one remains indifferent, the universe seems about to collapse and each person hurries toward the altar of his own menaced deity.

The rival choruses of detractors and admirers insult each other as at the taking of Messina and are ready to tear each other to pieces. There is an excitement,--a tumult--a fury, which recalls the great romantic struggles of 1830, when the young followers of Hernani broke into the theatre with their password, and tore away the classic masks and headgear--proclaiming the liberty and independence of art.

If we had never heard a note of Richard Wagner, all this uproar would have assured us of his superiority. He troubled all the musical world too profoundly not to be a genius, a hero, in accordance with the meaning of Emerson and Carlyle. From whatever point of view one considers him, he always produces a new sensation, it may be a little prematurely, but one is conscious even now that he will become the sovereign master and that nothing can prevent his future greatness. Very soon his victorious banner will float from the highest turret of the citadel, gilded by the sun and caressed by the very wind which before had twisted and torn it.

Young musicians, not yet established, regard Wagner either as a God or as a tempting demon. It is Wagner who preoccupies the thoughts of the older masters already secure in their own glory, and in every contemporaneous work it is not difficult to find some reflections, or at least traces of the secret study of this powerful originator.

A chance of travel led to my being present at a production of _Tannhäuser_ in the theatre at Wiesbaden, at a time, already long past, when the name of Richard Wagner was hardly mentioned in France. This music, strikingly novel to us who knew absolutely nothing of the composer, made an impression upon us at the same time strange and delicious. We had heard for the first time the true music of romance, such as poets might conceive it. The opera reproduced, with most unaffected fidelity, the legend of the good knight Tannhäuser and Madame Venus, living happily together on the heights of Venusberg--until at last the noble German, who was a good Catholic at heart, became suspicious of some witchcraft and said to his mythological companion:

"Venus, my beautiful Goddess, Thou art in truth a demon."

That which most impressed us in the score of the Teutonic Master was the extreme dearness of the musical manner of translating the spoken phrase by means of a continuous melody, without elaboration, without superfluous flourish, the orchestra providing the commentary, and, sustaining with its own fulness the simplicity of the vocal design. We sent from Wiesbaden either to the "Moniteur" or the "Artiste," we no longer remember which, an appreciative article which ended in expressing astonishment that an opera so original and unusual had not yet passed beyond the limits of the Rhine. Our astonishment was also great when, some years later, this same Tannhäuser--so easily given at the theatre of Wiesbaden, by singers and an orchestra which were probably not the first in Germany--having been produced here at the Opera, was declared impossible, foolish, absurd, outside all the possibilities of the theatre, and was smothered under a storm of hisses. They muffled Wagner's music in derisive purple, under the pleasantry "Music of the Future," but the wag who invented the phrase had no idea that he spoke so truly. In fact its time has come, and the music of the future is very near to being the music of to-day. The fall of Tannhäuser in no way unsettled our convictions. Critics are stubborn, and even though they are not dealing with the old romantic poets, they know very well that hisses do not kill a work of genius.

They said of the dramatic verses of Victor Hugo precisely what they say of the musical phrases of Wagner. Accusing them conclusively of not being verse at all, yet to-day it is a common argument of advance that the author of "Ruy-Blas" and the "Légende des Siècles" is the greatest master of metrical form of our time.

But to return to Rienzi, the production of which at the Théâtre-Lyrique accomplished an old-time project of the Master's. One of Wagner's letters makes that clear--"Written about thirty years ago, with a view to grand opera, Rienzi presents no difficulties for the singers to overcome, and offers to the Parisian public none of the problems of my later works. Both in subject and in musical form it is closely related to the operas that have long been popular in Paris, and I still believe that if it is brilliantly mounted and given with spirit it has a chance of success."

For serious works, time is required in which to bring them a full acknowledgment, but it comes at last, and the Master's own judgment of his work was most triumphantly confirmed the other evening. Rienzi has not literally arrived at the Grand Opera, but at the Théâtre-Lyrique it met with a zeal, an ardour of conviction and a passionate devotion which ought to banish from his mind any possible regret. Pasdeloup has splendidly welcomed the illustrious guest that he endeavours to introduce and to naturalize in France.

