Richard Wagner His Life and His Dramas / A Biographical Study of the Man and an Explanation of His Work

by W. J. Henderson

To the casual observer Wagner at this period probably seemed to have reason to be well pleased with his life. He was rid of the burden of the deficit remaining after the "Ring" performances, he had a beautiful home, a devoted wife, and was surrounded by friends who gave him that ceaseless praise for which his heart ever hungered. But Wagner could not forgive the world for not taking him at his own valuation. He resented Germany's reluctance to accept the new gospel of art which he preached. Nevertheless he laboured away at the score of "Parsifal," drifting off into that religious mysticism which has affected so many composers in their old age, and at the same time realising that now at last he was writing something which would not be practicable outside of the secluded auditorium of Bayreuth. Fragments of the work were scored from time to time, and at the Wahnfried Christmas festival of 1878 the prelude was performed by the Meiningen Court Orchestra. But it was not till after the trip to Italy that he was ready to begin active preparations for the performance of the drama. The piano rehearsals were begun in August, 1881. But in the winter of 1881-82 bad health again sent Wagner south, and he completed his score in January in Palermo.

He returned to Bayreuth in May. The subscriptions for the "Parsifal" production arrived very slowly, and at the close of 1881 the amount subscribed was still lamentably small, but once more King Ludwig came to the rescue. He offered Wagner the use of the forces of the Munich Opera House, in return for which that theatre acquired the exclusive right to the performance of "Die Feen." Nevertheless in the end Wagner was compelled, in order to meet all expenses, to abandon his plan of giving the performances for his subscribers alone. The first two performances were exclusive, but the general public was admitted to the others with the happiest results.

The final rehearsals began with July, 1882, and the first performance was given on July 26. Fifteen other performances were given, the last on Aug. 29. The production engaged the services of a number of the best singers in Germany, many distinguished principals consenting to take small parts. The scenery and stage effects again commanded high praise, and Wagner's skill as a designer of stage pictures was conceded even by those who refused to allow him genius as a dramatist. Again, too, there was an unfortunate hitch in the mechanical devices. The panorama in the first act, showing the country through which Gurnemanz and Parsifal pass on their way to the castle of Monsalvat, was mistakenly constructed to move half as fast as it should have moved, and as there was not time after the discovery of the error to rectify it, Wagner had to have the music of the scene played through twice. But the solemn drama created a profound impression, and many of the critics who had found little to please them in the "Ring" admitted that "Parsifal" exercised a potent spell on their minds.

The exertions necessary for the production of "Parsifal" had told severely on Wagner. It is said that at one rehearsal he fainted, and, on recovering, exclaimed, "Once more I have beaten Death." Dr. Standthartner, one of his firm Viennese friends, examined him in the course of the summer, and found that a heart affection, from which the composer had long been suffering, had made dangerous progress. Wagner was not told of his exact condition, but he was warned that immediate rest and relief from care was absolutely essential. He was a man of sixty-nine and he had done an enormous amount of work. Furthermore he had taxed the resources of his system by indulgence in passionate moods, which were naturally followed by periods of intense depression.

After the "Parsifal" performance he went with his family to Venice, where he took up his residence in the Vendramin Palace on the Grand Canal. The household consisted of Wagner, his wife, Siegfried, the Count Gravina and his wife (daughter of Von Bülow), her sisters, Liszt, and the Russian painter Joukowsky, who had designed the scenery of "Parsifal." Perl[28] gives a most interesting account of the domestic life of the family in the last days of the master's life. He lived in the greatest seclusion, receiving no visitors and making almost no calls. He arose early and occupied himself with writing, no one being allowed to disturb him while so engaged. The products of his pen were chiefly articles for the Bayreuther Blätter. About noon his wife joined him and gave him the substance of the morning's mail, sedulously concealing anything which might excite him. In the afternoon, after a nap, he went out with his family, if the weather was pleasant, in a gondola, and frequently made excursions of some length. In the evening the old palace (it was built in 1481) was brilliantly lighted up, and Wagner listened to one of his family reading aloud.

Liszt arrived in the middle of November, and Wagner began to be reminiscent. He suddenly remembered his juvenile symphony, and decided that on Christmas, 1882, it should be performed, not as a Christmas festivity, but in honour of his wife, whose birthday was Dec. 25. The concert-room and orchestra of the Liceo Benedetto Marcello were lent to him for the purpose, and he rehearsed the composition himself with the greatest ardour. Wagner afterward wrote a report on the performance of this youthful work, which he said went extremely well, owing to the natural disposition of the Italian musicians for tone and phrasing, and also owing to the large number of rehearsals which he was able to have. The symphony, too, "really seemed to please," and some Italian critics spoke well of it. Wagner himself did not overrate his boyish composition, but its revival was a pleasant occasion. At the end of the performance Wagner laid down the bâton and declared that he would never conduct again. He had felt the strain of the physical effort. But his words, read in the light of subsequent events, acquired that appearance of prophecy which men's latest utterances so often gain from their propinquity to the end.

Dyspepsia had tortured him for years, and the irregularities of digestion had finally developed the heart affection, before mentioned, to a serious condition. Wagner was attended in Venice by Friedrich Keppler, but he disobeyed the physician's directions constantly. He was especially careless about exertion, and was not wholly observant of the necessary caution in the matter of eating. He fell faint several times in the course of the winter, but always strove to conceal the fact from his family. After Liszt's departure on Jan. 13 he became even more careless, and entered with great avidity into the preparations for the Bayreuth festival of the following summer. On Feb. 13, 1883, he rested till late. At noon he called the maid, who sat outside his room, and ordered a light luncheon. It was his intention to go out in his gondola at four. Soon after the luncheon had been brought the maid heard Wagner call for her in a faint voice, and running into the room found him in agony. "Call my wife and the doctor," he said. The wife reached his side in time to witness his last struggle. When the doctor arrived he was dead.

King Ludwig sent Adolf Gross, a Bayreuth banker, who had long been an ardent supporter of Wagner, to Venice as his representative. Venice offered a public funeral, but the widow declined it. Silently through the canals on Feb. 16 went a draped gondola with the body. A special mourning car carried the remains to Bayreuth. That city had indeed been stricken in the loss of him who had made it famous. At the railway station on the arrival of the funeral train a public ceremony took place. After Siegfried's funeral march had been played Burgomaster Muncker and Banker Feustel spoke. The Bayreuth Liederkranz sang the chorus arranged by Wagner for the burial of Weber in Dresden. The funeral procession then moved to Wahnfried, where the remains of the poet-composer were interred.

Feustel had said in his speech at the station that Bayreuth's most dignified tribute to the memory of the dead master would be the "Parsifal" performances in the coming summer. These were given, but without the presence of the widow. She secluded herself even from Liszt, her father. But the following year she took up the task of continuing the festivals, which have lately reflected her ideas as to the proper method of interpreting her husband's masterpieces.