Richard Wagner and his World

“Der grosse Todte lebt!” (The great dead man lives!) With this slogan—the conclusion of his lengthy essay-review for the Musikalisches Wochenblatt of the 1886 Bayreuth Festival, a portion of which appears below—Arthur Seidl deftly captures the meaning of Bayreuth for a significant swath of Wagnerians in the years just following Wagner’s death. Seidl himself spelled out the matter more specifically in another, slightly later review. After listing and criticizing numerous shortcomings in Munich’s Ring production of August 23-29, 1886, Seidl was moved to claim:

It will always seem to me that Wagner is still not sufficiently understood and valued as a genius of stage direction and of theater. People seem completely to forget that he also set us problems in the technique of staging and of decorative apparatus that still need to be solved, because in these realms too he rushed ahead of his time and left to us the task of reflecting and working out the details, just as we once needed to assimilate his music, his poetry, and his music-dramatic style in general.¹

In the early twenty-first century, producing Wagner’s works in ways that help audiences to grapple afresh with the implications of his dramatic themes or his problematic legacy to Western culture often means overriding his specific staging instructions. In such a context, Seidl’s perspective seems to come from another world. Nevertheless, instead of seeing Wagner’s operas as dramas requiring modifications and glosses to retain relevance, in the late nineteenth century the technical difficulties that needed to be surmounted were part of what made it seem that Wagner’s works and legacy remained unfinished and thus alive, striving toward an ideal embodiment that had not yet been attained. And Bayreuth was in many ways the laboratory in which work toward this end was most concentrated.

Bayreuth during its two decades (1886-1906) under the direction of Cosima Wagner has—despite its undoubted achievements—customarily been characterized as overly reactionary, excessively pious, and impossibly rigid.² Thus thinking of it as an institution that was productively addressing issues Wagner had left unfinished requires an alteration of perspective. To do so, we must dig deeper than to accept unquestioningly Bayreuth’s inconsistencies and sanctimoniousness as reported (and reveled in) by such disgruntled or irreverent commentators as Lilli Lehmann, Felix Weingartner, Mark Twain, and George Bernard Shaw, who have too often been allowed to shape our perception of this period. Collections of writings like those assembled by Robert Hartford or Susanna Großmann-Vendrey tend to emphasize what might be called the “tourist experience” or larger issues concerning Bayreuth’s place in society, culture, and politics.³ The present selection of documents, however, attempts to take Bayreuth on its own terms by focusing on detailed accounts and evaluations of actual performances given there. Each of these excerpts, all of them by German writers, usually explicitly and always at least implicitly stresses particular ways in which Bayreuth performances compared to those of the past (including those supervised by Wagner himself) or those on other German stages. Although none of them are entirely uncritical, these excerpts help modern readers to learn the modes of thinking and perception employed by earlier Wagner audiences, and thereby to understand why those observers valued what they did in Bayreuth performances of the years immediately after Wagner’s death.

The extent to which the present documents focus on the work of singers contrasts significantly with evaluations of present-day Wagner productions, in which the critic’s chief responsibility is to explain the premise and nature of the production. In early Bayreuth, by contrast, since the framework of the production did not stray far from Wagner’s actual instructions for staging and scenery, the singers’ abilities to embody and portray character were a primary dimension in the way the works were perceived. The artistry of the singers in question can no longer be experienced, but the descriptions of their work by these authors usually manage to relay the fundamental impression they made on at least one observer.

The editor of the Musikalisches Wochenblatt, Ernst Wilhelm Fritzsch (1840-1902), was a staunch supporter of Wagner and of the Bayreuth enterprise, and the festival of 1886, the first in which Cosima Wagner was publicly recognized as the festival director, was an especially crucial one in the attempt to set the festival on firm artistic and financial footing. Fritzsch therefore commissioned two critics to cover the revival of Parsifal and the first Bayreuth production of Tristan und Isolde—Richard Pohl (1826-96), a longtime associate of Richard Wagner, was to discuss the opening performances (Parsifal on July 23 and Tristan on July 25), and Martin Krause (1853-1918) was assigned the performances of August 1 (third Tristan performance) and August 2 (fourth Parsifal performance). In the event, Krause, a pupil of Franz Liszt, was called upon to look after matters arising from the death of his Master in Bayreuth on July 31, and so the young Arthur Seidl (1863-1928) substituted for Krause in commenting on the second set of performances.⁴ Fritzsch allowed his writers plenty of rein; both reviews were extended essays in several sections and were spread over six issues of the magazine (with the last section of Pohl’s review and the first section of Seidl’s appearing in the same issue).

Although both of these writers were enthusiastic champions of the Wagnerian cause, the contrast between them reflects both temperamental and generational differences. Pohl emerges as a kindly commentator whose idealization of Wagner leads him to formulate appreciative but often bland and generalized observations. (For example, his discussion of the individual singers in Parsifal is so unspecific, tactful, and complacently considerate that it has been omitted here.) One recalls that Wagner, though thankful for Pohl’s devotion to him, was not overly impressed by his acuity (see letter to Erwin Rohde of 28 October 1872).⁵ Seidl, by contrast, demonstrates the idealism of youth (he was still early in his career and a student in Munich when this review was written), and digs into performance details with great relish, seizing on spontaneous moments, specific failings, and his own perceptions of particular performances as if they possessed life-or-death significance. Although his experience with Wagner’s work was not yet as long as Pohl’s, for the purposes of this festival he possessed valuable background, since he attended some performances before the ones he stepped in to review, and was thus able to provide a sense of ways in which, and the degree to which, standards varied from one performance to another. Unlike Pohl, he seems strongly opinionated and not especially diplomatic, so much so that for example) his initial sentence disapproving of Heinrich Gudehus as Tristan earns a question mark from the editor (omitted below). (Regional differences may be at play here—Seidl, then studying in Munich, seems devoted to the artistry of Heinrich Vogl, the Munich-based tenor whose attributes were clearly quite different from those of Gudehus, engaged in Dresden and thus not far from the Leipzig-based Fritzsch.) At the same time, he is if anything even more enthusiastic than Pohl about the Bayreuth enterprise (he was ultimately to become an extremely prolific writer about Wagner, and a member of what Winfried Schüler has designated the “middle generation” of the Bayreuth circle).⁶ For him, Bayreuth represented a model toward which all other theaters should strive, a place where all admirers of Wagner should come to study, learn from, and experience multiple performances of each work (he is dismissive of the tourists who breeze in for a performance as “the thing to do”). When read beside Pohl, the intensity and detail with which Seidl experiences and evaluates performances demonstrates a new stage in the criticism of Wagner productions.

Here we are again, in the one and only Bayreuth—yes, indeed, the one and only, for where else can one see and hear anything like what is offered to us here?⁷ This is surely the cause of much partly hidden, partly obvious rancor on the part of all those who either could not come here or do not want to come, “because they have it much better at home”—and by that they mean it’s more comfortable to stay home. Others, even if they will never admit it, are jealous at the thought that things are really more beautiful in the tiny Bayreuth than where they live, in the larger cities.

As though this were surprising! The best talents of the foremost theaters of Germany are invited here for a small number of performances, and they prepare them for months in advance. And that is not all. Where else does one find the pious devotion, the sacred dedication with which everything here is conceived and executed? Where else does one find the inspiring harmony of all elements that instantly elevates us to the desirable, indeed necessary, mood for complete enjoyment, and that holds us fast from beginning to end?

All this has been clearly stated and proven by our eternal Master in the most convincing way. But we are struck anew with the full force of this truth as we return here. If one has gone for several years without seeing this festival theater, so sublime in its simplicity, if one has not heard for some time the incomparably beautiful sound of this invisible orchestra, nor felt the magic of these scenic images, then all of this seems once more new and powerful, like something from another, more beautiful world. It’s a constant battle to bear up under the force of these impressions and then afterward to free oneself from them, to return again to everyday life.

My friendly readers know that I do not speak of these impressions as a novice. I am now in Bayreuth for the tenth time,^* but the tenth time feels exactly like the first. One can’t judge this if one hasn’t experienced it oneself. Whoever can blithely let these impressions pass right by him without being moved, in spite of having been here, whoever is lukewarm to this and takes a critical stance toward this—I truly do not envy this person! There must be some odd fellows like that, as there are those who are not moved by Saint Peter’s in Rome, just because they are not Catholic.

This year the festival is especially significant. We are celebrating the tenth anniversary of the consecration of the Festspielhaus, an event that was such a milestone in the history of art. But this time there are no joyful banners and flags flying from the festival hill, as then; the outside of the building is solemn and plain. For the supreme protector of this festival, the sublime friend of the Master, is no longer.⁸ As of a few weeks ago he rests in the royal crypt in Munich. But we are also celebrating a resurrection this year. The deceased Master’s noble widow, who has mourned for years in total seclusion, has returned to the realm of art and has taken the leadership of the festival in her hands. Nobody knows the intentions of the Master the way she does; nobody has ever understood him as she does. All that she endeavors is done to his honor alone. The participants, foremost among them the conductors Levi and Mottl, cannot praise highly enough what she has accomplished, how she has delved into everything, and how she has thoroughly grasped the spirit of his works.⁹ Levi told me himself that he has learned much from this wonderful woman; he said that totally new insights had been given to him concerning musical and scenic details, which he thought he had thoroughly comprehended long ago. Frau Cosima lives only for these works; since the start of the rehearsals she resides in the Festspielhaus, so she can be ever right at hand.

One can sense her influence: a spirit of sacred devotion enlivens everything and penetrates every detail. I am not the only one who has this impression; all competent voices I have heard agree that the performances this year are the most perfectly realized, the most cohesive, the most sublime since the death of the Master. Everything is in harmony down to the smallest detail; the participants from the earlier years feel that their skills have improved, they are freer, clearer, more precise in expression, and the new personnel demonstrate a noble eagerness to follow in their footsteps, not to lag behind.

Everyone I have talked to has confirmed my own impression that the first performance of Parsifal, with which the festival opened on 23 July, was among the best we’ve ever had—a truly exemplary performance that did honor to the Master. Everything sounds and feels more beautiful, more transcendent in this theater than anywhere else; if one hasn’t heard it for several years, one forgets the supernatural beauty of the sound of the invisible orchestra in this ambience.…

The Prelude begins—it seems so different here than in the concert hall. One knows every note of it by heart, but here it emerges as though in a transfigured light; here it becomes a “Bearer of the Grail,” ideal “Passion music,” and it creates such a powerful mood that it’s difficult to control one’s emotion. We are transported out from the external world, we are right there in the realm of “Montsalvat.” Then the curtain parts, and from the dark house we behold this ideal landscape and hear the trombones of the guardians of the Grail.

We have experienced all of this often, we know this impression well, but each time it seems new: “Hört Ihr den Ruf? Nun danket Gott, / Dass Ihr berufen, ihn zu hören!” (Do you hear the summons? Now thank God that you have been called to hear it!) [Parsifal, Act 1].

It is impossible to follow the work step by step here. Suffice it to say that the newly assembled orchestra (as we know, the Munich court orchestra no longer plays here) has proven itself in every way exemplary, indeed incomparable; and that Kapellmeister Levi leads it in exemplary fashion. All of the nuances were as clearly wrought as they were carefully gradated; nothing was too strong, nothing too soft, everything shaded magnificently. Also the choruses, which were also newly assembled—not only those of the Grail Knights and those from above, but also that of the Flower Maidens—all had been coached brilliantly, thanks to our dear friend Porges, and have attained a purity and perfection leaving nothing at all to be desired.¹⁰ The choruses behind the scenes meshed rhythmically with the performance onstage better than they ever have before.^*

The scenery is, granted, mainly the same as before, but the lighting effects are more energetic and brighter due to the electric lighting that has just been installed—particularly in the forest in the first act, where the huge tree in the middle of the stage stands out majestically against the background, and also in the third act where the flowering meadow looked even more pleasant than before, all decked out in the glory of springtime.

What is there left to say about the applause issue? Deeply moved, silently withdrawn into ourselves, we left the house as though exiting a temple. A few newcomers—this time there were many who were attending for the first time, in particular Russians, English, and Americans—did in fact try to express their enthusiasm by applauding as usual, but they were silenced. At the end, though, this torrent could not be contained. Then the applause burst forth, and all the singers appeared onstage. They had all earned it. In Wagnerian drama each singer gives his best and uses all his talents. Whether the role be large or small, it makes no difference—each is part of the whole.

If only we did not have to tear ourselves away from these performances so soon. Here, where the world with its everyday cares lies beneath us “as though an immaterial appearance”!

… After having seen Parsifal here, I did not think it possible that anything else would impress me more strongly; but this was indeed the case with Tristan und Isolde.¹¹ Many expected just the opposite. It seemed doubtful that Tristan, compared with Parsifal (two completely different emotional worlds), could still have its full effect; also, everybody said they had already heard Tristan so often, and in excellent performances, in such places as Munich, Weimar, Berlin, Hamburg, Dresden, Leipzig, and Karlsruhe, and that this work, with the same singers, wouldn’t be that much different in Bayreuth. One doesn’t travel to Bayreuth to hear Tristan, one goes there because of Parsifal.

They were mistaken, as they were often mistaken about the works of the Master. It was precisely with Tristan that the difference between Bayreuth and “everywhere else” became perfectly clear. Where else does one hear, can one hear, this orchestra? This ideal balance of sound? This truly intoxicating effect in all gradations of softness and extra softness, to loud and very loud? In some places in Tristan the instrumentation is very strong; there are spots in the first and third acts that in no theater, other than Bayreuth, can possibly have the same effect, because no other theater has the perfect acoustics of this house, and nowhere else is the orchestra covered. Elsewhere, if the sound is dampened it doesn’t carry the audience away with the same force; but if it isn’t muted, then it drowns out the voices or else the singers will involuntarily overexert themselves to be heard above it. That doesn’t happen in Bayreuth. The singers are quite free to use their voices without fear of being drowned out; but also the orchestra can be freely unleashed without hindering the effect of the singers’ voices.

