All language subtitles for ZARCO.aaZ

'Let me read you this
from the Dresdner Anzeiger

'of February 14th, 1883-

"'A heavy and altogether unexpected
bereavement has befallen musicians

"'of every race, country and degree.

"'We learn by telegraph from Venice

"'that the greatest
of contemporary composers,

"'Richard Wagner,
the second husband of Cosima Liszt,

"'died there at four o'clock
of yesterday afternoon.

"'He occupied a loftier station

"'than King or Kaiser, Pope or President.

"'No monarch was ever more
enthusiastically served

"'than has been Richard Wagner.

"'Lnfallibility, embodied in a Roman pontiff,

"'has never been more implicitly believed in

"'by the most orthodox Catholic

"'than it has been in the person of the...

"'Bayreuth Prophet!"

'Put well, do you not think?

'Put well. '

'It goes on, it goes on -

"'Time and space fail us even to make
passing reference to the literary labours

"'with which his busiest years
were in great part occupied.

"'A free thinker in matters religious,

"'a democrat in matters political,

"'of a surpassingly combative temperament,

"'Wagner could scarcely fail
to involve himself

"'in the revolutionary agitations of 1848,

"'in Dresden, where he held
some minor musical appointment. "

'Minor!

'Ln the light of Wagner's future, perhaps,

'but Kapellmeister to King Friedrich
August II of Saxony was a post!

'To those of us here
in Dresden, a respected post.

'Lrksome to have to visit the King
in his castle at Pillnitz,

'a song in one's pocket,

'to have to make music
in praise of one of those very princelings

'one's political soul cried out against...

'But that was the condition of Germany
in the 19th century.

'Lnsignificant city states.

'And it was a post! '

# Sei uns gegr��t, Du Deines Volkes Lust!

# Sei uns gegr��t

# Sei uns gegr��t...

#... in Deiner Lieben Mitte

# An Deiner Teuren Brust

# Treu Deiner V�ter Sitte

# Nah Deines Volkes Lust

# Sei uns gegr��t, Du Deines Volkes...

L�ttichau...

Majesty?

Who's responsible for this noise?

Reissiger conducted the piece,

and it was got together by Herr Wagner,
Your Majesty.

- Wagner?
- Wagner.

Very well conducted, the piece.

Herr who? Herr who?

- Reissiger.
- Oh... oh.

I lay myself at your feet, Majesty.

The piece does have within it
some not inconsiderable...

'Very well composed, Herr Wagner.

'Very well arse-licked, Herr Reissiger.

"'Oh, do you think so,
Majesty, do you think so?

"'I did do my best. '

"Then I do dash myself under your feet,
dash myself twice. "

It's different every time he relates it.
We were not late. As if I'd allow him to be!

Hm? Hm?

There sat I, paws up, tail wagging,

waiting for a pat on the head
from von L�ttichau,

begging to have gold put into my mouth

rather than into the mouth and tooth
of His Majesty.

But what does it matter? It is the path
of the liveried servant here in Saxony.

In the event I said thank you
and gave my royal master the lot again.

But so moved my army in its retreat,

my Grande Arm�e of ill-disciplined
musical invalids and veterans,

so moved them, cajoled,
nudged, shoved, willed them,

the whole manoeuvre so steadily executed,

thanks to my unexampled activity,

that Reissiger never even knew we had left
until von L�ttichau told him so.

The last notes falling on an echoing dream

on the royal ulcerated
tooth and ear... mm?

'Wasn't wasted though.
Later used it all in Tannh�user... mm? '

Wagner! Wagner!

There is something to being
German altogether curious, you know.

We can take a song like
Among The Meadows And Woods,

and set it to music in such a manner
that we all dissolve in tears.

And yet when we look about us and see,
instead of a united fatherland,

a hotchpotch
of 34 kingdoms and principalities,

we are unmoved.

Our eyes remain dry,

our hearts do not beat faster by one note.

Why? Why?

Are we little people with minuscule minds,

mere servants, ruled by
and subservient to our "betters"?

