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TABLE OF CONTENTS

POEM FRONTISPIECE
TRANSLATOR'S NOTE
ON CONDUCTING
APPENDIX A
APPENDIX B
APPENDIX C
APPENDIX D

POEM FRONTISPIECE

(1869).

MOTTO NACH GOETHE:

"Fliegenschnauz' und Muckennas'
Mit euren Anverwandten,
Frosch im Laub und Grill' im Gras,
Ihr seid mir Musikanten!"

* * * * * * * *

"Flysnout and Midgenose,
With all your kindred, too,
Treefrog and Meadow-grig.
True musicians, YOU!"

(After GOETHE).

[The lines travestied are taken from "Oberon und Titanias goldene
Hochzeit." Intermezzo, Walpurgisnacht.--Faust I.]

TRANSLATOR'S NOTE.

Wagner's Ueber das Dirigiren was published simultaneously in the
"Neue Zeitschrift fur Musik" and the "New-Yorker Musik-zeitung,"
1869. It was immediately issued in book form, Leipzig, 1869, and
is now incorporated in the author's collected writings, Vol.
VIII. p. 325-410. ("Gesammelte Schriften und Dichtungen von
Richard Wagner," ten volumes, Leipzig, 1871-1883.) For various
reasons, chiefly personal, the book met with much opposition in
Germany, but it was extensively read, and has done a great deal
of good. It is unique in the literature of music: a treatise on
style in the execution of classical music, written by a great
practical master of the grand style. Certain asperities which
pervade it from beginning to end could not well be omitted in the
translation; care has, however, been taken not to exaggerate
them. To elucidate some points in the text sundry extracts from
other writings of Wagner have been appended. The footnotes,
throughout, are the translator's.

ON CONDUCTING

The following pages are intended to form a record of my
experience in a department of music which has hitherto been left
to professional routine and amateur criticism. I shall appeal to
professional executants, both instrumentalists and vocalists,
rather than to conductors; since the executants only can tell
whether, or not, they have been led by a competent conductor. I
do not mean to set up a system, but simply to state certain
facts, and record a number of practical observations.

Composers cannot afford to be indifferent to the manner in which
their works are presented to the public; and the public,
naturally, cannot be expected to decide whether the performance
of a piece of music is correct or faulty, since there are no data
beyond the actual effect of the performance to judge by.

I shall endeavour to throw some light upon the characteristics of
musical performances in Germany--with regard to the concert-room,
as well as to the theatre. Those who have experience in such
matters are aware that, in most cases, the defective constitution
of German orchestras and the faults of their performances are due
to the shortcomings of the conductors ("Capellmeister,"
"Musikdirectoren," etc.). The demands upon the orchestras have
increased greatly of late, their task has become more difficult
and more complicated; yet the directors of our art-institutions,
display increasing negligence in their choice of conductors. In
the days when Mozart's scores afforded the highest tasks that
could be set before an orchestra, the typical German
Capellmeister was a formidable personage, who knew how to make
himself respected at his post--sure of his business, strict,
despotic, and by no means polite. Friedrich Schneider, of Dessau,
was the last representative I have met with of this now extinct
species. Guhr, of Frankfort, also may be reckoned as belonging to
it. The attitude of these men towards modern music was certainly
"old fashioned"; but, in their own way, they produced good solid
work: as I found not more than eight years ago [Footnote: Circa,
1861.] at Carlsruhe, when old Capellmeister Strauss conducted
"Lohengrin." This venerable and worthy man evidently looked at my
score with some little shyness; but, he took good care of the
orchestra, which he led with a degree of precision and firmness
impossible to excel. He was, clearly, a man not to be trifled
with, and his forces obeyed him to perfection. Singularly enough,
this old gentleman was the only German conductor of repute I had
met with, up to that time, who possessed true fire; his tempi
were more often a trifle too quick than too slow; but they were
invariably firm and well marked. Subsequently, H. Esser's
conducting, at Vienna, impressed me in like manner.

