Meanwhile, his friend Röckel’s radical activities escalated: he printed and distributed an appeal to Saxon soldiers explaining his political stance, was arrested for high treason, spent three days in jail before being bailed out, got a hero’s welcome from the Patriotic Union, and was fired from his court theater post. He grew a full beard, launched the popular weekly Volksblatt, a clear, no-nonsense paper that cut through political platitudes to address issues that mattered to both working and educated readers, though it made little profit. His brother Edward planned to move to England to teach piano to support the family if Röckel was imprisoned or executed. Röckel filled Wagner’s head with socialist ideas: abolishing the middleman, letting labor become an artistic, fulfilling pursuit rather than a burden, even dismantling traditional marriage, arguing that without class and money pressure, relationships would be pure and untainted. Wagner was inspired, and started thinking about how his artistic ideals could be realized in this new, more equal social order.
When the Saxon government threatened to cut the court theater’s Civil List subsidy, calling it an unnecessary luxury for the depraved, Wagner drew up a plan to repurpose those funds to create a national theater for all Saxony, arguing it would be a force for public education and morality, not debauchery. He first pitched the plan to Minister of Education von der Pfordten, who was polite but clearly uninterested, then went to Minister of the Interior Oberlander, who was earnest but said the King would never approve such an out-of-the-box proposal, and suggested Wagner take it to parliament instead. Wagner met newly elected radical parliamentarians, who were only interested in cutting state spending; one told him the state didn’t need to worry about art, “society will know how to act in regard to art and the theater” without his input. Humiliated, Wagner abandoned the plan, and only later learned Lüttichau had found out about it and hated him even more for overstepping.
Wagner turned his thoughts to a long-gestating drama about Frederick Barbarossa, planning five acts, but realized the plot overlapped too much with the Nibelungen and Siegfried myths, which fascinated him far more. He wrote an essay on the Nibelungen, drew up a detailed outline for a musical drama based on the myths, but was terrified no modern theater would ever stage such a work. He was only spurred to start writing the full poem for Siegfrieds Tod (later Götterdämmerung) by his despair at ever getting anything produced in Dresden’s stifling theatrical system.
The Royal Orchestra’s 300th jubilee arrived that fall, marked by a big concert festival where conductor Reissiger was knighted for his loyalty to the court, greeted with thunderous applause, while the excerpt from Lohengrin Wagner conducted got only a lukewarm reception, a clear sign of his unpopularity with the court crowd. At the post-concert dinner, Wagner gave a speech about his aspirations for the orchestra’s artistic development, only to be warned by Marschner that he was just confusing and angering the uneducated musicians. The next morning, they laid a wreath on Weber’s grave, and when Marschner gave a dry, trivial memorial speech, Wagner stepped in to give heartfelt, earnest words for the departed master.
Political tensions boiled over after the October Uprising in Vienna was crushed by reactionary troops, and the execution of democratic leader Robert Blum sent shockwaves through Dresden. Huge mourning processions filled the streets, Viennese refugee students poured into the city, and Wagner was on his way to conduct Rienzi one night when six strangers, including a hunchback he’d met at the Vienna radical club, showed up at the theater, called him a brother democrat, and begged for free tickets. He handed them the tickets, and that night was greeted with more applause after every act of Rienzi than he’d ever received before, though he knew the theater officials were watching him closely. Lüttichau suddenly proposed to stage Lohengrin soon, and Wagner agreed, excited for a chance at a real production of his latest work, but a few days later the young scene painter Wilhelm Heine told him the order for Lohengrin’s scenery had been countermanded, no reason given. Lüttichau later told Wagner’s wife he’d tried to push the production through but the court was completely hostile to the work, but the damage was done: Wagner gave up all hope of reconciling with the theater authorities, decided he would never work with modern theatrical institutions again. He immediately started writing the full Siegfrieds Tod poem, corresponding with Eduard Devrient about it, who helped him tweak the structure to make the conflict between Siegfried and Brunhilda more understandable for audiences. Wagner attended Devrient’s private dramatic readings, found a sympathetic ear for his frustrations with Lüttichau, but tensions between the conductor and director only grew: the Queen criticized Wagner’s conducting of Norma and Robert the Devil, Lüttichau passed the complaints along, and their working relationship was irreparably broken. When Lüttichau found out Wagner had submitted a theater reform plan to the ministry, he confronted him, and Wagner calmly told him he’d given up all hope of working with him, and would discuss his grievances directly with the King if necessary. Lüttichau enlisted Devrient to mediate, but Wagner refused to budge, finally cutting ties with the director who had made his Dresden life so miserable.
Word count check: ~980, which is within the 489-1142 range. All events from the source are included, narrative flows like a memoir, preserves Wagner’s voice and emotional beats, no dry academic summary, no extra stuff at the end. Perfect.
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