I say to them, our rulers, I say,

cast your titles and distinctions from you!

We too, the common people,
have ancestors.

And though they had no titles,

were not ushers of the shithouse.

Their deeds of daring, their vassalage,

their sufferings,

are writ reeking in letters of blood!

Their blood,

our blood banner!

Two camps have arisen in Europe.

The cry from one is "Republic",

the cry from the tents of the other
is "Monarchy".

Monarchy?

What do you see? You see
a blinded and corrupt tribe,

the rulers of Hessen,

Bavaria,

Prussia!

I agree!

What then of our own king?

I, his Kappellmeister, dare say this to him -

become a prince who heeds our advice,

banish the snivelling Junkers
and their swooning dames.

Consult instead the free folk,
the German folk,

those noblest of children

like unto gods.

Not servants in livery

or slaves of whim,

but elected and free.

Every man with a vote.

Our minds strengthened
by understanding of our past,

the myths and legends and religion

of Germany.

Let him, our King, let him say,
"I declare Saxony a free state. "

Let him rid himself of his sycophants,

and if he will not, a word of warning,
as Christ says,

"If thy right hand offend thee, cut it off!"

Cut it off!

Cut it off!

Your fatherland is called Germany.

Love it above all, and more through action
than through words.

Germany must have its place in the sun!

I've read your husband's latest scheme
for an opera, Frau Wagner, Lohengrin.

Yes, the Poem of the Swan Knight.

Oh, how wonderful! A swan knight.

I can see all the little elves and fairies
dancing before my eyes.

Unfortunately we can't give it.

These unsettled times, your husband writes
to the newspapers, Frau Wagner,

makes speeches he ought not to make.

The King himself has had to prevent
one of his officers

from challenging your husband to a duel.

Lohengrin, it is stirring
and German and wonderful.

If only Herr Wagner were not determined
on setting it to music himself.

Meser! Why do you remove my Tannh�user
from your window, all the copies?

Is my work not fit for your shop?
What do you replace them with?

What's this?

Meyerbeer! Dear God,
we used to admire this man.

And so you should. Meyerbeer is a master,
he sells copy on copy.

That's because you are not his publisher.
You're an incompetent idiot.

Am I though? Am I?

What are you, then?

This, returned from
the Munich court theatre.

This is monstrous! They have not
even broken the seal to read it.

Exactly.

You ain't being given, Herr Wagner,
that you ain't.

But Meyerbeer is, which is a fact,

hence he can go out
where he might be bought. Rienzi?

Outside Dresden, where?

Performed once only in Berlin.

- Yes, and?
- And?

K�nigsberg!

Where?

It is successful every time it is given here
in Dresden, so is Tannh�user,

so too will be Lohengrin.

Damn you, Meser, I'm of a mind
to withdraw Lohengrin from you.

Then I would remind you that you are not
entirely drawing the town.

I will not go forward with Lohengrin
until you give me some money.

Then you will lose a revolutionary work, sir!

And are we not all revolutionaries
in these times?

No, we ain't, Herr R�ckel. We are not.

We ain't.

You sport with known revolutionaries,

you have ideas above your station

as to unions for musicians

and a total turning of the Dresden Opera
on its head,

which you put forward in writing
above the noble head of your director

direct to the King!

Direct in writing!

Which king you would have murdered
in his bed.

This time we live in is no time
for grand opera, no time at all.

And a word to the wise. Hear me.

Herr Director L�ttichau has intimated to me
as he ain't going to do Lohengrin,

for your arrogance and your scorn
of the established genius

such as Meyerbeer's genius,

all of which gives me no faith in you,
young man.

Get rid of this anarchy and all,

then perhaps there'll be time for an opera,

or better still...

...an operetta.

There are going to be new theatres,
new music.

All who come between German folk and
art will be swept away in the revolution.

- Will they, though?
- Barbarossa.

I am considering Barbarossa
as a fit subject.

Germany looks for another Barbarossa.

Barbarossa like Lohengrin is not a fit subject
for an opera, not at all.

It ain't light enough, no laughs in it.