Wagner wrote Tristan und Isolde, no less than the Ring, or Parsifal, or Meistersinger, for his ideal, covered orchestra, and for that reason Tristan was being performed for the first time in the correct place in Bayreuth, just as Die Meistersinger, whose performance is planned for a future festival, will finally achieve its full effect here, in the theater the Master intended it to be performed in.

But also the singers accomplish greater things at Bayreuth than they do anywhere else. This is partly because they are carried and elevated by the waves of this ideal orchestra; and partly because here they are totally transported out of everyday life and devote themselves to their lofty tasks in an unconditional way. They know that the eyes and ears of the most educated audiences rest upon them, and they are being listened to by the most discriminating musicians; they know how much depends on giving their best when they are here and consequently they attempt to bring both the work and their artistry to the highest point of perfection. Finally, the most careful preparation, the most thoroughly spiritual supervision of those in charge here—on the stage, as in the orchestra—brings its influence to bear in all things.¹² The sacred aura of the Festspielhaus leaves its mark on every motion, every musical phrase.

Foremost and above all should be mentioned Frau Sucher-Hasselbeck as Isolde.¹³ We have already heard her highly praised in just this role, but she far surpassed our expectations. Frau Sucher draws on her own personality to interpret Isolde differently from anyone else we know; that is, she is more lyrical, girlish, feminine, inward. The greatest Isoldes we are used to hearing place the main emphasis on the supreme emotional passion, on the most tragic moments. Because of this they seem more moving, more powerful, in the first and third acts—but then the transition to the second act becomes problematic.¹⁴ It is in the great love scene with Tristan that none has fully sufficed as far as I am concerned, for here the tragic heroism just does not and cannot fit with the self-effacing love of a woman. In contrast, Frau Sucher places the main emphasis on the second act. It is here that she is simply ideal, and she develops the characterization of the entire role from this great scene. For this reason her portrayal in the first act is already more of a loving woman than a heroine striving for retribution, for redemption; and also in the last act, the final scene is more ethereal, more visionary. She is, through and through, the yearning, loving, self-sacrificing woman who wants nothing, seeks nothing, except to forget herself in the union with the only one she loves. And I believe that that is the Isolde the Master intended.

Since the death of Schnorr, who created the role, Vogl is considered the greatest interpreter of Tristan, along with Niemann. Heinrich and Therese Vogl had a monopoly on the roles of Tristan and Isolde for nearly a decade, for nobody besides them dared attempt these tremendous roles.¹⁵ Thus not only in Munich were they the only Tristan and Isolde, they were invited by other opera houses (Weimar, Frankfurt, Bremen, Königsberg), for only with their participation was it possible to perform the work at all. There is thus nothing new for me to say anymore about Vogl’s Tristan—it is a recognized masterpiece. His whole vocal and dramatic conception of the role—with a knightly, noble, yet also gentle tone—is so exceptional, that immediately in his first scene of the first act the characterization of Vogl’s Tristan is totally comprehensible to us. In the second act it had never occurred to me before to desire a still warmer, more passionate performance from Vogl until I heard him alongside this Isolde in Bayreuth, who is all love and perfect devotion. In the third act, Vogl is remarkable, also in his acting, which is startling in its realistic truth. But he spared his voice excessively here, as neither Schnorr nor Niemann did. He saves himself for those few moments of the most intense expressivity and uses much mezza voce, even lapsing into a speaking voice, which might be dramatically justified but musically is less effective. Yet we must not forget that this entire huge scene was being given here without cuts, and that never happens anywhere else. The only one who could get through this with full voice was the unforgettable Schnorr.

The Brangäne of Frau Staudigl-Koppmeyer from Karlsruhe is an exceptional achievement.¹⁶ The freshness, warmth, and beauty of her voice are very impressive, most of all in the second act. Nowhere else have we so fully understood what was going on in the duet of Isolde and Brangäne in the second act; her warning in the second act floats down from the heights of the watchtower in perfect clarity and beauty. It is no mistake to have Frau Staudigl, who looks so young and full of life, playing Brangäne. There is no reason Brangäne should appear old. Rather the opposite: her empathy with Isolde’s overpowering longing and passionate love is far more natural if Brangäne, herself still young, experiences and sympathizes with it at the same time.

King Marke—even in Bayreuth he is the weak point. Herr Wiegand from Hamburg is of course a skilled singer with much warmth of feeling, but for him this becomes almost a liability for it misleads him into a certain whiny tone that detracts from the nobility and majesty of the king.¹⁷ Also, his appearance is not regal enough. I know only one Marke who can meet all of the demands: Kindermann in Munich; but unfortunately he does not sing in Bayreuth.¹⁸ When Richard Wagner heard Kindermann in Munich in 1881, he expressed his unqualified admiration. Scaria must also have been just as exemplary as Marke. But he will also never be back!¹⁹…

The scenery is wonderful. It is modeled after that of the first performance (1865) in Munich, but now boasts numerous improvements. The image of the ship, when Brangäne opens the curtain in the first act, is unforgettably beautiful, rich, and lively; that of the park lit by the moon of the second act enchanting, everything is tangible and distinct. The arched walkway [Bogengang] in front of Isolde’s quarters, the staircase, and the watchtower are realized in a very practical way for the staging; I also think it is a great improvement that the bench in the bushes, where Tristan and Isolde seat themselves, is arched in a half circle and placed in a niche: this way the positions of the lovers are more natural and more picturesque. The castle Kareol in the third act is also exceptional. The courtyard is narrower than one usually sees it, and the watchtower is therefore moved nearer the front of the stage; the gate lies more centrally, so that one can follow the fighting closely, and Tristan is lying not in the center of the scene, as though on a litter, but rather sideways: this way we get a freer perspective of the sea and Tristan’s resting place under the tree seems more natural.²⁰

And now—last not least ²¹—this orchestra. It always comes back to this, because of its unparalleled beauty, the way it carries and binds everything, as becomes fully evident in every detail. Mottl leads the orchestra with a freedom and certainty that shows us how completely he rules it. That mastery allows him to risk the most extreme tempi and intensifications [Steigerungen], but it all works. In short—the more often one has heard Tristan und Isolde, the better acquainted one is with this unique work, the greater the enjoyment of hearing it in Bayreuth. Therefore: “Off to Bayreuth!” Whoever has not been here should make haste to do so—and whoever has been here will most dearly wish to return as soon as possible! The magic of the place is irresistible.

It is an established fact—the travel agencies confirm this, as well as the housing agency in Bayreuth, and the box office sales quite definitively—that this year the festival drew more visitors to Bayreuth than in 1883 and 1884.²²

First of all, because of the growing recognition of the greatness of the Wagnerian work of art and the impact of the impressions that are created in the Festspielhaus in Bayreuth. It may also have become partly the fashion. One needs to have been in Bayreuth, in order to participate in the conversation—it has become a “great art-sport,” as one of the “upper ten thousand” put it to me, who came to Bayreuth with his wife and daughter and was more moved by the impressions he had in Bayreuth than he would admit either to himself or to me. But in the last analysis the motivations for going to Bayreuth are irrelevant; the main thing is that people do feel drawn there. Every one of them thereby helps to promote the great cause, and many unbelievers change their minds, doubters are converted, and many who wavered are here strengthened in their beliefs. The great Wagnerian community is visibly growing, not only in Germany, but also in other countries as well.

A further reason for the increased attendance in this festival year is that, besides Parsifal, Tristan und Isolde was also performed [for the first time]. Through this expansion of the Bayreuth repertory we have in a decisive way approached the ideal of the deceased Master to found a school of performance style here, and the more works we adopt into the repertory, the more perfectly the intentions of Richard Wagner will be fulfilled. Therefore it is with joyful satisfaction we note that it is now decided that Die Meistersinger will be produced next year for the first time in Bayreuth.

Then the time will come for a revival of the Nibelungen cycle in Bayreuth. All due respect to the ambition and the accomplishments of those theaters that have made it a point of honor to put the Nibelungen cycle in their repertory. But of course to want something and to make it happen are two different things. We know the obstacles that all theater managements, even the best ones, inevitably face in casting these roles; we know the hair-raising cuts that are made, the necessary reductions in the size of the orchestra, —for how many orchestras have thirty-two violins at their disposal, for instance, or how many can muster enough brass players without relying on ringers with poor intonation, and whose tone production [Tonansatz] is either coarse or insecure? Even in the exceptional event that a great outlay of expense can avoid some of these problems, where is the theater that can match the acoustic of the Bayreuth Festspielhaus and the incomparable sound of the covered orchestra? Who advises the conductors on tempo? Who does the staging? Who coaches the style of the dramatic presentation? When such a massive work is forced into the Procrustean bed of the “weekly repertory” it will inevitably succumb to operatic routine, that universal destroyer of art which will ultimately make the best of them into mere workmen. Another result of this routine is that they want to perform the Nibelungen work piecemeal. Their guiding principle is that of the Theater Director in the Prologue to Goethe’s Faust: “Gebt Ihr ein Stück, so gebt es nur in Stücken!” (If you’re going to play a piece, then do it piece by piece!) Goethe knew these people. They did no better by him with his Faust, or by Schiller with Wallenstein!

This ruination of art will never cease completely, because there are no legal protections that can prevent it. But we can and should work to oppose it—and that is the reason why the Bayreuth Festival was founded and must be maintained.

We know that Wagner went even further in his original plan to found a school of performance style: he also wanted to rescue the works of Gluck, Mozart, Beethoven, and Weber from their enslavement to the stages of these other theaters and transfer them to Bayreuth, to establish finally a standard or model performance for these masterpieces. But the time was not yet ripe for this ideal—his plans did not receive sufficient support, and now he has been forever taken from us, the only one who could have accomplished this.

Let us therefore rescue what can still be rescued, and let us maintain the tradition of the Master, as long as there are still people around who know it thoroughly and will work piously to preserve it.

There is one other thing to consider: how often should the Bayreuth Festival take place? We hear that the management, encouraged by the success of this year’s festival, plans to repeat the festival as soon as next year. That seems too early to me. One reason I can find for the decline in visitors to Bayreuth in 1883 and 1884 is precisely that there was no break in between; whereas the increase in attendance this year strengthens my opinion, because in 1885 no festival took place. Richard Wagner had at first intended to have the successive festivals at intervals of an “Olympiad” (four years). This may be too long for our quick-moving and pleasure-loving age, but a half-Olympiad (two years) seems correct, and it will also prevent the attraction of the festival from being dulled by too frequent repetition, as well as providing the necessary time to prepare and rehearse the works that are being taken up into the repertory for the first time.²³

The Wagner societies may also be inspired by this year’s festival to accomplish even more than they have in the past, particularly to acquire more members and raise more money to ensure the continuation of the festival. Each year the festival leads new worshippers to our great cause, and we can hardly doubt their willingness to sacrifice for it. It is a matter of seizing the right moment and taking the appropriate measures. More on this, however, once the official report of this year’s general meeting (on July 24) is made available—a meeting that was not well attended and became so tiresome (it lasted all day), that only the most patient stayed until the very end. There was much that had to be discussed, to be sure, by-laws revised, etc., but we did not find the unanimity of views that we had hoped for. That is, of course, the fate of all general meetings.

That Bayreuth is our modern Olympia and must be preserved as such, this has been demonstrated more clearly than ever before. Those who bode disaster, who prophesied the decline and imminent cessation of the festival after Wagner’s death, have been gloriously proven wrong, contradicted by the facts. When it comes to Wagner’s art, this is truly nothing new. We have already experienced this so often we must wonder that these false augurs of art still insist on being heard!

