Part 8

Sometimes we amused ourselves by playing charades. It was undoubtedly I who proposed this kind of diversion, of which I was very fond. It was a pastime that had pleased my father, and with which, at Neuilly, he had often enlivened the Thursdays at home of the Rue de Longchamp.

From the first, Servais showed a remarkable aptitude. He was always ready with something opportune, something unexpected, and he was never deterred by the fear of producing comical effects. Villiers, great actor as he was! declared himself to be incapable of improvising two sentences, so reserved for himself the honour of guessing the word of the charade. Schuré requested to be allowed to hold the office of the public--a rather abstracted public--while Scheffer and his dog, which never left him, were both very attentive. As for Richter, he consented to appear in the rôle of a mute personage, so mute even, that upon one occasion when representing a sick man, he allowed the brilliantine to be poured into his mouth without a protest, in order not to spoil the effect.

How did the lady of many names, who ought to have had something else to do, take it into her head to announce to the whole city the way in which we passed our evenings? It always seemed to be known. One evening when we had had supper at the Café Maximilian, just as we started to go out, we saw several carriages roll up and stop one after the other in front of the Café. Before we had time to think about it, the Countess Muchanoff alighted from the first coach and entered hastily.

"At last you are found!" cried she, "you have become very elusive, you are never at your apartments, you never come when one invites you, so we decided to look for you everywhere. For the last hour we have been going to all the beer-gardens, all the restaurants in Munich; this is the very last one."

We were a little disconcerted. Villiers had made a show of running away, but the retreat was cut off, the doors of the other carriages opened, ladies and gentlemen, who figured in the elegant society which had been present at the disastrous fête, spread out over the much be-glorified side-walk.

"It is very wrong of you to be so exclusive," continued Madame Muchanoff, "to organise charming evening parties, without letting anyone know! Now that we have discovered you, we shall take you all away with us. Come, come, you must do some charades, we are all so curious to see that!"

"Charades!"

How did they know?... and did they really imagine that we would proceed to play at charades in the city?

"But, dear lady----" said I to her, "it was only

among ourselves and as one would play at children's games, that we amused ourselves so; we should lose all our spontaneity if we undertook to be serious about it."

They begged and they insisted, but we remained firm and unmoved. We asserted that we considered them all as our guests, that we ought to receive and entertain them, and that they must excuse us for not being able to do it in a Café.

At this moment someone opened for us an empty room, turned on the lights, and all these gay people, very much pleased, went in there, followed by the surprised and admiring gaze of the public. The ladies loosened their evening wraps and revealed their bare shoulders and light costumes. The men were in evening coats.

Many of the persons present we hardly knew, and at first we were a little ill at ease. But someone ordered tea, someone else champagne, the women lighted their Russian cigarettes, as slender as toothpicks, and the momentary awkwardness vanished. Count von Berghem, a man with very fascinating manners, of whom I know nothing more than his name, entered into a discussion with Schuré and Servais upon the analogies which exist between the Gods of Edda, from whom Wagner has taken his heroes, and the Gods of Olympus, between Wotan and Jupiter.

The Countess Muchanoff seemed determined to reconquer Villiers, who escaped from her as long as possible, but she made such gracious advances to him, she expressed such a lively admiration for his talent and his mind, that he regained all his assurance.

In fact, this rather unusual overture, this unexpected invasion, became a very charming and cordial event. The conclusion of the episode revealed Villiers' character: he was no longer crestfallen at having seated himself upon the piano and allowed his feet to dangle, he only regretted that he did not have his Maltese cross in his pocket on this occasion, so that he could pin it to his waistcoat.

XI

Our friends wished very much to show us the model of the Semper theatre that Wagner had charged us to go and see, and which was very seldom shown. A sort of basement in the Royal Residence served as a place of concealment for this very pretty miniature theatre--modelled in plaster, and standing upon a large table of white wood. Greatly interested, we circled about the little edifice, the plan of which is so rational and so well adapted to its purpose--and it saddened us to think of Wagner's frustrated hopes and bitter disappointment at having to give up his plan for constructing a model theatre.

