But for the present it seemed as though the flood of enthusiasm would bear down all opposition. The performance of Lohengrin, which I attended, was made the occasion of a frantic ovation, such as I have only experienced from the Viennese public. I was urged to have both my other operas presented also, but felt a sort of shyness at the thought of a repet.i.tion of that evening's occurrences. As I had now fully realised the serious weaknesses in the performance of Tannhauser, I only agreed to a revival of the Fliegender Hollander, for the reason that I wished to hear the singer Beck, who excelled in that opera. On this occasion also the public indulged in similar manifestations of delight, so that, backed up by universal favour, I could begin to consider the main business on which I had come. The students of the University offered me the honour of a torchlight procession, which I declined, thereby winning the hearty approval of Esser, who, together with the chief officials of the Opera, asked me how these triumphs could be turned to account. I then presented myself to Count Lanckoronski, the Controller of the Emperor's household, who had been described to me as a peculiar person, totally ignorant of art and all its requirements. When I unfolded to him my request that he would graciously grant leave of absence for a fairly long period to the chief singers of his Opera, namely, Frau Dustmann (nee Luise Meyer), Herr Beck, and probably also Herr Ander, for the proposed performance of Tristan in Karlsruhe, the old gentleman dryly answered that it was quite impossible. He thought it much more reasonable, seeing I was satisfied with his company, that I should produce my new work in Vienna, and the courage necessary to refuse this proposition melted completely away.

As I descended the steps of the Hofburg, lost in meditation over this new turn of affairs, a stately gentleman of unusually sympathetic mien came to meet me at the door, and offered to accompany me in the carriage to my hotel. This was Joseph Standhartner, a famous physician, who was exceedingly popular in high circles, an earnest devotee of music, thenceforth destined to be a faithful friend to me all my life.

Karl Tausig had also sought me out, and was now devoting his energies to Vienna, with the express determination of conquering this field for Liszt's compositions, and had opened his campaign there during the previous winter with a series of orchestral concerts, started and conducted by himself. He introduced me to Peter Cornelius, who had also been drawn to Vienna, and whom I only knew from our meeting in Bale in 1853. They both raved about the recently published pianoforte arrangement of Tristan, which Bulow had prepared. In my room at the hotel, whither Tausig had transported a Bosendorff grand-piano, a musical orgy was soon in full swing. They would have liked me to have started rehearsing Tristan at once; and, in any case, I was now so bent on securing the acceptance of the proposal that my work should first be performed here, that I finally quitted Vienna with a promise to return in a few months, in order to start the preliminary study at once.

I felt no little embarra.s.sment at the prospect of communicating my change of plan to the Grand Duke, and therefore readily yielded to the impulse of only visiting Karlsruhe after a long detour. As my birthday fell just at the time of this return journey, I resolved to celebrate it at Zurich. I reached Winterthur, via Munich, without delay, and hoped to meet my friend Sulzer there. Unfortunately he was away, and I only saw his wife, who had a pathetic interest for me, and also their little son, a lively and attractive boy. Sulzer himself, I learned, was expected back the next day, the 22nd of the month, and I accordingly spent most of the day in a small room at the inn. I had brought Goethe's Wilhelm Meister's Wanderjahre with me, and now for the first time was enraptured by fuller comprehension of this wonderful production. The spirit of the poet attracted me most profoundly to his work by the impression left on my mind by his lively description of the breaking-up of the players' company, in which the action almost becomes a furious lyric. Next morning at early dawn I returned to Zurich. The wonderfully clear air decided me to try the long and circuitous path through the familiar haunts of the Sihlthal to Wesendonck's estate.

Here I arrived quite unannounced; and when I inquired what the habits of the household were, I learned that about this time Wesendonck usually came down to his dining-room to breakfast alone. There I accordingly seated myself in a corner, where I awaited the tall, good-tempered man, who, on entering quietly for his morning coffee, broke out into joyous astonishment on beholding me. The day pa.s.sed most sociably; Sulzer, Semper, Herwegh, and Gottfried Keller were all sent for, and I thoroughly enjoyed the satisfaction of a well-contrived surprise, under such strange circ.u.mstances, as my recent fate had only just been forming the daily topic of animated discussion among these friends.

The next day I hurried back to Karlsruhe, where my announcement was received by the Grand Duke with kindly acquiescence. I could truly state that my request for leave of absence for the singers had been refused, and the projected performance in Karlsruhe thereby rendered impossible. Without any grief, but, on the contrary, with undisguised satisfaction, Eduard Devrient yielded to this fresh turn of affairs, and prophesied a splendid future for me in Vienna. Here Tausig overtook me, having already decided in Vienna to pay a visit to Paris, where he wished to see Liszt; and we accordingly continued our journey from Karlsruhe together by way of Strasburg.

When I reached Paris, I found my household on the point of breaking up.

My only anxiety with regard to this was to procure means for getting away from the city, and for the prompt settlement of a future which seemed hopeless. Meanwhile Minna found an opportunity for exhibiting her talents as a housewife. Liszt had already fallen back into his old current of life, and even his own daughter, Blandine, could only manage to get a word with him in his carriage, as he drove from one visit to another. Nevertheless, impelled by his goodness of heart, he found time once to accept an invitation to 'beef-steaks' at my house. He even managed to spare me a whole evening, for which he kindly placed himself at my disposal for the settlement of my small obligations. In the presence of a few friends, who had remained true after the recent days of trouble, he played the piano to us on this occasion, during which a curious coincidence occurred. The day before poor Tausig had filled up a spare hour by playing Liszt's 'Fantaisie' on the name of Bach, [Footnote: The notes B, A, C, H, are equivalent to our English B flat, A, C, B.--Editor.] and now when Liszt chanced to play us the same piece, he literally collapsed with amazement before this wonderful prodigy of a man.