When former anti-Wagnerians, with whom I have had to contend for years, write to me in Leipzig from Bayreuth about the enthusiastic greeting of the express train from Vienna, which they can only describe as “elevating”;²⁴ when these people begin their postcards to me with the heading “Bayreuth in the Year of Salvation 1886”; when someone who saw Parsifal in Bayreuth two years ago and is now passing by Bayreuth on his way from Thuringia, and cannot help but stop and buy a ticket to see another performance of the work, even though he didn’t really intend to do so this year; when finally—I shouldn’t conceal this, either—my own mother, a calm and reasonable woman of fifty years, who visited Bayreuth for the first time this year and learned about Tristan for the first time, tells me of the truly “earth-shattering” impact [weltentrückenden Wirkung] the work had on her—these are not mere effects, but rather in fact they are matters of genuine impact [Wirkung], the result of real, deep, and significant causes.²⁵ It’s no wonder, then, that I was overcome, even before leaving Leipzig for Bayreuth, by a feeling of receptive enthusiasm and an elevated joyful mood, which became more powerful and more lively, taking hold of my entire being more and more as I approached the sacred “culture spot” itself. How completely different from the Mikado and Fledermaus or even Drei Paar Schuhe at the Staegemanner Hoftheater, or even from Herr Staegemann’s recent endeavors to stage uncut performances of Tannhäuser and Lohengrin.…

Of course, we also unfortunately had some first, sad obligations to fulfill that we had not expected. Not only did the Festspielhaus lack this year the joyful adornment of banners, whose absence reminded us that this year’s festival has also to serve as the obsequies of its sublime protector, and not only did we learn to our sorrow, at the beginning of the festival, of the deaths of Scaria and Degele (two outstanding exponents of the Bayreuth style) during the night of July 31 to August 1, in the midst of the jubilation; right here in Bayreuth we suffered the loss of the maestro Franz Liszt, whose vigor and spiritual vitality we had marveled at only a few weeks previously in Sondershausen and whose personal appearance we all were so delighted with when he was honored in Leipzig —Wagner’s noble, great friend, his “second self.” Weimar has its Goethe and Schiller, and so Bayreuth its Wagner and Liszt!… On Monday joyful blue-white and black-white-red flags to celebrate the presence of the German Crown Prince; on Tuesday funereal black flags and mourning crepes hanging from lampposts!…

There is one point I would especially like to expand upon here: the concept of “model performance.” Although this was once defined for me in Bayreuth as meaning “an excellent performance of ideal perfection,” this would seem to me an error of principle. Performances of “ideal perfection,” of absolute beauty, just don’t exist. The expression “model performances” can only mean: performances that, by means of the relative ideality they achieve, become models for all other German theaters, providing an example to the other theaters of how one should progress from fashion [Mode] to style, to show the Germans that they possess a unique, supremely original style, and that they can accomplish something in this area, if they truly want to! And in this sense certainly Parsifal remains a model production, and now we have one for Tristan as well.… There is a unique spirit and a special atmosphere in Bayreuth that scarcely allows one to remain sober and reasonable; we are caught up in a great philosophical updraft, as it were, carried away far above all philological hair-splitting. That is precisely the great advantage of Bayreuth, that we can all once again experience something fresh and immediate, we can devote ourselves entirely to such a great cause, that we can at the same time once again believe in ourselves and in the power of the human spirit. The core of the human being resides not in the head, but rather in the heart—Schopenhauer already told us this.

“Parsifal remains a model production, and now we have one for Tristan as well.”²⁶ This statement can be properly understood only when one remembers that this year a number of artists were, for Bayreuth—as the Latin saying goes—homines novi; that the orchestra was almost completely new, assembled piecemeal; that the choruses of Flower Maidens and Knights needed to be made up in part from totally different forces; and finally when one also recalls the fact that Tristan was newly produced, with no Bayreuth performance that could serve as a model—only the first Munich performance of 1865 had been overseen by the Master. What I can offer as the most important and decisive argument for my judgment is the nearly perfect directing. Everything in Parsifal according to the tradition and the spirit of the Master, and the perfection of the scenic images retained; likewise in the newly produced Tristan the spirit of the Master spreads its wings with an agreeable sense of security: in the performance on August 1, the third act, for example, proceeded so perfectly, from the first note of the Prelude to the words “Die alte Weise” etc., that even the strictest critic would not have found one iota to quibble about. This year, moreover, some things not yet achieved in Wagner’s time were now given their due.^* Just to single out one example, this time Klingsor wasn’t anxiously watching the conductor’s baton while he described the battle being waged outside his castle between his knights and the “pure fool,” as he did in 1883. And Kurwenal didn’t make that mistake either, when, from the watchtower, he described to the ailing Tristan the landing of the ship below. How splendidly the shepherd’s song in the third act was done, both the acting and the music! What stylish scenery in the first act! In the second and third acts, what truly ideal sets, everything was so vivid and clearly wrought—such a perfect illusion as we have never experienced before in any opera house! We might suggest there be a society to provide the directors of all German theaters with funds and free tickets, and to send them all to Bayreuth, nolentes volentes. Leipzig, for example, ought to have a closer look at how the ship is supposed to approach land. (Frau Stahmer-Andriessen has already learned which costume, which pose, and what kind of rendition fits the role of Brangäne!)²⁷ Also accomplished in the way the Master intended are the subtle indications of dawn and dusk, as opposed to the familiar, shallow operatic routine that makes such “effects” an end in themselves, and which sees in the Magic Fire music mainly an opportunity to feed the public’s appetite for spectacle. In order to achieve a unified scenic image for a landscape one needs to cover the floor of the theater with grass; a Grail Temple can’t have boards on the floor but ought to have a mosaic-like stone floor—these are things that are done in Bayreuth, while unfortunately one rarely, if ever, sees them done correctly in other opera houses. I ought to make a little display concerning the Bayreuth performances which would have the motto: “Wenn schon, denn schon!” (While we’re at it, let’s do it right!) requesting, for example, that the artists not step off the grass carpet onto the wooden floor, which is worse than having no lawn or mosaic floor to begin with. Finally, one should note in particular what fantastic unity and coherence is achieved throughout between the movements of the individual actors and the rhythmic and dynamic moments of the musical accompaniment; the facial expressions and gestures of all the Grail Knights, especially the Bearer of the Grail (Frau [Pauline] Cramer) and the Squires who accompanied her, had a noble clarity.…

Of course, there were still many problems one might mention, some rather small, some larger: but compared to what was done right these are minor things, incidental imperfections [reale Unvollkommenheiten] affecting only a single performance. At any rate, we can apply to them what Plüddemann stated: “If in the scenic presentation not everything was perfect (and nothing else can be expected in so immensely difficult a work)… then this is one more reason for us to insist that we do it again.”²⁸ We Wagnerians should all agree to talk among ourselves about any possible shortcomings of what we saw, so we can know what needs to be improved next year. Among these I would like to think it possible to make less noise in assembling the Grail Temple backstage during the transformation scene. I admit that there are insurmountable difficulties here; but the director backstage cannot really gauge how much noise the audience hears, and I don’t remember in earlier years that the noise was quite so obtrusive, especially during the piano passages. Likewise in the performance of August 2, Herr Reichmann was rather careless with the glowing Grail (or was it negligence on the part of the lighting crew?) such that the vessel just did not seem to glow quite enough.²⁹ In Act 3 of Tristan Kurwenal and the shepherd looked too far over to the right for the approaching ship: if the ship had come in from that direction, it would have had to pass by in front of the audience on the horizon before it could land and before those on board could enter through the gate on the left. Similarly, the fight between Kurwenal and Melot was not made a significant stage event and remained totally incomprehensible for the audience. Finally, in the performance of July 29 the performers of Tristan and Isolde did not express the idea of the death potion—also the cause for their declaration of their love (as this is represented and argued in all official Wagner essays and brochures)—but only the physical effects of the love potion, a portrayal that should be carefully avoided, above all in Bayreuth, where the main thing is to rid the audience of a false way of thinking so deeply ingrained from regular opera productions, and to accustom them instead to the psychologically far deeper idea: that only the belief that they have drunk the death potion can break through their mutual defiance and finally allow them to admit their love, a love that is a priori “not of this world,” totally removed from common sensuality.³⁰…

And now… finally I will discuss the musical aspects of the performances, strictly limiting my comments to the performances of August 1 and 2, for which I am charged with reporting. In keeping with “tradition” I should first of all mention that not only is Levi beginning to take his tempi significantly slower (a fact that several competent people have noticed), but also that the prelude to Tristan has become distinctly too slow as Mottl is playing it. This is the opposite extreme to the performances in Leipzig under Nikisch, who as far as I am concerned took it mostly too fast, or rather: not slowly enough.³¹ Of course this objection has nothing to do with our unconditional esteem and admiration for the talent, ability, and supreme artistry of the orchestra, and both of its brilliant leaders. This year the lion’s share of admiration and honor is due without a doubt to the excellent Mottl in view of the new production of Tristan. But also the two excellent concert-masters, Halir from Weimar and Fleischhauer from Meiningen, deserve our special recognition, as well as all others who, with such touching dedication and amazing eagerness for this cause, have returned every year since 1876.³² It is incomparably beautiful, this Bayreuth orchestra with its ideal sound, its marvelous acoustic, its unified playing: no matter how many people are there, they all sound as one; no matter how many instruments are playing the Kundry motive, it rushes downward into the depths in one motion; no matter how many voices go their separate ways in the great sound-tapestry of the Tristan Prelude, not one of them strays egoistically from his connection to the whole, all join in one thought—the ideal model of the most noble communism; not virtuosity, but rather “the violins in the plural,” as Wagner once expressed it, citing a phrase of Mephistopheles. Among the singers in Tristan, Frau Sucher as Isolde and Frau Staudigl as Brangäne particularly capture our interest. The former is the best Isolde I have ever seen. In her looks, her bearing, and her inward, spiritual portrayal she strongly recalls Frau Vogl, and has the great advantage of more adequate and fresher vocal abilities. The first act—with the exception of the scream at the end, which was a little too realistic and lacking in dignity—was exceptional in every way; the second act was as a whole totally majestic; and at the conclusion of the third act, in Isolde’s great swan song, Frau Sucher sang with the heroic plasticity, antique dignity, and grandeur we remember from Frau Vogl.

About the Brangäne of Frau Staudigl there was a unanimous verdict of joy and enthusiasm. Not only was she vocally irreproachable (for the first time I heard the difficult entrances of the watch song in the second act sung correctly and with pure intonation), she knew how to lend real meaning to the character, who for the first time was placed in the proper light as “Isolde’s confidante.”…

The portrayal of Tristan by Herr Gudehus was in my opinion unsatisfactory.³³ Above all his singing had a kind of diction that too often seemed ignoble, in particular the vowel sounds, and in many places he also just could not act well. The only time he was impressive was in the third act. His voice is certainly extraordinarily powerful and metallic; maybe this leads him to want to sing too much. Herr Wiegand did not portray King Marke very well. Vocally he was generally adequate (the notoriously difficult unaccompanied vocal entrances at the start of his long speech I have never heard sung really well—not even by Herr Gura!), but his acting lacked a certain dramatic depth.³⁴ And of course this is an important character who needs to be given dramatic significance—this is a necessary demand for all opera houses, one that Leipzig totally disregarded by implementing three large cuts in this scene. The Kurwenal of Herr Plank was just magnificent; he sounded like a harsh, coarse soldier in the first act, then in the third act he had more the tone of the faithful, sacrificing servant. But nobody is perfect here on earth, and so this critic feels compelled to add one small but urgent plea: the artist could use a vacation at a spa! Special mention is due the shepherd of the third act (Hr. [Wilhelm] Guggenbühler), whose portrayal magnificently maintained the spirit of desolation and sorrow that spreads across the entire scene. Every detail of his declamation was impeccable. The short, vigorous sailors’ choruses were also excellently done; it was fascinating to watch the lively, knowing manner of a few isolated chorus members at the start of the folksong Kurwenal sings about Tristan; then how one after another caught on and joined in, and how they all finally took up the refrain together. (Taking all of these details together, you begin to recognize yet again what constitutes the Bayreuth “style”!) I would have liked to hear the song of the young sailor from the mast above sung a little more softly, more languishing—but this is a purely subjective matter.³⁵

And now we arrive at the August 2 performance of Parsifal (at which the German Crown Prince was present), above all the portrayal of the hero by Herr Vogl.³⁶ He is indisputably the best Parsifal who has ever walked upon the Bayreuth stage,³⁷ and this judgment holds, despite the fact that in part of the second act and through the third act he was indisposed and struggled with impaired vocal abilities, something that is said to have happened more than once to this excellent artist in Munich recently.^* His exclamation in Act 3 “Und ich—ich bin’s, der all dies Elend schuf!” was unquestionably inadequate; it was not strong, emphatic, and grievous enough. I must also admit that the painful, terrible cry in Act 2 “Amfortas—die Wunde!” so important to the entire drama, was more gripping when Gudehus sang it this year than when sung on this occasion by Vogl, who evidently needed to spare his voice. What raises Vogl’s Parsifal far above that of both his colleagues is the marvelous, pithy way in which he brings out the religious dimension. The individual traits comprising the figure, and certain episodes in the plot, gained a depth and religious solemnity that I have long thought I could only imagine. In his religiosity he had a grandeur, a moral gravitas and noble dignity that raise this character above all other Wagner heroes! The various little acting and singing mannerisms this artist has unfortunately relied on too much of late (though the Munich critics seem to have overlooked them) were all at once—if I may use a common expression—“blown away” [wie weggeblasen]: nothing of that kind disrupted the general impression, and a unified, grand, and ideal effect was created. How true to life he was, for example, as the lad Parsifal, his childlike naïveté and vitality! How eloquent his silence during the Grail ceremony! (The clutching at his heart during the most agonized of Amfortas’s cries—a detail so significant for the later development of the character—could have been made more noticeable and hence clearer to the audience, however.) He found the most proper coordination of the acting and the music. How he brightened with joyful recognition when he saw the Spear in Klingsor’s hand; how dignified and solemn he was, as he slowly strode away with the Spear! He gave such meaning to the whole scene with Kundry in the second act! How beautiful, noble, and innocent was his tender voice in the Good Friday scene! There was just one thing I didn’t understand about his character portrayal, something I pondered with considerable perplexity in the meantime. Vogl played Parsifal as totally unreflective, led by his own momentary volition, as one who seems to react quickly and instinctively to everything that provokes him. This character trait was carried out consistently through the entire first act; it came across as charming naïveté in the scene with the Flower Maidens; and then it continued into the seduction scene with Kundry, where it was particularly interesting to follow how the boy totally forgot himself, at one moment finding himself at first physically attracted by Kundry’s words, the next moment repulsed by what she is saying, and this manner of instinctive, quickly changing response continued even after he resolved to resist her. I admit that this character portrayal was more true to life and more vivid, also more interesting, but we might ask if it was really right—at any rate there’s a concern that in a character like this, it all becomes a question of which urge is stronger, more attractive at any given moment: good or evil. One could then attribute Parsifal’s mission as redeemer of Amfortas and the Grail Knights purely to accident! I freely admit that I’m not sure how this contradiction of Vogl’s portrayal could be resolved.

