The Nietzsche-Wagner correspondence

Contents

~ CHAPTER PAGE

I. First Meeting 1

II. First Visit to Tribschen (Spring of 1869) . 10

Foreword

Richard Strauss once said, so I am told, that he considered the years in which the friendship between Richard Wagner and Friedrich Nietzsche was at its zenith, one of the most impressive and significant cultural moments of the nineteenth century. Many others must have thought the same, as I have frequently been asked to assemble all the available documents bearing upon this relationship, and thus present more clearly the ties uniting my brother to Richard Wagner, and all the nuances of this friendship — that was impossible in my hitherto published accounts of my brother's life, in which emphasis was laid upon other important matters.

A few weeks prior to his mental collapse in 1888, my brother himself wrote: "Here where I am speaking of the vivifying influences of my life, a word is necessary to express my gratitude for that which above all other things, refreshed me most profoundly and most genuinely. This was, unquestionably my intercourse with Richard Wagner. All the rest of my human relationships I treat quite lightly, but at no price would I be willing to blot from my life the Tribschen days — those days of mutual confidence, of cheerfulness, of sublime flashes*— the deep moments. . . ."

It seems to me, therefore, that there could be no more appropriate anniversary offering for the seventieth birthday of my beloved brother than a detailed account of his relations

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Foreword

to Wagner, at the time of their closest friendship, written in the spirit and from the viewpoint of those years.

I have collected all the material best suited to this purpose; among this are my brother's letters to Wagner, here published for the first time, as well as hitherto unpublished Wagner letters. This book contains much that is entirely new — in fact, everything that could contribute to a true estimate of this friendship, as far as such material is still extant, and was made accessible to me. I must mention here the regrettable fact that a large number of my brother's letters to Wagner were destroyed in Bayreuth about five years ago from some reason utterly inexplicable to me. Without exception, they expressed only the deepest reverence and respect for Wagner and Frau Cosima, and as it was my privilege to read many of them before they were sent off, I can testify that among them were cultural documents of the highest significance. These are said to have been the very ones destroyed, and only a few letters showing my brother's innate modesty and courtesy were placed at my disposal. It has been possible, however, to reproduce the larger part of the missing correspondence from the rough drafts found in my brother's note-books.

This little book closes with the cessation of the correspondence between Wagner and my brother. All later observations and sentiments, written after the break in their friendship, must be looked for in other places. In this birthday book I wish to set in vibration only the tenderest chords of the closest friendship, which even though they be written in a melancholy minor, at least reveal no harsh dissonances on either side. Elizabeth Foerster-Nietzsche.

Weimar, October 15, 1914.

The Nietzsche- Wagner quarrel, for long the subject of vague rumors and dark whispers, is made so clear by this correspondence that little remains to be said about it. The underlying cause of it was simple and unescapable : Nietzsche grew so vastly during the years that the two men were together that it was quite impossible for him to go on as a mere satellite, even of a Wagner. It is to the credit of Wagner's discernment that he saw almost instantly the great ability of the younger man ; it is to the shame thereof that his valuation of it stopped far short of the realitj 7 . What he beheld before him was a young professor of extraordinary parts, eagerly responsive to his revolutionary (and often anything but transparent) ideas, full of a chivalric but ferocious bellicosity, and extremely effective as a propagandist. What he actually had in front of him was a European figure of the first calibre — perhaps the most salient and original personality seen in the groves of learning since Goethe. It is always hard for an old man to fathom the true importance of a young one. He is blinded by the conventional superiority that goes with his mere age; he is losing his old resilience to ideas ; perhaps he is also a bit jealous, as a fading charmer is of a flapper. In Wagner all these impediments to understanding Nietzsche were helped by his personal weaknesses : his theatrical egomania, almost suggesting that of

