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Richard Wagner (translated by Edward Dannreuther) >> On Conducting (Ueber das Dirigiren):
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[Three measures of music are shown here]
This second theme has previously been introduced in diminution,
and in common 4/4 time:
[Two measures of music are shown here]
Together with the greatest delicacy which the proper execution
demands, it here exhibits a passionate, almost hasty character
(something like a whispered declaration of love). Not to disturb
the main characteristic, delicacy, it is, therefore, necessary
slightly to hold back the tempo (the moving figuration
sufficiently expresses passionate haste), thus the extreme nuance
of the main tempo, in the direction of a somewhat grave 4/4 time,
should be adopted here, and, to do this without a wrench (i.e.,
without really disfiguring the general character of the main
tempo), a bar is marked poco rallentando, to introduce the
change. Through the more restless nuance of this theme:
[A musical score]
which, eventually, gets the upper hand, and which is indicated
with "leidenschaftlicher" (more passionate) it is easy to lead
the tempo back into the original quicker movement, in which,
finally, it will be found capable to serve in the above-mentioned
sense of an Andante alla breve, whereby it is only needful to
recur to a nuance of the main tempo, which has already been
developed in the exposition of the piece; namely, I have allowed
the final development of the pompous march theme to expand to a
lengthy coda of a cantabile character conceived in that tempo
Andante alia breve. As this full-toned cantabile
[A musical score]
is preceded by the weighty crochets of the fanfare the
modification of the tempo must obviously begin at the end of the
crochets, that is to say with the more sustained notes of the
chord on the dominant which introduces the cantabile. And, as
this broader movement in minims continues for some time with an
increase in power and modulation, I thought conductors could be
trusted to attain the proper increase of speed; the more so, as
such passages, when simply left to the natural impulse of the
executants always induce a more animated tempo. Being myself an
experienced conductor, I counted upon this as a matter of course,
and merely indicated the passage at which the tempo returns to
the original 4/4 time, which any musician will feel, at the
return of the crochets and in the changes of harmony.
At the conclusion of the overture the broader 4/4 time, quoted
above in the powerfully sustained march-like fanfare, returns
again; the quick figured embellishments are added, and the tempo
ends exactly as it began.
This overture was first performed at a concert at Leipzig, when I
conducted it as described above. It was so well played by the
orchestra that the small audience, consisting for the most part
of non-resident friends, demanded an immediate repetition, which
the musicians, who agreed with the audience, gladly accorded. The
favourable impression thus created was much talked of, and the
directors of the Gewandhaus Concerts decided to give the native
Leipzig public a chance to hear the new overture.
In this instance Herr Capellmeister Reinecke, who had heard the
piece under my direction, conducted it, and the very same
orchestra played it--in such wise that the audience hissed! I do
not care to investigate how far this result was due to the
straightforward honesty of the persons concerned; let it suffice
that competent musicians, who were present at the performance,
described to me the SORT OF TIME the Herr Capellmeister had
thought fit to beat to the overture--and therewith I knew enough.
If any conductor wishes to prove to his audience or to his
directors, etc., what an ambiguous risk they will run with "Die
Meistersinger," he need take no further trouble than to beat time
to the overture after the fashion in which he is wont to beat it
to the works of Beethoven, Mozart, and Bach (which fashion suits
the works of R. Schumann fairly well); it will then be
sufficiently obvious that he is dealing with a very unpleasant
kind of music--let anyone imagine so animated, yet so sensitive a
thing as the tempo which governs this overture, let this
delicately constituted thing suddenly be forced into the
Procrustus-bed of such a classical time-beater, what will become
of it? The doom is: "Herein shalt thou lie, whatsoever is too
long with thee shall be chopped off, and whatsoever is too short
shall be stretched!" Whereupon the band strikes up and overpowers
the cries of the victim! Safely bedded in this wise, not only the
overture, but, as will appear in the sequel, the entire opera of
Die Meistersinger, or as much of it as was left after the
Capellmeister's cuts, was presented to the public of Dresden. On
this occasion, correctly and technically speaking, the merits of
the conductor [Footnote: The late Julius Rietz.] consisted in
this: he made a guess at the main tempo, chose the broadest
nuance of it, and spread this over the whole, beating the
steadiest and stiffest square time from beginning to end! The
ultimate results were as follows: I had made use of the
combination of the two main themes under an ideal Tempo Andante
alia breve (quoted above from the conclusion of the overture,
page 94) to form a pleasant and cheerful conclusion to the entire
opera, something after the manner of a burden to some old popular
song: I had augmented and enlarged the treatment of the thematic
combination for this purpose, and now employed it as a sort of
accompaniment to Hans Sachs's epilogising praise of the "Master-
singers," and to his consolatory rhymes upon German art, with
which the work ends. Though the words are serious, the closing
apostrophe is none the less meant to have a cheering and hopeful
effect; and, to produce this, I counted upon that simple thematic
combination, the rhythmical movement of which was intended to
proceed smoothly, and was not meant to assume a pompous
character, except just before the end, when the chorus enters.
