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 FROM THE 
 
 BENNO LOEWY LIBRARY 
 
 COLLECTED BY 
 
 BENNO LOEWY 
 
 1854-1919 
 
 BEQUEATHED TO CORNELL UNIVERSITY 
 
 MUSltf' 
 
Cornell University Library 
 ML 1405.H88 
 
 Richard Wagner and the music of the futu 
 
 3 1924 021 758 010 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924021758010 
 
RICHARD WAGNER 
 
 AMD THE 
 
 MUSIC OF THE FUTURE. 
 
 EISTOMY AND ^STEETICS. 
 
 BT 
 
 FRANZ HUEFFER. 
 
 LONDON: 
 CHAPMAJ^ AND HALL, 193, PICCADILLY. 
 
 1874, 
 
 The Sight of J'ravilation u Sesened. 
 
PEDflED Bt JATIOB ATfD 00., 
 LITTLB QTTEBir STEKBT, lINCOUf'S DTlf MELDS^ 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 A CONSIDBKABLE part of the contents of the pre- 
 sent volume has been previously published in the 
 •Fortnightly Eeview;' a smaller portion, consist- 
 ing chiefly of the letters of K. Schumann, appeared 
 in the 'Academy.' Everything, however, has 
 been recast and made subservient to the purposes 
 of this book, about which the author now begs 
 leave to make a few introductory remarks. 
 
 Musicians and theorists of all colours (for now- 
 a-days one must distinguish the different shades of 
 party opinion, in music as well as in politics or 
 religion) agree in the one point, that, by the works 
 of Beethoven's latter years, and especially by the 
 Ninth Symphony of that master, a new phase is 
 marked in the history of their art. In the last- 
 mentioned work, or, to speak quite accurately, in 
 its three first movements, it was finally shown, how 
 far music in its separate condition could go in 
 achieviag the ultimate aim of all art, i. e:, the render- 
 
iv , PREFACE. 
 
 ing of the emotions of the human heart. It may in 
 this respect he called the triumph of ahsolute music; 
 and, iadeed, no symphonic work of a later period 
 can he said to have surpassed, or even equalled ia 
 beauty and power of expression, this gigantic effort 
 of a master-mind. But in this very splendour of 
 artistic perfection we indistinctly, hut no less cer- 
 tainly, feel the want of something that remains 
 unexpressed ; and by acknowledging this want, as 
 founded in the nature of music itself, and intro- 
 ducing into the last movement of his D minor 
 symphony the human word, as a firm basis for his 
 lofty aspirations, Beethoven has at the same time 
 ushered in a new period of his art. 
 
 To define the sesthetical foundation of this new 
 idea in music, and at the same time follow the course 
 of its growth, will be my chief task in the following 
 pages. Here I will only try to indicate in a few 
 words its most general characteristics, and first of 
 all to fix its nondescript airiness into a local habi- 
 tation and a name. The new movement, therefore 
 which arose after and, to a great extent, 
 through Beethoven's reformatory deeds, we will 
 henceforth caU the period of poetic music (the strict 
 definition of which term I must defer to another 
 occasion) ; orj in case the reader should prefer an 
 
PREFACE. V 
 
 old to a new-coined expression, we will occasionally 
 apply the generally acknowledged sobriquet of the 
 Music of the Future. 
 
 The poetic principle, alluded to, may be divided 
 into a lyrical and a dramatic part; which dis- 
 tinction, translated into musical terms, will lead us 
 to the two important forms of the Music-Drama and 
 the JSon^. At the same time it seems to me that 
 only in these two kinds of development music shows 
 a decided advance upon Beethoven's creations, a 
 remark which, of course, is made without any 
 derogatory tendency with regard to the instru- 
 mental works of modem composers. In many 
 cases these have displayed individual beauties of 
 the highest order without, however, adding essen- 
 tially new features to the symphonic form, as 
 established by Beethoven. 
 
 As a further means of subdivision, I have headed 
 the single chapters of my work with the repre- 
 sentative names of Eichard Wagner for the dra- 
 matic, and Franz Schubert, Eobert Schumann, 
 Franz Liszt, and Eobert Franz for the different 
 shades of the lyrical phase of modem music. 
 
%)^t ^XKmu. 
 
 " Blest pair of Sirens, pledges of heaven's joy, 
 Sphere-bom harmonious sisters, Voice and Verse, 
 "Wed your divine sounds, and mix'd power employ, 
 Dead things with inbreath'd sense able to pierce." 
 
 Milton. 
 
CHAPTEE 1. 
 
 EICHAED WAGNEE. 
 
 Ip I were asked for a striking poiat of distinc- 
 tion between musicians of tke old and modem 
 schools, I should mention, first of aU, their essen- 
 tially altered position with regard to literature in 
 general. During the last century, a musician was 
 expected to study, from his very childhood, all 
 the intricacies, both theoretical and practical, of 
 his art, but beyond this his education, as a rule, 
 showed the most deplorable deficiencies ; and when- 
 eyer he had to write on ordinary foolscap, instead 
 of the accustomed staff of five lines, his hand 
 seemed to shake and his thought to stammer. 
 Mozart, for instance, seems to have been decidedly 
 
 B 
 
a RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 not above the average level of middle-class education 
 at Ms time ; and to connect the idea of a thinker 
 with good old "papa Haydn," who, while com- 
 posiag his Creation^ used to mumble a couple of 
 ' Ave Maria's ' when the source of his inspiration 
 •ceased to flow, seems grotesquely incongruous. 
 Indeed, with the sole exception of Gluck, no first- 
 rate musician of the eighteenth century can be 
 named who would not have shrunk from the idea 
 of giving literary evidence as to the fundamental 
 principles of his own art; a phenomenon which, 
 in most cases, finds its explanation in the men- 
 tioned circumstance of an exclusively technical 
 education. Beethoven's youth also was passed in a 
 purely professional atmosphere ; but his powerful 
 mind soon expanded with interests of a wider 
 range. Plutarch was his favourite author, and 
 verses of Homer were frequently found, inter- 
 spersed with those puzzling economical calcula- 
 tions and musical sketches which covered the 
 walls of his room and the scraps of paper on his 
 writing-table. His sesthetical thoughts also dis- 
 play the intuitive depth of his great nature. Still 
 the language of illiterate awkwardness in which 
 they were clad, as far, at least, as we may judge 
 
RICHARD WAGNER, 3 
 
 from ScHndler's account, distinctly shows a want 
 of early training. 
 
 "We receive a very different impression as we 
 turn to the literary capabilities of representative 
 modem composers. It is true that Mendelssohn 
 refrained, on principle, from untraditional theo- 
 retic utterances, although the fluent grace of his 
 style shows to great advantage in his private 
 letters. But Schumann went through a regular 
 <}ourse of university studies, and after that was 
 the editor of a musical journal for many years, 
 hefore his name as a composer became known 
 beyond the circle of his immediate admirers. The 
 literary style of Liszt too reflects clearly the 
 suppleness and grace of his refined genius, al- 
 though, in his case, one , might suppose that the 
 unequalled mastery of his instrument, which he 
 displayed as enfant prodige from his earliest youth, 
 would have engrossed the attention even of the 
 most precocious intellect. 
 
 These few remarks seemed required to assist the 
 reader in seeing in its true light one of the nu- 
 merous accusations which Wagner's innumerable 
 enemies have raised against his creative power. It 
 is grounded on the fact of his having investigated 
 
 B 2 
 
4 RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 the metaphysical and historical sides of hia 
 art. 
 
 The two faculties of speculation and execution — 
 these wise men assert — are never found combined 
 in the same individuality, and on the strength of 
 this axiom, they prove a priori that the author 
 of Oper und Drama cannot but produce works of 
 cold deliberation, which, based on theoretical 
 speculation, may occasionally attaia effects of 
 skill, but must needs lack the life of spontaneous 
 production. To refute the arguments of such 
 theorists by the intrinsic value of "Wagner's crea- 
 tions would be in vain, as these appeal altogether 
 to a higher kind of receptive faculty, than is to 
 be found amongst the high-priests of orthodox 
 Philistinism. Such men never will or can con- 
 ceive that, in art, as well as in life, we must 
 distinguish between the state of Paradisiac in- 
 nocence and that of self-conscious knowledge. 
 In the former the feelings are poured forth with 
 almost childlike naivete; and if the mind from 
 which they flow draws its sources from the inex- 
 haustible fountain of beauty, they will possess all 
 the charms of virginity. Mozart might be named 
 as the representative genius of this kind of de- 
 
RICHARD WAGNER. 5 
 
 lightfully fresh spontaneity. Unfortunately, the 
 "times of juvenile enjoyment have been changed 
 for the manhood of deeper thought and sorrow. 
 "We have tasted the bitter fruit of knowledge, and 
 the artists of our latter days must have passed 
 with us through the furnace of "fierce and un- 
 fathomable thought," purifying in it the inarticu- 
 late longings of the soul, to the not less passionate 
 but conscious strife for ideal aims. Beethoven and 
 Wagner are the artists by whose names the 
 philosophical, and therefore essentially modern, 
 epoch of music will be recognised. By these re- 
 marks, however, it shall by no means be implied 
 that the works of "Wagner or Beethoven are not 
 the emanation of spontaneous production, but have 
 been fashioned after a certain scheme, the result 
 ■of previous speculation. In Wagner's case the 
 futility of such an accusation can easily be proved 
 by chronological dates. He himself has told us 
 how " unintentionally " [uwoorsMslicli) he entered 
 upon his career as a reformer in the Flying Dutch- 
 man. This work, Tannhduser, and Lohengrin were 
 finished, and even the scheme of the words of 
 Siegfried and the Meistersinger conceived and partly 
 ^executed, before his first theoretical work, the 
 
6 RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 Eunsiwerk der Zukunft, saw tlie light. It is indeeji 
 one of the most iateresting studies of musical 
 Mstory to see how the new idea in all its con- 
 sequences grew upon "Wagner, and how he em- 
 bodied it unconsciously in his dramatic creations, 
 which only afterwards, like the works of any other 
 composer, served him as material for his re- 
 searches. The great importance of these theoretic 
 writings lies, for us, in the fact of their being the 
 only way in which a full understanding of Wag- 
 ner's aims, and further, of those of modern music 
 in general, can be obtained. 
 
 Germany is the country of music and philosophy,, 
 but the philosophy of music has been treated by 
 most of its deepest thinkers with an undeserved 
 and equally unaccountable neglect. Even a man 
 of Leibnitz's pre-eminence saw in music only an 
 " exercitium arithmeticse occultum nescientis se 
 numerare animi," although the works of his con- 
 temporaries, Bach and Handel, might have taught 
 him better. Hegel's views on the same subject can- 
 not be said to enlighten the mind to any considerable 
 extent, and in our own time Friedrich Vischer, the 
 ^'Aesthetilcer" par excellence, confessed his own igno- 
 rance of music in a double way, first by not treating 
 
RICHARD WAGNER. 7 
 
 it himself in his principal work, and secondly 
 by choosiag Dr. Hanslick as his substitute. Arthur 
 Schopenhauer, the greatest thinker Germany has 
 produced since Kant, was the first to pierce the 
 clouds hanging around this most ethereal art. There 
 is a certain likeness between the characters of "Wag- 
 ner and Schopenhauer as writers, and equally between 
 the positions which they take in the history of their 
 respective branches of human development. Both 
 acknowledge one and only one, of their predecessors 
 as their superior, whose ideas they are destined to 
 carry out. In this exclusive admiration of Beethoven 
 and Kant, on the part of Wagner and Schopenhauer, 
 lies at the same time the cause for their frequently 
 unjust contempt of epigonic aspirations and the bitter- 
 ness of their critical utterances. Perhaps such one- 
 sidedness and misunderstanding of individualities 
 not strictly akin to their own is inevitably the 
 doom of creative minds; but only too often it 
 leads to a fatal isolation from the stream of con- 
 temporary progress. The bitter resentment on the 
 part of the objects concerned is another disadvantage 
 of such reformatory zeal. The flaying of Marsyas, 
 — wretched singer though he may have been, — 
 seemed to me always the least enviable part of 
 
8 JRICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 Apollo's career. In both Wagner's and Schopen- 
 hauer's cases the numerous victims of their wrath 
 agreed upon a system of self-defence and revenge, 
 in which the positive and negative weapons of 
 iabuse, and even more pernicious silence, were 
 handled with considerable skill, and the temporary- 
 success of which showed the influential position 
 of the Marsyas tribe in the literary community. 
 The consequence was, that of Schopenhauer's 
 standard work scarcely two editions were sold in 
 almost half a century, while the immense im- 
 portance of "Wagner's ideas is only just now, after 
 a painful struggle of more than thirty years, 
 beginniag to dawn upon his own nation. It is 
 perhaps partly owing to this affinity of character 
 that Wagner adopted, with slight modifications, 
 the great pessimist's views on the ideal basis 
 of music. Into Schopenhauer's views, as con- 
 tained in ' The World as Will and Imagination,' 
 we therefore now must enter a little more fully. 
 
 The great discovery of Kant, ia the ' Critique of 
 Pure Eeason,' is the doctrine that the outer world, 
 or what we call the universe, appeals to our senses 
 only by means of its phenomenon. About the 
 real essence, the noumenon of this world, as it 
 
RICHARD WAGNER. 9 
 
 might appear to beings witli otlier means of per- 
 ception than ours, and not limited by the notions 
 of space and time, nothing is revealed to us. 
 Even these notions originate, according to Kant, 
 in a certain predisposition of the brain, by means 
 of which we discern the co-existence and succession 
 of different phenomena and the' phenomena them- 
 selves. Against the absolute idealism of Berkeley, 
 Eant holds that, outside the human Ego, there must 
 exist an independent something to act upon the 
 individual. Schopenhauer, starting from this basis, 
 proceeds to the further assertion that this some- 
 thing hitherto nondescript exists only in so far as 
 it has the " wUl of existence ; " in fact, that it is 
 nothing else but this will in its different forms and 
 phases. The highest and last of these phases is 
 the human volition, made conscious of its being 
 and aims by the intellect, and comprising in its 
 microcosm the universe out of which it grows, and 
 from which it differs gradually but not essentially. 
 The first manifestation of this will, Schopenhauer 
 proceeds, takes place in the ideas in Plato's sense, 
 — that is, in the archetypal forms which fashion 
 the cosmos, and of which the single phenomena 
 are further subdivisions. It is the aim of all arts 
 
lo JilCHARD WAGNER. 
 
 to express the eternal essence of things by mean* 
 of these Platonic ideas, only music takes in thi» 
 respect an exceptional position. Arts like painting- 
 and sculpture embody these ideas, as conceived by 
 the artist through the medium of phenomena, the 
 ideal value of which he shows, but only by the- 
 reproduction of their actual appearance. Even in 
 poetry the realities of life and the visible wonders- 
 of the world, with their symbolic meaning, form 
 an essential ingredient. Music, on the contrary,, 
 does not want, nor even allow of, a realistic con- 
 ception. There is no sound in nature fit to serve 
 the musician as a model, or to supply him with 
 more than an occasional suggestion for his sublime 
 purpose. He approaches the original sources of 
 existence more closely than all other artists — 
 nay, even than Nature herself. His harmonies- 
 and melodies are, to speak with Sohopenhauer,^ 
 " as immediate and direct an objectiflcation or copy 
 of the will of the world as the world itself is,, 
 as the ideas are of which the universe of things- 
 is the phenomenon. Music is not the copy of the 
 ideas, like the other arts, but a representatioiLof 
 the cosmical will co-ordinate with the ideas them- 
 selves." In this sense the musical composer is the 
 
RICHARD WAGNER. ii 
 
 onlj- creative artist. While the painter or sculptor 
 must borrow the raiment for his idea from the 
 human form or the landscape, the musician is alone 
 with his inspiration. He only listens to the voice 
 of the spirit of the world, or, which is the same, 
 of his own spirit speaking to him as in a dream ;, 
 for it is only in dreams, when the soul is not dis- 
 turbed by the impression of the senses, that such 
 a state of absorption is attainable, and Yogi's say- 
 ing of Schubert, that he composed in a state of 
 clairvoyance^ may be applied to all creative musi- 
 cians. 
 
 These are, in brief, the fundamental priaciples- 
 which Schopenhauer, first among philosophers, has 
 laid down for the metaphysical essence of our art, 
 and which Wagner has adopted, without any modi- 
 fications of importance, in his lately published, 
 pamphlet on Beethoven. 
 
 It ought, however, to be added that in the 
 final conclusions with regard to the concrete ap- 
 pearances of musical genius, which both the artist 
 and philosopher have founded on this common basis, 
 they differ widely., Schopenhauer seems to have 
 considered music as an art of entirely independent 
 and self-sufficient means of expression, the fr«e^ 
 
T2 RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 movement of wMcli could only suffer from a too 
 close alliance with worded poetry. He even goes 
 to tlie length of highly commending Kossini's way 
 of proceeding, in which the words of the text are 
 treated quite en lagatelle^ and in which, therefore, 
 <' music speaks its own language so purely and 
 distinctly that it does not require the words at all, 
 and has its full effect even if performed by instru- 
 ments only." Such a sentence cannot but surprise 
 us from the same lips, which have uttered the pro- 
 found thoughts referred to on the foregoing pages. 
 But the philosopher has that in common with the 
 poet, that his abstract contemplations arise from an 
 intuitive consciousness, which is all but indepen- 
 dent of, and not always applicable to, the results 
 of actual knowledge. 
 
 The philosophical side of the question being 
 thus stated, we have now to follow "Wagner on his 
 own grounds, in order to witness the bearing of this 
 speculation on the historical progress of our art. 
 The theoretical works of Wagner, to the contents 
 of which I wish to introduce the reader in the 
 next following pages, are considerable in number 
 and variety of subject-matter. In glancing through 
 the complete edition of his writings, lately pub- 
 
RICHARD WAGNER. ij 
 
 lished in nine volumes, one is struck with admira- 
 tion at the range of an intellectual power which, 
 greatly exceeding the limits of one art, lays a 
 firm hold on almost all the moving currents of 
 contemporary thought, overpowering their hetero- 
 geneous motions, and leading them with an un- 
 equalled force of concentration to the one aim of 
 its own aspiration. Politics, religion, history, and 
 national economy are treated with the same sove- 
 reign power of centripetal rotation, in so far as 
 they may tend to the desired ideal of a new phase of 
 art, and of national and individual life regenerated 
 through means of it. For the artist is to be the 
 longed-for Messiah, to deliver future generations from 
 the fetters of custom and prejudice, and I need not 
 add that this artist is to speak to the nations from 
 the hallowed boards of a truly popular stage, and 
 that his words shall be accompanied by the inspir- 
 ing strains of the divinest of arts, music. " Eebus 
 humanis inest quidam circulus," we may exclaim 
 with the great Eoman historian, when, in this 
 boldest dream of our latter days, we perceive a 
 close afl&nity to the Greek drama and its vital 
 reciprocity with the life of the nation ; an affinity 
 which, as we shall see hereafter, even extends to 
 
14 RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 the internal economy of this drama and its two 
 most important compounds. 
 
 It would, of course, lead us too far to follow 
 Wagner's thought into all its collateral ramifica- 
 tions. The present writer will think himself 
 happy if he should succeed, in condensing into 
 an organic whole the' abundance of speculative 
 material, as far as it relates more immedi- 
 ately to the subject in point, «.e., the relative 
 positions of music and poetry in their united 
 efforts. 
 
 From the entirely supernatural character of 
 music as established by Schopenhauer, Wagner 
 proceeds to conclude its comparative independence 
 of the conditions under which the visible world 
 acts upon our senses ; that is, of space and time. 
 In an art of sound, space is altogether out of the 
 question; but even time can in a certain sense 
 be dispensed with in what is most musical in 
 music — ^harmony. A harmonic chord, as such, is 
 absolutely unmeasurable by time ; and in pieces, 
 like the divine works of Palestrina, where the 
 gradual progress from one harmonious combination 
 
RICHARD WAGNER. 15 
 
 "to another is scarcely perceptible, tlie consciousness 
 of change, and "with it that of passing time itself, 
 almost ceases, and we seem to have entered, under 
 i;he master's guidance, the quiet realms of divine 
 non-existence. But music could not always remain 
 in this state of passive calm, and as soon as its 
 -other most important element, rhythm, is intro- 
 duced, everything changes suddenly, and we are at 
 once transported into the restless waves of time 
 and progress. For, as we know from Aristoxenos, 
 rhythm is nothing but a regular return of shorter 
 and longer portions of time, as manifested by a 
 movement performed in this time, the object of the 
 movement in music being the succession of melo- 
 dious intervals — ?.e., the /neXos, or tune. Melody, 
 therefore, is the daughter of the quiet repose in 
 harmony and the throbbing motion of rhythm, and 
 both elements are equally necessary for its beauti- 
 ful growth. Still, rhythm being an intruder in the 
 realm of pure music, the compositions which, 
 like dances, are exclusively founded on it must be 
 of a lower order than where the melody grows out 
 of harmonious relations. With these three ele- 
 ments, viz., hgr^rony^^JribLythm, and melody, we 
 Jiave exhausted the means 0^ expression which 
 
1 6 RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 music proper can call its own. Also about its aims 
 and objects tbere can be no doubt, after the forego- 
 ing remarks. Music's own domain is the reign of un- 
 impaired impulse, — the tenderest vibrations of will 
 and passion, — as the immediate effluence of which 
 we have to consider it. But its origin, as well as 
 the character of its instruments, excludes it from 
 the sphere of actual realities, and prevents it from 
 rivalling articulate speech in the distinct rendering 
 of emotions. 
 
 The purest and most adequate organ of our 
 art in its independent state, is instrumental 
 music, the separate existence of which is of 
 comparatively recent date, beginning with Bach, 
 and ending (if we may believe Wagner) with 
 Beethoven's Ninth Symphony. In this, even the 
 supreme genius of Beethoven confesses its in- 
 ability of expressing its highest aspiration in music 
 alone; it calls poetry to its assistance, and the 
 words of Schiller's * Freude,' added to Beethoven's 
 enchanted strains, sound, as it were, the death- 
 knell of music in its separate condition, and the 
 rise of a new epoch, in which music and poetry 
 can be severed no more. With this view we 
 are able to agree only in a modified way, 
 
RICHARD WAGNER. 17 
 
 "but will not at present interrupt tlie progress 
 of "Wagner's ideas by untimely deviation. The 
 combination of music and poetry, Wagner pro- 
 ceed, to wtich jBeethoven repaired wlien tlie 
 insufficiency of his musical means became obvious, 
 was of course not invented or used for the first 
 time by him. It, on the contrary, preceded the ' 
 artificial separation of the two arts. The traditions 
 of all nations speak of the poet and singer as the 
 same person, and the mere fact of the human voice 
 being at the same time one of the most perfect 
 musical instruments, seems to indicate the organic 
 necessity of such a combination, as divined ia the 
 lines of the ' Passionate Pilgrim ' — 
 
 " If music and aweet poetry agree 
 As they must needs, the sister and the brother. 
 
 # # * 
 
 One Grod is God of both as poets feign." 
 
 Besides, the metrical element which exists in an 
 embryonic and all but latent state in the spoken 
 language, can be interpreted and displayed ia all 
 its charms only by the aid of real melody, which, 
 as it were, must grow out of the rhythmical struc- 
 ture of verse and stanza. In their ideal aims the 
 two sister arts form also a necessary complement . 
 
 c 
 
1 8 RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 to each other. The free expression of intense and 
 abundant feeling in poetry is but toq^^ften en- 
 cumbered by the speculative structure of language, 
 while, on the other hand, the soaring flight of 
 music, lacks a starting-point of strictly defined and 
 recognisable pathos. Music and poetry, therefore, 
 by both their powers and weaknesses are referred 
 to each other's aid; and the results of their com- 
 bination will be of a higher order than is attainable 
 by either of them in their separate state. On the 
 other hand, it cannot be denied that their close 
 union will be made possible only by a mutual 
 compromise, in which either of them has to resign 
 certain peculiarities of its own in favour of the- 
 common aim. 
 
 The way in which such a compromise has been 
 attempted has varied considerably in difierent 
 times and nations. In the lyrical parts of the 
 Qjeek_ tragedy (for it is to the drama, as the- 
 highest result of both music and poetry, 
 that we have now to turn our chief attention), 
 music, as we know, took a prominent part; so 
 prominent, indeed, that the metrical structure of 
 the choric pieces can be understood only from its 
 connection with song. This importance appears iu 
 
RICHARD WAGNER. 19 
 
 a still stronger light, if with Professor Nietzsche,* 
 "we consider music in the antique drama as the 
 representative of the Bacchic element which forms 
 the wild ecstatic undercurrent of the measured 
 Apollonian self-consciousness of the spoken dia- 
 logue, and in this way becomes the symbol of that 
 most mysterious phase of Greek and, in a wider 
 sense, of human nature. Still the essentially 
 rhythmical nature of Greek composition could not 
 be favourable to the flow of melody, which, as we 
 have seen, depends for its more elevated effects 
 chiefly on harmonious beauty. Unfortunately the 
 sense for harmony seems to have been little in 
 accordance with the other accomplishments of the 
 most artistic nation of the world. Even if we 
 follow the most favourable accounts, the knowledge 
 of polyphony was all but wanting among the 
 Greeks, and the imperfect nature of their scales, 
 without the major seventh, betrays, at least ac- 
 cording to our notions, a deplorable want of musical 
 ear. Under these circumstances it scarcely re- 
 quired the powers of -^schylus or Sophocles to. 
 
 * In his interesting work, Die Geburt der Tragodie aus 
 dem Oeiste der Mudh (The Birth of the Tragedy from thfr 
 Spirit of Music). Leipsic : IVitzsch. 
 
 c 2 
 
20 RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 settle the question of preponderance in the Greek 
 tragedy in favour of poetry, which, had all the 
 advantages of technical perfection in the hands of 
 men of unmatchahle genius. It remains to ac- 
 knowledge the keen perception of the relations of 
 the two arts shown by the Greeks in this treat- 
 ment, in which music, imperfect though it might 
 be, was applied to its true purpose of intensifying 
 the rhythmical power and ideal pathos of words. 
 
 This state of things was entirely changed in the 
 next important phase of dramatic music which we 
 encounter in Italy, about the beginning of the seven- 
 teenth century. Like the renaissance of the fine 
 arts, the Italian opera was, or pretended to be, a 
 revival of antique traditions. But the affinity 
 between the two epochs in regard to this was of a 
 very superficial character. Music this time entered 
 the lists under much more favourable auspices. 
 First of all, the language it had to deal with had 
 lost its rhythmical character entirely ; in poetry a 
 mere counting of syllables had taken the place of 
 metrical accentuation, and music was at full liberty 
 to supply the want of arsis and thesis according 
 to its own conditions. The character of modern 
 feeliag was likewise more akin to the intense, but 
 
RICHARD WAGNER. 21 
 
 yague and indistinct nature of musical expression. 
 In its way througli th.e middle ages, with, their 
 romantic conception of love, and the mysterious 
 terrors and charms of Christian revelation, man- 
 kind had lost that firm grasp of realities which 
 always formed the substratum of the loftiest flights 
 of Greek genius. There were certain vibrations 
 of feeling in this longing for the supernatural 
 which would not allow of the limits of words, and 
 absolutely required the more congenial raiment of 
 pure sound. At the epoch we speak of the great poets 
 of Italy had passed away, and the void which had 
 been left even by their mighty deeds now remained 
 to be filled up by the musician, whose means were 
 by this time more equal to his great task. For his 
 art had now passed out of the stage of childish 
 stammering. The homophonous innocence of the 
 Doric and Mixolydic scales had left only a dim 
 tradition. Polyhymnia had undergone the uncouth 
 attempts at discipline which we are used to attri- 
 bute to Hucbald. She had learnt from Guittone 
 di Arezzo to fix her thoughts in indelible signs, 
 and two centuries' training in the school of the 
 Netherlands had taught her the powers of poly- 
 phonous figuration. When this school reached its 
 
82 RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 climax in the great Orlando di Lasso, and ia 
 Goudimel's pupil, the divine Koman, Palestrina, 
 music had not to shun comparison with any of the 
 sister arts. 
 
 The superior position which it was thus enabled to 
 take could not be favourable to its harmonious co- 
 operation with poetry in the result of their combined 
 efforts — the opera. It is true that at the beginning 
 the rights of music were asserted in a very modest 
 way. In the first lyrical drama, ' Daphnis,' which 
 was performed at Florence, in 1594, the musical part 
 seems to have consisted chiefly in the transforma- 
 tion qf the spoken dialogue into recitative, both of 
 the " secco " and " obligate " kinds, accompanied 
 by the orchestra, such as it was at the time. But 
 Monteverde soon afterwards became bolder in his 
 musical conceptions. Both the orchestral and 
 vocal parts were increased by the introduction of 
 so-called symphonies {i.e.., preludes and interludes), 
 and ensemble pieces for the singers. Alessandro 
 Scarlatti first used the regular form of the aria 
 in the opera, which henceforth became entirely 
 dependent on musical purposes. Certain esta- 
 blished forms of absolute music, like finale or duet, 
 were bodily transferred into the action of the 
 
RICHARD WAGNER. 23 
 
 piece, -witliOTit any regard to their poetical pro- 
 priety. In the course of time the poet became 
 the bondsman of the musician, and had to arrange 
 his libretti (as they were ignominiously called) 
 entirely according to the arbitrary decision of the 
 latter. Even the human voice, the last stronghold 
 of the poetical element in music, was treated 
 henceforth like any other instrument, only with a 
 view to display its beauties of sound. In most 
 cases it seems as if words were put into the mouth 
 of the singer only as more convenient for him to 
 pronounce than meaningless vowels. At most 
 their contents served to give the composer some 
 slight indication whether to write a brilliant 
 aUegro or a languid adagio. Nearly the same 
 might be said of the whole dramatic poem, the 
 merits of which depended almost entirely on its 
 adaptedness for musical purposes. The dulness 
 and absurdity of most of these productions are, 
 in consequence, almost inconceivable. Soon, how- 
 ever, music in its own sphere had to experience 
 the evil results of this neglect of its natural foun- 
 dation. Forgetful of its higher artistic aims, it 
 lost hold of all poetic meaning, and was degraded 
 to a mere display of skill on the part of clever 
 
24 -RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 vocalists, who performed the most daring salU 
 mortali on the tight-rope of fioriture. If formerly 
 the composer had encroached upon the domain of 
 the poet, he now on his part was made the slave 
 of the castrato, who, with great real merit as a 
 vocal virtuoso, combined an innocence of aU artistic 
 intentions scarcely to be equalled even by the 
 stars of the modern operatic stage. 
 
 It was against this omnipotence of the singer 
 that the great German composers protested when 
 they took up the barren forms of the Italian opera, 
 and filled them with new vitality. Mozart was one 
 of the first of a brilliant group of dramatic composers 
 to take the lead in this crusade against Italian arti- 
 ficiality. He was endowed by nature with the 
 richest gift of musical productiveness that ever 
 was possessed by man, and it is no wonder that 
 the genuine touches of nature and dramatic pathos 
 which we still admire after the lapse , of nearly a 
 century, acted as a wholesome antidote on the 
 spirits of his contemporaries against the soporific 
 effects of Hesperic vocalisation. StiU, Mozart's 
 genius was too decidedly of a musical character 
 to attempt, or even wish for, an operatic reform 
 on the basis of poetry. To him also the opera 
 
RICHARD WAGNER. 25. 
 
 appeared, like tlie symphony or sonata, as an 
 entirely musical formation, in wliich. the addition 
 of poetry seemed only of importance as suggesting 
 opportunities for the display of the powers of his 
 own art. He would never have approved of the 
 slightest concession of musical prerogative in favour 
 of dramatic economy. Take, for instance, the 
 scene in Figaro where the page is hidden in the 
 closet of the Countess, and her husband, mad with 
 jealousy at finding the door locked, rushes away 
 for the necessary instruments to make his entrance 
 by force. As soon as he is out of sight, Cherubino 
 appears, and seeing no other way of saving his 
 life and the honour of his mistress, is about to jump 
 out of window. There is periculum in mora, and a 
 moment's delay may be of fatal consequence. But 
 here Mozart saw the opportunity for an effective 
 piece of music. Cherubino and Susanna begin 
 their duet, and fate, in the shape of the Count 
 with his hammer and drawn sword, has to wait 
 at the door till tonic and dominant have had their 
 due. The admirable way in which the anxiety 
 of the situation is rendered by Mozart's music 
 cannot atone for this interruption of the dramatic 
 action. The mere fact of his introducing a piece 
 
26 RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 of music in the distinct form of a duet at such a 
 moment shows Mozart's inability for the post of a 
 dramatic Messiah, as which he is still considered by- 
 many of his blind worshippers. 
 
 Neither can we be surprised at seeing Mozart 
 adopt the whole apparatus of the opera seria. It 
 was not in his tender and unpolemical nature to 
 destroy established forms with the sword of the 
 reformer; he could only make us forget the nar- 
 Towness of these fetters. His great merit for the 
 development of dramatic music consists in his 
 having shown and increased its capability of ren- 
 dering poetic intention. Of the greatest importance 
 for us is the fact that even he was not able to write- 
 beautiful and impressive music to dull and unsug- 
 gestive words. The comparison with this view, of 
 La Clemensa di Tito and Bon Giovanni^ or of Cosi 
 Jan Tutte and Figaro, proves more clearly than any 
 philosophical argument could do that music, even 
 in the hands of a Mozart, depends for its highest 
 effects on the assistance of its sister art. " And 
 -so," Wagner says, " it would have been Mozart, 
 the most absolute of all musicians, who would have 
 solved the problem of the opera long ago ; that is, 
 ^ho would have assisted in producing the truest, 
 
RICHARD WAGNER. 27 
 
 the most beautiful, and most perfect drama, if he 
 liad met with a poet whom he as a musician 
 would only have had to assist. But such a 
 poet he unfortunately was never to find." This 
 quotation may serve at the same time as a test 
 of veracity on the part of Wagner's enemies, 
 who persistently accuse him of defiliag the name of 
 Mozart, and of erecting from the scattered ruins 
 of his rival's fame the column of his own glory. 
 
 Yery different from Mozart's unpremeditated and 
 entirely spontaneous effort is the way in which 
 <3-luck approached the problem of settling the 
 balance between music and poetry in the opera. 
 The tendency of his works was of a decidedly 
 reformatory character, and the principle which he 
 carried out in his music, and to which he gave utter- 
 ance even in words, was, that the task of dramatic 
 music is, and is only, to accompany the different 
 phases of emotion indicated in the text, and that its 
 position to worded poetry is therefore of a subordi- 
 nate kind. In this way the immoderate influence of 
 the singer was made impossible for evermore ; he was 
 lienceforth to be the mouthpiece of the poet, and 
 consequently had to take the greatest possible care 
 in conveying the full poetical meaning of his song 
 
28 RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 to the audience. By tHs means tlie declamatory 
 element became of tlie Mghest importance for the 
 composer as well as the performer, and the reci- 
 tative, in which this element finds its fullest 
 expression, was brought by Gluck to an unequalled 
 degree of perfection. A further progress marked 
 by his reform is the greater consideration paid 
 to the dramatic economy of the libretti. Fre- 
 quent and continued interruption of the action 
 by an uncalled-for display of musical powers was 
 made all but impossible. The reYolutionisiD.g 
 tendency of our composer was felt keenly by the 
 adherents of the old system, and the hatred of the 
 two parties became evident when their two cham- 
 pions, Piccini and Gluck, met face to face on the 
 battle-field of the stage. The scene of their deadly 
 contest was the gay Paris of 1777, and the ardour 
 with which it was carried on was quite worthy of 
 the important questions at stake. The highest 
 ranks of Prench literature and society, royalty 
 itself not excluded, became partisans of the Italian 
 or Franco- German gonfaloniere. 
 
 In order to understand the reason why men of 
 the intellectual eminence of Laharpe, Diderot, and 
 at least for a certain time Eousseau himself, fought 
 
RICHARD WAGNER. 29 
 
 on what we now call the conservative or rather the 
 retrograde side, it will be required to enter to some 
 extent into the origin of a struggle which reached 
 its climax at the above-mentioned time, but the 
 deeper causes of which date back to a much earlier 
 period. I hope that the historical interest attach- 
 ing to the antagonists, no less than the importance 
 of the questions at stake, wUl make the reader 
 find a short deviation from my immediate subject 
 excusable. The national style of the opera railed 
 at by the Italianissimi, and extolled with equal 
 emphasis by the frequenters of the " coia de la 
 reine,"* was not originally a product of French soil. 
 Lully, who may be considered its father, was of 
 Italian birth (Florence, 1633), but brought up in 
 France, where he also received his first mxisical 
 training. He composed no less than nineteen 
 operas and twenty-six divertissements and ballets, 
 mostly for the court festivities of Louis the Four- 
 teenth. His friendly relations to Moliere are 
 
 * So called from the gentlemen of the queen's court taking 
 their Beats in that particular comer of the theatre and form- 
 ing the nucleus of the anti-Italian party. The queen herself 
 — the unfortunate Marie- Antoinette— took a lively interest in 
 the fates of the IVench opera, and particularly in those of 
 her compatriot G-luck. 
 
30 RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 known to tlie student of literature. Tlie exclusive- 
 privilege of performing operas in. Paris was granted 
 to him, and by the permanent establishment in this 
 way of the so-called Academie Royale de Musique, the 
 foundation was laid of a school of dramatic com- 
 posers, which, whatever its merits or demerits may 
 have been, at least can lay claim to possessing an 
 Tinmistakable type of its own. True to the de-^ 
 clamatory spirit of French dramatic art, LuUy had 
 modelled his style to a great extent after the 
 earKer form of the Italian opera, in which, as we 
 have seen, the recitative played a prominent part, 
 adding, however, a greater variety of concerted 
 and orchestral pieces, in accordance with the more 
 advanced stage of music at his time. The splen- 
 dour of scenic effects and courtly pageants formed 
 another important attraction of his fashionable 
 entertainments. The course thus begun was con- 
 tinued by Lully's most celebrated follower, Ea- 
 mean (1683-1764), whose mode of expression 
 caimot be said to differ essentially from that of' 
 his great predecessor, making allowances, how- 
 ever, for individual peculiarities and the pro-^ 
 gress of musical art in general. The compara- 
 tive merits of the two composers are expounded 
 
RICHARD WAGNER. 31 
 
 by Eoiisseau in the usual forcible and lucid style 
 of tbat great writer. His evidence is the more 
 valuable, as his impartiality between the two is 
 warranted by the fact of his being their common 
 adversary in the contest of Italian v. French music. 
 " One must confess," he says, " that M. Eameau. 
 possesses very great talent, much fire and euphony, 
 and a considerable knowledge of harmonious com-^ 
 binations and effects ; one also must grant him 
 the art of appropriating the ideas of others, by 
 changing their character, adorning and developing 
 them, and turning them round in all manner of 
 ways. On the other hand he shows less facility 
 of inventing new ones ; altogether he has mora 
 skill than fertility, more knowledge than genius, 
 or rather genius smothered by knowledge, but 
 always force, grace, and very often a beautiful 
 cantilena. His recitative is not as natural but 
 much more varied than that of LuUyj admirable 
 in a few scenes, but bad as a rule. He was 
 the first to write symphonies and rich accom- 
 paniments." Eousseau continues by reproaching 
 Eameau with a too powerful instrumentation, com- 
 pared with Italian simplicity, and adds, summing 
 up, that nobody had better understood than Eameau, 
 
32 RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 to conceive the spirit of single passages, and to 
 produce artistic contrasts, but that he entirely- 
 failed in giving to his operas " a happy and much 
 to be desired unity." In another part of the 
 quoted passage Eousseau says, that Eameau stands 
 far beneath LuUy as far as esprit and artistic tact 
 are concerned, but that he is often superior to 
 bim in his mode of dramatic expression. 
 
 The chief objections raised by our philosopher 
 against the Erench opera, besides the overloaded 
 instrumentation alluded to, are the monotony of its 
 modulations, the frequency of perfect cadences as 
 necessitated by its declamatory character, and what 
 Eousseau calls the separation of its melody from 
 the language. 
 
 His remarks as to the last point show a depth of 
 thought with regard to the fundamental principles 
 of music which, particularly at the period when 
 they were written, would surprise us but for 
 the sublime greatness of the intellect from which 
 they sprang. 
 
 The gist of the following passage tallies too well 
 with what we shall have to say of Wagner's ideas 
 about the innate melody of languages, not to make 
 its quotation excusable: " J'ai dit que toute mu- 
 
RICHARD WAGNER. 33 
 
 sique nationale tire son principal caractere de la 
 langue qui ltd est propre, et je dois aj outer que c'est 
 principalement la prosodie de la langue qui con- 
 stitue ce caractere. Comme la musique vocale a 
 pr^cddd de beaueoup I'instrumentale, celle-ci a 
 toujours repu de I'autre ses tours de chant et sa 
 mesure ; et les diverses mesures de la musique 
 vocale n'ont pu naitre, que des diverses manieres 
 dont on pouvait scander le discours et placer les 
 breves et les longues, les unes a I'^gard des 
 autres : ce qui est tres evident dans la musique 
 Grecque, dont toutes les mesures n'dtaient que les 
 formules d'autant de rbytbmes fournis par tons les 
 arrangements des syllabes longues ou breves, et des 
 pieds dont la langue et la poesie 4taient suscepti- 
 bles." In quite agreeing with what Eousseau on 
 various occasions say's about the rhythmical de- 
 ficiencies of French prosody, one can, on the other 
 hand, not but be astonished at his looking for help 
 in this respect to the Italian language, in which 
 the force of metrical accentuation has entirely dis- 
 solved itself into sonorous beauty, and which, 
 moreover, was treated by operatic composers in 
 their arias and redtativi secchi with the utmost 
 nonchalance. We are here again remiaded of the 
 
34 RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 peculiar gift of great pliilosopliic intellects, of 
 estabUshing, by dint of intuitive speculation, 
 axioms of an independent, and sometimes much 
 higher kind, than their authors' individual opinions 
 on particular subjects would lead to expect. In 
 Eousseau's case, however, psychological reasons for 
 his strange predilection are not absent. First of 
 all he loved Italy and its beautiful language with 
 the love of a poet. It can, also, not be denied that 
 the easy melodiousness of Pergolese and Jomelli 
 was decidedly of superior attraction, compared 
 with the dignified but somewhat monotonous 
 pathos of 'Tancrede' and 'Hippolyte et Aricie.' 
 Moreover, the Academic Eoyale was an institution 
 of acknowledged excellence and imbued with all 
 the arrogant superciliousness of an established 
 reputation. On hearing the cynical nephew of 
 Eameau* talking of the ''big wigs assembling 
 every Friday these thirty or forty years," or of his 
 xmcle, "le grand Eameau," walking in the Tuile- 
 ries garden with his hands folded on his back, 
 and frowning down on the world in general from 
 the sublime height of his glory, one can quite 
 understand why men of genius turned restive and 
 
 * In Diderot's witty pamphlet, ' Le Neveu de Eameau.' 
 
RICHARD WAGNER. 35 
 
 praised the rivalling Bouffons from a mere spirit 
 of opposition. In justice to Eousseau, it ought to 
 be added that when Gluck himself appeared on 
 the stage as the French champion, he -willingly 
 acknowledged the great composer's genius. In a 
 letter to Dr. Burney, written shortly before his 
 death, Eousseau gives a close and appreciative 
 analysis of the German master's Alceste., the 
 first Italian version of which Gluck had submitted 
 to him for suggestions ; and when on the first 
 performance of the piece not being received 
 favourably by the Parisian audience, the composer 
 exclaimed, '' Alceste est tombee," Eousseau is said 
 to have comforted him with the flattering bon 
 mot, " Oui, mais elle est tombee du ciel." 
 
 The aifiuity between Gluck's aspirations and the 
 J^ench national opera was to a considerable extent of 
 a negative kind. It consisted chiefly in his strongly 
 opposing the encroachments of mere vocal skill on 
 the domain of dramatic truth, as represented by the 
 Italian opera seria. The bearing of his reformatory 
 act became the more impressive as he was prepared 
 to urge its necessity with the full consoiousuQSSiof 
 sesthetical speculation. "Je chercherai," he says 
 in his celebrated dedication of ' Alceste ' to the 
 
 d2 
 
36 RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 Grand Duke of Tuscany, " a reduire la musique a 
 sa veritable fonction, celle de seconder la poesie 
 pour fortifier I'expression des sentiments et I'in- 
 teret des situations, sans interrompre Paction et la 
 refroidir par des ornements superflus." This pro- 
 gramme might almost literally be adopted by the- 
 disciples of the modern school, and the reproaches 
 aimed by the conservatives at what was then the 
 music of the future also remind one curiously of the 
 critical utterances of which Wagner has been and is 
 still the enviable object. But beyond this capability 
 of raising the indignant alarm of critical worthies, 
 the artistic consequences of Gluck's and "Wagner's 
 works have not ^s much in common as is 
 generally believed. It is true that Gluck already 
 felt the necessity of a perfect unity between music 
 and poetry, but he never intended to bring about 
 this desirable effect by surrendering any of the 
 strict forms of his own art. The consequence 
 was that the poet was even more bound to adapt 
 his work to the intentions of the composer, and 
 that the latter remained practically the omnipotent 
 ruler on the operatic stage. 
 
 The high condition of the contemporary spoken 
 drama in Prance had been of considerable influence 
 
RICHARD WAGNER. 37 
 
 on Gluek's production. He wrote or re-wrote his 
 most important works for the . opera in Paris and 
 to French words; we cannot therefore be sur- 
 prised at discerning the immediate results of his 
 career more distinctly in France than in his native 
 country. The grand opera in Paris was swayed for a 
 long time by the great German maestro's traditions, 
 as contiaued by a school of highly accomplished 
 artists. The representative names of this school . 
 are Mehul, Cherubini, and Spontini (the latter two, 
 although Italian by birth, liviag quite under the 
 mighty spell of French nationality in the same 
 degree as we have seen- it repeated in our own 
 days iu Meyerbeer and Offenbach), whose place in 
 the history of their art will be secured for ever, by 
 the additional dramatic power and intensity which 
 music owes to their efforts. Still the traditional 
 encumbrances of poetical development by the esta- 
 blished musical forms remained unshaken by them. 
 To those mentioned already, we have now to 
 add two more attempts at the regeneration of the 
 opera made at almost the same time in two dif- 
 ferent countries. Italy, the old cradle of the 
 divine art, was to recover once more her position 
 si the head of musical Europe. Eossini, the most 
 
38 RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 gifted and most spoiled of h.er sons, sallied forth 
 with an innumerable army of bacchantic melodies 
 to conquer the world, the Messiah of joy, the 
 breaker of thought and sorrow. Europe by this 
 time had got tired of the pompous seriousness 
 of French declamation. It lent but too willing 
 an ear to the new gospel, and eagerly quaffed the- 
 intoxicating potion which Eossini poured out in 
 inexhaustible streams. Looking back with calmer 
 eyes at the enormous enthusiasm with which 
 Eossini was received by our grandfathers, we are 
 almost at a loss to discern the causes for such an 
 unequalled success. It requires, indeed, all the pa- 
 tience of an English audience to endure nowadays a 
 performance of Otello^ Semiramide^ or any of Eossini's 
 serious operas excepj; Gillaume Tell. The redtativo 
 secco is treated by him with all the dryness which this 
 ominous name implies. The melodious structure,, 
 mostly founded on dance-like rhythms, verges con- 
 stantly on the trivial, and wherever Eossini covets 
 the forbidden fruit of counterpoint, his deficiencies 
 become sadly obvious. Only rarely the swan of 
 Pesaro rises with the dramatic power of the situa- 
 tion to a remarkable height of passionate impulse. 
 But Eossini knew his public, and he knew equally 
 
RICHARD WAGNER. 39 
 
 'Well his own resources ; prudent, as most Italians 
 are, he did his best to profit by the chances of 
 the situation. What he could do and did ad- 
 mirably well was to open the rich mines of 
 melodious beauty with which nature had endowed 
 him, and which it is so easy to augment and 
 develop in a country whose very language 
 is music, and where the gondolieri chant the 
 stanzas of Tasso to self-invented tunes. This 
 principle of absolute melodiousness, as Kossini 
 carried it out to its extreme, combined with the 
 charming freshness of his good-natured humour, 
 was well adapted to sUence the objections of graver 
 criticism in the universal uproar of popular ap- 
 plause. The unpleasant fact of a strong family 
 likeness among all these sweet children of song 
 and their common mother the waltz, whether they 
 deplored the sad fate of Desdemona or mimicked 
 the jealous rage of the Seville Dottore, seems to 
 have struck only very few of the enchanted hearers. 
 We need scarcely add that the pretended reform 
 of dramatic music on the basis of Kossini's abso- 
 lute melody was a total failure in all respects. 
 