Who could have foretold that, seven years later, thanks to the unflagging faith of the royal friend, we should see it rise up, triumphant, upon the hill at Bayreuth?

XII

Richard Wagner, while in Munich, had been for a long time the neighbour of Count Friedrich von Schack, and there was a warm friendship between them. I was commissioned to remind Richter not to forget to invite the Count to the dress rehearsal of the _Rheingold_, and I had promised, also, to pay a visit to his famous collection of paintings.

This Count von Schack was a writer of some celebrity--his "History of Literature and Dramatic Art in Spain" Wagner esteemed very highly; he knew Arabic, Persian, Sanscrit, and had translated, among others, the "Book of the Kings" of Ferdousi. At one time the Master contemplated a musical drama founded upon one of the episodes of this work; he was also tempted by a legend contained in "The Voices of the Ganges," a collection also translated by Schack.

As to his museum, the public reviled more than they praised it; they even went so far as to call it the "Krausteum" (so true it is that philanthropy engenders ingratitude)--because of the things gathered in by this millionaire, who believed himself to be doing right in ordering pictures from poor artists from whom no one else had ever ordered!

As a matter of fact, the collection included not a few horrors and some very beautiful works.

The copies of the great masters, from Lenbach's brush, for example, seemed to me very remarkable. They recalled to me a commission for this artist, with which Cosima had charged me, and I decided to go at once to his studio, which was near the Schack gallery.

Lenbach had a delicate, rather crafty face, the sharp look of the hunter, a short, red-brown beard and a one-sided smile.

He showed me some delicious portraits of children which he was just finishing, he made me admire some authentic and very beautiful canvases of the old masters which were in his possession, among others, a sketch by Rubens and a splendid portrait of Francis I. by Titian.

This is what I had come to say to him:--

"It is absolutely necessary that you should paint the portrait of Richard Wagner, it is a disgrace to Germany that no artist of worth has yet attempted it. Madame Cosima sends the order to you, and leaves you free to fix your own price."

"I will undertake the work with the greatest pleasure," said Lenbach, "and I wish no further payment than the honour of having done it if I should succeed."

"That is indeed worthy of you," said I, holding out my hand to him, "but Cosima will doubtless feel differently, you must discuss that question with her."

"There is another portrait which I should also very much love to do, and it is yours."

"My portrait! You could find time for that?"

"I could do it at once, I beg you to allow me to do it."

O, careless youth! Many times Lenbach spoke again of this portrait, but the idea of posing wearied me and I evaded the appointments. The poignant regret that I now feel is surely a sufficient punishment.

XIII

The rehearsals of the _Rheingold_ with orchestra had commenced! Wagner had made it a point that his friends should be allowed to be present at the last one before the dress rehearsal. This prospect filled us with joy.

Richter, however, seemed to be anxious. Could anything be going wrong? The singers were of the first rank and full of enthusiasm, the members of the orchestra were, without a doubt, the best in the world,--but there was also the management of the theatre, which laboured secretly at the staging of the work. What would this staging be like, without the suggestions of the Master, carried on by a management that was hostile to him, and looking out only for itself? Incredible as it may appear, it is true that the men who directed and managed the theatre, to which Wagner brought glory and profit, were hostile to Wagner.

And yet the manager, Perfall, had been appointed solely at the recommendation of the Master, whom he had solicited with a servile insistence, swearing that he would have no other object except to devote himself to him and to his interests, with all his heart and all his ability. As soon as he was appointed, with an unparalleled treachery, he had betrayed the one to whom he owed his position, and hindered in a thousand ways the production of the _Meistersinger_.

Nor could one depend very much more upon the Court Counsellor, Lorenz von Düfflipp, intermediary between the Palace and the theatre, who, in spite of his obsequious flatteries of Wagner, was secretly adverse to him, and hand in hand with the management.

