AT WORK ON “LOHENGRIN.”
The network of connection that exists between Wagner’s opera texts, is but one of the many examples which might be adduced of the sequential thought characteristic of the composer. Each was suggested by its predecessor. The contest of the Minnesingers’ “Tannhäuser” was naturally followed by the story of the Mastersingers, first sketched in 1845, the year of the “Tannhäuser” performance, and then Elsa the love-pendant of innocence and purity to the material, voluptuous Venus.
In this story of “Lohengrin,” Wagner wavered for a time whether the hero should not remain on earth with Elsa. This ending he was going to adopt, Roeckel informs me, out of deference to friends and critics, but Wagner told me that Roeckel argued so eloquently for the return of Lohengrin to his state of semi-divinity, that to permit the hero to lead the life of a citizen would clash harshly with the poetic aspect, and so Wagner, strengthened in his original intention, reverted to his first conception. Allusion is made to this by Wagner in “A Commutation to my Friends,” written in Switzerland, 1851; the friend there referred to is August Roeckel.
During the composition of “Lohengrin” Wagner was at deadly strife with the world. He flattered where he despised. He borrowed money where he could. Just then the world was all black to Wagner. Of no period of his life can it be said that Wagner managed his finances with even ordinary care. He always lived beyond his means. Though he was in receipt of £225 a year from the Dresden theatre, a respectable income for that period be it remembered, he did not restrict his expenses. And so his naturally irritable temperament was intensified and he resolutely threw himself into the “Lohengrin” work, determined not to write for a public whose taste was vitiated by “theatres having no other purpose but amusement,” but to pour his soul out in the love-strains with which his heart was bursting. The original score shows that the order of composition was Act III, I, II, and the prelude last, the whole covering a period of eleven months, from September, 1846, to August, 1847. It was unusual for Wagner to compose in this manner; indeed, as far as I am aware, it was the only work so written.
At the time Wagner was meditating upon the “Lohengrin” music, when it was beginning to assume a definite shape in his mind, weighed down with the feeling of being “rejected” by his countrymen and depressed in general circumstances, the following letter, written to his mother, throws a charming sidelight upon Wagner, the man. The deep filial tenderness and poetic sentiment that breathe throughout it, touch and enchant us.
A LETTER TO HIS MOTHER.
My Darling Mother: It is so long since I have congratulated you on your birthday, that I feel quite happy to remember it once at the right time, which I have, alas, in the pressure of circumstances, so often overlooked. To tell you how intensely it delights me to know you body and soul among us; to press your hand from time to time; and to recall the memory of my own youth so lovingly tended by you. It is the consciousness that you are with us that makes your children feel one family. Thrown hither and thither by fate, forming new ties, they think of you, dearest mother, who have no other ties in this world than those which bind you to your children. And so we are all united in you: we are all your children. May God grant thee this happiness for years yet to come, and keep you in health and strength to see your children prosper until the end of your time.
When I feel myself oppressed and hindered by the world, always striving, rarely enjoying complete success, oft a prey to annoyances through failure, and wounded by the rough contact with the outer world, which, alas, so rarely responds to my inner wish, nothing remains to me but the enjoyment of nature. I throw myself weeping into her arms. She consoles me, and elevates me, whilst showing how imaginary are all those sufferings that trouble us. If we strive too high, Nature shows us that we belong to her, are her outgrowth, like the trees and plants, which, developing themselves from her, grow and warm themselves in the sun of heaven, enjoy the strengthening freshness, and do not fade or die till they have thrown out the seed which again produces germs and plants, so that the once created lives an eternity of youth.
When I feel how wholly I belong also to nature, then vanishes every selfish thought, and I long to shake every brother-man by the hand. How can I then help yearning for that mother from whose womb I came forth, and who grows weaker while I increase in strength? How do I smile at those societies which seek to discover why the loving ties of nature are so often bruised and torn asunder.
My darling mother, whatever dissonances may have sounded between us, how quickly and completely have they disappeared. It is like leaving the mist of the city to enter into the calm retreat of the wooded valley, where, throwing myself upon mossy earth, with eyes turned towards heaven, listening to the songsters of the air, with heart full, the tear unchecked starts forth, and I involuntarily stretch my hand towards you, exclaiming, “God protect thee, my darling mother; and when He takes thee to Himself, may it be done mildly and gently.” But death is not here: you live on through us; and a richer and more eventful life perhaps awaits you through us than yours ever could have been. Therefore, thank God who has so plentifully blessed you.