 Almost contemporary with his great success, 
 and to a certain extent in opposition to it, we have 
 
40 RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 to record another movement of operatic develop- 
 ment much, purer in its artistic aims and very- 
 different in its lasting consequences. Karl Maria 
 von Weber stood at the head of this movement, 
 •which took its rise from the strong romantic and 
 national feeling pervading at th^ time all the ranks 
 of German society and literature. It is a remark- 
 able fact that the composer of Der Freischutz had 
 also supplied with their musical garment the war 
 songs of Korner and Schenkendorf, which roused and 
 expressed the patriotic indignation against the yoke 
 of the foreign oppressor. Closely connected with 
 this national elevation was the revival of mediaeval 
 and popular poetry with its sweet odour of forest 
 and meadow, and all this Weber now embodied in 
 his dramatic creations. By this, the first essen- 
 tially new and highly important addition was made 
 to the resources of the opera, as Mozart left it. 
 Eossini's cantilena, although sparkling with ori- 
 ginality, was in form and essence nothing but 
 an exact reproduction of the Italian aria of the 
 last century. Weber's melody, on the contrary, 
 was founded entirely on the*., tune of the Folks- 
 lied, and to its close connection with the inex- 
 haustible and ever new creatii% power of popular 
 
RICHARD WAGNER. 41 
 
 feeling, it owed tlie ctarm of its delightful fresh- 
 ness. Every passion and sentiment -within the 
 range of this pure and simple language Weber 
 expressed with incomparable beauty ; only where 
 the grand pathos of dramatic action demands a 
 higher scope of musical conception the limits of 
 his power become obvious. For the foundation 
 of his dramatic production after all was melody, 
 melody quite as' absolute, although much pxirer 
 and nobler than that of Eossini ; and the ultimate 
 harmonious amalgamation of music and poetry, by 
 which alone a pure dramatic effect is attainable, 
 was not to be found on this basis. 
 
 The new element of national and popular colour- 
 ing in music was soon appreciated ia all its 
 practical results by Weber's skilful colleagues of 
 the French operatic stage. The versatile genius 
 of Eossini .proved equal to the occasion. Full of 
 the new idea, he left his cotmtry, crossed the Alps, 
 and entered triumphantly the capital of modern 
 civilisation laden with the Ram des Vaches and 
 other melodious specimens of the Alpine flora, the 
 innocent charms of which he was to interpret to 
 the habitues of the Grand Opera. Auber, with 
 a simultaneous^ impulse, explored the Gulf of 
 
42 RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 Naples, and embodied the results of his Lazzarom 
 experience in tlie immortal melodies of the Muette- 
 de Portici. The climax of this national, or as it 
 has also been called, historic phase of the opera wa& 
 reached by Meyerbeer, "Weber's countryman and. 
 co-disciple of Abbate Yoglera He was too well 
 acquainted with the mysterious practices of popular 
 effect, not to see at a glance the immense advantages^ 
 of a striking air of the national kind. Eeverence- 
 for the historic individuality of such a tune, and. 
 the movement represented by it, was something^ 
 entirely strange to his eclectic turn of mind ; wit- 
 ness the sacrilegious way in which he treated 
 Luther's monumental hymn in the Huguenots, with 
 all the raffinement of the French opera. His 
 artistic conscience was never troubled while he 
 was safe (as well he might be) that his trick would 
 not be found out by the compatriots of, his selec- 
 tion. While fully agreeing with "Wagner's severe 
 condemnation of such unprincipled writing for 
 momentary effect, by which Meyerbeer degraded! 
 his own genius and that of his art, we cannot help 
 saying that, upon the whole, his opinion of the 
 composer of the Huguenots seems to be marked by~ 
 an unjustifiable severity. Dramatic music owes. 
 
RICHARD WAGNER. 4j. 
 
 to Meyerbeer new accents of genuine pathos, whioh. 
 have added considerably to its, powers of rendering 
 passionate emotions. Wagner's aversion seems ta 
 find its psychological explanation to a certain extent 
 in the circumstance, that his own first efforts moved 
 in the sphere of Meyerbeer and Halevi, and that 
 from his present higher point of view he looks- 
 back with intense horror on the sins of his youth. 
 
 Surveying once more the different stages through 
 which we have accompanied the opera, from its 
 modest beginning in the sixteenth century to the 
 present day, we notice an enormous progress in. 
 the variety and intensity of its means of expres- 
 sion, but scarcely any change _Jn the relative 
 position of poetey and music, of which the latter- 
 was from beginning to end considered as the- 
 sovereign principle imposing its own conditions on 
 the sister art. The problem of a harmonious unioh. 
 of the two elements could not, as we have seen,, 
 be solved on this unnatural basis. 
 
 We might call it a kind of Nemesis that iu the 
 highest development of music in its separate- 
 existence, in the symphony, the 'demand of a. 
 previous poetic inspiration was felt at first, and 
 that it was Beethoven, the greatest musical creator- 
 
44 RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 of all times, who was to bow down before the 
 eternal rights of poetry, and ushCT in the new 
 •epoch of what we still may call the music of the 
 future. It must be confessed that before him his 
 art had been in a state of unconsciousness of its 
 own powers and duties. None of the great com- 
 posers had taken a higher aim than that of display- 
 ing the beauties of music in its own limits, that is, 
 in the domain of sound. Hence the wonderful 
 variety of melodious and harmonious combinations 
 in the old Italian masters ; hence the prodigious 
 skill in the polyphonous texture of Bach's and 
 Handel's counterpoint. The growth and climax 
 of emotions which these beautiful sounds might 
 convey to the mind remained a secondary con- 
 sideration, and wherever such emotions were 
 condensed into words, their divergence from the 
 accompanying music was not always avoided by 
 the greatest masters. The motive of the opening 
 ohorus, for instance, in Bach's celebrated cantata, 
 ' Ich hatte viel Bekiimmerniss,' would suit a joyous 
 ditty quite as well as the quoted complaint of a 
 sorrowful Christian. Perhaps in many cases Bach 
 had sketched the theme of his fugue before he chose 
 the corresponding words. Examples of the same iu- 
 
RICHARD WAGNER. 45 
 
 congruity might be quoted from all the standard 
 ■works of the last century — Gluck's operas not ex- 
 cluded. It was, in fact, unavoidable as long as the 
 musical conception preceded in time and importance 
 the poetical idea, whether or not expressed in dis- 
 tinct words. Not so in Beethoven. In all the bliss 
 of musical creation be betrays a longing for some- 
 thing of which he himself was scarcely aware, but 
 which he descried with the unconscious divina- 
 tion of genius, and the marks of which are trace- 
 able in the works of his last and grandest period. 
 He was the first to condense the vague feelings 
 which were all that music had hitherto expressed 
 into more distinctly intelligible ideas. He even 
 brings the song of birds, the thunder, and the 
 murmuring brook before the ear, not as a portrait 
 of nature, but as at once a suggestion and embodi- 
 ment of the feelings which would be called up by 
 them ; Mehr AusdrucJc der Empfindung ah Malerei, 
 as he wrote himself at the head of his Pastoral 
 Symphony. In Schopenhauer's parallel between 
 the act of composing and a dream, this phase of 
 Beethoven's artistic creation A70uld represent the 
 transition . between sleeping and waking, where 
 the recovering senses supply the mind with images 
 
A6 • RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 from tlie outer world to clothe its dream, wMch. 
 was naked and shapeless. Indeed, there are pas- 
 sages in Beethoven's later instrumental works, such 
 as long distinct recitativi, which can only be ex- 
 plained by the presence of some occult idea 
 struggling for self-consciousness, or, if it may be, 
 expression. This idea being previous to all 
 musical conception, the forms of absolute music 
 had to submit to its harmonious expansion, and 
 in this way the spell of their unlimited sway was 
 broken for ever. It therefore was Beethoven who 
 restored the true relations of the two arts, which 
 henceforth became inseparable. The possibility of 
 xausic for the sole sake of sonorous^be^'iity has 
 virtually ceased to exist, and any composer with 
 higher aspirations than those of a genre painter, 
 without subject or artistic purpose, has to 
 consider it his task to express a _ jgr econ ceiveji 
 poetical idea by mea.n s of his sound. It is the part 
 of music to receive this idea, and to bring it forth 
 again idealised and raised to its own sphere of 
 pure passion. " For music," as "Wagner beautifully 
 expresses it, " is a woman ; the essence of a woman's 
 nature is love, but this love is receptive, and 
 isurrendering itself unconditionally to the beloved. 
 
RICHARD WAGNER. 47 
 
 The result of Beethoven's gigantic reform for 
 "the opera is at once visible. Music in its new 
 position could never attempt to fetter the organic 
 growth of the drama by imposing upon it condi- 
 tions strange to its own nature. Henceforth the 
 art of soTind was limited to its own sphere of 
 intensifying the poet's, conceptions by means of 
 its ideal powers. It was not given to Beethoven 
 himself, to make the one last step to the music- 
 drama, perhaps only because he did not find a 
 poem congenial to his inspiration. But it was he 
 who showed the capability of music for this task 
 not by his single opera, which belongs to an early 
 period of his career, and, after all, is not more 
 than a symphony of instruments and human voices, 
 l)ut byjthe works of his last ^period, and foremost 
 •of all by his Ninth Symphony, the sublime accom- 
 paniment of some immense drama, of which man- 
 kind itself, with all its doubts, pains, and joys, is 
 the hero, Wagner calls the Ninth Symphony the 
 last that was ever written, and seems to deny the 
 possibility of a further progress of music except in its 
 dramatic sphere. With this, however, we are obliged 
 to disagree to some extent. The musio-drama is 
 -oertainly the highest type of musical development ; 
 
48 RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 still, the emergence of this does not make im- 
 possible or irrational the perpetuation and perfec- 
 tion of a lower and simpler species as such. Surely 
 the songs of Schubert, Schumann, Mendelssohn^ 
 and Franz, or the symphonies by which the three 
 former composers and Liszt have enriched our 
 literature, cannot leave any doubt about the vitality 
 of these forms, founded as they are on Beethoven's 
 reformatory idea, and bearing witness to the high 
 aspirations of their authors. 
 
 3. 
 
 We have completed the first part of our 
 task; the reader who has followed us patiently 
 in the course of our investigations will, we 
 hope, have a distinct idea of the key-note 
 of a movement which hitherto he was satisfied 
 to know by the vague name of the Music 
 of the Future. He will understand what we, 
 the believers in this future and its art, are 
 struggling for, what are our hopes and fears, what 
 our ideals. It will now be my further duty to 
 show, how far and in what way these hopes and 
 
RICHARD WAGNER, 49 
 
 aspirations are realised in the creations of Eichard 
 "Wagner; for by a rare gift of nature he is en- 
 dowed with the combined genius of music and 
 poetry, and in him at last we must recognise the 
 reformer who re-unites in the music-drama the two 
 arts of poetry and music, which seemed to be 
 separated by a profound chasm and in reality 
 are one. 
 
 But before we enter into a new field of specula- 
 tive inquiry, the reader will naturally feel_ anxious 
 to be slightly introduced to the personality of the 
 man, about whose achievements he has been hearing 
 so much. The present writer is the more willing 
 to meet this justifiable craving of the mind for the 
 more solid nourishment of facts, after so much 
 unsubstantial theory, as it appears to him that the 
 cloud of dust raised by enemies and friends in their 
 contest about the music of the future has enveloped 
 Wagner himself in a mysterious atmosphere of 
 contradictory rumours. I have repeatedly found 
 serious difficulties in persuading English friends, 
 particularly of the youthfully enthusiastic type, 
 that our master is not quite a beginner just about 
 to sow his wild oats in works like 'Tristan and 
 Iseult' or the ' Ehinegold.' The most valuable 
 
50 RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 material for the following dates has been taken 
 from two autobiographical sketches written bj 
 Wagner at different periods of his career. The 
 first contains a short account of his adventures up 
 to 1842 ; the second is dated ten years later, and 
 gives a most interesting survey of the master's 
 youthful errors and longings, and their bear- 
 ing upon the artistic deeds of his riper age. 
 Both have been reprinted in the first and fourth 
 volumes of his collected works. Other facts^ 
 have been gleaned from biographical notices, 
 published at various times ia newspapers and peri- 
 odicals. 
 
 "William Eichard Wagner was born at Leipsic- 
 on May 22nd, 1813. His father occupied a post in 
 the municipal goverimient of that city, and was- 
 trusted with the management of the town police by 
 Marechal Davoust during the Prench occupation, he, 
 it is said, being the only one amongst his colleagues, 
 who was able to converse fluently with the con- 
 querors in their own language. He died soon 
 after the liberation of the German territory, and 
 left a family of seven children, of whom the last- 
 born, our composer, was still in his earliest 
 infancy. The widow's second husband was Lud- 
 
RICHARD WAGNER. 51 
 
 ■wig Geyer, a portrait painter, who had formerly 
 been an actor, and retained his interest in dramatic 
 poetry to the end of his life. This circumstance 
 seems to be the only connecting link between Wag- 
 ner's family and the stage, which was to become 
 of such decisive importance not only to his own 
 artistic career, but also to those of his brothers and 
 sisters. They almost all temporarily belonged to 
 the theatrical profession, and Wagner's eldest 
 brother again bequeathed his talent to his twa 
 daughters, one of whom, Johanna, acquired a 
 high reputation as a singer and actress. She took 
 the part of Elizabeth at the first performance of 
 her uncle's opera Tannhduser. Only our master 
 himself entertained from the beginning a strong 
 ayersion against appearing as an actor in public ; 
 he himself ascribes his idiosyncrasy against 
 the paraphernalia of the modem stage to the deep 
 impression which the severe grandeur of the 
 antique drama produced on his youthful mind. 
 His strong imitative tendency, by which the first 
 awakening of genius may generally be recognised, 
 might have led him to his stepfather's second pro- 
 fession, but the early loss of the kind man soon 
 removed this passing inclination from the boy's 
 
 B 2 
 
52 RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 mind ; moreover, lie had been found an awkward 
 pupil in his few attempts at handling charcoal and 
 pencil. 
 
 In the chief representative of poetry in music, 
 it cannot astonish us to see, that his first aspirations 
 were entirely of the poetic kind,^ and that only 
 through these he was led to the complementary 
 aid of musical expression. The first flights of his 
 youthful muse we have to date back as far as 
 1826, when we encounter Wagner as a not very 
 industrious or hopeful pupil of the Kreuzschule, at 
 Dresden, age thirteen. He had been studying 
 English in order to understand Shakespeare, and 
 the overpowering impression of his works was 
 responsible for the first outbreak of Wagner's 
 juvenile eccentricity. The result was an enormous 
 tragedy, a kind of compound of 'Hamlet' and 
 ' King Lear.' The following is Wagner's own 
 humorous description of his monstrous first-born : 
 " I had murdered forty -two people in the course 
 of my piece, and was obliged to let most of them 
 reappear as ghosts in the last acts for want of living 
 characters." It was not long afterwards, at Leipsic, 
 where the family had removed, that Wagner be- 
 came acq^uaintedmthihe great work s of B eeth^tven, 
 
RICHARD WAGNER. 53 
 
 whose death, about the same time passed not 
 "without a deep impression on the young enthusiast. 
 The music to Goethe's '• Egmont ' by this master 
 excited his admiration to such a degree that he 
 at once saw, the- necessity of a. similar musical 
 accompaniment- to. .Jhig.. own .tragedy, and, not- 
 withstanding his ignorance of counterpoint . and 
 thorough-bass, boldly decided to supply the want 
 from his own resources. This led to a rapid 
 perusal of some theoretical works, and in its further 
 consequences to Wagner's adoption of the musical 
 profession. Childish and grotesque though these 
 ebullitions of precocious conceit may appear, we 
 cannot but discover with hopeful joy, and accept 
 as a good omen, the two names of Shakespeare and 
 Beethoven at the outset of our master's thorny 
 way to the pure heights of self-conscious artistic 
 purpose. 
 
 As a t hirjj decisive element in "Wagner's early 
 self-education, we may add the history and myth- 
 ology of a ntiqu e,, Greece. This, in preference to 
 the more accessible knowledge of Latin, he studied 
 with an ardour, which proved extinguishable only by 
 the pedantic drill of his schoolmasters at Leipsic. 
 But the all-engrossing longing for artistic utterance 
 
54 RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 soon expelled all minor interests from our master's 
 soul. He began to neglect his philological studies 
 completely, without, however, supplying them by 
 seriously entering into the theoretical foundation 
 of his chosen art. As yet the Titanic impetuosity, 
 of his nature shunned the limits of artistic measure, 
 and was prone to see in every rule a fetter. He 
 began treating various dramatic subjects, after his 
 own fashion, producing verses and music simul- 
 taneously, without any settled plan as to the 
 general course of the action. An overture com- 
 posed about this period, which he himself calls 
 the " cHmax of his nonsensicalities," was played 
 at the Leipsic Theatre, but excited only irrepres- 
 sible merriment on the part of the audience. But 
 with undaunted energy he tiirned to other plans, 
 the firm belief in his own vocation being the only 
 guiding star on his sea of dark, indefinable long- 
 ings. His theoretical knowledge of music was 
 all this time utterly neglected. The technique of 
 the piano he disdained to acquire, looking down 
 upon that supplementary instrument with a con- 
 tempt characteristic of the future master of instru- 
 mentation. But even the intricacies of harmony 
 were at that period unravelled by him. With the 
 
RICHARD WAGNER. 55 
 
 sole exception of a course of contrapuntal stiidies, 
 under tlie excellent Cantor Weinlig, lie, indeed, 
 never underwent much, regular musical training. 
 He himself acknowledges this absence of a sys- 
 tematic education, and ascribes to it greatly his 
 indomitable energy in following untrodden paths, 
 or, as be symbolically calls it, the fatal gift of 
 " the never contented spirit whicb always seeks 
 the new." But this spirit soon led him to the 
 only true source of self -purification, which he found 
 in the works of the great masters of his art, and most 
 of all in the sublime efforts of Beethoven's genius. 
 The following extract from Schumann's musical 
 paper of 1838, may illustrate the zealous earnestness, 
 which at that time already was characteristic of all 
 Wagner's doings. It was written by Heinrich 
 Dom, then a Mend, and now a fierce adversary of 
 our master. " I am doubtful," he says, " whether 
 there ever bas been a young musician more familiar 
 Tvith the works of Beethoven, than Wagner was at 
 eighteen. He possessed most of the master's over- 
 tures, and large instrumental scores in copies made 
 by himself; he went to bed with the sonatas, and 
 rose again with the quartetts. He sang the songs 
 and whistled the concerti, for with the playing he 
 
S6 RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 could not get on very well ; in brief there was in 
 him a regular furor Teutonicus, which, combined 
 with considerable scientific culture, and a peculiar- 
 activity of the mind, promised powerful shoots." 
 
 At the time to which the date of this sketch 
 takes us, Wagner was the conductor of a second- 
 rate opera at Eiga, a position which, unsatisfactory 
 as.it was, must still be considered as an improve- 
 ment upon similar employments held by him before 
 in middle-sized cities of North Germany. 
 
 The intervening period we might call the pre- 
 historic time which we notice in the artistic careers 
 of many great musicians. What has become of all 
 the Italian operas which Handel and Mozart com- 
 posed to order and by the dozen ? Their titles are 
 dimly discernible to the student of musical history, 
 and one may occasionally meet with an air selected 
 from them in the concert-hall or the drawing-room ;, 
 otherwise they have dwindled again into oblivion 
 and nothiugness. Nearly the same applies to 
 the various productions of Wagner's early years. 
 We will not encumber the memory of the reader 
 with the analysis of a symphony, several overtures^ 
 and other miscellaneous compositions, nor with th& 
 names of various operas, which would have to 
 
RICHARD WAGNER. 5.7 
 
 remain names only. One of tlie latter, tlie subject 
 of -wliich. was taken from Shakespeare's ' Measure 
 for Measure,' was performed once at Magdeburg- 
 without due preparation or marked success. This 
 work is considered by its author as the ultimate 
 result of the sensual fermentation of his storm and 
 stress period, but not without a germ of purer 
 artistic aims. 
 
 The personal histoiy of our artist diiring this, 
 interval contains only a few remarkable incidents. 
 It presents the usual mixture of extravagant schemes, 
 remorseful disappointment and misery, ya which so^ 
 many hopes and gifts have perished. The pressing 
 anxieties of his affairs were still increased by his. 
 marriage with an actress at Konigsberg, in whom, 
 however, he was not to find a congenial sympathiser 
 with his artistic interests, nor even a careful 
 helpmate in the troubles of daily life. His position 
 in Kiga marked, as we have seen, a slight advance 
 in his prospects, but still was not of the kind to 
 satisfy, the demands of Wagner's energy for a wider 
 sphere of action. It belonged to the duties of hi» 
 office to conduct the silliest productions of the 
 French and Italian stages. There is something- 
 inexpressibly tragic in the idea of his rehearsing- 
 
58 RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 •with the mediocre band and singers of a provincial 
 theatre, the trivial pieces of Adam and Donizetti. 
 Still Wagner tried to make the best of the means 
 at his disposal. We have the testimony of the 
 theatrical manager at Eiga, that he never had a 
 conductor who did his duty more conscientiously 
 and willingly than our master, the only drawback 
 being that the players and singers strongly objected 
 to the careful study and intelligent rendering of 
 their parts, expected from them, quite against 
 the usual lackadaisical habits of the stage. This 
 hard apprenticeship may have contributed a great 
 deal to secure to Wagner in later years that 
 unequalled firmness and presence of mind, which 
 now, entitles him to the universally acknowledged 
 leadership amongst living conductors.* 
 
 Another valuable experience of this time was 
 Wagner's acquaintance with the strong dramatic 
 lights and shades, as they are interwoven with the 
 trivial sentimentalities of the average Italian opera ; 
 traces of the skilful handling so acquired can be re- 
 <}ognised throughout his works, and distinguish them 
 favourably from the awkward clumsiness of most 
 'German dramatists. But, nevertheless, the giant 
 * See Appendix I. 
 
RICHARD WAGNER. 59 
 
 found his situation amongst a set of uncongenial, 
 nay even inimical, pygmies more and more in- 
 tolerable ; h.e resolved to break his fetters, and in 
 irue giant fashion he began by attempting im- 
 possibilities. It struck him that Paris would be 
 the right place to realise his dreams of happiness 
 and glory, and "who could be a better man to in- 
 troduce his works to the capital of the world than 
 Scribe, the celebrated librettiste of Meyerbeer and 
 other stars of the grand opera ?• To Scribe, therefore, 
 he sends the scheme of a great dramatic work, 
 asking him to write it in French verse at the 
 expense of the composer, and at the same time to 
 take preliminary steps for its performance at the 
 opera. The result of this cavalier offer from an 
 utterly unknown composer, without even an in- 
 troduction, was as might be expected, — ^no answer. 
 But this first failure was not able to damp 
 Wagner's enthusiasm. If Scribe refuses to write 
 Mm a text, he is quite the man to supply himself 
 with one. His choice of a subject fell on Bulwer's 
 novel, * Hienzi;' and after having finished the whole 
 poem and the music to the first two acts, he em- 
 barked with his wife on board a sailing vessel, 
 which was to take him to London, en route for 
 
6o RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 Paris. The voyage was long and unfavourable \ 
 they were driven out of their course, and once 
 during a storm the captain had to seek shelter 
 in a Norwegian port. After nearly a month they 
 reached at last their destination, remained a short 
 time in London, and continued their journey. In 
 the autumn of 1839, "Wagner arrived at Paris with 
 introductions from Meyerbeer to theatrical man- 
 agers and full of hopes of seeing his work performed. 
 We almost shudder ■ in thinking of the fatal con- 
 sequences which a great success might have had on 
 Wagner's creative power. Perhaps he would have 
 been content with the doubtful honour of sharing 
 with Meyerbeer the lucrative laurels of a European 
 reputation. Luckily for himself and his art, Eortune 
 handled him with all the relentless cruelty which she 
 seems to reserve especially for the children of 
 genius. His visit to Paris proved an utter failure. 
 Ail his attempts at testing the vitality of his 
 work by the ordeal of a performance before the 
 critical Erench audience were in vain. In order 
 to earn a scanty livelihood, he had to undergo 
 the most humiliating trials of musical drudgery; 
 and even in this way he narrowly escaped the 
 death from starvation which he described with 
 
RICHARD WAGNER 6i 
 
 grim humour in his novelette : * The End of a 
 Musician in Paris.' We may consider it as the 
 most irrefutable test of Wagner's real genius* 
 that he did not perish in this overpowering sea 
 of misery and sorrow. It was the original long- 
 ing of his nature for the purer aims of art that 
 broke into the night of his despair, and taught 
 him now, when every hope of worldly success 
 had vanished, to seek refuge in the joys of spon-- 
 taneous creation, which is regardless of ephemeral 
 applause. The instinct of the true artist led 
 him to the inexhaustible source of popular ima- 
 gination, as the only congenial companion of his 
 ideal art, and his searching eye soond^covered two 
 mythological types, as the pii&tied.. representatives 
 of his own siifferings. and aspirations. They were 
 the Flying Dutchman^ homeless and longing for 
 home, on the pitiless waves of a borderless ocean ; 
 and Tannhduser, satiated with the bitter pangs of 
 pleasure, and released from the thraldom of lust by 
 the responsive love of pure womanihood. The 
 genesis of the first mentioned libretto is of 
 peculiar interest to the English reader, as its 
 -origin in Wagner's version seems indirectly con- 
 jiected with this country, and deserves a particular 
 
62 RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 mentioning as one of tlie few benefits wMch. the 
 master owes to England. The following is a 
 'rhume of my researches in this direction : — 
 
 The story of the Flying Dutchman can be traced', 
 back as far as the sixteenth century, and like that 
 of his fellow-suflferer by land, the "Wandering Jew,, 
 seems to be an outgrowth of the thoroughly revo- 
 lutionised and exalted state of feeling caused by the 
 two great events of those times — the discovery of a 
 new world by the Spaniards, and of a new faith by~ 
 the Germans. Captain Yanderdecken, as is generally 
 known, tries to double the Cape of Good Hope 
 notwithstanding a heavy gale blowing dead in his- 
 teeth, and finding this task too much for him, 
 the obstinate Dutchman swears that he will carry 
 out his purpose, even if he should have to sail. 
 tUl doomsday. The Evil One, hearing this oath, 
 accepts it ia its most literal meaning, and in con- 
 sequence the unfortunate sailor is doomed to roam 
 for ever and aye on the ocean, far from his 
 wife and his beloved Holland. However, the 
 poets of later ages, pityiag the weary wanderer 
 of the main, have tried in different ways to 
 release him from this desolate fate. Captain 
 Marryat in his well-known novel has not been very 
 
RICHARD WAGNER. 63 
 
 fortunate in this respect. Another denouement of' 
 the story was invented by Heinrich Heine, and 
 upon this Wagner has avowedly based the poem of' 
 his opera. In Heine's fragmentary story, 'The 
 Memoirs of Herr von Schnabelewopski,' the hero 
 (who, by the bye, shows only slightly disguised the 
 cbaracteristic features of the great humorist himself) 
 tells us how on his passage from Hamburg to 
 Amsterdam he saw a vessel with blood-red sails, 
 very likely the phantom ship of the Tlyiag Dutch- 
 man, whom shortly afterwards he beheld in ipsissima 
 persona on the stage of the last-named city. The 
 new feature added to the old story is this : — that, 
 instead of an unconditional sentence, Yanderdecken 
 is condemned to wander till doomsday, unless he 
 shall have been released by the love of a woman 
 " faithful unto death." The Devil (stupid as he is) 
 does not believe in the virtue of women, and 
 therefore allows the unhappy captain to go ashore 
 once every seven years, in order to take a wife.. 
 The poor Dutchman has been disappointed in his at- 
 tempts at finding sucb a paragon of faithful spouses 
 for many a time, till at last, just after another 
 period of seven years has elapsed, he meets a ScotcL 
 (according to "Wagner, a Norwegian) merchant, and 
 
64 RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 readily obtains his paternal consent to a proposed 
 marriage with his daughter. This daughter herself 
 has formed a romantic attachment for the unfortu- 
 nate sailor, whose story she has heard and whose 
 picture hangs in her room. When she sees the 
 real Flying Dutchman she recognises him at once 
 by the resemblance with his likeness, and, 
 heroically deciding to share his fate, accepts 
 the offer of his hand. At this moment 
 Schnabelewopski-Heine is (by an unforeseen and 
 indescribable incident) called away from the 
 house, and, when he comes back, is just in time to 
 see the Dutchman on board his own ship, which is 
 weighing anchor for another voyage of hopeless 
 despair. He loves his bride, and would save her 
 from the fate that threatens her if she accompanies 
 him. But she, '' faithful unto death," ascends a 
 high rock and throws herself into the waves, 
 by which heroic deed the spell is broken, and 
 the riying Dutchman, united with his bride, 
 enters the long closed gates of eternal rest. 
 
 Heine pretends, as we have said, to have seen 
 this acted on the Amsterdam stage ; this statement, 
 however, he withdrew afterwards, and emphatically 
 claimed as his own the invention of the beautiful 
 
RICHARD WAGNER. 65 
 
 and eminently dramatic episode. The former state- 
 ment was also in so far inaccurate that he never 
 sailed from Hamburg to Holland ; his voyage was, 
 on the contrary, directed to London, and here 
 most likely it was also that he made the acquaint- 
 ance of the Flying Dutchman ia a theatrical capa- 
 city. The story of the Phantom Ship seems to 
 have been at that time (1827) to a certain extent 
 popular in England. A very impressive version of 
 it had appeared in ' Blackwood's Magazine ' (May, 
 1821), and this was made the groundwork of a 
 melodramatic production of the late Mr. Fitzball, a 
 playwright of those days, whose adaptations were as 
 numerous and quite as "original" as those of some 
 contemporary stage favourites. The piece in question 
 is extremely silly and bad in every respect. Myn- 
 heer Vanderdecken here is the slave and ally of 
 some horrid monster of the deep, and his motive in 
 taking a wife is only to increase the number of his 
 victims. In this wicked purpose, however, he 
 does not succeed — the heroine escaping his snares 
 and marrying (if I remember rightly) a young 
 ofB.cer whom she had loved against the will of her 
 father. This piece was ruimiag at the Adelphi 
 Theatre about the time of Heine's visit to London ; 
 
 p 
 
66 RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 and nothing is more probable than that the German 
 poet, who conscientiously studied the English, 
 stage, should have seen it. Tor the circumstance 
 of the Dutchman's taking a wife, Heine would in 
 that case be indebted to Fitzball, in whose piece 
 there also occurs an old picture connected with, the 
 story. It would thus be most iuteresting to note, 
 h.ow Heine developed out of these trivial iadica- 
 tions his noble idea of the Dutchman's deliverance 
 by the love of a woman. Wagner, on his part, 
 has heightened the dramatic pathos of the fable 
 by making his hero symbolise a profound philo- 
 sophical idea — th.us raising the conception of his 
 character from the sphere of a popular tale into that 
 of artistic significance, out of fancy into imagiua- 
 tion. The pitiful figure of Mynheer Vander- 
 decken becomes an embodiment of life-weariness, 
 longing for death., and forgetfulness of iudividual 
 paiu and struggle, or (which, is the same) of 
 existence. 
 
 Still, we must acknowledge, it would seem, that 
 the modest germs of these grand ideas were 
 furnished to both the German poet and composer by 
 the English playwright ; and we must further note 
 that it was on a voyage to the British shores that both. 
 
RICHARD WAGNER. 67 
 
 tlie one and the other conceived the scheme of their 
 work. For I need not tell the reader, who may- 
 have witnessed a performance of the Flying Dutch- 
 man at Drury Lane, that the wild atmosphere of 
 seas and storms hovering over the whole piece is the 
 reflex of "Wagner's own impressions during his 
 eventful passage from Eiga to London. The piece 
 was finished two years later, in only seven weeks, 
 when "Wagner had left Paris for a short stay ia the 
 country. After an interruption of his creative 
 labours for nearly nine months, "Wagner felt him- 
 self a musician again, and this consciousness of a 
 higher task restored him courage and strength in 
 the renewed battle of life. 
 
 The contrast between the spectacular eifects 
 (combined though they may appear with great 
 ■dramatic polver) in Riensi^ and the purely artistic 
 means of rendering emotional accents, aimed at in 
 the Dutchman, is at once striking and relieving. It 
 resembles the sense of freedom one feels in passing 
 from the scented atmosphere of a crowded opera- 
 house into the bracing air of sea and forest. 
 
 But it is ia a still higher sense that the latter 
 work signifies the ideal regeneration, the antique 
 •*' Katharsis " of Wagner as a man and artist. Up 
 
 r2 
 
68 RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 to this time brilliant success had been the chief 
 aim of his thoughts ; now that disappointment and 
 misery had weaned the strong man from his- 
 cherished hopes, he retired into himself, intent 
 upon following the call of his only remaining friend, 
 the true muse. The Flying Dutchman was begun 
 without a hope, almost without a wish, for outward 
 success ; he only felt that what he had to say was 
 true to himself, and so he said it, listen who liked. 
 In this way, and urged only by the necessity of his 
 nature, Wagner entered upon his new career 
 without imagining himself the bearing of his refor- 
 matory act on the progress of art in general. 
 
 In the meanwhile his affairs had taken a 
 more farourable turn. Quite against his expec- 
 tation, Rienzi had been accepted by the Court 
 Theatre at Dresden, with the additional flattering 
 invitation to the master to conduct his work him- 
 self. In the spring of 1842 he returned to Ger- 
 many, and crossed the Ehine with the tears of joy 
 and renewed home-feeling in his eyes. He also- 
 visited the Castle of "Wartburg, the scene of his 
 projected Tannhduser, on his way to Dresden. In 
 October, 1842, Biensi was performed for the first 
 time, and the brilHant success of the work led tO' 
 
RICHARD WAGNER. 69 
 
 "Wagner's engagement as conductor of the Royal 
 Opera. The unexpected change in his condition, jEcom 
 a friendless stranger in a foreign land to the leader of 
 one of the greatest art iastitutions in his own country, 
 could not but fill our master with joyful surprise. 
 But the dream of happiness was of short duration. 
 Notwithstanding the unusual success of Bienzi at 
 Dresden, the great German theatres showed little ia- 
 <}lination to open their gates to the new-comer ; and 
 «ven where his works were accepted, the public were 
 at first more taken by surprise than pleased at the 
 -unusual fgrce,of.this new language. The bitter dis- 
 .appointment felt by Wagner at the first perform- 
 ances of his Dutchman at Berlin, and of Tannhduser 
 at Dresden, could not but convince him — 'particu- 
 larly if he remembered the storms of applause ex- 
 cited by his spectacular first-^born — that what he 
 wished to say could as yet be directed only to a 
 few sympathising friends. 
 
 This sense of isolation, combined with his 
 4aily experience of the utter want of artistic aims 
 and principles in the management of the great 
 ^German theatres, surrounded him with an atmo- 
 sphere of iftorbid_diseQntentedn^s in which a 
 change at any j)rice seemed^a relief, and it was in 
 
70 RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 this mood that he, although little of a politician^ 
 joined the insurrectionary mo.veme.nt-o£-lM8, and 
 1849 by word and deed. Two pamphlets written 
 during this period prove how, even in the highest 
 excitement of active partisanship, he %Lej£er_lost 
 sight _pi_his_jaxtistic mission. One of them relates 
 to the foundation of a truly national theatre at 
 Dresden, while the other, ^Art and Ee volution,' 
 tnes^tQjdenioii^trate the«loae.aonnectiQnJiet:w^n t^ 
 regeneratioiL of ^olitijcaUife and^imilax_tendencies 
 iajLontemporaxy_aTt. 
 
 The Titan was again progressing in enormous 
 strides towards Utopia. But, alas for the clumsy 
 realities of our earthly existence ! The revolution 
 at Dresden was crushed by Prussian bayonets, and 
 Wagner had once more to take up his staff and fly 
 the country as an exile. After a short sojourn at 
 JPari^_where he seemed to be drawn by a sort of 
 unacknowledged fascination, and where with equal 
 certainty bitterest disappointment lay in wait for 
 him, he retired to ^witzerlgjid, severed from his 
 friends and country, and without the shadow of a 
 hope of ever being able again to interpret his works 
 to his nation. 
 
 This weight of misery would have crushed a 
 
RICHARD WAGNER. 71 
 
 "weaker man ; "Wagner's 4raii^tie-iiaturejrose up in 
 tlifijeontest, riding on tlie billows that were to sub- 
 merge bim. The conductor's baton was wrencbed 
 from bis band, so he^tookjl P tbe pen o fjth e crit ic, 
 at tacking in their turn and wifeout distinction or 
 mercy all classes of society, musical^^nduetors and 
 authors, critics^ Jews, and actresses, but most of all 
 those mercenaries in bis own branch ofart who, mak- 
 ing " a milch cow of tb« divine goddess," overflowed 
 the stage with the sha,llow display of their common- 
 place artificialities. The mere invention of the in- 
 comparable term '■ Kapellmeistermusik ' for this 
 kind of production would secure Wagner a pro- 
 minent place amongst satirical writers. 
 
 That tbe goad of bis invective was always wisely 
 directed and used with discretion we should be 
 sorry to assert. But it must be remembered that 
 in cleansing the stables of Augias, one cannot be 
 expected to be over nice in his distinctions ; more- 
 over, tbe combative side of Wagner's power, which 
 prevents him from discerning the pure gold in a 
 mass of alloy, is too closely interwoven with tbe 
 whole bias of his nature not to be gladly accepted 
 by his friends. The bird's-eye view from tbe 
 sublime heights of genius must needs ignore many 
 
72 RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 of those minute differences and considerations with. 
 ■wMch. we mortals of smaller stature are obliged to 
 reckon. Besides, a great man must be accepted or 
 renounced as a whole, like the sea or the sun in 
 heaven. If you look at it through the lens of a 
 dissecting criticism, its splendour will be diffused 
 in single rays of moderate lighting power; so the 
 demigod will look very much like an ordinary 
 mortal, not because he has ceased to be the hero. 
 but because you are the valet of the proverb. 
 
 And, after all, the polemical part forms only a small 
 and comparatively unimportant fraction of Wagner's 
 writings. It was by means of these theoretical 
 speculations that he himself for the first time became 
 conscious of the enormous bearing of his own artistic 
 deeds on the progress of music. What he had 
 done hitherto was more like a groping in the dark 
 for the dazzling splendour of a distant light, than 
 the steady progress of the accomplished artist in the 
 bright rays of his ideal aspirations. Not that his later 
 works are any the less the immediate creations' of 
 impulse. On the contrary, we hear in them more and 
 more distinctly the sound of the unfettered wings of 
 purest inspiration. Only the level from which these 
 inspired wings now start on their sunward flight 
 
RICHARD WAGNER. 73 
 
 is higher, SStid therefore the atmosphere in which 
 "they move purer than before, or, to speak without 
 metaphor, through the processes of metaphysical 
 thought and historical study Wagner had be- 
 come conscious of the ultimate aims of his and 
 of all art, and also of the legitimate means by 
 which this aim might be attained. Fortified by 
 this knowledge against the temptations of ephe- 
 meral success, he was able once more to surrender 
 his nature unconditionally to the free impulse of 
 his genius. In the works of his later period, like 
 TristanmiA. ^eMeistersinger, the traces of uncertainty 
 iiDl;he handlrng^of the artistic material, or, still worse, 
 o?^"ere theatrical effects which occasionally mar 
 the highest beauties ia Tannhdmer and Lohengrin, 
 harv;e__^±ijDpJy;jdisa£geared. "We now distinguish, 
 in the pure proportions of the whole as well as in 
 the finish of the miautest details, the hand of the 
 master, in the full consciousness of _his reformatory 
 mission. 
 
 The chief features of this reform, as marked in 
 the later works of Wagner, we must now consider a 
 little more closely. 
 
74 RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 4. 
 In order to appreciate fully the position of "Wag- 
 ner's dramas in the development of music, we have 
 to distinguish two different sides of their import- 
 First of all we recognise in them an energetic protest 
 against the established artificialities- of a-_demo- 
 ralised operatic stage. "We have seen before how 
 the opera itself, based as it was on a misunderstood 
 imitation of the antique drama, had in the course- 
 of time completely lost what little there might have- 
 been of dramatic economy in its 'original structure- 
 In Italy the predominant importance of musical 
 forms had entirely disarranged the harmonious pro- 
 portions of the opera, while, in the latest phase of thfr 
 lyric stage in Trance, the morbid craving for specta- 
 cular effects of the lower order exceeded all bounds^ 
 of natui;e and common sense, not to speak of the 
 elevated principles of art. But even men of pure- 
 intentions and high genius were not able to em- 
 body their inspirations in a form of art the organism 
 of which was diseased to the core, and in which 
 the principles of music and poetry were sa 
 strangely at variance, that, instead of a desirable 
 mutual assistance, they could not but continually 
 check and chain each other's movements. 
 
RICHARD WAGNER. 75 
 
 All this was thoroughly changed by Waguer. 
 He has crushed the hard fetters of petrified formali- 
 ties in the firm grasp of his hand, remoulding 
 the dead metal by the burning breath of his 
 genius into new shapes of harmonious fashion. 
 His operas are no longer a series of separate pieces 
 of music, like duets, arias, and finales, with little 
 reference to the action of the piece, and loosely 
 connected with each other by the weak thread of dry 
 recitativi. His last and supreme purpose is the attain-, 
 ment of dramatic truth ; and from this point of view 
 we must consider the process of condensation and self- 
 restraint to which "Wagner ultimately sacrificed the 
 whole apparatus of absolute musical forms. The first 
 and most dangerous excrescence of the opera which 
 he attacked was the aria. This musical equivalent of 
 the monologue of the spoken drama had, in the 
 course of time, obtained an undue importance. It 
 was considered by both the composer and the- 
 singer as a welcome test of their musical capacities, 
 and had, in consequence, to be inserted into the 
 piece without rhyme or reason, wherever those 
 two omnipotent rulers of the unfortuate lihrettisie- 
 thought fit. 
 
 Wagner has totally abolished the aria proper.. 
 
76 RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 The whole weight of his musicial energy is 
 placed into the dialogue as the chief factor of 
 the action, and is fashioned entirely according to 
 the requirements of this action, rising with it 
 where an occasion offers into the intensest fervour 
 of lyrical exaltation, and always surrounding it 
 witJi a flow of beautiful melody, but without 
 «ver misleading its course into the dangerous 
 channels of ill-applied sentimentality. It need not 
 .be added that also the other forms of absolute 
 music, like ensemble and finale, etc., were swept 
 away by the force of this dramatic energy, but 
 "Wagner (and in this we have to recognise the 
 positive and reconstructive side of his revolution) 
 has at the same time created a new form of musical 
 expression, which originates from, and varies with 
 the impulse of dramatic passion;, nay, which is 
 nothing but this passion intensified and idealised 
 by the divinest of arts ; the logos, which has shaken 
 off its earthly raiments and is transferred once more 
 to its own ethereal sphere. 
 
 The definite appearance of this new mode of 
 expression it would be impossible to describe 
 without an endless number of musical quotations. 
 And even with those the reader would be unable to 
 
RICHARD WAGNER. 77 
 
 realise the feeling of harmonious enjoyment with 
 which the perfect unity and appropriateness of these 
 forms affects the hearer. 
 
 I will mention only one point which hears; 
 equally on the poetical and the musical side of 
 the question, and is, therefore, not so entirely 
 withdrawn from an explanation, as where the 
 latter art alone is concerned. 
 
 "We have seen how "Wagner's musical inspiration 
 flows entirely from the conditions of his dramatic 
 subject. It was only natural that even for the 
 rhythmical structure of his jwefos, he should look to 
 its poetical foundation. Modem verse could offer 
 him but little assistance in this respect. In it metrical 
 arsis and thesis, as they existed iu antique poetry 
 have been entirely supplanted by the rhetorical accent 
 of the words; and the different forms of verse\ 
 founded on this principle prove often rather an im- 
 pediment than an aid to musical composition. The 
 important attraction of rhyme is, for example, entirely 
 useless to the musician ; blank verse, on the other 
 hand, is a most unwieldy combination for musical 
 purposes, and can indeed only be treated like prose./ 
 
 In this difficulty "Wagner looked for help to 
 the metrical basis of all Teutonic poetry, «'.e. the 
 
78 RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 alliterative principle or stqffrhi/me, as he found it in 
 the ' Edda ' and other remnants of ancestral lore. His 
 last great work, the subject of which is also taken 
 from the old sagas, is written in a modified repro- 
 duction of the old metre which Wagner treats 
 with eminent skill, and very much in the same 
 manner as Mr. Morris and Mr. E. Magnusson have 
 done in our language in their admirable translations 
 from the Icelandic* 
 
 The gaia of this new method for Wagner's 
 music is inestimable. The strong accents of the 
 alliterating syllables supply his melody with 
 rhythmical firmness ; while, on the other hand, the 
 unlimited number of low- toned syllables allow full 
 liberty to the most varied nuances of declamatory 
 expression. In order to exemplify the step in 
 advance, I will ask the reader to compare the song 
 of Wolfram in Tannhduser (' Dir hohe Liebe'), 
 where the iambic metre has been obliterated and 
 the verse constantly cut to pieces by the musical 
 ■ caesura, with the wonderful love song from the 
 Valley re (' Winterstiirme wiehen'), where verse and 
 
 * The story of the ' Volsungs and Nibelungs.' Translated 
 from the Icelandic by E. Magnusson and William Morris. 
 Xondon. Ellis. 
 
RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 TQelody seem to glide on together in harmoniou\ 
 rhythms like the soft winds of spring of which they 
 tell. 
 
 Our last remarks have shown us our composer 
 in the new light of a poet. The reader is probably 
 aware of the fact that Wagner, from his first opera 
 to his last, supplied, himself with the words to his 
 music ; and the advance which we have pointed out 
 in the latter art, we can trace in commensurate 
 -degrees in his dramatic writings. 
 
 The text of Rienzi displays a good deal of that 
 slovenliness in diction and versification, which the 
 good-natured public of the grand opera is used to 
 tolerate. But when in the Flying Dutchman, 
 Wagner left the spectacular effects of the so-called 
 "historical" school for the popular myth, as the 
 unalloyed source of the purely human, his style at 
 once rose with the greater, requirements of his task. 
 'The fettering chrysalis was slipped off and the 
 beautiful butterfly raised it wings ; the lihrettisU 
 had become ajpoet. 
 