The older conductors of this stamp if they happened to be less
gifted than those mentioned, found it difficult to cope with the
complications of modern orchestral music--mainly because of their
fixed notions concerning the proper constitution of an orchestra.
I am not aware that the number of permanent members of an
orchestra, has, in any German town, been rectified according to
the requirements of modern instrumentation. Now-a-days, as of
old, the principal parts in each group of instruments, are
allotted to the players according to the rules of seniority
[Footnote: Appointments at German Court theatres are usually for
life.]--thus men take first positions when their powers are on
the wane, whilst younger and stronger men are relegated to the
subordinate parts--a practice, the evil effects of which are
particularly noticeable with regard to the wind instruments.
Latterly [Footnote: 1869.] by discriminating exertions, and
particularly, by the good sense of the instrumentalists
concerned, these evils have diminished; another traditional
habit, however, regarding the choice of players of stringed
instruments, has led to deleterious consequences. Without the
slightest compunction, the second violin parts, and especially
the Viola parts, have been sacrificed. The viola is commonly
(with rare exceptions indeed) played by infirm violinists, or by
decrepit players of wind instruments who happen to have been
acquainted with a stringed instrument once upon a time: at best a
competent viola player occupies the first desk, so that he may
play the occasional soli for that instrument; but, I have even
seen this function performed by the leader of the first violins.
It was pointed out to me that in a large orchestra, which
contained eight violas, there was only one player who could deal
with the rather difficult passages in one of my later scores!

Such a state of things may be excusable from a humane point of
view; it arose from the older methods of instrumentation, where
the role of the viola consisted for the most part in filling up
the accompaniments; and it has since found some sort of
justification in the meagre method of instrumentation adopted by
the composers of Italian operas, whose works constitute an
important element in the repertoire of the German opera theatres.

At the various court theatres, Italian operas have always found
favour with the Directors. From this it follows as a matter of
course, that works which are not in the good grace of those
gentlemen stand a poor chance, unless it should so happen that
the conductor is a man of weight and influence who knows the real
requirements of a modern orchestra. But our older Capellmeisters
rarely knew as much--they did not choose to recognize the need of
a large increase in the number of stringed instruments to balance
the augmented number of wind instruments and the complicated uses
the latter are now put to.

In this respect the attempts at reform were always insufficient;
and our celebrated German orchestras remained far behind those of
France in the power and capacity of the violins, and particularly
of the violoncellos.

Now, had the conductors of a later generation been men of
authority like their predecessors, they might easily have mended
matters; but the Directors of court theatres took good care to
engage none but demure and subservient persons.

It is well worth while to note how the conductors, who are now at
the head of German music, arrived at the honourable positions
they hold.

We owe our permanent orchestras to the various theatres,
particularly the court theatres, small and great. The managers of
these theatres are therefore in a position to select the men who
are to represent the spirit and dignity of German music. Perhaps
those who have been thus advanced to posts of honour, are
themselves cognizant of how they got there--to an unpractised
observer it is rather difficult to discern their particular
merits. The so-called "good berths" are reached step by step: men
move on and push upwards. I believe the Court orchestra at Berlin
has got the majority of its conductors in this way. Now and then,
however, things come to pass in a more erratic manner; grand
personages, hitherto unknown, suddenly begin to flourish under
the protection of the lady in waiting to some princess, etc.
etc.--It is impossible to estimate the harm done to our leading
orchestras and opera theatres by such nonentities. Devoid of real
merit they keep their posts by abject cringing to the chief court
official, and by polite submission to the indolence of their
musical subordinates. Relinquishing the pretence of artistic
discipline, which they are unable to enforce, they are always
ready to give way, or to obey any absurd orders from headquarters;
and such conductors, under favourable circumstances, have even
been known to become popular favourites!

At rehearsals all difficulties are got over by means of mutual
congratulations and a pious allusion to the "old established fame
of our Orchestra." Who can venture to say that the performances
of that famous institution deteriorate year by year? Where is the
true authority? Certainly not amongst the critics, who only bark
when their mouths are not stopped; and the art of stopping mouths
is cultivated to perfection.

Recently, the post of chief conductor has here and there been
filled by a man of practical experience, especially engaged with
a view to stimulating the slumbering energy of his colleagues.
Such "chiefs" are famed for their skill in "bringing out" a new
opera in a fortnight; for their clever "cuts"; for the effective
"closes" they write to please singers, and for their
interpolations in other men's scores. Practical accomplishments
of this sort have, for instance, supplied the Dresden Opera with
one of its most energetic Capellmeisters.

