Richard Wagner, born Wilhelm Richard Wagner, on May 22, 1813, in Leipzig, Germany, is the dramatic composer and theorist whose operas and music had a revolutionary influence on the course of Western music, either by extension of his discoveries or reaction against them. Among his major works are The Flying Dutchman (1843), Tannhäuser (1845), Lohengrin (1850), Tristan und Isolde (1865), Parsifal (1882), and his great tetralogy, The Ring of the Nibelung (1869–76).
The artistic and theatrical background of Wagner’s early years (several elder sisters became opera singers or actresses) was a main formative influence. Impulsive and self-willed, he was a negligent scholar at the Kreuzschule, Dresden, and the Nicholaischule, Leipzig. He frequented concerts, however, taught himself the piano and composition, and read the plays of Shakespeare, Goethe, and Schiller.
Wagner, attracted by the glamour of student life, enrolled at Leipzig University, but as an adjunct with inferior privileges, since he had not completed his preparatory schooling. Although he lived wildly, he applied himself earnestly to composition. Because of his impatience with all academic techniques, he spent a mere six months acquiring a groundwork with Theodor Weinlig, cantor of the Thomasschule; but his real schooling was a close personal study of the scores of the masters, notably the quartets and symphonies of Beethoven. His own Symphony in C Major was performed at the Leipzig Gewandhaus concerts in 1833. On leaving the university that year, he spent the summer as operatic coach at Würzburg, where he composed his first opera, Die Feen (The Fairies), based on a fantastic tale by Carlo Gozzi. He failed to get the opera produced at Leipzig and became conductor to a provincial theatrical troupe from Magdeburg, having fallen in love with one of the actresses of the troupe, Wilhelmine (Minna) Planer, whom he married in 1836. The single performance of his second opera, Das Liebesverbot (The Ban on Love), after Shakespeare’s Measure for Measure, was a disaster.
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In 1839, fleeing from his creditors, he decided to put into operation his long-cherished plan to win renown in Paris, but his three years in Paris were calamitous. Despite a recommendation from the influential gallicized German composer Giacomo Meyerbeer, Wagner could not break into the closed circle at the Opéra. Living with a colony of poor German artists, he staved off starvation by means of musical journalism and hackwork. Nevertheless, in 1840 he completed Rienzi (after Bulwer-Lytton’s novel), and in 1841 he composed his first representative opera, Der fliegende Holländer (The Flying Dutchman), based on the legend about a ship’s captain condemned to sail forever.
In 1842, aged 29, he gladly returned to Dresden, where Rienzi was triumphantly performed on October 20. The next year The Flying Dutchman (produced at Dresden, January 2, 1843) was less successful, since the audience expected a work in the French-Italian tradition similar to Rienzi and was puzzled by the innovative way the new opera integrated the music with the dramatic content. But Wagner was appointed conductor of the court opera, a post that he held until 1849. On October 19, 1845, Tannhäuser (based, like all his future works, on Germanic legends) was coolly received but soon proved a steady attraction; after this, each new work achieved public popularity despite persistent hostility from many critics.
The refusal of the court opera authorities in Dresden to stage his next opera, Lohengrin, was not based on artistic reasons; rather, they were alienated by Wagner’s projected administrative and artistic reforms. His proposals would have taken control of the opera away from the court and created a national theatre whose productions would be chosen by a union of dramatists and composers. Preoccupied with ideas of social regeneration, he then became embroiled in the German revolution of 1848–49. Wagner wrote a number of articles advocating revolution and took an active part in the Dresden uprising of 1849. When the uprising failed, a warrant was issued for his arrest and he fled from Germany, unable to attend the first performance of Lohengrin at Weimar, given by his friend Franz Liszt on August 28, 1850.
For the next 15 years Wagner was not to present any further new works. Until 1858 he lived in Zürich, composing, writing treatises, and conducting (he directed the Philharmonic Society of London [later the Royal Philharmonic Society] concerts in 1855). Having already studied the Siegfried legend and the Norse myths as a possible basis for an opera and having written an operatic “poem,” Siegfrieds Tod (Siegfried’s Death), in which he conceived of Siegfried as the new type of man who would emerge after the successful revolution he hoped for, he now wrote a number of prose volumes on revolution, social and artistic. From 1849 to 1852 he produced his basic prose works: Die Kunst und die Revolution (Art and Revolution), Das Kunstwerk der Zukunft (The Art Work of the Future), Eine Mitteilung an meine Freunde (A Communication to My Friends), and Oper und Drama (Opera and Drama). The latter outlined a new, revolutionary type of musical stage work—the vast work, in fact, on which he was engaged. By 1852 he had added to the poem of Siegfrieds Tod three others to precede it, the whole being called Der Ring des Nibelungen (The Ring of the Nibelung) and providing the basis for a tetralogy of musical dramas: Das Rheingold (The Rhine Gold); Die Walküre (The Valkyrie); Der junge Siegfried (Young Siegfried), later called simply Siegfried; and Siegfrieds Tod (Siegfried’s Death), later called Götterdämmerung (The Twilight of the Gods).