 Wagner himself has given us the cue to the 
 hidden causes of this transition, which at the same 
 time affords new evidence of the strict reciprocity 
 ■K)f his musical and poetical faculties. "In^^ew^^'," 
 
8o RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 he says, " my only purpose was to write an opera,, 
 and thinking only of this opera, I took my subject 
 as I found it ready made in another man's finished 
 
 production "With the Flying Dutchman, I 
 
 entered upon a new course, by becoming the artistia 
 interpreter of a subject which was given to me only 
 in the simple crude form of a popular tale.* From 
 this time I became, with regard to all my dramatic 
 works, first of all a poet; and only in the ultimate 
 completion of the poem my faculty as a musician 
 was restored to me. But as a poet I was again 
 from the beginning conscious of my power of 
 expressing musically the import of my subjects. 
 This power I had exercised to such a degree, that I 
 was perfectly certain of my ability of applying it ta 
 the realisation of my poetical purpose, and there- 
 fore, was at much greater liberty to form my 
 dramatic schemes according to their poetical 
 necessities, than if I had conceived them from 
 the beginning with a view to their musical 
 treatment What we want to express in 
 
 * In comparing this statement with, what we have said 
 atout Heine's treatment of the ' Mying Dutchman ' legend, 
 the reader ought to remember that this treatment comprises- 
 only the merest outline of the story, and purposely retains 
 the tone of its popular origin. 
 
RICHARD WAGNER. 8i 
 
 music are only feelings and sensations; music 
 renders in its fullest sway the pure emotional 
 ibimdation of the word which in our essentially 
 logical speech cannot be severed from its mixture of 
 reasoning ; it is only the power of expressing dis- 
 tinctly the separate and iadividual, that music gains 
 by its blending with worded utterance. If this con- 
 nection is to be fruitfal, there must be in the words 
 themselves an innate want and desire for pure senti- 
 mental expression, and by this the nature of the 
 musico-poetical speech itself is suflS.ciently defined. 
 It can be nothing but the purely human, freed from 
 the fetters of all conventionalities." 
 
 It was in this way that Wagner, by the re- 
 quirements of his musical genius, was led from the 
 formal relations of historical characters to the 
 unimpeded freedom of mythical types. But this 
 progress at the same time implied reactively the 
 liberation of this music itself from the arbitrary 
 limits of tradition. It is true that in the choice 
 and treatment of his subjects, Wagner was uncon- 
 sciously guided by his musical instinct, but 
 between this and the adoption of the abstract forms 
 of music there was a vast difiference. 
 
 " The plastic unity and simplicity," he continues, 
 
 G 
 
82 ■ RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 "of the mythical subject-matter allowed of tha 
 concentration of the action on certain important 
 and decisive points of its development; thns; 
 I was enabled to rest on those fewer scenes with 
 a perseverance sufficient to expound the subject 
 down to its last dramatic consequences. The- 
 nature of the subject could, therefore, not induce me, 
 in sketching my scenes to consider in advance their- 
 adaptability to any abstract musical form, the 
 particular kind of musical treatment being neces- 
 sitated by these scenes themselves. It could 
 not enter my mind to ingraft on this my 
 musical form, growing as it did out of the nature 
 of the scenes, the traditional forms of operatic 
 music, which could only have marred and in- 
 terrupted its organic progress. I, therefore, 
 never thought of contemplating, on principle and 
 as a deliberate reformer, the destruction of the 
 aria, the duet, and other operatic forms; but the 
 dropping of these forms followed consistently 
 from the nature of my subjects." "With this we 
 have nearly finished our sketch of the most 
 important features of "Wagner's music-drama, or, 
 as it has also been called, The Work of Art of 
 the Future. Other characteristics we shall oc- 
 
RICHARD WAGNER. 83 
 
 casionally mention in the furtlier course of our 
 remarks. Only to one more point I would faia 
 call tlie reader's attention, as it has given rise 
 to a great deal of discussion, and forms an im- 
 portant item amongst the heads of impeachment, 
 raised by our master's adversaries against him. * 
 
 In his '■ Oper und Drama,' Wagner urges the 
 demand of a co-operation of all the arts, that is, of 
 painting and architecture as "well as of poetry 
 and music, in the drama of the future. It, 
 therefore, cannot surprise us to see that in his own 
 attempts at realising this ideal work of art, con- 
 siderahle importance has been placed on the visible 
 beauties of the action, as. far as they may be 
 attained by the painting of scenery and the 
 grouping of human figures. 
 
 Wagner's stage directions are always of the 
 minutest, and show all that skill and knowledge 
 of scenic effects which so favourably distinguishes 
 him from most other German dramatists. But 
 the honest Teuton critics stand amazed at this 
 unwonted display of taste and elegance in the 
 highest sense, which to them savours of French 
 raffinement and other dangerous and evil things. 
 They summarily condemn the dazzling splendour 
 
 g2 
 
84 RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 of scenery as unwortliy of the simplicity of 
 fatherlandish maimers and tastes. In order to 
 prove the futility of sncli overstrained purism 
 let us just consider the first occurring case in 
 point. In the first act of Tannhduser, when the 
 knight, satiated by the overmeasure of joy in the 
 realm of love's goddess, resolves to leave her, he 
 invokes against the bewitching charms of Venus 
 the idea of the Mother of God as the prototype of 
 love in its purest emanation. The moment he 
 utters the name of ' Mary,' the spell is broken, 
 the 'Venusberg' sinks into the abyss, and we 
 involuntarily draw a deep breath as we emerge 
 from its close-scented atmposhere into the fresh air 
 of a beautiful spring landscape, full of sun and 
 flowers, and made musical with the song of a 
 lonely shepherd. The effect of this sudden 
 change is indescribable and of the purest poetic 
 kind, although entirely achieved by means of a 
 shifted piece of pasteboard. 
 
 And the same may be said of all the scenic effects 
 in Wagner's operas. They are made throughout 
 subservient to the economy of the drama, with the 
 organism of which they are connected as closely 
 as music and poetry themselves. To compare this 
 
RICHARD WAGNER. 85 
 
 legitimate use of the appliances of the modem 
 stage with the interruption of the action by melo- 
 dramatic spectacle^ as we see it, for instance, in 
 the celebrated burning vessel of Meyerbeer's stUl 
 more celebrated Africaine, is an absurdity which 
 requires no further refutation. 
 
 "We should now have to return to the personal 
 career of our master, whom we left in his retirement 
 in Switzerland, but that the facts which relate to his 
 reappearance on the public stage as a composer and 
 conductor after a seclusion of nearly ten years, are 
 so recent, and so closely connected with the fates 
 and sympathies of other living persons, that a calm 
 historical account would become almost impossible. 
 I must, therefore, limit myself here to a chrono- 
 logical survey of his works, which in his, as in 
 most cases, seem, to be the best if not only rapport 
 between the living master and his public. 
 
 We have in our former observations described the 
 genesis of Wagner's two acknowledged first operas, 
 Bienzi and the Flying Dutchman. It has also been 
 mentioned how, during his stay at Paris already, 
 he was deeply impressed with the beauties of 
 
86 RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 the popular story of ' TannMuser,' the knight and 
 singer, whose sin and repentance Wagner has since 
 surrounded with the aureole of his genius. The 
 composition of this work was finished during the 
 winter 1844-45. 
 
 The next suhjeet to which he turned/ was 
 in form and idea the very counterpart of the 
 tragic elevation of the last-mentioned opera. It 
 transfers us from the romantic surroundings of the 
 mediaeval castle of Wartburg into the domestic 
 narrowness of a worthy artisan's household 
 during the sixteenth century. The ' Mastersingers 
 of 2^iirnberg,' with their homely conception of life 
 and art, were intended by Wagner originally as 
 a kind of humorous pendant to the knightly poets 
 in ' Tannhauser,' from which however the redeem- 
 ing features of true honesty and justified self- 
 assertion were not absent. The character of ' Hans 
 Sachs,' in its present conception as the type of the 
 rising importance of middle-class freedom and 
 intelligence towards the close of the mediaeval 
 period, is one of Wagner's finest creations. How- 
 ever, this attempt at a modified revival of the 
 antique satyr-drama was for the time abandoned 
 in favour of another romantic subject, viz., ' Lohen- 
 
RICHARD WAGNER. 87 
 
 •grin,' the Knight of the Swan. I shall take a 
 later opportunity of giving a close analysis of this 
 heautifal and important work, and will add here 
 •only that, compared with ' Tannhauser,' it marks 
 a further stage in its author's progress towards the 
 ultimate aim of pure dramatic expression. It was 
 :finished in March, 1848, but was not performed 
 till two years later at Weimar, when the ener- 
 getic action of Franz Liszt once more rallied the 
 friends'of -the banished master round the standard 
 •of the Future. 
 
 During the musical composition of Lohengrin^ 
 the old contest in Wagner's mind between the 
 historical and mythical principles was also finally 
 •decided. The representative of the former was Sieg- 
 fried, the hero of the oldest manifestations of Teu- 
 tonic religious feeling ; that of the latter, Frederic 
 the First, the great Emperor of the Hohenstaufen 
 ■dynasty, whose return from his sleep of centuries was, 
 till quite lately, connected by the German people 
 with the revival of the old imperial glory. I need 
 not add that the victory remained with Siegfried. 
 Wagner began at once sketching the subject, but 
 gradually the immense breadth and grandeur of 
 the old types began to expand under his hands, 
 
88 RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 and the result was a trilogy or rather tetralogy 
 of enormous dimensions, perhaps the most colossal 
 attempt upon which the dramatic muse has ven- 
 tured since the times of Aeschylus. 
 
 The four dramatic poems which form the cyclu» 
 of the ' Eing of the Mbelung ' were written as 
 early as the middle of 1852, and the three next 
 years were partly occupied in writing the music 
 to the introductory drama, the 'Ehinegold,' and 
 to the first part of the trilogy, the ' Valkyre".' 
 
 At this point the continuation of the vast 
 scheme was interrupted by another work of no 
 lesser grandeur and beauty of conception. It was 
 this, the tragedy of 'Tristan and Iseult.' The 
 poem was begun in 1856, and the musia 
 finished in 1859. The performance of the work 
 was delayed by various circumstances till 1865, 
 when it took place under Von Billow's excellent 
 direction at Munich. The enormous importance 
 of ' Tristan and Iseult,' for the progress of 
 modem music, was at once recognised by friends 
 and enemies, who made its name the hue- 
 and cry in their fierce debate. This prominent 
 position of the work may also be my excuse for 
 reproducing here, with a few alterations, the re- 
 
RICHARD WAGNER. 8^ 
 
 marks I made on its musical aud poetical beauties, 
 on the occasion of a selection from it being 
 produced at a recent concert of the London Wagner 
 Society. The passage of the programme referred 
 to runs thus : — 
 
 TEI8TAN AND ISOLDE. 
 Introduction and Close of Third Act - Wagner. 
 
 Tristan und Isolde is the fifth of Wagner's- 
 acknowledged dramatic works, its first performance 
 (at Munich in 1865) following that of Lohengrin 
 after an interval of fifteen years. The step in. 
 advance marked by it in its author's development, 
 and in that of dramatic music in general, is pro- 
 portionate to this lapse of time. According to his 
 own assertion, Wagner wrote it with the full con- 
 centrated power of his inspiration, freed at last 
 from the fetters of conventional operatic forms, 
 with which he has broken here definitely and 
 irrevocably. In Tristan und Isolde we hear for 
 the first time the unimpaired language of dramatic 
 passion, intensified by an uninterrupted flow of 
 expressive melody, the stream of which is no longer 
 obstructed or led into the artificial canals of aria, 
 
"9° RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 cavatina, etc. Here also tlie oreliestra obtains 
 that wide range of emotional expression wMcli 
 enables it, like the chorus of the antique tragedy, 
 to discharge the dialogue of an overplus of lyrical 
 elements, without weakening the intensity of the 
 situation, which it accompanies like an unceasing 
 passionate undercurrent. 
 
 It is also in Tristan und Isolde that we perceive 
 most distinctly the powerful sway of Schopenhauer's 
 philosophy, with its profound reproduction of the 
 ' ]tTirwana ' of individual existence, over our com- 
 poser's mind. In our work the very passion of 
 love is made the symbol of the supreme transfusion 
 of the separate Ego into the nature of the beloved 
 object. 
 
 After the stated facts, it cannot surprise us to 
 see, that our music-drama (for Opera would be a 
 decided misnomer) has become a bone of contention 
 between the adherents of the liberal and conserva- 
 tive schools of music. Many people who greatly 
 admire " certain things " in Tannhiiuser and Lohen- 
 grin draw the line at Tristan und Isolde, which, 
 on the other hand, is considered by the advanced 
 party as the representative work of a new epoch 
 in art. A musician's position to the present work 
 
RICHARD WAGNER. 91 
 
 Tuay indeed be considered as tlie crucial test of Ms 
 general tendency towards the past or future. 
 
 The subject of Wagner's tragedy is taken from 
 the Celtic Mabinogi of Tristrem and Iseult, -which 
 at an early stage became popular amongst different 
 nations, and found its most perfect mediaeval treat- 
 ment in Gottfried von Strassburg's immortal epic. 
 Our modern poet has followed his original closely, 
 pruning, however, and modifying where the 
 economy of the drama seemed to require it. The 
 •episode of Riwalin and Blanclieflur^ and the early 
 youth of Tristan remains unmentioned, and the 
 scene opens on board the vessel, destined to carry 
 the unwilling Irish bride to old King MarJce. 
 Despair and lovers disappointment, together with 
 the insult inflicted upon her family by Tristan's 
 victory over her kinsman Morolt, rankle in Isolde's 
 bosom, and drive her to the resolution of destroying 
 Jier own life together with that of her beloved 
 •enemy. Tristan is invited to drink with her the 
 •cup of atonement, but, without Isolde's knowledge, 
 the prepared poisonous draught is changed by her 
 faithful companion Brangaene for the love philter. 
 The reader will perceive at once the immense 
 ■dramatic force of this version, compared with the 
 
92 RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 old story, "vrliere the fatal potion is. taken by a pure 
 mistake. This potion itself becomes in "Wagner 
 only the symbpl of irresistible loye, which, to speak 
 with the Psalmist, is "strong as death" and 
 knows of no fetter.* 
 
 The further events of the drama are the con- 
 sistent outgrowth of this tragic guilt. The second 
 act contains the secret meeting of the lovers, which 
 has given the composer occasion for a duet, the 
 pathos and sweetness of which remain unequalled 
 in dramatic literature. Betrayed by Melot (who 
 from the mischievous dwarf of older versions has 
 become a knight and Tristan^ s false friend), they 
 are surprised by King Marke, and Tristan, crushed 
 by the sad reproach of his benefactor, makes a 
 feigned attack on Melot, who in return pierces 
 his defenceless breast. In the third and last act 
 Tristan is discovered lying in a state of uncon- 
 sciousness at his castle in Brittany. His retainer, 
 Kurwenal, has sent a messenger to Isolde, who once 
 before has cured Tristan from the effects of a 
 
 * It ought to be mentioned that the same fine touch of 
 treating the love potion as an entirely accidental matter, 
 which occasions, but does not cause the affection between the 
 ill-fated couple, is also found in the medisBval German poet. 
 
RICHARD WAGNER. 93 
 
 terrible wound. Tristan awakes, and on being 
 told of Isolde's approach, tears, ia an ecstasy of 
 joy, the bandage from his wound, which causes his 
 death at the moment when his lost love comes to 
 his rescue. Isolde expires on the body of her 
 lover. 
 
 Our selection consists of the introduction to the 
 ■drama, and the dying scene (Liebestod) of Isolde. 
 The former piece is founded on one single motive 
 •of intensely passionate impressiveness, which is 
 worked out thematically into various and, at the 
 same time, concentrated shapes of great melodious 
 l)eauty. The same melody forms a prominent 
 feature of the music drama, and appears as " leading 
 motive " wherever the composer wishes to suggest 
 the idea of the love potion, or, as we have seen, of 
 irresistible passion. To its strains also the names 
 •of Tristan and Isolde are Tittered for the first time 
 in fond whispering just after the fatal draught 
 lias been drained. "We quote it here in full — 
 
 Langsam, und sci/machfend. 
 
94 
 
 RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
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RICHARD WAGNER. 95 
 
 The dying scene of Isolde is conceived by the 
 composer as a kind of sad echo of the happy imion 
 of the lovers in the second act. The principal 
 motives of the latter scene reappear in the 
 orchestral part as a fond remembrance of lost 
 bliss, accompanied by the broken utterances of the 
 voice. At the same time we have to recognise 
 in this retrospective introduction of the same 
 motives a symbolic expression of the lovers' re- 
 union after death, quite as simple and significant as 
 the intertwining rose and vine which grow on their 
 graves in the old story. 
 
 On the opening motive, which displays the 
 
 broad, deeply coloured melodiousness of Wagner 
 
 in its full splendour, we might inscribe as motto 
 
 Freiligrath's expression of "Euh'e in der Ge- 
 
 liebten," i. e., the becalmed contentment in love 
 
 which follows after and again leads to the climax 
 
 of passion. To illustrate its meaning more fully, 
 
 we quote the verses which it is employed to 
 
 illustrate in the second act : 
 
 So starben wir, um ungetrennt, 
 ewig einig ohne End, 
 ohn' Erwachen ohn' Erbangen, 
 namenlos in Lieb' umfangen, 
 ganz una selbst gegeben, 
 der Liebe nur zu leben. 
 
96 
 
 RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
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 tfei: 
 
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 m:^-M 
 
 ij=iSz 
 
 -1 ^^ 
 
 i^s 
 
 ^ 
 
 i25z 
 
 T 
 
 T r 
 
 This motive is worked up into the foUowiag 
 phrase, in which the double turn adds greatly to 
 its sweet impressivenesSj and is to be taken as an 
 essential part of the melody, and not as a mere 
 fioriture. 
 
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 igi^tif: 
 
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 ^E^y^ 
 
RICHARD WAGNER. 97 
 
 Our last motive, which also finishes the love 
 scene in the second act, is expressive of the highest 
 joy of united love, which, in the " Liebestod," the 
 visionary trance of the dyiug Isolde recalls to her 
 
 mind. 
 
 ^^ 
 
 During the composition of Tristan, Wagner never 
 lost sight of the great work of national poetry, 
 which he henceforth considered as the chief task 
 of his life. The music to the second part of the 
 trilogy, ' Siegfried,' was begun in the autumn of 
 1856, and finished after many interruptions of 
 various kinds in 1869. One of these interruptions 
 
 E 
 
98 RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 consisted in the resumption of the scheme of the 
 comic opera sketched by us in the foregoiug pages. 
 The rewriting of the text, and the composition 
 of the music to the ' Mastersingers,' occupied him 
 at intervals from the end of 1861 to 1867, in the 
 October of which year the score was finished. 
 
 From that day to this the full energy of "Wagner 
 has been dedicated to the final completion, 
 and the preparation for an eventual performance 
 of his Nihelungen. It was natural that in the 
 present condition of the German stage, with its 
 motley programme of classic, romantic, French, 
 German, Italian, serious, comic, and burlesque 
 operas, a satisfactory representation of a work of 
 this kind could not be expected. Neither the 
 singer who had to act, nor the hearer who attended, 
 at a performance of La Favorita on Tuesday, and 
 was looking forward to Meyerbeer's Africaine — 
 or, better still, to Offenbach's Belle Helene — on the 
 ensuing Sunday, were likely to raise their receptive 
 faculties for the intervening days of the week to 
 conceptions like those of 'Siegfried' and 'Brunhilde' 
 in the Bush of the Gods. Wagner, therefore, for a 
 long time despaired of the visible realisation of his 
 ideas, and strongly 'opposed the performances of 
 
RICHARD WAGNER. 99 
 
 separate parts of his work attempted at Municli. 
 It was only a few years ago that the late celebrated 
 pianist Charles Tamiff, one of the master's most 
 -Zealous adherents, in connection with a small 
 number of his artistic Mends, confidently decided 
 upon appealing to the admirers of Wagner's art 
 amongst his own and other nations for the necessary 
 means of carrying out the composer's original idea, 
 viz., to perform the Nibelungen at a theatre to be 
 •erected for the purpose, and by a select company 
 in the manner of a great national festival, and 
 before an audience, which in this way would be, 
 like the artists themselves, entirely removed from 
 the atmosphere of ordinary theatrical shows. 
 
 The national and artistic import of the work 
 itself, combined with the irresistible sway which 
 Wagner's genius began to evince more and more 
 over the best amongst his nation, seemed to warrant 
 the boldness of this design ; and the appeal was, 
 indeed, responded to with great enthusiasm, far 
 Tieyond the limits of his own country. 
 
 Wagner societies were founded not only m. the 
 most important German cities, but also in Milan, 
 Brussels, London, New York, etc. ; and at the 
 present moment the realisation of the scheme at 
 
 H 2 
 
100 RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 Bayreutli in the spring of 1875 seems no longer 
 doubtful. The performance of the tetralogy will be 
 prepared and conducted by Wagner himself, who' 
 in this way wiU be enabled to render the highest 
 aspirations of his soul, called into life and made 
 real in the ideal world of the drama. 
 
 It would, of course, be premature to judge about 
 the artistic import and effect of a work like this,, 
 before it has been embodied in the shapes of the 
 stage, for which it seems so eminently destined. 
 I will consider it here from one, viz., the his- 
 torical poiat of view ; and this also only in so far as 
 it marks in a manner the final result of our re- 
 searches, the concluding link of that "circulus" 
 which, as we have seen, is the symbol of progress 
 in art as well as in all other human things. I am 
 speaking of the strange analogy between Wagner's 
 Nibelungen and the drama of the antique stage, 
 which I perceive in the following three important 
 points: — first, the relative position of poetry 
 and music, the latter of which in both Wag- 
 ner's and Sophocles' drama is strictly limited 
 to receiving and idealising the intentions of the 
 sister art, on which it never intrudes the conditions 
 of its own separate existence. 
 
RICHARD WAGNER. loi 
 
 A second point of resemblance seems to me to 
 -exist between the chorus of tbe antique and tbe 
 orcbestra of tbe modern tragedy, paradoxical as 
 "this may appear at first sight; for the orchestral 
 part, which 'by "Wagner has been raised from the 
 secondary position of a mere accompaniment of the 
 voices into an important factor of the dramatic 
 organism, is enabled by his masterly treatment to 
 Tender in its varied measures the lyrical and re- 
 flective elements of the action, resembling in this 
 respect the antique chorus much more closely, than 
 the hackneyed exclamations of combined joy or 
 grief which the choral singers of the orthodox 
 ■opera are wont to utter. 
 
 As the last and most important parallelism, we 
 mention the mythical foundation, which in both 
 dramas forms the ideal background of the individual 
 -action. From this Wagner himself expects the 
 revival of modem art, and through it of national 
 life in a manner too ideal, perhaps, to be ever 
 realised in our actual existence, but which will 
 always be counted amongst the most beautiful 
 dreams of human genius. Quod felix famtum fortu' 
 matumque sit. 
 
J02 RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 Here ends -what it was my present purpose to 
 say about the personal character and artistic deeds 
 of a man, -whose importance in the progress of 
 music, whatever view one may take of it, is 
 certainly of too deep a nature to be finally judged 
 by contemporary criticism. I am myself but too 
 conscious of the sketchy nature of my account, but 
 cannot suppress at the same time a hope, that the 
 reader may have recognised in my rough outline 
 the features of a grand immortal countenance^ 
 wrought by nature's own hands, and stamped by 
 her with the indelible sign of genius ; a '■'• hero " 
 and "swallower of formulas" in the most emphatic 
 sense Mr. Carlyle ever imparted to that word, but 
 at the same time endowed with the gift of re- 
 constructing what was eternal in the destroyed 
 fabric, after a plan of his own form and fashion — a 
 man, in short, whom you may love or hate intensely, 
 but whom you must reckon with in one way or 
 another, if not the book of artistic revelation shall 
 be for ever sealed to you with seven seals. 
 
 It would be intruding too much upon the con- 
 fidence of the reader if, after the many statements 
 
RICHARD WAGJS/ER. 105 
 
 "which had necessarily to remaia unsupported by 
 BTidence in the foregoing pages, I did not fix upon 
 a single specimen of our master's works in -which 
 the advance in music marked by his works could be 
 shown in a more definite manner. For this purpose 
 I have chosen his third music-drama, Lohengrin, a 
 vork particularly adapted in our case, as showing 
 most of the important new features of "Wagner's art, 
 yet without some of the more striking anomalies of 
 his latest productions, the beauty and necessity of 
 which can be tested only by the immediate im- 
 pression of a performance on the stage. 
 
 But, before entering upon this last and most 
 pleasant part of our task, I think it will be necessary, 
 by way of clearing our road, to say a few words 
 about certain doubts and misunderstandings which 
 I fear, even after my lengthy disquisitions, may 
 arise in the reader's mind. This misgiving is 
 corroborated by my own literary experience with 
 regard to the case in point. 
 
 When, nearly two years ago, I published a paper 
 on "Wagner in the 'Fortnightly Eeview,' and in 
 this way gave the first comprehensive account of 
 the music of the future, which (as far as my know- 
 ledge goes) has appeared in the English language. 
 
104 RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 the importance of the question at stake was at once 
 recognised by the fact of several of our most 
 influential journals raising their voices on the sub- 
 ject.* I am alluding in particular to a leading 
 article in the 'Daily News,' which exhibited all 
 the literary skill, but (if I may judge in my own 
 case) not quite the more than common musical 
 appreciation, by which that journal is so favourably 
 distinguished. The popular prejudices of which 
 the article made itself the mouthpiece may be 
 summed up in the double assertion, that what I 
 had designated as the fundamental idea of the 
 " music of the future " was wanting ia " any 
 genuine novelty ; " and, further, that if the poetical 
 principle insisted upon were carried out, it would 
 make all instrumental music impossible, and, more- 
 over, lead in its ultimate consequences to the 
 destruction of both arts. 
 
 It may be hoped that the attentive reader will 
 be in a position to judge about these objections 
 
 * I am told, that some years ago an article on a similar 
 subject appeared in the ' "Westminster Eeview ;' but as this 
 seems to have passed comparatively unnoticed, I think I may, 
 without presumption, lay claim to the honour of having for 
 the first time drawn the attention of a wider circle of English 
 readers to Wagner's creations. 
 
RICHARD WAGNER. 105 
 
 •according to their merits ; still, in order to go quite 
 safe, I will insert my reply to the editor of the 
 * Daily News ' : 
 
 " It is far from my wish, to enter into any kind of contro- 
 versy about the value of the ' music of the future ' in general, 
 ■or about the originality of what I think to be its fundamental 
 ^dea. I know very well that what is generally called a ' new 
 idea ' is never invented by a single individual. Its compounds 
 have been singly hovering in the air, as it were, felt and 
 ■known by many, either in the form of a doctrine of the 
 learned, or even in that of a popular truism. Still it remains 
 the task of genius to develop its disjecta membra into an 
 organic whole ; and, if the idea is of an artistic kind, to prove 
 its vitality by an act of creation. In this sense, and in this 
 sense only, I claimed for "Wagner the honour or dishonour 
 (whichever it may be) of having urged theoretically, and 
 shown by his creative productions, the necessity of a poetical 
 basis of music. The meaning of the word ' poetical ' in such 
 combination, differs essentially from the sense in which the 
 wprd is generally used, and this nuance, perhaps not sufficiently 
 explained by me, has, I think, given rise to some mis- 
 lapprehension in your article. By ' poetical ' I mean only the 
 original passionate impulse, which every artist must feel, and ■ 
 which he tries to embody in his work, be it by means of 
 articulate words, sounds, or colours. In this sense every 
 artist must be first a poet ; and without such a fundamental 
 conception, poetry proper will degenerate into mere rhyming, 
 painting into the worst kind of meaningless genre, and music 
 into a shallow display of sound, or ' Musikmacherei ' as the 
 Germans appropriately call it. Of this original impulse 
 music had lost hold for a long time, chiefly owing to the 
 
io6 RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 destructive influence of the Italian operatic stage of the last 
 century. Even in great composers like Mozart or Haydn, the 
 poetical idea was encumbered by the strict forms of absolute 
 music. My meaning is, to be quite explicit, that they would 
 conceive a melody, perhaps full of sentiment, and certainly 
 full of beauty of sound, and develop it exclusively with a view 
 to displaying such beauties. It was Beethoven who firsb 
 distinctly felt, and Wagner who first expressed in words, the 
 necessity of a previous ' poetical ' impulse to which the forms 
 of music proper would have to yield. The unimpaired vitality 
 of pure instrumental music, on these grounds, is of course 
 obvious, it being altogether a secondary consideration whether 
 the ' poetical basis ' be expressed in words or not. Much 
 less is the possibility of poetry as a separate art denied by the- 
 above theory. Still it is equally true that where a thorough 
 blending of words and music is effected, and most of all in tho 
 drama, the very essence of which is passionate impulse, 
 the common effort of both arts will be of a higher kind 
 than is ever attainable by either in its individual sphere. 
 Both have to resign some of their peculiarities, but both gain 
 new strength and beauty in their supreme surrender. They 
 are not, to adopt the equestrian simile of your contributor,; 
 ' two riders on the same horse, where one or the other must 
 ride behind,' but rather like two noble steeds drawing ,with 
 double force and swiftness the fiery chariot of divine pathos." 
 
 The wh-ole error, I ■will add here, seems to me ta 
 arise from the mixing up on the writer's part, of art 
 as a revelation to the inspired individual mind, 
 and art as the result of the labour of generations, 
 "with a certain amount of rules and principles not 
 
RICHARD WAGNER. 107- 
 
 unlike the dogmas of an established religious creed. . 
 Every artist, if he wishes to deserve his name,,, 
 must be a perfect master of these forms and rules,, 
 the value of which for the most favourable display 
 of the pecuKar powers of the art in question, be it 
 music, poetry, or painting, cannot be overrated. 
 But it must be always borne in mind, that the fire 
 of individual inspiration is of divine nature, and, as 
 such, superior in essence to all the accumulated 
 wisdom and skill of the world, entitling, nay, com- 
 pelling the true artist to find, if necessary, unknown 
 modes of expression for his new lore. In ,this . 
 sense must also be understood what has been said 
 about "Wagner's breaking through the forms of" 
 absolute music, which he knows how to apply for 
 his purpose with greater skill, than any other living- 
 master, but which he abandons in case of need, 
 and repudiates with the same courage and zeal 
 as Luther and Calvin did the grooves of Popish 
 dogmatism. 
 
 A second point of vital importance, raised against" 
 Wagner by his enemies, is the alleged absence 
 from his style of melody, which, as it is said, and 
 rightly said, must be considered the most unfailing- 
 test of all music. It would of course be useless to- 
 
io8 RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 assert or prove, a priori^ a thing the existence of 
 which after all one can believe only to his own 
 sense of hearing. Still, the present author has 
 often tried to account for a phenomenon, which is 
 all the more astonishing to him, as he considers 
 melody the very essence of Wagner's music, and is 
 prepared to point out quite as many specimens of 
 beautiful cantilena m. Tannhauser or Tristan as ia 
 Don Giovanni or II Barbiere. The causes of this ex- 
 traordinary want of perception, seem to him to lie 
 ■chiefly in two important features of Wagner's art, 
 not to mention the intentional ill-will of party-preju- 
 diced hearers, which explaias of course everything. 
 One of these causes is, strange to say, the con- 
 tiauous flow of melodious beauty which charac- 
 terises our master's creations, and which makes it 
 much more difficult to single out a particular 
 motive in his works, than, for instance, in the 
 Italian opera, where a snatch of flne cantilena 
 appears like an oasis in the desert of recitativi 
 «ecchi. Moreover, in Wagner melody and harmony 
 are so closely connected with the dramatic action, 
 that their separate existence becomes imperceptibly 
 mixed up with the general harmony of the work 
 of art as a whole. 
 
RICHARD WAGNER. 109 
 
 The second cause referred to is the increased 
 importance of Wagner's orchestra, into which a 
 great part of the melodious flow is transferred, so 
 as to give the voice more liberty ia rendering the 
 accents of genuine passion. It was only natural 
 that both the bravura-singer and his faithful ad- 
 herents should retaliate for this breach of privilege' 
 by not acknowledging, or, maybe, actually not 
 perceiving the existence of instrumental melody. 
 
 But now, I fear, I have tried the reader's patience 
 to the utmost. I will, therefore, without further 
 delay, lead him from the barren heath of contro- 
 versial discussion to the green pastures of undying 
 fiction, and begin the story of Lohengrin. 
 
 The story of Lohengrin, Parcival's son, on which 
 "Wagner has founded his drama, is a compound 
 of many different elements. The Celtic mabino- 
 gion, with King Arthur and his knights, and the 
 mystic symbolism of the Graal, the holy vessel 
 (gradale or sang real, whichever it may be), are 
 mixed up with local traditions of the lower Ehine- 
 land, of a knight who arrives in a boat without 
 sail or oar, drawn by a swan. In this form 
 
no RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 the story appears in a queer collection of riddles, 
 repartees, and legends of various kinds, wliicli are 
 brought into a loose connection by an imaginary 
 prize-singing at "Wartburg, wbere they are laid 
 in the mouths of the most celebrated poets of 
 the period. Our story is supposed to be told by 
 the great minne-singer. Wolfram von Eschenbach, 
 •whose representative poem, ' Parcival,' might sug- 
 gest such an arrangement to the compilator of 
 the * "Wartburgkrieg.' It would be a task of 
 great interest, to dissect this late production into its 
 heterogeneous parts, and also to show how far 
 "Wagner has altered and remodelled for his drama- 
 tic treatment the main features of his mediaeval 
 •original. From this, however, we must refrain, 
 and limit ourselves to the consideration of Wag- 
 ner's poem, as we actually find it, without further 
 inquiries as to its genesis. 
 
 The ideal background, from which the joys and 
 sorrows of the human actors in Lohengrin are re- 
 flected with supernal light, is the conception of the 
 Holy Graal itself, the mystic symbol of Christian faith, 
 ■or, in a wider sense, of everything divine and great, 
 as it reveals itself to the ecstatic eye of the pure and 
 self-surrendering -soul. Such an act of revelation 
 
RICHARD WAGNER, iii 
 
 is the subject of the instrumental prelude, which 
 serves our opera as an overture. The prelude, and 
 in a certain sense the opera itself, are based 
 on one melodious phrase — ^the Gracd-motive^ as we 
 will call it — or one might even say on the change of 
 the two chords (that of A major and F sharp minor) 
 which form the harmonious foundation of this pro- 
 minent melody. To explain the fuU meaning of 
 this, we must here add a few words about what, ia 
 Wagner's operas, is generally called the {Leitmotiv) 
 leading motive or melody. For every important 
 idea or passionate impulse of his characters, Wag- 
 ner introduces a certain striking harmonious or 
 melodious combination, as the musical complement 
 of their dramatic force. Wherever in the course 
 of the drama this impulse comes into action, we 
 hear at once its corresponding motive, either sung 
 l)y the voice or played by the orchestra, and in 
 manifold variations, according to circumstances. 
 ' The opening chorus of the pilgrims, interrupted by 
 the wild rhythms of the Yenusberg, as the repre- 
 fsentative melodies of the good and evil principles, 
 in the overture to Tannhimser, or the Eomance in 
 ihe Flying Dutchman, may serve the English reader 
 •as examples of leading motives. The great in- 
 
112 RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 crease of intensity and dramatic unity wMch. is. 
 thus effected in the musical conception of a 
 character or idea is of course obvious. A similar 
 repetition of melodies was previously applied, but 
 only in a very occasional and undecided manner, 
 by Weber, Meyerbeer, and others. As a distinct 
 principle of art it is entirely due to "Wagner's 
 creative genius. 
 
 The prelude to Lohengrin opens with a long drawn 
 chord of the violins ia the highest octaves, contiaued 
 with the tenderest pianissimo through several bars. 
 It is like the thin white clouds floatiug in a serene 
 sky, shapeless as yet, and scarcely discernible from 
 the ethereal blue surrounding them. But suddenly 
 the violins sound, as from the furthest distance, 
 and ia continued pianissimo, the Graal motive, and 
 at once the clouds take form and motion. Our 
 inner eye discovers a group of angels as they ap- 
 proach us, slowly descending from the height of 
 heaven, and carrying in their midst the holy 
 vessel. Sweetest harmonies float around them, 
 gradually increasing in warmth and variety, till at 
 last, with the fortissimo of the fall orchestra, 
 the sacred mystery in aU its overpowering splen- 
 dour is revealed to our enchanted eyes. After this 
 
RICHARD WAGNER. 113 
 
 climax of religious ecstasy the harmonious waves 
 begin to recede, and with their ebbing motion the 
 angels gradually, as they have come, return to 
 their celestial abode. Such was, according to 
 Wagner's own indication, the poetical, or one 
 might almost say pictorial, idea which suggested 
 the sublime harmonies of his prelude, and never 
 have the sweetnesses and shudderings of Christian 
 mysticism been more fully expressed than in this 
 triumph of instrumental music. 
 
 The fresh allegro at the opening of the first act, 
 leads us back from the sphere of transcendental in- 
 spiration into the stream of actual life, and when 
 the curtain rises we see King Henry of Germany 
 surrounded by his feudal vassals and retaiuers, on a 
 meadow by the side of the Scheldt, near Antwerp. 
 He has assembled the nobles of Brabant, to call on 
 their faithful services against the savage Hunga- 
 rians, the most dangerous enemies of the empire, 
 and at the same time to mediate in their iaternal 
 dissensions. The cause of these troubles we hear 
 :from the mouth of Count Telramund, a great noble, 
 who accuses Elsa, Princess of Brabant, of having 
 murdered her infant brother during a solitary walk, 
 from which she alone returned, pretending to have 
 
114 RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 lost sight of Mm in the wood. The motive of this 
 black deed he finds in Elsa's affection for a secret 
 lover, with whom she hopes to share the rule of the- 
 country after her brother's death. 
 
 This rule, however, Telramund claims for him-^ 
 self, on the ground of his having been chosen by 
 the late duke as Elsa's husband, although the- 
 proud maiden spurned his addresses. He also 
 alleges that his present wife, Ortrud, is a scion of' 
 the old heathenish Dukes of Friesland, who once 
 reigned over the country. The musical part of 
 this scene is treated in a kind of continuous arioso, 
 resembling most the recitative obligato of the 
 regular opera, but showing an immense progress 
 upon it as regards power and accuracy of declama-^ 
 tion. Telramund's impeachment of Elsa reminds us 
 in its simple grandeur of the grave accents of the 
 antique drama. Of leading motives we may men- 
 tion that representing the king, which consists of a 
 kind of fanfare, and throughout occurs in the key 
 of C major. 
 
 At the kiag's command Elsa now appears before 
 him, accompanied by a few plaiative notes of sweet 
 melodiousness in the orchestra. They soon pass over 
 into a new theme, which might be called the dream- 
 
RICHARD WAGNMR. 115 
 
 motive^ for it is to its strains tliat Elsa relates, how 
 a kniglit of heavenly beauty has appeared to her in 
 a trance, promising his assistance in defending her 
 innocence. The same knight she now chooses for 
 her champion in the ordeal which has been granted 
 by the king on Telramund's demand. Here again 
 the different passions of the chief characters — 
 Telramund's hatred, Elsa's imshakable confidence, 
 the king's compassion, and the echo of these 
 feelings in the hearts of the multitude — are ren- 
 dered by the music in the finest nuances. The 
 dramatic climax is reached when after the second 
 call of the herald, and during Elsa's fervent 
 prayer, there suddenly appears, first in the far 
 distance, but quickly approaching, a boat drawn 
 by a white swan, and in it, leaning on his shield, a 
 knight as Elsa has seen him in her vision. The 
 change from doubt and wildest astonishment to joy 
 and triumphant belief, as expressed in a choral 
 piece of the grandest conception, makes this scene 
 one of the greatest effects dramatic music has ever 
 achieved, and one is not astonished at reading of 
 the shouts and tumults of enthusiastic applause, 
 with which the impulsive Italian audience greeted 
 the appearance of Lohengrin at the first perform- 
 ance of the opera at Bologna. 
 
 I u 
 
ii6 RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 It ought also to be mentioned that a great part 
 of this overpowering impression is due to the 
 masterly arrangement of the scenic effect, as it is 
 prescribed in its minutest details by the composer 
 himself. 
 
 As soon as Lohengrin leaves his boat, a perfect 
 calm follows the outbreak of clamorous joy, and 
 every one listens in respectfal silence as he bids 
 farewell to the swan, his faithful guide through 
 the perils of the deep. After this Lohengrin 
 loudly declares the falseness of Telramund's accu- 
 sation, and asks Elaa's hand as the prize of his 
 valour to be exercised in her defence. But before 
 the battle begins she must promise him never to 
 ask a question about his being or the place from 
 whence he came to her rescue. With this demand 
 of implicit belief we have reached the tragic key- 
 note of the drama, and its importance is musically 
 indicated by a new melody of gravest rhythmical 
 structure, the motive of warning. When Elsa 
 grants and promises everything in self-surrendering 
 confidence, Lohengrin himself, who hitherto seemed 
 surrounded by inapproachable sublimity, is over- 
 come by her sweet innocence, and breaks out in 
 the passionate words of " Elsa, I love thee ! " 
 
RICHARD WAGNER. 117 
 
 Here again the effect of the musical interpretation 
 leaves any description in words far behind. The 
 rest of the act is chiefly taken up by Lohengrin's 
 easy victory over Telramund, and a grand ensemble 
 expressive of triumphant joy, which in its struc- 
 ture resembles the traditional form of the finale. 
 
 "When the curtaia rises a second time we see 
 Telramund, whose life has been saved by his ad- 
 versary's magnanimity, and Ortrud lying prostrate 
 in despairing hatred on the steps of the royal 
 palace, the illuminated windows of which, com- 
 bined with the festive noise of a banquet, increase 
 the dreary darkness outside. The ensuing duet is 
 musically founded on a new motive, which is meant 
 to represent the evil principle of heathenish hatred 
 and revenge, as opposed to the heavenly purity of 
 the Graal-motive. For Ortrud now discloses her- 
 self as the representative of old Friesish paganism, > 
 who by her falsehood and witchcraft has led her 
 husband to the accusation of the innocent Christian 
 maiden. We confess that the introduction in a by- 
 the-way manner of the two great religious prin- 
 ciples seems to us not particularly happy, and it 
 cannot be denied that the character of Ortrud her- 
 self, although grand in its dramatic conception, has 
 
ii8 RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 both in its musical and poetical treatment, slightly 
 suflfered througli this unnecessary complication of 
 motiyes. Her plan of revenge is founded on the 
 prohibited question about Lohengrin's identity, the 
 asking of which she knows to be fatal to his bride. 
 When Elsa soon afterwards appears on the balcony, 
 Ortrud is pityingly admitted into her presence, 
 and repays the kindness of her protectress by be-' 
 ginning at once to sow the seed of doubt in the 
 innocent heart of her victim. 
 
 The following scene contains a grand display of 
 scenic effect in the bridal procession of Elsa, 
 which in slow gravity moves down from the 
 palace to the cathedral, accompanied by the most 
 charming strains of both chorus and orchestra. 
 In this masterly way of illustrating the deeper 
 meaning of a dumb ceremony by a kind of de- 
 corative music, "Wagner's art and dramatic vo- 
 cation are shown almost as much as in the stronger 
 accents of passion. Among the ladies in attendance 
 we also discover Ortrud, and at the moment when 
 Elsa is going to enter the cathedral, she steps 
 forward and claims the first entrance for herself, 
 covering her enemy at the same time with insults 
 about the dark origin of the knight of the swan. 
 
RICHARD WAGNER. 119 
 
 The scene is evidently suggested by tlie quarrel of 
 tte two queens in the Mbelungenlied, and, although, 
 fine in itself, loses somewhat by its parallelism 
 with the one next following, when Telramund 
 suddenly appears and accuses Lohengrin of having 
 been victorious by the means of hellish witchcraft, 
 •daring him at the same time to lift the veil of 
 mystery hanging around him. Lohengriu proudly 
 contemns the slander of an outlaw, appealing to 
 Elsa as his sole judge on earth; and, after she 
 lias expressed her unshaken confidence, the twice 
 interrupted procession reaches its destination. 
 
 The third act introduces us iuto the bridal 
 chamber of the newly-united pair. It begins 
 with the outpourings of unimpaired love and 
 happiness. But soon the evU seed of doubt, 
 sown by Ortrud's calumnious insinuations, begins 
 to grow. In all her bliss Elsa feels there is 
 something strange standing between herself and 
 her lord, embittering the sweetness of her love 
 with secret misgivings. The way in which this 
 at first shy and subdued feeling is worked up 
 gradually to the pitch of irrepressible curiosity is a 
 masterpiece of psychological characterisation. The 
 calming and imploring words of her saviour and 
 
120 RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 lover, accompanied by the solemn repetition of the 
 motive of -warning — nay, even the heroic feelings 
 of her own heart, that wishes to share any possible 
 dangers, are with womanly logic turned into 
 arguments for asking a question, which must lead ta 
 the certain misery of both. At last, just when she 
 has uttered the fatal words, Count Tebamund 
 rushes into the room with two other assassins, 
 but, is easily slain by Lohengrin's sword, which 
 Elsa hands to her husband. 
 
 The last scene shows again the same meadow by 
 the Scheldt as in the first act. King Henry and 
 his vassals are preparing for their departure to the 
 war. But their knightly joy is interrupted by 
 the corpse of Telramund being carried into their 
 presence. Soon Elsa and, after her, Lohengrin 
 appear. By his wife's unfortunate rashness he is 
 now compelled to disclose his origin and name, 
 as Lohengrin Parcival's son, the Knight of the 
 Graal. The piece in which this is done, showing 
 the Graal-motive in its fullest development, and 
 the impressivie melody of his parting song, are 
 amongst the most beautiful parts of the opera.. 
 The next following incident is, we must confess^ 
 not quite satisfactory, and almost seems to verges 
 
RICHARD WAGNER. 121 
 
 on the melodramatic. For suddenly Ortrud turn& 
 up and tells the astonished audience that the swan, 
 which reappears in the distance, is no other than 
 Elsa's brother, who has been bewitched by herself 
 into this form, but would have been released 
 without his sister's iadiscretion ; now he is 
 doomed for ever. But in this last emergency 
 the divine power intervenes again. Lohengrin 
 kneels down in silent prayer, and when he rises 
 the swan has disappeared, and a beautiful youth, 
 the Duke of Brabant, stands by his side. Elsa 
 flies to his embrace, and dies in his arms;, 
 while the boat of Lohengrin, drawn by a white 
 dove, and accompanied by the plaintive notes of 
 the Graal-motive in A minor chords, disappears 
 in the distance. 
 
 This is the end of Wagner's Lohengrin. We 
 have tried to convey a clear idea of its poetical and 
 musical structure to the reader's mind, as far as 
 language can express at all the effects of an art, 
 which by its very essence frustrates an adequate 
 description" by words. We have readily acknow- 
 ledged the high beauties of the work, without 
 concealing its faults and shortcomings. In the 
 history of the opera it marks an immense pro- 
 
122 RICHARD WAGNER. 
 
 gress upon its own and any other author's previous 
 vorks, by the comparative emancipation of its 
 means of expression from the forms of absolute 
 music, by the greater unity and force of dramatic 
 characterisation as brought about by what we called 
 the leading motive, and lastly by the richness and 
 beauty of its melodious and harmonious combinations. 
 Lohengrin has carried the name of its author to 
 Italy, the land of song, and one would hail it with 
 welcome, if the knight of the swan were equally 
 destined to be the champion of the music of the 
 future in this country. 
 
II. 
 
 %l^z BauQ. 
 
 It is old and plain ; 
 The spinsters and the knitters in the sun, 
 And the free maids that weave their thread with bones. 
 Do use to chant it : it is silly sooth. 
 And dallies with the innocence of love 
 Like the old age. 
 
 Twelfth Night; or. What you will. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 PEANZ SCHUBEET. 
 
 1. 
 