Another day we met for lunch at Gounod's, when we had a very dull time, which was only enlivened by poor Baudelaire, who indulged in the most outrageous witticisms. This man, crible de dettes, as he told me, and daily compelled to adopt the most extravagant methods for a bare subsistence, had repeatedly approached me with adventurous schemes for the exploitation of my notorious fiasco. I could not on any account consent to adopt any of these, and was glad to find this really capable man safe under the eagle-wing of Liszt's 'ascendency.' Liszt took him everywhere where there was a possibility of a fortune being found.

Whether this helped him into anything or not, I never knew. I only heard that he died a short time afterwards, certainly not from an excess of good fortune.

In addition to this festive morning, I met Liszt again at a dinner at the Austrian emba.s.sy, on which occasion he once more showed his kindly sympathy by playing several pa.s.sages from my Lohengrin on the piano to Princess Metternich. He was also summoned to a dinner at the Tuileries, to which, however, it was not thought necessary to invite me to accompany him. With regard to this he related a conversation, which was very much to the point, with the Emperor Napoleon about the episode of my Tannhauser performances in Paris, the upshot of which appears to have been that I was not in my right place at the Grand Opera House.

Whether Liszt ever discussed these matters with Lamartine I do not know, I only heard that my old friend several times addressed him, to try and arrange a meeting with him, for which I was very anxious.

Tausig, who at first had taken refuge chiefly with me, fell back later into his natural dependence upon his master, so that in the end he quite vanished from my sight, when he went with Liszt to visit Mme.

Street in Brussels.

I was now longing to leave Paris. I had fortunately managed to get rid of my house in the Rue d'Aumale by sub-letting it, a transaction in which I was helped by a present of a hundred francs to the concierge, and was now merely waiting for news from my protectors. As I did not wish to press them, my situation became most painfully prolonged, though it was not altogether devoid of pleasant but tantalising incidents. For instance, I had won the special favour of Mlle. Eberty, Meyerbeer's elderly niece. She had been an almost rabid partisan of my cause during the painful episode of the Tannhauser performances, and now seemed earnestly desirous of doing something to brighten my cheerless situation. With this object she arranged a really charming dinner in a first-cla.s.s restaurant in the Bois de Boulogne, to which we and Kietz, of whom we were not yet rid, were invited, and which took place in lovely spring weather. The Flaxland family also, with whom I had had some differences over the publication of Tannhauser, now exerted themselves in every possible way to show me kindness, but I could only wish that they had had no reason for doing so.

It was now settled that we must at all costs leave Paris soon. It was proposed that Minna should resume her treatment at the Soden baths and also revisit her old friends in Dresden, while I was to wait until it was time for me to return to Vienna for the preliminary study of my Tristan. We decided to deposit all our household belongings, well packed, with a forwarding-agent in Paris. While thus occupied with thoughts of our painfully delayed departure, we also discussed the difficulty of transporting our little dog Fips by rail. One day, the 22nd of June, my wife returned from a walk, bringing the animal back with her, in some mysterious way dangerously ill. According to Minna's account, we could only think that the dog had swallowed some virulent poison spread in the street. His condition was pitiable. Though he showed no marks of outward injury, yet his breathing was so convulsive that we thought his lungs must be seriously damaged. In his first frantic pangs he had bitten Minna violently in the mouth, so that I had sent for a doctor immediately, who, however, soon relieved our fears that she had been bitten by a mad dog.

But we could get no relief for the poor animal. He lay quietly curled up, and his breathing grew steadily shorter and more violent. Towards eleven o'clock at night he seemed to have fallen asleep under Minna's bed, but when I drew him out he was dead. The effect of this melancholy event upon Minna and myself was never expressed in words. In our childless life together the influence of domestic pets had been very important. The sudden death of this lively and lovable animal acted as the final rift in a union which had long become impossible. For the moment I had no more urgent care than to rescue the body from the usual fate of dead dogs in Paris, that of being flung out into the street for the scavengers to carry off in the morning. My friend Sturmer had a small garden behind his house in the Rue de la Tour des Dames, where I wished to bury Fips the next day. But it cost me a rare expenditure of persuasion to induce the absent owner's housekeeper to give me permission to do so. At last, however, with the help of the concierge of our house, I dug a small grave, as deep as possible, among the bushes of the garden, for the reception of our poor little pet. When the sad ceremony was completed, I covered up the grave with the utmost care and tried to make the spot as indistinguishable as possible, as I had a suspicion that Herr Sturmer might object to harbouring the dog's body, and have it removed, a misfortune which I strove to prevent.