xi an actor ; his lack of the hard training necessary to a comprehension of Nietzsche's veriest fundamentals ; above all, his jumpy dread of rivals, challengers, enemies. The thing he needed, in those early Tribschen days, was not advice but enthusiasm ; among all his supporters he searched uneasily for the predestined fanatic. This fanatic seemed to appear in Nietzsche. He was converted absolutely ; he put away all doubts and whereases as almost unmanly ; he was willing to sacrifice everything, including even his own career as a philogist, to the cause. But in the end, as we all know, it was not Wagner who reaped the rewards of that sacrifice : it was Nietzsche himself, and the world of ideas. Wagner asked for too much, and got, in the end, nothing. He had seduced the young professor from the straight and narrow path, but he was quite unable to follow the fugitive into the high mountain ways that presently invited him. Wagner's limitations were no less marked than his abilities. I believe that his music dramas are, by long odds, the most stupendous works of art ever contrived by man — that it took more downright genius to imagine them and fashion them than it took to build the Parthenon, or to write "Faust" or "Hamlet," or to paint the Sistine frescoes, or even to write the Ninth Symphony. But whoever enters the opera-house gets a smell of patchouli into his hair, and a dab of grease-paint on his nose. He may remain a genius, but he is a genius who is also a bit of a mountebank — a genius who thinks of his audience as well as of his work, and is not forgetful of box-office statements. Actors make bad philosophers — and a man who writes operas, however gorgeous, becomes thereby partly an actor.

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It is astonishing that Nietzsche did not notice the mountebankish touch in Wagner from the start ; certainly it was obvious enough to most of the other Wagnerians of the time, including even King Ludwig. Frau Forster-Nietzsche hints that he actually discerned it, but put away all thought of it for the good of the cause. But it is much more likely that the colossal gaudiness of Wagner simply blinded him — that he was completely bowled over by the man's terrific splendors as an artist. To a young German of Nietzsche's traditions and education, music is quite as important a matter as baseball is to a young American, and he knows it just as thoroughly. Thus he brought to his study of Wagner's music, not only a ready response to its overwhelming sensuousness, its profound beauty as mere sound, but also an intelligent comprehension of the technical difficulties that had been surmounted in the making of it — in brief, an educated delight. This delight, in the first days, simply bewitched him; he could see only the magician, and quite forgot the man. But it was not long before that man began to intrude in a very disconcerting way, and so, bit by bit, Nietzsche became restive, and in the end he rose in open revolt. I believe that it is quite probable, as Frau Forster-Nietzsche says, that it was Wagner's snuffling gabble about Christianity that finished him. Put the thing on the best ground possible: say that Wagner was genuinely self -deluded, that his going to mass was honest, that the romantic mystery of the faith had at last found a weak spot in his armor and penetrated to his heart. In any case, the apostasy was incomprehensible to Nietzsche. He could no more imagine an intelligent man

xiii succumbing to all that ancient rubbish than he could imagine an honest man subscribing to it for worldly gain. The convert was as abhorrent to his tight and uncompromising mind as the hypocrite. In Wagner, I daresay, he saw parts of both. The one outraged him and the other disgusted him. After those walks at Sorrento there was nothing for him to do save make his bow, click his heels together, and say good-bye.

Wagner's failure to apprehend the full significance of Nietzsche is equally easy to understand. As I have said, his mere age was an impediment, and his great fame was another. Though his largest triumphs were still ahead of him, he was already a European, and even a world figure — and such a man is seldom able to detach himself from his own eminence sufficiently to see clearly the eminence of another, particularly of another who is young and still obscure. It flattered him to have a university professor, however young, enlisted for his cause and faithfully attached to his person, but he lacked the special information, and, above all, the attitude of mind, necessary to comprehend that this professor was one of a decidedly unusual sort — that his rebellion against orthodox classical philology was but the first dawn of a rebellion enormously more daring and important. Both Wagner and Cosima could understand "The Birth of Tragedy" well enough, for if some of its Greek history was difficult, there was an abundant clarity in the somewhat lyrical arguments for the Wagner music-drama. They could understand, too, the polemical pamphlets that followed, for they were, at bottom, nothing save overblown newspaper edi-