 In glancing tkrough. the history of genius, we 
 notice in many cases a strange coincidence between 
 its individual character and the soil from which it 
 iakes its origin, and by which its growth is supplied 
 "with the most appropriate nourishment. Some- 
 times it must be confessed, Providence seems to 
 act in a most severe and arbitrary manner; but 
 it will almost always be found, that even the 
 harshest treatment ultimately redounds to the 
 purified regeneration of its seeming victims. 
 Dante was banished from his beloved Florence 
 by the hatred of political enemies, but the 
 personal sting of revengeful invective forms one 
 
126 FRANZ SCHUBERl. 
 
 of tlie grandest features in tis divine poem. 
 "The United States," Baudelaire says, "were 
 to Edgar Poe a vast prison, a wild country, 
 barbarous and gaslit." True, to some extent;; 
 but would be, in a more congenial atmosphere, 
 have been able to stamp upon his creations that 
 anathematic inscription of " Never a chance," 
 which forms their indescribable charm ? 
 
 Schubert's nature was not of a kind to> 
 receive additional zest from combating with op- 
 position and envy. His impulsive genius would 
 have withered in the cold thought-stricken 
 atmosphere of the north; and we may call it 
 his first and greatest piece of luck, to have been 
 born in the very centre of warm-blooded south 
 German life, at Vienna on the 31st January, 
 1797. His father was schoolmaster of the parish of 
 Lichtenthal in that city, and his two matrimonial 
 engagements were blessed with that fertility of 
 propagation, which seems to be the enviable lot 
 of this in many respects pecidiarly favoured class. 
 His offspring by his first wife amounted to 
 fourteen children both male and female, of 
 which fortunately only four boys and one girl 
 reached the years of discretion, our composer 
 
FRANZ SCHUBERT. 127 
 
 being the youngest amongst his brothers. The 
 connection was altogether not of a yery elevated 
 kind, the first Mrs. Schubert having risen from 
 the kitchen to her more dignified position at 
 the head of the schoolmaster's table. The 
 whole family were more or less connected with 
 the teaching business; besides our composer's 
 father, his uncle, his brother-in-law, two of his 
 brothers, and, for a short time, he himself 
 followed the same calling. There was one 
 great advantage which the boy Franz derived 
 from these, anything but brilliant circumstances, 
 which was his becoming acquainted from his 
 earliest childhood with the art of his choice. 
 At that time it was the duty of a school- 
 master, to impart to his pupils the first elements 
 of vocal and instrumental music, and Schubert 
 the father possessed a more than usual know- 
 ledge of this art. His sons, as a matter of 
 course, had the benefit of his instruction; and 
 we are told, that at the age of eight, Franz 
 was able to take the second violin part in 
 duets with his father. There are extant some 
 notes from old Schubert's hand, which, although 
 written at a much later period, throw a stray 
 
128 FRANZ SCHUBERT. 
 
 beam of light on tlte morning hours of an 
 awakening genius. " When he was five," the 
 father says, " I prepared him for elementary in- 
 struction ; at six I made him enter my school, 
 where he was always the first amongst his 
 fellows.'' This noble zeal in the acquiring of 
 useful general knowledge, we are obliged to 
 confess, abated very soon. But another feature 
 of his character which was to last him through 
 Hfe we find strongly indicated in this sketch. 
 "At this age already," father Schubert continues, 
 "he used to be very fond of society, and was 
 never more happy than in the midst of a number 
 of joyous friends." 
 
 Finding himself soon unable to keep pace with 
 the rapid progress of Franz's musical talent, his 
 father sent him to one Michael Hoker, organist of the 
 Lichtenthal parish, who was to give him lessons on 
 the piano and organ, and also to introduce him into 
 ihe intricacies of harmony and thorough bass. 
 This master also soon discovered the unusual gifts 
 of his new pupil. Lovers of anecdote will be 
 delighted to know that one day good old Mr. Holzer 
 was heard to exclaim (his disciple working out in 
 "the meanwhile the theme of a fugue on the piano) : 
 
FRANZ SCHUBERT. 129 
 
 " He has all the harmony I wanted to teach him in 
 his little finger ; whenever I was going to tell him 
 anything, he was sure to know it already." 
 
 The next important step in our hero's musical 
 apprenticeship, is marked by his obtaining a place 
 as soprano chorister in the imperial * Capelle,'' with 
 which was connected a scholarship at one of the 
 best municipal schools of Yienna, called the 
 ' Stadtconvict.' In October, 1808, Schubert, with 
 several other competitors, presented himself for 
 examination before the conductors of the Capelle^ 
 Salieri and Eybler. His costume was in ac- 
 cordance with the limited means of his father, 
 anything but recherche^ and excited at first the 
 hilarity of the other boys. He wore, it seems, a 
 huge light grey coat of undefinable shape, sug- 
 gesting the idea of flour-dust in the minds of his 
 fellow-competitors, who playfully called him the 
 '' little miller." But these untimely jokes soon 
 ceased, when the little miller raised his little voice 
 and began to sing at first sight the most difficult 
 pieces, and also answered all questions about har- 
 mony and thorough bass with astonishing sagacity, 
 so that the vote in his favour was given unanimously. 
 It is likely that most of the boys then present lived 
 
ISO FRANZ SCHUBERT. 
 
 to witness, the triumphs of those other "miller- 
 songs," which were to gain immortal fame for their 
 author in the wider arena of hoth hemispheres. 
 
 Schubert was admitted into the ' Stadtconvict ' 
 chiefly on the grounds of his beautiful soprano- 
 voice, but his considerable skill on the violin, 
 acquired in his father's house, opened to him at- 
 the same time the little orchestra connected with 
 that school. Soon he was raised to the dignity of' 
 honorary conductor of his fellow-pupils. In- this, 
 way he became practically acquainted with the 
 treasures of German symphonic literature, and 
 revelled in the melodious beauties of Haydn and 
 Mozart, while the works of his great contemporary, 
 Beethoven, filled him from the first with reverential 
 awe. In other respects the progress of Schubert's 
 studies was less satisfactory. Music had engrossed, 
 his intellectual being so entirely, that time and 
 interest for mathematics, classics, and other branches 
 of useful knowledge, as taught at the school, were 
 entirely wanting. When, in 1813, his childish 
 treble began to break, and he had to give up his 
 appointment as a chorister in consequence, Schubert 
 did not avail himself of the permission to continue 
 his general studies at the ' Stadtconvict.' He 
 
FRANZ SCHUBERT. 131 
 
 returned to his father's house, where, for the next 
 three years, he was employed as assistant usher in 
 "teaching the young idea how to shoot," in so far 
 as such shooting may he directed hy the oracles of 
 the spelling-book and similar sources of elementary 
 wisdom. 
 
 The life of Schubert during his stay at the 
 ' Stadtconvict ' does not essentially differ from that 
 of ordinary schoolboys. His greatest trouble seems 
 to have been a state of chronic impecuniosity, with 
 occasional acute attacks of the same evil. During 
 one of these, he writes to his brother Ferdinand 
 the following piteous begging letter, in which his 
 undisturbable good humour is displayed in the sly 
 manner, characteristic also of his riper years: 
 "Let me come to the point at once," he exclaims^ 
 " without keeping you in suspense. I have been 
 pondering over my situation for a long time, and 
 find it to be quite tolerable on the whole ; it would, 
 however, seem to allow of an occasional slight im- 
 provement. Tou know, by experience, that a fellow 
 would like at times a roll and an apple or two, 
 especially if after a frugal dinner he has to wait for 
 a meagre supper for eight hours and a half. 
 The few groschen that I receive from my father are 
 
 k2 
 
132 FRANZ SCHUBERT. 
 
 always gone to the devil the first day, and what am 
 I to do afterwards ? * Those who hope will not be 
 confounded,' says the Bible, and T fijmly believe it. 
 Supposing, for instance, you send me a couple of 
 kreutzers a month, I don't thiak you would notice 
 the difference in your own purse, and I should live 
 quite content and happy in my cloister. St. Matthew 
 says also that whosoever has two coats shall give 
 one to the poor. In the meantime, I trust you will 
 lend your ear to the voice, crying to you incessantly 
 to remember your poor brother Franz, who loves 
 and confides in you." 
 
 A more serious inconvenience arising from 
 Schubert's continual want of funds, was the impos- 
 sibility of, procuring a sufficient amount of music 
 paper, necessary to reap the harvest of melodious 
 and harmonious ideas, with which he began to be 
 inspired at this early period. It would be difficult 
 to realise the tragicomic significance of this 
 situation. Imagine a man in the midst of aU the 
 riches of the vaUey of diamonds, but without the 
 means of carrying the useless pelf to inhabited 
 quarters, and you may understand to some extent the 
 despair of this youth, on whom the muse had 
 showered her highest gifts, forgetting only to pro- 
 
FRANZ SCHUBERT. 133 
 
 vide him with the eliiinsy necessaries of earthly- 
 existence. In this particular case we are told that 
 friendship soon stepped in and supplied the young 
 composer with the practical implements of his 
 art. 
 
 "With this we touch upon an important element 
 in Schubert's life, viz., his strong feeling for the 
 charms of ftiendship. From the impulsively lyrical 
 character of his works, one might expect that all 
 the fibres of his heart would have tended towards 
 that half of mankind, from which the strongest and 
 purest feelings take their origin, and to which they 
 reciprocally appeal most. But, no ; we shall have 
 to mention on more than one occasion the ties of 
 real friendship, which joined him to' a great 
 many contemporary artists and poets, while on the 
 other hand the influence of what Goethe calls the 
 " eternal feminine " seems to have been all but 
 wanting, if we except a few ephemeral attachments 
 of a slight order. Schubert even used to chaff his 
 friends on the subject of their numerous liaisons,, 
 and -often received them with the ironical question : 
 "Which one is it now?" The most important 
 connection formed by him during his school time,, 
 was with his principal master, the conductor of the 
 
134 FRANZ SCHUBERT. 
 
 imperial Capelle, Salieri. Th.e numerous productions 
 of tHs extraordinary man, like Le Donne Litterate 
 and other operas, have long been forgotten, but his 
 name has acquired an unenviable notoriety by his 
 mean intrigues against his great rival, Mozart, 
 whom, according to a rumour current at the time, 
 he was even accused of having poisoned. There is 
 scarcely a greater contrast imaginable than that 
 existing between the old Italian formalist, who, 
 after a stay of nearly half a century at Yienna, had 
 not given up a tittle of his national peculiarities, and 
 young Schubert, with his buoyancy, and essentially 
 German type of genius. Still the maestro seems to 
 have felt instinctively the great though hetero- 
 geneous qualities of his pupil, and did all in his 
 power to encourage him. "Whatever the personal 
 character of Salieri may have been, he undoubtedly 
 ^possessed the gift of attaching to himself the love 
 and veneration of his pupils, among whom we count 
 men of eminency, like Hummel, Moscheles, and 
 many more. Schubert also remained always devoted 
 to his old master, and, at the fiftieth anniversary of 
 Salieri's entering the Imperial service, we find his 
 name on the list of those celebrating the day by 
 compositions written for the occasion. 
 
FRANZ SCHUBERT. 135 
 
 And now I would fain introduce tlie reader 
 to another, the last scene of this man's life, 
 which tells its own tale of impressive morality. 
 "We find it in the autobiographical sketches of 
 Moscheles' life, which, some time ago, have been 
 arranged and published by the loving and skilful 
 hand of his widow. On returning to Yienna, after 
 a long absence, Moscheles was told that his revered 
 master, Salieri, was lying dangerously ill in a public 
 hospital. He at once applied for the necessary pass- 
 port from Salieri' s daughter and the hospital autho- 
 rities. This permission seems to have been got with 
 some difficulty, there being scarcely any one 
 admitted to the patient, who himself did not care 
 to receive many visitors. "Our meeting," Moscheles 
 says, "was sad to the utmost. I was terrified by 
 his looks. He spoke only in abrupt sentences 
 about his imminent death. At last he burst out, 
 ' Although I know this to be my last iUness, I can 
 assure you, on my honour, that there is nothing 
 in that absurd rumour ; you know — Mozart-— 
 they say I have poisoned him. No, no ; nothing 
 but malevolence, malevolence ! Do go, dear 
 Moscheles, and tell the world that old Salieri 
 has said this to you on his death-bed.' " 
 
136 FRANZ SCHUBERT. 
 
 Moscteles adds, that lie witMrew iu haste, in order 
 to hide his tears. There is, indeed, something in- 
 descrihably touching and awful in the last word* 
 of this dying man. Haunted by revengeful visions, 
 he tries to defend himself in his violently uttered 
 broken German, against the unjust suspicion of a 
 physical crime, while perhaps his inmost soul was 
 smitten with the consciousness of a wrong of 
 blacker dye : poisonous envy and obdurate resist- 
 ance against the revelations of genius. 
 
 Eeturning now to Schubert's career, we have to 
 go back several years, in order to witness the first 
 indications of his creative power. If we may 
 believe his brother Ferdinand, he wrote his first 
 extensive piece for the pianoforte, a ' Fantasia 
 for four hands,' at the age of thirteen, and his first 
 song, the ' Klagegesang der Hagar,' the ' Complaint 
 of Hagar,' in the following year, not to mention a 
 number of less important productions, which seem 
 to belong to a still earlier date. This precocious 
 development of Schubert, marvellous as it may 
 seem, is still surpassed by his astonishing 
 fertility, which also began to manifest itself at an 
 early period of his life. The year 1812, the fif- 
 teenth of his life, gave birth to the following com- 
 
FRANZ SCHUBERT. 137^ 
 
 positions : one Salve Eegiaa, one Eyrie Eleison, one 
 trio for pianoforte, violin, and violoncello, two 
 qnatuors for string instruments, two overtures, one 
 andante with variations, thirty minuets, and,, 
 strange to say, only one song. And this year was^ 
 by no means an unusually fertile one. In over- 
 looking the catalogue of Schubert's compositions-, 
 the titles of which fill alone something like forty 
 odd pages, and which comprise all the different 
 forms of musical art from the valse to the grand 
 opera, one feels inclined to think that the mere 
 copying out of such a quantity of notes would 
 require a lifetime. Indeed, his nine symphonies 
 and seventeen dramatic works, partly or completely 
 finished, might be considered a satisfactory result 
 of the sixteen years over' which his creative period 
 extended. Nevertheless, these works are of small 
 importance, compared with the chamber music 
 and the inexhaustible treasures of song, which 
 have been, and are still being, rediscovered amongst 
 the lumber of amateurs' libraries and publishers' 
 waste-paper baskets. We shall have to consider 
 hereafter how this almost unnatural superabund- 
 ance of inventive ease acted on the general character 
 of Schubert's creations. In one case it proved abso- 
 
138 FRANZ SCHUBERT. 
 
 lutely fatal to his productions ; I am speaking of 
 his numerous attempts at dramatic composition. 
 
 Schubert's first effort in this direction dates as far 
 hack as the ' Stadtconvict.' One of the chief attrac- 
 tions of the young student's holidays was the im- 
 perial opera, with its unriyalled orchestra and 
 excellent singers. 
 
 Here he was impressed by the charming melo- 
 dies of Weigle's Swiss Family, and the stem 
 grandeur of Gluck's and Cherubini's antique heroes 
 and heroines. The elegant graces of Boildieu's 
 ■Jean de Faris also moved him sympathetically. 
 As might be expected, Schubert soon was filled 
 with competitire zeal, and decided upon composing 
 an opera of his own. Unfortunately his choice of 
 a Libretto fell upon a/eerie by Eotzebue, the well- 
 known prolific playwright, called Des Teufels 
 Lustschloss, the Palace of the Devil. The silly words 
 of this farce he now began to set to music with his 
 usual verve. The work was finished in no time, but 
 never saw the light of the stage, and as far as we 
 may judge from our composer's coeval works, and 
 from the miserable stupidity of the words, the world 
 has lost little by this neglect. Indeed, we should 
 scarcely mention the juvenile production at all, if it 
 
FRANZ SCHUBERT. 139 
 
 ■did not quite as distinctly as Scliubert's later works, 
 show his vital deficiencies as a dramatic writer . 
 
 We have stated before that after ^Beethoven's re- 
 formatoryinflnence, as manifested even in the works 
 published at that time, a reconstruction of musical 
 art was possible only oh a strictly poetical basis. 
 This principle, of course, applies foremost to the 
 •drama, which is the highest result of music and 
 j)oetry combined. A dramatic composer, therefore, 
 had to be particularly careful in choosing the 
 poetical basis on which to construct, and according 
 to the conditions of which to fashion his melodies. 
 J'or this purpose he required more a keen percep- 
 tion of the dramatic bearing of characters and 
 situations than a surplus store of melodious com- 
 biuations, which, on the contrary, might, and in 
 Schubert's case did, make him careless in choos- 
 ing the words, on which the beauty of his tunes 
 seemed so little to depend. In consequence, the 
 firm, not to say harsh emphasis of dramatic expres- 
 sion, so essential to the composer of operatic 
 music is, in Schubert's operas, drenched and 
 crushed by the incessant flow of cantilena; and 
 even his genius cannot atone for the almost incre- 
 dible silliness, under which most of his libretti 
 
140 FRANZ SCHUBERT. 
 
 labour. Besides this, Schubert's art is always ex- 
 pressive only of bis individual feeling, and all but 
 void of that broadness and objectivity of emotional 
 rendering by which alone the progress of an action 
 can be illustrated. His operas, therefore, wherever 
 they have been acted, have earned but scanty 
 applause. During his lifetime this might be ac- 
 counted for by the general neglect from which his 
 works had to suffer at the hands of purblind con- 
 temporaries. But even after his death, when an 
 admiring posterity tried too late to atone for this 
 injustice, it has proved an impossible task for his 
 most devoted worshippers to persuade themselves 
 and the world that the unrivalled " singer of songs " 
 was an equally great composer of operas. Even the 
 performance of Alfonso and Estrella, the ripest fruit 
 of Schubert's dramatic muse, which took place under 
 Liszt's masterly leadership, could not obtaiu more 
 than a siicces d'estime from an audience of enthusiastic 
 admirers. Quite otherwise, where these flowers of 
 lyrical growth were transferred from the stormy seat 
 of dramatic action into themore congenial atmosphere 
 of the concert-hall. Here the audience do not expecta 
 rapid progress andchangeof incident, andean rest with 
 delight on the magic charms of Schubert's melodies. 
 
FRANZ SOHUBERT. 141 
 
 Tlie present writer remembers with delight having 
 taken part, when a student at Leipsic, in the con- 
 cert rendering by amateurs of one of Schubert's 
 prettiest operettas, called Der hdusliche Krieg^ 
 AngHce Domestic Warfare. The book is written by 
 J. F. Castelli, a prolific writer of all kinds of 
 ephemeral literature, who died not long ago at 
 Vienna. It is certainly silly enough, but shows 
 some technical skill and a great deal of that broad 
 humour which is, or at least was, proverbially attri- 
 buted to the Yiennese bourgeois. As illustrating 
 the lackadaisical manner in which Schubert carried 
 on important matters, it may be quoted that he 
 never thought it worth while to acquaint Castelli 
 with the fact of his having set the libretto, 
 although the two used to meet frequently. The 
 following short sketch will be sufficient to give an 
 idea of what the plots of this and, we might say 
 in a generalising way, of most of Schubert's operas 
 are like: — Coimt Heribert of LMenstein, a great 
 feudal lord, accompanied by his noble retainers, has 
 left his castle for a crusading expedition to Jeru- 
 salem. His lady does not approve of the absence 
 of her lord, neither are the spouses of the other 
 knights edified by their husbands' pious disposi- 
 
142 FRANZ SGHUBERT. 
 
 tions. In consequence, wlien the imminent return 
 of the weary wanderers from the Holy Land is^ 
 announced, the ladies enter into a solemn ^league 
 and covenant to receive them with the semblance of 
 coldest indifference. The knights unfortuately are 
 informed of this trick by a young foot page, who 
 has been present at the ladies' parliament in dis- 
 guise, and they resolve at once to beat their fair 
 enemies with their own weapons. The first meeting 
 of the reunited couples is therefore more than 
 reserved, and the knights, under the pretence of a 
 sacred vow, which forbids them all intercourse with 
 their better halves, resort at once to the ban- 
 queting-hall, where they intend to celebrate the 
 occasion according to their lately acquired bachelor 
 habits. This homoeopathic treatment soon begins to- 
 take effect on the female mind. The ladies are 
 not a little amazed at the consequences of their 
 rash conduct, and their sorrow is by no means 
 abated, when they are informed of an additional 
 vow taken by their husbands, while in peril of 
 death from the hands of the Turks, to the effect 
 that after a short rest at home they will return io 
 their sacred duties in the Holy Land and remain 
 there for the rest of their Hves. The strict fulfil- 
 
FRANZ SCHUBERT. 143; 
 
 ment of tHs vow — the ladies are told — can only be 
 modified by tbeir taking up arms themselves, and 
 sharing with their husbands the dangers of a long 
 campaign. By this time they have given up all 
 their former ideas of proud defiance, and express^ 
 unanimously their willingness to give the demanded 
 proof of fond devotion. The last scene shows them 
 all, arrayed in knightly attire, and ready to follow 
 their lords whithersoever. By this heroic conduct 
 the hearts . of the crusaders are softened at last. 
 They now explain the whole transaction and ex- 
 press in a final chorus their desire to return to the 
 state of submissive allegiance beseeming good hus- 
 bands. It need scarcely be added that they are 
 most kiadly received by their fair enslavers, who 
 harmoniously joia their voices in the expression of' 
 reconciliation and universal joy, which concludes 
 the piece. 
 
 The style of this dramatic framework, the 
 reader will perceive, is not of a very elevated 
 order, and the dialogue ia which the action is car- 
 ried on, bears the same marks of childish and fre- 
 quently coarse jocularity. Yet there are in it 
 some amusiag and, for the musician, eminently 
 suggestive situations, and wherever an opening for 
 
144 FRANZ SCHUBERT. 
 
 the expansion of lyrical feeling offers itself, 
 Schubert has poured out the abundant gush of his 
 sweetest melodies, raising the hearer, as if by magic, 
 from the commonplace situation of the piece into 
 the sphere of an ideal world. But the very charm 
 of these lyrical intermezzi shows the composer's 
 want of dramatic self-constraint. He considered 
 the opera, as he did indeed all other forms of 
 musical art, as the playground of his immediate 
 lyrical impulse, and. wrote in consequence only 
 enlarged songs, whether he might call them sym- 
 phonies, or disguise them as dramatic utterances. 
 The difference between subjective and objective 
 production was entirely hidden to him. In this 
 way we have to explain the want of unity and con- 
 centration and the enormous length (Schumann 
 calls it " heavenly ") which mar the effect of 
 most of Schubert's larger works. It is always he 
 himself who speaks and feels ; and as there is no 
 ^nd of what he has to express, he forgets that even 
 the most heavenly language may exhaust the 
 hearer's receptivity. 
 
 We have now to return to a period of Schubert's 
 life, greatly anterior to the events anticipated in our 
 deviatory remarks. He has just left the 'Stadtcon- 
 
FRANZ SCHUBERT. 145 
 
 vict' and made his entrance into, life, with, no 
 resources except the treasures of his genius. 
 These not being easily convertible ' into the coin 
 of the land, he saw himself compelled to earn 
 his bread as best he might. We have mentioned 
 before, how he returned to his father's house, 
 whom he assisted in the drilling of his pupils. 
 We can imagine how intensely his sensitive and 
 retiring nature must have suffered amongst a bois- 
 terous herd of uneducated urchins. There were, 
 however, lighter points in this sombre picture. 
 His father and several of his brothers were, as we 
 have seen, industrious worshippers of the ' divine 
 art,' and already, during Franz's schooltime, there 
 existed a Schubert family quartett, in which the 
 father played the violoncello, the two brothers, 
 Ignatz and Ferdinand, the first and second violin, and 
 our composer the viola. It is told that Franz, being 
 the youngest, but by far the most musical member 
 of the party, used invariably to notice the mistakes 
 that were made. In case of his father being the 
 culprit, he generally remained silent in the first 
 instance, and only, when the mistake was repeated 
 in the parallel passage, he used to interrupt the 
 proceedings with the modest remark : " I think, 
 
 1 
 
146 FRANZ SCHUBERT. 
 
 Sir, there must be something wrong here," 
 whereat worthy old Schubert corrected his mistake 
 without a word of contradiction. The enormous 
 advantage which Schubert derived from the musical 
 atmosphere of his surroundings is evident. He 
 always was sure to find an appreciative and, to some 
 extent, critical audience for his own works, which 
 increased with every year in number and beauty. 
 The hearing of his own music offered at the same 
 time an opportunity for pruning and shortening,, of 
 which Schubert, however, availed himself not as much 
 as might be desired. Many important compositions 
 belong to this period, amongst others, the beautiful, 
 so called tragic symphony (which title, by the bye, 
 seems a decided misnomer, the work being, on the 
 contrary, rather of a gentle and serene character). 
 It was written in 1816 for the 'Society of Dilettanti,' 
 which had taken its rise from the original family 
 quartett of the Schuberts, increased by their 
 numerous friends. 
 
 It was also about this time that Schubert received 
 the first substantial reward of his artistic labours. He 
 was commissioned to write the cantata of Prometheus 
 for a university festival, and the honoraire was 
 fixed at the moderate sum of 100 florins in paper 
 
FRANZ SCHUBERT. 147 
 
 money ^ a figure which, taking into account the state 
 of the Austrian finances at that time, dwindles 
 almost into nothingness. Nerertheless, he care- 
 fully commemorates the fact in his diary : " To-day 
 for the first time I composed for money." 
 
 We also hear of a mass of Schubert's being 
 played and sung under his own direction at the 
 parish church of Lichtental, at which performance 
 the soprano part was taken by a young lady of the 
 name of Theresa Grobe. She had a beautiful voice, 
 and it is said that the interest which our co mposer 
 took in her, was not of an exclusively artistic kind. 
 However this may be, the affair led to nothing 
 more than perhaps a fugitive romantic attachment. 
 Theresa soon afterwards married a master baker, and 
 "the practical wisdom of her choice is brought to indu- 
 titable evidence by the fact, that a short time ago 
 she was still enjoying a blooming old age at Yienna. 
 
 Of infinitely greater importance, though much 
 smaller in bulk than the enumerated composi- 
 tions, is a work, which more than any other has 
 proved the source of what little affluence and fame 
 its author enjoyed during his lifetime. That its 
 popularity has not abated since then, the reader 
 ^ill admit, when I pronounce its name the ' Erlking.' 
 
 L 2 
 
148 FRANZ SCHUBERT. 
 
 I should like to mention a few circumstances bearing 
 upon the horoscope of so important a creation* 
 Spaun, one of Schubert's intimates at the time {i.e. 
 the end of 1815,) tells us, that the whole piece was 
 written in one afternoon. Schubert read the verses 
 once or twice, and almost instantaneously conceived 
 and arranged his melody. When Spaun, who had 
 left the room, re-entered after a short time, he found 
 his friend noting down the music out of his head. 
 
 This enormous rapidity of Schubert's production 
 is another characteristic of his talent. There is an 
 anecdote of a similar kind connected with another 
 song of his. One Sunday he was sitting with 
 several boon companions in a tavern near Vienna, 
 Galled by the ominous name of the ' Beer Sack'. 
 One of them had a book of poetry with him, and 
 Schubert, glancing through its pages, suddenly ex- 
 claimed : ''I have a nice melody in my head, if I 
 could only get a piece of ruled paper." Sojme 
 staves were drawn on the back of a bill of fare, and 
 amidst the din of shouting guests, running waiters, 
 and tinkling harps, the heavenly melody of the 
 * Serenade ' was conceived. 
 
 To return to the 'Erlking,' it was as soon as 
 finished taken to the ' Stadtconvict ' and sung th^ 
 
FRANZ SCHUBERT. 149 
 
 same evening to tlie pupils, first by the composer 
 himself and afterwards by one of his friends. The 
 young critics were rather taken aback by the drastic 
 effects of colouring in the composition, and particu- 
 larly expressed their astonishment at the minor 
 second occurring in the outcry of the terrified child, 
 till their music-master Euczizka explained to them 
 the meaning and poetic necessity of the shrill 
 dissonance. 
 
 This was perhaps the first, but not the only time 
 that our composer was taxed with eccentricity, 
 abstruseness, and whatever else the favourite epithets 
 of superior Philistinism may be. He shared in this 
 respect the fate of every great master from Palestrina 
 and Bach, down to Schumann and Liszt, not ex- 
 cepting even the serene and simple genius of Mozart. 
 The verdict of the public at the Paris Conservatoire, 
 after hearing Beethoven's Seventh Symphony, de- 
 livered in exclamations of "II est fou " and the 
 like, may be considered as the representative ex- 
 pression of such narrow-minded malignity. 
 
 All this while Schubert was teaching the lowest 
 form of his father's school how to spell. We ask, 
 how his noble soul bore such fetters, in what kind 
 of an attitude our hero sat at this worse than 
 
15° FRANZ SCHUBERT. 
 
 spinning wheel ? Upon the whole very patiently. 
 Occasionally his grief may have vented itself in 
 angry demonstrations upon the backs of his pupils ; 
 there even exists a vague rumour of his being 
 dismissed from his dignity for thrashing an obstinate, 
 or I would rather believe, a stupid boy with more 
 than usual energy. As a rule, however, the serene 
 calm of his mind remained undisturbed. "We 
 possess some fragments of his diary, relating to 
 this period, which express anything but a Pro- 
 metheus-bound-like feeling.* On one occasion he 
 speaks about a concert, at which he had been enjoy- 
 ing himself, and addresses the genius of Mozart in 
 
 * The history of the narrow escape of these fragments from 
 being destroyed, as told by the well-known Aloys Fuchs in 
 his ' Schubertiana,' is very curious, and deserves mentioning,, 
 as illustrative of the xmaccountable neglect with which our 
 composer's most precious relics were left to take care of 
 themselves. " Some years ago " Tuchs relates " I found at 
 the shop of an autograph dealer at Vienna the fragments of a 
 diary, written in Schubert's own hand, with several leaves 
 wanting. I questioned the proprietor about it, and the 
 wretch confessed that, he had given the missing sheets away 
 piecemeal, partly to collectors of autographs, partly t» 
 admirers of Schubert. After having expressed my opinion 
 about his vandalism, I took care to save what was left." 
 
FRANZ SCHUBERT. 151 
 
 hyperpatLetie terms. Anotlier time lie gives a 
 sentimental description of his meeting a friend in 
 the fields ; a further entry describes his visit to a 
 picture gallery, and concludes with the not over 
 original remark, that one ought to see pictures 
 often in order to appreciate them properly. 
 
 Upon the whole, the style and spirit of these 
 remarks strike one as rather below than above the 
 average, and the same is the case with most of his 
 literary utterances. Schubert, although belonging 
 through his creative works to the new phase of art, 
 was of a decidedly illiterate turn of mind, and 
 never made a serious effort in later life to fill up 
 the gaps of his early education. 
 
 It was in the third year of his painful drudgery 
 as a schoolmaster, that a faint hope of possible 
 release seemed to dawn upon Schubert. The posi- 
 tion of director of a musical establishment at Lay- 
 bach became vacant, and although the yearly emolu- 
 ments of the place amounted to only five hundred 
 florins at the outside, this seemed to Schubert an 
 El Dorado compared with his actual circumstances. 
 His name appeared on the list of competitors, backed 
 by a favourable testimonial from Salieri, and the 
 warm recommendations of the municipal authorities. 
 
152 FRANZ SCHUBERT. 
 
 But in vain. Fortune, unlike herself, remained for 
 once unchangeable in her step-motherly treatment 
 of this child of genius. Some one else was elected, 
 and Schuhert had to continue as a schoolmaster for 
 another year. At the end of this term, friendship 
 again stepped in and broke the hateful chains. 
 
 One Franz von Schober, a young poet, had 
 heard and admired some of Schubert's songSj 
 and being told of the composer's narrow circum- 
 stances, persuaded his mother, a rich lady, to take 
 the responsibility for the supply of Schubert's 
 modest wants. On these grounds, the latter but too 
 readily threw up his appointment and, became a 
 daily guest in Schober's house. Henceforth he 
 never again bound himself by any fixed engagement. 
 
 It is this the sefcond time in our short sketch 
 that we see a friend acting as Beus ex machind in 
 Schubert's distresses, and it may seem appropriate 
 to add here a few words about the numerous interest- 
 ing men with whom his career became more or less 
 closely connected. 
 
 We first of all notice that only comparatively 
 few of Schubert's friends were of his own calling. 
 They mostly belonged to a class of general enthusi- 
 asts, who in those halcyon days of political lethargy 
 
FRANZ SCHUBERT. iS3 
 
 "were not uncommonly found in Austria. A man of 
 tHs kind would broadly sympathise witli all artistic 
 aspirations, and so be able to receive tbe revela- 
 tions of genius with a willing heart. Unfortunately 
 he would also be apt to express his own vague ' 
 longings for the ideal in more or less indifferent 
 verse ; and it is in this latter capacity that the 
 student of Schubert's songs reluctantly becomes 
 acquainted with names like Sohober, Huttenbren- 
 ner, or Mayrhofer. The last mentioned seems to' 
 have been on the most intimate terms with Schubert, 
 i'or two years they lived together, in the same room. 
 Two dramas and a number of songs owe their 
 existence to this Bohemian friendship. 
 
 As a rule, poet and composer, were at work to- 
 gether at the same time, and as soon as Mayrhofer 
 had finished a sufficient number of verses, he handed 
 them over to Schubert's desk, who clad them in music 
 with a rapidity, that sometimes made it difficult to 
 keep pace with him. The tragic end of Mayrhofer, 
 although happening long after our composer's death, 
 throws a veil of sadness over this bright picture of 
 youthful enthusiasm. 
 
 A hypochondriacal morbidness was from the 
 beginning a prominent feature in the young poet's 
 
154 FRANZ SCHUBERT. 
 
 character, and it seems to have grown with, his^ 
 advancing age. Once in a fit of melancholy despair, 
 he tried to drown himself in the Danube. He was 
 however, drawn out of the water and restored to life,, 
 but not to the desire of Uvitig. He went on qnietljr 
 for some time, till in 1836 he was suddenly taken 
 with a violent fear of cholera morbus, then raging 
 at Vienna. In order to escape the dreadful enemy,. 
 he made, by a strange but not unprecedented incon- 
 sistency of human nature, a second, and this time 
 successful attempt at destroying himself. 
 
 Another, and upon the whole more useful class 
 of friends, were singers both of the amateur 
 and professional classes, who interpreted Schubert's- 
 songs to Viennese circles, and in this way procured 
 him what little fame and gain was allotted to him 
 in this earthly exile. The most prominent amongst 
 these was Vogl, a popular singer at the Imperial 
 Opera, whose name has been preserved from oblivion 
 by his noble exertions in the service of genius. At 
 first there was some difficulty in drawing his atten- 
 tion to the productions of the obscure beginner, but 
 when once the ice was broken, Vogl ardently enlisted 
 in the task of securing a place to the rising star 
 amongst the established constellations ; and to thia 
 
FRANZ SCHUBERT. 155 
 
 task he adhered to the end. It was long after the 
 death of Schubert, that the then more than sexage- 
 narian sang the ' Erlking ' at a public concert. 
 He soon discerned the dream-like character of' 
 Schubert's productiyeness, and always used to quote 
 an anecdote in illustration of the state of uncon- 
 sciousness, or as he called it, clairvoyance^ in which 
 Schubert wrote his finest works. Finding a song 
 of our composer's, which had been left at his rooms, 
 too high for his voice, Vogl had it transposed, and 
 after a fortnight sang it in a lower key to Schubert, 
 who calmly remarked, "Eeallythat 'Lied' is not so 
 bad ; whom is it by ? " It is also said that Vogl 
 exerted a beneficial influence on his friend, in 
 making him more careful in the choice of the words 
 for his songs. 
 
 "With the exception of Yogi, Schubert had but 
 little connection with the musical celebrities of his 
 time. He liyed indeed a secluded life, in so far as 
 his own existence lay out of the musical atmosphere 
 of his surroundings ; and from what we know of the 
 compounds of this atmosphere, we can quite under- 
 stand why his uncombative, not to say indolent 
 nature, shrunk from entering the arena of publi(> 
 contest. 
 
iS6 FRANZ SCHUBERT. 
 
 "Vienna, at tliat period, was divided into two 
 hostile camps, consisting of tlie respective disciples 
 of Weber and Rossini, or, as they preferred to call 
 themselves, the German and Italian schools of music. 
 Apart from these, on a solitary height, stood 
 Beethoven, addressing his utterances more to 
 unborn generations than to ungrateful contem- 
 poraries. 
 
 Schubert, although thoroughly imbued with the 
 ideal seriousness of German art, was altogether of 
 too easy going a nature to take a decided position 
 in this struggle. He composed a couple of Italian 
 overtures, in imitation of Eossioi's brilliant verve, 
 and was, on the other hand, perhaps slightly biassed 
 against the German champion, by the arrogant 
 hauteur with which Weber is said to have treated 
 the young Yiennese composer's dramatic efforts. 
 To Beethoven, Schubert always preserved the atti- 
 tude of a worshipping disciple. Once or twice he 
 tried to approach him personally, but Beethoven's 
 ■deaftiess and growing misanthropy, prevented him 
 from taking much notice of an awkward young man, 
 with nothing particular to recommend him. It was 
 only on his death-bed that Beethoven recognised the 
 congenial flame in the works of the younger com- 
 
FRANZ SCHUBERT. 157 
 
 poser. Schindler tells us that he gave the dying 
 master, shortly before his end, some books of the 
 just published ' Lieder,' to look through, and that 
 Beethoven expressed his admiring astonishment at 
 the flow of melody, and the richness of harmonious- 
 combinations, displayed in their narrow limits. 
 
 When last we left him, Schubert had just resolved 
 upon meeting the demands of life with his own 
 resources. But too soon he was to find out the 
 impediments of such a bold undertaking; and seeing 
 that the hundred florins earned by his compositions 
 were not likely to receive a new addition from th& 
 same quarter, he saw himself compelled to undergo 
 a new, though modified form of drudgery, that is,^ 
 to give music lessons. Fortunately he met at the be- 
 ginning of his career with one of those families, 
 not uncommonly found amongst the Austrian 
 nobility, which take a traditional pride in protecting- 
 artistic talent. The head of this family, Count 
 Esterhazy, took a great likiag for the young man, 
 and engaged him permanently in the instruction of 
 his young and beautiful wife, and his two daughters, 
 aged thirteen and eleven respectively. During th& 
 summer months Schubert often went with the 
 Esterhazys to their country seat, at Zelesz, in 
 
iS8 FRANZ SCHUBERT. 
 
 Hungary, where he became acquainted with, those 
 wild, but wonderfully charming rhythms and melo- 
 dies of half gipsy, half Magyar origin, which he 
 afterwards embodied in. his works. It is said that 
 the beautiful motive in the opening of the 'Fantaisie 
 a I'Hongroise,' was overheard by the composer at 
 the Count's castle, where a kitchen-maid used to 
 hum it over her work. 
 
 We also have to record ia connection with the 
 Esterhazy family a second tender attachment, the 
 most serious one to which our misogynist was ever 
 subject. At first, it is said, Schubert fell in love 
 with 2Lfemme de chamhre of the Countess, but soon 
 this ephemeral passion was consumed by the, purer 
 flame of an ideal love, with which the unfolding 
 charms of his younger pupil, Caroline Esterhazy, 
 inspired him. The iuexperielieed girl scarcely 
 understood the silent devotion of the awkward 
 artist. Only once it seems to have come to an 
 indirect utterance, when upon the Countess asking 
 him, why he had never dedicated any of his works 
 to her, Schubert exclaimed, in his usual abrupt 
 manner : ''What's the use of that, everything be- 
 longs to you." In this resolution he persisted, and 
 the dedication to Countess Caroline, which stands on 
 
FRANZ SCHUBERT. 159 
 
 the title page of tke Fantasia, in F minor, Op. 103 was 
 added by the publisher after the composer's death. 
 
 "With the beginning of Schubert's career as an 
 independent musician at Vienna, the biographical 
 part of our remarks has nearly reached its end. 
 Henceforth his existence becomes so void of stirring 
 incidents of any kind, that a continuous narration 
 would appear tedious. Those of my readers whom 
 the subject may interest, I will refer for the most 
 accurate details, to the excellent and comprehensive 
 l)ook on Schubert, by Dr. Kreiszle, to which is 
 affixed a catalogue of his works, with the num- 
 ber and date of their publication. I, for my part, 
 must limit myself here to collecting and group- 
 ing together such scraps of anecdotal intelligence, as 
 may enable the reader to discern the outline of 
 Schubert's visible fates and features. Of his works 
 ^Iso, I shaU only mention those which show a more 
 immediate bearing on the general conditions of 
 musical development. 
 
 Schubert's exterior, to begin with the least im- 
 portant point, was anything but prepossessing. 
 His features seemed to show some resemblance 
 with those of Beethoven, without however that 
 Jove-like protrusion of forehead in the greater 
 
i6o FRANZ SCHUBERT. 
 
 master's physiognomy, whicli might make one 
 believe in the phrenologists' bump of ideality. The 
 worst feature of our composer's face "was his nose, 
 " tip-tilted " — to use the Laureate's ingenious way 
 of putting it — but, alas! anything but "slender." 
 "We also miss in him that sweet bent of mouth, 
 those " beautifully rhymed lips," as Heine calls- 
 them, which we admire in the portraits, of almost 
 all the great lyrists of different ages and nations. 
 The decided tendency towards growing fat, which 
 manifested itself at an early period of life, gave an 
 additional touch of uncouth awkwardness to Schu- 
 bert's appearance. Contemporaries mention the 
 splendour and depth of his eye as a retrieving 
 feature, which of course cannot be recognised in the 
 indifferent portraits we possess of him. Upon the 
 whole, we can easily understand that his appear- 
 ance and social accomplishments did not qualify 
 him to shine in the salons of the most refined aris- 
 tocracy of Europe. Indeed, he shunned as much 
 as possible, and much more than was advantageous 
 to his worldly prospects, the circles in which a 
 Viennesse reputation could only be established at 
 that time. He only felt comfortable in the midst 
 of jolly companions, and at the genial board of 
 
FRANZ SCHUBERT. i6i 
 
 some Kneipe (tavern) where the gifts of Bacokus 
 and Gambrinus circulated freely, sometimes but too 
 freely for the continued steadiness of brains and 
 legs. Be it said here, .once for all, that Schubert 
 "was never a confirmed drunkard, but occasionally 
 indulged in a glass too much. 
 
 In company of this kind he was quite at his ease, 
 and often changed his habitual sUence with fits of 
 boisterous mirth and joviality, from which however 
 he soon relapsed into absent dreaming, often in- 
 creased to a state of creative clairvoyance. To a 
 certain grufifness of manner. Schubert owed the title 
 of ' tyrant ' occasionally applied to him by his 
 friends, who, nevertheless, loved him with all the 
 sentimentality of South German youth. There are 
 extant a number of letters exchanged between 
 him and his Mends, during, the various trips into 
 the provinces, which he made at different times. 
 In these we find displayed all the just-mentioned 
 qualities, mixed with that especially Austrian sense 
 for cheap puns and harmless jocularity to which I 
 have also called the reader's attention on more: 
 than one occasion. 
 
 At other times, however, we see him give way 
 to a sense of depression but too commonly found 
 
 M 
 
i62 FRANZ SCHUBERT. 
 
 amongst those -who produce works of art from the 
 depths of their own feelings, and the absence of 
 which would be unaccountable in the singer of the 
 'Wiuter-reise.' There were even for him intervals 
 of exhaustion, when the emptiness of his earthly 
 existence overshadowed his soul. In one of his 
 letters addressed to his friend Kuppelwieser, at the 
 beginning of 1824, we find a sudden outcry of sad- 
 ness, which strikes us by the pathetic truth, we 
 might almost call it beauty, of its expression. 
 "Tou are good and kind," Schubert says, "and 
 will forgive me for what others might take amiss, 
 but the fact is, I'm the most miserable man in 
 existence. Fancy a man, whose health has 
 been irrecoverably lost, and who by his despair 
 makes it still worse instead of better ; fancy, I say, 
 a man, whose most brilliant hopes have come 
 to nothing, and to whom even the delights of friend- 
 ship and love have proved a source of sufferance 
 and pain ; nay, whose enthusiasm for the beautiful 
 threatens to vanish, and then ask thyself if I am 
 not to be pitied. 
 
 Meine Euh' ist hin 
 Mein. Herz iat schwer, 
 Ich fiude sie niramer 
 Und nimmermehr. 
 
FRANZ SCHUBERT. 163 
 
 My peace is gone,* 
 My heart is sore, 
 I never shall find it. 
 Ah ! never more ! 
 
 So I migh.t say every day ; for every night wten I 
 go to sleep, I wish never to wake again, and every 
 morning reminds me of yesternight's sorrow." 
 
 In the further continuation of the letter, we are 
 made acquainted with some of the immediate causes 
 of this mournful disposition. " His affairs," Schu- 
 bert says, speaking of a mutual friend, "and my 
 own are in a bad condition, and we neither of us 
 have any money. Your brother's operaf has been 
 declared unfit for the stage, and my music, of 
 course, has also become useless. Some Berlin com- 
 poser has set Castelli's opera. The Conspirators,^ to 
 music, and it has been received with great applause. 
 In this way I have composed two whole operas for 
 nothing." In Schubert's diary we find an entry 
 
 * i quote from Mr. Bayard Taylor's excellent translation of 
 Ooethe's ' Paust.' 
 
 t Merabras, the libretto of which was written by Joseph 
 Kuppelwieser. 
 
 J Identical with the ' Bomestie Warfare' analysed by us. 
 The original title, ' The Conspi/rators,' had been thought 
 objectionable by the theatrical censor of Vienna, as being 
 referable to political matters. 
 
 m2 
 
1 64 FRANZ SCHUBERT. 
 
 of about the same date, wMcli displays a sad 
 parallelism with the quoted letter. '' My works," 
 he writes there, " are the children of my intellect 
 and sorrow, and those seem to delight the world 
 most which my sadness alone has created." 
 
 This despondency was not the effect of constitu- 
 tional melancholy or morbid affectation. "We must, 
 on the contrary, admire the courage and equanimity 
 with which Schubert bore up against the sea of 
 troubles, attacking him from all sides, with more 
 than usual vigour and obstinacy. It is true that 
 almost every one, who sets out on the thornful way 
 to the temple of fame has to suffer from the indiffer- 
 ence with which the world looks upon a beginner. 
 
 The stern judges, who hold in one hand the key of 
 the gate to immortality, while the other feels the pulse 
 of the sovereign called public, seldom encourage the 
 young artist's ffrst effort, or, to speak without meta- 
 phor, publishers are naturally shy of launching the 
 ominous Op. 1 of an unknown composer. But this 
 does not apply to Schubert. His songs were largely 
 circulated in manuscript, and received with increas- 
 ing applause in all the drawing-rooms of Vienna, 
 and still no publisher could be persuaded to venture 
 upon the purchase of so popular a work as the * Erl- 
 
FRANZ SCHUBERT. 165 
 
 king.' It had to be brouglit out at last at the 
 expense of the composer's friends. Even when the 
 enormous profits reaped from the sale of his songs 
 by Spina and other Vienna publishers had opened 
 their eyes to some extent, Schubert had constantly 
 to hear ridiculous suggestions as to making his 
 accompaniments easier, and similar miserable de- 
 vices from the tradesman's point of view. 
 