Frl. Malten’s Kundry is known as a major achievement.³⁸ Although in 1882 she gave us little reason to rave about her portrayal in the third act (where as we know it depends mainly on the acting—“a thankless role” as the modern audience calls it!) in subsequent years she has grown with each festival, so that by now her performance in the third act is quite spiritual and leaves nothing to be desired;^* her great struggle of wills with Parsifal in the second act is a pinnacle of artistry. Her portrayal is supported by an unusually beautiful, noble voice that is supple in all registers (by contrast, that of Frau Materna has a touch of the soubrette in it!) and by a radiant presence, if one that has somewhat taken on harsher edges of late.³⁹

Herr Gura has shown us, as Herr Fuchs did back in 1884, that from the standpoint of acting there’s more to be done with the role of Amfortas than Herr Reichmann does.⁴⁰ Of course, Reichmann has the great advantage of an unusually soft, pleasant voice that is equally fresh and responsive in all registers; but unfortunately this doesn’t prevent it from exploding here and there in a rather disturbing way. The Gurnemanz of Scaria has yet to be surpassed by any of his successors. Siehr has at least assumed one quality of Scaria, his unusually clear and correct diction; otherwise he gives us his best and we are thankful for that.⁴¹ But he cannot erase Scaria from our memories; his voice is a bit brittle [spröde]; we noticed, too, that many people spoke this year of how boring the long narratives of Gurnemanz seemed (even the Good Friday scene!) Isn’t that the fault of the singer? Herr Plank delighted us immensely, as he did in 1884, through the characteristic weight and dramatic grandeur he gave to Klingsor’s satanic nature; his sonorous, forceful, and full voice allowed him to do this, and especially gripping this time was the passage “Furchtbare Noth! So lacht nun der Teufel mein!” (Dreadful misery! The devil is mocking me!).⁴² And the Titurel of Herr Schneider (this is not an insignificant character, as one leading critic has assured me it is!)⁴³ the Knights, and the Squires all contributed perfectly to a unified success of the entire performance. The “Voice from Above” that speaks the promise of the pure fool at the end of the first act, as if enunciating a prophetic revelation, deserves special mention.⁴⁴ One cannot describe what an incomparably pleasing effect it can have on the audience when an attractive alto voice sings this line beautifully and inwardly: this can be the decisive factor, regardless of whether the audience laughs at the line of Gurnemanz “Suche dir, Gänser, die Gans” (Just bother geese from now on!) or is able to subsume it into a higher conciliatory idea.

As for the choruses, without a doubt the Knights, Squires, and Pages were better than they were in the previous Parsifal performance of July 30; but there were still signs of disturbing fluctuations of intonation, also with the orchestra. The Flower Maidens—enchanting and flawless in their round dance and teasing play—were still not secure and perfect enough in the admittedly difficult entrances at the start of the act. At any rate I have heard this chorus sung much differently. It must be said explicitly, however, that neither in the whole marvelous play of the Flower Maidens, nor in the wonderfully artistic choreography of the two Grail Temple scenes, was a single letter of the law (that is, of the tradition of the Master) violated. As for the bells—which even in Wagner’s time sounded uneven—I am convinced that the entire apparatus is such a difficult one that even with the best of intentions it seems impossible to guarantee a correct, proper effect in every instance. It belongs among those “incidental imperfections” of which I have already listed many in this report. In the performance of August 2 the bells sounded very good, except for one cursory passage.⁴⁵ All in all the general impression was: Parsifal “works,” whereas Tristan must still gradually be worked up into a truly living, organic creation. But that is not surprising when we learn that Tristan had to be rehearsed in just three weeks, alongside Parsifal, and that there was not even a chance to hold a proper dress rehearsal of the entire work, just for the first and second acts; and that the third act had to be squeezed in only after the festival had already begun.

The renowned bass-baritone Eugen Gura (1842-1906), whose primary professional engagements were in Hamburg (1876-82) and Munich (1882-96), appeared in the first Bayreuth Ring of 1876 as Donner and Gunther, and returned to sing King Marke in 1886, 1889, and 1892, as well as Amfortas in 1886 and Hans Sachs in 1889. In 1901, after his career had ended, Cosima Wagner invited him and other veterans of 1876 to the dress rehearsals for the twenty-fifth anniversary festival, and his letters to his wife during that visit fit appropriately here. Mixed in among lively and appreciative observations about the personalities in the Bayreuth circle at the turn of the twentieth century and descriptions of the anniversary festivities are comments about the productions themselves. They offer a perspective on Bayreuth performers of the time that stands in contrast to the far better-known verdicts of another 1876 participant, Lilli Lehmann, who believed that both her performances and authority were too little appreciated when she sang Brünnhilde in Bayreuth’s 1896 revival of the Ring.⁴⁶ One result of her unhappiness was a tendency to compare the 1896 performances unfavorably with those of twenty years earlier. Gura, on the other hand, who felt that he gave some of the best performances of his life as Hans Sachs and King Marke at Bayreuth in 1889, had no axe to grind where Cosima was concerned, and thus, given his vast experience, his view that certain performers in 1901 surpassed the achievements of their famous predecessors cannot be dismissed, in part because he also regards certain performances from the earlier period as unmatched for example, Scaria’s Gurnemanz and Vogl’s Loge).⁴⁷

Many of the leading performers Gura observed on this visit were shortly to begin making recordings, a new technology at the time. In theory such recordings—when coupled with comparisons to singers of the past like Gura’s—have the potential to help historians of performance style re-create profiles of singers who left no recordings. There are limits to this possibility, however. For example, Gura’s verdict on the singing of Anton van Rooy, coupled with his observations on the sheer size of van Rooy’s voice, suggest that early recording techniques were unable to cope with so voluminous a sound, and that this may explain in part why certain decisive features of van Rooy’s artistry are either distorted or not captured by the recordings he made.⁴⁸

It is to be expected that Gura, as a singer himself, would be predisposed to comment on performance dimensions directly related to his own area of endeavor and expertise, so it comes as something of a surprise to read his comments on the overall impression produced by certain moments in Das Rheingold and Der fliegende Holländer, although he freely admits that he may sense certain impressions more forcibly as an audience member than he did as a participant. As such, his observations serve as a poignant reminder of potential differences between the evaluations by performers and those by other observers.

Bayreuth, 13 July 1901, afternoon. I arrived yesterday after a pleasant if somewhat hot journey. Here at the Hotel zur Sonne I have the nicest and largest room on the second floor. After a quick midday meal I drove to the Festspielhaus. There I learned that the dress rehearsals (as indeed Frau Wagner’s telegram had informed me) do in fact begin today, the 13th. After wandering around a bit I waited for Frau Wagner at the Festspielhaus, where she had arranged a piano rehearsal. At 3:15 she arrived with her daughters. I was greeted with much jubilation. After a short walk around the grounds I took my leave of her at 4:45, after she had invited me this evening at 7:30 for a friendly gathering in the familiar restaurant establishment next to the theater. From here I walked back to my hotel, drank some tea, dressed, and arrived precisely at 7:15 back up on the festival hill. The whole family was assembled there. On the corner of the terrace stood Siegfried, who greeted me warmly.⁴⁹ The back of the terrace, facing the town, was covered. I was to take my seat immediately next to Frau Wagner. On her other, left-hand side there sat van Dyck, on the other side Frau Professor Thode and Eva, and immediately across from me the poetic-painter, Professor Hans Thoma.⁵⁰ To my right there sat Professor Klindworth, one of the oldest friends of the Wagner household (who made the piano-vocal arrangements of the Ring), whose company was most entertaining.⁵¹ On the way home (10:30) I had some animated conversation with Prof. Hans Thoma, who is normally not a very loquacious type. Today again I am invited to lunch with Frau Wagner at 12:30.

This afternoon at 5:00 the dress rehearsals begin with Rheingold, and they will conclude on the 19th of this month with Der fliegende Holländer. Bayreuth, 14 July 1901. … In the afternoon I slowly walked up the hill to the dress rehearsal of Rheingold; I had a reserved seat in the middle of the fourth row. Hans Richter is conducting the Ring.⁵² The impression that I had was overwhelming. Now I am convinced that no other opera house can attain such all-encompassing, masterly effects.

The first scene, in the depths of the Rhine. The Rhine Maidens really seemed to be fishlike creatures out of folklore when they moved around the reef, and I am sure this illusion has never been portrayed so well onstage before. The three Rhine Maidens (Frl. Artner, David, and Metzger, from Cologne) were excellent.⁵³ Friedrichs, who is known for his portrayal of Beckmesser, was Alberich: admirable! Not even Karl Hill has sung and acted Alberich with such terrible, horrible demonic force. Unique, splendid! And how gloriously powerful and magnificent his voice sounded! I was totally astonished. Even after producing elemental, uncultivated sounds in his laughter after stealing the gold, his voice still has the richest supply of tones at its disposal. The curse scene succeeded masterfully. After the rehearsal I just had to thank him with an enthusiastic embrace.⁵⁴

By the way: All of my acquaintances and friends were happy to see me. Elmblad, the giant from Stockholm (if I am not mistaken, he is the Intendant there), the one who portrayed Fafner, greeted me with tears in his eyes and even kissed my hand.⁵⁵

Bertram is an imposing Wotan; his voice is a little too bright, but it has a granitic weight and steely sound.⁵⁶ In a few places where he had to make the transition from very loud to very soft, for example, “Den Reif verlang ich, mit dem Leben mach, was Du willst!” (I demand the ring, I don’t care about your life!)—where he went from violent anger to contemptuous mockery—he did very well.⁵⁷

Unfortunately van Rooy is sick. Bertram, who recently sang all rehearsals of Holländer and the Ring, demanded three days’ vacation. Today Schütz from Leipzig, who is singing Donner, is stepping in as Wotan in Walküre.⁵⁸ Burgstaller, who sang Froh’s cantilenas with a pleasant and full [rund] voice, was very good.⁵⁹ Dr. Otto Briesemeister (Breslau) was a skilled Loge: a good actor, always in motion, and he knows how to use all vocal colors imaginable. There has been nobody better since Vogl.⁶⁰ As Mime, Breuer from Vienna was very good.⁶¹ The giants, Elmblad and Kehler [sic] (Karlsruhe), were a little too uncouth and loutish, particularly the latter.⁶² Fricka, Reuss-Belce (Dresden), good, looks glorious in the costumes by Thoma.⁶³ As Erda, Frau Schumann-Heink was splendid with her sonorous voice.⁶⁴

Of the many finely wrought scenes I would like to single out one in particular. When the giants demand from Wotan the ring he had stolen from Alberich, Wotan hesitates, and Erda appears with her sinister grandiose warning, an unspeakable mood of impending disaster such as I have never felt before weighed on the scene (at any rate I could never actually feel it before, because I was always participating in the drama); and then the way this mood was dispelled through Wotan’s resolve (“Ihr Riesen, nehmt euren Ring”) (Giants, take your ring!) and the rejoicing of the gods, embracing one another, cannot be described in words.

Bayreuth, 18 July 1901 … At three o’clock Friedrichs picked me up. He had rented an open omnibus in which we, the Ritters, and the two Fräulein Spicharzes from Frankfurt drove out to a farmstead near Konnersreuth called “Kamerun” (Cameroon). There we drank coffee out of doors, ate bread and butter with honey, and took a walk in the woods. On the way home we stopped by the Ermitage, near the stone theater, and beneath the great oak tree there we had Pfannkuchen with ham and sat for a long while outdoors. The evening was wonderfully mild, the air warm and very still. Toward 10 o’clock we drove down the darkening Lindenallee toward Bayreuth. I went home, the others continued on to the tavern. I sat up reading until about 11:30 when I heard the group pass by on its way home, singing raucously: “Laß Dir zu Füßen wonnesam mich liegen!” (Let me blissfully lie at your feet!) “O Margiana!”⁶⁵ I bellowed out, in tempo, quickly sticking my head out of the open window. Tremendous laughter! During the afternoon Fräulein Spicharz had given me her album, and in the meantime I had made an entry for her. I threw it to her out of the window. By the light of the electric lantern of the hotel she read it over, made some glosses to it, and soon peace was restored.

Van Rooy has recovered and is definitely going to sing the dress rehearsal of Der fliegende Holländer tomorrow, July 19. He drives his own coach here, with his servants sitting in the back. I have ridden with him a few times. He has accomplished more in the last few years than I have in my entire lifetime. His father and one of his brothers came here, too. When I remarked to his father (a real Dutchman) how much he resembled his sons, he said: “I still have four more dawters and eight sawns.”⁶⁶

Bayreuth, 19 July 1901… Yesterday Parsifal once more gave us great sublime enjoyment, and it would be petty to nitpick and carp in the face of such grand offerings. Nevertheless, such a sublime performance as Scaria’s Gurnemanz in 1882, sung with such moving simplicity and clarity, is not likely to be achieved again.

Bayreuth, 20 July 1901… Yesterday the dress rehearsal of Holländer was utterly unique, glorious, such as has never before been heard and seen. Playing the work through in one act, without an intermission, according to Wagner’s original idea and intention, had in itself a notable impact. I am convinced that the title role has never before been done with such grandeur and power, with such fascinating, quite overwhelming force, and with such vocal majesty, as by van Rooy. What an enviable voice! Not even old Kindermann’s throat could produce such huge sounds. And how tenderly he sang lines such as: “Was frommt der Schatz, ich habe weder Weib noch Kind, und meine Heimat find’ ich nie.” (What good is the treasure, I have neither a wife nor a child, and I will never find my homeland again.) With what a broad sense of line and what breath control he sang, in the great opening monologue, “Dich frage ich gepriesener Engel Gottes.” He generated a piano of enchanting tenderness at the beginning of the duet in the second act (“Wie aus der Ferne”).

