Summary and links to the series of Wagner character posts:
The point of my last post was to make these arguments: First, Wagner, by 20th century standards, wasn’t particularly sexist and was actually quite progressive. Second, by modern standards, as well as those of the 19th century, he wasn’t a womanizer. Finally, by my standards—as I reject the assumption behind the term—he wasn’t a wife-stealer, and it is far more complicated than that in any case. In this post, I want to write a little bit more about those moral complications, giving a little more information about his character in this crucial area of his life.
Wagner liked women, and women liked
Wagner. Setting aside for the time being the issue of his first wife, Minna, the company of women brought out the best in him, and he
credited women with being his biggest and most sympathetic
supporters. This doesn’t mean he couldn’t be an absolute jerk
to women, as well as men. As should be clear from my previous brief character
post, he was extremely emotional, which had both very strong positives and negatives that flowed from that fact. But in general, most women
who knew him said very nice things about him and his conduct towards
them, finding him “warm-hearted and kind”1 and “affable,”2 and “a tease and raconteur.”3 Wagner’s default position—when not upset or stressed by
something—was clearly good humor, which was widely acknowledged by
those who knew him. Even women with whom he was romantically linked, such
as Mathilde Wesendonck or Judith Gautier, spoke well of him after
their relationships cooled.4 For instance, Mathilde wrote towards the end of her life that
“it is to him alone that I owe all that has been the best in my
life.”5
So he clearly wasn’t a complete ogre
as he is often depicted.
Now, Wagner did have a very difficult
marriage with his first wife, Minna. While I do think he was
primarily at fault for the problems in this relationship in his 20s
when he was consumed with jealousy, the problem seemed to abate as he got older (and as his passion cooled.) The real problem
that doomed the relationship was well-expressed by his friend
Malwilda von Meysenberg:
[Minna wanted him to make] concessions to the world which he could not and should not make. From her inability to grasp the essence of genius and its relation to the world, there arose constant friction in their daily life. Nevertheless, Frau Wagner was a good woman, and, in the eyes of the world, decidedly the better and the more unhappy of the two. My sympathies were more for Wagner, however, for whom love should have been the medium of reaching all human hearts. Instead, she made his cup of life more bitter still.6She wanted him to give up what she considered the nonsense of the “music of the future” and his endless polemics, and instead write operas more like his early Rienzi that could be staged and from which income could be derived and normality could ensue. But, of course, Wagner would have been a different man had he merely tried to make a living as Minna wanted.
Wagner was not blind to her misery or
unsympathetic to it, and often refrained from an action, or did
something affirmative, with only her needs in mind. But the gulf
between them was far too wide, and his need for sympathetic support
far too great, for the relationship to last. After their final
separation in 1862, he wrote to Natalie, Minna’s daughter: “She
writes in a vein which, by her own lights, is fair and just, nay,
almost charitable and friendly. And ultimately she is quite right to
see things as she does: it is simply that I see them differently—and
therein lies our misfortune”.7
I don’t believe that when a couple is
as mismatched as they were that blame is particularly helpful. They
never saw eye to eye from his revolutionary period forward. What was
he to do in this situation? They could stay together and make each
other miserable, which they did for much of it. They could live
apart, and remain married for the sake of convention, which is what
they did for the rest of it. They could have divorced, but Minna
didn’t want that and Wagner was more than willing to honor that
wish. He always ably supported her, even during his worst financial
crisis (more on that issue in a later blog post on money). To me, he
was a stand-up guy given it all.
During the periods when they were separated, it is true that he did have
affairs. But to say this is adultery really depends on
your point of view. Since he did her the kindness of not divorcing,
I personally have no problem with it and find no fault for that.
The relationship Wagner had with Mathilde
Wesendonck was the exception. He and Minna were not separated when he fell
in love with Mathilde, and Minna just didn’t buy his “but she is
my muse and we aren’t having sex” argument. I understand her
position, but I also understand Wagner’s. He finally found a woman
who did understand, support, encourage, and nurture him—the thing
that was his deepest desire all his adult life. She also provided a
much-wanted intellectual companion: his letters to Mathilde are some
of the most interesting and illuminating letters he ever wrote.
Under his spell of enchantment with her, he wrote what I think was
the most beautiful and emotional love music of his life: the first
act of Die Walküre. And of course, Wagner let those close to
him know—much to Minna’s shame and upset—that Mathilde was, via
his unfulfilled passion and yearning for her, his muse for Tristan
and Isolde.