The Ring reveals Wagner’s mature style and method, to which he had found his way at last during the period when his thought was devoted to social questions. Looking forward to the imminent creation of a socialist state, he prophesied the disappearance of opera as artificial entertainment for an elite and the emergence of a new kind of musical stage work for the people, expressing the self-realization of free humanity. This new work was later to be called “music drama,” though Wagner never used this term, preferring “drama.”
Wagner’s new art form would be a poetic drama that should find full expression as a musical drama when it was set to a continuous vocal-symphonic texture. This texture would be woven from basic thematic ideas, which have come to be known as leitmotifs (from the German Leitmotive, literally “leading motives,” singular Leitmotiv). These musical figures would arise naturally as expressive vocal phrases sung by characters and would be developed by the orchestra as “reminiscences” to express the dramatic and psychological development.
This conception found full embodiment in The Ring, except that the leitmotifs did not always arise as vocal utterances but were often introduced by the orchestra to portray characters, emotions, or events in the drama. With his use of this method, Wagner rose immediately to his amazing full stature: his style became unified and deepened immeasurably, and he was able to fill his works from end to end with intensely characteristic music. Except for moments in Das Rhinegold, his old weaknesses, formal and stylistic, vanished altogether, and with them disappeared the last vestiges of the old “opera.” By 1857 his style had been enriched by the stimulus of Liszt’s tone poems and their new harmonic subtleties, and he had composed Das Rhinegold, Die Walküre, and two acts of Siegfried. But he now suspended work on The Ring: the impossibility of mounting this colossus within the foreseeable future was enforcing a stalemate on his career and led him to project a “normal” work capable of immediate production. Also, his optimistic social philosophy had yielded to a metaphysical, world-renouncing pessimism, nurtured by his discovery of the philosophy of Arthur Schopenhauer. The outcome was Tristan und Isolde (1857–59), of which the crystallizing agent was his hopeless love for Mathilde Wesendonk (the wife of a rich patron), which led to separation from his wife, Minna.
Because of the Wesendonk affair, life in Zürich had become too embarrassing, and Wagner completed Tristan in Venice and Lucerne, Switzerland. The work revealed a new subtlety in his use of leitmotifs, which in Das Rhinegold and Die Walküre he had used mainly to explain the action of the drama. The impact of Schopenhauer’s theory of the supremacy of music among the arts led him to tilt the expressive balance of musical drama more toward music: the leitmotifs ceased to remain neatly identifiable with their dramatic sources but worked with greater psychological complexity, in the manner of free association.
In 1859 Wagner went to Paris, where, the following year, productions of a revised version of Tannhäuser were fiascoes. But in 1861 an amnesty allowed him to return to Germany; from there he went to Vienna, where he heard Lohengrin for the first time. He remained in Vienna for about a year, then travelled widely as a conductor and awaited a projected production of Tristan. When this work was not produced because the artists were bewildered by its revolutionary stylistic innovations, Wagner began a second “normal” work, the comedy-opera Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg (The Meistersingers of Nürnberg), for which he incorporated into his new conception of music drama certain of the old “operatic” elements. By 1864, however, his expenditure on a grand scale and inveterate habits of borrowing and living on others had brought him to financial disaster: he had to flee from Vienna to avoid imprisonment for debt. He arrived in Stuttgart without a penny, a man of 51 without a future, almost at the end of his tether.
Something like a miracle saved him. He had always made loyal friends, owing to his fascinating personality, his manifest genius, and his artistic integrity, and now a new friend of the highest influence came to his rescue. In 1864 Louis II, a youth of 18, ascended the throne of Bavaria; he was a fanatical admirer of Wagner’s art and, having read the poem of The Ring (published the year before with a plea for financial support), invited Wagner to complete the work in Munich.
