Dear Friend,
I send you herewith my interpretation of the Coriolanus overture. I have given up the idea of noticing the performance myself in the Zeitung für Musik: I shall do well to hold my tongue a bit there now. But I will tell you in the briefest terms what I would have said, so as to induce you to devote a proper article to the matter in question.
The conductor of compositions such as those of Beethoven has seldom hitherto conceived the special nature of his task. He should clearly be the channel for their understanding by the laity; and if, at bottom, this can only be achieved by a completely adequate performance, the question must next be: how is such a performance to be brought about? The characteristic of the great compositions of Beethoven is that they are actual poems: that in them it is sought to bring a real subject to representation. The stumbling-block in the way of their comprehension lies in the difficult task of finding with certainty the subject represented. Beethoven was completely possessed by a subject: his most pregnant tone-pictures are indebted almost solely to the individuality of the subject with which he was filled; in consciousness of this, it appeared to him superfluous to denote his subject otherwise than in the tone-picture itself. Just as our word-poets really address themselves only to other word-poets, so did Beethoven in this unconsciously address himself only to the tone-poets. Even the absolute musician, that is to say, the ringer of the changes of absolute music, could not understand Beethoven, because this absolute musician looks always for the "How" and not the "What." The laity, on the other hand, could but be completely confused by these tone-pictures, and at best be only led to pleasure in that which served the tone-poet merely as the material means of his expression.
It is only by absolute musicians that the tone-poems of Beethoven have hitherto been presented to the public; and it is obvious that such a course could only result in misunderstanding. The only province of the absolute musician was the "How"; and even this he could not see aright if he did not first understand the "What," for which the "How" was only a vehicle. Thus the mutual relationship of the conductor and the orchestra remained one of complete misunderstanding; the conductor laboured only to give voice to musical phrases which he himself did not understand, and had only appropriated to himself as a reciter learns by heart — according to their sound — pleasant-sounding verses which are composed in a foreign tongue, and one unknown to him. Naturally it is only the sheer externals that can here be seized; the speaker can never deliver and intone with personal conviction — he must slavishly hold fast to the merest outward accident of sound, in the manner in which he has been taught to repeat the phrase by rote. Let us conceive for a moment what measure of understanding a poet would meet with if, by the reciter on the one hand, and the hearer on the other, the word-tones only were reproduced and received; as must be the case were the poem presented in a tongue which neither the declaimer (who had only learnt it by ear) nor the hearer understood. Yet this comparison with the customary performances of Beethoven's works one can only pronounce exaggerated, insomuch as one ascribes to tone-speech, as the more universal, an easier and more immediate comprehensibility than to rational word-speech. But here we find the fallacy to lie in the particular sense in which we use the word "understanding." Provided no special poetic subject is expressed in the tone-speech, it may by all means pass as easily understandable; for there can be no question of real understanding. If, however, the expression of the tone-speech is conditioned by a poetical subject, this speech becomes straightway the least comprehensible of all, if the poetical subject be not at the same time defined by some other means of expression than those of absolute music.
The riddle of the poetical subject of a tone-piece by Beethoven is thus only to be solved by a tone-poet; for, as I remarked before, Beethoven involuntarily appealed only to such, to those who were of like feelings, like culture, nay, well-nigh like capability with himself. Such a man alone can interpret these compositions to the understanding of the laity, and above all by clearly defining the subject of the tone-poem, to the executants as well as to the audience, and thus making good an involuntary error in the technique of the tone-poet, who omitted such denotement. If a right understanding be not effected in such a way, every performance of Beethoven's veritable tone-poems, however technically perfect, must, in a measure, remain misunderstood. The most convincing proof of this we may easily win by accurately gauging the attitude of our modern concert-audience towards Beethoven's creations. Were these really understood by the audience, that is to say, consonantly with their poetical subject, how could this same public tolerate a modern concert-programme? How were it possible to set before the hearers of a Beethovenian Symphony at the same time a medley of musical compositions utterly lacking in depth of content? Yet do not our musical conductors and composers themselves, for the same reason — namely, that they have not recognized the poetical basis of these tone-creations — prove by the matter and the manner of what, in spite of Beethoven's warning example, they compose to-day, that they have never rightly understood them?