A few words upon the libretto translated from Wagner's poem by Messrs Mutter and Guillaume. One need not seek there for the learned complications of our own lyric dramas. It is the history of Rienzi very simply told just as it happened in reality. Cola Gabrino, called "Rienzi" or "Rienzo," was the son of an Innkeeper. He received a good education, bound himself in friendship with Petrarch and, in studying antiquity, became enamoured of the ideas of liberty and a republic. The sojourn of the Popes at Avignon delivered Rome over to the most troublesome disorders. Rienzi harangued the people, succeeded in making himself Tribune, drove out the Barons and re-established the old and good government. His rule at first was wise, but intoxicated by too great power after having been liberator he became the oppressor of Rome. Driven out of the city once, he returned and was killed in a riot, by a servitor of the house of Colonna. Beginning like Brutus, he ended like Masaniello or Jean de Leyde.

Rienzi, Wagner's first lyric drama, shows already an immense talent. Here is not yet revealed the Wagner of the Flying Dutchman, but a man, nevertheless, untrammelled by precedent. Excepting the Cavatinas in the Italian style, inserted here and there to please the public, the opera resembles no other, the impression is unique. It is all a great tumult, a rising of the people. There are in fact only two characters, Rienzi and the populace. It is more like a magnificent symphony with choruses than like an opera as ordinarily heard. The orchestra has become the great power, the science of which the composer fully understands and controls.

In the first act, the call to arms--

"When the trumpet shall have sounded thrice,"

is marked by a proud enthusiasm which extends to the chorus, whose voices carry on the theme swelling and augmenting it to a superb crescendo. The trio which follows is intermingled with an adorable accompaniment. In the second act the aria sung by the first of the messengers of peace, felicitating Rienzi, was warmly and insistently applauded. Nothing could be more sweet, more tender or more delicate than this melody, admirably sung by Mlle. Priolat, from whom the entire audience demanded its repetition.

The chorus of conspiring patricians is also very fine; under the dull murmurs one divines the revolt of injured pride and the muttering of an, as yet, powerless hatred. The entrance and the grief of Adriano, are expressed in the orchestra by two notes of the hautboys which are like the sigh of a broken heart. This pure and charming detail foretells the later Wagner whose orchestra is able to reveal all things and to make one experience all emotion. The septet and the final chorus are fragments of such power and grandeur that you feel as though you were floating upon wings. In the third act, we especially noted the military march with its firm and warlike rhythm; and the prayer of the women, augmented in its fervour and its terror by the intermittent sounds of battle. In the fourth act, the march of peace and the magnificently dramatic situation of Rienzi, accursed, excommunicated, deserted, alone upon the steps of the church. In the fifth act, the prayer of Rienzi, admirable in its sadness and its fervour.

"Rise, O Sun, and make the light of liberty to shine upon the world."

In this part one again sees the powerful Wagner of to-day, and the entrance of the Sister of the Tribune, who consoles him by her devoted love, is like a vista through which one catches a brief glimpse of the angels with fluttering wings of the prelude to Lohengrin. One must congratulate M. Pasdeloup, the new director of the Théâtre-Lyrique, who has already done so much for art by means of his popular concerts, for having pro-produced Rienzi. The notable success of the first representation, a success which will, undoubtedly, continue, allows us to hope that we may also have before very long, The Flying Dutchman, Tannhäuser, Lohengrin, Tristan and Isolde, Die Meistersinger, and all that unknown repertory, rich casket of new treasure.

Rienzi is sumptuously mounted, the costumes and decorations are rich and appropriate; the choruses well arranged and the whole forms a splendid spectacle. The final tableau of the death of Rienzi on his balcony is presented in a highly dramatic manner.

Montjauze, in his impersonation of Rienzi, surpasses all one's expectations, he is transfigured into a singer and an actor of the first rank. This role is for him what William Tell was for Duprez. He sustains with wonderful ease the continuous dialogue with the chorus. His voice dominates those great, those formidable crowds, and with a gesture he restrains the flood of people pressing about him in a transport of eagerness and joy. He wears with artistic grace and majesty the splendid white draperies, richly embroidered in gold, with which the Tribune clothed himself in his vanity as a parvenu whose head was turned at the summit of his grandeur. One could not imagine a more perfect incarnation of the type of Rienzi.

Mme. Borghese sings with warmth the rather thin arias of Adriano, lover of the Tribune's sister, who is herself very gracefully represented by Mdlle. Steinberg. But this poor little love episode is tossed about, in all senses, like a drowned flower by the tumultuous foaming upheaval of this great tragic drama, which begins with a battle and ends with a riot.