The king set him up in a villa, and during the next six years there were successful Munich productions of all of Wagner’s representative works to date, including the first performances of Tristan (1865), Die Meistersinger (1868), Das Rhinegold (1869), and Die Walküre (1870)—the first two directed by the great Wagner conductor Hans von Bülow. Initially a new theatre at Munich was projected for this purpose, with a music school attached, but this came to nothing because of the opposition aroused by Wagner’s way of living. Not only did he constantly run into debt, despite his princely salary, but he also attempted to interfere in the government of the kingdom; in addition, he became the lover of von Bülow’s wife, Cosima, the daughter of Liszt. She bore him three children—Isolde, Eva, and Siegfried—before her divorce in 1870 and her marriage to Wagner in the same year. For all these reasons, Wagner thought it advisable to leave Munich as early as 1865, but he never forfeited the friendship of the king, who set him up at Triebschen on the Lake of Lucerne.
In 1869 Wagner had resumed work on The Ring which he now brought to its world-renouncing conclusion. It had been agreed with the king that the tetralogy should be first performed in its entirety at Munich, but Wagner broke the agreement, convinced that a new type of theatre must be built for the purpose. Having discovered a suitable site at the Bavarian town of Bayreuth, he toured Germany, conducting concerts to raise funds and encouraging the formation of societies to support the plan, and in 1872 the foundation stone was laid. In 1874 Wagner moved into a house at Bayreuth that he called Wahnfried (“Peace from Illusion”). The whole vast project was eventually realized, in spite of enormous artistic, administrative, and financial difficulties. The king, who had provided Wahnfried for Wagner, contributed a substantial sum, and mortgages were raised that were later paid off by royalties. The Ring received its triumphant first complete performance in the new Festspielhaus at Bayreuth on August 13, 14, 16, and 17, 1876.
Wagner spent the rest of his life at Wahnfried, making a visit to London in 1877 to give a successful series of concerts and then making several to Italy. During these years he composed his last work, the sacred festival drama Parsifal, begun in 1877 and produced at Bayreuth in 1882; he also dictated to his wife his autobiography, Mein Leben (My Life), begun in 1865. He died of heart failure, at the height of his fame, and was buried in the grounds of Wahnfried in the tomb he had himself prepared. Since then, except for interruptions caused by World Wars I and II, the Festspielhaus has staged yearly festivals of Wagner’s works.
Wagner’s single-handed creation of his own type of musical drama was a fantastic accomplishment, considering the scale and scope of his art. His method was to condense the confused mass of material at his disposal—the innumerable conflicting versions of the legend chosen as a basis—into a taut dramatic scheme. In this scheme, as in his model, the Oresteia of Aeschylus, the stage events are few but crucial, the main part of the action being devoted to the working out of the characters’ motivations.
In setting the poem, he used his mastery of construction on the largest scale, which he had learned from studying Beethoven, to keep the broad outlines clear while he consistently developed the leitmotifs to mirror every shifting nuance of the psychological situation. Criticism of the leitmotifs as arbitrary factual labels shows a misunderstanding of Wagner. He called them “carriers of the feeling,” and, because of their essentially emotional character, their pliability, and Wagner’s resource in alternating, transforming, and combining them, they function as subtle expressions of the changing feelings behind the dramatic symbols.
The result of these methods was a new art form, of which the distinguishing feature was a profound and complex symbolism working on three indivisible planes—dramatic, verbal, and musical. The vital significance of this symbolism has been increasingly realized. The common theme of all his mature works, except Die Meistersinger, is the romantic concept of “redemption through love,” but this element, used rather naively in the three early operas, became, in the later musical dramas, a mere catalyst for much deeper complexes of ideas. In The Ring there are at least five interwoven strands of overt meaning concerned with German nationalism, international socialism, the philosophy of Schopenhauer, Buddhism, and Christianity. On another level there is a prophetic treatment of some of the themes of psychoanalysis: power complex arising from sexual inhibition; incest; mother fixation; and Oedipus complex.
Tristan stands in a line of symbolism extending from the themes of “night” and “death” explored by such German Romantic poets as Novalis (1772–1801), through the Schopenhauerian indictment of life as an evil illusion and the renunciation of the will to live, to the modern psychological discovery of a close connection between erotic desire and the death wish. Die Meistersinger stands apart as a work in which certain familiar themes are treated on a purely conscious plane with mellow wisdom and humour: the impulsiveness of youth and the resignation of age, the ecstasy of youthful love, the value of music itself as an art. In Wagner’s last work, Parsifal, the symbolism returns on a deeper level than before. He has been much criticized for this strongly personal treatment of a religious subject, which mingles the concepts of sacred and profane love; but in the light of later explorations in the field of psychology his insight into the relationship between religious and sexual experience seems merely in advance of its time. The themes of innocence and purity, sexual indulgence and suffering, remorse and sexual renunciation are treated in Parsifal with a subtle intensity and depth of compassion that probe deeply into the unconscious and make the opera in some ways the most visionary of all Wagner’s works.