Yes, he is a God-gifted singer! I was often so deeply moved that I could not hold back the tears, and now I am getting emotional just thinking about it. He sang with titanic force in the final scene, without doing violence to the beauty of the tone. Frau Wagner really shouldn’t have anybody else sing this role.⁶⁷

It was a charming sight when the curtain parted again and Senta’s beamed room became visible. From where the audience was seated, Senta was at the right side of the stage, in her armchair in front of a wide window, with the other women grouped closely around her, almost all in profile and looking at her. In their midst in the center, almost in the background, was Mary (not parading in front of them as soloist and first alto); she was portrayed by Frau Schumann-Heink with exquisite, almost drastic precision. Her scolding remarks stood out with a light, humorous effect because at the main points her large bonnet rose up from among the maidens.⁶⁸ A broad beam of sunlight fell through the large window upon the colorful group. Frl. Destinn (Berlin), a Czech singer from Bohemia, plays Senta simply, with a youthful delicacy, and her bright silvery (not large) voice has an indescribable effect.⁶⁹ She doesn’t sing the ballad like a prima donna; no, she sings it rather the way I myself would sing a ballad. Her Senta is touching. Burgstaller was very good as Erik, and he sings many passages with urgent force.⁷⁰ Heidkamp was a capable Daland.⁷¹ The choruses of the last scenes of the sailors, the men on the Dutchman’s ship, and the women, will never again be heard so perfectly on any stage in the world. Here in Bayreuth one becomes aware for the first time of the powerful ingenuity, the captivating beauty of this youthful work. All previous performances have been only weak approximations or unintentional parodies. The atmosphere of ghostly magic is unique. Before the crew of the Dutchman’s ship comes to life, the ship itself is shrouded with eerie fog (steam) and veils of cloud, from which ghostlike sparks flash down the rigging. When, after the horrible laughter of the Dutchman’s crew, the whole ghostly apparition sinks with a crash, the two ships stand there motionless while the skies have become suddenly calm and friendly, with little scudding clouds: it is like waking up from a terrible dream. Our chilled blood starts to circulate again when Senta rushes out of the house, followed by Erik.

The musicologist Arnold Schering (1877-1941), whose reviews of Das Rheingold and Die Walküre from the 1904 festival are offered below, is more generally associated with Bach, Beethoven, and the oratorio than with Wagner. In the years 1903-5, however, he edited the Neue Zeitschrift für Musik and in that role was responsible for covering the concert and operatic life of the time. He wrote an overview of the first six performances of the 1904 Bayreuth festival for the NZfM,⁷² but that essay drew selectively on his more detailed reviews for the Leipziger Neueste Nachrichten. Whereas the overview is undoubtedly the more thoughtful and considered piece of work—and in fact addresses larger issues that are not always apparent in the daily reviews—these detailed accounts of the specific performances have considerable value (and they are entertaining, since Schering sees fit to tweak the pretensions of Wagnerian art, for example by referring to the orchestral transition between the first two scenes of Das Rheingold as “Zwischenaktsmusik,” that is, an entr’acte!) In these two reviews, Schering’s strategy was to provide a blow-by-blow account of the performances from first to last. This tactic is often derided as of little imaginative or intellectual interest, but for the historian of performance history such reviews are treasure troves that reveal the sorts of considerations that registered with the critic, and how the observations about the nature and quality of the performance intersect with or relate to the perceptions of the work itself.

In three respects Schering’s observations merit some attention. First, his conception of Wagnerian drama seems sometimes to betray what might be called a leitmotivic way of listening: in particular, he finds it unfortunate that the singers involved fail to highlight the actual words of Alberich’s curse and, in Die Walküre, Wotan’s final words (which he attributes to immature conception and insufficient stamina or volume, respectively), because these moments are, in Schering’s view, decisive determinants of the future course of the drama and thus demand the utmost vocal emphasis. Second, it is intriguing to see how thoroughly Schering’s concern with precise coordination between the action on the stage and illustrative music in the orchestra is ingrained in his assessments. Third, although Schering nowhere overtly refers to a specifically Bayreuthian style of singing, his appreciation of clear enunciation and dislike for singing that does not possess it possibly show the extent to which Cosima Wagner’s ideals in this regard had become part of the German understanding of “correct” Wagnerian style.

During the festival of 1904 the Gramophone and Typewriter Company, Ltd., sent a recording team to Bayreuth to record festival participants. Thus Schering’s reviews are further interesting for offering often detailed accounts of various singers who recorded excerpts from their roles within days of the performances described here: Josephine von Artner (Woglinde) and Maria Knüpfer-Egli (Wellgunde), Theodor Bertram (Wotan), Otto Briesemeister (Loge), Hans Breuer (Mime), and Alfred von Bary (Siegmund).⁷³ The reader is encouraged to hear these recordings, which in some instances enhance Schering’s descriptions and evaluations, and in others demonstrate ways in which performance expectations and styles have changed in the intervening century.

Bayreuth, 25 July. After a break of one day, which gave the performers, orchestra, and audience the opportunity to get some fresh air and recover from the phenomenal heat that lasted for the first two performances of the festival, Das Rheingold, the prelude to the Ring trilogy, was performed. The Donner motive, sounded as a fanfare, invites us to enter. Quickly the house fills with an expectant international audience eager to hear what is to come—half of them standing and directing their opera glasses at the loges where Frau Cosima with her family and various royalty have taken their places, and half of them sitting and preparing themselves for the two-and-a-half-hour seance. The lights go down. A few minutes of silence. The deep E-flat of the basses is tremblingly released from the depths of the orchestra, and with an elemental intensification, flowing this way and that, the orchestra begins to sketch the waves in the depths of the Rhine River. When this has grown to a forte, the curtain opens. It is as though one is looking into an aquarium, dark green, blurry, becoming brighter toward the top. The waters of the Rhine lie before us. In the middle is an enormous reef, around which the three Rhine Maidens immediately begin their cheerful play. Josephine von Artner (Woglinde) sings her teasing call to her sisters. She does not seem to be in best form; at least in the beginning her voice seems markedly unsettled. Maria Knüpfer-Egli (Wellgunde) answers her clearly and distinctly, gliding around the slippery reef and joining her and Flosshilde, the excellent Adrienne von Kraus-Osborne who has just floated over, to form a delightful trio.⁷⁴ Wheezing, Alberich the Nibelung approaches. Even in the first measures Herr Eduard Nawiasky indicates his lewd aspirations with mastery.⁷⁵ His distinct enunciation and lively acting are delightful. His thrice-rejected courtship of the three Rhine Maidens takes place in an exquisitely humorous fashion. The dialogue between these four characters proceeds effortlessly, unconstrained and uninfluenced by the contingencies [of the staging] such that the listener quite forgets about the perfectly effected illusion of swimming, although now and again he might still be put in mind of the paradox of speaking underwater. By the way, some twelve conductors behind the scenes take care that the unprecedentedly complicated swimming apparatus and the movements of the Rhine Maidens are in harmony with the rhythms of the orchestra—no easy task, considering that the entire scene takes place in partial darkness. One can well imagine how at the time when Rheingold was new and the production technology was not as advanced as it is now, some superficial clumsiness in this scene would have provided the mockers with ample material for persiflage. Today, when years of assiduous work have reduced such problems to a minimum, only those who are fundamentally opposed to Wagner could mount such objections.⁷⁶ The illumination of the Rhine Gold takes place in an extremely logical way. It doesn’t start to shine all of a sudden, as in provincial theaters; rather, the small bar of gold gradually begins to glow, starting with a faint illumination of the reef, as though the sun were shining through the waves. The illusion would of course have been more true to nature if the natural flickering had been imitated by having the lump become alternately brighter and darker. In any case the scene in Bayreuth offers a real feast for the eyes.

Meanwhile Alberich, trembling with rage, has turned away from the coy nixies, climbed the reef, and stolen the gold: he wants to renounce love and gain power with the ring, which the magic runes tell him to forge. Shrieking, the Rhine Maidens flee in different directions. Clouds veil the scene. In the meantime Hans Richter leads the well-coordinated orchestra off through the exquisite entr’acte with an inimitable understanding of how to motivate the transition into the realm of Wotan through marvelous shading of the motives, from which that of Valhalla finally and triumphantly emerges. One really senses the divine breath of Wotan and Fricka when the curtain rises. Both are still resting. It seems no later than three o’clock in the morning here, not twelve o’clock noon, as in other theaters where the scene opens fully lit. Frau Reuss-Belce is a natural-born Fricka, dignified, majestic, and gifted with a voice that in fullness and clarity leaves nothing to be desired; it never lapses into the shrillness we hear from most Frickas. Overall this Fricka was an especially pleasant character; her reproaches did not at all smack of scolding. One was even more ready to sympathize with her, as the performer had taken the care to have appropriately dignified clothing—gathered up in a medieval fashion, with wide sleeves and no robe [Talar], just as one imagines “Frau Holle.”⁷⁷

Theodor Bertram as Wotan warmed up gradually throughout the performance. At first he was not very interesting and was hard to understand. Heroic power, mixed with gentleness and melancholy, was basically lacking from his figure. It is possible that he will fulfill this demand better as Wotan in Walküre. Freia the Fair, charmingly portrayed by Emilie Feuge-Gleiss, is carried away by the giants.⁷⁸ Froh (Alois Hadwiger)—this time really youthful, costumed in light green, a God of Spring—and Donner (Robert vom Scheidt), with his black beard, both rush in to protect their sister.⁷⁹ But Fafner (Johannes Elmblad) and Fasolt (Hans Keller) will not be intimidated; they rival one another in the rough tone of their voices and are quite terrifying in appearance, the one clothed in black skins, the other in white.⁸⁰ Fafner certainly outdoes his colleague in volume (with excellent declamation), while Fasolt, somewhat less brusque, brandishes his staff furiously. They finally reach their goal: as payment for building the gods’ castle (which oddly enough is in Bayreuth vaulted to a dome without windows!) they demand the hoard of Alberich, their deadly enemy. Loge helps the desperate Wotan out of the fatal predicament and sets out with him on the journey to Nibelheim. The Loge of Dr. Otto Briesemeister is an agile, almost nervous, eerie figure. Everything about him is lively, from the facial expressions, arms, and hands down to the little finger. How he jumps around to and fro in time with his flickering motives, flings the saffron-yellow cloak in a hundred different ways around his red body, sizing up the situation with a clever look, inspiring neither confidence nor loathing but preserving a wholly neutral attitude—all of this suggests a finely calculated performance, naturally increased still further by his complete mastery of the music. The voice is clear, often piercing, and the performance richly interspersed with parlando effects in just the right places. Here and there, in fact, the theatrical artist in him seemed nevertheless to take the upper hand, approximating the tone of a comedian. Loge does, after all, belong among the gods (even if only a half-god himself), and he should not be seen to compromise himself, least of all in the presence of the other gods. With the help of Mime—Hans Breuer counts the role of this dwarf among his best, as is well known—the outwitting of Alberich is accomplished. Wotan and Loge reappear in the upper regions and we witness the battle of the two giants over Alberich’s ring, cursed by the Nibelung. Herr Nawiasky succeeds vocally in the powerful curse scene; in future performances he ought to give still more emphasis to the climax, namely the actual words of the curse. In spite of the necessary foregoing exertions, the singer’s whole vocal strength must be saved up for this moment, the very climax of Rheingold and also the point that encapsulates the conflict of the trilogy to follow. Now Erda, the wise Mother of the Gods, rises up from the depths to warn Wotan of the sinister ring that will bring misfortune. Frau Louise Geller-Wolter filled in at the last minute for Frau Metzger-Froitzheim, which might explain why she did not fully realize the possibilities of the role.⁸¹ Finally Fafner kills Fasolt (n.b.: with a single stroke, though the orchestra clearly enough said the opposite with several sets of drumrolls), takes off with the hoard, and leaves the rescued Freia in the company of the gods, who are delighted things have worked out so well. With a forceful call Donner summons clouds and lightning. In the orchestra triadic harmonies begin to spread in wider and wider arcs of melody, and onstage the clouds disperse and the rainbow to Valhalla becomes visible. Bayreuth can be proud of this rainbow. However, because it is created by means of reflected light, the front of the stage needs to remain somewhat darkened, which in my opinion rather detracts from the orchestral effect here, growing as it does to such a powerfully luminous intensity, and hence too from the effect of the end as a whole.⁸² Even so, the coloristic shading of the final tableau was developed with such artistic sensitivity that it will long live in the memory of the audience, just as Rheingold on the whole, one of the most scenically demanding of dramas, appeals as strongly to the eye as to the ear. In Bayreuth neither one suffers—that was proven once again by this performance.

Bayreuth, 26 July. The second day of the Ring has arrived. Rheingold presents, as it were, the exposition; with Walküre the tragedy sets in. A double tragedy takes place before our eyes. In one case Siegmund and Sieglinde are at the center, in the other Wotan and Brünnhilde; the two tragedies overlap and develop parallel to each other.

