Part 5

"'With the certainty of the unspeakable importance of Schnorr for my musical creations, a new springtide of hope entered into my life. The medium was at last found through which my creative power could link itself to the present. The moment was come in which to teach and to make clear. That which had been universally misunderstood, denounced as unplayable, mocked at, covered with contempt, was about to be proved an undeniable artistic reality. To create a German style for representing works of German genius--this was our watchword. And with this consoling hope I found it easier to oppose, for the time, any further productions of _Tristan_. This work and these representations were so different from the usual performances that they would necessitate too sudden a leap into the unknown; the precipices and chasms yawning before it must be approached deliberately. We must begin by carefully roofing them over, by paving the way toward ourselves, the isolated artists, up to our summit, for those associates that were indispensable to us. So then, Schnorr being ours, it was determined to found a Royal College of Music and Dramatic Art.'

"Alas! how many obstacles, how many fresh struggles, and before the work could be achieved, how cruel the death that struck down the hero, in the fulness of youth, in the fulness of beauty!"

And now, when in the gallery I pass before the superb likeness of Schnorr von Karolsfeld, I in my turn feel my heart contract, and I stifle a cry of anger, of revolt, against so blind and imbecile a destiny.

XXVIII

To-day it happened that when we entered the drawing-room at Tribschen we found our host there entertaining strangers, visitors! A gentleman and a lady, both very small in figure and rather dull in aspect, were sitting with an air of constraint, only one of them speaking.

The Master presented them.

"His Excellency The Counsellor Isérof and Madame Isérof, who have come from Russia to see me."

We exchanged some rather cold salutations.

It was evident that our presence displeased the newcomers as much as theirs disturbed us. They felt that we were more intimate than they in the household; they saw that we were received very cordially, that Russ and Cos did not bark, but gave evidence of pleasure in our arrival. Yet these people were much older acquaintances of Wagner's than were we; they certainly would have preferred to have the Master to themselves. Ah! how well we could comprehend what they felt!

Madam Cosima followed me out on to the steps. We both leaned against the iron railing, and she told me about the visitors.

"Counsellor Isérof is a composer well thought of in Russia, who is worthy of being admitted into the free-masonry of the brotherhood if only to uphold firmly the Wagnerian standard at Petersburg. Of his wife there is not much to say. She seems to be rather in the background. They are going, as you are, to Munich, to be present at the production of the _Rheingold_."

"Well, between soldiers of the same army there must be good understanding."

"Indeed yes. The Master will undoubtedly keep them to supper."

"Very well. We must be very amiable to Isérofitus and Isérofita!"

XXIX

As the weather was beautiful and very warm, Madam Cosima bathed in the lake nearly every day with her little girls, and I was invited to join in this cool recreation.

Under the shadow cast by the little shed of the landing-place, which deepened the blue of the limpid water, we very prudently disported ourselves. Madam Cosima and the children wore long white dressing-gowns; she, with her blond hair hanging in braids, seemed like a saint surrounded by cherubs, or even a swan guiding her brood. I, myself, was in a bathing costume, and so I ventured beyond the prescribed limits into the clearer blue and the sunlight, cutting capers, and feeling very flattered by the admiration which my ease and audacity as a swimmer aroused among those who could not leave the shelter. But, when I had gone a little too far away, and a chorus of clear, sweet voices called me back with cries and supplications, then I returned very obediently and stood again in shallow water, and joined with the merry circle in madly splashing the water into the air, laughing with them as it fell again in showers of pearls.

XXX

Alas! we had only a few more days to remain in Lucerne. The opening of the Exposition of Painting was announced and we must be there, in order to fulfil our engagements with the journals to which we had promised our letters.

On one of these last days the weather was dull and stormy, and Madam Cosima and I had stayed under the great pine that the Master was so agile in climbing.