He also made very clear, too, that another passion was equally responsible for that seminal work: the philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer, who was “the greatest single influence in Wagner’s life” according to virtually all his biographers.8 His passion for Mathilde and Schopenhauer commingled—in his life, in his letters, in his dreams, in his music—to create Tristan and Isolde. The world would have been a poorer place without these great loves. I feel bad for Minna, truly, but I am more than happy that Mathilde, and Schopenhauer, entered his life as they did.
He also made very clear, too, that another passion was equally responsible for that seminal work: the philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer, who was “the greatest single influence in Wagner’s life” according to virtually all his biographers.8 His passion for Mathilde and Schopenhauer commingled—in his life, in his letters, in his dreams, in his music—to create Tristan and Isolde. The world would have been a poorer place without these great loves. I feel bad for Minna, truly, but I am more than happy that Mathilde, and Schopenhauer, entered his life as they did.
Wagner’s greatest wish—here
articulated in his 1850 “break-up” letter to Minna, but repeated
often throughout his letters and evident in his art as well—was to
find “unconditional love, the love with which we love the other
person as he is and love him, moreover, for the man he is.”9 Now on some level, you might
think that is badly stated in that “we” is plural, but “he”
is singular. But given that he wanted to become fully human through
uniting with a woman—become “we” that is—and that the two
together would love him, well
that is Wagner! This great love was supposed to be in service to him
and his work, that is quite clear.
Enter Cosima.
Enter Cosima.
As I have already said, I don’t think Wagner was madly in love
with Cosima as he was with Mathilde, but he was around 50 at the time
and was primarily looking for a homemaker as well as an intellectual and
emotional companion at that point in his life. So, in this, she
was an able and fulfilling partner. Cosima, on the other hand, was
madly in love with Wagner. She knew what he wanted in a partner,
believed she was fated for that role, and offered to be all that he
ever wanted and dreamed of in a woman. Wagner had witnessed that her
marriage to Hans von Bülow
was a disaster and, in fact, physically abusive (Wagner had seen Hans strike Cosima, and she told him that this wasn’t a
unique incident).10 While Wagner and von Bülow
were friends, the friendship was basically professional: von Bülow
was an enthusiastic supporter of Wagner’s music and it was his
claim to fame to be the conductor for it. What was Wagner to do?
Deny his life-long desire for such a woman in deference to his
friendship with the man (as he had done with Mathilde in deference to
Otto Wesendonck)? Perhaps that would have been the honorable thing
to do, but with the result of leaving Cosima and himself even more
desolate and depressed than they both already were. Ultimately, as I
think he should have and most people similarly situated would have, he chose love over honor.
Turning now to the sanctimonious
critics who damn him for this act of “wife-stealing.” Perhaps
they have the good fortune of a happy marriage, so it is easy to be
self-righteous, not having gone through the hell of a bad marriage. Or, perhaps the person who damns him for this has kept
vows to an ill-matched partner for moral reasons, and feels superior
for that denial. Well, bully for him (or, much less frequently,
her). My bet, though, is that a whole lot of those critics are just pure
and simple hypocrites.
As for
me, I have been in a similar situation and I did exactly what Wagner
did. This is but one reason why I sure as hell won’t cast a stone
in his direction.
End Notes
1 Spencer, ed. Wagner Remembered, page 155
2 Ibid., pages 151, 226
3 Ibid., page 155
4 I
haven’t mentioned Gautier before but Wagner was enamored of her towards
the end of his life. He carried on a secret correspondence with her,
which led many to assume that they were having a physical affair.
But, as with Wesendonck, that is based on assumption and not proven
fact. The reason for the secret correspondence will be taken up in
a later post entitled: “Wagner was queer.” Stay tuned.
5 Ibid., page 105
6 Ibid., page 121
7 Spencer and Millington, Selected Letters of Richard Wagner, page 561
8 Magee, The Tristan Chord, see pages 133-40 for a summary of Schopenhauer's role in Wagner's life, music and philosophy.
Cosima spent a lot of effort trying to keep R on an even keel. She sometimes censored his mail and removed articles from newspapers.
ReplyDelete"I find nothing more terrible than when I have to speak a discouraging word to him; between him and the world no understanding is possible, it is just a battle in which he must either conquer or be defeated."
September 20, 1871
Whatever else one may think about Cosima and her diaries:
ReplyDelete"Carlyle's words on how little one really knows about great men and in what a shadowy guise they appear to posterity make me think of these diaries, in which I want to convey the essence of R to my children with all possible clarity, and in consequence try to set down every word he speaks, even about myself, forgetting all modesty, so that the picture is kept intact for them - yet I feel the attempt is failing: how can I convey the sound of his voice, the intonations, his movements, and the expression in his eyes?"
March 21, 1873