Stormy weather rages away wildly in the orchestra, terrible string crescendi mixing with roaring brass chords. The scene shows Hunding’s spacious hut. Siegmund staggers in, exhausted: “Wess Herd dies auch sei, hier muss ich rasten” (No matter whose hearth this is, here I must rest). Herr Dr. von Bary thrusts the words out with overwhelming realism, not sung, but entirely spoken, and one quite believes that he is collapsing in exhaustion on the flickering hearth.⁸³ This is the way Sieglinde finds him. Frau Wittich possesses the right appearance and eyes for Sieglinde and, even more, she has a voice with captivatingly pleasing tone and metallic hue, completely suitable to revive the dwindling life spirits of the stranger.⁸⁴ She hands him the drinking horn, and while the cello spins out tones of longing, the stranger is refreshed. The drinking scene is done excellently and makes us expect that the whole act will progress in an exemplary way.

They are both roused from their contemplation by Hunding’s motive. The powerful man appears and glares at the pair with sinister looks. Herr Paul Knüpfer gives a strong voice to Hunding, but without strong accentuation.⁸⁵ Timidly Sieglinde announces what has transpired. “Rüst uns Männern das Mahl” (Give us men something to eat). This happens, and Siegmund reports to the inquisitive lady whence he comes. Herr von Bary proves here and in what follows that he is a singer of incomparable vocal means and superior artistic taste—we have already admired him for this in Parsifal—but as an actor he shows that he is not yet ready for the most exacting demands of Wagnerian drama. His narration, though it seemed finely thought out as a vocal accomplishment, suffered from his failure to get his whole person involved in it. Not only the audience, but Sieglinde wants to know his fate, this is what he forgot when he sang into the orchestra; and his account of the pursuit of the Wälsungs clearly proved how little he has grown beyond stylized theatrical heroics. Ah, but how the action should blaze with youthful bravado when he jumps up and pulls the sword out of the trunk of the ash tree! Herr von Bary has only recently made his debut and that excuses much of his stiffness in this scene. Even if the audience cannot find him believable, it can find Frau Wittich so, his faithful partner from Dresden. The “Love Song” is sung very beautifully, and both give their best. The act rushes to its conclusion, and out of that the rest of the directors can learn a valuable lesson: the sword should not suddenly start shining, for example thanks to a phosphorescent hilt, but rather gradually, as a result of a shaft of light that has fallen upon the tree from a fire that is blazing up in the hearth. If only they would finally stop playing around with the electric lighting in our theaters!

Siegmund has carried his sister off as his bride. Fricka, the goddess of mothers, wants to punish them and bombards Wotan with reproaches. Frau Reuss-Belce, the Fricka of Rheingold, hits more powerful notes than yesterday, but is not always able to avoid in expressing emotion a certain hard edge to the sound. The dramatic conception of her role is flawless. The Wotan of Herr Theodor Bertram was disappointing. The lack of clarity in his enunciation more than once made even someone who knew the text miss meaningful points, while the voice only seldom attained the nobility of tone that is so appealing in such a singer of Wotan as van Rooy or Perron.⁸⁶ Moreover the power of his voice was not sufficient for the last scene, Wotan’s Farewell. The words “Wer meines Speeres Spitze fürchtet, durchschreite das Feuer nie” (He who fears the point of my spear shall never pass through this fire!) were lost in the rustling sounds of the orchestra, even though they are just the words that must by all means be comprehensible as the key for the development of the following Siegfried drama. I am by no means denying that many moments appeared in a favorable light—we didn’t come to Bayreuth in vain. But on the whole, and measured against the highest standard, this accomplishment was in my opinion deficient. Frau Ellen Gulbranson is widely recognized for her interpretation of Brünnhilde at Bayreuth.⁸⁷ Imposing in appearance, gifted with a full, although not excessively strong voice, at her first entrance she hurls forth her Valkyrie call successfully. Later her energy wanes and one loses interest in her fate. On the other hand the action always becomes lively and attractive when Siegmund and Sieglinde appear. Siegmund’s reaction to the annunciation of death is expressed in the heartfelt tones of his response. The battle with Hunding and Wotan’s appearance leave nothing to be desired in sublimity, and here once again the Bayreuth weather machine works its best artifice.⁸⁸

An extremely turbulent picture is produced by the scene on the Valkyrie rock. This cliff is in Bayreuth higher than it is elsewhere, so that the very climbing up and down of the figures is captivating in itself, as is the magnificent ensemble work here and the highly intelligent directing! The sword maidens shout with joy to each other, moving not like a herd of little lost sheep, but rather like real warrior maidens with a will of their own. Also their ride through the air, long considered unstageable, was here represented in a satisfying way by means of projections, which solution has surely been taken up in the meantime by other theaters.⁸⁹ A splendid “Magic Fire” closes the events of the first day of the Ring, one which we have reason to praise once again for the great artistic impressions it offered, to be sure not in every respect, but in its most important moments.

Although in the brief excerpt we reproduce here Heinrich Chevalley (1870-1933), the famous and respected music critic from Hamburg, piously maintains that Bayreuth had no need for introducing novelties in order to gain attention, it seems clear that by 1904 the festival management was worried that Americans might not continue to venture across the Atlantic to Bayreuth once Parsifal became a regular part of the Metropolitan Opera repertory—as it finally did when Heinrich Conried produced it there on December 25, 1903. (Cosima Wagner persisted throughout her life in thinking that Parsifal was Bayreuth’s raison d’être). The decision to engage the innovative, iconoclastic American dancer Isadora Duncan (1877-1927) to stage and perform in the bacchanal in the 1904 Bayreuth revival of Tannhäuser was, therefore, partly a calculated attempt to retain the American contingent as part of the Bayreuth audience.

Even more strikingly than in the reviews by Arnold Schering which precede it, this brief passage by Chevalley shows how well engrained the Bayreuth point of view had become in German critical consciousness by the first years of the twentieth century. For Chevalley, there is a self-evident way in which a bacchanal should be conceived and performed; he sees the task of a Bayreuth performance as that of realizing this obvious conception as perfectly as possible, and his negative verdict on Duncan’s solo contribution causes him to spell out clearly some of what he regards as the essential features of the Bayreuth aesthetic. Ironically, his description of the staging of the bacchanal confirms that Duncan achieved her conception of the scene: she thought of the bacchanal proper as “only visions” in the mind of the slumbering Tannhäuser, and her own role as performer was to indicate passion through understatement.⁹⁰ (According to her autobiography, during the festival she began an ecstatic but platonic relationship with Heinrich Thode, Cosima’s son-in-law, which seems to have possessed something like the elevated, spiritualized character her movements on the Bayreuth stage were intended to embody.)

In short, this scene in the 1904 Tannhäuser production marks an early instance in which a production concept went beyond the attempt to realize the plain meaning of Wagner’s instructions, and Chevalley’s response shows how ill-prepared Bayreuth audiences were to appreciate or seek out the intention of such innovations.⁹¹ As for her behavior, Duncan remained unrepentant—she accepted the invitation to perform at Bayreuth on the grounds that Bayreuth was willing to adapt to (or at least tolerate) her views, and she found the milieu to be genuinely in need of the fresh air she could provide: “In fact, I could not do anything without seeming extravagantly different from other people, and therefore shocking.”⁹²

24 July 1904.… After the Tannhäuser performance the name of Isadora Duncan was on everybody’s lips. When Frau Cosima decided to invite the renowned barefoot dancer to perform at Bayreuth, it was of course the furthest thing from her mind to provide the English and the Americans with a star attraction. Bayreuth is in the fortunate position of not needing attractions, sensations, and the star industry. Frau Cosima Wagner was correct in believing that she was acting in the spirit of the Master, who considered the union of the arts to be the end goal, when she summoned the world’s most famous dancer to her side. Unfortunately, the endeavor was a complete failure. Even outside the Festival Theater Miss Isadora Duncan’s behavior demonstrated that she had imperfectly understood the fundamental Bayreuth principle of selfless subordination to the greater artistic whole. In the last analysis it is perhaps besides the point that during intermissions the Miss strolled around barefoot in a classical outfit among the guests, trying to attract attention—she could be forgiven for this vanity and tastelessness. But she also quite misunderstood the essence of Wagner’s music. Of course, she struck a few attractive, effective poses in the Bacchanal; but then she always broke up the dance—which is based on the fundamental law of motion—into a series of pictures, and what she danced had no relation to the spirit of the Bacchanal’s music, nor did it have anything to do with the other dancers. In her insensitivity to the nature of the work she managed to make the notion of innocence the leading motive of the Venusberg Bacchanal; that the idea of a chaste Venusberg is a contradiction in terms should be self-evident. Her costume was not in keeping with the rest of the performance either; in this regard as well she did not learn any lesson in Bayreuth. On the other hand, the rest of the choreography in the Venusberg scene was done wonderfully: the sultry air of a most ardent sensuality wafted through the majestic, artistic groupings, and if, as we are told, the entire choreography is the work of Miss Duncan, then she has two souls living close to each other in her breast.⁹³

But personally I would be inclined to say that Siegfried Wagner had a strong hand in this too, because to be honest, I wouldn’t trust that the classical Miss Duncan could realize the ardor of this Bacchanal by means of her own talents alone.

NOTES

As noted in the introduction, descriptions of the performances of early Bayreuth singers are a primary characteristic of some of the documents presented here. It is intriguing to attempt to recapture something of these writers’ impressions through photographs and recordings when they are available; for photographs, relevant resources include illustrated studies by Dietrich Mack, Der Bayreuther Inszenierungsstil 1876-1976 (Munich, 1976); and Gisela Zeh, Das Bayreuther Bühnenkostüm (Munich, 1973); and for recordings, 100 Jahre Bayreuth auf Schallplatte: The Early Festival Singers 1876-1906 (Gebhardt JGCD0062-12, 12 CDs) is the most comprehensive collection of relevant material. Endnotes given here refer to specific photographs by illustration numbers (“Mack, 118,” for example) and to specific recordings in the Gebhardt set in the following form: 100JB, 6/7 refers to disc 6, track 7.

1. Arthur Seidl, “Der ‘Nibelungen’-Cyklus am Münchener Hoftheater. (Aufführung vom 23.-29. Aug.),” Musikalisches Wochenblatt 27/38 (16 September 1886): 460.

2. Although it took her longer to do so than she originally had hoped—an undated document in her hand, probably from late in 1883, proposed a schedule in which all of Wagner’s operas from Der fliegende Holländer onward would be performed at Bayreuth by 1889—Cosima expanded the festival’s repertory from Parsifal (the only work in production at the time of Wagner’s death) by adding Tristan und Isolde (1886), Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg (1888), Tannhäuser (1891), Lohengrin (1894), a new production of Der Ring des Nibelungen (1896), and Der fliegende Holländer (1901), with all of these save Lohengrin repeating in at least one subsequent festival during her tenure. Beginning in 1891 the number of performances per festival attained and held at twenty, and for the last five festivals under Cosima’s direction, the invariable pattern was to give seven performances of Parsifal, two of the Ring, and five of one of the other operas.

3. The two books discussed are Robert Hartford, ed., Bayreuth: The Early Years (Cambridge, 1980); and Susanna Großmann-Vendrey, Bayreuth in der deutschen Presse, 3 vols. (Regensburg, 1977-83).

4. Not to be confused with the sometime Bayreuth conductor Anton Seidl (1850-89), who subsequently carried the Wagnerian torch to New York, from 1885 to his death. Arthur Seidl published critical and aesthetic studies of the Wagner oeuvre in the Musikalisches Wochenblatt and later wrote about the musical dramatic works of his own contemporaries such as Richard Strauss and Hans Pfitzner. His Wagner essays were collected as Wagneriana (Berlin and Leipzig, 1902) and Neue Wagneriana (Regensburg, 1914). He also published a sort of Wagnerian riposte to Hanslick’s “formalist” aesthetics of musical beauty under the title Vom Musikalisch-Erhabenen: Ein Beitrag zur Ästhetik der Tonkunst (Leipzig, 1907).

5. Stewart Spencer and Barry Millington, trans. and eds., Selected Letters of Richard Wagner (New York, 1987), 815.

6. Winfried Schüler, Der Bayreuther Kreis von seiner Entstehung bis zum Ausgang der Wilhelminischen Ära: Wagnerkult und Kulturreform im Geiste völkischer Weltanschauung (Münster, 1971), 149.

7. The letter of 30 July appeared in Muzikalisches Wochenblätt 17/31 (30 July 1886): 388-89.

8. King Ludwig II of Bavaria died under mysterious circumstances on June 13, 1886.

9. The conductors mentioned are Hermann Levi (1839-1900) and Felix Mottl (1856-1911). Levi was an important German conductor whose principal engagements were Karlsruhe (1864-72) and Munich (1872-96). Bayreuth career: led Parsifal 1882-94 (except 1888). Felix Mottl’s association with Wagner began during preparations for the first Bayreuth Ring in 1876. Principal engagements: Karlsruhe (1881-1903) and Munich (1903-11), with many other significant international appearances. Bayreuth career: all but two of the thirteen festivals 1886-1906. Mottl remains the only conductor to have led all ten of the canonical Wagner operas at Bayreuth.

10. Heinrich Porges (1837-1900), an associate of Wagner’s, was entrusted with writing down Wagner’s comments and suggestions during rehearsals for the Bayreuth festivals the composer himself supervised.

11. The letter of 27 July appeared in Musikalisches Wochenblatt 17/32 (6 August 1886): 399-400.

12. But see Arthur Seidl’s comments on the rehearsal schedule leading up to the opening performance at the end of his review below.

13. Rosa Sucher (1849-1927). Principal engagements: Leipzig (1877-82), Hamburg (1882-88), Berlin (1888-98); Britain’s first Eva and Isolde (both in 1882). Bayreuth career: nine festivals (1886-99), as Isolde, Eva, Venus, Kundry, and Sieglinde.