xiv torials — articles such as any contumacious young professor might send to a learned review. But "The Dawn of Day" was something new and strange to them, for it was, in fact, something quite new under the sun. They could no more grasp it than any other opera-composer and his wife could have grasped it. It seemed to them to be chaotic, obscure, fantastic, pointless, deliberately offensive — and most of these things, in truth, it was. They had no time to study it as it deserved, and Nietzsche himself, who might have explained, was already showing an impertinent independence, a lamentable falling-off of his old filial fidelity. So they threw the book behind the stove, and turned to the new apostles brought out by the first season at Bayreuth — a brigade that must have depressed Wagner severely at times, but that nevertheless showed no sign of alarming the house with ideas of its own. Among equals there can be no disciples. Wagner resigned Nietzsche as flighty and incomprehensible, and Nietzsche resigned Wagner as half a charlatan.

I doubt that either man had much permanent influence on the other. Nietzsche was fond of hinting, in after years, that Wagner borrowed many ideas from him, but I have been unable to find any trace of them in the Wagner pronunciamentos. Wagner's ideas were actually his own, and most of them were quite simple, and needed no help from Nietzsche for their clarification and statement. All that Nietzsche gave him, in the Tribschen days, was a certain learned support; it pleased him, but he would have been just as well off without it. Nietzsche's efforts to bring the Wagner notions into harmony with his own theories as to the origin of the

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Greek drama were never very convincing, even to the Wagnerites ; later on he himself saw their folly. These efforts marked the period of his most complete illusion. The Wagner he then saw before him was an impossible compound of artist and scholar ; he lived to find out that the artist is far more likely to be wedded to a mountebank; before he died he even descended, in "Also sprach Zarathustra," to monkeyshines himself. Nor can I find any sign of Wagner's influence in the main work of Nietzsche — that is, in "The Dawn of Day" and the books following. He kept up a secret and wistful affection for his old friend to the end; on his death he said, "Den habe ich sehr geliebt." But when he plunged into the great exhortations and expostulations of his maturity, when he turned up the reluctant sod of his high and lonely valleys, then Wagner was far below and behind him, and could be no more imagined guiding him than Rossini could be imagined guiding Wagner. They spoke different languages, and inhabited different worlds. Wagner's fundamental philosophy was colored by the German Liberalism of his time; he was daring, but always within the limits of accepted concepts. Nietzsche was a pure revolutionary, a magnificent disdainer of both the past and the present — as he himself was fond of saying, an anti-Christ. What he had to say may not have been always sound, but it was certainly always thoroughly original. Despite his veneration for Schopenhauer, he was his own man from the start. His ideas came into the world with a note of challenge and defiance. They attacked the very foundations of modern civilization. To all men they were startling and disquieting; to

xvi most men they were appalling. But the years deal kindly with them. More and more they tend to prevail, or, at all events, to get themselves heard. Only blockheads today know nothing of them, and only fools are unshaken by them.

H. L. Mencken.

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Chapter I. First Meeting

MY brother writes in "Ecce H omo" ; "From the moment a piano edition of 'Tristan and Isolde' appeared (my compliments, Herr von Biilow!) I became a confirmed Wagnerite."

I must modify this statement, however, as my brother's admiration for Richard Wagner began at a somewhat earlier date, in fact, as early as the autumn of 1860, at which time he and two other sixteen-year-old boys by the names of Wilhelm Pindar and Gustav Krug, founded a little society and christened it with the high-sounding name of "Germania,'* despite the fact that it consisted of only three members.