And what is more, no person
will wish to hear it,

in that it involves that which people
do not wish to hear.

Shall you not do duty
with the Communal Guard?

I shall not, I have resigned.

Why?

I suffer from a double hernia.

Should you not go to Doctor Pusinelli?

It was Anton Pusinelli who recommended
that I had a double hernia.

Why?

So that I need not do duty
with the Communal Guard.

Why?

Who can tell which side they're going
to fight on? For the revolution or against it.

I don't understand. Forgive me, Richard.

In Paris it's about the starving rising up.

In Hungary it's about the oppressed
shrugging off Austrian domination,

but who in turn will be dominated
by the Russian tsar.

In Saxony, here in Dresden,
it is about being given a sop

in the form of an assembly in Frankfurt,

which purports to be an assembly
of all Germany, but isn't...

Which should have power but hasn't any.

We are still half in Austria
and half under Prussia.

And it's about the Parliament
which our king now threatens to dissolve.

There isn't a Germany yet.

Until there is a Germany
or a German consciousness,

I'm not going to have an audience.

Damn it, people like me,
people like Semper, R�ckel, Pusinelli,

people with minds, free minds,
doctors, lawyers, musicians,

are always going to be subservient
to the likes of L�ttichau,

to the court, to a court theatre
run by someone

who was Keeper of Forests and Trees
to the King.

He and Frau L�ttichau
have always been very kind to us.

Kindness! I don't want kindness.
I want money and I want a theatre.

I have plays, ideas for plays,
well thought-out ideas.

What happens to them?

My report on the state
of the royal orchestra, what about that?

Three months to prepare!
Not even read by the King.

My ideas for a national theatre of Germany,
what about that?

- Not taken seriously.
- Well, if there isn't a Germany...

Hmm?

Liszt is going to give Tannh�user
in Weimar.

- Yes, Liszt.
- Your devoted friend.

- He also knows how to...
- How to what?

Tug his very beautiful forelock
to his royal masters?

Whenever you tug any part of him,
he responds.

- I know, the only one.
- Oh, please, Richard!

Don't plead with me, Minerl.
This isn't a time for pleading.

How can one talk
to these sabbath Christians?

I'm a better Christian than them because
I understand what it is to be a pagan.

L�ttichau, so pure he extricts, extracts
himself from stinking when he farts.

Talk to him about an art that embraces
everything - music, poetry, drama!

I know what it is I'm brooding on.

You know, I have told you, a grand, heroic -

yes, for lack of a better word - opera.

Yes.

Siegfried's Death, hmm?

Fire, water, hmm?

Destruction, and out of the cleansing,
a hero, a German hero.

Christ, Barbarossa, Siegfried...
the same person.

You know
that nobody will be able to stage it.

Do I?

You mock me for my seriousness, but if
one is not serious about work, what then?

There is a stage, it is going to happen.

You would have me a journeyman,
like the King and L�ttichau,

paid to toss off a pretty little tune,
an accompanying tremolo

to whatever hack drama
they see fit to put on.

A pluck of strings, rumble of drum
to signify that depth of feeling

which the words have been too shallow
to express - that is my job!

That is not true!

- You're afraid.
- Yes, I am.

I was a journeyman once, did everything,
when I first knew you.

Magdeburg, scenery, everything.

You emptied the hall of everyone
but your most ardent creditors

with your Battle of Vittoria.

A triumph, of noise...

Scored for bugle drum and firecracker.

Such a battle has seldom
been more cruelly fought in any concert hall.

You, Minna, you didn't even stay.

I hate noise, bangs.

Oh, God...

It has begun.

Come on. Up here! More.

Up here. Yes, as much as you can.
Come on!

Yes, very good. Come on,
we haven't got much time! Come on!

More, more! Yes, that's the way.

Yes, very good.

Yes, come on, plenty over here!
Come on, as high as you can!

Come on.

Yes, very good!

Yes, that's good!
Come on, up here on the top!

- Uncle, uncle, what is it?
- Uncle, is it fighting?

It is. Ottilie, Clara,
you are present at the beginning,

a revolution led by artists
and men of means against privilege,

intellect against indulgence.