Wagner’s influence, as a musical dramatist and as a composer, was a powerful one. Although few operatic composers have been able to follow him in providing their own librettos, all have profited from his reform in the matter of giving dramatic depth, continuity, and cohesion to their works.
In the purely musical field, Wagner’s influence was even more far-reaching. He developed such a wide expressive range that he was able to make each of his works inhabit a unique emotional world of its own, and, in doing so, he raised the melodic and harmonic style of German music to what many regard as its highest emotional and sensuous intensity. Much of the subsequent history of music stems from him, either by extension of his discoveries or reaction against them.
Deryck V. Cooke / Source: Britannica
Opera in three acts Music: Richard Wagner Libretto: Richard Wagner
Wartburg castle and environs, medieval Germany. The minnesinger Tannhäuser, having spent a year in the magical underground realm of Venus, the goddess of love, longs to return to the human world. He pays tribute to Venus in a song but ends by asking her to let him go. Surprised, Venus promises him even greater pleasures, but when he insists and repeats his pleas, she furiously dismisses him and curses his desire for salvation. Tannhäuser cries out that his hope rests with the Virgin Mary—and suddenly finds himself transported to a valley near the castle of the Wartburg.
A procession of pilgrims passes on the way to Rome. Tannhäuser is deeply moved and praises the wonders of God, as horns announce the arrival of a hunting party. It is Landgrave Hermann with his knights. Recognizing Tannhäuser as their long-lost friend, they beg him to return to the castle with them, but Tannhäuser is reluctant. Wolfram, one of the knights, reminds him that his singing once won him the love of Elisabeth, the Landgrave’s niece. On hearing her name, Tannhäuser understands what he must do and joins his companions.
Elisabeth joyfully greets the Wartburg’s Hall of Song, which she hasn’t set foot in since Tannhäuser left. He is now led in by Wolfram. Elisabeth, at first shy and confused, tells Tannhäuser how she has suffered in his absence, but then joins him in praise of love. Observing their emotional reunion, Wolfram realizes that his own affection for Elisabeth is hopeless.
Landgrave Hermann is delighted to find his niece in the Hall of Song, and together they welcome their guests who have come for a song contest. The Landgrave declares love the subject of the competition and promises the victor to receive whatever he asks from the hand of Elisabeth. Wolfram opens the contest with a heartfelt tribute to idealized love. Tannhäuser, his thoughts still on Venus, replies with a hymn to worldly pleasures. Other singers counter his increasingly passionate declarations until Tannhäuser breaks out into his prize song to Venus, to the horror of the guests. As the men draw their swords, Elisabeth throws herself between the parties to protect Tannhäuser and begs the knights for mercy. The Landgrave pronounces his judgment: Tannhäuser will be forgiven if he joins the pilgrims on their way to Rome to do penance. Tannhäuser falls at Elisabeth’s feet and rushes from the hall.
Several months later, Wolfram comes across Elisabeth praying at a shrine in the valley. A band of pilgrims, back from Rome, passes by, but Tannhäuser is not among them. Broken with grief, Elisabeth prays to the Virgin Mary to receive her soul into heaven. Wolfram gazes after her and asks the evening star to guide her way. Night falls, and a solitary pilgrim approaches. It is Tannhäuser, ragged and weary. He tells Wolfram of his devout penitence on the way to Rome—of his joy at seeing so many others pardoned, and of his despair when the Pope proclaimed that he could no more be forgiven for his sins than the papal staff bear green leaves again. Left without hope, all he wants now is to return to Venus. He summons her and she appears, just as Wolfram once again brings Tannhäuser to his senses by invoking Elisabeth’s name. At this moment, Elisabeth’s funeral procession comes winding down the valley. With a cry, Venus disappears. Tannhäuser implores Elisabeth to pray for him in heaven and collapses dead. As dawn breaks, another group of pilgrims arrives, telling of a miracle: the Pope’s staff, which they bear with them, has blossomed.
Source: Metropolitan Opera