14. The recording of the Liebestod by Pelagie Greef-Andriessen (100JB, 4/14), who was one of the Brangänes in this 1886 production, seems to reflect the heroic model Pohl identifies as the prevailing conception in the late nineteenth century.

15. Ludwig Schnorr von Carolsfeld (1836-65). Principal engagements: Karlsruhe (1854-60), Dresden (1860-65). Of all the singers with whom Wagner worked, Schnorr best embodied his artistic ideal. Heinrich Vogl (1845-1900). Principal engagement: Munich (1865-1900), with many prominent guest engagements. Bayreuth career: Loge (1876), then five festivals (1886-97) as Tristan, Parsifal, Loge, and Siegmund. Albert Niemann (1831-1917). Principal engagements: Hanover (1854-66), Berlin (1866-89). In 1861 sang the title role in the first Paris production of Tannhäuser, supervised by Wagner. Did not sing Tristan until the Berlin production of 1876. Bayreuth career: Siegmund (1876). Therese Vogl (1845-1921). Principal engagement: Munich (1866-92), with many prominent guest engagements. Did not sing at Bayreuth.

16. Gisela Staudigl, née Koppmeyer (1864-1929). Studied with Mathilde Marchesi. Principal engagements: Karlsruhe (1884-87), Berlin (1887-92), Dresden (1901-4). Bayreuth career: five festivals (1886-92) as Brangäne, Alto Solo (Parsifal), and Magdalena, then again as Magdalena in 1911-12.

17. Heinrich Wiegand (1842-99). Principal engagement: Hamburg (1884-94). Bayreuth career: four festivals (1886-91) as Marke, Gurnemanz, Pogner, and Landgraf Hermann.

18. August Kindermann (1817-91). Early in his career, at Leipzig (1839-46), he created important roles in operas by Albert Lortzing. Principal engagement thereafter was in Munich (1846-89), where he sang Wotan in the premiere performances of Das Rheingold (1869) and Die Walküre (1870). Pohl’s assertion notwithstanding, he did sing at Bayreuth as Titurel in 1882.

19. Emil Scaria (1838-86) died on July 22, the day before the 1886 festival began; memories of his achievements were thus very much on critics’ minds in the reviews generated by this festival. Principal engagements: Dresden (1865-73), Vienna (1873-86). First Wotan in Berlin (1881) and London (1882); also many other significant guest engagements and tours. At Bayreuth he appeared as Gurnemanz in 1882-84 and served as stage director in 1883.

20. The sets for each act of this production can be seen in Mack, 81-83; Vogl as Tristan appears in Mack, 84, and Sucher and Staudigl appear as Isolde and Brangäne in Mack, 85.

22. Pohl’s letter of 29 July appeared in Musikalisches Wochenblatt 17/33 (12 August 1886): 413.

23. During Cosima Wagner’s tenure no more than two festivals took place in successive years; of the twenty-one summers in the span 1886-1906, festivals occurred in only thirteen.

24. This first section of Seidl’s report on Bayreuth 1886 appeared in the same issue as Pohl’s last letter, Musikalisches Wochenblatt 17/33 (12 August 1886): 413-14.

25. Seidl is alluding to Wagner’s distinction between Effekt and Wirkung in Part 1 of Opera and Drama, the passage in which he coined the definition of Meyerbeerian operatic “Effekten” (effects) as “Wirkungen ohne Ursache” (effects without causes). Strictly speaking, the difference between the words is merely etymological, not semantic.

26. This second section of Seidl’s report appeared in Musikalisches Wochenblatt 17/34-35 (26 August 1886): 425-27.

27. Pelagie Greef-Andriessen (1860-1937). Primary engagements: Leipzig (1884-90), Frankfurt (1893-1907). Sang at Bayreuth only as Brangäne in 1886. Recorded in 1903, 100JB, 4/5 contains a snippet of Greef-Andriessen singing this role, the earliest Bayreuth impersonation to survive in aural form.

28. Martin Plüddemann, Die Bühnenfestspiele in Bayreuth, ihre Gegner und ihre Zukunft (Leipzig, 1876).

29. Theodor Reichmann (1849-1903). Principal engagements: Munich (1875-83), Vienna (1883-89, 1893-1903), with significant appearances in London and New York. Bayreuth career: 1882-91 as Amfortas, Hans Sachs, and Wolfram von Eschenbach, returning in 1902 as Amfortas.

30. Seidl forbears to identify Therese Malten and Heinrich Gudehus, both from Dresden.

31. Arthur Nikisch (1855-1922). The most magnetic conductor of his time, he held important posts in Leipzig (1878-89), Boston (1889-93), Berlin (Philharmonic) (1895-1922), Leipzig (Gewandhaus Orchestra) (1895-1922), and Hamburg (Philharmonic) (1897-1922).

32. Karl Halir (1859-1909), Czech violinist. A student of Joachim and later second violinist in Joachim’s string quartet, he was concertmaster at Weimar beginning in 1883, and eventually was concertmaster at the Berlin Hofoper (1893-1907). He gave the first performance in Germany of the violin concerto of Tchaikovsky, who greatly admired him. Friedhold Fleischhauer (1834-96) studied with Joachim, began his long tenure as concertmaster of the Meiningen Court Orchestra in 1864, and was a regular member of the Bayreuth Festival Orchestra (usually as co-concertmaster) from 1876 to 1892.

33. Heinrich Gudehus (1845-1909). Principal engagements: Dresden (1880-90), Berlin (1891-96), with additional appearances in London and New York. Bayreuth career: six festivals (1882-89) as Parsifal, Tristan, and Walther von Stolzing.

34. Eugen Gura (1842-1906), German bass-baritone, held important engagements in Leipzig (1870-76), Hamburg (1876-82), and Munich (1892-96), was involved in several important Wagner productions and premieres in London (1882), and sang at Bayreuth occasionally during the years 1876-92. See introduction to next document.

36. This third section of Seidl’s report appeared in Musikalisches Wochenblatt 17/36-37 (9 September 1886): 440-42.

37. The singers Seidl dismisses with this statement are Hermann Winkelmann (1849-1912) and Gudehus, both of whom sang the role in all four festivals, 1882-86, as well as Ferdinand Jäger (1839-1902), who sang the role twice in 1882 and once in 1888. Despite Seidl’s high opinion of him in this role, Vogl appeared in it only three times in this single festival.

38. Therese Malten (1855-1930). Primary engagement: Dresden (1873-1903), with important appearances in Munich, London, and Russia. Bayreuth career: Kundry in nine festivals (1882-94), plus Isolde (1886) and Eva (1888). Mack, 64 shows her as Kundry the seductress.

39. Frau Materna is Amalie Materna (1844-1918). Principal engagement: Vienna (1869-94), with important appearances in Berlin and New York. Bayreuth career: Brünnhilde (1876), Kundry (1882-91).

40. Seidl’s claim that Anton [von] Fuchs (1849-1925) sang Amfortas in 1884 contradicts the standard cast lists by Neupert and Ellwanger, which indicate he sang the role only in 1883. Nevertheless, the review of the final performance of the 1884 festival in the Bayreuther Tagblatt confirms that Fuchs appeared as Amfortas in place of Reichmann, who had departed Bayreuth suddenly and unexpectedly. Fuchs’s principal engagement: Munich (beginning in 1873 and extending for several decades). Bayreuth career: numerous roles in Parsifal in 1882-84 and 1889, including Klingsor, Amfortas, Titurel, and a solo Knight of the Grail, plus Kurwenal in 1889. He also served as stage director in 1884 and 1889-99.

41. Siehr is Gustav Siehr (1837-96). Principal engagement: Munich (1881-96). Bayreuth career: Hagen (1876), Gurnemanz (1882-86 and 1889). Although he was announced as one of the performers of King Marke in the promotional material for the 1886 festival, so that the standard cast lists (and thus reference works that rely on them) mention him in that connection, all performances of the role that summer were sung by either Heinrich Wiegand or Eugen Gura.

42. Fritz Plank (1848-1900). Principal engagements: Mannheim (1875-1884), Karlsruhe (1884-1900). Bayreuth career: Klingsor and/or Kurwenal in every festival involving Parsifal and/or Tristan in the years 1884-97, plus Hans Sachs (but not Pogner, as standard cast lists claim) in 1892.

45. In a letter of 1 April 1881 (Spencer and Millington, eds., Selected Letters of Richard Wagner, 912-13), Wagner instructs Eduard Dannreuther (then living in London) to find Chinese tamtams that would play the notes of the bells in the Act 1 Grail scene. Apparently these instruments were procured and used for the earliest performances of Parsifal, in 1882-84. Pohl seems to think that only tamtams are being used in 1886, whereas Seidl’s description (see his review included here) suggests a more complicated apparatus. In any case, the long-term solution to the problem of the bells in Parsifal was introduced by Felix Mottl (who conducted the work in 1888 and 1897). This bell-machine is discussed in Cecil Forsyth, Orchestration, 2nd ed. (New York, 1935), 54—55. In Forsyth’s colorful words, “It is as if an amateur carpenter had been trying to convert a billiard-table into a grand pianoforte, and in the course of his experiments had left the works outside. There is a deep sounding-board over which are strung heavy pianoforte wires, six for each note required. In each of these sets of six three are tuned to the octave above. The strings are set in vibration by a broad flapper or hammer loosely covered with cotton wool.”

This machine was apparently introduced as a supplement to the tamtams already on hand and was further supplemented by a tuba playing each note staccato and a constant roll on a fifth (unpitched) tamtam. How long this combination persisted is not clear, since only this bell-machine, without any further instruments, can be heard on the 1927 Columbia recording of the Act 1 transformation music conducted by Karl Muck (100JB, 9/3), probably recorded to sound more imposing than it did when played behind the scene in the theater. In 1935 Forsyth reports that this contraption had been superseded at Bayreuth by a set of tubes, but Friedrich Kranich (Bühnentechnik der Gegenwart, 2 vols. [Munich, 1929-33], 2:165) claims that in 1931 the sounds of the grail bells were produced by metal discs amplified through loudspeakers that hung on music stands placed between the stage and auditorium.

46. Lilli Lehmann tells the story of Bayreuth in 1896 from Lehmann’s point of view. My Path Through Life, trans. Alice Benedict Seligman (1914; repr. New York, 1977), 415-36.

47. Eugen Gura’s self-evaluation, which according to him was seconded by Hermann Levi, can be found in his Erinnerungen aus meinem Leben (Leipzig, 1905), 114.

48. Anton van Rooy (1870-1932). After studying with Julius Stockhausen, van Rooy’s Wotan was a sensation of the 1897 Bayreuth festival and he returned in subsequent festivals through 1902 as Wotan, adding to that role Hans Sachs in 1899 and the Dutchman in 1901-2; meanwhile, he became the leading Wagnerian bass-baritone at both Covent Garden and the Metropolitan Opera. After singing Amfortas in the Met’s 1903 production of Parsifal, he was banned from Bayreuth and never reappeared there, although his international career continued for another decade. His Dutchman, which is the role in which Gura observed him in 1901, can be sampled on 100JB, 1/17.

49. Siegfried Wagner (1869-1930), composer, son of Richard and Cosima Wagner, conducted at the festival beginning in 1896, helped with production work beginning in 1901, and succeeded his mother as director after her physical collapse in December 1906.

50. Gura’s dinner companions: Ernest van Dyck (1861-1923), Belgian tenor with an international career encompassing Paris, Vienna, London, and New York. Bayreuth career: Parsifal (1888-97, 1901, 1911-12) and Lohengrin (1894). Heinrich Thode (1857-1920), art historian, professor at Heidelberg (1884-1911), married to Cosima’s daughter Daniela (1886-1914). Eva Wagner (1867-1942), daughter of Richard and Cosima Wagner, married Houston Stewart Chamberlain (1855-1927) in 1908. Hans Thoma (1839-1924), artist who sketched the costumes for the 1896 Bayreuth production of the Ring, still current in 1901.

51. Karl Klindworth (1830-1916), pianist; friend of Wagner from 1855 on and pupil of Franz Liszt; adopted Winifred Williams (1897-1980) in 1908. Winifred married Siegfried Wagner in 1915, was the mother of his children Wieland, Friedelind, Wolfgang, and Verena, and succeeded him as director of the festival upon his death in 1930.

52. Hans Richter (1843-1916). One of the leading conductors of his time, he became an assistant to and associate of Wagner as a young man, led the first Bayreuth Ring in 1876, and went on to become an immensely influential conductor in Vienna (at both the Hofoper and with the Vienna Philharmonic) until 1898 and thereafter in England. At Bayreuth he conducted Die Meistersinger, which he had helped to copy when Wagner was composing it, and the Ring regularly from 1888 to 1912.

53. The three Rhine Maidens: Josephine von Artner (1867-1932). Primary engagement: Hamburg (1893-1908). Bayreuth career: regular portrayer of minor roles in the Ring and Parsifal (1896-1906). Sophie Bischoff-David (1875-?). Active career throughout Europe and with the Henry Savage Opera Company in America. Bayreuth career: Rhine Maiden, Valkyrie, and Flower Maiden (1901, 1911-12). Ottilie Metzger (1878-1943). Primary engagement: Hamburg (1903-15). Bayreuth career: minor roles in the Ring (1901-4, 1912).

54. Fritz Friedrichs (1849-1918). Primary engagement: Bremen. Bayreuth career: Beckmesser (1888-89, 1899), Alberich (1896-1902), Klingsor (1902). Karl Hill (1831-93). Primary engagement: Schwerin (1868-90). Bayreuth career: Alberich (1876), Klingsor (1882).

