I can offer no objection now to having my scheme, formed over two years ago, for the institution of a national theatre for the kingdom of Saxony, printed and circulated. It has now no practical meaning, since all the conditions under which it might possibly be carried out have disappeared; nor do I feel moved by the wish of some friends who, by making known my projects, would like to refute the statement of many a critic of my writings on art — the statement, namely, that I was incapable of proposing anything capable of being worked out in a practical manner. Far more am I induced to show, by a clear example, how in our circumstances all effort to reform is altogether without prospect of result; while, on the contrary, the complete undoing of those bad and unnatural circumstances has become the only possible solution.
Who, in the spring of the year 1848, was not filled with hope? The leathern armour against which we previously struck whenever we attempted to obtain relief from existing grievances seemed, before the rays of the March sun, to expand into yielding, soft human flesh, through which we even seemed to feel the beating of the heart. How unnecessarily cruel did it appear to us to aim with deadly dart at this heart almost laid bare, and, as if in duty bound, murderously to pierce through that flesh. Mummies for us had become men; as men we wished to speak to them, and with them to plan and establish what is human and reasonable. Reform and Constitution: those were our watchwords, the standards under which we hoped to conquer and to become happy. It seemed so natural to us merely to make our wishes fully harmonise with those of our surroundings and of the community of our comrades; to proclaim the wish of the corporation as its need; to bring this need into necessary unison with the great common state interest; and then to place what had been thus finished, proved, and clearly formulated, for examination and acceptance, before the State authorities, whom we ventured to think desirous of more exact knowledge, so that at last we might quickly see brought about the inauguration of that which would be to the mutual advantage of all parties. Thus the attainment of the good seemed to depend upon our own wills, and each one who was strongly sensible of such will ventured to feel himself called upon to collect his experiences and opinions, and to make well-founded proposals to the competent authority.
It was in that spring, rich in hopes, that I drew up my plan for the reform of the Royal Court Theatre and of the orchestra at Dresden, which naturally went so far as to propose the erection of a national Art Institute for our very small fatherland. A special circumstance prompted me to hasten on with the production of my plan. On all sides was the rumour confirmed that the General-director of that royal institution would resign on the approaching twenty-fifth anniversary of his administration. Now if I hurried on with my proposal, it was with the intention, before the place was filled up, of making him who had to dispose of it acquainted, through the responsible Minister of State, with the high tendency and significance which might be given to that splendid art-institute; and as hereby only a standard for regulating the future was suggested, I had the comfort of being able to do something generally useful, yet without injury to that person — who, if he had intended remaining at his post, would in any case have been a hindrance to the general good, and hence, though contrary to my personal wish, would have been attacked by me.
I placed my plan before the Ministers of the Interior and of Public Worship. The enthusiasm with which the first, Martin Oberländer, agreed to my propositions, after he had made himself thoroughly acquainted with them, delighted me all the more, as formerly I had found him generally prejudiced against the theatre. Such is always the case with honest men who trouble themselves to remove real distress from a suffering people, and, on the other hand, naturally will not understand how an institution which in its present condition and influence seems only to serve for amusement and for the gratification of luxury, can claim their attention to an equal or even a similar degree. Oberländer's warm sympathy for my proposals consequently seemed to me a first triumph; for if, on the one hand, I wished to withdraw such precious means as were at the disposal of the royal band and theatre at Dresden from the hurtful influence of inartistic guidance and expenditure, on the other hand I was not less concerned to dispel the forementioned ill-feeling — which, as well as from the Minister of the Interior, I had also to expect from a great number of the deputies at the expected Diet — and, by demonstrating how, with suitable employment of those means, even the grounds of their dissatisfaction with the influence of the theatre would vanish, to induce them to take an interest in the institution in question, rather than — by withdrawal of the means, a thing easily to be feared — utterly to crush it. How unnecessary was my trouble! how unnecessary my anxiety!
The Minister confessed to me that he could not venture to promise success in the matter, if I persisted in my desire to have it taken up by the King himself and placed as a government proposal before the deputies of the Diet; and, indeed, for the simple reason, that from his observations hitherto he could not expect to find the King favourably disposed towards such energetic plans.