At last Count Hatzfeld announced in the kindliest possible manner that some friends of my art, who wished to remain unknown, sympathising with my unmerited condition, had united to offer me the means of relieving my burdensome position. I considered it fitting to express my thanks for this happy consummation only to my patroness, Princess Metternich, and now set about making arrangements for the final dissolution of my Paris establishment. My first care, after concluding all these necessary labours, was to see that Minna set out at once for Germany to begin her treatment; while, as for myself, I had no better object there for the present than to pay a visit to Liszt in Weimar, where in August a German-music festival was to be celebrated with farewell performances of Liszt's compositions. Moreover Flaxland, who had now taken courage to issue my other operas in French, wished to retain me in Paris until, in collaboration with Truinet, I had completed the translation of the Fliegender Hollander. For this work I needed several weeks, which it was impossible for me to spend in our apartments, now entirely stripped of furniture. Count Pourtales, hearing of this, invited me to take up my abode for this period in the Prussian emba.s.sy, a remarkable and indeed in its way unprecedented act of kindness which I accepted with a grat.i.tude full of foreboding. On the 12th of July I saw Minna off to Soden, and the same day went to reside at the emba.s.sy, where they a.s.signed me a pleasant little room looking out upon the garden, with a view of the Tuileries in the distance. In a pool in the garden there were two black swans, to which, in a dreamy sort of way, I felt strangely attracted. When young Hatzfeld looked me up in my room, to make inquiries about my needs in the name of my well-wishers, a strong emotion overwhelmed me for the first time in many years, and I felt a profound sense of well-being in the midst of a condition of complete impecuniosity and detachment from everything usually considered as necessary for permanent existence.

I asked permission to have my Erard brought to my room for the period of my stay, as it had not been packed away with the rest of my furniture, whereupon a handsome room was given up to me on the first floor. Here I worked every morning at the translation of my Fliegender Hollander, and also composed two musical alb.u.m pieces, one of which, intended for Princess Metternich, contained a pretty theme which had long floated in my mind, and was afterwards published, while a similar one, for Frau Pourtales, got somehow mislaid.

My intercourse with the family of my friend and host had not only a soothing influence upon my spirit, but also filled me with calm content. We dined together daily, and the midday meal often developed into the well-known 'diplomatic dinner.' I here made acquaintance with the former Prussian minister, Bethmann-Hollweg, the father of Countess Pourtales, with whom I discussed in detail my ideas respecting the relations between art and the state. When at last I had succeeded in making them clear to the minister, our conversation closed with the fatal a.s.sertion that such an understanding with the supreme head of the state would always remain an impossibility, seeing that in his eyes art belonged merely to the realm of amus.e.m.e.nt.

In addition to Count Hatzfeld, the two other attaches, Prince Reuss and Count Donhoff, often shared these domestic gatherings. The former seemed to be the politician of the company, and was particularly commended to me on account of the great and able efforts he had made on my behalf at the Imperial Court, while the latter simply appealed to me by his looks and by his attractive and open-hearted friendliness. Here, too, I was again frequently brought into social contact with Prince and Princess Metternich, but I could not help noticing that a certain embarra.s.sment marked our demeanour. Owing to her energetic complicity in the fate of Tannhauser, Princess Pauline had not only been subjected to the coa.r.s.est handling by the press, but had also suffered the most ungallant and ill-natured treatment at the hands of so-called higher society. Her husband seems to have borne all this very well, though doubtless he experienced many a bitter moment. It was difficult for me now to understand what compensation the Princess could have found in a genuine sympathy for my art for all she had been obliged to endure.

Thus I frequently spent the evenings in familiar intercourse with my amiable hosts, and was even seduced into trying to instruct them about Schopenhauer. On one occasion a larger evening a.s.sembly led to almost intoxicating excitement. Selections from several of my works were vivaciously played in a circle of friends all very much prepossessed in my favour. Saint-Saens took the piano, and I had the unusual experience of hearing the final scene of Isolde rendered by the Neapolitan Princess Campo-Reale, who, to that excellent musician's accompaniment, sang it with a beautiful German accent and an astounding faithfulness of intonation.

I thus pa.s.sed three weeks in peace and quiet. Meanwhile, Count Pourtales had procured me a superior Prussian ministerial pa.s.sport for my projected visit to Germany, his attempt to get me a Saxon pa.s.sport having failed, owing to the nervousness of Herr von Seebach.

This time, before taking leave of Paris--for ever, as I supposed--I felt impelled to bid an intimate farewell to the few French friends who had stood by me loyally in the difficulties I had overcome. We met at a cafe in Rue Lafitte--Gasperini, Champfleury, Truinet and I--and talked until late in the night. When I was about to start on my homeward way to the Faubourg St. Germain, Champfleury, who lived on the heights of Montmartre, declared that he must take me home, because we did not know whether we should ever see each other again. I enjoyed the exquisite effect of the bright moonlight on the deserted Paris streets; only the huge business firms, whose premises extend to the uppermost floors, seemed to have turned night into day in a picturesque fashion, particularly those houses which have been pressed into the service of trade in the Rue Richelieu. Champfleury smoked his short pipe and discussed with me the prospects of French politics. His father was, he told me, an old Bonapartist of the first water, but had been moved to exclaim, a short time before, after reading the papers day after day, 'Pourtant, avant de mourir je voudrais voir autre chose.' We parted very affectionately at the door of the emba.s.sy.