Now and again the managers look out for "a conductor of
reputation." Generally none such are to be had at the theatres;
but, according to the feuilletons of the political newspapers,
the singing societies and concert establishments furnish a steady
supply of the article. These are the "music-brokers," as it were,
of the present day, who came forth from the school of
Mendelssohn, and flourished under his protection and
recommendation. They differ widely from the helpless epigonae of
our old conductors: they are not musicians brought up in the
orchestra or at the theatre, but respectable pupils of the new-
fangled conservatoires; composers of Psalms and Oratorios, and
devout listeners at rehearsals for the subscription concerts.
They have received lessons in conducting too, and are possessed
of an elegant "culture" hitherto unknown in the realms of music.
Far from shewing any lack of politeness, they managed to
transform the timid modesty of our poor native Capellmeister into
a sort of cosmopolitan bon ton; which stood them in good stead
with the old-fashioned philistine society of our towns. I believe
the influence of these people upon German orchestras has been
good in many respects, and has brought about beneficial results:
certainly much that was raw and awkward has disappeared; and,
from a musical point of view, many details of refined phrasing
and expression are now more carefully attended to. They feel more
at home in the modern orchestra; which is indebted to their
master--Mendelssohn--for a particularly delicate and refined
development in the direction opened up by Weber's original
genius.

One thing however is wanting to these gentlemen, without which
they cannot be expected to achieve the needful reconstruction of
the orchestras, nor to enforce the needful reforms in the
institutions connected with them, viz., energy, self-confidence,
and personal power. In their case, unfortunately, reputation,
talent, culture, even faith, love and hope, are artificial. Each
of them was, and is, so busy with his personal affairs, and the
difficulty of maintaining his artificial position, that he cannot
occupy himself with measures of general import--measures which
might bring about a connected and consistent new order of things.
As a matter of fact, such an order of things cannot, and does not
concern the fraternity at all. They came to occupy the position
of those old fashioned German masters, because the power of the
latter had deteriorated and because they had shewn themselves
incapable to meet the wants of a new style; and it would appear
that they, in their turn, regard their position of to-day as
merely temporary--filling a gap in a period of transition. In the
face of the new ideals of German art, towards which all that is
noble in the nation begins to turn, they are evidently at a loss,
since these ideals are alien to their nature. In the presence of
certain technical difficulties inseparable from modern music they
have recourse to singular expedients. Meyerbeer, for instance,
was very circumspect; in Paris he engaged a new flutist and paid
him out of his own pocket to play a particular bit nicely. Fully
aware of the value of finished execution, rich and independent,
Meyerbeer might have been of great service to the Berlin
orchestra when the King of Prussia appointed him "General
Musikdirector." Mendelssohn was called upon to undertake a
similar mission about the same time; and, assuredly, Mendelssohn
was the possessor of the most extraordinary gifts and attainments.
Both men, doubtless, encountered all the difficulties which had
hitherto blocked the way towards improvements; but they were called
upon to overcome these very difficulties, and their independent
position and great attainments rendered them exceptionally
competent to do so. Why then did their powers desert them? It would
seem as if they had no real power. They left matters to take care
of themselves and, now, we are confronted by the "celebrated"
Berlin orchestra in which the last trace of the traditions of
Spontini's strict discipline have faded away. Thus fared Meyerbeer
and Mendelssohn whilst at Berlin: what are we to expect elsewhere
from their neat little shadows?

It is clear from this account of the survivals of the earlier and
of the latest species of Capellmeisters and Musikdirectors, that
neither of them are likely to do much towards the reorganization
of our orchestras. On the other hand the initiative has been
taken by the orchestral performers themselves; and the signs of
progress are evidently owing to the increasing development of
their technical attainments. Virtuosi upon the different
orchestral instruments have done excellent service, and they
might have done much more in the circumstances had the conductors
been competent.

Exceptionally gifted and accomplished players easily got the
upper hand of the decrepit Capellmeisters of the old sort, and of
their successors, the parvenus without authority--pianoforte
pedagogues patronized by ladies in waiting, etc., etc. Virtuosi
soon came to play a role in the orchestra akin to that of the
prima donna on the stage. The elegant conductors of the day chose
to associate and ally themselves with the virtuosi, and this
arrangement might have acted very satisfactorily if the
conductors had really understood the true spirit of German music.

It is important to point out in this connection that conductors
are indebted to the theatres for their posts, and even for the
existence of their orchestra. The greater part of their
professional work consists in rehearsing and conducting operas.
They ought, therefore, to have made it their business to
understand the theatre--the opera--and to make themselves masters
of the proper application of music to dramatic art, in something
like the manner in which an astronomer applies mathematics to
astronomy. Had they understood dramatic singing and dramatic
expression they might have applied such knowledge to the
execution of modern instrumental music.