Now in the overture, the conductor had failed to see the
necessity of a modification of the original march-like tempo in
the direction of an Andante alla breve; and, of course, here--at
the close of the opera--he equally failed to feel that the
movement was not directly connected with the march tempo--his
first mistake was therefore continued, and he proceeded to
confine and hold fast the warmly-feeling singer of the part of
Hans Sachs in rigid 4/4 time, and to compel him to deliver his
final address in the stiffest and most awkward manner possible.
Friends of mine requested me to permit a large "cut" for Dresden,
as the effect of the close was so very depressing. I declined;
and the complaints soon ceased. At length I came to understand
the reason why; the Capellmeister had acted for the obstinate
composer; "solely with a view to the good of the work," he had
followed the dictates of his artistic insight and conscience, had
laid his hands on the troublesome apostrophe, and simply "CUT"
it.
"Cut! Cut!"--this is the ultimo ratio of our conductors; by its
aid they establish a satisfactory equilibrium between their own
incompetence, and the proper execution of the artistic tasks
before them. They remember the proverb: "What I know not, burns
me not!" ("was ich nicht weiss, macht mich nicht heiss") and the
public cannot object to an arrangement so eminently practical. It
only remains for me to consider what I am to say to a performance
of my work, which thus appears enclosed between a failure at
Alpha, and a failure at Omega? Outwardly things look very
pleasant: An unusually animated audience, and an ovation for the
Herr Capellmeister--to join in which the royal father of my
country returns to the front of his box. But, subsequently,
ominous reports about cuts which had been made, and further
changes and abbreviations super-added; whilst the impression of a
perfectly unabbreviated, but perfectly correct performance, at
Munich, remains in my mind, and makes it impossible for me to
agree with the mutilators. So disgraceful a state of things seems
inevitable, since few people understand the gravity of the evil,
and fewer still care to assist in any attempts to mend it.
On the other hand there is some little consolation in the fact
that in spite of all ill-treatment the work retains some of its
power--that fatal power and "effect" against which the professors
of the Leipsic conservatorium so earnestly warn their pupils, and
against which all sorts of destructive tactics are applied in
vain! Having made up my mind, not to assist personally at any
future performance like the recent ones of "Die Meistersinger" at
Dresden, I am content to accept the "success" of the work as a
consolatory example illustrating the fate of our classical music
in the hands of our conducting musicians. Classical music retains
its warmth, and continues to exist in spite of the maltreatment
they subject it to. It appears truly indestructible: and the
Spirit of German art may accept this indestructibility as a
consoling fact, and may fearlessly continue its efforts in
future. It might be asked: But what do the queer conductors with
celebrated names amount to, considered simply as practical
musicians? Looking at their perfect unanimity in every practical
matter one might be led to think that, after all, they understand
their business properly, and that, in spite of the protest of
one's feelings, their ways might even be "classical." The general
public is so ready to take the excellence of their doings for
granted, and to accept it as a matter of course, that the middle-
class musical people are not troubled with the slightest doubt as
to who is to beat time at their musical festivals, or on any
other great occasion when the nation desires to hear some music.
No one but Herr Hiller, Herr Rietz, or Herr Lachner is thought
fit for this. It would be simply impossible to celebrate the
hundredth anniversary of Beethoven's birth if these three
gentlemen should happen suddenly to sprain their wrists. On the
other hand, I am sorry to say I know of no one to whom I would
confidently entrust a single tempo in one of my operas; certainly
to no member of the staff of our army of time-beaters. Now and
then I have met with some poor devil who showed real skill and
talent for conducting: but such rare fellows find it difficult to
get on, because they are apt not only to see through the
incompetence of the celebrities, but imprudent enough to speak
about it. If, for instance, a man happens to discover serious
mistakes in the orchestra parts of "Figaro," from which the opera
had been played with special unction--heaven knows how often--
under the solemn conductorship of a celebrity, he is not likely
to gain the favour of his chief. Such gifted poor fellows are
destined to perish like the heretics of old.