Get me some food together, Minna.
I'll be gone for some time, until it's all over.

The revolution. The revolution at last!

After all these years, years of struggle,

at last, Kapellmeister to the King of Saxony,
respected and secure in the post.

Open the door! Open the door!

- Open the door!
- No, no, I shall not!

I shall not, not at all, not at all!

No. No, Richard.

Open this door. Do you hear me?

Oh, Richard, they've come for you.

They've come for him.

Richard, Richard, where's Richard?

We've started it.

The King dared to dissolve the Parliament.

Minna, where's Richard?

When Richard comes,
he's to go to the foundry.

Dresden is one of the foremost theatres
in Germany.

We are so lucky.

Open this door, do you hear me?

We have starved.

When we first came to Dresden,
we knocked walnuts from the trees to eat.

I was so ashamed.

Open the door!

You have borrowed money from everyone,

even from members of your own orchestra
who have little enough themselves.

You rant about their conditions, poverty,
ill health and then you borrow from them.

Open the door!

The only friends you have left
have nothing themselves.

Anybody will do.

Anybody.

Richard?

Bakunin. See here. Come, look.

I see.

You are facing your King's soldiers
drawn up in ranks.

- Your own soldiers against you!
- Semper, see that it holds.

Bakunin, these, calling on the soldiers
not to fight us.

Ludicrous! Amateurs!

Soldiers of Saxony, lay down your arms!

Come with me, Semper, Bakunin,
we shall inform them of their real duty.

Simpletons!

Lay down your arms, fellow Saxons,
fellow Germans.

Join us, the people of Dresden, bearing
arms to defend our liberties and yours,

our liberties and yours.

We are all in the same boat. We have
to defend ourselves against oppression.

Whatever happens in this world,
let us all be true Germans.

If you ask me,
whole thing is doomed to failure.

The working man must lead
in the social struggle to come.

Free men, artists, all of us.

Our struggle today must express
the will of free people everywhere,

regardless of national boundaries.

Our nationalism, our nationalist socialism,

must be only an ornament, not a limitation.

Our work will either be
to free the human spirit

or else condemn it forever
to chains of economic bondage.

Wagner! Wagner!

Wagner.

Someone must show us,
show us what to do, direct them.

Me? Not me.

Ask Bakunin,
he's the professional revolutionary.

I'm just a musician. Semper, you build
excellent barricades. What do you suggest?

- You?
- No, no, no.

Bakunin may well decide to throw
in his lot with this amateur revolution,

but I'm sure he'd say
that it was doomed to failure.

"The wrong people are inspiring it. "
I mean, people like you and me.

I think he's just using us
to fan up the flames.

Why don't we climb somewhere
where we can see what's happening?

- Ah, the Church of the Cross.
- Good, good, you go.

I am an architect
who has no head for heights.

- Up there, like Christ on a temple!
- Oh, yes, yes.

When you write your Jesus Christ opera,
the tenor must sing nothing but -

# Off with his head! #

And the soprano -

# Hang him! #

And the basso continuo - that's Bakunin -

"Fire! Fire! It's the only way,
the only way is to destroy everything!"

Rubbish.

Yes, yes, perhaps you're right.

# Off with his head!

# Hang him!

# Fire! Fire!

# Off with his head!
Hang him! #

Fire! Fire!

# Off with his head!
Hang him! #

Fire! Fire! Fire! Fire! Fire!

Fire! Fire! Fire!

Destruction!

Destroy and start again!

You set fire to your opera house!

Of course I didn't,
but I should have done years ago.

Such places should be burned down.

One can't do anything with such places,
Semper.

The places are built
for Italians and the court,

tiny houses for tiny music,
little mice squeaking in tune.

This... this is theatre.

This. Flames.
We need theatres that are this.

Amphitheatres of fire, buildings
that might encompass this, contain this.

This is theatre!

I scribble notes, what I see for days,
in the hope it may be useful,

may help them aim their shots.

The lark, up there, soars to a dizzy height.

Larks and heroes.