Were the confused and erratic instrumental composition-mongering of the day possible, if these people had understood the true essence of Beethoven's tone-poems? This essence of the great works of Beethoven is that they are only in the last place Music, but, in the first place, contain a poetic subject. Or shall we be told that this subject is only taken from the realm of music? Would this not be as much as to say that the poet takes his subject from speech, the painter his from colour? The musical conductor who sees in one of Beethoven's tone-works nothing but the music, is exactly like the reciter who should hold only by the language of a poem, or the explainer of a picture who should see in the painting nothing but its colour. This, however, is the case with our conductors, even in the best instances — for many do not even so much as understand the music: they understand the key, the theme, the distribution of the voices, the instrumentation, and so on, and think that herewith they understand all the contents of a tone-work.
It is only the non-professional musician who has opened the path to the understanding of Beethoven's works, as involuntarily he longed to know what special thought had influenced the composer in his music. But here men met their first obstacle. Imagination, striving for understanding, laid its hand on all kinds of arbitrary conceits, of romantic scenes and picturesque adventure. The grotesqueness, and for the most part triviality, of such interpretations was soon detected and thrust on one side by minds of finer calibre. As such pictures proved distasteful, folk thought it the best plan to lay aside once for all any kind of explanation. Yet in the impulse that led to such attempts at interpretation there lay a right sound instinct; but it was only possible for one completely intimate with the characteristic traits of the tone-work to designate its subject in such a manner as it had — even though unconsciously — hovered before the vision of the tone-poet himself. Again, the great difficulty of such interpretations lay in the character of the subject itself, which is only presented to us by the tone-poet in his tone-painting; and only one who had well weighed this difficulty could successfully dare attempt to assist a right understanding in the needful manner. Here you might narrate the history of the performance of the Ninth Symphony at Dresden, and above all the remarkable success attained there by this reputedly most difficult of all compositions. Further, you might relate how I never after that consented to a performance of one of Beethoven's compositions without in some way directing myself to the understanding in this fashion, and that I was impelled thereto by the irrepressible feeling of the necessity of such understanding. Most striking in every case was the effect of my method upon the executants themselves. Even the most ordinary dance-musicians I have here in Zurich coached up to performances of which neither the public nor themselves had before the slightest anticipation. (Take this as though it came from a private source, as, for instance, that K. had told you the tale.) You might then adduce my pamphlet, "The Heroic Symphony," and report how great was the effect of its understanding, especially upon the musicians. [I must here note that my chief explanations are given in the rehearsals by word of mouth, and at the appropriate passages.] It was, however, in my "Coriolan Overture" that I was able to arrive at the clearest interpretation of the poetical subject. I may say that he who knows accurately my explanation of this subject, and follows its clue from phrase to phrase, must admit that without this explanation he had never understood this most plastic of all tone-works; unless, indeed, he had from the general title, "Overture to Coriolan," felt out for himself the scene just as I did myself. With such an understanding the enjoyment of such a composition is immeasurably enhanced. At present almost all our musicians have … etc., etc.
And the goal of this endeavour? The Drama!!!
Only notices of this kind, best friend, must henceforth be given in the Zeitung für Musik. You see how much there is to say on that point. Let us hold fast to the principle which I laid down in my letter to Brendel: "Ever to raise, strengthen, and advance music where it is developing itself in the direction of poetical art; and where this is not the case, to point out the mistake, and condemn what is faulty." Beyond this nothing should be done now. If this is not done well, I don't care a rap; for, after all, the happiness of my life does not depend on the Zeitung für Musik.
Adieu for to-day.