Fruitless reprisals indeed, but we called him "Tartufflipp,"[1] and his title of "Hofrath" changed itself for us into "Chaussetrappe."[2]

This counsellor, secretary to the king, had replaced Pfistmeister, the messenger who had carried the good news to Wagner from Ludwig II., and who was now, also, one of his most implacable adversaries.

"Tartufflipp," with his prepossessing face, was badly built, high-shouldered, even hump-backed--and the report ran that his hump was greatly increased by the Wagnerian theatre project, which having juggled away, he had concealed there.

What could result from all these artful under-hand dealings? Already they had written me from Tribschen that the costumes, according to the sketches sent to the Master, were hideous and would have to be re-made. Someone had conceived the idea of building up great scaffolds of gold upon the heads of the Gods, without remembering that in this opera, where gold is discovered, it ought not to appear until after Alberich had plundered and forged it. Would attention be paid to the author's suggestions? In that which pertained to the staging was there not all to be feared, considering that the only beings upon whom it depended were spiteful and incapable?

Decidedly, Richter's anxiety explained itself and extended to us.

[1] Hypocrite.

[2] Trap-door.

XIV

At last the time had come! The last rehearsal but one was about to begin. How mysterious and imposing was the empty and dimly lighted theatre! It appeared immense, almost like a cathedral, the stage all bathed in a blue haze, produced, no doubt, by some reflection of the outside daylight, for it was then three o'clock in the afternoon.

Only a very few had been accorded the favour of being present at this rehearsal, which was without stage scenery or costumes.

Liszt was there. His tall dark silhouette loomed up from the orchestra stalls. I hastened to salute the Great Man, now become the friend, and I asked if he would permit me to remain near him during the rehearsal, that he might explain to me some things in the opera, the score of which I did not sufficiently know. The permission was very graciously accorded.

Now the musicians began to arrive and to take their places! How solemn and almost religious was the emotion we felt!

"For very many years I have waited for this moment," said Liszt, "and I have feared, indeed, that it would never come.... If you but knew the miseries, the wrecked and perished hopes despite which this work has germed and flowered! I have seen it all and I have suffered too because of it. I do not know how Wagner has been able to preserve his divine inspiration intact. He seems to me like a traveller who bore a cup full of water through the midst of a whirlwind without being forced to spill a single drop. But even in harbour, you see, he finds no shelter.... Dining his exile he was for many years the only German who had not heard _Lohengrin_. To-day, the tones of his great orchestra revealing his new work to the world, will sound for the first time and he will not hear them. Ah, what a ransom ought to be paid to genius!"

Now came Richter, pale and grave, and mounted to his desk.

We were hardly a dozen listeners in the dark audience hall. I caught a glimpse of the blond, almost white locks of Servais, and I divined the form of Edouard Schuré beside him. I also saw a shadow, climbing over the orchestra chairs: it was Villiers hastening to seat himself farther back, in order to be quite alone, quite undistracted.

They drew the curtain before the stage. Richter gave two or three quick blows on the desk, then with a serious and proud gesture raised his baton.

And now a deep, muffled tone rises from the orchestra, it vibrates almost imperceptibly in the lowest depths of the scale, indistinct, without form, it trembles in a limpid motion, then seems to dilate, to spread out, a slow sweet gliding movement floats up and loses itself, soon another ripples up along the same path and floats away, as one wave follows another.

Very soon these musical waves swell out and follow each other continuously upward; from above spheres of light seem to fall, spreading and diffusing like drops of milk in clear water. The curtain is drawn to reveal mysterious abysses seen through the blue transparency of the Rhine. On the stage there is nothing but a confused shadow, but how clearly the imagination inspired by the music, evokes the picture! Better, perhaps, than could the scenery itself.