 At various periods of his life he attempted 
 to improve his precarious situation by finding 
 a fixed appointment of some kind, but always 
 in vain. Even the barren honour of being ac- 
 cepted as a member of the " Society of Priends of 
 Music " he coveted without success. On the other 
 hand, it must be confessed that his own easy going 
 and, as far as his worldly affairs were concerned, 
 extremely lazy disposition prevented him from ever 
 taking fortune by the forelock. His indifference 
 to applause and money had become almost pro- 
 verbial amongst his friends, who had constantly to 
 be on the alert, and use all possible means of persua- 
 sion in order to make him keep the most important 
 appointments. Once an advantageous situation as 
 ■organist at the Imperial chapel was offered' to 
 Schubert by Count Dietrich stein, but refused by 
 
i6S FRANZ SCHUBERT. 
 
 Hm for unknown reasons. Perhaps lie had re- 
 signed himself to poverty by that time, and would 
 not accept a preferment which might interfere 
 with the higher duties of his artistic vocation. 
 
 One chief source of income for Viennese com- 
 posers at that time was the public performance of 
 their works in what were then called ' Academies,' 
 that is, great concerts of instrumental and vocal 
 music. 
 
 Perhaps some of my readers have heard of that 
 memorable ' Academic ' in which Beethoven's 
 Ninth Symphony was first produced in public, and 
 excited storms of applause. Being unable to hear, 
 the deaf composer had to be turned round, so as 
 to make him realise by the waving of hats and 
 handkerchiefs the effect of his work. 
 
 From this kind of public success Schubert was 
 to a great extent precluded by his bashfulness, 
 and also by the fact that he played no instrument 
 as a virtuoso. It is said, that although he accom- 
 panied his own songs on the piano most beauti- 
 fully, he never acquired any remarkable technical 
 skill on that instrument. Only once he appeared 
 in public as the conductor of a concert given by him- 
 self. The scheme consisted exclusively of his own 
 
FRANZ SCHUBERT. 167 
 
 works, mostly vocal, and the success was brilliant 
 in all respects. It was going to be repeated by 
 the composer, when his last illness intervened, 
 and extinguished this faint glimmer of ephemeral 
 good fortune. 
 
 So li>ed Schubert, unknown, and scarcely pro- 
 tected against actual want, while others were reap- 
 ing the fruits of his labour. But shall we there- 
 fore pity a man, who all the while revelled in the 
 treasures of his creative ore, and from the very 
 depths of whose despair sprang the sweetest 
 flowers of song? Who would not battle with 
 the iciest blast of the north, if out of storm and 
 snow he could bring back to his chamber the 
 germs of the ' Winter-reise ? ' Who would grudge 
 the moisture of his eyes if he could render it 
 immortal in the stra-Tis of Schubert's ' Lob der 
 Thrane?' 
 
 With this we touch upon that side of his genius, 
 upon which his claims to immortality must chiefly 
 rest, I mean his power of embodying his indi- 
 vidual feelings in his art, as the result of which 
 power we have to consider his songs. But before I 
 can enter more fully into this most important part 
 of Schubert's works, I must ask the reader to 
 
1 68 FRANZ SCHUBERT. 
 
 accompany me in a short analysis of the historical 
 growth of the song itself, and the peculiar position 
 it takes in both the poetical and musical branches 
 of emotional utterance in Germany. An investiga- 
 tion of the purely literary side of the question wiU 
 be the more indispensable, as through it a new 
 undeniable proof of the inseparable connection of 
 music and poetry will be afforded. It may indeed 
 be affirmed that the high position, which the song 
 takes at the present day amongst the other forms 
 of musical art, is quite as much owing to the great 
 modern lyrists of Germany, as to the composers 
 who by their works were inspired to commensu- 
 rate efforts. 
 
 Heinrich Heine, in his delightful preface to a 
 new German translation of ' Don Quixote,' oc- 
 casionally remarks upon the comparative merits of 
 different national contributions to universal litera-. 
 ture, and after having awarded the first prize in 
 novel writing to the Spaniard Cervantes, and that 
 in the drama to the Englishman Shakespeare, he 
 apostrophises- his own countrymen in the following 
 
FRANZ SCHUBERT. 169 
 
 manner : " And the Germans, what palm is due to 
 them ? Well, we are the best writers of songs in 
 the world. No people possesses such beautiful 
 ■Lieder as the Germans. Just at present the nations 
 have too much political business on hand, but after 
 that has once been settled, we Germans, English- 
 men, Spaniards, Frenchmen, and Italians will all go 
 into the green forest and sing, and the nightingale 
 shall be umpire. I feel sure that in this contest 
 the song of Wolfgang Goethe will gain the prize." 
 In another place Heine predicts that posterity will 
 ■couple his own name with that of Goethe, as 
 equally representative of German song, and the 
 present generation already seems but too willing to 
 acknowledge the younger poet's proud claim to this 
 ■companionship. But besides these two, a third 
 poet might be named of no lesser excellence, and 
 worthy to complete the lyrical triad on the German 
 Parnassus, a poet of indisputable priority as to 
 time, and inferior to neither of his rivals in range 
 and depth of feeling, although his work bears the 
 modest and half anonymous signature of ' The 
 People.' It is indeed to the inexhaustible treasure 
 of their popular songs, more than to any other cause, 
 that the Germans are indebted for the consciously 
 
I70 FRANZ SCHUBERl. ' 
 
 artistic achievements of their great lyrical 
 poets. 
 
 There are two points which distinguish the- 
 Fblhlied from, and raise it in literary importance 
 above, the popular utterances of all other nations,. 
 As the first, I mention its wide range of topic^ 
 which comprises almost all phases of domestic, 
 religious, and political life, in their action on the- 
 unsophisticated and very often but too immediately 
 concerned mind of the toiling multitude. One- 
 might, in this respect, consider the Volhslied as a 
 continual commentary on historical events, in 
 which the types of official saints and heroes fre- 
 quently reappear in the quaintest distortions. But, 
 side by side with the traces of drollery and satire, 
 we find. the expression of deepest sympathy, and 
 an intuitive understanding for the great events of 
 human progress. Nowhere has the indignant 
 resistance of the free-born "soul against spiritual 
 fetters resounded more powerfully than in Luther's- 
 hymn, EivD feste Burg (which, although, of known 
 origin, by its elementary force and simplicity of 
 feeling, seems to deserve the name of the German 
 VolMied, recently granted to it), and other songs of 
 the Eeformation period. 
 
FRANZ SCHUBERT. J71 
 
 We also must not forget the irrepressible ten- 
 dency of the German soldier towards celebrating 
 his own and his commander's feats of valour in 
 more or less indifferent doggrel, to which we owe 
 many valuable contributions, from the song of the 
 lanzknecht who "was present" (this assertion of 
 personal autopsy is typical) when they caught the 
 French King at Pavia, down to the baUad of 
 ' Prince Eugene, the noble knight,' and the 
 strongly diluted, but still somewhat racy, patriotic 
 effusions of the great Frederick's grenadier, by 
 father Gleim.* If to these we add the Wanderlied. 
 sung by the vagabond scholar and the journeying 
 handicraftsman, and the drinking-song, full of joUy 
 "Walter Mapes-like bonhomie, we shall have nearly 
 exhausted the favourite subjects of the popular 
 song, as far as they are attached to the outward 
 occurrences of human life. 
 
 But nowhere is the depth and tenderness of the 
 
 * I must remind the reader that the incognito of the author- 
 is not considered by me as an essential feature of the popular- 
 in opposition to the anistic song. ' The two criteria of the 
 'Volkslied' are, firstly, its actual or past popularity, and 
 secondly, the real or apparent absence of artistic purpose^ 
 founded either on genuine naivete or on the conscious effort. 
 of high poetic genius. 
 
172 FRANZ SCHUBERT. 
 
 Oerman nature displayed to greater advantage than 
 in the true domain of all lyrical poetry, the love- 
 «ong. It is undeniable that these artless ditties 
 cannot vie with the peculiar sweetness and verm of 
 the French chanson or the sonorous grace of Tuscan 
 rispettti and stornelli, any more than a lanzknecht 
 song could equal the weirdness of a Scotch baUad ; 
 but it is just this total want of outward effect, and 
 its exclusive reliance on the power of true feeling, 
 which gives its principal charm to the German 
 ■song, and at the same time makes it so eminently 
 representative of German national character. 
 
 I will not encumber the pages of this work with 
 an ever so slight sesthetical sketch of German 
 popular poetry. May I only be allowed to quote, as 
 a specimen of the love-song with which we are here 
 more immediately concerned, the following sad 
 ditty. The reader must not ask me about its 
 author or its presumable date. I only know that I 
 used to hum its melancholy tune, and was im- 
 pressed by its half-understood symbolism, at an 
 age when all such antiquarian niceties seemed to be 
 utterly irrelevant, as irrelevant indeed as perhaps 
 they in reality are. Printed I saw it for the first 
 time a few weeks ago, in Schure's charming 'Histoire 
 
FRANZ SCHUBERT. ij^. 
 
 du Lied.' My translation reproduces the original 
 as closely as possible : 
 
 " Last night I have been dreaming 
 A dream, so heavily. 
 In my garden there was growing 
 A tree of rosemary. 
 
 " A churchyard was the garden, 
 A grave the flower-bed, 
 And from the tree were drooping 
 The leaves and blossoms dead. 
 
 " The blossoms I did gather 
 In a golden pitcher withal. 
 Till broken quite to pieces 
 From my hapds I saw it fall. 
 
 " Then saw I tears a-running. 
 
 And drops as blood so red, 
 "What can the dream be meaning — 
 
 Sweet true love, art thou dead ? " 
 
 The second characteristic feature of the Volkslied 
 alluded to, stands in the relation of both cause and 
 effect to the richness and variety of its motives. It 
 is the continual contact and interchange of ideas be- 
 tween the popular and the artistic song. Early traces 
 ©f this reciprocity we discover in what has been called 
 the first classical age of German poetry, i.e., the 
 time of the Minnesingers. Although the social 
 
174 FRANZ SCHUBERT. 
 
 position of these courtly poets widely severed th.eni 
 from their humbler brethren of the fair and road- 
 side inn, still they never disdained to imbue their 
 fantasy with the ever fresh naivete of popular 
 feeling. The most charming song of Walter von 
 der Yogelweide, and perhaps one of the sweetest 
 blossoms of erotic poetry, generally called from its 
 suggestive burden ' Tandaradei ' is written in the 
 style of what has been named ignominiously " the 
 lower love," but what, in reality, is only the un- 
 disguised rendering of preartistic sentiment. 
 
 It was thus that the Minnesinger repaid with the 
 
 additional interest of his genius and refinement, 
 
 the suggestion he owed to the treasure of the people's 
 
 feeling, very different in this respect from the 
 
 accomplished poet of the Langues d'Oc and d'Oil. 
 
 Both Troubadours and Trouveres borrowed some 
 
 •of their most charming forms, like the Alba, 
 
 Serenade, and Pastorelle, from rustic song, but 
 
 Tinder their hands these simple blossoms of the 
 
 "field were forced into an artificial bloom, of great 
 
 Ijeauty and splendour, but entirely unavailable for 
 
 the less refined taste of the multitude. The deep 
 
 -chasm opened in this way between Minstrels and 
 
 'Troubadours, natural and refined singers, could not 
 
FRANZ SCHUBERT. 175 
 
 but prove fatal to the creations of both. Courtly 
 poetry, deprived of the ever new pulsation of un- 
 alloyed feeling, soon degenerated into a mere wor- 
 ^ship of abstract form, the petrified specimens of 
 which we still admire in the stately and sonorous, 
 but too often almost meaningless, stanzas of Amaut 
 Daniel and Folco of Marseilles. The popular 
 muse, on the other hand, left without the guidance 
 and example of her more refined sister, relapsed 
 into grossness, and for a long time lost even the 
 organ of exalted speech in the unintelligible stam- 
 mering of a low patois. 
 
 In Germany, also, the prime of artistic song, 
 as represented in names like Walter von der 
 Yogelweide and Nithart von Eeuenthal, was not 
 of long duration. During the fifteenth and 
 sixteenth centuries, poetry passed from the hands 
 of a decaying nobility into those of the rising 
 bourgeoisie, and was treated by the worthy 
 " master singers " very much like another handi- 
 craft. A code of rulfes, under the name of Tabulatur, 
 was established, and his increasing proficiency in 
 handling the traditional forms raised the aspiring 
 singer through the different stages of apprenticeship 
 to the dignity of a master and judge. The frequent 
 
176 FRANZ SCHUBERT. 
 
 glimpses of real poetic feeling, visible througli the 
 sluggish stream of Philistinism, form the redeeming 
 features in this picture. 
 
 But even these were "wanting, when Martin 
 Opitz, during the troubles of the war of thirty 
 years, again raised the banner of German poetry, 
 and ushered in the period of second-hand rococo 
 which, in trying to reproduce the dignified graces 
 of the French muse, ultimately tended to expose 
 the hollow affectation of her pseudo-classicism in a 
 Teutonic undress. 
 
 In the meanwhile the Volkslied went its own way, 
 all but unnoticed by the literati of the day, but 
 preserved from the influences of lassitude and 
 commonplace vulgarity by the mighty events which, 
 from time to time, stirring up the passions of the 
 nation, roused the popular muse to corresponding 
 efforts. I have mentioned before the assistance 
 lent by the poetry of the people to the reformatory 
 movement of the sixteenth century, and I will add 
 here, that in the many beautiful choral melodie& 
 used at the present time in the Protestant service, 
 popular tunes of great antiquity, and originally 
 intended for a very different purpose, may be 
 recognised. 
 
FRANZ SCHUBERT. 177 
 
 It remains to be acknowledged, that a feeling for 
 the charms of the pure source of unalloyed impulse 
 was, even during the most artificial times, never 
 ■quite lost amongst German poets. The beautiful 
 songs of Simon Dach and Paul Flemming, conceived 
 in the purest strain of popular simplicity, in th^ 
 midst of the hubbub of both SUesian schools, strike 
 one like the sweet wood-note of a wUd bird among 
 a flock of screaming peacocks. 
 
 / -" The same consciousness of the great value for 
 poetry of a popular origin, was shown at a later 
 period and in a manner characteristic to himself, 
 by the man who, more than any other, may lay 
 claim to the dignity of a liberator of the muse from 
 conventional fetters. I am referring to a letter 
 from Gotthold Ephraim Lessiug, to his friend 
 Meolai, dated 20th September, 1777. The latter, 
 a publisher, and at the same time a prolific 
 author, of Berlin, belonged to a school of superficial 
 Voltairians who, extending their scepticism beyond . 
 the limits of religious inquiry, were apt to consider 
 as barbarous, whatever did not fit into the system 
 of their dry North-German rationalism. Not un- 
 like certain contemporary legislators, Nicolai was 
 prone to place aU the evils of this wicked world to 
 
 K 
 
178 FRANZ SCHUBERT. 
 
 the account of the Society of Jesus, and to this- 
 idiosyncrasy, combined with a clumsy attack on 
 Goethe's ' Werther,' he owes his place in ' Faust ' 
 as " Proktophantasmist," who even on Mount 
 Brocken " scents the Jesuits." In the reyived 
 interest for popular poetry which, owing to Herder's 
 meritorious researches, hegan at that time to spread 
 in Germany, he, of course, discovered only a 
 morbid craving for the dark middle ages, and, 
 in order to ridicule the whole movement, proposed 
 to publish a collection of the silliest possible speci- 
 mens of old songs, for which he also solicited 
 Lessing's contributions. But here he was to be 
 sorely disappointed. Lessing, in his answer, 
 strongly insists upon the merits of a true song- 
 of the people, as distinguished on the one side 
 from the vulgar utterance of the rabble, and on 
 the other from the inane productions of " scholarly 
 rhymesters of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries." 
 As a model of genuine power, he quotes a broom- 
 maker's song, heard by himself in his chUdhood 
 from a member of the profession. In order to 
 give the English reader an opportimity of forming 
 his own opinion on a poem, so much extoUed by the 
 great critic, I will here insert a translation of the- 
 
FRANZ SCHUBERT. 179 
 
 few lines in question, in wMcli nnfortunately the 
 racy flavour of the German word " saufen " could, 
 for -want of an English equivalent, be rendered but 
 imperfectly. It runs thus : — 
 
 " If I've no tin to get a drop, 
 
 I go and tie some besoms up, 
 And go the alleys down and up, 
 And hollo : ' Buy my besoms up,' 
 To get me tin to get a drop." 
 
 The zeal of Herder in discovering the hidden 
 treasures of ancient folk-lore, roused chiefly by the 
 previous similar attempts of Bishop Percy, in this 
 country, Was, of course, not to be damped by 
 Nicolai's dry scofi'. As the final result of his 
 researches, he published specimens of popular song 
 amongst all nations, under the title of the ' Voices 
 of Nations in Songs,' and from the appearance of 
 this work, we may date, to some extent, the rise of 
 a new epoch in poetry. The importance of the 
 book lies perhaps less in the collected material, 
 which, according to the scanty philological resources 
 of the time, leaves much to be desired, as in the 
 great interest, with which the young and susceptible 
 soul of Goethe received the new revelation. Most 
 of my readers will know Goethe's masterly poem 
 
 N 2 
 
i8o FRANZ SCHUBERT. 
 
 of the * Complaint of the noble Wife of Asan-Aga,' 
 •which was smuggled into the volume as a translation 
 from the origiual ' Morlackisch.' 
 
 But the impulse once received was soon to lead 
 to higher efforts. Herder's idea chimed in too well 
 with the general disposition of the time, and the 
 young poet's individual bias, not to be conducive 
 to deeds of greater valour than a clever imitation. 
 For this was the period of " storm and stress " in 
 German literature. The cause of the natural v. the 
 artificial, of Shakespeare against French classicism 
 had been pleaded by the mighty voice of Lessing ; 
 and Goethe's own early productions in the drama 
 and novel show distinctly enough, which way his 
 genius tended. What was more natural, than that 
 now, when the wide unknown regions of popular 
 feeling were discovered to him, when the lyrical 
 giant touched his congenial mother-soil, his power 
 of song grew irresistible ? In this way another 
 stronghold of antiquated prejudice was broken, 
 and a new domaiu thrown open to the longing of the 
 human heart for impulsive utterance. 
 
 I have tried hitherto to sketch the line of pro- 
 gress, which ultimately led to the re-union of 
 popular and artistic song by the greatest poetic 
 
FRANZ SCHUBERT. i8i 
 
 genius of modern times. Henceforth the task 
 "would devolve upon me, to follow the new form of 
 art on its further course through the bright but 
 passing glow of the romantic school, to its second 
 climax of development, when, under the hands of 
 Heine and his followers, it was to become the 
 exponent of intensest passion and deepest suflfering. 
 Many stars of song might be named, like Brentano, 
 Eichendorff, and Lenau, each bright and powerful 
 ia its individual sphere. But as I must fear that 
 to the greater number of English readers these 
 names are, and would have to remain, names only, 
 I will limit myself to tracing a few general 
 features, adhering essentially to the nature of 
 German artistic song. 
 
 As far as its metrical structure is concerned, the 
 song of Goethe and Heine displays but little differ- 
 ence from its popular source. Take, for instance, 
 the following well-known stanza from one of the 
 songs in Wilhelm Meister : — 
 
 " Who never ate with tears his bread, 
 
 Who never passed the night's long hours 
 Sleepless and weeping on his bed — 
 He knows you not, ye heavenly powers," 
 
 and compare it with the above-quoted popular love- 
 
1 82 FRANZ SCHUBERT. 
 
 poem. The increase of every line by one iambic 
 foot is, of course, quite accidental, and the only 
 additional piece of ■workmanship consists in the 
 introduction of rhyme into the first and third lines 
 of every verse. But even this is not by any means 
 a necessary requirement of artistic song. The only 
 •way, in which the poet could show his formal 
 mastery, and in which indeed it has been shown by 
 representative men, consists in those slight rhythm- 
 ical nuances, mostly of an onomatopoetic kind, 
 achievable only by the hand of genius, and scarcely 
 perceptible to the multitude. 
 
 This absence of all artificial effect contains at 
 once a great danger and a still greater advantage 
 with regard to the course of German literature, as 
 distinguished from that of other nations. Let us, 
 for instance, throw a comparing side glance on two 
 of the great English lyrists of the beginning of the 
 present century. Both Shelley and Keats were 
 prone to grapple with the great problems of 
 humanity, and the only style in which such exalted 
 subjects could be treated, naturally tended more 
 towards the Pindaric ode than the simple stanza of 
 the popular song. Hence the wonderful beauty 
 and variety in the structure of their strophes and 
 
FRANZ SCHUBERT. 183- 
 
 tte elevation of their language ; hence also the 
 high standard of modern poetic language in this 
 oountry whiteh ought to deter the young bard 
 from entering the lists unprepared, or which, 
 at least, makes it easy to distinguish the master 
 from the incompetent blunderer ; the danger only 
 Ijeing, that undue importance may be gained by 
 sound over sense, by mechanical skill over natural 
 impulse. 
 
 Such a danger need certainly not be apprehended 
 in Germany, where the easy flow of the Volkslied 
 stanza gave and gives a but too welcome oppor- 
 tunity to the feeling youth, for providing his 
 commonplace amorousness with the additional 
 charm of tolerable verse. But, on the other hand, 
 the simplicity in metre and diction, implied by 
 the popular origin of German artistic song, gave 
 full liberty to its masters, in concentrating the 
 power of their genius on the unfettered expression 
 of their impulsive thoughts, expanding, in this way, 
 the flower-like nature of the Volkslied into a creation 
 of highest artistic consciousness. 
 
 Last, but not least, I mention the great advan- 
 tages, which the conciseness of German lyrics 
 (ofiered to the melodies of the composer, and this 
 
1 84 FRANZ SCHUBERT. 
 
 brings us back to the musical consideration of our 
 theme. We will here also begin with a brief sur- 
 vey of the historical material. 
 
 Our remarks about the melodies of popular songs 
 in Germany will be few and short. A classification 
 of indiyidual tunes would, in most cases, prove all 
 but impossible, since the character of their modula- 
 tions has undergone the influence of consecutive 
 ages ; a guess from the known or definable date of 
 words as to the equal age of their musical accom- 
 paniments would also, in many cases, be open to 
 serious objections, seeing that one and the same 
 tune has often been used for different poems at 
 different times. Numerous secular tunes have, a& 
 we mentioned before, been adopted by both the old 
 ajid new churches for their purposes, and to these 
 we shall have to recur on a later occasion. As ta 
 the general character of the German popular tune,, 
 especially in the love-song, it may be said that, 
 together with high beauties of melodious expres- 
 siveness, it displays great simplicity, and often- 
 monotony, of rhythmical progress, which, combined 
 with the frequently occurring minor keys, is, on 
 the whole, admirably adapted to express the melan- 
 choly tone of most of the poems. As to the 
 
FRANZ SCHUBERT. 581 
 
 musical form of the Folhlied, I must ask the reader 
 to remember that a strictly strophic treatment is 
 with few, if any, exceptions adhered to, the melody 
 of the first stanza being, without changes of im- 
 portance, repeated in all- the following ones. 
 
 Between this and the yariegated musical treat- 
 ment of the artistic German song there is a wide 
 chasm, and, ia trying to overbridge it, music itself 
 offers us but little assistance. The only immediate 
 influence of the popular element on the works of 
 Schubert, the first and chief representative of 
 modem song, must be referred to the Sclavonic 
 rather than to his own nationality, and is chiefly 
 discernible in his iustrumental compositions. 
 
 It is true that the great masters of the last 
 century repeatedly tried their power in the domain 
 of song, but their efforts never proved of long 
 vitality, partly because the poems of contemporary 
 writers contained but little of an inspiring nature, 
 partly, also, because these composers did not fully 
 comprehend the nature of this particular form of 
 art. Mozart, for instance, introduced into his 
 setting of Goethe's 'Violet' a distinct recitative, 
 which, although charming in itself, cannot but 
 appear out of place ia these surroundings. Almost 
 
i86 FRANZ SCHUBERT. 
 
 i;he same miglit, in a modified way, be applied to 
 Beethoven himself; for, although he fully under- 
 stood the hearing of Goethe's lyrical efforts on the 
 sister art, and, indeed, has anticipated in his 
 settings of the great poet's words, all the essential 
 varieties of treatment, as applied in the artistic 
 song of the present time, still it must be said that 
 the condensed, almost epigrammatic, mode of ex- 
 pression required in the song, always proved a 
 fetter to his grandly dramatic pathos. 
 
 But, nevertheless, it was Beethoven who, by 
 urging in his great instrumental works, and par- 
 ticularly in the Ninth Symphony, the demand of a 
 poetical basis of music, reacted inspiringly on his 
 disciple Schubert, and through him on the pro- 
 gressive development of song. I, of course, do not 
 mean to imply that Schubert's lyrical works were 
 originated, or even influenced, by Beethoven's last 
 Symphony, which many of them preceded in time. 
 But it seems that in the mysterious system of re- 
 ciprocating forces, called economy of nature, the 
 energy of dramatic expression was entirely ab- 
 sorbed by the greatest of modern masters, and the 
 only step in advance which could be made at the 
 time lay in the sphere of subjective passion. To 
 
FRANZ SCHUBERT. ' 187 
 
 Supply this demand, the lyrical genius of Franz 
 Schubert was fashioned and formed by nature's 
 own hand, and it is to the happy coincidence of his 
 Ijirth being almost simultaneous with the literary 
 Tevival of the Volkslied, that the artistic song owes 
 its higb position amongst tbe other forms of 
 modern art, and at the same time marks an im- 
 portant step towards the ultimate amalgamation of 
 poetry and music. 
 
 In the artistic song so created, we have to con- 
 sider three different forms of equal importance, all 
 ■of them known to, and used with, success by, 
 Schubert. 
 
 The first and simplest of them we will call the 
 " strophic song," because in imitation of the Volks- 
 2ied, it repeats throughout the unchanged melody 
 -of the first stanza. As a charming specimen of 
 "this kind I quote Schubert's setting of Goethe's 
 ' Haideroslein,' the tender grace of which is 
 inimitably rendered by the melody. 
 
 Very different from this is what the Germans 
 ■call by the untranslatable but easily compre- 
 hensible title of ' Durcheomponirtes (literally, 
 throughcomposed) Lied,' in which the melody 
 follows as closely as possible the different feelings 
 
i88 FRANZ SCHUBERT. 
 
 expressed by the words, and therefore has ta 
 change with the varied sentiments of the single 
 stanzas, artistic unity being preserved either by a 
 recurring motive in the accompaniment, or by the 
 return of the first melody at the end of the song, 
 Schubert's 'Lindenbaum' may be considered as 
 representative of this phase in lyrical music. 
 
 A still more progressive tendency is shown in 
 what we will term the " declamatory song." In , 
 this we closely approach the border-line of the 
 " music of the future," one important principle of 
 which becomes distinctly recognisable. The vocal 
 part is here changed into a kind of emphasised 
 enunciation, while the accompaniment, raised to a 
 hitherto unknown expressiveness, lets us divine 
 the undercurrent of emotional pathos. Only 
 where the lyrical feeling rises to a climax of in- 
 tensity, the voice breaks out into a stream of 
 melodious beauty, made doubly impressive by the 
 poetic demand, which it is destined to supply. As 
 a masterpiece of this kind, and as one of the finest 
 songs ever -produced, we mention Schubert's ' Die 
 Stadt,' with its marvellous pianoforte bye-play, 
 suggestive of the winds of heaven and the sighs of 
 love forlorn. It is by songs of this order that 
 
FRANZ SCHUBERT. ^ 189 
 
 Schubert has deserved the name of " le musicien le 
 plus poetique," attributed to him by Liszt, a name 
 ■which, at the same time, expresses most empha- 
 tically his claim to a place amongst the greatest 
 masters of his art. 
 
 Schubert died young, " rich in what he gave, 
 richer in what he promised," as the inscription on 
 his tombstone has it. That the height of his 
 creative power was not surpassed, perhaps not 
 reached by him at his death, is shown by the fact 
 that the finest specimens of his lyrical muse are 
 in a posthumous collection of his songs. 
 
 The words of nearly half the songs in Schubert's 
 ' Schwanengesang ' are by Heine ; and one can 
 easUy distinguish how the lyrical intensity of that 
 great poet touched the deepest string in the com- 
 poser's congenial nature. It is difiicult to say 
 what might have been the consequences, if the 
 rising fame of the young Ehenish poet had reached 
 the distant Austrian capital sooner. As it was, 
 Schubert saw the ' Buch der Lieder ' not long 
 before his death, but just in time to open the vista 
 of a new phase in the development of lyrical music. 
 For it was under the influence of Heine's con- 
 densed lyrical pathos, that Schubert abandoned 
 
igo FRANZ SCHUBERT, 
 
 the principle of absolute melodiousness, in whick 
 he had earned his greenest laurels, and to which he- 
 was led by the bias of his peculiar gift more,, 
 than any other master since Mozart. The victory 
 of poetical over absolute music — of the ' Future ' 
 over the ' Past ' — was gained once more. 
 
 We have to add only a few words about our 
 master's dying days. His brother Ferdinand, who 
 nursed him during his fatal illness, has given us a 
 simple but impressive account of his last hours. 
 Schubert had been suffering from a severe indisposi- 
 tion, and had scarcely taken any substantial nourish- 
 ment for more than a fortnight ; at last, on the 11th 
 of November, 1828, his weakness became such, that 
 he had to betake himself to his bed, without, how- 
 ver, suffering much inconvenience beyond an alarm- 
 ing degree of sleeplessness and general exhaustion. 
 During the first two or three days of his illness he 
 tried to get up for a few hours, in order to correct 
 the proofs of the second part of his ' Winter-reise.' 
 Even after the physicians had declared his illness to 
 
FRANZ SCHUBERT. ipr 
 
 be typhus feYer, the patient was busy with plans for 
 new compositions, amongst which an opera called 
 The Count of Gleichen greatly occupied his thoughts. . 
 In the meanwhile his illness made rapid progress. 
 On the 18th of November he called his brother to his- 
 bedside and said : " Ferdinand, put your ear close- 
 to my mouth," adding in a mysterious whisper : 
 " What is going to happen to me ? " His brother 
 tried to calm him with hopes of a speedy recovery, 
 but the patient got more and more excited, and 
 repeatedly tried to rise from his bed, believing 
 himself to be in a strange room. "When the 
 physician arrived a few hours afterwards and tried to 
 comfort him, Schubert leant his hand against the 
 wall and said in a slow voice : " Here, here is an end 
 of me." These were the last words he uttered; 
 he died at three o'clock in the afternoon of" 
 November 19th, 1828. He was buried in the 
 cemetery of Wahring, close to where Beethoven 
 lies, although he died in a different parish. This 
 arrangement was made, owing to an incident of 
 Schubert's last illness, which we give in the words 
 of his brother. Two days after our composer's 
 death, Ferdinand writes to his father : " Dear and 
 honoured father, many people have expressed a wish- 
 
192 FRANZ SCHUBERT. 
 
 to see our dear Franz buried in the "Waliring ceme- 
 tery, and I agree -witk them, believing this to have 
 been his own desire. On the evening before his 
 death he said to me in a state of half consciousness : 
 ' I implore you to take me to my room, and not 
 to let me lie in this corner under the earth. Dont 
 I deserve a place overground ? ' I answered him : 
 'Dear Franz, calm yourself. Believe in your 
 brother Ferdinand, in whom you have always had 
 confidence, and who is so fond of vou. You are in 
 your own room, where you have always been, and 
 are lying in your own bed.' Then Franz said 
 ^gain : ' No, that cannot be true ; Beethoven is 
 not lying here.' Is not this a sign of his most 
 ardent wish, to be placed near Beethoven, whom he 
 admired so much? " 
 
 However this may be, we gladly recognise the 
 significance of the fact of Schubert's resting after 
 death near the master, who in life had been the 
 guiding star of his aspirations. 
 
CHAPTEE III. 
 
 EOBEET SCHUMANN. 
 1. 
 
 Egbert Schumaiw's place in the history of his 
 art, is generally described as that of the leader of 
 the romantic school of music. This name, whether 
 well or ill-chosen, indicates at any rate the relations 
 between his music and the corresponding movement 
 in German literature, known by the same appellation, 
 and it was on these grounds eagerly adopted by 
 Schumann himself. Indeed the whole character of 
 his early efforts is, to a certain extent, explicable 
 only from a literary point of view, and it is also on 
 this close connection with poetical aspirations, that 
 Schumann must rest his claim to the name of (to 
 speak figuratively) the St. John of that important 
 
194 ROBERT SCHUMANN. 
 
 phase of artistic progress whicii we have called 
 "poetic music," and as the paraclete of which we 
 recognised the gigantic genius of Eichard Wagner, 
 It is true that the works of Schumann's riper years 
 disavow (as he did himself by word of mouth) what 
 he then called his youthful eccentricities, and tend 
 to show that his breach with the established form in 
 favour of poetical impulse, had never been of a very 
 serious kind. Still the fact of his original tendency 
 towards what he himself called " the poetry of art " 
 remains unshaken, and is morever attested by his 
 own philosophical writings on the sources and con- 
 ditions of musical inspiration. It is Iherefore in 
 the twofold capacity as a composer and as a literary 
 man that we shall have to consider cchumann in 
 the following pages. But first of all we must enter 
 upon a short survey of his youthful doings and 
 longings. 
 
 Eobert Schumann was bom at Zwickau, a small 
 town in the kingdom of Saxony, in 1810, the 
 youngest of five children. His father was the 
 founder and head of a publishing firm of some 
 importance, stiU existing ; at the same time he was 
 a man of considerable taste in literature and art, 
 and himself the author of various works on com- 
 
ROBERT SCHUMANN. 195 
 
 mercial and other subjects. Milton and Young 
 "Vrere his favourite authors, but he equally appre- 
 <3iated the merits of more modern English poets. 
 To a translation of Byron's -works, published by his 
 firm, he himself contributed ' Childe Harold ' and 
 * Beppo.' It is generally supposed that poets and 
 artists inherit their talents and inclinations chiefly 
 from their mothers. "With our composer the reverse 
 seems to have been the case. While the elder 
 Schumann was decidedly a man of talent in his 
 small "way, his wife was of a more practical turn of 
 mind, and eventually showed an almost eccentric 
 aversion against her son's choosing the career of a 
 musician. 
 
 About Schumann's early youth there is little to 
 be said. He was considered a kind-hearted, genial 
 toy, with a fair but not astonishing amount of 
 talents ; very fond of playing pretty tunes on the 
 piano, but very little inclined to practise in a 
 •methodical way, or to trouble his head about 
 harmony and counterpoint. Nevertheless he began 
 •composing little melodies at a very early age, and 
 it is also said that he possessed the talent of mimick- 
 ing certain peculiarities of his friends by particularly 
 striking combinations of sounds ; a gift which earned 
 
 o2 
 
196 ROBERT SCHUMANN. 
 
 for him great admiration, and indeed opens a prospect 
 to. the great achievements of a later period. At the 
 same time he used to try his hand at poetry. 
 Eomantic dramas, full of horrors and highwaymen, 
 of his own composition, were performed by Schu- 
 mann and his friends on an improvised stage, the 
 father looking on all the while and carefully watch- 
 ing the dark and as yet undecided aspirations of 
 his favourite son. If the elder Schumann had lived, 
 the career of our composer would probably hav& 
 taken a very different turn, and many troubles- 
 might have been saved him. It seems that. at a 
 very early stage of his son's development, father 
 Schumann recognised, or at least suspected, the 
 great genius struggling in Eobert, and actually 
 asked C, M. von "Weber to undertake the musical 
 education of the young student. Unfortunately 
 this proposal came for unknown reasons to nothing, 
 and our composer continued at Zwickau in a fair 
 way of becoming a local celebrity, but with very 
 little advantage for his artistic progress. Soon 
 afterwards his father died, and when, at Schumann'^ 
 school education being finished, the choice of a 
 profession came in question, his widowed mother 
 
ROBERT SCHUMANN. 197 
 
 ■opposed an obstinate veto against her son's entering 
 the career of a virtuoso' 
 
 We have now to accompany Schumann to the 
 old university town of Leipsic, where he was in- 
 scribed in the books of the Alma Mater as a wor- 
 shipper of Themis, while in reality his heart remained 
 unchangeably attached to the muse. "We possess a 
 letter of the young law-student malgre lui, written 
 soon after his arrival at Leipsic, to a Mend with 
 whom he had been travelling in South Germany, 
 previous to his definite settlement at the university. 
 This docimient is interesting in many respects, as 
 giving a striking view of his wild oats, which, 
 by the way, were sown at that time by most young 
 men of genius, in the same almost typical manner. 
 This was the period of Friedrich Eichter's greatest 
 glory, the halo round the poet's features being still 
 intensified by his recent death. The readers of 
 ' Sartor Eesartus ' will understand what in Germany 
 is called 'Jean Paulism,' and not be surprised at 
 :Some hypersentimental eccentricities in the following 
 extracts. In Schumann's case, the disease took the 
 form of a strong tendency towards falling in love in 
 ■Si general way, the then following despair being 
 
19^ ROBERT SCHUMANN. 
 
 flavoured with tlie additional troubles of a cliromo 
 lack of cashL. 
 
 But now for the letter. It is dated the fifth of 
 June, 1828, and runs thus : " My dearest Eosen, — 
 To-day is the nineteenth of June, unfortunately it has- 
 taken all this time to continue my letter. Oh ! to 
 be with you at Heidelberg. Leipsic is an infamous 
 hole, where one can't enjoy one's life a bit ; my 
 money makes rapid progress, much more so than I 
 do at the lecture hall, a remark which is both wise 
 and taken from Life, nay, which is more, from my 
 own life." (Thus far the freshman has been pre- 
 valent, but now Jean Paul appears in the back- 
 ground.) ''Here I sit, without money, and com- 
 paring in silence the present with the hours just, 
 gone, which I passed with you so delightfally. 
 Musing I stand before your image, and before the 
 whimsical fate which leads men to meet each other 
 from the most distant quarters of the world, only to 
 unite and separate them again. You perhaps are now 
 sitting on the ruins of the old castle, smiling and 
 looking with a joyful heart on the blossoms of June,, 
 while I stand on the ruins of my own airy castles audi 
 dreams, weeping and looking up to the dark sky of 
 
ROBERT SCHUMANN. 199 
 
 the present and future. Ho-wever, this letter seems 
 ahout to grow dreadfully serious, but that it shall 
 not, by God ! Melancholy faces like yours must be 
 cheered up, and my , dreary earnest I will keep to 
 myself. My journey from Eegensburg was devilish 
 tiresome, and I missed you very much in that arch- 
 catholic country. I am not fond of giving descriptions 
 of journeys, least of all such as remind you of un- 
 pleasant feelings. May it suffice to say that Ithought 
 of you most affectionately, and that the image of 
 the lovely Clara* stood before my eyes in waking 
 and sleeping." 
 
 In this way the letter goes on, touching spas- 
 modically upon friendship, Clara, money, or rather 
 no taoney matters, and other heterogeneous subjects. 
 I quote only one more passage : "At Bayreuth, 
 I , paid a visit to the widow of Jean Paul, who pre- 
 sented me with his portrait. I was introduced 
 
 * Not to be mistaken for that other " Clara," who was to 
 become the faithlul and congenial companion of Schumann. 
 The lady here in question was a Miss Kurrer, whose acquaint- 
 ance he made, when she was already engaged to be married, 
 which, however, did not prevent him from admiring her 
 most fervently. The friendly acquiescence of the real 
 lover shows clearly the innocently romantic character of the 
 whole affair. 
 
200 ROBERl SCHUMANN. 
 
 through the kindness of old Mrs. EoUwenzel.* If 
 the whole world read Jean Paul it would certainly 
 be better, but also more unhappy. He has often 
 brought me to the verge of madness, but the raia- 
 bow of peace always flows softly over the tears, and 
 the heart grows wonderfully elevated and trans- 
 formed. . . . Farewell, and be happy. May 
 the genius of mankind be with thee, and that of 
 joyful tears accompany thee for ever." 
 
 This short utterance must suffice us as a speci- 
 men of the general condition of Schumann's 
 mind during his first sojourn at Leipsic. His way 
 of life seems to have been of an isolated kind, at 
 least as far as his fellow-students were conoemed. 
 The uncouth, mock enthusiasm of the so-called old 
 Teutonic patriots, then in vogue at most of 
 the German universities, could not but have a 
 marring, inharmonious effect on the tender strings 
 of his heart. As to his professional studies, 
 there was a total absence of even an attempted 
 beginning. A long time after his matriculation at 
 the imiversity, he writes to the above-mentioned 
 
 * The keeper of an inn near Bayreuth, which had become 
 celebrated by several of Eichter's works being written 
 there. 
 
ROBERT SCHUMANN. 4oi 
 
 friend : "I hare not been to a single lecture, but 
 liave worked a good deal quietly, i.e. I have played 
 the piano and written some Jean Pauliads." 
 
 As the most important event, both for his life 
 and artistic career, we have now to consider the 
 acquaintance with Friedrich Wieck and his 
 daughter Clara, which Schumann made about this 
 time. He took at once a great interest in the 
 talented girl, who at the age of nine already 
 grappled successfully with the technical difficulties 
 of her instrument. Clara Wieck was a pupil of her 
 father's, and of him now Schumann also took some 
 pianoforte lessons, the first regular instruction 
 he had had. In this favourable atmosphere his 
 resolution of giving himself whoUy to art grew 
 more and more decided. In the meantime, how- 
 ever, the prejudices of his mother had to be 
 considered, at least outwardly, and in order to 
 satisfy her, Schumann left Leipsic for Heidelberg, 
 where at that time the great legal authority Thibaut 
 attracted a great many students. Unfortunately, 
 or fortimately, the. same professor took a most lively 
 interest in music (witness his book about the 
 ' Purity of Musical Art '), and the reader will easily 
 guess which part of his master's knowledge had the 
 
202 ROBERT SCHUMANN. 
 
 greatest charm for our soi-disant law-student. Upoit 
 the whole, the year he stayed at Heidelberg seems- 
 to have been the happiest of Schumann's life, and 
 one would fain dwell on this bright point of a 
 career soon to be overshadowed by sorrow. 
 
 Art had now engrossed the whole essence of his. 
 being, and the technical study of his particular instru- 
 ment was taken up by him with an enthusiastic spirit.. 
 Whole days were spent in practising on the piano, and: 
 even on his frequent excursions into the beautiful 
 surroundings of Heidelberg, Schumann was never- 
 without a dumb keyboard, on which his fingers- 
 performed the most difi&cult passages, while the-, 
 carriage of the friends was rolling along the smooth 
 pavement of the Bergstrasse, or by the side of the 
 Neckar. 
 
 It was also from Heidelberg that he entered, 
 for the first and last time the "land of song." 
 From his trip to the north of Italy we possess 
 two or three letters, which show the deep- 
 impression of southern nature and life on Schu- 
 nxann's susceptible heart. The " Jean Paulism"* 
 of former times reappears here in a more indivi- 
 dualised, and in consequence less affected form, 
 and at the same time we notice a descriptive powei? 
 
ROBERT SCHUMANN, 203. 
 
 of considerable range and originality. "Wealsdhear 
 of a quarrel at a coffee-house, in which. Schumann 
 behaved with great tact and spirit. The affair 
 might have been of serious consequences, if his 
 adversary had not ultimately discovered himself as 
 a commercial gentleman of Hebrew descent, who 
 was but too happy to drop his chivalrous grandilo- 
 quence, as soon as matters began to look serious. A 
 beautiful English lady, to whom Schumann lost his 
 heart at first sight, and who, parting from him at 
 Venice, presented him sentimentally with a branch , 
 of cypress, may form the final tableau of this happy 
 time of youthful freedom and enthusiasm. 
 
 On returning to Heidelberg, he had at once 
 to face again the flood of troublesome realities.. 
 Krst of all a number of importunate creditors had. 
 to be quieted, and it was no easy task to make a 
 conscientious guardian dole out a further allowance 
 to his extravagant ward. The usual time for uni- 
 versity studies had also nearly elapsed, and a legal 
 examination was threatening, which Schumann felt 
 himself wholly incapable of going through. At last; 
 he had to rally his spirits, and make a full confes- 
 sion of his doings to his mother. The letter in 
 which this was done is still extant, and deserves a. 
 
^04 ROBERT SCHUMANN. 
 
 short* notice on our part, as strongly indicative of 
 our hero's characteristic shyness of utterance, 
 which in this case was still increased by the tender 
 consideration for his mother's -well-known feelings, 
 and which could be got over only by the firm per- 
 tsuasion, that the gain or loss of all his ideal goods 
 was at stake. 
 
 At first he does not like to broach the subject : 
 '■'■ Good morning, mamma," he slyly begins ; " how 
 «hall I describe to you the bliss of this moment ? 
 The flame of spirits of wine is flickering and tossing 
 against my coffee-machine, and the sky is pure and 
 golden — one would like to kiss it. The whole 
 spirit of the morning penetrates me fresh and sober. 
 In addition, your letter is lying before me, in which 
 a whole treasmy of sentiment, wisdom, and virtue 
 is discovered. My cigar is also excellent — in. short, 
 the world is sometimes very beautiful, i.e. man, if 
 he would only rise early every morning." But this 
 matutinal effusion is soon changed for a different 
 tone. He begins to describe, in a most impressive 
 manner, the struggle pervading his whole life 
 between poetry and prose, " or will you call it jvs 
 and music ; " he enters into, and tries to dispel, aU 
 his mother's prejudices against music as a profession, 
 
ROBERT SCHUMANN. 205 
 
 while on the other hand he points out the drawbacks 
 of a legal career for a commoner, without great 
 property or connections, and without real interest 
 in lawyers' " miserable penny squabbles." At last 
 Friedrich Wieck is referred to as the best judge of 
 his (Schumann's) musical talent, and to the decision 
 of this umpire he promises to submit the final choice 
 of a vocation. 
 
 The immediate result of this letter was another 
 one from Mrs. Schumann to old Wieck, full of 
 doubtful spelling and words underlined four or five 
 times, in which the frightened mother implores the 
 master not to be biassed by his own love of music 
 to decide in accordance with Eobert's wishes. This 
 application, however, proved of no avail. Wieck 
 had distinctly recognised the spark of genius in his 
 pupU, and his decision was given accordingly. Soon 
 afterwards Schumann returned to Leipsic, in order 
 to complete his preparatory technical studies before 
 appearing in public as a pianist. 
 
 The second and third decades of the present 
 century were the halcyon days of the executive 
 musician. Glory and riches poured down in an 
 almost inexhaustible stream on the head of the 
 fortunate virtuoso. 
 
2o6 ROBER T SCHUMANN. 
 
 In reading of the enormous sums gained by 
 Paganini, or of the ladies dividing the atomic 
 remains of a cushion on which Franz Liszt had been 
 -sitting, one does not quite understand the anxiety 
 of Mrs. Schumann in preventing her son from 
 taking his share of this golden harvest, which his 
 eminent talent seemed to secure him beyond 
 doubt. About the ideal danger threatening his 
 artistic individuality, and with it the progress of 
 ^modern music, we may safely say she did not trouble 
 herself. Whether her son would have been strong 
 enough to withstand the alluring siren of ephemeral 
 success, and follow the distant call of the true muse, 
 is a diflB.cult question to answer. 
 
 Luckily an accident, or shall we call it artistic 
 -Providence, saved him the trouble, with which a 
 decision in favour of virtuous hardship against easy 
 vice is only to be bought. In his eagerness to gain 
 a perfectly even and independent action of each 
 single finger on the piano, Schumann had invented 
 a complicated machinery, by means of which, it 
 seems, the third finger of his right hand was sus- 
 j)ended, while the four others went through the 
 most difficult evolutions. The consequence was 
 that, after a little while, the sinew of the third 
 
ROBERT SCHUMANN. 207 
 
 finger was by unnatural extension "weakened to such 
 a degree, tliat it became all but disabled, and of 
 •course entirely unavailable for artistic purposes. 
 This implied practically tbe loss of tbe whole right 
 hand, and every thought of a career as an executive 
 artist had forthwith to be relinquished. The piano- 
 forte had lost one of its ablest representatives, but 
 the gain of music as a whole was incommensurably 
 .greater. 
 