I took leave in equally friendly fashion of a young Parisian friend, who has not yet been mentioned--Gustave Dore--who had been sent to me by Ollivier at the very outset of my Paris venture. He had proposed to make a fantastic drawing of me in the act of conducting, without, it is true, ever realising his intention. I do not know why, except, perhaps, that I did not show any particular inclination for it. Dore remained loyal to me, however, and was one of those who made a point of demonstrating their friendship just now in their extreme indignation at the outrage inflicted on me. This extraordinarily prolific artist proposed to include the Nibelungen among his many subjects for ill.u.s.tration, and I wished first to make him acquainted with my interpretation of this cycle of legends. This was undoubtedly difficult, but as he a.s.sured me he had a friend well versed in the German language and German literature, I gave myself the pleasure of presenting him with the recently published pianoforte score of Rheingold, the text of which would give him the clearest idea of the plan on which I had moulded the material. I thus returned the compliment of his having sent me a copy of his ill.u.s.trations to Dante, which had just appeared.

Full of pleasant and agreeable impressions, which formed the only actual gain of real worth that I reaped from my Paris enterprise, I left the generous asylum offered by my Prussian friends the first week in August to go, first, to Soden by way of Cologne. Here I found Minna in the society of Mathilde Schiffner, who seemed to have become indispensable to her as an easy victim for her tyranny. I spent two extremely painful days there in trying to make the poor woman understand that she was to establish herself at Dresden (where I was not at present allowed to stay), while I looked about me in Germany--in Vienna first--for a new centre of operations. She glanced at her friend with peculiar satisfaction on hearing my proposal and my promise to remember, under any circ.u.mstances, to provide her with three thousand marks a year. This bargain set the standard of my relation to her for the rest of her life. She went with me as far as Frankfort, where I parted from her to go, for the time being, to Weimar--the town where Schopenhauer had died a short time before.

PART IV

1861-1864

AND so I again crossed Thuringia, pa.s.sing the Wartburg which, whether I visited it or merely saw it in the distance, seemed so strangely bound up with my departures from Germany or my return thither. I reached Weimar at two in the morning, and was conducted later in the day to the rooms which Liszt had arranged for my use at the Altenburg. They were, as he took good care to inform me, Princess Marie's rooms. This time, however, there were no women to entertain us. Princess Caroline was already in Rome, and her daughter had married Prince Constantin Hohenlohe and gone to Vienna. There was only Miss Anderson, Princess Marie's governess, left to help Liszt entertain his guests. Indeed, I found the Altenburg was about to be closed, and that Liszt's youthful uncle Eduard had come from Vienna for this purpose, and also to make an inventory of all its contents. But at the same time there reigned an unusual stir of conviviality in connection with the Society of Musical Artists, as Liszt was putting up a considerable number of musicians himself, first and foremost among his guests being Bulow and Cornelius.

Every one, including Liszt himself, was wearing a travelling cap, and this strange choice of head-dress seemed to me typical of the lack of ceremony attending this rural festival at Weimar. On the top floor of the house Franz Brendel and his wife were installed with some splendour, and a swarm of musicians soon filled the place, among them my old acquaintance Drasecke and a certain young man called Weisheimer, whom Liszt had once sent to see me at Zurich. Tausig put in an appearance too, but excluded himself from most of our free and easy gatherings to carry on a love-affair with a young lady. Liszt gave me Emilie Genast as a companion on one or two short excursions, an arrangement with which I found no fault, as she was witty and very intelligent. I made the acquaintance of Damrosch too, a violinist and a musician. It was a great pleasure to see my old friend Alwine Frommann, who had come in spite of her somewhat strained relations with Liszt; and when Blandine and Ollivier arrived from Paris and became my neighbours on the Altenburg, the days which were lively before to begin with, now became boisterously merry. Bulow, who had been chosen to conduct Liszt's Faust Symphony, seemed to me the wildest of all. His activity was extraordinary. He had learned the entire score by heart, and gave us an unusually precise, intelligent, and spirited performance with an orchestra composed of anything but the pick of German players.

After this symphony the Prometheus music had the greatest success, while I was particularly affected by Emilie Genast's singing of a song-cycle, composed by Bulow, called Die Entsagende. There was little else that was enjoyable at the festival concert with the exception of a cantata, Das Grab im Busento by Weisheimer, and a regular scandal arose in connection with Drasecke's 'German March.' For some obscure reason Liszt adopted a challenging and protecting att.i.tude towards this strange composition, written apparently in mockery by a man of great talent in other directions. Liszt insisted on Bulow's conducting the march, and ultimately Hans made a success of it, even doing it by heart; but the whole thing ended in the following incredible scene. The jubilant reception of Liszt's own works had not once induced him to show himself to the audience, but when Drasecke's march, which concluded the programme, was at last rejected by the audience in an irresistible wave of ill-humour, Liszt came into the stage-box and, stretching out his hands, clapped vigorously and shouted 'Bravos.' A real battle set in between Liszt, whose face was red with anger, and the audience. Blandine, who was sitting next to me, was, like me, beside herself at this outrageously provocative behaviour on the part of her father, and it was a long time before we could compose ourselves after the incident. There was little in the way of explanation to be got out of Liszt. We only heard him refer a few times, in terms of furious contempt, to the audience, 'for whom the march was far and away too good.' I heard from another quarter that this was a form of revenge on the regular Weimar public, but it was a strange way of wreaking it, as they were not represented on this occasion. Liszt thought it was a good opportunity to avenge Cornelius, whose opera The Barber of Bagdad had been hissed by the Weimar public when Liszt had conducted it in person some time previously. Besides this, I could of course see that Liszt had much to bear in other directions. He admitted to me that he had been trying to induce the Grand Duke of Weimar to show me some particular mark of distinction. He first wanted him to invite me, with himself, to dine at court, but as the Duke had qualms about entertaining a person who was still exiled from the kingdom of Saxony as a political refugee, Liszt thought he could at least get me the Order of the White Falcon. This too was refused him, and as his exertions at court had been so fruitless, he was bent on making the townsmen of the Residency do their part in celebrating my presence. A torchlight procession was accordingly arranged, but when I heard of it I took all possible pains to thwart the plan--and succeeded. But I was not to get off without any ovation at all. One afternoon Justizrath Gille of Jena and six students grouped themselves under my window, and sang a nice little choral society song, for which attention I thanked them most warmly. A contrast to this was presented by the great banquet attended by all the musical artists. I sat between Blandine and Ollivier, and the feast developed into a really hearty ovation for the composer of Tannhauser and Lohengrin, whom they now 'welcomed back to Germany after he had won their love and esteem during his banishment.'