A long time ago I derived much instruction as to the tempo and
the proper execution of Beethoven's music from the clearly
accentuated and expressive singing of that great artist, Frau
Schroder-Devrient. I have since found it impossible, for example,
to permit the touching cadence of the Oboe in the first movement
of the C minor Symphony--

[Figure: music example]

to be played in the customary timid and embarrassed way; indeed,
starting from the insight I had gained into the proper execution
of this cadence, I also found and felt the true significance and
expression due to the sustained fermata of the first violins

[Figure: musical example (a single note, a G atop the treble
clef, with a fermata)] [Footnote: Ante, bar 21.]

in the corresponding place, and from the touching emotional
impressions I got by means of these two seemingly so
insignificant details I gained a new point of view, from which
the entire movement appeared in a clearer and warmer light.

Leaving this for the present, I am content to point out that a
conductor might exercise great influence upon the higher musical
culture with regard to execution, if he properly understood his
position in relation to dramatic art, to which, in fact, he is
indebted for his post and his dignity. But our conductors are
accustomed to look upon the opera as an irksome daily task (for
which, on the other hand, the deplorable condition of that genre
of art at German theatres furnishes reason enough); they consider
that the sole source of honour lies in the concert rooms from
which they started and from which they were called; for, as I
have said above, wherever the managers of a theatre happen to
covet a musician of reputation for Capellmeister, they think
themselves obliged to get him from some place other than a
theatre.

Now to estimate the value of a quondam conductor of concerts and
of choral societies at a theatre, it is advisable to pay him a
visit at home, i.e., in the concert-room, from which he derives
his reputation as a "solid" German musician. Let us observe him
as a conductor of orchestral concerts. Looking back upon my
earliest youth I remember to have had unpleasant impressions from
performances of classical orchestral music. At the piano or
whilst reading a score, certain things appeared animated and
expressive, whereas, at a performance, they could hardly be
recognised, and failed to attract attention. I was puzzled by the
apparent flabbiness of Mozartian Melody (Cantilena) which I had
been taught to regard as so delicately expressive. Later in life
I discovered the reasons for this, and I have discussed them in
my report on a "German music school to be established at Munich,"
[Footnote: "Bericht ueber eine in Munchen zu errichtende deutsche
Musikschule" (1865). See Appendix A.] to which I beg to refer
readers who may be interested in the subject. Assuredly, the
reasons lie in the want of a proper Conservatorium of German
music--a Conservatory, in the strictest sense of the word, in
which the traditions of the CLASSICAL MASTERS' OWN style of
execution are preserved in practice--which, of course, would
imply that the masters should, once at least, have had a chance
personally to supervise performances of their works in such a
place. Unfortunately German culture has missed all such
opportunities; and if we now wish to become acquainted with the
spirit of a classical composer's music, we must rely on this or
that conductor, and upon his notion of what may, or may not, be
the proper tempo and style of execution.

In the days of my youth, orchestral pieces at the celebrated
Leipzig Gewandhaus Concerts were not conducted at all; they were
simply played through under the leadership of Conzertmeister
[Footnote: i.e., the leader of the first violins.] Mathai, like
overtures and entr'actes at a theatre. At least there was no
"disturbing individuality," in the shape of a conductor! The
principal classical pieces which presented no particular
technical difficulties were regularly given every winter; the
execution was smooth and precise; and the members of the
orchestra evidently enjoyed the annual recurrence of their
familiar favourites.

With Beethoven's Ninth Symphony alone they could not get on,
though it was considered a point of honour to give that work
every year. I had copied the score for myself, and made a
pianoforte arrangement for two hands; but I was so much
astonished at the utterly confused and bewildering effect of the
Gewandhaus performance that I lost courage, and gave up the study
of Beethoven for some time. Later, I found it instructive to note
how I came to take true delight in performances of Mozart's
instrumental works: it was when I had a chance to conduct them
myself, and when I could indulge my feelings as to the expressive
rendering of Mozart's cantilena.

I received a good lesson at Paris in 1839, when I heard the
orchestra of the Conservatoire rehearse the enigmatical Ninth
Symphony. The scales fell from my eyes; I came to understand the
value of CORRECT execution, and the secret of a good performance.
The orchestra had learnt to look for Beethoven's MELODY in every
bar--that melody which the worthy Leipzig musicians had failed to
discover; and the orchestra SANG that melody. THIS WAS THE
SECRET.