I must hastily add something to what I have said above, viz., that in a certain most weighty, and perhaps the only right, sense, Beethoven has hitherto been understood only by non-musicians, and by professional musicians not at all.
(You must work all this out in greater detail.) Mendelssohn's performance of Beethoven's works was always based only upon their purely musical side, and never upon their poetical contents, which he could not grasp at all; otherwise he would himself have brought far other wares to market. For my own part, Mendelssohn's conducting, despite its great technical delicacy, always left me unsatisfied as to the root of the matter; it was always as though he could not trust to letting that be said which Beethoven meant, because he was not at one with himself as to whether anything at all was meant, and if so, what? Thus he always held on to the letter with the finest of musical cleverness, and thus was like our philologists, who, in their expositions of Greek poets, must always point out the literal characters, the particles, the various readings, etc., but never the real contents. Mendelssohn's gross errors in the conception of the tempi show clearly his failure to comprehend the content of a composition; and this every one will recognize who, for instance, heard his tempo for the first movement of the Ninth Symphony, which he took so fast that the whole movement was distorted to the direct opposite of what it really is. In this he suddenly revealed himself to me as a most ordinary music-maker, and I recognized at once the reason why he himself could never create anything different from what he did create. Well, enough on this matter.
Please be good enough to see at once to the following with Brendel. For the edition in pamphlet form of my open letter to him, I want added to the note under the text (relating to the Grenzboten) something which I had forgotten, but which for clearness' sake ought not to be left forgotten. It should run as follows:
"That among our critical literary men, etc. From that you see, etc. From the frontier (Grenze) line which they have drawn, they send out their runners (Boten) right and left, and so know how to manage in any event; [here comes the new matter:] just as lately they denounced me on the left hand to the democrats as a secret aristocrat, and to the centre of our civilization, the Jews, as their bitterest persecutor; so we may be sure that if the Russian police should march in from the right, they would equally hand us over to these, after they had recommended their literary rubbish to their protection. The fear of chastisement," etc.
You see my only purpose in mentioning the Grenzboten is to show them up as scoundrels.
Now, only fancy, you must send me another score; and, indeed, of the Flying Dutchman. I cannot let the theatre here have my extra copy, as I have retouched the instrumentation, and so intend it to serve as model to the score-copies which may be wanted later on. So as soon as the score which you will send for our theatre has been made like my copy, I shall send the latter first of all to Weimar, so that the score there may likewise be made to correspond, and then have it forwarded to you, so that you may have it at your disposal in case new scores should have to be got ready. So get your good wife again to take up her needle and packing-canvas, and send me a Dutchman to Zurich; but don't be angry at my worrying you again.
The censor-gap in your "information" is quite intelligible to me, now that I know what has been struck out. If ever I should wish to bring out a new edition of my old works, Art and Revolution, etc., I should be prepared for a prohibition. Two years ago they had not plucked up this courage of reaction which they have now acquired. I wonder whether they will pursue us right into the territory of art, so as to suppress all ideas of an innovatory character. They have, in fact, left us a fatal playground, and one day they will understand what dangerous use can be made of it against them. I feel almost inclined to inform against this danger, so as to compel them to place art also under police supervision. I am convinced one might bring them to look upon literature as the most innocent thing of all.
It seems as though the letter I expect from you to-day will not arrive, and so I will close this epistle on art and literature, that you may be able to enjoy it in right time. Yesterday evening I rehearsed the C minor symphony again; I fancy the performance would not have left you cold. Anyhow, it is far better than the Dresden performance, where, out of respect for you worthy royal chamber-musicians, I had to slur over the best which could have been said. I only wish you could hear the 'cello theme of the second movement played, and compare it with the muffled tone of your famous mechanical players.
Adieu. Greetings at home and to the R.'s.
Your
R. W.
Source: Richard Wagner's Letters to His Dresden Friends, Theodor Uhlig, Wilhelm Fischer, and Ferdinand Heine, trans. J. S. Shedlock (Scribner & Welford, 1890), No. 55