 2. 
 
 The first favourable result of Schumann's changed 
 prospects, was the serious commencement of theoreti- 
 cal studies, against which he had felt till then a strong 
 aversion. The influence which the late attaimnent 
 of this fundamental part of music had on his 
 compositions we shall have to consider before long. 
 But first we must now turn to an event which for 
 the following years was to lead the whole power of 
 his mind iuto a different channel. This is the 
 -starting of a new musical journal, which, under the 
 title Neue Zeitschrift fii/r Musik, was soon to become 
 i;he intellectual centre and mouthpiece of a, new 
 j)hase in the art of sound. 
 
2o8 ROBERT SCHUMANN. 
 
 The circumstances under wliicli this remarkable 
 birth, took place are described by the father, or to 
 speak more accurately, one of the fathers, that is 
 our composer, in the following manner : — " At the 
 end of 1833 there met at Leipsie every evening a 
 number of for the greater part young musicians, 
 principally with a view to friendly intercourse, but 
 also in order to exchange their thoughts about 
 the art which had become the bread and wine of 
 their life, i.e. music. It cannot be said that the 
 musical conditions of Germany were at that time of 
 a very satisfactory nature. On the stage Eossini 
 wielded the sceptre, while the piano was almost 
 exclusively dominated by Herz and Hiinten. And 
 nevertheless ordy a few years were passed, since 
 Beethoven, "Weber, and Schubert lived amongst us. 
 It is true that Mendelssohn's star was rising, and 
 of Chopin the Pole . wonderful things were 
 rumoured ; but the lasting effect of these two came 
 later. One day the idea struck the young enthu- 
 siasts; ' Let us not be idle lookers on, let us work 
 in order that things may grow different and better, 
 that ihsi poetry of art may again .receive its due 
 honour ! ' In this way the first pages of a new 
 * Journal for Music ' saw the light." 
 
ROBERT SCHUMANN. 209 
 
 To the description of musical barrenness given by 
 -Scbumann in the above we must add, that tbe only- 
 critical organ of consequence was tbe celebrated 
 *■ Musical Gazette ' ( AUgemeine musikaliscbe Zeitung), 
 whicb, edited by one Eink, still enjoyed to a great 
 ^extent the prestige of critical infallibility attached 
 to EochHtz's name, and, true to its old traditions 
 smiled down upon contemporary labour with a sub- 
 lime ignorance, equalled only by its natural com- 
 pound, impertinent self-assertion. To break the 
 spell of this monstrous imposition was one of the 
 •chief aims of the " young musicians," and foremost 
 of Schumann himself ; and the achievement of his 
 noble efforts, in counteracting the antiquated preju- 
 dices of Philistinism would alone secure him a pro- 
 minent position amongst his fellow- workers in the 
 d.omain of artistic progress. 
 
 From this, however, it must not be concluded that 
 -Schumann's writings bore any signs of that harsh 
 and combative nature, which seems to be the cha- 
 racter of all great reformers from Luther andKnox 
 to Wagner. Schumann is, on the contrary, of a de- 
 cidedly affirmative nature. We find in him only few 
 traces of all-denying satire, or of the sublime indig- 
 nation of genius against mediocrity. It seems, as if 
 
 p 
 
2IO ROBERT SCHUMANN. 
 
 he proceeded in his writings on the principle^ 
 that a single talent of tender nature, crushed by- 
 adverse criticism would be an absolute loss of greater- 
 consequence, than the harm that might possibly 
 arise from a temporary success of well-intentioned 
 inability. His accusations are therefore more 
 directed against bad principles, like empty "virtuosity, 
 and similar vices, than against individual evil-doers. 
 The only eminent men whom he has treated, with 
 decided, nay harsh antagonism are, to the best 
 of my knowledge, Meyerbeer and Kiohard Wagner, 
 The spectacular attempts at clumsiest music-hall, 
 popularity, mixed up in the works of the first- 
 mentioned composer with beauties of a high 
 order, make it easy to account for the sweeping 
 criticism of a sensitive nature like Schumann's; 
 and as to his aversion to the works of by far the 
 greatest creative power of the age, we shall also 
 not be at a loss to find a psychological explana- 
 tion of a phenomenon so astonishing at first 
 sight. 
 
 On the other hand, the merits of the new critical 
 organ in encouraging and introducing to the public 
 notice a number of aspiring talents are undeniable. 
 The very first appearance, of Schumann ia the- 
 
ROBERT SCHUMANN. 211 
 
 jotu-nalistic career, even before his own paper was 
 started, consisted in a panegyric of Chopin, whose 
 " Opus II." had, after many previous unsuccessful 
 attempts, just then found a publisher. Berlioz, the 
 eccentric apostle of French romanticism in music, 
 was first acknowledged and defended against the 
 attacks of German pseudo-patriotism by Schumann, 
 who did the same service to the talented young 
 Englishman, William Sterndale Bennett. 
 
 The greatest praise is also due to Schumann's 
 noble exertions in bringing to the light of pubHo 
 admiration the hidden treasures of Schubert's post- 
 humous compositions. As a rule the world looks 
 with a not unjustified suspicion on the discoveries 
 of outsiders, from the artistic bequests of departed 
 celebrities. Such men generally know best what 
 may be conducive to their own greatness, and the 
 non-publication of a work during their lifetime 
 would in most cases not refiect favourably on the 
 probability of its iatrinsic value ; barring of course 
 reasons of personal discretion, which seldom or never 
 apply to the inoffensive sphere of our art. The 
 publication of some of Mendelssohn's ceuvres 
 posthumes for instance, shows distinctly the supe- 
 
 p 2 
 
212 ROBERT SCHUMANN.. 
 
 riority of the master's own criticism over that of his 
 ill-advised admirers. 
 
 But in Schubert's case this was different. With 
 him the publication of a work was not a question of 
 being willing, but of being able. "We have mentioned 
 in our last chapter, with how much hesitation even 
 his works of smallest size and greatest popularity, 
 that is his songs, were received by blockheaded pub- 
 lishers, who would have stood aghast at the offer of a 
 symphony or opera, in which risk and chance would 
 of course have been at still less favourable odds. 
 Schubert's MS. scores were therefore treated at his 
 death with a neglect quite in accordance with their 
 low price in the market, and the search for them 
 could not but highly attract the curiosity of a 
 musical enthusiast. 
 
 When Schumann went to Vienna ia 1838, his first 
 pilgrimage was directed to the Wahriug cemetery, 
 to offer his pious gift of flowers on the graves of 
 Beethoven and Schubert. On that of the greater 
 master he found a bush of wild roses, while Schubert's 
 resting-place was unadormed. On Beethoven's 
 tombstone he also discovered a steel pen which he 
 preserved as a hallowed treasure, and ever after- 
 
ROBERT SCHUMANN. 213 
 
 wards only used to iudite his most inspired thoughts. 
 When Schumann left the graves, almost envying 
 the one resting between such two, he was suddenly 
 reminded of Schubert's surviving brother Ferdinand, 
 and to his humble dwelling in a suburb of Vienna, 
 he forthwith wended his way. " He knew me " 
 Schumann says " from my admiration for his brother, 
 as I had expressed it in public, and told and showed 
 me many things. At last he let me look at the 
 treasures of Franz Schubert's compositions, which he 
 still possesses. The wealth, that lg,y heaped up, 
 made me shudder with joy : what to take first, 
 where to cease ? Amongst other things, he also 
 showed me the scores of several symphonies of 
 which many had never been heard, while others had 
 been tried, but put back again on the ground of 
 their being too difficult and bombastic." One of 
 those symphonies, that in C major, the largest and 
 grandest in conception, Schumann chose and sent 
 to Leipsic, where it soon afterwards was performed 
 at a Gewandhausconcert under Mendelssohn's 
 direction. The success was immediate and of deep 
 import. Here the astonished world witnessed for 
 the first time the powers, in a more expanded sphere, 
 
214 ROBERT SCHUMANN. 
 
 of a composer the very beauties of whose songs 
 had hitherto proved fatal to his general fame.* 
 
 For Schumann this public sanction of his bold 
 prognostication must have been a source of purest 
 unselfish joy. 
 
 It remains to add a few remarks about the atti- 
 tude of our critic towards his more successful 
 rival Mendelssohn. It was that of unconditional 
 admiration, sometimes bordering on the prostrate 
 devotion of a worshipper. For more particular 
 information about the relations of the two men, 
 highly creditable as they are to the noble un- 
 selfishness of Schumann's mind, if not to his 
 critical acumen, we refer the reader to his 
 writings, collected and edited by himself, in four 
 volumes, and also to the valuable work on his life, 
 by Herr von Wasielewski.-f" I will only quote a 
 
 * The other symphonies alluded to (eight in number, some 
 of them only partly finished) have since been obtained and 
 produced at the Crystal Palace through the unceasing energy 
 of Mr. G-. Grrove. This gentleman and Mr. A. Manns share 
 with Schumann and Liszt the honour of having recognised, 
 and made others recognise, the great beauties of Franz Schu- 
 bert's instrumental compositions. 
 
 t It has been noticed, that in the collection of Mendelssohn's 
 letters the name of Schumann occurs, if at all, only in an occa- 
 sional manner. Considering the friendly intercourse in which 
 
ROBERT SCHUMANN. 215 
 
 few sentences from a letter hitherto unpublished 
 in Germany, which was addressed . to a zealous 
 contributor of the 'Neue Zeitschrift,' Herr yon 
 vZuccalmaglio. After his death it came, with sixteen 
 ■others, into the possession of the present writer, and 
 was published by him in the ' Academy.'* The 
 reader may consider it, at the same time, as a speci- 
 men of Schumann's epistolary style at this period, 
 and compare its milder enthusiasm with the unalloyed 
 " Jean Paulism " of the young student. The date 
 of the letter is Leipsic, January 31st, 1837, and, as 
 the only commentary required, I will add, that 
 " Erste Tone," was an article on Mendelssohn, which 
 iad appeared in Schumann's paper, and that Wedel 
 was one of Zuecalmaglio's numerous pseudonyms : 
 
 t)oth stood at Leipsic, it is almost incredible that Mendelssohn 
 should in his remarks on music have wholly ignored the nume- 
 Tous and, at any rate, original works of his admiring friend. 
 The circumstance is generally explained from a narrow-minded 
 jealousy of the editors of Mendelssohn's Letters, who might 
 not be desirous of adding his testimonial- to the rival com- 
 poser's overpowering fame ; but would it not be also possible 
 to conjecture, that the admiration of the two masters was not 
 mutual, and that Mendelssohn's utterances have been wisely 
 suppressed, as not redoundipg to the credit of his liberal- 
 mindedness ? 
 
 * See Appendix II. 
 
2i6 ROBERT SCHUMANN. 
 
 " Mt deae Sie, 
 
 " First of all I must tell you, how I gave Mendelssohn,, 
 with whom I dine every day, your article, ' Erste Tone.' I 
 stood aside and watched his face to see what impression would' 
 be made upon him by your last sentence, which, I confess, had 
 several times brought the tears into my own eyes. He read the- 
 artiele attentively ; his face (what a glorious, divine face it is !) 
 revealed all his impressions as he came to the passage. It was 
 a pity you could not see him. ' Ha ! ' he cried, ' what's this ? 
 That is really too much : I am quite delighted. There are 
 different kinds of praise ; but this comes from a pure heart.' Tou 
 should have seen him and heard him. ' Ten thousand thanks 
 to the man who wrote this.' So he went on until we dived 
 into our champagpe. The fact is, as I have long ago made 
 up my mind, there is no man who can write on music like 
 "Wedel ; and I think I can read the same verdict in the deli- 
 cate but continued motion of Mendelssohn's countenance, 
 which is a record of all that is passing both within and with- 
 out him. . . .■ . Do you know his St. Pawl, in which one 
 beauty relieves another without iaterruption ? He was the 
 first to grant to the Grraces a place in the house of God, where 
 they certainly ought not to be forgotten. Hitherto they have 
 not been able to make their voices heard for the multitude 
 of fugues. Do read St. Paul — the sooner the better. Tou 
 will find in it nothing of Handel or Bach, whatever people 
 may say, except in so far as all church music must be alike,"' 
 I etc. 
 
 Thus mucli about Schumann's critical power. 
 Upon the whole it must be said that his influence- 
 on the progress of contemporary music was of a 
 beneficial kind. Young aspiring talents were sure ta 
 
ROBERT SCHUMANN. 217 
 
 find friendly appreciation, and in many cases, valu- 
 able advice, in the columns of the new organ, from 
 ■which, on the other hand, the currents of vulgar puff' 
 were strictly excluded. Schumann had the instinc- 
 tive horror of a gentleman against the low practices 
 of artistic humbug, and sometimes, as in the case of 
 Meyerbeer, was not able to perceive the good 
 crop in the midst of luxuriant weeds. It must 
 also be confessed that chiefly in his latter years he- 
 was by no means free from that onesidedness, in- 
 separable as it seems from creative genius, which 
 looks upon everything outside of its own circle of 
 light as utter darkness. 
 
 It remains to say a few words about the style in 
 which the results of Schumann's speculative power 
 were delivered, which was a very extraordinary 
 one indeed. Here are some extracts from a soi- 
 disant criticism on Chopin's Don Juan fantasia, 
 which was published by Schumann in the old 
 ' Musical Gazette,' two years before the starting of 
 his own journal. One can imagine the astonish- 
 ment of the faithful reader of this solenm organ, 
 when, amongst the utterances of his Dryasdust 
 oracle, he suddenly hit upon the following eccentric 
 eflEusion : " An Opus II. — Eusebius gently opened 
 
2i8 ROBERT SCHUMANN. 
 
 the door. You know tlie ironical smile on Ms 
 pale face, whicli he puts on to make one curious. 
 I was sitting at the piano with Florestan. Flo- 
 restan, as you know, is one of those rare music- 
 individuals who divine everything future, new and 
 extraordinary in advance. Still to-day he was to 
 be taken by surprise. Eusebius called out ; ^ Hats 
 off, gentlemen, here goes a genius,' and opened a 
 piece of music before us. The title we were not 
 allowed to see. I was glancing through the book 
 half unconsciously ; this veiled enjoyment of music 
 without sound has a particular charm for me. 
 Besides, it seems to me as if each single composer 
 -had his own groupings of notes for the eye. 
 Beethoven looks different on paper from Mozart, in 
 the same way as the prose of Jean Paul looks 
 unlike that of Goethe. But now it was to me as if' 
 numbers of strange eyes were strangely looking at 
 me, eyes of flowers, of basilisks, of butterflies, of 
 girls. At other places it became lighter; I thought 
 I heard Mozart's La ci t/«re«2 winding through hun- 
 dreds of harmonies ; Leporello seemed to wink, 
 -and Don Juan flew past me in his white cloak." 
 
 The article goes on, describing in the same exalted^ 
 strain, how the young enthusiasts play the piece 
 
ROBERT SCHUMANN. 219 
 
 mth increasing delight, which is brought to a 
 climax of admiring bewilderment when they find, 
 on referring to the title-page, that the work is not 
 by Beethoven or Schubert, but an Opus II., a debut 
 of an unknown composer, Frederic Chopin. They 
 forthwith repair to their adviser and friend. Master 
 IRaro, who smiles at their new idol with the cau- 
 tious wisdom of his riper years, but promises a 
 olose scrutiny of the case. The final scene shows 
 i'lorestan reclining on his sofa in a half dream, 
 expounding the poetical inspirations found by him 
 in Chopin's "Variations," intermixed with simdry 
 remarks of a more critical character on the struc- 
 ture of the new piece. 
 
 I have on purpose quoted from the first article 
 ever produced by Schumann, because, although 
 in a slightly exaggerated form, it fully shows at 
 once the power and weakness of his aesthetic 
 nrritings. He never attempted to give an objective, 
 or, as it is more grandly but less correctly called, an 
 impartial analysis of a composition. He felt him- 
 self that the position of one creative mind towards 
 another must have a strong alloy of personal bias in 
 it. This he never even tries to conceal, and for that 
 very reason he personifies the various sides of his 
 
220 ROBERT SCHUMANN. 
 
 own character, and shows how diflferently one and 
 the same work may have acted upon him in different 
 moods, or might act according to the predispo- 
 sition of the mind to which it appealed. Florestan 
 and Eusebius, who have been introduced to the 
 reader in the foregoing sketch, are only, to speak 
 with Faust, the " two souls in his breast ; " Euse- 
 bius the mUd receptive dreamer, Florestan the fiery 
 enthusiast, wild and impulsive in his hatred and 
 love, and armed with a divine recklessness with 
 regard to other people's prejudices. 
 
 These two are stereotyped figures in Schumann's 
 writings. His articles are alternately signed with 
 either pseudonym, according to the tone of their 
 criticism. Sometimes they both give their individual 
 judgments on one and the same work, and in such 
 cases Master Earo (also known to the reader), who 
 was meant to symbolise the calmly speculative side 
 in Schumann's nature, is referred to for final judg- 
 ment. Sometimes also various other characters, 
 like Julius and Zelia, are introduced and grouped 
 together in a kind of brotherhood or secret society 
 — " more than secret," as Schumann himself after- 
 wards declared, *' for it existed only in the head of 
 its founder." The name of this imaginary society 
 
liOBERT SCHUMANN. . 221 
 
 was the " Davidsbund," probably from King 
 David and his celebrated harp. At one time, 
 howeyer, it does not seem to have been quite as 
 imaginary, as might be concluded from the just 
 quoted lines, which, by the way, were written 
 nearly twenty years later, and at a period when 
 Schumann looted back upon the eccentricities of 
 his youth from a distance greater even than that 
 marked by this lapse of time. Earo was generally 
 considered to have been the personification of 
 Friedrich Wieck, and certain features of other 
 David-associates were also traced to persons of 
 real existence. 
 
 How seriously the plan of an actual society (per- 
 haps somewhat analogous to the " Pre-Eaphaelite 
 brotherhood " in this country) was considered by 
 •Schumann, becomes for the first time evident from 
 a passage iu the once before cited series of letters. 
 " I have a variety of plans and schemes for which I 
 want your assistance," writes Schumann to Zuccal- 
 maglio on May 18th, 1837. "First. of all I have 
 been thinkiag for a long time of giving real life to 
 the Davidsbund, by bringing men of the same 
 opinion (even if not professional musicians) in a 
 closer connection by means of si^ns and symbol^. 
 
222 ■ ROBERT SCHUMANN. 
 
 If academies -witli dunces at their heads, designate 
 their members, why should not "we, the younger 
 generation, do the same ? " Although this scheme 
 of an academy with anti-academicians as members 
 proved abortive, the charm of Florestan and Eusebius 
 as imaginary creations remaias unimpaired, and it is^ 
 with regret that the reader of Schumann's collected 
 works sees them turn up more and more seldom^ 
 tiU at last they quite disappear, together with a 
 good deal of their originator's freshness of style and 
 perception. The fact is that in his later years 
 Schumann's position in musical questions became 
 essentially altered, and he used against himself 
 that sweeping judgment, which in the inarticulate 
 longings of his early career could only see the 
 juvenile and silly. Unfortunately the same remark 
 applies to his views about the ultimate aims of his 
 art, and the breakage which we discern in the de- 
 velopment of his sesthetieal notions could not but 
 react upon the direction of his creative power. 
 
 The deeper causes of the vital change in the 
 whole artistic existence of Schumann, which after a 
 gradual growth of many years reached its climax 
 with the beginning of his third or "orchestral" 
 period, we shall have to consider in the ensuing^ 
 remarks. 
 
ROBERT SCHUMANN. 223, 
 
 3. 
 
 In the first chapter of this book I have tried to- 
 foUow as closely as possible the rise of what I called 
 the "poetic principle in music" from the earliest 
 times till Beethoven. I have shown that in every 
 art there exists a duality of intention, namely, on 
 one side the original passionate impulse, previous to 
 its taking any distinct forn;, and secondly, the imiat& 
 order of beauty belonging to the particular art in 
 question. I further tried to prove that the intensity 
 of this impulse in Beethoven's later works all but 
 broke through the forms of music proper, and at 
 last, in the Ninth Symphony, absolutely required 
 the complement of words. The consistent carryiag 
 out of Beethoven's grand reformatory act, I at last 
 professed to see in "Wagner's music-drama. 
 
 Schumann also felt instinctively the necessity of 
 introducing the fresh life of poetical pulsation into 
 the dead formalism of absolute music. We have 
 seen before that he wrote on his banner the war cry 
 of " poetry in art," and that he acknowledges the- 
 affinity between his art and contemporary phases^ 
 of literature, by calling himself and his friends 
 romantic musicians. The works of his first period^ 
 
224 ROBERT SCHUMANN. 
 
 all conceived at and written for the pianoforte, show 
 in their small forms all that pointedness of exag- 
 gerated, not to say transcendental, sentimentalism 
 which forms the typical character of Kichter's prose, 
 ■and (mixed up already with self-consuming irony) of 
 Heine's lyrics. It seems, indeed, as if the demand 
 of some connection with the art of poetry had been 
 felt at that time by musicians of the most divergent 
 tendencies. Even Mendelssohn acknowledged it in 
 a certain sense by calling his short pianoforte pieces 
 " songs without words ; " that is, snatches of lyrical 
 ■effusion, with an underlying although not expressed 
 poetical meaning. On the other hand, it is well 
 known how the occult idea struggling in Beethoven's 
 later works ran riot in the mind of the young 
 medical student Berlioz. With the strong aversion 
 of the French character against purely ideal gene- 
 ralisations, he looked for a more tangible basis of his 
 inspiration, and in consequence clad the lofty con- 
 ceptions of Beethoven in the distinct forms of a story. 
 Schumann, as we have seen, declared himself the 
 advocate of Berlioz, whom he imitated to a certain 
 extent by affixing to his lyrical pianoforte pieces 
 titles sometimes full of poetic suggestiveness, but 
 not seldom also without any recognisable relation 
 
ROBERT SCHUMANN. 225 
 
 io the character of the piece. But, strange to say, 
 Schximaiui always laid particular stress upon the 
 fact, that these denominations had been added to 
 the composition after its "being finished, with a view 
 •only to guiding the player, as to the way in which 
 it was to be rendered. This one fact is sufficient 
 to show the utter misconception on the part of 
 Schumann of Beethoven's reformatory efforts. For 
 it proves that the expression of a distinct poetic 
 idea, as we discerned it in Beethoven, was at all 
 times absent from his mind. In reality, the music 
 even of his ' Sturm und Drang ' period was quite 
 as absolute as that of Mozart and Haydn. The poetio 
 element in his works never amounted to more than 
 the unconscious mood in which every work of art 
 must be conceived, but never passed through the 
 medium of conscious feeling before its embodiment 
 in sound. To say that in the ' Carnival ' or the 
 ' Papillons ' the pure source of Beethoven's mighty 
 tradition is flowing, and to invest the slender form 
 of the most subjective lyrist with the grand folds 
 of the prophet's cloak, seems indeed almost too 
 absurd even for the blindest worshipper. Still, 
 such is the hue and cry of a powerful school in 
 music called after our composer's name, and repre- 
 
226 ROBERT SCHUMANN. 
 
 sented by an imposing number of talented and 
 devoted disciples. Tbe fact, however, is, that to 
 the master himself, as well as to his pupils, some- 
 thing in Beethoven has remained, and, as it seems,, 
 will remain for ever an indissoluble mystery. The 
 numerous attempts of Schumann to bring down 
 Beethoven's grand conceptions to the level of his 
 own whimsical romanticism, sometimes result in 
 the most glaring incongruities. In the wonderful. 
 Finale of Beethoven's Symphony in A major, 
 he sees only the description of a joUy wed- 
 ding, the bride being "a celestial maiden with 
 a rose in her hair, but one only," etc. etc. In 
 comparing this jargon of sentimental affectation 
 with the programme to the Niath Symphony, written 
 by Wagner more than five and twenty years ago,* 
 one can indeed not remain doubtful, in which of the 
 two composers' works to look for the continued 
 flow of the great master's inspiration. 
 
 In thinking it my duty to oppose current preju- 
 dices, it is at the same time far from my wish to deny 
 the indescribable beauty of Schumann's early works, 
 which bear undoubtedly the stamp of genius of the 
 first order. All the charms of indistinct longing, of 
 * See Appendix, page 292. 
 
ROBERT SCHUMANN. 227 
 
 yoTitliftil enthusiasm, and of the most striking origi- 
 nality in conception and execution, fill us with, 
 ever fresh delight in listening to the strains of the 
 Sonata in F sharp minor, the Etudes Sympho- 
 niques, or thQ Kreisleriana ; and upon the occasional 
 eccentricities or shortcomings in their formal treat- 
 ment, we are inclined to look with a much less 
 critical eye than the composer himself used to do at 
 a later period. 
 
 We hare recognised a strong desire on Schu- 
 mann's part of embodying his individual feelings 
 and suflPerings in his art, a desire for which the 
 pianoforte alone, even with the enlarged scope 
 opened to it by his own works, could scarcely 
 be considered as the appropriate instrument. 
 Schumann also felt the want of the spoken 
 word as the firm starting-point of his lofty flights, 
 and he was fortunate enough to find a poet full of 
 the deepest pathos, and at the same time congenial 
 to himself by the strongly individualised mode of 
 his expression. This poet was Heinrich Heine, 
 the " spoiled favourite of the graces," the hero and 
 victim of modem thought and misery, "the knight 
 with the laughing tear in his scutcheon," who de- 
 scended into the deepest depths of the heart, and 
 
 a2 
 
228 ROBERT SCHUMANN. 
 
 brought back the jewels of his songs, clear and 
 flashing like ice, but reflecting in their crystalline 
 surface the brightest rays and the darkest shades of 
 human passion. 
 
 And here again I am sorely tempted to digress 
 upon a subject nearest to my interest, viz. the 
 almost total absence of what might be called 
 " artistic song " in the literature of this island, the 
 causes of which I find partly in the disdain of poets 
 to stoop to the simple utterance of the popular 
 muse, partly in the particular nature of this popular 
 poetry itself, which to a prevailing extent took the 
 narrative form of the ballad, and therefore seemed 
 less adapted for the infusion of lyrical impulse.* 
 
 * I must add here, parenthetically, that the charming 
 snatches of song of disputed origin, transmitted to us in 
 Elizabethan dramas, seem to me to show distinctly the traces 
 of artistic consciousness, and are indeed partly referable to 
 professional poets, like ' Come with me, and be my love,' to 
 Kit Marlowe. They, therefore, do not quite come under the 
 category of popular song, and show indeed but slight 
 affinity with the ' Volkslied.' Eobert Burns, on the other 
 hand, the great singer of songs, purposely limited himself to 
 the simplicity of popular feeling, and, therefore, although a 
 great artist, did not write what I have called " artistic songs " 
 ipar excellence. I will, however, by no means deny that the 
 songs of both Burns and the Elizabethan poets, and the rem- 
 nants of the old tunes to which most of them were written. 
 
ROBERT SCHUMANN. 229 
 
 Or was it perhaps the want of music as a 
 national art, which failed to encourage the great 
 English lyrists to proportionate efforts in this direc- 
 tion, and induced, for instance, Byron to assign 
 always his weakest stanzas "to music?" But I 
 feel but too deeply how abrupt and " not proven " 
 my remarks in their neciessary conciseness must 
 appear, and therefore gladly return to my imme- 
 diate subject. 
 
 The high position which Schumann takes among 
 the masters of German song, has been sufficiently 
 defined by his being called the musical ex- 
 ponent of Heine. It seems, indeed, not unlikely 
 that the verdict of an impartial posterity will 
 base his chief claims to immortality on such 
 works as the settings of 'Ich grolle nicht,' and 
 the whole ' Dichterliebe ' series, not to speak of 
 innumerable other 'Lieder,' small in form, but 
 
 contain hopeful germs of the regeneration of English lyrical 
 music on a national basis. I have myself, on another occasion, 
 expressed my belief in this desired possibility by word an d 
 deed. Only we must first of all clear the English song, on 
 the one hand, from the atmosphere of the music-hall attaching 
 to it, and on the other, from the strong tinge of sentimental 
 Philistinism which, in my eyes, is one of the most dangerous 
 vices of this nation, fostered in our particular case by the 
 overpowering influence of Mendelssohn and his imitators. 
 
230 ROBERT SCHUMANN. 
 
 disclosing th.e infinite perspective of lyrical pathos, 
 and unsurpassable in the congenial rendering of the 
 poet's sentiments. It is true that Schumann did 
 not invent or even advance the artistic form of the 
 song. This form indeed occurs with its essential 
 variations in Beethoven himself, and was after him 
 filled with the inexhaustible beauties of Schubert's 
 melodiousness. But Beethoven's broad dramatic 
 conceptions were always to some extent embarrassed 
 by the narrow limits of the song, and in Schubert 
 we miss sometimes that careful entering into the 
 minutest intentions of the poet, which must be 
 considered as the prominent feature of the latest 
 phase of music. Besides, both these great, com- 
 posers were extremely limited as to the poetical 
 materials at their disposal. The artistic song in 
 German literature dates only from Goethe, .and his 
 acquaintance with Herder's researches in interna- 
 tional popular poetry. Goethe remained the only 
 valuable resort of Beethoven's, and for a long time 
 also of Schubert's lyrical muse. The latter master 
 only recognised the rising stars of Heine and 
 Eiikert. Schumann's position in this respect was 
 much more favoured by fortune. He stood in the 
 midst of the literary movement of his time, and 
 
ROBERT SCHUMANN. 231 
 
 was prepared both by his genius and education 
 to recast the newly acquired treasures of poetry in 
 the mould of his own art. The progress, therefore, 
 marked by his songs was achieved by poetical 
 Tather than by musical means, another proof of 
 the organic and indivisible connection of the two 
 sister arts. 
 
 The duration of Schumann's song-time was 
 ■comparatively short. The greater part of his 
 Lieder were written in 1840, a year which, at the 
 same time, was the most eventful in his quiet life. 
 The rest of the working time allotted to him — for 
 he did work to the last incessantly — was given up 
 to the greater forms of vocal and instrumental 
 music, as the oratorio, symphony, and the various 
 kinds of chamber music. This third period might 
 ■be briefly characterised as the return to form. We 
 have mentioned the strong aversion which Schumann 
 at first felt for the serious study of the technical 
 basis of his art. The contempt against the esta- 
 blished rules, as witnessed in his juvenile works, 
 although to a great extent arising from the boldness 
 of aspiring genius, was also partly due to his actual 
 want of fundamental knowledge, and this neglect 
 
232 ROBERT SCHUMANN. 
 
 Could not but result in a strong reaction as tlie com- 
 poser reached the stage of artistic discretion. H& 
 now became a fervent advocate of the necessity and 
 venerableness of established rules, and conscien- 
 tiously removed the traces of his youthful eccen- 
 tricities from revised editions of his earlier works^ 
 It is also from this point of view that we must 
 judge the objections raised by him against the 
 gigantic attempts at revolutionising and recon- 
 structing musical art from top to bottom, which 
 have made the name of Kichard "Wagner the 
 symbol of hope for the rising generation. Or was 
 it perhaps the instinctive aversion of the failing 
 against the successful man, which, added to the en- 
 tirely heterogeneous nature of Wagner's genius, in 
 this one instance overcame the usual generosity of 
 Schumann's character, and made his own war cry 
 of " poetry in music " sound harsh and dreadful 
 from his rival's lips ? 
 
 The works of Schuman's third period are nume- 
 rous and comprise almost all the forms of vocal and 
 instrumental music, not always treated with equal 
 success, but always full of power, and of that 
 strong touch of individuality which forms a promi- 
 nent feature of his nature. We count among 
 
ROBERT SCHUMANN. 23J 
 
 these, four symphonies, with the fragments of a 
 fifth, two so-called profane oratorios, the ' Peri,' 
 after Moore's well-known poem from ' Lalla 
 Eookh,' and the 'Pilgrimage of the Eose,' both full 
 of lyrical and phantastic beauties of the first order, 
 but lagging occasionally through an evident want 
 of dramatic concentration, combiaed with a ten- 
 dency towards painting in detail. The same 
 want of the broad conception of a dramatic 
 poet proved absolutely fatal to his only opera, 
 Genevieve^ which, notwithstanding the redeeming 
 charms of numerous beautiful passages, has never 
 been able to move the hearts of the hearers with 
 the irresistible force of dramatic passion. 
 
 It is also a noticeable fact that the two repre- 
 sentative heroes of modern thought and dotibt,. 
 * Manfred ' and ' Faust,' have been favoured sub- 
 jects of Schumann's muse. The spark of 'Welt- 
 schmerz ' (as the Germans call the spirit of deepest 
 despondency and fierce defiance, resulting from the 
 wisdom of our latter days) in Byron's poem, was 
 sufficient to kiadle the congenial flame in the com- 
 poser's bosom, and inspire him with conceptions 
 never surpassed in depth of pathos, and bitterness^ 
 of self-torturiag passion. The setting, on the other 
 
234 ROBERT SCHUMANN. 
 
 hand, of tlie epilogue in heaven of Goethe's Faust 
 displays the rest after life's battle of which the 
 longing soul dreams in its purest aspirations, and 
 ranks with its deep chiaroscuro of mystical ecstasy 
 amongst the highest efforts which our art has ever 
 Taeen capable of. 
 
 It would be exceeding the original plan of this 
 book merely to hint at the numerous interesting 
 points of discussion suggested by the latter part of 
 Schumann's career. Our purpose was chiefly to 
 show the true character of the progressive side of 
 his activity, falsely connected with Beethoven's 
 latest works, with which in reality it shows only a 
 slight resemblance. This revolutionary spirit was, 
 the contrary, to repeat it again, disavowed by the 
 work of Schumann's riper years. The contempt of 
 form coincided in him, with his ignorance of it; 
 when he began to master the technical part of his 
 art, he clung to it with unflinching fidelity. Con- 
 sidering him merely as a reformer of music on a 
 poetical basis, as his quand meme admirers are but 
 too incliaed to do, we should have to call his career 
 a decided failure, if it did not seem altogether un- 
 grateful to mention such a word in connection with 
 
ROBERT SCHUMANN. 235 
 
 a man who has given us the ' Carnival,' the Songs, 
 ^ Faust,' and the Symphony in C. 
 
 4. 
 
 We have only a few -words to add about Schu- 
 mann's personal character, and the events which 
 form the scanty materials for his biography. 
 
 Even in the buoyancy of youthful enthusiasm, 
 he was distinguished by a particular kind of 
 apparent absent-mindedness, which, without pre- 
 venting his Kstening attentively to what was going 
 on, stiU. would not let him take an active part in the 
 conversation. His increasing silence became pro- 
 verbial among his friends. Once, it is told, he 
 entered a lady's drawing-room, smiled in his placid 
 way at the company present, and opening the 
 piano, played a few chords ; after which he made 
 Ms exit, smiling again, but without having spoken 
 a single syllable. Only on rare occasions, and 
 amongst very intimate friends, an interesting topic 
 would induce him to give full utterance to his 
 opinions. The characteristic feature of his personal 
 existence was an utter want of demonstrativeness, 
 sometimes amounting to actual shyness. Schumann 
 
236 ROBERT SCHUMANN. 
 
 himself was conscious of this fact, and has described 
 his social accomplishments with the almost exagge- 
 rated modesty characterising also his numerous say- 
 ings about his own art. " I shall be very glad to 
 see you here," he writes to Zuccalmaglio. " In 
 me, however, you must not expect to find much. I 
 scarcely ever speak except in the evening, and 
 most in playing the piano." 
 
 His professional career may be summed up 
 in the fewest words. After editing his musical 
 journal for nearly ten years, he went to Dres- 
 den with no particular position,! but that of 
 conductor of a singing academy. From there he 
 was called to Diisseldorf, in order to lead the 
 concerts of the celebrated musical institute of that 
 city. His official duties, however, proved soon too 
 much for his declining health ; and after a few years 
 he dropped the baton for ever, without great loss to 
 art or to himself, nature having refused him the 
 most essential qualities of a conductor. The mo- 
 notony of his daily life was occasionally interrupted 
 by artistic tours, amongst which those to Eussia and 
 Holland were the most successful. On both occa- 
 sions he was accompanied by his wife, the celebrated 
 pianiste, Clara Schumann, so well known as the 
 
ROBERT SCHUMANN. 237 
 
 <;ongenial interpreter of her husband's inspirations, 
 both on the Continent and in England. The union 
 "with her was the source of deepest happiness to 
 him. Won after many troubles, and against 
 ihe obstinate resistance of her father, Friedrich 
 Wieck, she remained Schumann's truest friend and 
 helpmate, affianced to him not only by the power of 
 love, but also by the elective bonds of genius. It 
 has seldom been the happy lot of an artist to see his 
 most intimate feelings and aspirations so perfectly 
 understood, nay even interpreted to the world, by 
 the mother of his children. 
 
 But even this faithful companion could not 
 ward off his doom. As early as 1833, Schu- 
 mann's friends were frightened by a state of 
 morbidness in his feelings, which, increased by 
 the sudden news of a near relation's death, at 
 last led to an attack of what seems to have been 
 very like actual madness. He himself speaks in 
 his diary of " the dreadful night of the l7th of 
 October," and a clue to this mysterious expression 
 we may see in the circumstance that he immediately 
 changed the fourth story in which he was living at 
 the time for a lower one, and never afterwards 
 could be induced to take up his quarters in the 
 
a.38 ROBERT SCHUMANN. 
 
 Tipper part of a house. From that time the fore- 
 shadowed idea of his fate seems never to have been 
 absent from his mind, showing itself in an un- 
 accountable horror of anything connected with 
 madness. So when the position at Diisseldorf is 
 first offered to him, he writes to Hiller for advice 
 as though on a point of vital importance : "I 
 was looking the other day in an old geographical 
 book for information about Diisseldorf, and there I 
 found mentioned, amongst the curiosities, thre& 
 nunneries and one lunatic asylum. Against the- 
 former I have not the slightest objection, but 
 about the latter it was very unpleasant to me ta 
 read." 
 
 I will not trouble the reader with a detailed 
 account of the slow progress of the terrible fate 
 which was to extinguish the flame of Schu- 
 mann's genius. The following passage from a 
 letter may suffice to indicate the circumstances 
 which contributed to hasten the catastrophe. It 
 shows at the same time how, even in the wildest 
 flights of his troubled imagination, the absorbing^ 
 interest of his mind remained his. art. The letter 
 from which we quote is addressed to HUler, and 
 dated — 
 
ROBERT SCHUMANN. 239- 
 
 Diisseldorf, April 33, 1853. 
 " Yesterday we have been rapping tables for the first time. 
 It is a wonderful power. Fancy, I asked it about the rhythm 
 of the two first bars of the symphony in C minor. At first it . 
 refused to answer ; but at last it began, "i J^J^ ^1 H, but very 
 slowly. When I told it, "But this is much too slow, my 
 dear table,' it began at once beating the right time. I also- 
 asked, if it could tell me the number I was thinking of, and it 
 answered correctly, ' Three. ' We were all of us in utter 
 amazement, and felt surrounded with miracles. Enough, I 
 was to-day too full of what I had seen not to speak of it." 
 
 According to a tradition,, Beethoven, when asked 
 about the poetic meaning of the mentioned motive 
 of his fifth symphony, answered : " So klopft das 
 Schicksal an die Pforte" ("It is thus that destiny 
 knocks at the gate"). For Schumann these words 
 proved to contain a prophetic warning. Not quite 
 a year after the date of this letter he tried to drown 
 the horrors of his approaching madness in the 
 Ehine, and on the 20th of July, 1856, he died ia 
 the asylum at Endenich, near Bonn, in the cemetery 
 of which town he lies huried. 
 
CHAPTEE rV. 
 
 EOBEET FEANZ AND FEANZ LISZT. 
 
 In tlie last two . chapters we have witnessed the 
 growth of German song from its simple germ of 
 popular feeling into an organism of highly de- 
 veloped power and beauty. The seed of Schubert 
 and Schumann had fallen on good soil. To Men- 
 delssohn we owe a number of songs, equal in elegant 
 finish to the other compositions of that master 
 of form, and some of them full of deepest senti- 
 ment ; and the laurels of this triad could not but 
 cause sleepless nights of emulous desire to the 
 smaller fry of contemporary musicians. What I 
 said before about the apparent simplicity of the 
 poetical form of the song, applies to a great extent 
 
ROBERT FRANZ. 241 
 
 also to its musical treatment. In consequence the 
 musical market was soon swamped with a never 
 ceasing flow of lyrical effusion, and the typical 
 shibboleth of " Sechs Lieder fur eine Singstimme" 
 on the Opus 1 of aspiring youths became a sign of 
 horror to the German critic. 
 
 But this loud chorus of babbling mediocrity 
 must not deafen us to the voices of the prophets of 
 true genius. Amongst the disciples of SchumanUj 
 for instance, we count men like Eubiastein, Brahms, 
 J. 0. Grimm, and others, with full sounding 
 names in the land of song. StUl, it cannot be 
 said that these composers have essentially advanced 
 the form of the song in the abstract. Brahms, for 
 instance, where he tries to expand the limits of 
 this form (in his ' Eomanzen from Tieck's Schone 
 Magelone'), looses hold of the essential features of 
 the species itself, that is, he writes beautiful pieces 
 of vocal music of a nondescript character, and of no 
 relevancy with regard to the formal, and still less 
 to what we call \h<d poetical progress of the song. 
 
 This takes us back to the starting point of our 
 researches, /.e., the victory of pure poetic im- 
 pulse over musical formalism, the accomplishment 
 of which we discerned in Wagner's music-drama. 
 
 B 
 
242 ROBEkT FRANZ. 
 
 The same process we now .shall witness in a modified 
 way in the latest phase of lyrical music. For 
 this purpose I will iatroduce the reader to two 
 living masters of song, both of strongly pronounced 
 individuality, and neither of them under the direct 
 influence of any of the above-mentioned writers. 
 I am speaking of Franz Liszt and Eobert Franz. 
 
 The artistic career of both has been widely 
 different, and their treatment of the particular form 
 of art in question has also little in common ; still 
 there is one feature peculiar to either, which is 
 sufficiently important to explain the combination of 
 their names in these pages, and indicative at the 
 same time of the only basis on which a further 
 organic progress of the song seems possible. Liszt 
 and Franz are both poets, before they are musicians. 
 The strength of their musical renderings depends 
 entirely on the beauty of the words interpreted 
 by them. In composers of the last century we 
 often observe, how very little their music is con- 
 nected with, and therefore depends upon, the 
 xmderlying text, and even Schubert makes us 
 forget occasionally the silliness of his words by dint 
 of absolute melodious charm. But both Liszt and 
 Franz are in an eminent sense masters of the 
 
ROBERT FRANZ. 243 
 
 modem, or shall we call it the " future" school. 
 Their inspiration is essentially of a receptive, 
 feminine kind, and the greater or less intrinsic 
 Talue of a poem set by them may infallibly be 
 guessed by perusing their music even without the 
 words. 
 
 2, 
 
 In writing down the name of Kobert Franz I am 
 «adly conscious that to many of my English readers 
 its characters may be an all but new or, at least, 
 a most unwonted sight. His songs do not appear on 
 the programmes of our numerous baUad concerts ; 
 indeed, I am not sure that many of them have been 
 publicly sung in London, a fact which once more 
 shows the sad deficiencies of mutual intercourse 
 amongst the nations, even in that most international 
 •of languages, music. For in his own country, the 
 place of Franz, amongst the greatest masters of 
 song, and as the first of living lyrists is disputed by 
 few, and in the concert-halls of Boston and New 
 York his works are, it is said, received with en- 
 thusiasm ; the question, why it should have been 
 •easier for the wings of his fame to cross the Atlantic, 
 than the narrow strip of water to which England 
 
 £ 2 
 
244 ROBERT FRANZ. 
 
 owes SO much, deserves the grave consideration of 
 the music publisher, the geographer, and the 
 student of national phrenology. T myself feel but 
 too deeply the great disadvantage of having to con- 
 struct my conclusions on facts and premises un- 
 known to the reader ; but seeing that all exponents- 
 of new things are heirs to the same evil, I must 
 strengthen my courage with the hope, that here 
 and there some one may be induced by my 
 words to test their veracity by personal investiga- 
 tion.* 
 
 The considerable amount of critical Kteratur& 
 produced in Germany, ad vocem E. Franz, has, upon 
 the whole, proved of little use in furthering my aimSk 
 The help for instance which the ' Study on Eobert 
 Franz,' by the well-known historian, "W. Ambros, 
 might possibly afford me, would be more than out- 
 weighed by the time and patience I should have 
 to sp&.d in pointing out, and eventually combating, 
 shades of opinion more or less at variance with my 
 
 * Three selections of Franz's works, containing together 
 more than a hundred songs, have been published by the firms 
 of Leuckart, Peters, and Breitkopf und Hartel of Leipsic, and 
 may be had for almost the same price as Englishmen are 
 willing to pay for one or two commonplace ballads of native- 
 growth. 
 
ROBERT FRANZ. 245 
 
 •own. The only exception here forms Franz Liszt ; 
 the impressive eloquence of his style shows nowhere 
 to greater advantage than in pleading the merits of 
 men whom a nature less generous would look upon 
 as dangerous rivals. I shall quote from the 
 biographical part of his pamphlet on "Eobert 
 Franz," the more freely, as in this way my former 
 remarks on the graceful elegance of Liszt's writings 
 will best be illustrated. As a still more valu- 
 able clue to the hidden sources of our composer's 
 inspiration, I have to mention several interest- 
 ing letters addressed by him to me, the use of 
 which, for my present purpose, has been kindly 
 granted. 
 
 Eobert Franz was bom ia 1815 at Halle, a small 
 xmiversity town in Prussian Saxony. His early 
 youth passed without any incidents of import- 
 ance. The atmosphere in his father's house was that 
 of old-fashioned narrowmindness, and when the first 
 signs of musical talent showed themselves, the boy 
 ibund no encouragement. Only reluctantly his 
 father allowed him to profit by what little instruc- 
 i;ion the second-rate music teachers of his native 
 town could afford. Even imder the oppressive 
 influence of four different masters Franz knew 
 
246 ROBERT FRANZ. 
 
 how to preserve intact the spontaneous freedom of 
 his feeling. This state of self-asserted liberty, 
 dangerous as it might have been to many, contri- 
 buted, as Liszt remarks, perhaps more than any- 
 thing else towards the autodidactic character of 
 Franz's talent. " For the elect of the muse, 
 the predestined of art, are like the bees which, from 
 the petals of poisonous flowers, suck forth sweet 
 aromatic nourishment." The desire of every true 
 musician of executing and hearing himself execute, 
 or, as Liszt puts it, his longing for virtuosity in 
 some form, Franz satisfied by applying himself 
 passionately to the organ. It is said that of 
 a Simday he used to race from one church to 
 another, asking the various cantors to let him 
 play part of the service. This extraordinary zeal 
 was considered by his father and his masters at the 
 college, as a mild form of lunacy, dangerous ia so 
 far only as it detained the youth from the more 
 " solid " branches of learning ; his co-disciples 
 were apt to treat the silent and timid enthusiast as a 
 downright fool. 
 
 Only the musical professor of the college 
 recognised the gift of his pupil and raised 
 biTTi to the post of accompanist of the choir. It 
 
ROBERT FRANZ. 247 
 
 ■was here that he became acquainted with the 
 works of Handel, Haydn, and Mozart, which fell 
 like the first message of hope into the dark maze 
 of his unguided ideas, confirming, at the same 
 time, his resolution of becoming an artist himself. 
 Under this influence Franz also ventured upon his 
 own first creative attempts, without any systematic 
 knowledge of theory; not imlike, in this respect, 
 Wagner and Schumann, who both, about the same 
 time, and separated by not many miles, were 
 groping their various ways towards the distant 
 ideal. 
 