Habeneck, who solved the difficulty, and to whom the great credit
for this performance is due, was not a conductor of special
genius. Whilst rehearsing the symphony, during an entire winter
season, he had felt it to be incomprehensible and ineffective
(would German conductors have confessed as much?), but he
persisted throughout a second and a third season! until
Beethoven's new melos [Footnote: Melody in all its aspects.] was
understood and correctly rendered by each member of the
orchestra. Habeneck was a conductor of the old stamp; HE was the
master--and everyone obeyed him. I cannot attempt to describe the
beauty of this performance. However, to give an idea of it, I
will select a passage by the aid of which I shall endeavour to
shew the reason why Beethoven is so difficult to render, as well
as the reason for the indifferent success of German orchestras
when confronted by such difficulties. Even with first class
orchestras I have never been able to get the passage in the first
movement

[Figure: musical example]

performed with such equable perfection as I then (thirty years
ago) heard it played by the musicians of the Paris "Orchestre du
Conservatoire." [Footnote: Wagner, however, subsequently admitted
that the passage was rendered to his satisfaction at the
memorable performance of the Ninth Symphony, given May 22nd,
1872, to celebrate the laying of the foundation stone of the
theatre at Bayreuth.] Often in later life have I recalled this
passage, and tried by its aid to enumerate the desiderata in the
execution of orchestral music: it comprises MOVEMENT and
SUSTAINED tone, with a DEFINITE DEGREE OF POWER. [Footnote: ("An
dieser Stelle ist es mir, bei oft in meinem spateren Leben
erneueter Erinnerung, recht klar geworden, worauf es beim
Orchestervortrag ankommt, weil sie die BEWEGUNG und den
GEHALTENEN TON, zugleich mit dem Gesetz der DYNAMIK in sich
schliesst.")] The masterly execution of this passage by the Paris
orchestra consisted in the fact that they played it EXACTLY as it
is written. Neither at Dresden, nor in London [Footnote: Concert
of the Philharmonic Society, 26th March, 1855.] when, in after
years, I had occasion to prepare a performance of the symphony,
did I succeed in getting rid of the annoying irregularity which
arises from the change of bow and change of strings. Still less
could I suppress an involuntary accentuation as the passage
ascends; musicians, as a rule, are tempted to play an ascending
passage with an increase of tone, and a descending one with a
decrease. With the fourth bar of the above passage we invariably
got into a crescendo so that the sustained G flat of the fifth
bar was given with an involuntary yet vehement accent, enough to
spoil the peculiar tonal significance of that note. The
composer's intention is clearly indicated; but it remains
difficult to prove to a person whose musical feelings are not of
a refined sort, that there is a great gap between a commonplace
reading, and the reading meant by the composer: no doubt both
readings convey a sense of dissatisfaction, unrest, longing--but
the quality of these, the true sense of the passage, cannot be
conveyed unless it is played as the master imagined it, and as I
have not hitherto heard it given except by the Parisian musicians
in 1839. In connection with this I am conscious that the
impression of dynamical monotony [Footnote: i.e., a power of tone
the degree of which remains unchanged.] (if I may risk such an
apparently senseless expression for a difficult phenomenon)
together with the unusually varied and ever irregular movement of
intervals in the ascending figure entering on the prolonged G
flat to be sung with such infinite delicacy, to which the G
natural answers with equal delicacy, initiated me as by magic to
the incomparable mystery of the spirit. Keeping my further
practical experience in view, I would ask how did the musicians
of Paris arrive at so perfect a solution of the difficult
problem? By the most conscientious diligence. They were not
content with mutual admiration and congratulation (sich
gegenseitig Complimente zu machen) nor did they assume that
difficulties must disappear before them as a matter of course.
French musicians in the main belong to the Italian school; its
influence upon them has been beneficial in as much as they have
thus been taught to approach music mainly through the medium of
the human voice. The French idea of playing an instrument well is
to be able to SING well upon it. And (as already said) that
superb orchestra SANG the symphony. The possibility of its being
well sung implies that the TRUE TEMPO had been found: and this is
the second point which impressed me at the time. Old Habeneck was
not the medium of any abstract aesthetical inspiration--he was
devoid of "genius:" BUT HE FOUND THE RIGHT TEMPO WHILE
PERSISTENTLY FIXING THE ATTENTION OF HIS ORCHESTRA UPON THE MELOS
[Footnote: MELODY in all its aspects.] OF THE SYMPHONY.

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