Later I find the following:—

You cannot conceive what a system of espionage has grown up about Wagner, how keenly all his actions are criticised. He deemed it advisable to rearrange the seating of the band (I send you a plan); but oh! the hubbub it has produced is dreadful. “What! change that which satisfied Morlacchi and Reissiger?” They charge Wagner with want of reverence for tradition and with taking delight in upsetting the established order of things.

In the middle of the year it seems the “Faust” overture was performed; the reception was disheartening. It was another disappointment, and showed Wagner how little the public was in sympathy with his art ideal. Although performed twice, it produced no effect.

SPONTINI AND “LA VESTALE.”

This is not to be wondered at [writes Roeckel]; for in the judgment of some here it compares favourably with the grandest efforts of Beethoven. Such a work ought to be heard several times before its beauties can be fully perceived.

Wagner day by day becomes to me the beacon-light of the future; his depth of thought, his daring philosophical investigations, his unrestrained criticism, startle one out of the every-day optimism of the Dresden surroundings. The only ready ear besides myself is Semper, who, however, agrees with Wagner’s outbursts only so far as they are applicable to his own art, architecture, as in music he is but a dilettante. Much of Wagner’s earnestness in his demands for improvement in art matters is attributed by the opposition to self-glorification. At the head of it stands Reissiger, who can not and will not accept the success of “Rienzi” as bona fide. He is forever hinting at some nefarious means, and cannot understand why his own operas should fail with the same public, unless, indeed, he stupidly adds, it is because he neglected to surround himself with a “life-guard of claqueurs”; but he was a true German, and against such malpractices. You can imagine how such things annoy Wagner; and although he eventually laughs, it is not until they have left a scar somewhere. For myself, I wonder how he can mind such stuff. I keep it always from him, but nevertheless it always seems to reach him; and Minna is not capable of withholding either praise or blame from him, although I have tried hard to prove to her that it affects her husband deeply, whose health is none of the strongest. Another annoyance is the Leipzic clique, with Mendelssohn at the head, or, to put the matter into the right light, as the ruling spirit. He gives the watchword to the clique, and then sneaks out of sight, as if he lived in regions too refined and sublime to bother himself about terrestrial affairs. But the worst sore is that coming from our intendant. He has not the shadow of an idea upon music; takes all his initiative from current phrases learnt by heart; he is the veriest type of a courtier, and hates nothing so much as “revolutionary” suggestions from a subordinate, for as such he rates the conductors, nor has he a glimpse of discernment as to their relative merits, and finding Reissiger always ready to bow to his aristocratic acumen, he evidently thinks him the more gifted. The matter is not made better by the bitter tone of the press, which, arrogating to itself the office of defenders of true art, smites heavily the “iconoclast Wagner.” Schladebach leads them, and unfortunately, his prominent position inspires courage in scribblers.

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We have had a very interesting event here. Spontini came to conduct his “Vestal.” It was done twice. He is a composer who has said what he had to say in his own manner. He commands respect, is full of dignity and amiability. Wagner had trained the orchestra well; his respectful bearing to the veteran composer incited them to exert themselves heart and soul. The result was a very satisfactory rendering. But after the second performance, a peremptory order came from Luttichorn, that the “Vestal” was not to be repeated, and Wagner was to convey the decision to Spontini. Wagner prayed me to accompany him; first, because he does not speak French so fluently as I do; and secondly, since Spontini had shown himself very friendly towards me, and it was hoped my presence might calm the composer’s expected anger, for Spontini is known for his irritability on such occasions. We went. The time was most opportune, for as a new dignity had just been conferred upon him by the Pope, his vanity was so flattered that he listened with unruffled temper to what was, for him, unpleasant news.

December, 1844.

Perhaps the event of the year was the removal of the remains of Weber from London to Dresden. An earnest committee had been working some time towards this end; concerts and operatic performances had been given in Germany and subscription lists opened to provide the necessary funds. Wagner was truly enthusiastic in the matter, but August Roeckel merits equal tribute. It was arranged that the deceased musician’s eldest son, Max von Weber, should come to London to carry out the necessary arrangements. He came in June, 1844, and was the guest of Edward Roeckel. We met daily. Max von Weber was a bright, intelligent man. Enthusiastic for the cause, I accompanied him everywhere, soliciting subscriptions from compatriots in this country and interviewing the authorities to facilitate the removal.