Liszt's speech was short but vigorous, and I had to respond in greater detail to another speaker. Very pleasant were the select gatherings which on several occasions met round Liszt's own dinner-table, and I thought of the absent hostess of Altenburg at one of them. Once we had our meal in the garden, and I had the pleasure of seeing my good friend Alwine Frommann there conversing intelligently with Ollivier, as a reconciliation with Liszt had taken place.

The day for parting was drawing near for us all, after a week of very varied and exciting experiences. A happy chance enabled me to make the greater part of my prearranged journey to Vienna in the company of Blandine and Ollivier, who had decided to visit Cosima at Reichenhall, where she was staying for a 'cure.' As we were all saying good-bye to Liszt on the railway platform, we thought of Bulow, who had distinguished himself so remarkably in the past few days. He had started a day in advance, and we exhausted ourselves in singing his praises, though I added with jesting familiarity, 'There was no necessity for him to marry Cosima.' And Liszt added, bowing slightly, 'That was a luxury.'

We travellers--Blandine and I, that is--soon fell into a frivolous mood which was much intensified by Ollivier's query, repeated after each burst of laughter, 'Qu'est-ce qu'il dit?' He had to submit good-humouredly to our continuous joking in German, though we always responded in French to his frequent demands for tonique or jambon cru, which seemed to form the staple of his diet. It was long after midnight when we reached Nuremberg, where we were obliged to halt for the night.

We got ourselves conveyed to an inn by dint of much effort, and were kept waiting there some time before the door opened. A fat and elderly innkeeper acceded to our entreaties to give us rooms, late as it was, but to accomplish this he found it necessary--after much anxious reflection--to leave us in the hall for a good long time while he vanished down a back pa.s.sage. There he stood outside a bedroom door, and we heard him calling 'Margarethe' in bashful and friendly tones. He repeated the name several times with the information that visitors had arrived, and a woman answered him with oaths. After much pressing entreaty on the innkeeper's part Margarethe at last appeared, in neglige, and showed us, after various mysterious confabulations with the host, the rooms selected for us. The odd part of the incident was that the immoderate laughter in which we all three indulged seemed to be noticed neither by the innkeeper nor by his chambermaid. The next day we went to see some of the sights of the town, last of all the Germanisches Museum, which was in such a wretched condition at that time as to earn the contempt of my French companion particularly. The large collection of instruments of torture, which included a box studded with nails, filled Blandine with sympathetic horror.

We reached Munich that evening, and inspected it the next day (after tonique and ham had again been obtained) with great satisfaction, particularly on the part of Ollivier, who thought that the 'antique'

style in which King Ludwig I. had had the museums built contrasted most favourably with the buildings with which, much to his indignation, it had pleased Louis Napoleon to fill Paris. I here ran across an old acquaintance, young Hornstein, whom I introduced to my friends as 'the baron.' His comical figure and clumsy behaviour gave them food for mirth, which degenerated into a positive orgy of merriment when 'the baron' thought it necessary, before we started on our night journey to Reichenhall, to take us to a Bier-Brauerei some distance away, so that we should see that side of Munich life. It was pitch dark and there was no light provided, except a stump of a candle to light 'the baron,' who had to go down himself to fetch the beer from the cellar. The beer certainly tasted particularly good, and Hornstein repeated his descent into the cellar several times. When, being obliged to hurry, we set off on our perilous journey across fields and ditches to the station, we found that the unwonted refreshment had somewhat dazed us. Blandine fell fast asleep as soon as she got into the carriage, only waking at daybreak when we arrived at Reichenhall. Here Cosima met us, and took us to the rooms that had been prepared for us.

We were first of all rejoiced to find Cosima's state of health much less alarming than we--I in particular--had known it to be before. She had been ordered a sour-milk cure, and we went to look on the next morning when she took her walk to the inst.i.tution. Cosima appeared to lay less stress on the actual milk-drinking, however, than on the walks and the sojourn in the splendid, bracing, mountain air. Ollivier and I were generally excluded from the merriment which here too immediately set in, as the two sisters, to secure more privacy for their talks--they laughed so incessantly that they could be heard a long way off--usually shut themselves away from us in their bedrooms, and almost my only resource was to converse in French with my political friend. I succeeded in gaining admission to the sisters once or twice, to announce to them amongst other things my intention of adopting them, as their father took no more notice of them--a proposition received with more mirth than confidence. I once deplored Cosima's wild ways to Blandine, who seemed unable to understand me, until she had persuaded herself that I meant timidite d'un sauvage by my expression. After a few days I had really to think of continuing my journey, which had been so pleasantly interrupted. I said good-bye in the hall, and caught a glimpse of almost timid inquiry from Cosima.