The purpose of this society, as set forth in the constitution, was to acquire a wider knowledge of the arts and sciences, and one of the first steps taken was to subscribe for the "Zeitschrift fur Musik" — the only musical journal at that time in Germany which had actively espoused the cause of Richard Wagner and his works. By pooling their modest pocket money, the three enthusiastic Wagnerites were also able to purchase the piano arrangement of "Tristan and Isolde." This was in the winter of 1862, and no sooner was the coveted treasure in their possession than the members found themselves embroiled in a discussion provoked by a paper written by Wilhelm Pindar on the theme: "Music, the Daughter of Poetry." Among other things he said: "Any effort to effect a close union of the various arts cannot be regarded as a fantastic attempt, for even though it be denied the genius of one individual to achieve this result, it is, nevertheless, a possibility, provided the one artist is in close sympathy with the intentions of the other, and displays consideration and sensitivity in uniting the two related arts. But a genuinely harmonious union of hitherto independent elements can never be entirely successful, and therefore, the art-work of the future will ever remain an unrealized ideal."

This standpoint was vigorously opposed by the two remaining members, but unfortunately, my brother's views on the subject have not been preserved. Gustav Krug, however, expressed himself at some length in the chronicles of the society, and it is safe to assume that he voiced my brother's theories.

Krug wrote : "I ask why should such an ideal be unattainable? Has not Wagner, in his 'Tristan and Isolde' and 'Nibelung,' demonstrated his ability to put this theory into practice? Now that the close union of music and poetry has been so splendidly achieved in these works, should it not also be possible for the singer to become a genuine actor? Have we not the Schroeder-Devrient and Johanna Wagner to bring forward in proof of the capacity of the genuinely great singer to possess the parallel qualities of a really great actress? And is not the same thing true of the stage machinery and the mise-en-scene? On this point, Brendel observes quite rightly: 'In the earlier operas only the music was taken seriously, and all else was, more or less, an artistic lie. Hitherto, opera has displayed the paradox of claiming to represent the union of all the arts, but in reality, of refusing to do justice to the essential characteristics of these arts. The art-work of the future will be the solution of this paradox. The time has come for all the arts to be taken with equal seriousness, and for a union, in this sense, to be attempted.' "

It was at our house that the three friends met to study the music of "Tristan and Isolde," as Wagner's art met with lively opposition at the homes of Pindar and Krug. And I must confess, that at first the music did sound frightful as played by Fritz and Gustav ; they apparently did not understand how to make the melody stand out from the rich harmonic background, and our good mother, unwilling as she was to interfere with my brother's enjoyment, frankly admitted that she took no pleasure in this "frightful noise," as she called it. Even I could not get up any enthusiasm about it at first, but the boys persisted in their efforts until they succeeded so well in bringing out the effect of the hunting horns at the opening of the second act, that I fell completely under the spell of the music. "Everyone must be enraptured by it !" declared my brother, but my mother, who thought it judicious to throw an occasional wet blanket upon his ardor, answered : "Not at all ! There is no must in the matter, and on all sides I hear that this music is repudiated by the most eminent musical authorities. For example, Wagner's music is completely tabooed at the home of Frau Frege, the meeting place of a group of Leipsig musicians. A strange artist, not knowing of this antagonism, began to play something of Wagner's one evening, whereupon Frau Frege fainted dead away and had to be carried from the room, and the remainder of the company was also most unpleasantly affected."

I should not like to create the impression that my brother allowed himself to be carried away by an unreasoning enthusiasm. Such was not the case at all, as is indicated in a letter written to his friend, Baron von Gersdorff, on October 11, 1868: "I have played but little as I have no piano here in Kosen, but I brought along the piano score of Wagner's 'Walkure,' in regard to which my feelings are so confused that I dare not venture an opinion on the subject. The greatest beauties and virtues are offset by equally great shortcomings and positive ugliness, at times. And according to Riese and Buchbinder -f- a -f~ ( — a) = O. The newspapers state that the same composer is at work on a Hohenstaufen opera, and receives an occasional visit from the king whom he calls in the dedication of the work: 'the noble protector of my life.' It would do no harm, by the way, for the 'king to go with Wagner' ('to go,' in the boldest sense of the term) but naturally with a respectable life annuity."