He had gone to his room to work for a time on his study of Beethoven. Madam Cosima was giving me information about Munich, telling me what was best to see there: among other things the gallery of Count von Schack, an original character even more interesting, perhaps, than his collection, which contained, among many daubs, a few fine paintings.

"You will also see my father, and someone who is very dear to him," added she.

As she spoke these words an expression of sadness passed quickly over her face and as quickly disappeared.

"I feel sure," she continued, "that you have no idea for whom your father wrote the '_Symphonie en blanc majeur_.' You do not know _'La femme Cygne,' 'La neige Vierge,' 'L'Hostie,' 'La moelle de Roseau,'_ or who was the original of those delightful portraitures."

"Then there was an original?"

"Yes, madame; before you were born that original inspired the poet who was your father, and at that time, it appears, his description was very like her."

"Do you know who she was?"

"The very person about whom I spoke a moment ago, and who, I am certain, will be curious to see you. She was born a Nesselrode, then became Madam Kalergic, and is to-day the Countess Muchanoff. Very enthusiastic about Wagner, she has been for a long time devoted to his cause. Intelligent, cultured, a musician! My father asserts that no one interprets Chopin as well as she does."

"Then there is a connection between you?"

"Yes."

"What bitterness in that 'Yes!' What has she done to you?"

"I believed that I could count upon her friendship, and she failed me at the moment when I had most need of it. Last winter she overwhelmed me with reproaches because I did not take her into my confidence regarding the distractions of my inner life. I replied quietly that I had nothing to confide, nothing to conceal. 'The painful situation in which I am placed will disentangle itself very naturally, since Herr von Bülow and I are agreed upon the divorce.' But my father, with whom I am no longer in touch, struck the last blow at me, in dissuading Herr von Bülow from this project. I wrote at once to Madam Muchanoff, begging her to use her influence with my father. I besought her to prevent him from influencing Herr von Bülow in a way so contrary to my interest and my dearest wishes. She has done nothing. Her reply was confused, without sympathy and without frankness. Ah! how I regret having broken through my reserve with her, and, above all, having allowed Wagner to write to her as he has done, so open-heartedly and with so much enthusiasm! But, hush! here he comes again. I do not want him to see that I am sad."

XXXI

Behind the house, in that court which formed a part of the garden, and from which the carriage-drive started, there was a high swing, which the children were allowed to use very carefully, and with which the older people sometimes amused themselves. One day Madam Cosima was sitting on the narrow board. Wagner offered to start the swing and give her a good flight through the air.

All went well for a time, but, little by little, the motion became more rapid; higher and still higher went the swing! In vain Madam Cosima begged for mercy. Carried away by a kind of frenzy, the Master paid no attention, and the incident began to have a terrifying aspect.

Cosima grew white; her hold relaxed, and she was about to fall.

"Do you not see that she is fainting?" I cried, throwing myself toward Wagner.

He grew pale, in his turn, and the danger was quickly averted. But, as the poor woman continued to be dizzy and trembling, the Master concluded it would be wise to create a diversion. He ran rapidly toward the house, and by the aid of the shutters, the mouldings and projections of the stones, he climbed nimbly up the side, and reaching the balcony of the floor above, leaped over it.

He had obtained the desired effect, but in replacing one evil by another. Trembling with anxiety, Cosima turned to me, saying under her breath:

"Above all things, do not notice him; do not look surprised, or you can never tell where he will end."

XXXII

"While you are in Munich," Wagner said to me, "try to induce them to show you the model of a theatre that the great architect Semper constructed for me. I warn you that this will not be easy, even with the introductions that I shall be able to give you. They have consigned this model to some out-of-the-way corner of the palace, and they are not fond of bringing it to light. They strongly suspect that I have not altogether given up the hope that one day I may see my buried project come to life again, and this presentiment is a real nightmare for my enemies."