55. Johannes Elmblad (1853-1910). International career, including engagements in Hanover, Prague, New York, Russia, and Breslau; as Gura claims, he was the director of the Royal Swedish Opera in Stockholm in 1897-1902. Bayreuth career: Fafner (1896-1904), as well as Hunding (1896). Incidentally, since he did not make his stage debut until 1880 in Dresden, he is not the “Elmblad” advertised as alternating as Donner with Eugen Gura in 1876, and in any case Gura sang all three performances.

56. Theodor Bertram (1869-1907). Primary engagement: Munich (1893-99), thereafter international guest engagements. Bayreuth career: minor Mastersinger (1892), Wotan, Amfortas, and Dutchman (1901-6).

57. Gura’s description of Bertram’s way of performing this line—even the fact that he draws attention to it at all—suggests the density of inflection and contrast in declamation that Bayreuth singers of the time were encouraged to cultivate. Certainly nothing so detailed emerges in recordings of this line by prominent Wotans since 1950, although the broadcast recording of April 3, 1937 by Friedrich Schorr (1888-1953) shows something of the split in character within the line that Gura describes.

58. Hans Schütz (1862-1917). Primary engagement: Leipzig (1898-1908). Bayreuth career: Donner, Amfortas, Klingsor (1899-1902).

59. Alois Burgstaller (1871-1945). Trained at the Bayreuth Stilbildungschule. Bayreuth career: minor roles in 1894, Siegfried, Froh, Siegmund, Parsifal, and Erik (1896-1902). After singing the title role in the Metropolitan Opera’s 1903 Parsifal production he was banished from Bayreuth but returned to sing Siegfried in 1908 and Siegmund the following year. He is pictured as Froh in Zeh, 130.

60. Otto Briesemeister (1866-1910). Both a medical doctor and a tenor throughout his career, which was based in Breslau from 1895. The most celebrated Loge of his time, he was heard all over Europe in the part. His Bayreuth career spanned seven festivals (1899-1909), where other than his monopoly as Loge he sang only minor roles. Briesemeister is pictured as Loge in Zeh, 142.

61. Hans Breuer (1868-1929). Trained at Bayreuth. Primary engagement: Vienna (1900-29). Bayreuth career: sole performer of Mime in all twenty-six Bayreuth Ring cycles from 1896 to 1914, plus a page in Parsifal (1894-1909), David (1899), and occasional additional minor roles. See Zeh, 138 and Mack, 148 for photos of Breuer as Mime.

62. Gura is referring to Hans Keller (1865-1942). Primary engagement: Karlsruhe (1898-1911). Bayreuth career: Fasolt (1899-1901, 1904), minor Mastersinger (1899).

63. Luise Reuss-Belce (1862-1945). Primary engagements: Karlsruhe (1881-97), Wiesbaden (1897-1901), Dresden (1901-11), with appearances in London and New York. Bayreuth career: Flower Maiden (1882-86), Eva (1889), then Fricka and occasional other roles in the Ring (1899-1912); assistant stage director (1908-33). Her only surviving recording—a Mapleson cylinder from 1903 in which she sings Ortrud—can be heard on 100JB, 3/14.

64. Ernestine Schumann-Heink (1861-1936). Primary engagements: Hamburg (1883-97), Covent Garden (debut in 1892), Metropolitan Opera (1899-1932). Bayreuth career: sang Erda, Waltraute, and First Norn at most festivals (1896-1914), plus Mary and Magdalena less frequently. Her Rheingold Erda can be heard on 100JB, 11/13.

65. The lyrics are from Peter Cornelius’s opera, Der Barbier von Bagdad, in which Margiana is the romantic heroine.

66. Gura renders the accent of van Rooy’s Dutch father by writing “vier Dochtern und acht Sohne,” rather than Töchtern and Söhne.

67. Nevertheless, of the ten Bayreuth performances of this work in 1901 and 1902, Bertram sang the title role on three occasions.

69. Emmy Destinn (1878-1930). Primary engagements: Berlin (1898-1908), Metropolitan Opera (1908-16 and 1919-21), Covent Garden (1904-14, 1919). Bayreuth career: Senta (1901-2), Forest Bird (1902). The third of her recordings of Senta’s Ballad—and the least characteristic—can be heard on 100JB, 1/9. She is pictured as Senta in Zeh, 170 and (with van Rooy as the Dutchman) in Mack, 168.

70. A sample of Burgstaller as Erik can be heard on 100JB, 1/19, and he is pictured in this role in Zeh, 168.

71. Peter Heidkamp (1864-1902). Primary engagement: Cologne (1897-1902). Bayreuth career: Hunding, Daland, and minor roles (1899-1901). Pictured as Daland in Zeh, 167.

73. Josephine von Artner (Woglinde) and Maria Knüpfer-Egli (Wellgunde; 100JB, 6/1), Theodor Bertram (Wotan; 100JB, 6/9), Otto Briesemeister (Loge; 100JB, 8/18 and 6/6), Hans Breuer (Mime; 100JB, 6/6), and Alfred von Bary (Siegmund; 100JB, 8/19-20).

74. The Bayreuth career of Maria Knüpfer-Egli (1872-1924) consisted of minor roles in the Ring and Parsifal (1901-8). Her primary engagement: Berlin (1895-1900), thereafter guest engagements only. As for Adrienne von Kraus-Osborne (1873-1951), her Bayreuth career is made up of minor roles in (primarily) the Ring (1899, 1904-9), the most substantial of which was Waltraute in Götterdämmerung (1908-9).

75. Eduard Nawiasky (1854-1925). Primary engagements: Frankfurt (1885-1902), Braunschweig thereafter. Nawiasky sang at Bayreuth only in 1904, replacing Fritz Friedrichs as Alberich on a few months’ notice.

76. Evidence of the degree to which “years of assiduous work” eventually eliminated the problems associated with performing this scene according to Wagner’s practice and instructions can be found in Fritz Kranich, Bühnentechnik der Gegenwart, vol. 1 (1929), where in Table 12 (an eight-page insert between pp. 184 and 185) the author diagrams the movements of the various pieces of machinery so specifically that the scene can be mastered by untrained stagehands in only three rehearsals.

78. Emilie Feuge-Gleiss (1863-1923). Primary engagement: Dessau (1890-1916). Bayreuth career: Forest Bird and Flower Maiden (1897-1901); same roles plus Freia (1904-6).

79. Alois Hadwiger (1879-1948) was trained at Bayreuth, where his career consisted of minor roles plus Froh (1904); Froh and Parsifal (1906-8). Principal engagement: Bremen (1910-18). Robert vom Scheidt (1881-1964) was known for his principal engagements in Cologne (1897-1903), Hamburg (1903-12), and Frankfurt (1912-40). Bayreuth career: Biterolf, Donner, Klingsor (1904). Note that he did not sing Alberich at Bayreuth as 100JB claims, although he did record at least one excerpt from the role at the “Gramophone and Typewriter” recording sessions at Bayreuth in 1904.

80. Other singers wearing these Bayreuth costumes can be seen in Mack, 138 (1896) and Zeh, 128 (1909).

81. Luise Geller-Wolter (1859-1934). Principal engagement: Berlin (Theater des Westens) beginning in 1898. Bayreuth career: minor roles (1897-99, 1904), of which Erda was the most significant. Much confusion has arisen over the respective roles of Geller-Wolter and Ottilie Metzger during the 1904 festival, but reference to reliable reviews shows that Geller-Wolter sang Erda in both relevant operas (Das Rheingold and Siegfried) of both cycles, and Metzger sang Waltraute in both performances of Götterdämmerung, whereas standard cast lists show the two singers sharing both roles. They did, however, apparently share the role of Waltraute in Die Walküre, with Geller-Wolter performing in the first cycle, Metzger in the second—and this splitting of duties is not reported by the cast lists!

82. The challenge of realizing the “Rainbow Bridge” effect at the end of Das Rheingold and some of the ingenious solutions devised for it at Bayreuth between 1876 and the early 1900s (above all by the local technician and inventor Hugo Bähr) are detailed by Carl-Friedrich Baumann in Bühnentechnik im Festspielhaus Bayreuth, vol. 9 of 100 Jahre Bayreuther Festspiele (Munich, 1980): 227-31. One witness of the 1904 production, Eduard Reuss, remarked on the “remarkably realistic Rainbow reaching from the edge of the rocks [Felsspitze, i.e., where the gods are congregated] to the foot of the fortress, created in a new way by Fritz Kranich” (230). More precise details are not forthcoming, however.

83. Alfred von Bary (1873-1926). Primary engagements: Dresden (1903-12), Munich (1912-18). Bayreuth career: Siegmund, Parsifal, Tristan, Lohengrin (1904-9), Siegfried (1911-14). Von Bary was extremely near-sighted, which limited both the extent of his stage career (he never performed in England or America) and his naturalness of movement on stage, as some of Schering’s comments suggest.

84. Marie Wittich (1868-1931). Primary engagement: Dresden (1889-1914). Bayreuth career: Kundry, Sieglinde, and Isolde in five festivals between 1901 and 1909. Created Salome in 1905.

85. Paul Knüpfer (1865-1920). Primary engagement: Berlin (1898-1920). Bayreuth career: Gurnemanz, Titurel, Landgraf, Daland, Hunding, Marke (1901-6); Hunding and Pogner (1912).

86. Carl Perron (1858-1928). Primary engagement: Dresden (1892-1913), where he created Jokanaan, Orestes, and Baron Ochs. Bayreuth career: five festivals between 1889 and 1904 as Amfortas, Wotan, and Gunther.

87. Ellen Gulbranson (1863-1947). Bayreuth was at the center of her career: she shared Brünnhilde with Lilli Lehmann in 1896, but thereafter was the only Bayreuth exponent of that role in the years 1897-1914, and also sang Kundry (1899-1906). Pictured as Brünnhilde (in 1899) in Mack, 144.

88. The register in which artists’ salaries were recorded by the festival administration in 1904 casts interesting light on Schering’s observation about Siegmund’s battle scene. Paul Glitsch, a bass in the festival chorus, received 20 marks in special pay for portraying Siegmund in the battle scene in the two performances of Die Walküre given that summer. As already mentioned, Alfred von Bary, who performed Siegmund in 1904, was terribly near-sighted and later required a stunt man for the fight with the dragon when he appeared as the young Siegfried in 1911-12. The fact that Schering draws attention to the staging of this scene without publicly noting the substitution of one actor for another makes one wonder whether such a procedure was an assumed practice in non-Bayreuth productions as well. In any case, this is only one of several scenes in which stunt doubles or mannequins were common in early Bayreuth productions.

89. The basic set of the 1896 production appears in Mack, 125; doubles for the Valkyries (children on wooden horses) from the same year are pictured in Mack, 135; and the Valkyries (also from 1896) are pictured in 136. The relationship between the projections Schering mentions and these other dimensions remains somewhat obscure.

90. Isadora Duncan, My Life (1927; repr. New York, 1942), 144. Duncan’s fascinating description of her summer in Bayreuth occurs over the course of chap. 15, 142-58.

91. Relevant photographs from the scene discussed by Chevalley can be found in Zeh, 88, 90, and 103; and in Mack, 102-3.

93. The allusion is to Faust’s line, “Zwei Seelen wohnen, ach, in meiner Brust” (Two souls, alas, live in my breast). Goethe, Faust, Part 1.

^* For the skeptics, I shall enumerate these visits: 1872 for the laying of the foundation stone and the Ninth Symphony; 1876 for the first and third Nibelungen cycles; 1878 for the general meeting of the patrons; 1879 for the founding of the Bayreuther Blätter; 1881 for a conference on the means for producing the “Bühnenweihfestspiel”; 1882 for Parsifal; 1883 for the funeral of the Master and for Parsifal; and now once more for Parsifal and Tristan und Isolde.

^* Just one criticism: the bells still aren’t tuned right. That this should be so hard to achieve, here, where so much is accomplished that had once been considered impossible! In the matter of the bells, one should not let piety for the past prevail but should rather have new ones made. The tamtams now being used cannot be tuned properly because they have no specific pitch. Steel bars would be the only reliable option here.

^* A change was even made to the 1882 performance that proved appropriate and sensible: in the third act, Parsifal does not come with Gurnemanz and Kundry (as he did in the first act) from the right side, but rather from the left side to the right side, in the transition from one scene to another, and thus he moves, as the transformation scenery also does, in the opposite direction from what occurred in the first act!

^* I have heard, by the way, that later performances did not suffer from this indisposition anymore. It could be that the artist just needed to get reaccustomed to Bayreuth and reacclimated to the place.

^* She will certainly also with the years perfect the role of Isolde (which I did not think she could fully do justice to this year) as she did Kundry.

Cosima Wagner’s Bayreuth

RICHARD POHL, ARTHUR SEIDL, EUGEN GURA, ARNOLD
SCHERING, HEINRICH CHEVALLEY
TRANSLATED BY MARY A. CICORA
INTRODUCED AND ANNOTATED BY DAVID BRECKBILL

NOTES

Cosima Wagner’s Bayreuth

RICHARD POHL, ARTHUR SEIDL, EUGEN GURA, ARNOLDSCHERING, HEINRICH CHEVALLEYTRANSLATED BY MARY A. CICORAINTRODUCED AND ANNOTATED BY DAVID BRECKBILL

NOTES

RICHARD POHL, ARTHUR SEIDL, EUGEN GURA, ARNOLD
SCHERING, HEINRICH CHEVALLEY
TRANSLATED BY MARY A. CICORA
INTRODUCED AND ANNOTATED BY DAVID BRECKBILL