I first drove down the valley to Salzburg in a one-horse carriage. On the Austrian frontier I had an adventure with the custom-house. Liszt had given me at Weimar a box of the most costly cigars--a present to him from Baron Sina. As I knew from my visit to Venice what incredible formalities make it exceedingly difficult to introduce these articles into Austria, I hit upon the plan of hiding the cigars singly among my dirty linen and in the pockets of my clothes. The officer, who was an old soldier, seemed to be prepared for precautionary measures of this sort, and drew forth the corpora delicta skilfully from all the folds of my little trunk. I tried to bribe him with a tip, which he actually accepted, and I was all the more indignant when, in spite of this, he denounced me to the authorities. I was made to pay a heavy fine, but received permission to buy back the cigars. This I furiously declined to do. With the receipt of the fine I had paid, however, I was also given back the Prussian thaler which the old soldier had quietly tucked away before, and when I got into my carriage to continue the journey I saw the same officer sitting placidly before his beer and bread and cheese. He bowed very politely, and I offered to give him his thaler back, but this time he refused it. I have often been angry with myself since for not asking the man's name, as I clung to the notion that he must be a particularly faithful servant, in which capacity I should like to have engaged him myself later on.

I touched at Salzburg, arriving soaked through by floods of rain, and spent the night there, and on the following day at last reached my place of destination--Vienna. I proposed to accept the hospitality of Kolatschek, with whom I had been friendly in Switzerland. He had long since been granted an amnesty by Austria, and had, on my last visit to Vienna, called on me and offered me the use of his house, to avoid the unpleasantness of an inn, in the event of my returning for a longer stay. For reasons of economy alone--and these at the time were very urgent--I had willingly accepted this offer, and now drove direct with my hand luggage to the house described. To my surprise I at once discovered that I was in an exceedingly remote suburb, practically cut off from Vienna itself. The house was quite deserted, Kolatschek and his family having gone to a summer resort at Hutteldorf. With some difficulty I unearthed an old servant, who seemed to think she had been warned of my arrival by her master. She showed me a small room in which I could sleep if I liked, but was apparently unable to provide either linen or service of any kind. Greatly discomfited by this disappointment, I first drove back into town to wait for Kolatschek at a certain cafe in Stephan's Platz, which, according to the servant, he was likely to visit at a particular time. I had been sitting there a good while, making repeated inquiries for the man I expected to see, when suddenly I saw Standhartner come in. His extreme surprise at finding me there was intensified, as he told me, by the fact that he had never in his life entered this cafe. It had been quite a special coincidence that had brought him there on that day and at that time. On being made aware of my situation he at once became furious at the idea of my living in the most deserted part of Vienna when I had such pressing business in the city, and promptly offered me his own house for temporary quarters, as he and all his family would be away for six weeks. A pretty niece, who, with her mother and sister, lived in the same house, was to see to all my wants, including breakfast, etc., and I should be able to make use of the whole place with the greatest freedom. He took me triumphantly home with him at once to a deserted dwelling, as the family had already gone to their summer resort at Salzburg. I let Kolatschek know, had my luggage brought in, and for a few days had the pleasure of Standhartner's society and easy hospitality. I realised, however, from information given me by my friend, that my path was beset with new difficulties. The rehearsals for Tristan und Isolde, which had been planned in the spring to take place about this time (I had arrived in Vienna on 14th August), had been postponed indefinitely as Ander, the tenor, had sent word that he had injured his voice. On hearing this I at once concluded that my stay in Vienna would be useless; but I knew that no one would be able to suggest any other place where I could employ myself profitably.

My situation was, as I now saw plainly, quite hopeless, for every one seemed to have deserted me. A few years back I might, in a similar case, have flattered myself that Liszt would be pleased to have me at Weimar during the period of waiting, but if I returned to Germany just now I should only have to look on at the dismantling of the house--to which I have already alluded. My chief concern, then, was to find a friendly shelter somewhere. It was with this sole end in view that I turned to the Grand Duke of Baden, who had shortly before greeted me with such kindness and sympathy. I wrote him a beseeching letter, urging him to consider my necessitous condition. I pointed out that what I wanted, above all, was an asylum, however modest, and implored him to provide me with one in or near Karlsruhe, by securing me a pension of two thousand four hundred marks. Judge of my surprise on receiving a reply, not in the Grand Duke's own hand, but only signed by him, to the effect that if my request were granted, it would probably mean that I would interfere with the management of the theatre, and, as a very natural result, discussions would ensue with the director (my old friend E. Devrient, who was now doing splendidly). As the Grand Duke would in any such case feel obliged to act in the interests of justice, 'possibly to my disadvantage,' as he put it, he must, after mature consideration, regretfully decline to accede to my request.

