My Life — Volume 1

Following Tannhäuser’s growing triumph in Dresden, Wagner recognized that no success mattered in Germany without Berlin’s endorsement. Berlin remained the sole arbiter of theatrical culture, and Wagner’s strategic calculations increasingly centered on winning the approval of Friedrich Wilhelm IV, King of Prussia. Convinced the monarch would respond sympathetically to his mature works, Wagner initially planned to dedicate Tannhäuser to him, only to discover through Count Redern, the court musical director, that the King would only accept works of a certain traditional character.

Wagner’s time in Berlin during the production of Rienzi proved to be an exercise in artistic isolation and personal disappointment. While he found casual companionship with H. Truhn, with whom he discussed opera’s future over wine at Lutter and Wegener’s—a place connected to the memory of Hoffmann—the musical establishment largely turned against him after Rienzi premiered. Even those who had shown initial interest, like Truhn, joined the chorus of critics who dismissed his work.

Part 62 of Richard Wagner’s memoir captures a turbulent period in his life as Kapellmeister in Dresden, marked by professional humiliation, artistic achievement, and the momentous political upheaval of 1848. The chapter opens with Wagner confronting the inadequacy of his salary, which forced him to request a raise to match that of his colleague Reissiger. This appeal, though modest, exposed him to the vindictive response of Intendant Lüttichau, who seized the opportunity to remind Wagner of his dependence on court patronage.

Richard Wagner’s completion of Lohengrin coincided with an intensified engagement in the political upheavals sweeping through the German Confederation during 1848. Having long harbored doubts about the utility of the German parliament then assembling in Frankfurt, Wagner found himself increasingly drawn into the ferment of German idealism, influenced by the palpable temper of the populace and the widespread conviction that restoration of the old order had become impossible.

During this period, Wagner undertook a journey to Vienna with a specific agenda: to advance his theories on theatrical reform. The city presented an ideal opportunity, as it housed five theatres operating independently with vastly different characteristics, each struggling to survive. Wagner devised an ambitious plan to transform these disparate institutions into a cooperative organization unified under a single administrative body that would include both active participants and those with literary interests, creating a revolutionary new model for theatrical administration.

In this chapter, Wagner documents the aftermath of political upheaval involving his friend Röckel, whose pamphlet urging soldiers to support reform led to his arrest on charges of high treason. After three days in prison and release on bail of three thousand marks, Röckel was celebrated by the Vaterlands-Verein but permanently dismissed from his court theatre position. He responded by founding the Volksblatt newspaper, a weekly that achieved broad influence through its clear, sober prose aimed at both educated and uneducated readers.

The three-hundredth anniversary of the Royal Saxon Orchestra’s founding brought significant developments for Wagner personally. While the festivities celebrated Saxon orchestral tradition, Wagner observed a striking irony: his colleague Reissiger, previously treated with contempt by the court, received knighthood for his loyalty, while Wagner’s own finale from Lohengrin received only indifferent reception. The contrast underscored his growing alienation from the establishment that had employed him.

Part 67 chronicles a period of professional frustration and ideological awakening for Wagner during his final years at the Dresden court theatre. The chapter opens with a litany of disappointments: the orchestral concerts he had organized were placed under Reissiger’s control and immediately declined; his plans to revive The Flying Dutchman with the promising actor Mitterwurzer were thwarted; and his niece Johanna, whom he had cast for the role of Senta, rejected it because it offered insufficient opportunity for elaborate costuming.

This chapter chronicles Wagner’s immersion in the revolutionary turmoil of 1849 Dresden, opening with his complex relationship with the anarchist Mikhail Bakunin. Wagner describes Bakunin as a man in whom the purest impulses of ideal humanity collided with savagery hostile to civilization, creating a fascination that fluctuated between involuntary horror and irresistible attraction. Yet despite engaging in lengthy discussions about art and society during their solitary wanderings together, Wagner found Bakunin’s persistent calls for pure destruction ultimately uninspiring.

The May Days uprising in Dresden found Wagner thrust into the center of revolutionary chaos. Recognizing that the Saxon battalions’ loyalty might be swayed, Wagner permitted himself one act of political agitation: he arranged for placards bearing the question “Are you on our side against the foreign troops?” to be posted on the barricades, hoping the soldiers would hesitate before attacking. The gesture proved futile, consumed by confusion and watched only by informers.

Richard Wagner’s memoir entries for Parts 70 and 71 provide a vivid, first-hand account of the 1849 Dresden uprising, following the author through days of tension, uncertainty, and eventual defeat. These chapters capture both the chaos of revolutionary warfare and the profound personal transformation that Wagner underwent as events unfolded. The opening of Part 70 finds Wagner receiving news that the Dresden Opera House had been deliberately set ablaze on strategic grounds, an act that would have profound consequences for the revolutionary movement and for Wagner himself.

This chapter chronicles Wagner’s perilous flight from the failed Dresden May Uprising of 1849 and his subsequent concealment in Weimar. The narrative moves from the chaotic final hours of revolutionary organization through his narrow escape from arrest to his temporary refuge in rural Magdala, revealing both his personal vulnerability and the complex web of political danger surrounding him. Following the departure from Freiberg, Heubner sought to establish a provisional government headquarters.

On his forty-fourth birthday, May 22, Wagner’s wife Minna finally arrived at Magdala, having traveled from Weimar determined to persuade him to flee Germany immediately and permanently. The reunion proved deeply painful, as Minna could not rise to his emotional level and persisted in viewing him as an ill-advised man who had plunged them both into catastrophe. Their farewell was arranged for the following evening at Professor Wolff’s house in Jena, where Wagner would take the six-hour footpath from Magdala to begin his long exile.

Wagner’s reflections on his marriage reveal a profound sense of disillusionment that deepened considerably after the Dresden events. He had previously imagined his wife Minna to be more deeply sympathetic to his artistic and intellectual concerns, but he came to recognize that she could see in him nothing more than what the public perceived. Her judgment remained severe, excusing his behavior only on the grounds that he was reckless and easily swayed by others.

After two remarkable summer months alone in Switzerland, Wagner received reassuring news from his wife Minna in Dresden. Despite their harsh parting, Minna expressed a desire to reunite with him, though she doubted his ability to earn a living in Zürich. She announced her intention to join him in September, bringing her “sister” Nathalie and her beloved pets—a small dog named Peps and a parrot called Papo. Their emotional reunion at Rorschach harbor was tempered by the realization that domestic harmony would remain elusive.

This chapter chronicles a period of profound personal crisis and unlikely alliance in Wagner’s life. Having exhausted his options in Paris, he found himself drawn toward the East, yearning for a existence far removed from modern society. His melancholy was interrupted, however, by an invitation from Madame Laussot in Bordeaux, who had inquired about his welfare. Despite having no prior connection to this family, Wagner accepted their hospitality, intrigued by both the prospect of traveling southward and the mystery of such unexpected generosity.

Wagner opens this chapter with literary frustrations—the publisher Herr Wigand refused to print his manuscript unless he accepted German typeface, and deliberately withheld payment owed for Das Kunstwerk der Zukunft. Yet these disappointments were soon eclipsed by a more urgent crisis when Madame Laussot wrote in panic that her husband, having learned of her intentions, vowed to kill Wagner on sight. Determined to confront the situation directly, Wagner embarked on a grueling three-day stagecoach journey from Geneva through Lyons to Bordeaux, arriving exhausted but resolved to face whatever awaited him.