A little later Madam Cosima drew me to one side, and said:--

"If you should be able, in connection with the approaching representation of the _Rheingold_, to bring before the public the history of that theatre project, which the Master told you about, I do not believe that I can be mistaken in saying that you would give him a real and profound satisfaction; for the truth about those events has been so completely disfigured by envy, incapacity, and spite as to be hardly recognisable."

"You may be very sure that I will gladly do what I can."

"It is just because I am sure of your devotion to this noble cause that I make my petition to you."

"But I know nothing about the project. Adhere can I get the information necessary in order not to be misleading?"

"Of course I will tell you all about it, as briefly and dearly as I can. Come upstairs with me to my dressing-room; there you can take notes."

This _boudoir_, on the first floor, was a little room, with wall coverings and draperies of green silk, and situated in a corner of the house. It overlooked the garden and, through the trees, one could see the blue of the lake and the violet shadows of the mountains. I had already passed many hours in this room, Madam Cosima having had the kindness to read to me there the Hindoo history of Nal and Damayanti, translating it from the German. I was searching just then for biographies of illustrious lovers of all countries, having promised to contribute a series of portraitures for the publication contemplated by the Editor Lecroix, and entitled "Les Grandes Amoureuses." Jean Richepin, Zola, and others collaborated in this work, which, for some reason, was never completed. A few portraitures only appeared in print, but not in the order of succession, and the greater number of the manuscripts were scattered.

I installed myself in my accustomed place on a little divan fitted into the corner. Madam Cosima seated herself in front of me, her elbows resting on the table. She was charming so, in the full light, and with her crown of heavy blond hair. Her soft blue eyes shone with a tender light; a pleased smile half disclosed her pretty teeth. We were both delighted at the idea of planning something which might give pleasure to the Master!

I took a pencil and paper, and listened with all my ears.

"Perhaps you do not know," said she, "that Wagner was condemned to death in Saxony, for having taken part in the revolution of '49. As he fled, in company with others, he owed his escape to a singular chance. In a village near the frontier, his companions were seized, but they did not see Wagner, who was asleep in an out-of-the-way corner of the hall of the inn."

"Wagner condemned to death!"

"It is incredible, is it not? But you must not imagine that he was a very fierce democrat. He was occupied only with questions of art, and, like Walther of the _Meistersinger_, he was chiefly in revolt against the tyranny of routine. He sincerely believed that a political upheaval would lead to an artistic reform; he has paid for that error by twelve years of exile. Defeated as the insurrection was, he still clung to the illusion that better times would surely come for his country and for art. So then it was that, alone, cut off from the world, with nothing to live for, he conceived, in view of those better times, the plan of his tetralogy, of a great national drama, which should make to live before the regenerated German people the gods and heroes of ancient Germanic mythology. Years passed; the better times never came, and the life of the exile grew more and more bitter. Yet, beyond any doubt, Richard Wagner became a celebrated and popular composer throughout all Germany. Thanks to the intervention of my father, _Tannhäuser_ and _Lohengrin_ had been given in Weimar, and also in other capital cities. The exigencies of his life would not permit of his disdaining the situation which now offered itself. The Master was aware that he would have to come down from the heights of his dream and follow this more accessible path which opened before him. In 1857, therefore, he interrupted the composition of the Ring of the Nibelungen, of which the _Rheingold_, the _Valkyrie_ and two acts of _Siegfried_ were completed."

"What! was he already so far advanced in that tremendous work?"

"Yes. And then Wagner performed another miracle: he composed _Tristan and Isolde_! When the amnesty was finally granted to him, he went back to Germany. He saw what was happening there with regard to matters of art, and that he could not dream of producing his tetralogy. However, he published the poems from it, preceded by a preface wherein he pointed out in a supremely able way the steps that ought to be taken to attain to the creation of a great National Art. Then he applied himself to the composition of his _Meistersinger_. When the King of Bavaria summoned Wagner, he had read this preface, and the first thing he said to him was, 'Finish your Nibelungen. I feel that I am called to help you realise your vision.'