Princess Meternich, who had suspected my embarra.s.sment on that score also when I left Paris, had given me a warm recommendation to Count Nako and his family in Vienna, referring me with particular emphasis to his wife. Now I had made the acquaintance through Standhartner, during the short time before he left me, of young Prince Rudolph Liechtenstein--known to his friends as Rudi. His doctor, with whom he was very intimate, had spoken of him to me in the most flattering way as being a pa.s.sionate admirer of my music. I often met him at meal times at the 'Erzherzog Karl,' after Standhartner had joined his family, and we planned a visit to Count Nako on his estate at Schwarzau, some distance away. The journey was made in the most comfortable fashion, partly by rail, in the company of the Prince's young wife. They introduced me to the Nakos at Schwarzau. The Count proved to be a particularly handsome man, while his wife was more of a cultured gipsy, whose talent for painting was evidenced in striking fashion by the gigantic copies of Van Dyck resplendent on the walls. It was more painful to hear her amuse herself at the piano, where she gave faithful renderings of gipsy music, which, she said, Liszt failed to do. The music to Lohengrin seemed to have prepossessed them all very much in my favour, and this appreciation was confirmed by other magnates who were visiting there, among them being Count Edmund Zichy, whom I had known in Venice. I was thus able to observe the character of unconstrained Hungarian hospitality, without being much edified by the subjects of conversation, and I had soon, alas! to face the question as to what I was to get from these people. I was given a decent room for the night, and on the following day took an early opportunity of looking round the beautifully kept precincts of the majestic castle, wondering in which part of the building there might be found room for me in case of a longer visit. But my remarks in praise of the size of the building were met at breakfast with the a.s.surance that it really was hardly big enough for the family, as the young Countess in particular lived in great style with her suite. It was a cold morning in September, and we spent it out of doors. My friend Rudi seemed to be out of humour. I felt cold, and very soon took leave of the great man's board with the consciousness of having rarely found myself in the company of such nice people without discovering the smallest subject in common. This consciousness grew into a positive feeling of disgust when I was driving with several of the cavalieri to the station at Modling, for I was reduced to absolute silence during the hour's drive, as they had literally only the one topic of conversation, by that time so terribly familiar to me!--namely horses.

I got out at Modling to call on Ander the tenor, having invited myself for that day with the intention of going through Tristan. It was still very early on a bright morning, and the day was gradually growing warmer. I decided to take a walk in the lovely Bruhl before looking up Ander. There I ordered a lunch in the garden of the beautifully situated inn, and enjoyed an extremely refreshing hour of complete solitude. The wild birds had already ceased singing, but I shared my meal with an army of sparrows, which a.s.sumed alarming proportions. As I fed them with bread-crumbs, they finally became so tame that they settled in swarms on the table in front of me to seize their booty. I was reminded of the morning in the tavern with the landlord h.o.m.o in Montmorency. Here again, after shedding many a tear, I laughed aloud, and set off to Ander's summer residence. Unfortunately his condition confirmed the statement that the injury to his voice was not merely an excuse; but in any case I soon saw that this helpless person could never under any circ.u.mstances be equal to the task of playing Tristan, demi-G.o.d as he was, in Vienna. All the same I did my best, as I was there, to show him the whole of Tristan in my own interpretation of the part (which always excited me very much), after which he declared that it might have been written for him. I had arranged for Tausig and Cornelius, whom I had again met in Vienna, to come out to Ander's house that day, and I returned with them in the evening.

I spent a good deal of time with these two, who were sincerely concerned about me and did their best to cheer me. Tausig, it is true, was rather more reserved, as he had aspirations in high quarters at that time. But he, too, accepted Frau Dustmann's invitations to the three of us. She was then at Hietzing for the summer, and there dinners were given more than once, and also a few vocal rehearsals for Isolde, for which part her voice seemed to possess some of the spiritual susceptibility required. There, too, I read through the poem of Tristan again, still thinking the prospect of its performance possible with the exercise of patience and enthusiasm. For the present patience was the quality most needed; certainly nothing was to be obtained by enthusiasm. Ander's voice still failed him and did not improve, and no doctor was prepared to fix a limit to his malady. I got through the time as best I could, and hit upon the idea of translating back into German the new scene to Tannhauser, written to a French text for the performance in Paris. Cornelius had first to copy it from the original score for me, as this was in a very defective condition. I accepted his copy without inquiring further about the original left in his hands, and we shall see the result of this later on.

A musician named Winterberger also joined our party. He was an old acquaintance, and I found him in a position I much envied. Countess Banfy, an old friend of Liszt's, had taken him into her very pleasant house at Hietzing, and he was thus in excellent quarters, living at ease, and with nothing to trouble about, as the kind lady thought it her duty to keep this fellow--in other respects so undeserving--supplied with everything. Through him I again had news of Karl Ritter, and was told that he was now at Naples, where he lived in the house of a piano-maker, whose children he had to teach in return for board and lodging. It seems that Winterberger, after running through everything, had on the strength of some of Liszt's introductions started off to seek his fortune in Hungary. But things did not fall out to his satisfaction, and he was now enjoying compensation in the house of the worthy Countess. I met an excellent harpist there--also one of the family--Fraulein Mossner. By the Countess's orders she was made to betake herself and her harp to the garden, where, either at or with her harp, she had a most pert air and looked quite delightful, so that I gained an impression which lingered pleasantly in my mind. Unfortunately I became involved in a quarrel with the young lady because I would not compose a solo for her instrument. From the time when I definitely refused to humour her ambitions she took no more notice of me.