 At last the growing love for art in Tranz's 
 bosom overcame his natural timidity and the filial 
 affection to his well-meaning but prejudiced 
 parents. He declared his unalterable desire of 
 continuing his artistic studies under a master of 
 his craft, and at last gained an unwilling eon- 
 sent from his father. The well-known composer 
 Frederic Schneider, living at that time in the 
 neighbouring Dessau, was chosen for this purpose, 
 and to him Franz went full of hope, and thirsting 
 for knowledge and encouragement. 
 
 This hope was to be disappointed. Schneider 
 was a dry formalist, without sympathy for 
 
248 ROBERT FRANZ. 
 
 inspirations that could not be derived from, 
 or measured by, the strict rules of counterpoint. 
 It seems that among his own pupils there existed 
 an opposition party, with independent notions 
 about the aims of music, and nothing was 
 more natural than that Franz should have joined 
 this group of dissenting freethinkers, who used to 
 hold secret meetings to exercise the divine art after 
 their own fashion. Under the circumstances much 
 good could not be expected from Schneider's 
 instructions ; and when, in 1837, after an absence 
 of two years, Franz returned to his father's house, 
 the results of his apprenticeship were not of a kind 
 to reconcile his parents with his choice of vocation. 
 It is true that he had amassed a considerable 
 amount of theoretical knowledge, and could also 
 show a corresponding heap of " original " produc- 
 tions, strongly flavoured with the dust of the 
 schoolroom ; but these were not of a kind to satisfy 
 anybody but their author. 
 
 The question what to do next was approaching 
 uncomfortably near. His reserved, aristocratic 
 nature prevented Franz from pushing his own way 
 by means of drawing-room coteries ; on all sides he 
 was discouraged and repelled; at last he himself 
 
ROBERT FRANZ. JJ49 
 
 began to lose the student's pride wMcli at first had 
 assisted him in bearing up against the tide of dis- 
 appointment. A state of morbid despondency was 
 the consequence, in which only the intuitiye love 
 and sympathy of his mother saved him from 
 perishing. 
 
 About this period Franz began the serious study 
 of the works of Sabastian Bach, and in the same 
 degree as he entered into the mysterious depths 
 of this grand master, he grew less and less satisfied 
 with his own achievements. Here he found the 
 climax of polyphonous art combined with, and 
 made serviceable to, a breadth of conception to which 
 the training of the schoolroom offered no clue. The 
 voice of true human feeling spoke to his congenial 
 spirit through the din of scholastic wisdom. At 
 the same time the lyrical passion of Schubert, to- 
 gether with the movement of romanticism pro- 
 claimed by Schumann's compositions and critical 
 writings, found an echo in Franz's bosom, imbuing 
 him with the more rapid and impulsive passion of 
 modern art. 
 
 The peculiar conditions of his genius are gene- 
 rally traced back to the influence of Handel and 
 Bach on the one, and Schubert and Schumann on 
 
250 ROBERT FRANZ. 
 
 the other side, and it cannot be denied that the im- 
 pressions receiyed from these four masters' works 
 during a stage of transition has been of considerably, 
 importance for his mode of thought and utterance.. 
 But there is distinguishable in his style a something- 
 which cannot be derived from either of the two 
 elements just mentioned, and which, with Franz: 
 himseK, we are inclined to look for in the old 
 Lutheran choral which formed "the earliest and 
 most lasting artistic impression " of his youth. Of 
 this, more anon. 
 
 The process of assimilation of the classic and 
 romantic elements occupied from five to six years. 
 During this time Franz was also deeply interested 
 in the progressive movement of German philosophy,, 
 which at that time found a local centre and an 
 organ in the celebrated " Hallesche Jahrbiicher," 
 edited by the staunch Hegelian partisan, Arnold 
 Euge. All this while Franz refrained from artistic 
 production, patiently waiting for the moment when, 
 after the processes of fermenting and clearing being 
 over, " he would have to say a word for himself." 
 This time came at last not without a powerful im- 
 pulse of personal feeHng ; " it coincided — ^to quote 
 Liszt's eloquent words — ^with a moment of deep 
 
ROBERT FRANZ. 251 
 
 passion -whicli, in shaking all the fibres of his soul 
 also moved the strings of poetic inspiration. He 
 loved with a devotion as it can only bud in a pure 
 and noble nature. He dreamt of happiness . . . • 
 its wing touched him gently — then it fled. This 
 catastrophe of his internal fate decided his artistic 
 maturity." His production henceforth was fresh 
 and spontaneous, for " he wrote in order to give an 
 outlet to his overflowing sensations — per sfogarsV 
 The first effort of his muse showed a ripeness of' 
 feeling and technical skill rarely met with amongst 
 beginners, but easily explained in this case from 
 the composer's self-restraint for so many preceding 
 years. I know indeed of no artist's works the 
 grouping of which according to time or ma- 
 turity, would present greater difficulties than 
 the four hundred songs of Eobert Franz ; we may 
 easily discern a considerable variety in the degree 
 of their intrinsic value according to the greater or- 
 lesser happiness of momentary inspiration, but that 
 progress through different stages of intellectual 
 development, of which young artists are, alas, but 
 too apt to make the public a witness, Franz has- 
 hidden entirely from the gazer's eye. His Opus 1 
 was accordingly treated with great respect by^ 
 
J«S2 ROBERT FRANZ. 
 
 contemporary critics, and excited in particular the 
 admiration of Kobert Schumann, who himself in- 
 troduced the new composer to the readers of his 
 paper and otherwise assisted him with his usual 
 kindness. Ever since, his fame has continued in- 
 creasing gradually but uninterruptedly, and the 
 acknowledgment of his talent abroad at last obliged 
 even his fellow citizens to relent from their cold 
 reserve towards the prophet in their midst. The 
 distinctions of organist at one of the parish 
 jchurehes, and of conductor of the town concerts, 
 were conferred upon him, and the university oflfered 
 him a chair for music, which he occupies to the 
 present day. 
 
 This is in bare outline the life of Kobert Franz ; 
 somewhat monotonous and void of incident, but not 
 without signs of mental strife and sorrow, of deeper 
 import, perhaps, for the growth of lyrical faculties 
 than the stirring passions of the great world. For 
 who knows the laws after which the sensitive plant 
 '■'■ opens its leaves to the light," or the hidden sources 
 from which genius draws its nourishment ? But 
 let us now look at the flowers which sprang from 
 the unbroken evenness of this soil. 
 
ROBERT FRANZ. 253 
 
 Eobert Franz was from the beginning conscious 
 of the strictly lyrical nature of his talent, and with 
 a self-criticism rare among artists, he limited himself 
 exclusively to his own sphere, without even attempt- 
 ing a flight into the regions of the more absolute 
 forms of music. His works, amounting in all to 
 forty-four, consist, with one or two exceptions only, 
 of songs. But this self-chosen onesidedness is not 
 in his case a sign of limited power. In the 
 narrow space of the song he displays with more 
 than ordinary skill the most intricate combinations 
 of musical art, and even without his editorial labour 
 the world might recognise in Franz the thorough 
 student f Bach and Handel by the fine contrapun- 
 tal texture of his pianoforte accompaniments. In the 
 instrumental parts of his songs, with the strict and 
 independent guidance of their single voices, we also 
 see clearly a strong influence of the Lutheran choral 
 which, moreover, the composer himself is ready to 
 acknowledge, and through which he traces his 
 intimate connection with the Volkslied. It is this 
 strictly polyphonous, not to say vocal character of 
 
254 ROBERT FRANZ. 
 
 liis accompaniments, -wliicli distinguishes them 
 ■essentially from those of other modern masters, and 
 connects them mth the treatment of the instruments 
 in Bach and Handel. 
 
 The remarks on this point made by Franz him- 
 self, are of such interest and throw so new a light 
 on an important side of musical history, that I feel 
 sure the reader will be thankful for the following 
 extracts from one of his letters. 
 
 "There is no doubt — Franz writes — that the 
 basis of all musical forms is the vocal and not the 
 instrumental style. The human voice existed 
 previous to all instruments, the latter being indeed 
 only a mechanical means of imitating the former. 
 From the beginning of the fourteenth to the end of 
 the eighteenth century we perceive an independent 
 •development of the vocal style ; from that to the 
 present day the instrumental style has been pre- 
 domiaant. The masters of the former period wrote 
 almost exclusively for the voice, and used the in- 
 struments only for the purpose of accompaniment. 
 Even where Mozart and Haydn write so-called 
 absolute * music, they always remain under the 
 
 * The word absolute is used by Franz as almost synonymous 
 swith instrumental, and must not be taken in the sense as 
 
ROBERT FRANZ. 255 
 
 influence of tlie older style, and only in rare 
 cases venture out of this sphere. Since Beethoven 
 this has become different. The enormous genius of 
 this man, whose chief power lay in his sway over 
 the instruments, could not allow the existing forms, 
 to limit its inspiration. He therefore was eagerly 
 intent upon remoulding these forms according to 
 his own requirements. The great pliability of the 
 instruments considerably assisted this purpose, and 
 it is weU known how, in the course of his colossal 
 development of the tone-material, Beethoven was led 
 to the ultimate Hmits of his power." 
 
 After a few more remarks on his view of the 
 Jormal liberation of music through Beethoven (which 
 view I must ask the reader to compare with what on 
 a former occasion has been said about the spiritual 
 or poetical liberation of our art by that great re- 
 former) Franz proceeds to ask : " But what are 
 the essential points of difference between the vocal 
 and instrumental forms of musical expression? 
 The natural limitation of the voice could not but 
 create such forms as were in accordance with it. 
 Moreover the mechanism of the human organ ne- 
 
 ^pplied by me throughout, in which sense Mozart and Haydn did 
 indeed -write nothing but absolute music. 
 
2S6 ROBERT FRANZ. 
 
 cessitated a sequence of intervals whicli presented no 
 serious diflB.culties to being perceived by the ear and 
 rendered by the voice. In this way the so-called 
 " strict [strenge) style " was formed. Here every 
 note must, for the mentioned reasons, be the neces- 
 sary complement of both its predecessor and suc- 
 cessor ; the free choice of expression being entirely 
 excluded, by the strict rules of the style. This 
 same regularity moreover applied equally, not only 
 to the melody but also to the accompanying parts, 
 barring of course the characteristic modifications as 
 required for alto^ tenore and basso. The same style 
 had, for the sake of conformity to extend even to 
 the accompanying instruments. 
 
 But also in cases where these instruments were 
 used quite independently (as for instance, in Bach's 
 and Handel's compositions for the orchestra, the 
 organ, and the pianoforte), the " strict style " never 
 quite relinquished its character; everywhere we 
 meet the same, or a,t least similar, phenomena of 
 vocal adaptability. One could, for instance, change 
 a number of fugues in the ' "Wohltemperirte 
 Clavier ' into beautifully -sounding choruses, with- 
 out any essential alterations in the parts. Of 
 Handel, it is known that he transferred some of his 
 
ROBERT FRANZ. 257 
 
 fugues for the pianoforte into his oratorios, deve- 
 loping them at the same time iato tremendous 
 <5horuses. 
 
 Beethoven, as I said before, reversed all this from 
 top to bottom. The much greater velocity of the 
 instruments and their infallible accuracy iu render- 
 ing every sequence of notes, gradually supplanted the 
 logical progress of the voices in the sense of the 
 strict style. Henceforth, all the single parts 
 moved with a freedom which, in Beethoven's last 
 period, almost surpassed the limits of the possible. 
 
 The masters following immediately in Beet- 
 hoven's footsteps, viz., Schubert, Chopin and Schu- 
 mann (I except Mendelssohn, who takes an inter- 
 mediate position between the two styles), carried 
 on the thus created iastrumental style, and trans- 
 ferred it as a rule even to specifically vocal pieces, 
 reversing, in this way, exactly the habit of former 
 <3enturies ; hence the sometimes justified complaints 
 ^bout the want of adaptability to the voice in the 
 works of modem, masters. 
 
 On the other hand, it is utterly comical to hear 
 modem critics deplore the way in which Bach and 
 Handel treated the human voice like an instru- 
 
2S3 ROBERT FRANZ. 
 
 ment. But then, the world is turned topsjr 
 tuTvy."* 
 
 Franz goes on to relate, how the conditions of 
 the true vocal style, to which the spirit of modern 
 music is thoroughly adverse, were preserved in 
 his artistic consciousness by means of the early 
 studies and impressions alluded to in our bio- 
 graphical sketch, and how in consequence the same 
 " strict style " prevailed to a certain extent in. 
 the accompaniments of his songs, which otherwise 
 are so thoroughly imbued with the unfettered, 
 flow of subjective passion. It is, indeed, this 
 vocality (if I may coin the word for my purpose), 
 of the pianofore parts which, as I said before, gives, 
 their peculiar character to the songs of Franz, and 
 sometimes leads to effects of great poetic beauty 
 and originality. 
 
 4 
 
 Notwithstanding the importance of the question 
 
 * I must remind the reader that Franz is speaking of 
 the voice in a purely musical sense. On the other hand, 
 it is but too true that these masters, like most or all of 
 their contemporaries, neglected the poetical side of the 
 human voice as the enunciator of the words, and in this sense 
 often did treat it like any other instrument. 
 
ROBERT FRANZ. 259 
 
 at stake, and tlie more than ordinary ability with 
 ■which it has been treated by Franz, I must almost 
 fear that the reader will think this sojourn, in 
 what he might call the outer court of the temple 
 of song, of rather too long duration. But the 
 accompaniment of the modern song forms so essen- 
 tial a part of its structure, that, to remain in 
 the simile, it might almost be described as its 
 foundation and comer stone; and, moreover, the 
 quoted remarks bear to a great extent also on the 
 melodious formation of Franz's songs. For we are 
 often struck in his motives by a touch of sweet 
 quaintness, which seems to transport us imper-" 
 ceptibly into the times of the great cantor of the 
 Leipsic ' Thomasschule,' or, still further back, to the 
 assemblies of the earliest Lutheran congregations, 
 whose chants the stout, though tender hearted, re- 
 former, compared to angelic harmonies. From thence 
 to the pristine simplicity of the original Yolks- 
 lied there is but one step, and we are not surprised 
 to find our composer at his best in the artistic re- 
 production of popular ndiveU. Such songs as 
 'Zur Strassburg auf der Sohanz,' or 'Ich weiss 
 ja warum ich so traurig bin,' the words of which 
 are taken from the poesy of the people, display in 
 
 s2 
 
26o ROBERT FRANZ. 
 
 the simplicity of their modulations, an affinity with 
 the most primitive forms of human feeling, attain^ 
 able only in that state of second childlike uncon- 
 sciousness which is the truest sign of high artistic 
 faculty. 
 
 The songs with words by Burns, which form a 
 not inconsiderable part of Franz's compositions, 
 belong to the same class of popular types. Here, 
 however, we miss sadly that peculiar kind of 
 weirdness, which forms the charm of the old 
 national tunes to which Burns adapted his 
 poems. Franz has rendered, and rendered admir- 
 "ably, what is purely lyrical in the Scottish poet, 
 without, as far as I can see, even attempting to 
 imitate the national colouring, which, it is true, has 
 to a great extent disappeared in the German trans- 
 lation. The same applies, and very likely for 'the 
 same reason, to Schumann, and many other German 
 composers who were naturally attracted by the 
 intense singing quality in Burn's works, so rarely 
 met with in British poets. This want of perception is 
 all the more remarkable amongst a nation which, as a 
 rule, is of such easy access to foreign peculiarities, and 
 which, moreover, prides itself particularly on its 
 unbounded admiration for the great lyrist. The 
 
ROBERT FRANZ. 261 
 
 only German composer who seems, by some process 
 of intuition, to Lave caught the musical spirit of 
 our northern fellow islanders, is Beethoven, in 
 whose accompaniments to Scotch tunes one is 
 occasionally struck by a touch of the drawling sad- 
 ness or rhythmical wildness of the genuine bagpipe. 
 What this affinity consists in, or where its origin 
 may be found, I am unable to say, seeing that 
 Beethoven never set foot on British soil. I am only 
 speaking from an undefined impression of my own 
 experience. 
 
 As another point of resemblance with the spirit 
 of the Volkslied, we mention ia Franz, his predi- 
 lection for the strophic treatment of his songs. 
 They are generally founded on a melody of great 
 simplicity, to which he adheres sometimes even 
 where the altered character of a stanza seems to 
 require the stronger contrast of a new motive. But 
 if, in such cases we occasionally deplore the conces- 
 sion made by the poet to the musician, we cannot, on 
 the other hand, refuse our highest admiration to the 
 manner in which Franz, by a slight alteration in 
 melody or accompaniment, produces the most strik- 
 ing effect of at once musical and poetical beauty. In 
 one of his finest songs, called Herhstsorge (autumn 
 
262 E.OBERT FRANZ. 
 
 sadness), by Osterwald, the sudden liope of a new 
 spring is rendered with astonishing brightness by 
 a slight change of the motive and the introduction 
 of A natural instead of A flat, into the accompany- 
 ing chord. The same applies to another song of 
 equal beauty, but of a very different character from 
 the subdued sadness of the mentioned autumnal 
 elegy. I am speaking of our composer's setting of 
 Heine's dreadful words ' Ja, du bist elend und ich 
 groUe nioht,' in which the sullen despair of disap- 
 pointedlove is rendered by the continuous, one might 
 almost say obstinate, recurrence of one short melodi- 
 ous phrase. The effect is one of surprising realism, 
 and almost more forcible than the unsuppressed cries 
 of despair which have made the setting of the com- 
 panion poem ' loh groUe nicht ' by Schumann, so 
 famous. But here, again, we are surprised in 
 Eranz's composition, at the wonderful subtleness 
 of feeling with which a short cantaUle phrase is 
 made expressive of the momentary abatement of 
 angry passion, as the lover mentions the hidden 
 tears of her, whose falseness is the cause of his 
 misery. The last mentioned song we also recom- 
 mend to the consideration of those of our master's 
 admirers who have iavested him with a kind of 
 
ROBERT FRANZ. 263 
 
 pacifying, or, as they call it, " ethic " tendency, in 
 contrast to the melancholy hopelessness of Schu- 
 bert, and the undisguised Byronism of Schumann. 
 I must confess that I have looked in vain for this 
 feature. Such works as the setting of the utterly 
 desperate words by Heine, * Verfehltes Leben, 
 verfehlte Liebe,' show but too well, how deeply 
 Franz is imbued with the pessimistic spirit of our 
 latter days, although, perhaps, he does not always 
 utter it with the intensity of the two first mentioned 
 composers. It is indeed, this common atmo- 
 sphere of modem thought and passion which links 
 these three men together, and has given rise to the 
 hackneyed notion of their triumvirate on the Par- 
 nassus of German song. Such an arbitary com- 
 iDination is, indeed, quite as uncalled for as the 
 careful measuring by the yard of their comparative 
 merits. It is undeniable that all of them have cer- 
 tain peculiarities of their own, as Schubert his 
 melody and dramatic force, Schumann his intensity 
 of pointed effects, or Franz his subtelty of psycho- 
 logical detail ia which they are superior to the 
 others ; but to extol these merits of the one with a 
 view to disparaging his rivals, is a sign of partisan- 
 ship of the blackest dye. The only answer to such 
 
264 ROBERT FRANZ. 
 
 barren haggling is the sKghtly modified phrase of 
 Goethe, " that people ought to be glad to have three 
 such big fellows:" perhaps we shall even have tO' 
 add a fourth one to the number. 
 
 The independence of our composer's genius, 
 is shown indirectly by the fact that, wherever 
 he does imitate unconsciously (as his situation of 
 a beginner with the admired examples of per- 
 fectly developed masters before him, made it almost 
 impossible to avoid), he at once gives signs of 
 flagging inspiration and literally ceases to be him- 
 self. This applies especially to such cases where 
 Franz chooses words which have previously been 
 set by other masters, without being able to justify 
 this pleonasm by a new musical light thrown on 
 the subject. His setting, for instance, of Heine's 
 " Leise zieht durch mein Gdmiith,'' is conceived 
 in exactly the same spirit as the charming music- 
 to the same words by Mendelssohn, and, therefore 
 seems to lack every raison d'etre. In such case^- 
 priority ought to decide, or, at least, the perfect 
 translation of a poem into the musical language- 
 ought to prevent a second attempt in the same- 
 direction, unless, as we said before, this second 
 attempt starts from an essentially different basis. 
 
ROBERT FRANZ. 265 
 
 Another danger by which the finest intentions 
 of Franz have, in a few cases, been frustrated, is 
 connected with the choice of his words. Sometimes 
 this happens through a want of rapport between 
 poet and composer; the extreme conciseness and 
 drastic pointedness of some 6f Heine's shorter poems, 
 for instance, seems occasionally to have prevented 
 the beautiful broadness of Franz's melos from show- 
 ing to its greatest advantage. In such cases we 
 miss the more forcible, but (to use a common expres- 
 sion,) also more short-winded impressivenesss of 
 Schumann's utterance. 
 
 At other times Franz has composed words in 
 which the want of real feeling is only imperfectly 
 hidden by an acquired smoothness of diction. In 
 consequence the inspiration of the composer begins^ 
 at once to flag, like the sails of a vessel when the 
 breath of heaven ceases to blow. It is, indeed, 
 always with some apprehension that we see the 
 name of a minor poet on the title page of one of 
 Franz's songs, excepting' only that of W. Oster- 
 wald, whose tenderness and truth of feeling make 
 up fully for what he wants in originality of thought 
 and expression. 
 
 But, as I said before, it is just in this sym- 
 
«66 ROBERT FRANZ. 
 
 pathetic dependence on the assistance of the words, 
 that the poetical nature of our composer's talent 
 is shown ; we may call this, indeed, one of those 
 amiable weaknesses which make us only the more 
 prone to love and admire the truly great and admi- 
 rable qualities of his muse. 
 
 Nowhere does this muse appear more loveable 
 than where she is matched in the bonds of poetry 
 with the noble and elevated, though melancholy, 
 genius of Mcolaus Lenau. The rich gifts and 
 tragic fate of this great poet would alone fill a 
 volume. Be it said here that amongst German 
 lyrists he takes his place immediately after Heine, 
 to whom, he is inferior in range of subject and verve 
 -of utterance, but whom he surpasses in purity of 
 feeling. It is in his setting of Lenau' s Schilfiieder. 
 that we must recognise the most sustained effort 
 of Franz, and we can, indeed, not find a better 
 description of his muse — as she looks at us out 
 of her large and quiet, but inexpressibly sad 
 eyes, — than in the following lines of Lenau, which, 
 clad in the beauty of Fianz's melody, may be 
 considered as at once the symbol and the triumph 
 of his art : 
 
FRANZ LISZ2. 267 
 
 Eest on me thou eye of darkness, 
 Wield thy undivided might ; 
 Mildly earnest, tender, dreamy, 
 Fathomlessly darkest night. 
 
 With thy dark, thy magic shadow. 
 Hide away this world from me. 
 Only thou, ahove my being. 
 Biding everlastingly. 
 
 There is no greater contrast imaginable than that 
 "between the quiet changeless life of Eobert Franz 
 in a small Grerman town, and the brilliant career of 
 Franz Liszt, the spoiled favourite of Europe, to which 
 we have now to give a passing glance. After the 
 many disappointments and miseries, through which 
 we had to go with the men of genius who form the 
 subjects of the preceding chapters, we feel almost 
 relieved in txxrning, at the end of our journey, 
 towards the sunniest regions of fortune and suc- 
 cess. If ever the gods can be said to have showered 
 their richest gifts without reserve or drawback on 
 the cradle of a single mortal, this cradle must have 
 been that in which Franz Liszt was, let us hope, duly 
 deposited at Eaiding, a small Hungarian village, 
 on the day of his birth, the 22nd October, 1811. 
 
268 FRANZ LISZ2. 
 
 From his first appearance in public, the fiftieth 
 anniversary of which has heen just celebrated at 
 Pesth, his genius was acknowledged with an en- 
 thusiasm in which the whole musical republic^ 
 from Beethoven down to the obscurest dilettante, 
 joined unanimously. The history of music knows 
 of no success approaching the unprecedented and 
 still unequalled a'pplause with which the pheno- 
 menal achievements of the young pianoforte hero 
 were received by enthusiastic audiences from 
 Madrid to St. Petersburg, And the same success 
 accompanied him in everything he undertook in 
 life. When tired of the shallow fame of the 
 virtuoso, he exchanged the honours of the pianist 
 for the thorny career of the composer, he had, it is 
 true, at first to suffer from the obstacles with which 
 popular indifference and professional ill-will tried 
 to impede his progress; but these impediments 
 were soon overcome by his dauntless energy, and 
 Liszt is at the present time living to see his works 
 expanding daily in the public admiration of his 
 contemporaries. Also as a conductor he added 
 fresh laurels to his wreath. 
 
 But, better than all this, nature has endowed 
 him with a true and genial heart, full to over- 
 
FRANZ LISZT. 269 
 
 flowing with sympathy for the joys and sufferings 
 of others, and alien to any feeling of selfishness and 
 envy. So we need not wonder at seeing that, to 
 crown his happiness, the friendship of man and the 
 love of woman were never absent from his course 
 of life. 
 
 It would be impossible to condense an ever so 
 short account of a career, so rich in important 
 and interesting events, into the frame of a single 
 chapter ; we will fix only upon one circumstance, 
 as at once important for the history of music and illus- 
 trative of the noble generosity of Liszt's nature, his 
 friendship with Wagner. In thinking of the many 
 "temptations to mutual animosities and misunder- 
 standings, to which the minds of two men living ia 
 the brightest light of public fame are exposed, one 
 is struck with agreeable wonder at the ungrudging 
 love and admiration between "Wagner and Liszt, 
 which finds its prototype and equal only in Schiller's 
 and Goethe's friendship. The thought of rivalry 
 seems never to have entered their minds, although 
 the zeal of enthusiastic partisans can never have 
 been absent, to fan the slightest spark of an ungra- 
 cious feeling into a flame. But for more than 
 twenty years both Liszt and Wagner have worked 
 
27© FRANZ LISZT. 
 
 for the same purpose of artistic reform in their 
 individual spheres, and not once has the source of 
 purest friendship heen tainted by a drop of bitter- 
 ness. For an account of the origin and circum- 
 stances of this friendship we borrow the eloquent 
 words of Wagner himself. 
 
 The following sketch, written in 1851, takes us 
 back to the time when, after the revolution of 1849,, 
 "Wagner, as the reader will recollect, had to fly the 
 country, and in this way was cut off from aU 
 artistic rapport with his friends at home. "Again" — 
 Wagner says — " I was thoroughly disheartened 
 from undertaking any new artistic scheme. Only 
 recently I had had proofs of the impossibility of 
 making my art nitelligible to the public, and all 
 this disgusted me with the beginning of new 
 dramatic works. Indeed, I thought that every- 
 thing was at an end with my artistic creativeness. 
 From this state of mental dejection I was raised by 
 a friend. By most evident and undeniable proofs 
 he made me feel that I was not deserted, but, on 
 the contrary, understood deeply by those even 
 who were otherwise most distant from me ; in 
 this way he gave me back my full artistic con- 
 sciousness. 
 
FRANZ LISZT. 27 r 
 
 " This -wonderful friend has been to me FrangLisst. 
 I must enter a little more deeply upon the character 
 of this friendship, -which to many has seemed para- 
 doxical. Indeed, I have been compelled to appear 
 repellent and hostile on so many sides, that I almost 
 feel a -want of communication about this our sym- 
 pathetic union. 
 
 " I met Liszt for the first time during my earliest 
 stay in Paris, and at a period when I had renounced 
 the hope, nay, even the -wish, of a Paris reputation, 
 and, indeed, was in a state of internal revolt against 
 the artistic life I found there. At our meeting 
 Liszt appeared to me as the most perfect contrast 
 of my o-wn being and situation. In this world, 
 into which it had been my desire to fly from my 
 narrow circumstances, Liszt had grown up, from 
 his earliest age, so as to be the object of general 
 love and admiration, at a time when I was repulsed 
 
 by general coldness and want of sympathy 
 
 In consequence I looked upon him with suspicion. 
 I had no opportunity of disclosing my being and 
 working to him, and, therefore, the reception I met 
 with on his part was altogether of a superficial kind, 
 as was indeed quite natural in a man to whom every 
 day the most divergent impressions claimed access. 
 
2^2 FRANZ LISZT. 
 
 But I was not in a mood to look witli unprejudiced 
 eyes for the natural cause of his behaviour, which, 
 :&iendly.and obliging in itself, could not but hurt me 
 in that state of my mind. 'I never repeated my first 
 <3all on Liszt, and without knowing or even 
 wishing to know him I was prone to look upon 
 him as strange and adverse to my nature. 
 
 "My repeated expression of this feeling was 
 afterwards told to Liszt, just at the time when my 
 Bienzi at Dresden attracted general attention. He 
 was surprised to find himself misunderstood with 
 such violence by a man whom he had scarcely 
 known, and whose acquaintance now seemed 
 not without value to him. I am still touched at 
 recollecting the repeated and eager attempts he 
 made to change my opinion about him, even before 
 he knew any of my works. He acted not from 
 any artistic sympathy, but led by the purely 
 human wish of discontinuing a casual disharmony 
 between himself and another being ; perhaps he also 
 felt an infinitely tender misgiving of having really 
 hurt me unconsciously. He who knows the 
 regardless selfishness and dreadful insensibility 
 in our social life, and especially in the relations of 
 modem artists to each other, cannot hut be 
 
FRANZ LISZT. 273 
 
 struck with -wonder, nay, delight, by the treatment 
 I experienced from this extraordinary man. . . . 
 Liszt soon afterwards witnessed a performance of 
 Bienzi at Dresden, on which he had almost to 
 insist : and after that I heard from all the different 
 comers of the world, where he had been on his 
 artistic excursions, how he had everywhere ex- 
 pressed his delight with my music, and, indeed, 
 had — I would rather believe — unintentionally 
 canvassed people's opinions in my favour. This 
 happened at a time when it became more and more 
 evident that my dramatic works would have no 
 outward success. But just when the case seemed 
 desperate, Liszt succeeded by his own energy in 
 opening a hopeful refuge to my art. 
 
 "He ceased his wanderings, settled down at the 
 small, modest Weimar, and took up the conductor's 
 baton, after having been at home so long in the 
 splendour of the greatest cities of Europe. At 
 "Weimar I saw him for the last time, when I rested 
 a few days in Thuringia, not yet certain whether 
 the threatening prosecution would compel me to 
 continue my flight from Germany. The very day 
 when my personal danger became a certainty, 1 
 saw Liszt conducting a rehearsal of my TannMuser, 
 
 T 
 
274 FRANZ LISZT. 
 
 and was astonished at recognising my second self in 
 tis achievement. What I had felt in inventing this 
 music, he felt in performing it : what I wanted to 
 express in writing it down, he said in making it 
 sound. Strange to say, through the love of this 
 rarest friend I gained, at the moment of becoming 
 homeless, a real home for my art, which I had 
 longed for and sought for always in the wrong 
 
 place 
 
 "At the end of my last stay at Paris, when ill, 
 miserable, and despairing, I sat brooding over my 
 fate, my eye fell on the score of my Lohengrin^ 
 totally forgotten by me. Suddenly I felt something 
 like compassion, that this music should never sound 
 from off the death-pale paper. Two words I wrote 
 to Liszt ; his answer was, the news that preparations 
 for the performance were being made on the largest 
 scale that the limited means of Weimar would permit. 
 Everjrthing that men and circumstances could do, 
 was done, in order to make the work understood. 
 . , . . Errors and misconceptions impeded 
 the desired success. What was to be done to 
 supply what was wanted, so as to further the true 
 understanding on all sides, and with it the ulti- 
 mate success of the work ? Liszt saw it at once, 
 
FRANZ LISZT. 275 
 
 and did it. He gave to the public his own im- 
 pression of the work in a manner, the conyincing 
 eloquence and overpowering efficacy of which 
 remain unequalled. Success was his reward, and 
 with this success he now approaches me, saying : 
 ' Behold we have come so far, npw create us a 
 new work, that we may go still further.' " 
 
 Besides Lohengrin and Tannhduser, also the Flying 
 Dutchman was successfully performed under Liszt's 
 •direction. But his noble zeal was not limited to the 
 reproduction of the works of one man, however 
 great that man might be. "When, in 184.8, Liszt 
 closed his career as a virtuoso, and accepted a 
 permanent engagement as conductor of the Court 
 Theatre at Weimar, he did so with the distinct 
 purpose of becoming the advocate of the rising 
 musical generation, by the performance of such 
 -works as were written regardless of immediate 
 success, and, therefore, without him would have 
 stood little chance of ever seeing the light of the. 
 stage. In short intervals eleven operas of living 
 composers were either performed for the first 
 time or revived on the "Weimar stage. Amongst 
 these we count such works as Benvenuto Cellini 
 by Berlioz, Schumann's Genevieve, and the same 
 
 T 2 
 
276 FRANZ LISZT. 
 
 master's music to Byron's ' Manfred.' Soliutert's^ 
 Alfonso and Estrella was also rescued from oblivion 
 by Liszt's exertions. 
 
 For a time it seemed as if the small city in 
 Thuringia was once more going to be the artistic- 
 centre of Germany, as it bad been in tbe days of 
 Goethe, Schiller, and Herder. From all sides 
 musicians and amateurs flocked to Weimar, to 
 witness the astonishing feats to which a small but 
 excellent commdnity of singers and instrumentalists 
 were inspired by the genius of their leader. In 
 this way was formed the nucleus of a group of 
 young musicians, full of talent and enthusiasm, and 
 inspired by the noble example of Liszt, to spread a 
 new evangel of supreme devotion to music and its 
 poetical aims all over the world. It was, indeed, 
 in those gatherings at Weimar that the musicians 
 who now form the so-called School of the Future, 
 tiU then unknown to each other and divided locally 
 and mentally, came first to a clear understanding of 
 their powers and aspirations. It need not be added 
 how much the personal fascination of Liszt con- 
 tributed to this desired eflfect. Amongst the 
 numerous pupils on the pianoforte to whom he 
 at the same period opened the invaluable treasure- 
 
FRANZ LISZT. 277 
 
 of his technical experience, we only mention Hans 
 von Biilo-w, the worthy disciple of such a master. 
 
 6. 
 
 But, in a still higher sense, the soil of Weimar, 
 with its great traditions, was to prove a field of 
 richest harvest. When, in 1842, Liszt undertook 
 the direction of a certain number of concerts every 
 year at Weimar, his Mend Duverger wrote the 
 prophetic words, " Cette place qui oblige Liszt a 
 sejoumer trois mois de I'ann^e a Weimar, doit mar- 
 iner peut-etre pour lui la transition de sa carriere 
 de virtuose a celle de compositeur." The truth of 
 this presage has since been proved by a long, 
 briUiant list of compositions in different spheres of 
 musical art, too long, indeed, and too brilliant to 
 allow of an adequate survey of their number and 
 merits within the limits of our present task. 
 
 Amongst the purest fruits of his creative labour 
 -we count his songs, to which we now wiU dedicate 
 the few closing remarks of this work. 
 
 In Eobert Franz we observed, combined with the 
 desire of a poetically free expression, a strong 
 reverential feeling for the abstract sacredness of the 
 musical form, as shown in the strophic treatment of 
 
278 FRANZ LISZT. 
 
 Ms songs. Liszt, on the contrary, has entirely- 
 freed himself from this awe; he is a poet, and 
 nothiag but a poet. His music, heard without the 
 interpretation of the words, would in most cases 
 seem an incoherent sequence of beautiful melodious 
 snatches, interrupted by declamatory passages, and 
 only connected by an indefinable continuance of 
 sentiment which occasionally takes the form of 
 what I have on a former occasion described as the 
 " leading motive." The laws of tonality are con- 
 tinually violated by the abrupt introduction of the 
 most divergent keys, and occasionally the metrical 
 structure of the poem itself is obscured by the 
 composer's dramatic vivacity. Here we have 
 reached at last the consistent carrying out of the 
 poetic principle in lyrical music to its final conse- 
 quences. 
 
 The old dilemma between music and poetry and 
 their mutual rights and duties rises once more before 
 our eyes, but in a form which does not allow of the 
 unconditional solution which we saw achieved in 
 "Wagner's music-drama. In the opera the forms of 
 absolute music were a distinct encroachment on the- 
 domain of poetry, themselves founded on an un- 
 natural basis, and therefore doomed to destructiott 
 
FRANZ LISZT. 279 
 
 from the beginning. But this is widely different 
 in the Song, Here absolute music is represented by 
 the tune^ -which, as we see in the Volkslied, is in- 
 spired only by the first stanza and afterwards repeated, 
 regardless of changes ia the sentiment of the words 
 sung to it. The strict adherence to this principle 
 in the artistic song is impossible, except in cases 
 where either an imitation of the popular song is 
 intended, or where the change in the emotional 
 import of each single stanza is so slight as to make 
 the same tune appear the most appropriate mode of 
 expression for all of them. In all other cases this 
 first melody must be abandoned and changed for 
 another melodious or declamatory motive, according 
 to the more or less lyrical or dramatic character of 
 the words. 
 
 Still it cannot be denied that the absolute tune is 
 closely connected with the original structure of the 
 song, and that in abandoning it entirely for the 
 freer expression of changing passion, the composer 
 runs the risk of losing that principle of unity and 
 consistent development of the musical part, without 
 which the enjoyment of ev ery work of art becomes 
 impossible. It is true that this feeling of unity can 
 to a great extent be supplied by the accompaniment, 
 
28o FRANZ LISZT. 
 
 but it remains equally true that a great danger for 
 the growth of modern song consists in the too 
 independent treatment of the vocal part in the single 
 stanzas, by which not only the musical beauty but 
 also the rhythmical organism of the poem may be 
 seriously injured. Even Wagner seems to acknow- 
 ledge the existence of such a danger, and has in 
 consequence treated the Song (wherever he intro- 
 duces it into his dramatic works) much more on the 
 absolutely musical principle than might be expected 
 from him. 
 
 Franz Liszt's place is, to borrow a term from politi- 
 cal life, on the extreme left, his principle being un- 
 limited freedom with regard to both the melodious 
 and rhythmical structure of his songs. It is true 
 that some of his greatest effects he has achieved by 
 purely melodious means, as, for instance, in that 
 beautiful song " Es muss ein Wunderbares sein, " 
 which does not essentially differ from what we have 
 described as the "through-composed " song, or in his 
 setting of " Du bist wie eine Blume, " where the 
 recurrence of the first motive in the concluding 
 bars of the vocal part is of sweetest suggestiveness. 
 At other times a greater liberty in the rhythmical 
 phrasing of the music is warranted by the metre of 
 
FRANZ LISZT. 281 
 
 the poem itself, as, for instance, in Goethe's wonder- 
 M nightsong " Tiber alien Gipseln ist Euh' " the 
 lie&Tenly calm of which Liszt has rendered by his 
 wonderful harmonies in a manner which alone would 
 secure him a place amongst the great masters of 
 G-erman song. Particularly, the modulation from 
 G major back into the original E major at the close 
 of the piece is of surprising beauty. 
 
 At other times however it cannot be denied that 
 -the extreme freedom of Liszt's rhythmical treatment 
 has seriously injured the effect of his songs. The 
 character, for instance, of Heine's popular words, 
 " Ich weiss nicht was soU es bedeuten "is of too 
 simple a kind to aUow of the elaborate painting of 
 details, and the introduction of new motives, as we 
 find it in Liszt's otherwise beautiful and expressive 
 music. I confess that the simple tune by Silcher, 
 to which the Germans are used to chant these 
 melancholy words (it is alleged at moments when 
 they feel particularly jolly), seems to me more 
 appropriate under the circumstances than our com- 
 poser's ambitious effort. If I might venture a bold 
 guess, I would say that this song, as well as the 
 setting of Goethe's "Zing in Thule," were written 
 a,t a time when Liszt was not yet quite free from 
 
282 FRANZ IISZT. 
 
 the influence of the Frencli salon, of the atmosphere 
 of which, -with its fashionable Bomance they botk 
 remind one occasionally. The music to the last 
 mentioned poem, I would further guess, must 
 have been written oi;iginaUy for a French transla- 
 tion, for in the German version the declamation is- 
 faulty throughout.* 
 
 The same influence is traceable, but here with 
 most beneficial effects, in Listz's compositions of 
 some of Victor Hugo's songs. Particularly the 
 charming setting of " Comment disaient-ils " dis- 
 plays the elegant grace of French spirit in its most 
 favourable light, and is indeed a jewel of its kind. 
 
 In order to make the characteristic features of 
 Listz's style quite plain, I think it will be best to 
 compare one of his songs with the setting of the 
 same words by another composer, which parallel 
 will at the same time serve to show the variety of 
 musical interpretations to which a single poem may 
 give rise, according to the individualities of different 
 masters. I have for this purpose chosen Heine's- 
 charming song. " Im Ehein" etc., which has been. 
 
 * The reader must also remember that Liszt is Hungariatt 
 by birth and IVench by education, and that German is to him 
 an acquired language. 
 
FRANZ LISZT. 283. 
 
 set by both Eobert Franz and Liszt, in a 
 manner which, in itself may be called absolutely 
 beautiful, and the comparative value of which in 
 each case it is far from my purpose to discuss. 
 
 I first subjoin an exact prose translation of the 
 words, so as not to lose the slightest turn of senti- 
 ment or expression by an attempt at a metrical 
 rendering. 
 
 In the Ehine, the beautiful stream. 
 There is mirrored in the waves, 
 With its great cathedral. 
 The great holy Cologne. 
 
 In the cathedral there is a picture, 
 Painted on golden leather ; 
 Into the wilderness of my heart, 
 It has thrown its friendly rays. 
 
 There are playing many roses and angels. 
 Bound our fair lady ; 
 The eyes, the lips, the cheeks, 
 Eeserable those of my love. 
 
 The emotional basis of this little lyric is a feeling- 
 of quiet, almost dreamy religiousness, as it may be- 
 seem a lover who, walking in the lofty aisles of a. 
 cathedral, sees the image of his beloved in the 
 sweet countenance of every angel. This keynote 
 
-284 FRANZ LISZT. 
 
 Pranz has rendered most admirably in the simple 
 notes of a beautiful melody, and tbe same feeling he 
 sustaias essentially unchanged from first to last. 
 It is true that he emphasises the grandeur of the 
 cathedral by a mezzoforte, and that on our entranc^ 
 into the holy precinct we hear in the accompani- 
 ment something like the solemn chords of an organ, 
 but upon the whole the flow of the melody remains 
 uninterrupted by attempts at rendering single points 
 of dramatic import. When at last the lover sees 
 the resemblance between the virgin anfi his own 
 heart's idol, his voice sinks into a whispered pian- 
 issimo, almost as if, struck with his discovery, he 
 hesitated in giving utterance to his worldly longing. 
 "The whole piece bears the character of a sweet old 
 legend, without a vestige of modem restlessness and 
 passion, 
 
 Liszt opens his song with an introduction 
 of four bars. A melodious phrase, rising and 
 falling alternately suggests the festive ringing 
 of a peal of bells, while the incessant roll of accom- 
 panying triplets renders with striking truth the 
 splashing waves of a wide river. The vista of the 
 great city by the majestic Ehine rises before our 
 eyes, even before the voice begins to pronounce the 
 
FRANZ LISZT. 285. 
 
 first lines of the poem, always accompanied by the 
 same expressive motive. At first the vocal part 
 bears the quiet character of a narrative, tUl, at the 
 mentioning of the holy city, the grandeur of the 
 impression is illustrated by 2i forte passage of great 
 dramatic effectiveness. The second stanza is a 
 strict repetition of the first, both in harmony 
 and melody, till the word "wilderness", which 
 causes a change of modulation into minor keys till 
 the words "friendly rays", at which the harmony 
 suddenly emerges into a strain of brightest joy. 
 At this point the pictorial motive in the accompani- 
 ment ceases, because of the heightened emotion, 
 in which the impressions of the senses are no more 
 noticed. It is in such touches of finest psycho- 
 logical observation, that Liszt's mastership appears 
 in its most brilliant light. 
 
 The two following lines have given rise to a 
 short effusion of intense religious beauty. The 
 broken chords of the accompaniment seem to play 
 round the voice, like the roses and angels in the won- 
 derful old picture of the Cologne cathedral, of which 
 the words speak. The last two lines are treated quite 
 in the declamatory style, passing quickly by the 
 ear like an enchanting, but, alas, too fugitive 
 
-286 FRANZ LISZT. 
 
 vision of delight. They are, however, repeated 
 in broken utterances, as if the mind once more tried 
 to recall the sweet message from the other world. 
 But at the same time the sounds of the bells and of 
 the rushing river are agaiu heard in the accompani- 
 ment, and these carry us back iuto the sphere of the 
 tangible world, till at last, with the softer and softer 
 pianissimo of the chords, the whole scene wanes into 
 rosy distance, like the glow of the setting sun. 
 
 Such is the character of Liszt's musical concep- 
 tion. We have pointed out before, the danger to 
 which the beautiful flow of the melody is subjected 
 by the frequent intrusion of purely poetical effects. 
 TBut, on the other hand, the perfect blending of the 
 two arts strikes the hearer with a feeling of beauty 
 and harmony of a higher order, because it arises 
 from the mutual surrender of two divergent elements 
 in one common effort. In works like this, Liszt 
 has brought the efficiency of music for poetical pur- 
 poses to a pitch formerly unknown in lyrical com- 
 positions ; in adding, moreover, that this music is, 
 absolutely speaking, of great intrinsic beauty, I 
 think I have said' sufficient to show, that in the 
 hands of a master artistic song is capable of vying 
 successfully with the other forms of musical art in 
 their most advanced stages of progress. 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
289 
 
 APPENDIX I. 
 
 The following is an account of the festival at Bayreuth on the 
 occasion of the foundation-stone of the Wagner Theatre being 
 laid. It has been thought worth inserting here, as bearing in 
 general upon the subject of this book, and still more, as 
 exhibiting the vivid impression which the wonderful conduct- 
 ing of "Wagner made on all those present. 
 
 Bayreufh, May '2,2nd, 1872. 
 It is now scarcely ten years ago since Wagner, va. tlie 
 preface to his dramatic version of the Nibelungen Saga, 
 first hinted at the possibility of having his great work 
 performed by the voluntary assistance of the friends 
 of his art. The chances of such an enterprise were 
 at that time the most unfavourable that could be 
 imagined. Although the success of "Wagner's first 
 four operas, wherever they had been adequately 
 performed, was an undeniable fact, still his more 
 advanced ideas of the fundamental reorganisation of 
 the music-drama had found so little responsive 
 sympathy amongst the German nation — ^if such a 
 
 IT 
 
290 APPENDIX. 
 
 nation could be said to exist at all^^that the utter 
 derision with which his appeal was received by the 
 hostile press seemed but too well justified. 
 
 Amongst the causes which have removed all 
 these obstacles and have now assembled a crowd of 
 enthusiastic admirers at Bayreuth, I would mention 
 — besides the irresistible power of his genius as 
 realised in the successive works of Wagner — the 
 great political events of the last two years, in 
 which the various German tribes, so long divided 
 by internal animosities and party struggles, have 
 at last recovered the feeling of solidarity. Tor a 
 philosophic people like the Germans, there soon 
 arose the necessity for symbolising the newly re- 
 covered political unity in a work of artistic import; 
 and it was therefore only natural to see the best 
 amongst the nation turn towards the purest sources 
 of old Teutonic inspiration, as Wagner has em- 
 bodied them in his grand dramatic work. The 
 master's call therefore for the means necessary to 
 secure a worthy performance of his Mbelungen 
 drama, was responded to with a most promising 
 willingness ; and it was the laying of the founda- 
 tion-stone of a theatre to be erected for the purpose, 
 that had assembled the friends of Wagner from aU. 
 parts of the world. 
 