As everything is thus apparently in good order, and seems likely
to remain so, I am again tempted to ask how CAN this be? We
entertain lurking doubts whether these gentlemen really ARE
musicians; evidently they do not evince the slightest MUSICAL
FEELING; yet, in fact, they HEAR very accurately (with
mathematical, not ideal, accuracy; contretemps like that of the
faulty orchestra parts do not happen to everyone); they are quick
at a score, read and play at sight (many of them, at least, do
so); in short, they prove true professionals; but, alongside of
this, their general education (Bildung)--in spite of all efforts-
-is such as can pass muster in the case of a musician only; so
that, if music were struck from the list of their attainments,
there would be little left--least of all, a man of spirit and
sense. No, no! they certainly ARE musicians and very competent
musicians, who know and can do everything that pertains to music.
Well, then? As soon as they begin to perform music they muddle
matters, and feel unsafe all round, unless it be in "Ewig,
selig," or at best in "Lord Sabaoth!"
That which makes our great music great is the very thing which
confuses these people; unfortunately, this cannot be expressed in
words and concepts, nor in arithmetical figures. Yet, what is it
other than music? and music only! What, then, can be the reason
of this barrenness, dryness, coldness, this complete inability to
feel the influence of true music, and, in its presence, to forget
any little vexation, any small jealous distress, or any mistaken
personal notion? Could Mozart's astonishing gift for arithmetic
serve us for a vague explanation? On the one hand, it seems that
with him--whose nervous system was so excessively sensitive to
any disturbing sound, whose heart beat with such overflowing
sympathy--the ideal elements of music met and united to form a
wondrous whole. On the other hand, Beethoven's naive way of
adding up his accounts is sufficiently well known; arithmetical
problems of any sort or kind assuredly never entered into his
social or musical plans. Compared with Mozart he appears as a
monstrum per excessum in the direction of sensibility, which, not
being checked and balanced by an intellectual counterweight from
the arithmetical side, can hardly be conceived as able to exist
or to escape premature destruction, if it had not fortunately
been protected by a singularly tough and robust constitution. Nor
can anything in Beethoven's music be gauged or measured by
figures; whilst with Mozart a good deal that appears regular--
almost too regular (as has already been touched upon) is
conceivable, and can be explained as the result of a naive
mixture of those two extremes of musical perception. Accordingly
the professional musicians under examination appear as
monstrosities in the direction of musical arithmetic; and it is
not difficult to understand how such musicians, endowed with the
very reverse of a Beethovenian temperament, should succeed and
flourish with a nervous system of the commonest kind.
If then our celebrated and uncelebrated conductors happen to be
born for music only under the sign of Numbers (im Zeichen der
Zahl), it would seem very desirable that some new school might be
able to teach them the proper tempo for our music by the rule of
three. I doubt whether they will ever acquire it in the simple
way of musical feeling; wherefore, I believe, I have now reached
the end of my task.
Perhaps the new school is already in sight. I understand that a
"High-School of Music" has been established at Berlin, under the
auspices of the Royal Academy of Arts and Sciences, and that the
directorship of the school has been entrusted to the celebrated
violinist, Herr Joachim. To start such a school without Herr
Joachim, if his services are available, would be a great mistake.