If, as in the present case, it were held as a privilege, inherited by birth and by divine right, that only a courtier of ancient nobility could be director of a royal art institution — not only whether or not he understood anything about the nature of art, but (to quote the saying of a monarch possessed of artistic tastes) just because he understood nothing — then this particular supposition, as soon as, by its very nature, it affected the interest of a personage, could only, in cases like the one in question, lead to something like the following phenomena:
A royal band and a court theatre exist: the monarch does not trouble himself much about their activity, because he runs after other less noisy amusements; nevertheless he likes, now and then, to see something good brought to light as a result of their activity, and he enjoys nothing but these good things; only all dealing with the economical management of the institution is painful, because it always costs more than it ought to cost, and his intendant assures him that it would cost much more still if good things only were performed. Vexed at this, the thought enters into the King's head, whether it would not be better to give over the direction of the institution into the hands of a practical, experienced man of business, who for a fixed sum would undertake to supply the art needs of the court and of the capital. He could almost make up his mind to adopt this measure, for after all, by its means, there would only be a lowering of art, but in no way a detraction from the dignity of the throne. But now a proposition is made to him, not directly in the interests of economy, but in the interest of art, to place that institution on a thoroughly new footing, on a truly higher and more worthy one; but this can only be done if, among other equally stringent conditions, not a courtier ignorant of art, but an experienced artist, be entrusted with the direction. Everything dealing with principle naturally excites closer attention than that which deals with mere occasion: let it in any way concern — if only in appearance — limitation of power, and the matter will be closely examined in order to find out what can lie hidden under aims apparently worthy and calculated to benefit all. This mistrust dulls the sight even of the sovereign — who, in the present case, was generally well disposed — so that he does not, from lack of sympathy, overlook the interests of art: his troubled look, his involuntarily biassed judgment, are directed to the one thing which can give a firm and tangible hold, and this is again here the personality — the personality of the courtier, who, if not perhaps in his individual inclination, yet in his position of honour, as member of a privileged corporation, feels himself aggrieved by that proposition. This courtier may have thought of resigning his position in the art institution, but feels compelled, by remaining in it, to offer himself as a sacrifice, so soon as he reflects that he, as a personage, is expected to give way, not to another personage equally qualified, but to the deliberate dictum that all personages of his rank are incapable.
But to the sovereign it must appear doubly hazardous by a definite act to place in doubt what belongs by birth and arbitrary destiny to the courtier — the capability of doing anything for which hitherto he has been judged capable. To what indeed, in Heaven's name, would it lead, if the destiny, fixed by birth — that is, by the grace of God — of certain special men to exercise any one privilege should be called in question? Well considered, everything is possible to the sovereign, short of the disowning of his courtier; so this one thing is settled — the courtier must remain. What ought to be done now to further, in spite of all, the interests of art? Mark you — nothing! Now, as there is nothing to be done, it becomes clearer than ever that from the very beginning there was really nothing to do — that restless heads only hatched chimeras, gave themselves up to fantastic humours; yes, rightly considered, therein only pursued quite personal interests, as, for example, to become intendants themselves. Now, God's name be praised! the tricks of this vanity and boundless selfishness have been found out, the mask of love for art has been torn down, and it is now quite clear that the enthusiastic reformer only wished to receive an increase of salary! Things remain on their old footing.
Whither am I losing myself, best friend! I seemed suddenly as if clothed again in my court uniform, and that happened to me in sight of the bare, free Alps! Now, this court uniform is pulled off: one arm was still sticking in it when I drew up that paper on reform, and that I was not clear of the whole thing at that time is the principal fault in the paper: the stiff embroidery got in my way when writing. I felt like our constitutional members, who, if it came into their heads to construct a pianoforte, would not trouble two straws as to whether the keys could be pressed down or the chords made to sound, so long as the constitutional pegs were firmly hammered in due row, and tightened according to rule. How these childish maniacs rejoice again in these days, when in Electoral Hesse the pegs stand gloriously firm, like German oaks, although keys and chords, prince and people of the electorate, are running away from each other! My constitutional proposal of reform is just such a row of pegs: as a curiosity I merrily fling them over to you, and trust to the sound of the beautiful human voice, which, without keys, chords, or pegs, will begin to sound if one no longer hammers on rattling pianos.
You know that I no longer think of reform; but that certain persons may clearly see why, it would perhaps be advisable for them carefully to read and examine that document. They will then recognize what inconceivable trouble he who, as a revolutionist, is now a horror to them, gave himself, in order, while public, and specially art, affairs were in the worst possible state, to achieve the possible in a peaceful way — that is, the essential in its mildest form — so as to bring about a prosperous working of art for itself, and in connection with citizen life. All errors which are to be found in my document proceed from the fact that I really desired the impossible; the impossible, namely, in the sense disclosed by the result. When our court actors petitioned His Majesty for a continuation of the present conditions of the Court theatre, this, on the whole, did not much mislead me: I only recognized clearly to what pitiableness that state of things which I was attacking had reduced my companions, and I could only hope to see them raised to more human and artlike dignity as soon as that state of things had been brought to pass in which, by their pitiableness, they could only do harm to one another. But when I saw how that expansion of the leathern armour, of which I spoke to you above, was only a movement of anxiety, how that suppressed throb of the heart was only the life of fear; when anxiety and fear had again tightly drawn this armour into an iron harness, when these lowest of all sensations turned the most soft-hearted and most good-natured men behind that harness into cold, cruel beasts — then, at any rate, I had opportunity to reflect in detail on the nature of things, which in their endlessly ramified, loathsome connection constitute the essence of the present time; and which, among other effects, were also the cause why my well-intentioned document on reform slumbered peacefully in the desk of a simple ex-March-minister. May this then be placed as a piece of literature before the reading-loving public: as a document forming part of the history of our most noble constitutionalism (what a grand word this is!) it may not play altogether a bad rôle. To my practical opponents it may serve to show that now I am much more practically disposed, in no longer adhering to plans which at first sight may not perhaps appear to them so unpractical as my present disbelief in all reforms, and my belief only in revolution.
Richard Wagner.
Source: Richard Wagner's Letters to His Dresden Friends, Theodor Uhlig, Wilhelm Fischer, and Ferdinand Heine, trans. J. S. Shedlock (Scribner & Welford, 1890), No. 15