And again, my brother would give free vent to his enthusiasm and write thus to his friend, Erwin Rohde: "This evening I attended the opening concert of the Euterpe society and refreshed my soul by listening to the Vorspiel of 'Tristan and Isolde' and that of the 'Meistersinger.' For the life of me, I cannot preserve an attitude of cool criticism in listening to this music; every nerve of my being is set tingling and it has been a long time since I have experienced a feeling of such sustained enjoyment as I did while listening to the latter overture." . . . Some weeks later, in attempting to console Rohde for some disagreeable personal experience, my brother pointed out the case of Richard Wagner, emphasizing that trait in his character, which compelled my brother's admiration as long as he lived. "Think of Wagner and Schopenhauer and of the undaunted energy with which they preserved their faith in themselves, and this amid the 'halloo of the entire cultured world !' "

At last the moment arrived when my brother was to make the personal acquaintance of the long-revered genius, an event humorously described in the following letter to Rohde written November 9, 1868 : ". . . When I got home I found a note stuck in my door reading: 'If you wish to meet Richard Wagner, come to the Theatre Cafe at a quarter to four. Windisch.* . . . Naturally I rushed off to the appointed place where I found our good friend and learned further details. It seems that Wagner had arrived in Leipzig on a visit to relatives, but was preserving the strictest incognito ; the press had not been allowed to get wind of the matter and the servants of the Brockhaus family were as silent as graves in livery. Wagner's sister, Frau Brockhaus, had naturally taken great pride in introducing her genius to her most intimate friend, Frau Ritchelin (the lucky creature!) Wagner played the Meisterlied for the Ritchelin, and the good woman told him that she was already familiar with the music — meet opera; astonishment and delight on the part of Wagner. Signifies his royal wish to make my humble acquaintance. I was to have been invited for Friday evening; Windisch, however, explained that it would be impossible for me to get away from my work ; whereupon, Saturday was suggested as the day of the meeting. At the appointed hour, Windisch and I hurried off to the Brockhaus home where' we found the Professor and his family assembled, but no Richard, he having unceremoniously sallied forth with an enormous hat on his big cranium. But, at all events, I made the acquaintance of this interesting family, and received an invitation to come again on Sunday evening.

"I seemed to be living in a dream during the time that intervened, and you must admit that the events leading up to this meeting, together with the well-known inaccessibility of this unique personality, savored strongly of the romantic. Under the impression that the soiree was to be a ceremonious affair, I resolved to don gala attire and was overjoyed at the thought that my tailor had already promised to have my new suit of evening clothes ready by Sunday. The weather was abominable, rain alternating with snow, and I had no inclination to venture out, and was therefore, highly pleased when Roscher dropped in to see me during the course of the afternoon ... it began to grow dark, but the tailor did not put in his appearance. When Roscher left, I went along, looked in at my tailor's and found his slaves busily sewing on my suit; it was to be delivered in three-quarters of an hour. . . .

"With my mind set at ease, I went on my way, met up with Kintschky, read the Kladderadatsch and beamed with joy when I came across a notice stating that Richard Wagner was at present in Switzerland, but that a beautiful house was being built for him in Munich, while all the time I knew that I was to meet him that very evening, and that the day before he had received a letter from the little king addressed: 'To the great German tone-poet, Richard Wagner.'

"No tailor in evidence when I got back to my room, so I seated myself with the greatest composure to read the dissertation on Eudocia : from time to time, I was disturbed by the shrill ringing of a bell that seemed to come from a great distance. Finally, it was borne in upon me that someone was ringing at the primitive old iron gate ; this was locked as well as the front door, and I was obliged to scream across the garden to the man to come in through the side entrance, but it was impossible to make myself heard for the splashing of the rain. The excitement communicated itself to the entire house, and finally, the doors were opened to admit a queer-looking little man carrying a parcel. It was then half-past six and the highest time that I should be about my toilet as I had some distance to go. Right enough, it was a man with my suit: I tried on the coat and found it an admirable fit.