Now a gentle undulation sways the tranquil water and suddenly a crystal voice resounds through the crystal fluid, a nymph glides from the heights and swims below, stirring the water to new motion. The words of her song form sliding syllables:

Weïa! Waga! Woge, du Welle, Walle zur Wiege! Wagala Weïa Wallala Weiala Weïa!

And she sways about the reef, at the summit of which dimly gleams the vein of gold; then another daughter of the Rhine plunges from the heights and joyously pursues her flying sister. But the voice of a third undine chides them both as she, laughing, sings:

Heila Weïa! Wildes Geschwister! Des Goldes Schlaf Hütet ihr schlecht; Besser bewacht Des schlummemden Bett Sonst büsst ihr beide das Spiel!

Then she in her turn dives below, and these gracious dwellers of the Rhine swim and frolic, upborne by the harmonious waves of music, around the prophetic rock where sleeps the imprisoned gold, untouched and virgin still.

On this occasion the Rhine maidens are standing quietly upon the platform in walking costumes and straw hats, but they can hardly be seen in the obscurity and, without interfering with our imaginings they lend their fresh and limpid voices to the forms the poet has created.

Now comes a heavy and jarring rhythm, and from the most obscure depths of the river, slowly emerges a strange dwarf, with white hair and long white beard braided into one strand. He climbs along the slippery rocks. The music expresses his struggles, as he complains of the painful ascent, alliterating his words:

Garstig glatter Glitschriger Glimmer! Wie gleit ich aus!

His eager look follows the undines in their charming play, and, unable to reach them, he calls to them:

He, He! Ihr Nicker! Wie seid ihr niedlich Neidliches Volk!

Aus Nibelheim's Nacht Naht' ich euch gern, Neigtet ihr euch zu mir.

The Rhine maidens, frightened, cluster about the rock:

"Hütet das Gold! Vater warnte Von solchem Feind."

"What dost thou seek, thou who comest up from below?"

"Wie scheint im Schimmer Ihr hell und schön Wie gern umschlänge Der schlanken eine mein Arm Schlüpfte hold sie herab!"

"Nun lach ich der Furcht Der Feind ist verliebt."

And the frolicsome undines dive from the rocks, pursuing, enticing, tempting the ardent dwarf, who, in a passionate fury, leaps from rock to rock, trying to catch one or another. But the elusive maidens always evade him, slipping away, and as he falls back, breathless and angry, the clear notes of their mocking laughter float back to him.

But to-day, in the pleasure of reviving these memories, I must not fall into the error of describing the _Rheingold_. When I first heard it in Munich in the solemn stillness of the dark theatre, it was like the virgin metal gleaming in the sunlight at the summit, of the rock, for the first time revealed to the world, while now, like gold which has passed through the mint, it is known to all.

This first part of the Tetralogy, which is the prologue, was not divided into acts. Its four tableaux were given without interruption. The scenes were shifted in full view of the audience to the accompaniment of the orchestra. The performance lasted for more than two hours, and yet, even at this first hearing when all the faculties of attention were taxed to the utmost, one did not experience any fatigue; the architectural outline of the drama was so simple and clear cut, the music evoked with so much certainty the different phases, or so to speak, the elementaries of the work, and individualized them in themes and rhythms of such extraordinary beauty.

Only one passage seemed to me difficult to understand, the one where Wotan, in the face of the treasure forged by the Nibelungen which he has just ravished from them, is, according to the text, "struck by a high thought." At this moment is heard for the first and only time, the "Leit-motif" of the sword, that sword called "Nothung" which is to play such an important role in the following works, but which, when the theme enters which symbolises it, is not designated by any phrase or gesture. Liszt, whom I questioned about it, agreed with me that here was an obscurity, and that Wagner would have noticed it if he had been present at the rehearsals. Later, I spoke to the Master himself with regard to this point, and he remarked that the observation was a very just one, and that he would take advantage of it. After that, a sword was added to the treasure of the Nibelungen; Wotan discovered and brandished it at the moment when the theme was introduced.