APPENDIX. 29 r 
 
 I shall not intrude upon your space with, a de- 
 scription of the ceremony, which proved a failure 
 because of a most pertinacious rain, nor of the 
 banquet, the horrors of which from a culinary 
 point of view would be scarcely realisable to the 
 Jlnglish mind. The programme of the concert 
 which formed the most interesting feature of the 
 Bayreuth festival consisted only of the Ninth Sym- 
 phony of Beethoven, preceded by Wagner's Kaiser- 
 mar sch., the latter being chosen mainly as a repre- 
 sentative embodiment of German national feeling. 
 
 With great tact Wagner had refrained from enter- 
 ing into competition with Beethoven's gigantic work, 
 •and had concentrated all the energy of his mind in the 
 desire of doing justice to his great teacher's aspira- 
 tions. At the same time the choice of Beethoven's 
 Symphony in D Minor was the most appropriate 
 that could be made on this occasion, because it 
 forms as it were the foundation of the great deve- 
 lopment of modern German, 'and especially of Wag- 
 ner's own, music. The principle of this new phase 
 in art, as the present writer has expressed it on 
 former occasions, is the necessity of a poetical basis 
 of music ; that is to say, a latent impulse of passion- 
 •ate inspiration which guides the composer's hand, 
 
 TJ 2 
 
"292 APPENDIX. 
 
 and the conditions of whicli are in themselves by 
 far superior to the demands of music in its inde- 
 pendent existence. The rules arising out of thesa 
 demands are in the Ninth Symphony violated, 
 nay, completely overthrown, with a freedom of 
 purpose and grandeur of conception that can be 
 explained only from Beethoven's fundamental idea, 
 as it gradually rises to self-consciousness ia the 
 words of Schiller's ode ' An die Freude.' 
 
 In his celebrated programme to the Ninth Sym- 
 phony, which Wagner wrote five-and-twenty years 
 ago, he has interpreted Beethoven's poetical inten- 
 tions by illustrative quotationsfrom Goethe's ' Faust,' 
 connecting in this way the two greatest works that 
 German genius ever conceived. He there declares^ 
 this symphony to be the struggle of the human 
 heart for happiness. In the first movement thia 
 longing for joy is opposed and overshadowed by the 
 black wings of despondency. In the plaintive- 
 notes of the orchestra we hear the sad burden of 
 Faust's words : 
 
 " Entbehren sollst Du, soUst entbehren." 
 
 The second movement, on the other hand, with its 
 quick and striking rhythmical formation, describes- 
 
APPENDIX. 293 
 
 that wild mirtli of despair which seeks respite and 
 nepenthe in the waves of physical enjoyment. The 
 trio again might be considered as a dramatic render- 
 ing of the village scene in ' Faust.' The adagio, 
 with its sweet pure harmonies, appears after this 
 like a dim recollection of former happiness and 
 innocence — 
 
 " So sad, so strange the days that are no more." 
 
 In the fourth movement at last Beethoven leaves 
 the limits of his own art entirely. The repetition 
 of the main motives of the foregoing movements, 
 always interrupted by the tremendous recitative of 
 the double basses, is absolutely unexplainable from 
 a purely musical point of view. It is the highest 
 ■eflPbrt of dramatic characterisation, instrumental 
 music has ever made, and seeing that it has reached 
 the limits of its own proper power, it has to call 
 the sister art of worded poetry to it said. Beet- 
 hoven has done this in a way " in which," to speak 
 with "Wagner, "we do not know whether to ad- 
 mire more the master's bold inspiration or simple 
 naweteP To the grand choral piece which follows, 
 Ihe words of Schiller's ode form the best comment. 
 It is obvious how the introduction in this way of 
 
294 APPENDIX. 
 
 words as the necessary complement of musical ex- 
 pression even at its climax of perfection became 
 the stepping-stone to tlie furtlier development of 
 poetical music, as we discern it in what is generally 
 called the " music of the future." It is equally 
 clear that it requires more than the common intel- 
 lect of the general run of conductors to grapple 
 with the intellectual (not to speak of the musical) 
 difficulties of such a work. Hence there is scarcely 
 another composition in existence, which has been 
 injured so much by the traditional routine of 
 musical Philistinism. I candidly confess that, 
 although I have heard the Ninth Symphony at least 
 three score and ten times, I never quite understood 
 its wonderfully grand and harmonious structure 
 till to-day. "Wagner indeed seems the bom inter- 
 preter of this monumental work of musical genius. 
 With a marvellous power of congenial receptivity, 
 he conceives the grand intentions of his master 
 Beethoven, and moreover he is in a most eminent 
 degree a conductor. 
 
 It is difficult to say what are the mysterious 
 conditions of musical leadership ; they are certainly 
 nearest akin to the qualities of g, great military 
 commander ; and one can only agree with good old 
 
APPENDIX. 295 
 
 Emperor William, -who, himself entirely innocent 
 of musical knowledge, said after Wagner's late 
 performance of Beethoven's C Minor Symphony, at 
 Berlin, in his homely way : '^ Now yon see what a 
 good general can do with his army." 
 
 It is indeed one of the most interesting sights, 
 to see the immediate rapport established between 
 Wagner and his orchestra as soon as he raises his 
 baton. Each individual member, from the first 
 violinist to the last drummer, is equally under the 
 influence of a personal fascination, which seems to 
 have much in common with the eff'ects of animal 
 magnetism. Every eye is turned towards the 
 master; and it appears as if the musicians derived 
 the notes they play not from the books on their 
 desks, but from Wagner's glances and movements. 
 I rfemember reading in Heine a description of 
 Pagauini's playing the violin, and how every one 
 in the audience felt as if the virtuoso was looking 
 at, and performing for him or her individually. A 
 gun aimed in the direction of many different per- 
 sons is said to produce a similar illusory ejffect ; 
 and several artists in Wagner's orchestra and 
 chorus assured me that they felt the fascinating 
 speU of the conductor's eye, lookiag at them during 
 
296 APPENDIX. 
 
 the whole performance. "Wagner in common life is 
 of a rather reserved and extremely gentlemanly de- 
 portment ; but as soon as he faces his band a kind 
 of demon seems to take possession of him. He 
 storms, hisses, stamps his foot on the ground and 
 performs the most wonderful gyratory movements 
 with his arms ; and woe to tie wretch who wounds 
 his keen ear with a false note. At other times, when 
 the musical waves run smoothly, "Wagner ceases 
 almost entirely to beat the time, and a most winning 
 smile is the doubly appreciated reward of his mu- 
 sicians, for a particularly weU-executed passage. 
 In brief, "Wagner is as great a virtuoso on the 
 orchestra as Liszt on the pianoforte, or Joachim on 
 the violin, etc. 
 
297 
 
 APPENDIX II. 
 
 LETTERS OE EOBEET SCHUMANN. 
 
 The subjoined are a series of letters by Eobert 
 Schumann, written between 1835 and 1844, to 
 Herr Anton von Zuccalmaglio, one of the most 
 devoted contributors of the ' Neue Zeitschrift fiir 
 Musik,' living at that time in the house of Prince 
 Oortschakoff, at Warsaw. The MSS. are in my 
 possession, and have been published in the ' Aca- 
 demy.' They afford valuable material for the 
 great composer's life and literary career and will 
 gain in interest if read in connection with the bio- 
 graphical facts related in the third chapter. For 
 this reason it has been thought desirable to rescue 
 them from the comparative obscurity in the columns 
 of a journal. As to their literary merits, it must 
 be confessed that, compared to the letters of 
 Mendelssohn, they seem deficient in expression and 
 
298 APPENDIX. 
 
 Toid of those lively touches which have made the- 
 latter almost as popular as their author's composi- 
 tions. But it ought to be borne ia mind that 
 Schumann's reserved nature was wont to discover 
 its higher aims and deeper feelings rarely, and only 
 to those nearest to him. 
 
 (1) 
 
 {Jiictated^ 
 
 " Leipzig, l\th August 1835. 
 
 " Dear Sir, — It was not tiU some weeks ago that 
 we received your MSS., and are delighted to find 
 that our young institution [the ' Neue Zeitschriffc '} 
 has found an echo in the far North. 
 
 " The letter you contributed is a capital parody 
 of certain epistles in German newspapers. Your 
 Wedel, * the vUlage sexton, is an excellent idea, 
 and admirably adapted for our journal. Both the 
 papers will shortly be printed. As to the printing 
 of your poems, I hope you wUl have a little pa^ 
 tience, as we have arrears which will take half a 
 year to clear off. 
 
 " Won't it be possible for you to send your 
 communications by a shorter route ? With many 
 
 * One of Zuccalmaglios pseudonyms. 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 299. 
 
 thanks for your kind interest and toping to receive 
 
 other contributions, 
 
 " Tours faithfully 
 
 " The Editor, 
 
 " E. Schumann." 
 
 Schumann adds a note in his own handwriting : — 
 
 "Your second letter of August 5th has this 
 
 moment arrived. This goes by post in order to set- 
 
 your mind at rest about your excellent papers ; the 
 
 answer to your second will follow in the bookseller's. 
 
 parcel in a few days. One or the other will, I 
 
 hope, reach you. In any case, favour us soon with 
 
 something new. If you like our musical paper, 
 
 you will greatly oblige me by mentioning it 
 
 occasionally. 
 
 "E. ScHTTMAinsr." 
 
 (2) 
 
 " Dear Sir, — First of all my best thanks for your 
 new contribution. There is something in your 
 articles which pleases me, but for which I cannot 
 yet find the right name, unless it be the quiet way 
 in which you dive down to the deepest places of 
 the soul, and the clear exposition you give of what 
 you have seen when you reappear on the surface.. 
 Continue to delight us by going on. 
 
300 APPENDIX. 
 
 '•'■ Tour capital proposal to supply a new text to 
 Mozart's operas I quite agree witli ; but I have my 
 •doubts wbetber you will be able to carry it through. 
 "We know what publishers are, not to speak of 
 managers, and especially the public, when they 
 have once taken an idea into their heads ; however, 
 try it. As far as I am concerned, I am quite at 
 your service, so long as I have nothing to do with 
 the commercial side of the question, of which I am 
 supremely ignorant. Have the kindness to let 
 me know more of your plan, whether it includes 
 any structural alteration in the plot, or only 
 & text better adapted to the score, and so forth, 
 in order that I may consult a publisher here about 
 it. 
 
 " There is another thing which is rather on my 
 mind. You know how difficult every undertaking is 
 -at the begianiug. Our new journal meets with an 
 unusual amount of sympathy ; but yet I am working 
 almost entirely without pay. If you are not com- 
 pelled to live by your pen, clever, excellent as it 
 is, I hope you won't miad waiting a little while 
 longer for the usual honoraire. But if this is to be 
 a bar to your sending us further contributions, con- 
 sider the previous sentence cancelled. I accept all 
 
APPENDIX. 301 
 
 your conditions. On this point please send me 
 your decision at once. 
 
 " Yours truly, 
 
 " E. Schumann. 
 
 " Levpzig, 28/9, '35." 
 
 (3) 
 
 " December ITth, '35. 
 
 " Dear Sir, — Two things very different from one 
 another have prevented my answering your letter 
 before ; I have been travelling, and I have been 
 ill. 
 
 " First of aU, about the publication of your manu- 
 scripts, a matter in which I take the warmest 
 interest. I have knocked once and again at the 
 publishers' doors for you. It is hard enough for 
 principals to get any tolerable terms out of book- 
 sellers, let alone third parties. At last I found 
 that the trees had prevented me from seeing the 
 wood. My brothers are booksellers, and a firm, 
 I think I may say, of good standing (Schumann 
 brothers, at Zwickau), and they will be happy to 
 take your metamorphosis of the text to Mozart, but 
 only on condition that you share the loss as well 
 as the profit. This, although I represented to 
 
302 APPENDIX. . 
 
 them the inconvenience of such an arrangement. 
 Now, you must decide, please. You can depend 
 upon everything being above board, and upon their 
 punctuality, whether you have a yearly or a shorter 
 account with them. It wiU be better for you to 
 apply direct to the house at Zwickau, in order to 
 arrive at something definite. 
 
 " Your essays and letter I have. AU excellent. 
 Wedel has been declared member of the Davidsbund, 
 whether you Hke it or not. Waldbriihl seems to 
 me too obvious a pseudonym, so I have changed it 
 to W. Briihl ; you wUl forgive me. If you read 
 our journal regularly (I hope you do, but should be 
 glad to know for certain), you will stand some chance 
 of improving your aquaintance with the Davids- 
 biindler. 
 
 " We shall be glad of innumerable pages out of 
 W.'s diary. If I can be of use in any other way, 
 I am at your service. Do you know anything of 
 the editor of the 'Yolkslieder' (along with Baum- 
 stark, of Heidelberg) ? Can you give me the 
 names of some people with a turn for poetry, who 
 could contribute to the joxirnal ? 
 
 "Yours very truly, 
 
 " E. Schumann." 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 303 
 
 (4) 
 
 " Leipzig, Good Friday, 1836. 
 
 " Dear Sir, — I congratulate you heartily on 
 your safe return. Don't keep me long waiting 
 Tjefore you teU me about your adventures, and wliat 
 you have seen ; send an account of yourself as soon 
 as you can. Something about Moscow would delight 
 me especially. The name of Moscow always sounds 
 in my ears like the sonorous stroke of a great bell. 
 If you like the tone of the Davidsbiindler letters 
 from Augsburg, Berlin, Dresden, and Munich, you 
 would do well to adopt it in your own. This is a 
 ^ood way of working up in an attractive manner a 
 number of facts and circumstances ; it gives a 
 certain compactness and colour to the journal, and 
 the people like it. You may picture to yourself 
 i;he Davidsbund as a kind of spiritual brotherhood, 
 though its visible branches are really pretty widely • 
 extended, and will in time, I hope, bear plenty of 
 golden fruit. The secrecy of the thing possesses 
 a great charm for many; and, like everything 
 mysterious, a peculiar power. Not that your 
 iormer letters from "Warsaw did not please me 
 
304 APPENDIX, 
 
 exceedingly ; indeed I regard them as some of the 
 best in my journal, as I have told you several times. 
 Your last letter but one enclosed the collection of 
 the ' Mosellieder,' and two essays which by this time 
 you will have read in print. The other MSS. ( ' Fest 
 zu Malin' (?), etc. [name doubtful] are safe in the 
 hands of my brother. Whether he will print the 
 ' Mosellieder' even on commission, I have my doubts. 
 He has at present a great undertaking on his hands, 
 the Universal Dictionary of Commerce, by E,. Schiebe, 
 which employs a good deal of his time and resources. 
 About the publication of your other manuscripts I 
 hope soon to be able to teU you for certain, as I 
 shall see my brother some weeks hence at the 
 Leipzig fair. Tour idea of laying the scene of a 
 tale at Moscow, I think a particularly happy one. 
 Perhaps I shall be able to do something for your 
 manuscript, but can't promise yet. I long to receive 
 your Moscow letters, and anything else from your 
 pen. If you don't hear from me for a considerable 
 time, you must put it down to a trip to the Ehine, 
 whither I am thinking of going with Mendelssohn 
 at the end of April. 
 
 I told Sonnenwald to send you your copy of the 
 ' Zeitschrift ' long ago, and have just stirred him up 
 
APPENDIX. 30s 
 
 again to despatch it. Tou had better inquire at 
 Sonnenwald's. 
 
 "Yours truly, 
 
 " E. Schumann." 
 (5) 
 
 Leipzig, July 2nd, 1836. 
 
 " Dear Sir, — The reason for my long and un- 
 grateful silence has lain in a good deal of distress 
 of mind, out of which I found it impossible to rouse 
 myself for work. It was music at last, and some 
 original musical work of my own especially, and 
 above all the restorative force of a young constitu- 
 tion, the woods and the green leaves, which have 
 brought back courage and energy.* My first lines 
 are to you. Like a child at a Christmas-tree, I 
 stood before your presents, and turned them care- 
 fully over and over. Then I grow angry with my- 
 self that I can do nothing with the booksellers, and 
 
 * The crisis alluded to, exercised a highly favourable in- 
 fluence on his creative power, as we also see from a passage 
 in a letter to his friend Dom (dated 1839) in which Schumann, 
 says " There is certainly much in my music of the struggle 
 which it cost me to win Clara, and I am sure you have under- 
 rstood it." 
 
 X 
 
3o6 APPENDIX. 
 
 can never get anything more encouraging than ' to-^ 
 morro-w' out of them, in spite of all my pains. 
 And the worst of them all (though it must be said 
 in his defence that he has a great deal of work on 
 his hands) is my own brother, with whom, by the 
 bye, your MSS. are all left. This is why I wanted 
 to wait, so as to prepare a little surprise for you, 
 but here I am agaia with empty hands. This of" 
 itself, after so much as I have received from you, is 
 enough to make me sad. Have sent to G. Schwab ; 
 and shall to the ' Elegante Zeitung.' But why are 
 you slow to write in your own name ? I called on 
 your friends as soon as I received the letter, which 
 came to me by a round-about way. And when I 
 took my chance of finding them at the Hotel de 
 Eussie, they had just left. A great pity indeed. 
 If you want a complete copy of the journal, please, 
 say so. Some weeks ago I sent you, through Sonnen- 
 wald, a parcel with all your essays, a pretty big 
 collection. I read out your last letter but one to 
 Mendelssohn : we both enjoyed it vastly. He says 
 he doesn't care for male part-songs {Mdnnergesang- 
 quartette), and doesn't think he can do anything in 
 that way. I hardly think so either. But he will 
 send you something next winter. Your oratorio I 
 
APPENDIX. 307 
 
 •will forward him to Frankfort in a day or two, if he 
 doesn't see it before in print. It seemed to make 
 such an excellent beginning to my new volume that 
 I anticipated your permission to publish it. The 
 last four lines I should like perhaps a little altered: 
 the repetition of ' fest ' is a little disagreeable You 
 will pardon my candour. 
 
 " My proposed journey to the Ehine (your native 
 place, is it not ? ) never came about ; my distress^ 
 had quite knocked me down. Since that, however, 
 some new airy shapes have found their way out of 
 me : one of them I should like to bear your name, 
 i. e. I should be glad to dedicate something to you. 
 " There are some things in my music which you 
 will positively dislike, if I may judge from your 
 former articles ; but our new movement cannot fail 
 to be intelligible, as a whole, to such a keen eye a» 
 yours, and is sure to meet with your sympathy and 
 help, I seem to feel that we are standing at the 
 begiiming of a new time, and that strings may 
 now be touched which have never been heard before. 
 May the future be with it, and some good genius- 
 bring it to perfection. 
 
 " Good-bye for to-day. Send me whatever pearla 
 you have in store. In my manifold occupations I 
 
 X 2 
 
3o8 APPENDIX. 
 
 ■want tlie assistance of others, and chiefly that of 
 trustworthy men like yourself. 
 
 "Tours truly, 
 
 "Egbert Schumann." 
 
 (6) 
 
 " Leipzic, October l^th, 1836. 
 
 " I received with joy everything you mention, 
 and only wish it were more. A biographical sketch 
 of [name illegible] would be particularly welcome to 
 my readers and myself. To judge by one of your 
 former letters, you seem to believe that some of 
 your MSS. are not yet printed, but this is the case 
 only with one — the dream about the prize sym- 
 phony ; sometimes I look at it with real reluctance. 
 There is so much in it that I like, and yet I think 
 it would do better for any other paper than the 
 ' Neue Zeitschrift,' which once for all is devoted to 
 youth and progress. Besides, the symphony of 
 Berlioz has just been so favourably reviewed in our 
 journal, that a new and entirely different opinion is 
 more likely to puzzle the reader than to be of any 
 use. 
 
 " Hr. Freier's songs are going to be noticed. On 
 the publishers of this place I have no influence 
 
APPENDIX. 309 
 
 whatever. I think it better for Hr. Freier to apply- 
 direct to Hofmeister. I have tried mysell' several 
 times to find a publisher for other people's MSS., 
 but have met with so many refusals that I really 
 don't care to ask any more. You can scarcely 
 believe how sorry I am for being obliged to say 
 this to you, to whom I owe so much. 
 
 "WiU you be kind enough to go once more 
 through your file of the ' Zeitschrift,' and teU me 
 exactly what numbers are wanting. I sent you 
 some time ago separate copies of all your articles ; 
 have you received them ? 
 
 " A "Warsawian composer, Nowakowski, who was 
 here for some weeks, mentioned to me a musical 
 periodical in the Polish language. Can you tell 
 me at all what it is like ? Last summer you an 
 nounced to me a Moscowite friend of yours, but 
 nobody has appeared yet. The musical season here 
 is at its height. Lypinsky is sure to pass "Warsaw. 
 I like him very much, both personally and as an 
 artist. I gave your MS. of the poem, ' Die Tonkunst, ' 
 to Mendelssohn; he sends his thanks and kind 
 regards; but for the present he cares more for 
 making love to his chosen than for composing. 
 
 '' Have you seen the ' Papillons ' and the sonata 
 
3X0 APPENDIX. 
 
 by Florestan and Eusebius ? I wish you would let 
 me know your opinion of them at once. Tou wUl 
 soon read a comprehensive article about them by 
 Moscheles, who is now in London.* Don't you 
 think it better to give sometmies another form to 
 your contributions ? Gottschalk f has become such 
 a dear friend of mine that I should be sorry to miss 
 him ; but I am obliged to plead for my readers. 
 Besides, new forms bring new ideas. 
 
 " Please ask me to do something for you which 
 is very difficult, otherwise I shall be too light in 
 the balance. 
 
 " I long for news of you ; please send me your let- 
 ters direct by post. New Tear is coming on ; do you 
 know anything to begin the new volume with ? 
 "Tours faithfully, 
 
 '' EoBEET Schumann.''^ 
 
 * Tliis sonata appeared under the title, ' Pianoforte-Sonate, 
 Clara zugeeignet von Florestan und Eusebius,' Op. ii. Mo- 
 scheles' criticism on it (dated London, October, 1836) may be 
 found in "Wasielewsky's ' Life of Schumann', 1st ed., p. 320. 
 
 t Gottschalk Wedel, the nom de plume of Zuccalmaglio, 
 already explained. 
 
 J In order to explain the last letter, it is necessary to 
 state the following facts. The Vienna Kunstverein had pro- 
 mised a prize to the composer of the best symphony. Herr 
 
APPENDIX. 31 T 
 
 (7) 
 
 " Leipzig, Jan. 31, 1837. 
 "My dear Sir, — First of all I must tell you 
 how I gave Mendelssohn, with whom I dine every 
 ■day, your article, ' Erste Tone.' I stood aside and 
 watched his face to see what impression would be 
 made upon him by your last sentence, which I 
 confess, had several times brought the tears into 
 my own eyes. He read the article attentively; 
 his face (what a glorious, divine face it is !) re- 
 vealed all his impressions as he went on. The 
 
 TOD. ZuccalmagKo seems to have been afraid the committee 
 might decide in favour of Berlioz, or a composer of his school, 
 and, to prevent this unpatriotic proceeding, he wrote, under 
 his favourite pseudonym, ' Gt-ottschalk Wedel,' the dream 
 mentioned in the letter, which, notwithstanding its romantic 
 form, showed a good deal of German Philistinism. In it he 
 abuses Berlioz's dramatic symphony, ' Episode de la Vie d'un 
 Artiste,' the great merits of which Schumann himself had 
 gladly acknowledged in the article alluded to. Z.'s fear, 
 however, proved to be unnecessary, for Lachner, a Munich 
 composer, won the prize. Schumann inserted Z.'s article with 
 a note of his own, in which he entirely disagrees with the 
 views of his friend and of the Vienna committee. Schumann's 
 and Z.'s article may be read now in the former's ' Gesammelte 
 Schriffcen,' 2nd ed., i. 68. and 131. 
 
312 APPENDIX. 
 
 further he got the more it seemed to light up, till 
 at last he came to the passage : it was a pity you 
 could not see him. ' Ha !' he cried, 'what's this?' 
 That is really too much; I am quite delighted. 
 . There are different kinds of praise, but this comes 
 from a pure heart.' And he went on to say a great 
 deal more. You should have seen him and heard 
 him : * Ten thousand thanks to the man who wrote 
 this.' So we went on until we dived into our 
 champagne. 
 
 ** The fact is, as I have long ago made up my 
 mind, ' there is no man who can write on music like 
 Wedel ;' and I think that I can read the same verdict 
 in the delicate but continual motion of Mendels- 
 sohn's countenance, which is a record of all that is 
 passing both within and without him. So full of 
 life is each word of your prose, so picturesque 
 are its little turns of expression, its cadences so 
 melodiously falling and rising; but enough of 
 this. 
 
 "Do you know his * St. Paul,' in which one beauty 
 relieves another without interruption ? He was the 
 first to grant to the Graces a place in the House of 
 God, where they certainly ought not to be for- 
 gotten. Hitherto they have not been able to make' 
 
APPENDIX. 31 J 
 
 their voices heard for the multitude of the fugues. 
 Do read ' St. Paul,' the sooner the better. You will 
 find in it nothing of Handel or Bach, whatever 
 people may say, except so far as all church music 
 must be alike. 
 
 '* Many thanks for your manifestoes. The ' Erste 
 Tone ' I received with your letter of October 28th, 
 only a fortnight ago." 
 
 " I wish I could see you and have a talk with 
 you this summer, only I am sorry that you are not 
 likely to find Mendelssohn here, as he hopes to- 
 spend the summer at Frankfort in the arms of his 
 beloved. Since he has been engaged he has become 
 quite a child. 
 
 " Have you got any little poems for music which 
 might be published in my paper ? For your tragedy 
 I can't do anything. As soon as he heard the word 
 
 * tragedy,' Mr. Booth stared at me from top to toe, 
 looking very much amazed. You had better collect 
 your ' "Wedeliana,' for which I shall hope to do 
 something, with God's help. 
 
 " I am very anxious to hear your opinion on 
 Florestan's sonata (the article about it in the^ 
 
 * Zeitschriffc ' was by Moscheles, as I think I told 
 you before). 
 
314 APPENDIX. 
 
 " Some one has just called, so farewell, and don't 
 forget 
 
 "Tour 
 
 " Schumann." 
 
 (8) 
 
 " Leipzig, April IQtl, 1837. 
 
 " My dear Sir, — I h.ad scarcely read your letter 
 when my brother, the publisher of Zwickau, who 
 had come for the Leipzig fair, entered my room, 
 and in answer to my hasty question about the 
 
 * Mosellieder ' told me they would be here in about 
 seven days and in print. I was very much sur- 
 prised to hear this, but am now rather afraid that 
 it may have been done without your full consent. 
 Please set me soon at ease about that. For the same 
 reason I have retained the parcel for Menzel in 
 Stuttgart, because you may now, perhaps, wish to 
 •dispose of it otherwise. 
 
 " The enterprising publisher, R. Freier of 
 -Leipzig, is engaged in printing your north-southern 
 
 * Furte.' Something occurs to me that might yet be 
 •done. Could you not add to these poems an intro- 
 duction in prose, as Goethe has done so admirably 
 to his ' Divan ' ? The number of unusual expres- 
 
APPENDIX. 315 
 
 sions ('Furte,' to begin with, was new to me) seems 
 to require some explanation, which, you might put 
 in a poetical form. 
 
 " The ' Splitterrichter ' I remember having read ; 
 but I must first search for it among my papers, which 
 can't be done in a moment. If you are particularly 
 in want of it, let me know. 
 
 " I shall be extremely glad to see you here. In 
 me, however, you must not expect to find much. 
 I scarcely ever talk, except ia the evening, and 
 most while playing the piano. The Florestan 
 sonata, and the back numbers which are wanting, I 
 prefer to give iato your own hands. If you don't 
 come soon, I am sorry to say, you won't find Men- 
 delssohn nor Bennet* (an angel of a musician), but, 
 in any case, David and Clara Wieck, both remark- 
 able people. 
 
 "Write to me please as soon as possible, and 
 send me heaps of articles ; the world wants them. 
 My paper has lately gained much ground. For 
 the next volume I hope to come to an arrange- 
 ment vnth another publisher, more favourable both 
 to myself and my contributors. Tou are, of course, 
 
 * Sir William Sterndale. 
 
316 APPENDIX. 
 
 the first I have to tlunk of, and in -whose debt I am 
 deepest. Keep me in your kind remembrance. 
 
 " Yours truly, 
 
 "E. Schumann." 
 
 (9) 
 
 Leipzig, May V^th, 1837. 
 
 " Be kind enough to receive at last from my 
 hands the first copy of your ' Furte.' The Eoman 
 characters I do not like, but it was too late to 
 change them. You will soon receive in a parcel 
 several copies of the ' Furte ' and also ten of your 
 ' Mosellieder : ' one of the latter, together with the 
 tragedy, has been sent to Menzel in Stuttgart, so 
 the most important things are settled. 
 
 " Of Bach's concerto in D minor only Mendels- 
 sohn has a copy. As soon as he comes back from 
 the Ehine — that is, not before the end of Septem- 
 ber — I shall have it copied out for you and my- 
 self ; I always considered it as one of the most 
 admirable productions in existence. 
 
 " I am very sorry that you can't come, because 
 I want to talk over several things with you which 
 it would require a great deal of time to explain in 
 writing. I have a variety of plans and schemes 
 
APPENDIX. 317 
 
 for wliicli I want your assistance. First of all, I 
 liave thought' for a long time of giving real life to 
 the Davidsbund by bringing men of the same 
 opinion (even if not professional musicians) in a 
 closer connection by means of letters and symbols. 
 If Academies, with dunces at their heads, designate 
 their members, why should not we, the younger 
 generation, nominate ourselves ? There is another 
 idea which has a great attraction for me, and which, 
 though of more general importance, might be con- 
 nected with the former ; that is, to found an agency 
 for publishing works of all composers who would sub- 
 mit to its statutes. It would aim at preserving for 
 the composer the profits which hitherto have been 
 almost entirely absorbed by the publisher. The 
 only thing required is to engage an agent for the 
 business, whose rights would be legally secured. 
 The composer would have to make a deposit for 
 the publishing expenses of his work, and receive, 
 say once a year, an account of the sale and the 
 overplus due after the expenses have been paid. 
 Thus much to-day. Please consider the matter 
 carefully by yourself ; perhaps it might be realised 
 some day for the great benefit of composers. Please 
 think about it and let me know your opinion. 
 
3i8 APPENDIX. 
 
 I should have liked to sound you a little on 
 another point, whether we might not publish 
 together in a double work our past and future ideas- 
 on music, your ' Wedeliana' and my ' Davidsbiind- 
 leriana.' For many of them it would be a pity that 
 they should be buried in a periodical. My brother- 
 would be the publisher. All we should have to do 
 would be to amalgamate our work in an interesting- 
 form, and on this point it would of course be neces- 
 sary to come to some agreement. 
 
 "To all this, my excellent friend, I hope you. 
 will devote a few hours of your meditations. It 
 seems to me often, as if I had not very long to 
 live, iand so I should like to do more work before^ 
 I die. I am longing for your answer. 
 " Yours faithfully, 
 
 "Egbert Schumann." 
 
 (10) 
 
 Leipzig, August 20^^, 1837. 
 
 " My dear Sir, — The reason why I have kept 
 you waiting so long for an answer to so many 
 kindnesses of yours, is partly because my hope for 
 Mr. Ernemann's arrival is still a mere hope. I was 
 
APPENDIX. 31^ 
 
 anxious to tell Mm all I had to say, my esteem and 
 all I feel for you. It now seems doubtful whether 
 lie will come at all ; some weeks ago he sent from 
 Dresden some manuscripts of yours ; since then 
 everything has been silent again. 
 
 " Now let us begin about our music. I am in som& 
 difficulty about your letter on Berlioz, as I was 
 before about that of L., which really is exaggerated. 
 May I tell you the reason why it was accepted ? 
 It is not a very noble one, but it is always best to 
 speak out the plain truth. L. sent me the letter, 
 and at the same time asked me urgently for money. 
 This I gave him with pleasure ; but then I did not 
 wish to be the loser by it, and, besides, as I have 
 worked for the paper for years, I don't want to pay 
 money out of my own pocket ; and so it happened. 
 Besides — ^pardon me for saying so — you judge the 
 overture without having heard it. You have no- 
 idea what he contrives to make out of the orchestra- 
 If you have heard a good performance of the over- 
 ture and stm wish to have your article published, 
 I shall do so with pleasure. Altogether the whole- 
 business is not worth all this trouble, and the point 
 is more or less settled by a short notice of the over- 
 ture in a former volume. My opinion as therein. 
 
320 APPENDIX. 
 
 expressed seems to be quite correct even now. I 
 am only sorry that you should have written your 
 excellent article to no purpose. Perhaps you can 
 propose a compromise. 
 
 "Your other letter I must keep back until 
 things are more advanced. If I printed it now, 
 and the foundation of my great German " Artistic 
 Union" should afterwards come to nought, the 
 effect would be rather ridiculous. So I must ask 
 you to have a little patience. 
 
 ''The article against Nikolai was remarkably 
 good and carried conviction with it in every word. 
 Don't forget to write more of that kind. By the 
 bye, which concerto of Bach's do you want to have 
 copied out — the one for three pianos, or that for 
 one ? Perhaps you would also like to have a copy 
 of his great mass in B minor? I should like for 
 once to make you one or two Christmas presents. 
 Write and tell me what you wish to have. 
 
 " As for Freier's manuscripts, I sent them off to 
 Messrs. Schott as early as the Easter fair. Haven't 
 you received yet a copy of the 'Mosellieder?' They 
 have been despatched safely from here, as well as 
 the copies for your brother at Cologne. All the 
 manuscripts you sent me are in my brother's hands. 
 
APPENDIX. 321 
 
 He is so difficult to manage that I am sorry I 
 have recommended him to you. Do you still like 
 the idea of writiag new words to Mozart's operas ? 
 To, tell you the truth I think it impossible. 
 
 " I am oyer head and ears in work, and so must 
 finish with my kindest regards and in the hope of 
 an early answer. 
 
 " Tours truly, 
 
 " Egbert Schumann." 
 
 • (11) 
 
 This letter refers almost entirely to private matters. I 
 select the following characteristic passages : — 
 
 Leipzig, Jcmuary \Zth, 1838. 
 " I fpr my own part understand Berlioz as 
 
 clearly as the blue sky above me 
 
 I think there is really a new time in music coming. 
 It must come. Fifty years have worked great 
 changes and carried us on a good deal further." 
 And about Henselt — 
 
 " Ask him to play to you for hours together, and 
 then only will you learn how to appreciate and 
 admire him. Of all pianists (and I have heard all 
 
 T 
 
322 APPENDIX. 
 
 of them and often) he has given me the greatest 
 pleasure." 
 
 (12) 
 
 Leipzig, August 8th, 1838. 
 
 " My dearest Friend, — I have to tell you an 
 important piece of news to-day, but you must not 
 let any one else hear about it. I should have pre- 
 ferred to communicate it to you personally, but 
 now there is some uncertainty whether you will 
 find me still here when you come in October. The 
 thing is that the ' Zeitschrift ' will appear from the 
 1st of January, 1839, at Yienna, where I am going 
 myself at the end of September. I hope to derive 
 much good by this change — a new round of life, 
 new work, and new ideas. I thint I can do a 
 great deal where people swim in confusion ' like 
 flies in the buttermilk,' as Jetter says. But now, my 
 dear Wedel, give me your hand and promise me 
 not to leave me ia the lurch in my new place. I 
 shall have many troubles to get over ; and we shall 
 have to go on rather gently, as the censorship is 
 strict and wiU suppress freely. 
 
 " First of all, you would oblige me by sending 
 
APPENDIX. 323 
 
 for some time to come as much. MS. as you pos- 
 sibly can. From October till December my ' vocal ' 
 minister, Oswald Lorenz, is going to look after the 
 editing of the journal, and I must not leave him in 
 want of matter. 
 
 " In the second place, I want you to think about 
 an article on the new arrangement, its consequences, 
 etc., to grace the first number that appears in 
 Yienna. You know how to manage this so 
 delicately that I always like to let you have the 
 first word, and I am sure to be prevented by 
 business from undertaking work at any great 
 length for the next time. Your introductory essay 
 ought to be with me in Yienna by the end of 
 November at the latest. My exact address I shall 
 let you have before long. 
 
 " I am getting continually deeper and deeper in 
 your debt, and I must ask you to think about 
 settling accounts. 
 
 " Many thanks for all you have sent me lately ; 
 it is all going to be published by-and-by. Some of 
 the musical quotations of Eisner's ' Passion Music ' 
 had to be left out, as they would have taken up too 
 much room. 'But I thought whether the march, 
 which is a whole in itself and which I also like 
 
 t2 
 
324 APPENDIX. 
 
 extremely, might not be publislied in one of the 
 next musical supplements. You would oblige by a 
 line about that, Ernemann's songs smiled at me 
 out of a heap of music, like blossoms, especially some 
 of them ; they will be noticed in the ' Zeitschriffc.' 
 Perhaps Ernemann has something (for four voices) 
 in store for the supplements. 
 
 ••' Many thanks also for the ' Popular Songs,'' 
 although I must confess that I have not always 
 been pleased with the accompaniment. At times it 
 does not seem to be natural enough. But then 
 of course I listen with the ears of a musician, and 
 even in a popular song I can't stand fifths and 
 octaves, although one sometimes meets with them 
 in such pieces. 
 
 " Gottschalk will find his name on 'Einderscenen,' 
 which are going to appear under my own. He is 
 sure to find some little pleasure in them, for they 
 come from the bottom of my heart. 
 
 "A Nuremberg merchant brought me your letter 
 and account. I gave him what I had — not much,^ 
 I am sorry to say. 
 
 "Good-bye for to-day; I recommend my plans 
 to your consideration, and hope to hear from you, 
 or better to see you soon. " Tours, 
 
 " K. Schumann." 
 
APPENDIX. 32s 
 
 (13) 
 
 Vienna, October XQth, 1838. 
 
 " My dear Friend, — I regret to hear that you 
 iave been in Leipzig .without my being there to 
 receive you, an event to which I have always 
 looked forward with so much, pleasure. . But you 
 are sure to have found a trusty companion in the 
 excellent G \name iUegible]. I am sorry you did not 
 find Idomeneo, but you must not blame me for that. 
 I bad written to my brother immediately, but he 
 was on his way to Leipzig, so the letter missed 
 Tiim, and this accounts for tbe delay. Have you 
 not got it yet ? I have reminded him again from 
 here. 
 
 " Now, I should like to hear about yourself — 
 iow you are, and if you still remember me and the 
 ' Zeitschrift.' I have not heard from Leipzig that 
 you left anything for my paper. Have you for- 
 gotten all about the ' Baurede,' or have you any- 
 -thing else fit for the first numbers of the new 
 volume, which is to come out in Vienna? The 
 .Viennese would like best something cheerful — ■ 
 story -like, not by any means Catilinarian, which 
 4hey don't understand. 
 
326 APPENDIX. 
 
 "At the same time, the publication of the- 
 * Zeitschrift ' in Vienna is not yet a settled affair^ 
 You can't helieve how many difficulties the censorship 
 makes, and also the publishers, who are frightened 
 for the glory of their Strauss, Proch, and others. 
 Still I hope to arrange it before the new year, 
 and therefore ask you to send me your contribu- 
 tions for the next volume direct by post to Vienna. 
 I long for a letter from you. 
 
 " Heuser the singer is here ; he has a most com- 
 plete collection of Bach's compositions, especially 
 many unpublished pieces, and is glad to place at 
 disposal what he is asked for. If you want any- 
 thing that Mr. Ememann does not possess, I'll have- 
 it copied out for you. 
 
 "About Vienna itself I have my own ideas;. 
 I don't think I am suited for these kind of people ; 
 their flippancy is really sometimes too much for me.- 
 Still a closer acquaintance with single individuals- 
 will, I am sure, modify my opinions in many 
 respects. 
 
 " Keep me in kind remembrance. I now want 
 my Wedel more than ever. Seyfried asked after 
 you with the greatest interest. 
 
APPENDIX. 327 
 
 "Now you know all I have to ask you; let me 
 soon have a kind word from you. 
 
 " Yours truly, 
 
 " E. Schumann." 
 
 (14) 
 
 Vienna, March 10th, 1839. 
 
 "My dear Sir and Friend, — Although I have 
 not written to you for a long time, I have been 
 constantly in intellectual intercourse with you. I 
 always waited in order to tell you definitely 
 about the settling down here both of myself and my 
 paper. Now I am able to do so. Neither I nor 
 my paper are to remain in this city, which I find is 
 not the right place for either of them. After care- 
 ftd consideration, I came to the conclusion that the 
 thing couldn't be done advantageously. The chief 
 inpediment was the censorship. At the end of April, 
 at the latest, I shall be back in Leipzig, with re- 
 newed strength to carry on my journal, which it 
 must be confessed has suffered during my absence. 
 Everything remains as it was ; and I also hope to 
 find your friendship unaltered. Tour last letter, 
 together with your Warsaw friend's contributions, I 
 
328 APPENDIX. 
 
 received some time ago j many thanks. The Am 
 Maria and Jagdlied by Ememann I like very much, 
 but of D'Alquen I am not able to say the same ; 
 he seems even wanting in technical skill. The 
 essay 'Erste Tone' is exquisite. Next first of May 
 I intend to constitute our ' Davidsbund ' by means of 
 an article in the ' Zeitschriffc.' I should like you to 
 read it first, were it not for the long distance which 
 divides us. May I hope to find a letter from you 
 in Leipzig ? How are you, and what are you work- 
 ing at ? The Stuttgart ' Nationalzeitung ' is going 
 to become a highly respectable bully, against which 
 we must be on our guard. The editor is very weak 
 as a musician, but he knows how to puff. But 
 enough for this time, and don't forget 
 
 " Tours truly, 
 
 " SCHITMANN." 
 
 (15) 
 
 " Leipzig, April ^Ith, 1839. 
 
 " My deavest Sir and Eriend, — I have returned 
 safely, although the first thing I learned was the 
 news of a death in our family. You will also 
 understand that after the last half-year I had many 
 
APPENDIX ,329 
 
 arrears to get through ; and that is why I have not 
 answered your kind letter before now. The absence 
 fi:om my paper I believe has been to some advan- 
 tage. It now smiles on me as young and fresh as 
 when we first started it; and just now diligence 
 and perseverance are more necessary than ever. 
 The Stuttgart ' Universalist ' begins to ' wax fat ; ' 
 and notwithstanding his being an arch humbug, 
 without, as I think, the vaguest idea of music, yet he 
 knows how to manipulate words and titles, and 
 therefore must be checked somehow. I can't 
 understand how those old gentlemen, like Spohr, 
 Schneider, and others, can let themselves be imposed 
 upon by such a windy braggart. Perhaps he will 
 make you also his corresponding member, as he did 
 me without my knowledge. An impertinent fellow, 
 with whom it is better to have nothing to do. 
 
 " I am glad to hear about the news which Mr. 
 Ememann has brought from Petersburg. I hope 
 you'll think of me. Some time ago I received a note 
 from "Warsaw, signed Wahrlich, which complains 
 of several things in your letters, etc. It did not 
 seem important enough to send it on to you. I'll 
 keep it for you in case you come to Leipzig. I 
 hope you wiLL come ; I shaU stay here in any case 
 
330 APPENDIX. 
 
 during summer. I hope that something of the- 
 \worS, illegible^ will please you, especially if I play 
 my own things on the piano, and am in a happy 
 mood. I wish you would look at the ' Kinderscenen,' 
 and say something about it with your genial "Wede- 
 lian vein. My note-paper has come to an end. 
 Only let me add my kindest regards. 
 
 " E. SCHTJMANN." 
 
 (16) 
 
 "Leipzig, Dec. Zlst, 1840. 
 
 ''My dear Sir and Friend, — First of aU I have 
 to thank you for your ready assistance. You have 
 recalled Thibaut's image to my mind in the most 
 lively manner. Tour paper adorns the first number 
 of the new volume of the ' Zeitschrift,' for which I 
 hope you will preserve your further kind sympathy .^ 
 
 ''I am sorry I don't know E \name illegible] at 
 all ; but even if I did, it woidd be of no great use 
 for your purposes. Every one describes him as an 
 obstinate, stiff-necked fellow, who won't listen to 
 advice. None of my friends are acquainted with 
 him. The best thing for you is to send him your 
 MS. to read. Have you no connections at Dres- 
 den — through Liittichau, Miltitz, or Tieck ? Tour 
 
APPENDIX. 331 
 
 piece -would be in the best bands there. Our 
 comedy and tragedy are less than middling. 
 
 " I send you tbe 'Myrtben' and tbree little songs. 
 Perhaps you "will find an opportunity of having 
 the songs sung to you by beautiful lips : they sound 
 very nice; I heard them the day before yesterday. 
 The 'Myrthen' of course give a deeper insight into 
 the secret of my musical work. I wish I could 
 have added my cycle of Heine's Songs ; but I have 
 no copy left. Several other things have also ap- 
 peared lately about which I hope to converse with 
 you before long. Music is sure to absorb me 
 entirely ; I always have to tear myself from it by 
 force. But enough. Everythiag else I must tell 
 you personally. 
 
 " I have still another question and favour to ask 
 you. A certain Dr. v. Kaiserlingk of Berlin offers 
 me his services as correspondent, on the introduc- 
 tion of the publisher. Do you know him at all ? 
 Hard experience has made me cautious. Perhaps- 
 you can tell me about him. 
 
 " I should wish to know your address ; I don't 
 like to get at you always through the medium of 
 third persons. Also tell me when you are really- 
 coming to Leipzig. 
 
J32 APPENDIX. 
 
 " Please write to me soon, and keep me in kind 
 remembrance. 
 
 "Tours truly, 
 
 "EoB. Schumann. 
 
 " Hiller writes from Milan to say tliat he is en- 
 gaged to the Polish lady we wot of. Did I tell 
 you that he sent you a letter to "Warsaw, addressed 
 ' Gottschalk Wedel,' which you of course did not 
 get?" 
 
 (17) 
 
 "Leipzig, Jarmwry 2Srd, 1844 
 "My dearest Friend, — I have owed you an 
 answer for a long time, and even now I can only 
 send you a short note. I stand with one foot in 
 the carriage to start for a long pilgrimage to Peters- 
 burg and Moscow. Before, I was prevented from 
 writing by my indecision about the opera-text, and 
 also by the performances of my Peri here and at 
 Dresden. On both occasions I got much" pleasure, 
 and perhaps some honour. Now I should Hke to 
 begin an opera soon; but for the present this 
 northward journey compels me to abandon all plans 
 -and preparations of this kind. But how excellent 
 
APPENDIX. 333, 
 
 it will be if I find some work to go on with on my 
 retm-n at the beginning of May. For this I hope 
 you will give me your kind assistance. In spite of 
 your objections, I have not yet abandoned Mokanna. 
 But it is from the same book as the Perij and the 
 scene also Oriental; therefore I think I'll keep it 
 for a later period. Best of all, I like your plan of 
 the 'Invasion of Spain by the Moors.' Please 
 think about it. I should be but too happy to find 
 the drama finished for my return in May. This I 
 wanted to ask you. 
 
 "Please don't forget the 'Zeitschrift' during my 
 absence, and favour it with frequent contributions. 
 I shall resign the editorship before long, but always 
 take the greatest interest in its welfare. 
 
 "My kindest regards to you. Please address 
 letter to the care of Friese as heretofore. 
 
 " Tours truly, 
 
 "Egbert Schumann." 
 
 THE END. 
 
 FBINIXD BY TAYLOB AITS CO., 
 IITTLB IJDBKH BIEBEI, LINOOLir'S ISS MBtBB.