"Suspicious turn in affairs ! The man presents the bill; I accept it politely. He expects it to be paid on the spot ; I express great surprise and explain that I can have no dealings with one of the workmen but only with the tailor to whom I gave the order. The man becomes more insistent ; the time grows shorter and shorter. I lay hold of the garments and attempt to put them on; the man seizes them and prevents me from carrying out my intention. Display of force on my side; display of force on his side. Tableau ! I continue the struggle as I am determined to wear the new trousers at all hazards.

"Finally, I resort to a show of injured dignity, solemn threats, curses upon the head of the tailor and his accomplices, upon whom I vow everlasting vengeance. In the meantime, the man disappears, triumphantly taking my suit with him. End of 2nd Act ! Shirt-clad, I sit on the sofa, scrutinizing an old black coat and trying to decide whether or not it is good enough for Richard.

". . . Outside, the rain descending in torrents ... A quarter to eight ; at half-past, I had arranged to meet Windisch at the Theatre Cafe. I rush forth wildly into the dark and stormy night, in a mood of exhilaration despite the old coat. After all, fortune had been kind to me ; there was even something uncanny and extraordinary about the scene with the tailor's apprentice.

"We arrive at the hospitable Brockhaus home: no one there but the immediate family, Richard, and the two of us. Introduced to Richard and say a few deferential words. He inquires very minutely how I come to be so familiar with his works, inveighs roundly against the production of his operas, with the exception of the famous Munich performances. He ridicules the conductors, who good-humoredly call out to their men: 'Now, gentlemen, just a trifle more passionate!' — 'Meine Gutsen, noch ein bisschen leidenschafterlicher!' — W. is fond of using the Saxon dialect.

"Now let me tell you briefly what happened on this eventful evening; it was enjoyment of so unique a character that I have not yet been able to get back into the grooves of everyday life, but am fit for nothing but to talk to you, dear friend, and tell you 'wundersame Mar.' Before and after dinner Wagner played all the important episodes from the 'Meister singer,' imitating the different voices. He is an astoundingly vivacious and high-spirited man, speaks very rapidly, is extremely witty, and is very animated when in the company of intimate friends.

"During the course of the evening we had a long conversation about Schopenhauer, and you can imagine my unbounded joy at hearing him say, with indescribable enthusiasm, how much he owed to Schopenhauer and to hear him called the only philosopher who had recognized the real nature of music. Then he inquired what attitude the professors now took towards Schopenhauer, and laughed heartily over the Philosopher's Congress in Prague, referring to them as 'philosophic porters.' Later in the evening, he read us parts of his autobiography upon which he is now at work, among other things, a delicious scene from his student days in Leipzig, of which I cannot yet think without bursting into laughter. By the way, he is very clever and witty with his pen. As we were leaving, he pressed my hand and cordially invited me to come and see him so that we might continue our conversation upon music and philosophy. He also commissioned me to familiarize his sister and her family with his music, which I solemnly pledged myself to do. . . . You shall hear more when I am able to look back upon this evening more objectively, and from a greater perspective. . . ."

Chapter II. Fiest Visit To Tribschen

(Spring of 1869.)

SOME months after this meeting, my brother was called to the University of Basle as professor of classical philology, his appointment being due to a number of striking scientific treatises published in the Rheinisches Museum and to the personal recommendation of Prof. Ritschl of Leipzig. During the Whitsuntide holidays of the same year he went over to Lake Lucerne with the intention of visiting the various points of historic interest in which this region abounds. Finding himself in the immediate vicinity of Villa Tribschen he debated with himself as to the propriety of accepting Wagner's invitation and paying a call at the villa.

In a vacillating frame of mind, he set out along the lake shore road leading to the romantic old country house almost hidden from view in the enchanting landscape which lay spread out at the foot of Mount Pilatus. Upon arriving at his destination, he hesitated outside the garden hedge for some time listening to an excruciating discord repeated again and again. Later he learned that this was from the third act of "Siegfried" at the point where the hero exclaims : " Verwundet hat mich, der mich erweckt."