The poet Hebbel must be mentioned among the special acquaintances I made in Vienna during this difficult epoch. As it seemed not unlikely that I should have to make Vienna the scene of my labours for some time, I thought it desirable to become better acquainted with the literary celebrities living there. I prepared myself for meeting Hebbel by taking considerable trouble to read his dramatic pieces beforehand, doing my best to think that they were good and that a closer acquaintance with the author was desirable. I was not to be deterred from my purpose by my consciousness of the great weakness of his poems, although I realised the unnaturalness of his conceptions and the invariably affected and frequently vulgar form of expression. I only visited him once, and did not have a particularly long talk with him even then. I did not find any expression in the poet's personality of the eccentric force which threatens to explode in the figures of his dramas. When I heard, some years later, that Hebbel had died of softening of the bones, I understood why he had affected me so unpleasantly. He talked about the theatrical world in Vienna with the air of an amateur who feels himself neglected but continues to work in a businesslike fashion. I felt no particular desire to repeat my visit, especially after his return call in my absence, when he left a card announcing himself as 'Hebbel, chevalier de plusieurs ordres!'

My old friend Heinrich Laube had now long been established as director of the Royal and Imperial Court Theatre. He had felt it his duty on my previous visit to Vienna to introduce me to the literary celebrities, among whom, being of a practical turn, he counted chiefly journalists and critics. He invited Dr. Hanslick to a big dinner-party, thinking I should be particularly interested in meeting him, and was surprised that I had not a word to say to him. The conclusions Laube drew from this led him to prophesy that I should find it hard to get on in Vienna if I really hoped to make it the sphere of my artistic labours. On my return this time he welcomed me simply as an old friend, and begged me to dine with him as often as I cared to come. He was a pa.s.sionate sportsman, and was able to provide the luxury of fresh game for his table. I did not avail myself very often of this invitation, however, as the conversation, which was inspired solely by the dull business routine of the stage, did not attract me. After dinner a few actors and literary men would come in for coffee and cigars, sitting at a large table where Laube's wife generally held her court, while Laube himself enjoyed his rest and his cigar in silence. Frau Laube had consented to become Theatre Directrice solely to please her husband, and now thought herself obliged to make long and careful speeches about things of which she had no understanding whatever. The only pleasure I had was in renewed glimpses of the good-nature which I had admired in her of old; for instance, when none of the company dared to oppose her, and I intervened with some frank criticism, she usually accepted it with unreserved merriment. To her and her husband I probably seemed a good-natured sort of fool and nothing more, for my conversation was generally in a joking strain, as I was utterly indifferent to their earnestness. In fact, when I gave my concerts in Vienna later on, Frau Laube remarked with the most friendly air of surprise that I was quite a good conductor, contrary to what she had expected after reading some newspaper report or other.

For one thing, Laube's practical knowledge was not without importance, as he could tell me all about the character of the chief inspectors of the Royal and Imperial Court Theatre. It now transpired that the Imperial Councillor, von Raymond, was a most important personage, and the aged Count Lanckoronski, the Lord High Marshall, who in other respects was extremely tenacious of his authority, could not trust himself to come to any decision in matters of finance without consulting this exceedingly competent man.

Raymond himself, whom I soon got to know and regard as a model of ignorance, took fright and felt bound to withhold his consent to my performance of Tristan, mainly on account of the Vienna papers, which always ran me down and scoffed at my proposal. Officially I was referred to the actual manager of the Opera, Herr Salvi, who had formerly been the singing-master of a lady-in-waiting to the Grand d.u.c.h.ess Sophia. He was an absolutely incapable and ignorant man, who was obliged to pretend in front of me that, according to the command of the supreme authorities, nothing lay so near his heart as the furtherance of the performance of Tristan. Accordingly he tried by perpetual expressions of zeal and goodwill to conceal the increasing spirit of doubt and hesitation with which even the staff was imbued.

I found out the state of affairs one day when a company of our singers was invited with me to the country house of a certain Herr Dumba, who was introduced to me as a most enthusiastic well-wisher. Herr Ander had taken the score of Tristan with him, as if to show that he could not part with it for a single day. Frau Dustmann grew very angry about it, and accused Ander of trying to impose upon me by playing the hypocrite; for he knew as well as any one else that he would never sing that part, and that the management was only awaiting a chance of preventing the performance of Tristan in some way or other, and then laying the blame on her shoulders. Salvi tried most zealously to interfere in these extremely awkward revelations. He recommended me to choose the tenor Walter, and as I objected on the ground of my antipathy to the man, he next referred me to certain foreign singers whom he was quite ready to approach.

As a matter of fact, we tried a few outside players of whom the most promising was a certain Signor Morini, and I really felt so depressed and so desirous of furthering my work at any price that I attended a performance of Luzia by Donizetti with my friend Cornelius to see if I could extract from him a favourable judgment of the singer. Cornelius, who was apparently absorbed in listening, whilst I attentively watched him, suddenly started up in a pa.s.sion and exclaimed, 'Horrible!

horrible!' which made us both laugh so heartily that we soon left the theatre in quite a cheerful frame of mind.

At last I carried on my negotiations with the conductor Heinrich Esser alone, as he was apparently the only honest man in the management.

Although he found Tristan very difficult, yet he worked at it with great earnestness, and never really gave up the hope of making a performance possible, if only I would accept Walter as the tenor; but, in spite of my persistent refusal to make use of such help, we always remained good friends. As he, like myself, was a keen walker, we often explored the neighbourhood of Vienna, and our conversations during these expeditions were enthusiastic on my part and thoroughly honest and serious on his.