We were all carried away by enthusiasm when the Gods, walking across the valley on the rainbow, entered Walhalla and the curtain fell. Richter, flushed with emotion, was surrounded, acclaimed. Liszt embraced and complimented him warmly. The singers were also praised, and the musicians of the orchestra who had so admirably fulfilled their glorious task.

After having escorted Liszt to his carriage, still filled with elation that was not to be calmed we set out, all together, to take possession of the Café Maximilian. Instead of ordering supper, we asked for pens and paper, and each one of us wrote to Richard Wagner, expressing to him all the admiration and delight which his new masterpiece had inspired in us, and thanking him for having accorded us the great favour of hearing it before the general public, and even alas, before he himself had heard it.

XV

It was the 25th of August, anniversary day of the birth of King Ludwig II. Munich was adorned with flags, and its regiments marched in full dress uniforms of sky blue. We had heard one of their bands play before the Royal Palace the very "Huldigung-Marsch"--which I had so laboriously deciphered at four hands with Wagner. The King was not in Munich, but would come in time to be present at the dress rehearsal of the _Rheingold_, which was to take place on Friday the 27th of August--two days later.

Ludwig II., who was adored by his people, did not seek for ovations. On the contrary, he avoided them as often as possible, and thereby greatly disappointed the Bavarian people, who were always eager to see him and were so rarely gratified!

It appeared indeed, that all the young girls of the kingdom, and even perhaps, all the women, were in love with their youthful and charming sovereign; but he was haughty and reserved by nature, and in the wonderful locations which he had chosen for his castles he lived almost alone, surrounded by the splendours of art and the beauties of Nature.

This, however, did not prevent him from fulfilling his duties as king; he had according to custom inaugurated the International Exposition of Painting, and had left the city the same day. Very few would have the opportunity of seeing him when he should return to hear the work of his great friend.

I, too, was born on the 25th of August, the day of St Ludwig the king, so it was also my fête-day. I had told Cosima this fact because of my vain-glory in possessing something in common with the royal archangel. To my great surprise, she remembered it and sent me a charming parasol, of a new model, which they called, "Sea-side parasol," the novelty consisting in the fact that it could also be used as a cane. So, in promenading through Maximilianstrasse, I liked better to lean upon my parasol than to open it and shelter myself from the sun.

Many pilgrims were to be seen in Munich, come from all sides to hear the _Rheingold_. Among them were pointed out to us, Madame Pauline Viardot, Saint-Saëns, Tourguenef, Baron von Leon, manager of the theatre at Weimar, and many others whom I have forgotten.

We were all very nervous and excited. Only two days more! Would everything be ready? Hans Richter could not conceal his disquietude, so many things about the conduct of the manager seemed to him to be ambiguous.

"Perfall will not allow anything to be seen of his stage arrangements," said he, "but he has the expression of a traitor."

"Perfall, Perfide!"

One would have said that the labours of the Cyclops were taking place behind the walls of the long closed theatre. There were rumours of steam engines, hoisted upon the stage by means of lifting machines and pulleys. For what purpose? Truly it was very terrifying; what would come of all this mystery?

In any case Richter was sure of his orchestra. It was he, who like St Christoper with the child Jesus, would bear the whole weight of the undertaking upon his robust shoulders.

XVI

At last it was the 27th of August and we entered the theatre.

A crowd of spectators were gathered about the entrance and before the Royal Palace. They must have known that the apartments in the palace communicated directly with the royal box, and that no one could see the King pass or know when he entered the theatre, so it could only have been the irresistible attraction of walls behind which something is happening, that held all those loungers there.

The theatre was brilliantly lighted, although nearly empty. The hundred or so persons whom the King had seen fit to invite were scattered through the house and were hardly noticeable. The side boxes and a few rows of the orchestra chairs were to be used on this occasion. The dress circle and the boxes facing the stage, in the midst of which the royal box filled so large a space, were shut off.