I am inclined to hope for much from him; because everything I
know and have heard concerning his method of playing proves that
this virtuoso is a complete master of the style of execution I
demand for our classical music. By the side of Liszt and his
disciples he is the only living musician to whom I can point as a
practical proof and example in support of the foregoing
assertions. It is immaterial whether or not Herr Joachim likes to
see his name mentioned in such connection; for, with regard to
that which a man can do and actually does, it matters little what
he chooses to profess. If Herr Joachim thinks it expedient to
profess that he has developed his fine style in the company of
Herr Hiller, or of R. Schumann, this may rest upon its merits,
provided he always plays in such wise that one may recognise the
good results of several years intimate intercourse with Liszt. I
also think it an advantage that when a "High-School of Music" was
first thought of, the promoters at once secured the services of
an admirable PRACTICAL MASTER OF STYLE AND EXECUTION. If, to-day,
I had to put a theatre capellmeister in the way of comprehending
how he ought to conduct a piece, I would much rather refer him to
Frau Lucca, than to the late Cantor Hauptmann at Leipzig, even if
the latter were still alive. In this point I agree with the naive
portion of the public, and indeed, with the taste of the
aristocratic patrons of the opera, for I prefer to deal with
persons who actually bring forth something that appeals to the
ear and to the feelings. Yet, I cannot help entertaining some
little doubt, when I see Herr Joachim--all alone and solitary--
sitting on high in the curule chair of the Academy--with nothing
in his hand but a violin; for towards violinists generally I have
always felt as Mephistopheles feels towards "the fair," whom he
affects "once for all in the plural." The conductor's baton is
reported not to have worked well in Herr Joachim's hands;
composition, too, appears rather to have been a source of
bitterness to him than of pleasure to others. I fail to see how
"the high-school" is to be directed solely from the "high-stool"
of the violinist. Socrates, at least, was not of opinion that
Themistocles, Cimon and Pericles would prove capable of guiding
the State by reason of their abilities as commanders and
speakers; for, unfortunately, he could point to the results of
their successes, and shew that the administration of State
affairs became a source of personal trouble to them. But perhaps
the case is different in the realms of music.
Yet another thing appears dubious. I am told that Herr J. Brahms
expects all possible good to result from a return to the melody
of Schubert's songs, and that Herr Joachim, for his own part,
expects a NEW MESSIAH for music in general. Ought he not to leave
such expectations to those who have chosen him "high-
schoolmaster?" I, for my part, say to him "Go in, and win!" If it
should come to pass that he himself is the Messiah, he may, at
all events, rest assured that the Jews will not crucify him.
FINIS
APPENDIX.
APPENDIX A.
[BERICHT an Seine Majestat den Konig Ludwig II., von Bayern uber
eine in Munchen zu errichtende Deutsche Musik-schule. (Report
concerning a German music-school to be established at Munich)
1865. Reprinted in Wagner's "Gesammelte Schriften," Vol. VIII.,
p. 159-219, Leipzig, 1873.]
p. 20. ... "WE POSSESS CLASSICAL WORKS, BUT WE ARE NOT IN
POSSESSION OF A CLASSICAL STYLE FOR THE EXECUTION OF THESE
WORKS." ... "Does Germany possess a school at which the proper
execution of Mozart's music is taught? Or do our orchestras and
their conductors manage to play Mozart in accordance with some
occult knowledge of their own? If so, whence do they derive such
knowledge? Who taught it them? Take the simplest examples,
Mozart's instrumental pieces (by no means his most important
works, for these belong to the operatic stage), two things are at
once apparent: the melodies must be beautifully SUNG; yet there
are very few marks in the scores to shew HOW they are to be sung.
It is well known that Mozart wrote the scores of his symphonies
hurriedly, in most cases simply for the purpose of performance at
some concert he was about to give; on the other hand, it is also
well known that he made great demands upon the orchestra in the
matter of expression. Obviously he trusted to his personal
influence over the musicians. In the orchestra parts it was thus
sufficient to note the main tempo and piano or forte for entire
periods, since the master, who conducted the rehearsals, could
give spoken directions as to details, and, by singing his themes,
communicate the proper expression to the players.
We are, now-a-days, accustomed to mark all details of expression
in the parts; nevertheless an intelligent conductor frequently
finds it expedient to indicate important but very delicate
nuances of expression by word of mouth to the particular
musicians whom they concern; and, as a rule, such spoken
directions are better understood and attended to than the written
signs. It is obvious that in the rendering of Mozart's
instrumental music spoken directions played an important part.
With Mozart the so-called development sections, and the
connecting links between the main themes, are frequently rather
slight, whereas his musical originality shows to greatest
advantage in the vocal character of the melodies. Compared with
Haydn's the significance of Mozart's symphonies lies in the
extraordinarily expressive vocal character of his instrumental
themes. Now, had Germany been in possession of an authoritative
institution, like the Conservatoire of Paris, and had Mozart been
asked to assist in the execution of his works, and to superintend
the spirit of the performances at such an institution, we might
possibly have something like an authoritative tradition amongst
us--a tradition such as, in spite of decay and corruption, is
still surprisingly vivid at the Paris Conservatoire--for
instance, in the case of Gluck's operas. But nothing of the sort
exists with us. Mozart, as a rule, wrote a symphony for some
special concert, performed it once, with an orchestra casually
engaged, at Vienna, Prague, or Leipzig; and the traditions of
such casual performances are completely lost.