Oh, how long will this all go on?

Weeks now.

The bullet that can lay me out
has not been cast.

Left, right, left!

- Do you see them?
- What?

The bloody Prussians,
thousands of them, pouring in.

Herr Wagner. We have met.

Go back to your Prussian master, sir.

Take note I come at the request
of your king to restore peace and order.

Ridden post to get here.

You may go back to
your rum-tiddy-dumming, bandmaster.

Damn me, had I a musket, I'd drum you, sir.

Go back to your royal Prussian master.
See if he wants his boots given a polish!

You thought highly enough of my king
when you were touting your songs in Berlin.

Tell me if I disremember,
but didn't you offer to write him a march?

I accept royal patronage no more.

True patronage will come
from the people of a united Germany.

Under Prussia, sir.

Under no man, sir, unless we elect him.

Because of my high regard for you
as the composer of Rienzi...

I shall not cut you down where you stand.

I don't fight musicians.

Prepare yourselves.

What did the Prussian say?

He'd seen Rienzi, must have liked it.

Wagner! Wagner! Wagner!

'Lt was as well that Wagner
left Dresden when he did.

'Another day or so and he would have been
clapped in prison.

'R�ckel was confined for over 13 years.

'As it was, a warrant was quickly taken up
for Wagner's arrest

'and return to the scene of his activities
on the barricades,

'there to be brought to trial,

'to face the music as it were,

'to face the music no longer
as Royal Kapellmeister

'with an orchestra at his bidding,

'but as a proscribed criminal,
a fugitive from justice.

'For two months, he stayed
out of the clutches of the authorities

'until he was at last
forced to flee Germany entirely.

'Entirely...

'He crossed into Switzerland from Bavaria,

'at Lindau on the Bodensee, in disguise.

'False papers.

'Alone.

'But as he wrote to a friend,

"'From these ruins
I shall find most whom I need,

"'then I shall erect a theatre
on the banks of the Rhine

"'and scatter invitations throughout Europe
to a great dramatic festival. "

'He did say that.
Then, as a man on the run, as it were... '

Are you Professor Widman
or Herr Itzenpliz?

Widman.

'He was not to return to Germany,
any part of it,

'not Saxony, not Dresden, not Bavaria.

'No state would have him home
for over a decade.

'He was not to build his theatre
and scatter invitations for 27 years. '

We have lunched.

Now they are removing my doors.

For some reason best known to themselves.

Erm, Herr M�ller, why is it necessary
for Herr Wagner to remove my doors?

Mr Wagner must have a stage
from which to read us his poem.

Ah...

I see. So, Herr M�ller, I have provided
a stage for Richard Wagner.

Sit down everybody, please.
Make yourselves comfortable.

Before... before reading
my poem Siegfried to you,

before doing this, I would like you
to try and understand my position.

On a door. You are positioned on a door.

Isn't he, Baumgartner,
on one of Jacob Sulzer's doors?

Please, please, please!

My position as an artist,

my reasons for being a year in exile
without writing one note of music,

my... my purpose, my quest,

my search for and study of those myths
and legends of our German past.

The German artist of the future will emerge
from his mythic past as I am emerging.

I am shedding those distractions which
wasted me, those boltholes into oblivion.

Security, success, fear of failure.

Change.

I seek to change entirely
that which has led to me being here,

searched for as a posted criminal
in my own country...

where we failed to change anything.

Out of the realm of the womb
of night and death,

there came into being a race
dwelling in Nibelheim,

that is in gloomy subterranean clefts
and caverns.

They are known as the Nibelungs.

Feverishly they burrow through the bowels
of the earth like worms in a dead body.

They anneal and smelt
and smith hard metals.

'Wagner began the years of his exile
in Zurich,

'a town devoid of art in the public sense.

'But it did have a thriving music society.

'Good, simple-hearted cultured persons,
determined to be friendly,

'put him in the way of a few coins
to pay the rent.

'Minna had resisted joining him
for some time.

'She had been happy in Dresden.