"And so it was decided to build a theatre that should be absolutely independent of daily representations and of change of programme. A theatre the opening of which, occurring only once a year, should be an artistic consecration. But what architect would be capable of constructing this monument according to the ideas of the Master? None other than Semper, the designer of the Dresden Museum and theatre, an artist of the first rank, whose talents were unquestioned. The King gave him the command to draw up the plans. Just at this time a formidable intrigue was organised, which revealed itself in a succession of spiteful acts, outrages, and furious onslaughts against him whose only dream was to endow his country with a superior art. This reached such a point that Wagner, fearing for his royal friend, withdrew from Munich. But Ludwig II. would not let go his prize. He banished the principal promoters of these villainies, among others the Minister Pforten, to a distance; and the negotiations with Semper on the subject of the theatre were continued.

"The enemies were conquered only in appearance. They broke loose again and, after an exhausting struggle, too long to recount, it was found necessary to give up the building of the theatre. Once more Wagner retired. He came to Tribschen, and again took up his interrupted work, after an interval of ten years.

"The King only asks of him the completion of this tetralogy, and it is his wish to produce the different parts of it, from year to year, in his own theatre, since the foolishness and malignity of those about him will not allow of the carrying out of Semper's plans. But Wagner has sworn that he will not be present at any of these fragmentary representations of his work. He considers himself as virtually exiled from Bavaria. So, for the second time, Destiny has reserved for him the trial of not being present at the performances of his own works, and of not hearing the resounding music of his immense orchestra. That is the fate imposed upon him to-day, by his artistic conscience.

"There, dear friend, is the history of the defeat of a man of genius by a horde of envious imbeciles. I am sure that Wagner will be glad if you reestablish the truth about this affair which has been so abominably misrepresented.

"And now let us hurry down. They have probably already noticed our absence."

XXXIII

Villiers had promised Wagner to read him his one-act play _La Révolte_, which the younger Dumas, who admired it very much, had caused to be accepted at "The Vaudeville," the plan being to produce it the following winter. Villiers had always postponed this serious reading. But finally on the evening before the last day of our stay, as we were saying good-night, they called out to him not to forget to bring the manuscript when we should return on the morrow.

Villiers was ambitious to be a great actor--perhaps he was one; for a long time his mind was possessed by a single idea, that of learning the _rôle_ of Hamlet and interpreting it better than anyone else had ever done. He had even expended very considerable sums on the preparation of a suitable costume, of black velvet and jet, which he often put on and, standing before a mirror, passed whole nights in trying different effects. At this time a pair of padded tights was all that remained of the costume, and Villiers sometimes wore them on social occasions, when he wished to have beautiful legs.

The reading of _La Révolte_, at Tribschen, was a glorious moment for the author of that work.

When he read or declaimed, there was no longer any question of inarticulate speech or broken phrasing. He enunciated the text in a clear and resonant voice, and with such perfect art that both the characters and the sentiments were wonderfully distinct.

He was listened to in a religious silence, with extreme attention and an increasing interest.

It is certain that if the play fell, in "The Vaudeville," before the Philistines whom it scourged, it was avenged in advance on this evening, when it went off with shining success.

"You are a true poet," said Wagner to the author, who was greatly elated, "and I should like to see you turn upon the ideal world, more important than the real for artists like us, the same searching gaze with which you have penetrated the material world. I should like to see you draw forth from there types as living as those which you have just evoked."

Villiers explained, very clearly this time, that it was in defence of the ideal that he had created this character--a woman haunted by lofty aspirations, yet married to a man who was of the earth earthy, utterly incapable of understanding her, and constantly torturing her without knowing it.

"A feminine Prometheus," concluded he, "whose vitals are devoured by a goose!"

The evening was prolonged as much as possible, but the time came, all the same, for the farewells and separation. It was agreed upon that we should pass a few more days here on our return from Munich, as the shortest route back to Paris is certainly by way of Tribschen.