The choruses are excellent, and the orchestra executes with splendid spirit that overture of Rienzi, already popular long before the opera itself was known.

THÉOPHILE GAUTIER.

XXVI

As Cosima and I, seated on a garden bench, were peacefully talking, Jacob came to us bearing a telegram.

One always trembles before opening a message of this kind.

"It is nothing! Only rather a bore!" said Cosima, after reading it. "Two elderly people, named Schott, husband and wife, announce that they will visit us this evening after supper. They are very worthy people, but he, at one time, did Wagner a serious wrong, and Wagner, without exactly holding resentment, yet has not been able to forget. Moreover, these good people are very narrow and stiff, not at all talkative: we shall not know what to do, it will be dull, and all our pleasant, sympathetic atmosphere will be disturbed."

"It might be possible," said I, "to think of something collective that would lessen the necessity for talking during this evening."

"True enough, but what?"

"You might have some music."

"Wagner would not feel like it, I know him: under such circumstances he does not know at all how to dominate, but he grows listless and loses his good humour."

"That mustn't be!" I exclaimed. "It is absolutely necessary to think of something!"

"Ah yes! Do help us out of it if possible, but do not count upon me, I feel utterly incapable of an idea that would be in the least amusing."

I saw Servais in the distance with Richter, they were by the edge of the lake, under the little landing shed, and were throwing bits of wood into the water, to induce Russ and Cos to take their bath.

"I believe a light is dawning in my mind," said I to Cosima. "Wait for me where you are." And I ran down to join the two young men at the edge of the lake.

"My friends," I said to them, "in the face of a delicate situation do you feel the moral force to do something unusual, grand, heroic?"

"Not at all, not at all," replied Servais. "I don't feel equal to anything of the kind."

"Not in the service of the Master?"

"One can always try," said Richter.

"That is something like! Now you see, Servais, you can't get out of it. We must improvise a first class charade for this evening."

"A charade! Before Wagner, we two alone?"

"With Richter at the piano."

"But we shall be absurd! We shall be speechless, like idiots."

"On the other hand the presence of the Master will inspire us. Moreover, we have had experience at your house in Munich, and it is very certain that only we two (you especially) have shown any talent of this kind."

"It is foolish, impossible, abominable," groaned Servais, in the depths of dismay. "I would rather throw myself into the lake."

"It is not a drama that they want of us, but a farce.. .. Oh, come, they will not be critical, and perhaps we shall have the glory of amusing the Master."

He raised his head abruptly, tucking his pale yellow locks behind his ears:

"Very well, so be it. Let us play a charade!"

"Ah, good! We must have everything arranged before supper. Let me tell the good news to Madam Cosima, and then we must get to work!"

"I see that you have thought of something," said Cosima, when I returned to her.

"Yes, we will play a charade."

"A charade? Splendid! I do not know exactly what that is, but I am sure that it is something good."

"As to that, you must risk the pillage of your wardrobe."

"I risk it. They shall open the cupboards and the drawers for you. Take anything you like, except, perhaps, my India shawl, which I cherish very much.... But you must tell me exactly what you are going to do, so I can explain it all to Wagner; otherwise he would torture his mind in the effort to comprehend.... I am sure that he hasn't the slightest idea what a charade may be!"

The drawing-room was deserted, so it was possible for Richter, Servais and me to gather round the piano, and with the greatest secrecy to think out, to discuss and to arrange our foolishness.

The music would be a great help to us in representing characters, crowds, uproars and riots. Therefore Richter's rôle was very important, and as, once the charade had commenced, he would be separated from us, we agreed upon certain signals that we should all recognise.

The gallery, with its large opening into the drawing-room, was chosen for our stage: its heavy portières, drawn back or dropped, formed the curtain. All was arranged, the lamps disposed in the right places, the accessories gathered together. Our greatest difficulty was to induce the servants to let us have a kettle and a broom from the kitchen, two objects that were indispensable to our stage setting. The cook, throwing up her arms, cried that it was not at all suitable to take such things to the drawingroom, so we were obliged to take them by main force.

XXVII

We had hardly finished supper and were still at table when Herr and Frau Schott were announced.

Wagner made a droll face, got up, and offered me his arm to pass to the drawing-room.

But just outside the door I slipped away, and with Servais I climbed to the first floor, where Cosima's maid was waiting to help us do the best we could with our costumes.

When we were ready Jacob lighted the stage lamps; and drawing the curtains a little, we peeped into the drawing-room.