No trace is preserved, except the scantily-marked scores. And
these classical relics of a once warmly vibrating work are now
accepted, with mistaken trust, as the sole guide towards a new
living performance. Now, let us imagine such an expressive theme
of Mozart's--Mozart, who was intimately acquainted with the noble
style of classical Italian singing, whose musical expression
derived its very soul from the delicate vibrations, swellings and
accents of that style, and who was the first to reproduce the
effects of this vocal style, by means of orchestral instruments--
let us imagine such a theme of the Master's played neatly and
smoothly, by an instrument in the orchestra, without any
inflection, or increase or decrease of tone and accent, without
the slightest touch of that modification of movement and rhythm
so indispensable to good singing--but monotonously enunciated,
just as one might pronounce some arithmetical number--and then,
let us endeavour to form a conclusion as to the vast difference
between the master's original intention, and the impression thus
produced. The dubious value of the veneration for Mozart,
professed by our music-conservators, will then also appear. To
show this more distinctly, let us examine a particular case--for
example, the first eight bars of the second movement of Mozart's
celebrated symphony in E flat. Take this beautiful theme as it
appears on paper, with hardly any marks of expression--fancy it
played smoothly and complacently, as the score apparently has it-
-and compare the result with the manner in which a true musician
would feel and sing it! How much of Mozart does the theme convey,
if played, as in nine cases out of ten it is played, in a
perfectly colourless and lifeless way? "Poor pen and paper music,
without a shadow of soul or sense." (Eine seelenlose
Schriftmusik).
APPENDIX B.
[See p. 62, et seq. of Wagner's "Beethoven," translated by E
Dannreuther, London, 1882.]
"A BEETHOVEN DAY:" Beethoven's string quartet in C sharp minor.
"If we rest content to recall the tone-poem to memory, an
attempt at illustration such as the following may perhaps prove
possible, at least up to a certain degree; whereas it would
hardly be feasible during an actual performance. For, whilst
listening to the work, we are bound to eschew any definite
comparisons, being solely conscious of an immediate revelation
from another world. Even then, however, the animation of the
picture, in its several details, has to be left to the reader's
fancy, and an outline sketch must therefore suffice. The longer
introductory Adagio, than which probably nothing more melancholy
has been expressed in tones, I would designate as the awakening
on the morn of a day that throughout its tardy course shall
fulfil not a single desire: not one. [FOOTNOTE: "Den Tag zu
sehen, der Mir in seinem Lauf Nicht einen Wunsch erfullen wird,
nicht Einen." Faust.] None the less it is a penitential prayer, a
conference with God in the faith of the eternally good. The eye
turned inwards here, too, sees the comforting phenomena it alone
can perceive (Allegro 6/8), in which the longing becomes a sweet,
tender, melancholy disport with itself; [FOOTNOTE: Ein Wehmuthig
holdes Spiel.] the inmost hidden dream-picture awakens as the
loveliest reminiscence. And now, in the short transitional
Allegro moderate it is as though the Master, conscious of his
strength, puts himself in position to work his spells; with
renewed power he now practises his magic (Andante 2/4), in
banning a lovely figure, the witness of pure heavenly innocence,
so that he may incessantly enrapture himself by its ever new and
unheard of transformations, induced by the refraction of the rays
of light he casts upon it. We may now (Presto 2/2) fancy him,
profoundly happy from within, casting an inexpressibly serene
glance upon the outer world; and, again, it stands before him as
in the Pastoral Symphony. Everything is luminous, reflecting his
inner happiness: It is as though he were listening to the very
tones emitted by the phenomena, that move, aerial and again firm,
in rhythmical dance before him. He contemplates Life, and appears
to reflect how he is to play a dance for Life itself (Short
Adagio 3/4); a short, but troubled meditation--as though he were
diving into the soul's deep dream. He has again caught sight of
the inner side of the world; he wakens and strikes the strings
for a dance, such as the world has never heard (Allegro Finale).
It is the World's own dance; wild delight, cries of anguish,
love's ecstacy, highest rapture, misery, rage; voluptuous now,
and sorrowful; lightnings quiver, storm's roll; and high above
the gigantic musician! banning and compelling all things, proudly
and firmly wielding them from whirl to whirlpool, to the abyss.--
He laughs at himself; for the incantation was, after all, but
play to him. Thus night beckons. His day is done.
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