A last time, then, we drove in Wagner's carriage along the dark roads, and after it had left us at the hotel, we listened for a long time to the sound of the wheels and the beating of the horses' hoofs, becoming gradually fainter and fading away, little by little, into the night....

Early next morning, when we came out of the Hôtel du Lac to go to the station, whom should we find waiting for us, but Russ, the beautiful Newfoundland!

He sometimes came alone to see us in this way, but on this especial day and at such an hour it was truly very singular! Was it because he had an intimation of some change, or had they sent him to bear us a last salute?

Very gratified and very much touched, we responded to his caresses, and it was upon his great, kind head that, with sincere emotion, we pressed the kiss of farewell.

PART SECOND

I

A heavy sky, a foggy atmosphere and the warm rain that falls without a sound: the weather is entirely in unison with our sentiments! No more blue sky, no more sun: all is gray around us as within us. The lake of Constance, upon which we sail to reach Bavaria, appears quite ugly under the mist, after the lake of Lucerne which was for us so blue and limpid! Yet this water which bears us, and which, alas! is not the same that bathes the dear promontory with its tall poplars, bears us nevertheless toward a predestined country, toward the Theatre-Temple where the rites of our religion are fulfilled.

But this melancholy must be driven away, and it is Villiers who makes the charge. Still full of pride over his success of the evening before, he is unable to stop thinking and speaking of it.

"_Hein!_ How he listened! What a public! How pleased I was!"

And again his laugh rings out: his spirit kindles through the obscurities of his speech.

During breakfast we install ourselves upon the deck under the shelter of a dripping canvas. And what a breakfast! An omelet harder than a pancake, and filled with a stuffing the nature of which defies all speculation.

"Yellow turnips!" hazards Villiers.

"It can't be yellow turnips. It is more like bits of raw pumpkin."

We consult the _Speisekarte_ and find "Omelet with Apricots." Quarters of unripe apricot in an overcooked omelet--what an infernal combination! O Shade of Brillat-Savarin![1] Our delicate French epicurism is doubtless about to be put to a rude test by the barbarously heavy German cooking.

But even so! Is not the drinking horn of the pilgrim still hanging from our shoulders? Does not the staff still burden our hands? Roots torn from the earth, muddy water from the brooks, even these things ought to content us.

True! And surely one can see that it is only in the sincerest charity, in order to give them a pleasure, that we bestow upon the fishes of the lake that "Omelet with Apricots."

At Lindau the boat stops and we enter Bavaria. And here we are stirred by a new emotion at the thought of treading this soil, of being in the land of Ludwig II., the young king of the Graal, whom we ourselves have also chosen for our King. Here all speaks of him, all things bear his colours and his crest: the time-tables, the gates, the letter-boxes are painted in white and blue: the royal crown in chiselled bronze is everywhere to be seen, surmounting the coat of arms with its lozenge of blue and silver, which upholds the Hons rampant; "_Königreich Bayern_,"[2] these words are on all sides, on the façades, on the arch of the station, on the railway carriages.

During the journey to Munich we try to recall everything that Wagner has told us about the king: best of all is Wagner's first interview with the messenger whom the king had sent, and who, after searching vainly for a long time, finally discovered the unfindable great man.

This was at Stuttgart: Wagner had stopped there after fleeing from Vienna. During many months, in the Opera-house of that city, he had directed the rehearsals of _"Tristan and Isolde."_ His hotel-keeper--having long since presented his bill, was kept patient by expectations of the fruitful receipts of the first night.

But after seventy rehearsals, and a very few representations, by reason of disaffection and intrigue the work was declared impossible and the company broke up. The danger of detention for debt still existed; Wagner dreaded this above all things, he had not sufficient resources with which to satisfy his creditors, but falling back upon a project for a series of concerts in Russia, he had left Vienna. That plan also fell through.