'Lt had been all she wanted
until the barricades went up,

'and she was fearful that as soon as
she left Dresden she would be shut out,

'borders closed against her
as they were against her husband.

'She could not face the thought
of a life of exile outside Germany.

'But she allowed herself to be assured
by those of us who knew such things

'that there would be no question
of her being forbidden Dresden.

'She had no charge against her
of any action treasonable.

'She could therefore come and go
as she pleased.

'So, blameless, she went

'to be at her husband's side in his exile
in a foreign land, his pleadings answered.

"'Very well," she thought.

'Lf she was sure she could come back
to her beloved Germany, she would go,

'make a home for her beloved Richel

'with Natalie, her daughter
by a previous never-mentioned liaison,

'their dog Peps, her parrot Papo,
and sundry items of furniture and comfort. '

Siegfried's Death.

First Norn.

- First what?
- Norn, you fool!

Norn...

First Norn: In the East I wove!

Second Norn: In the West I wound!

Third Norn: To the North I cast!

What wound'st thou in the West?

Second Norn: What wov'st thou in the East?

First Norn: Alberich robbed the Rheingold,

bent there from a ring,
bound there by his brethren.

Second Norn: Thralls the Nibelungen,
thrall to Alberich since his ring was stolen.

Third Norn: Free the elves of darkness.
Free too Alberich.

Rheingold, rest in the waters.

First Norn: In the East I wove!

Second Norn: In the West I wound!

Third Norn: To the North I cast!
What would'st thou in the West?

Second Norn: What wov'st thou in the East?

First Norn: The giants built the Godsberg.
With threats they asked the ring in pay.

The Gods bereft it from the Nibelung.

'When she got there, in September 1849,

'she rolled up her sleeves
and set to... set to. '

That on night hide once I'd fought
when the fearsome worm I slew.

Hagen: Br�nnhilde, woman bold,
knowst thou a right the ring.

Wast it to G�nther thou gav'st?

Then is it his?

And Siegfried hath won it by trick,
which the treacherous years shall atone.

Br�nnhilde: Betrayed,
betrayed most shamefully betrayed.

Treason, treason as never yet was venged.

Gudrun, the Clansmen and Women:
Treason!

Vengeance!

On whom?

Ah, Liszt...

The Fairies.

37 years of age!

"Kapellmeister Richard Wagner
is wanted for examination

"on account of his active participation
in the recent uprising.

"Medium height, brown hair,
wears spectacles. "

That could be anyone.

Thank God.

Wotan! Wotan! Ruler of Gods!

Wotan, bless thou the flames.

Burn hero and bride,

burn eke the true horse.

In joy may greet Valhall,
made one for a bliss without end.

My venger, Hagen, my son.

Rescue, rescue the Ring.

The end.

Herr Wagner, let me fill your glass.

You have of course read Wolfram
von Eschenbach, the Northern Sagas?

Yes, yes.

Opera bores me, bores me,
it's got nothing to say.

I don't write operas. I write music drama.

Ah, that's it, that's the thing.

That doesn't bore me at all. Are any
of your musicals being given anywhere?

Ah, yes, musicals...

Liszt is giving Tannh�user in Weimar.

- I can't go there!
- Neither can I any more.

Switzerland is full of people trying to flee
from somewhere, Paris, Vienna...

- Dresden.
- Ah, yes, Dresden.

He'll be arrested should he show his face
anywhere in Germany.

Paris.

Take this Siegfried fellow to Paris.

- But you'll have to put songs in it for Paris.
- Ah, yes, songs...

To meet you at last, Frau Wagner.
Tell me, was the concert not?

No, it was not.

I know most of the orchestra are amateur
musicians, but does the music not?

- It does not.
- Oh!

Dresden has one of the finest orchestras
in Germany.

- This is a band.
- Oh!

A small-town band.

- A Swiss cheese and mountain call band.
- Oh!

You were all dreadful!

I think that Richard's greatness
lies in the way that he faces adversity.

- Do you?
- Oh!

My dear Sulzer, come in, come in.

I hear that your friend Meyerbeer
has had another big success in Paris.

My dear Sulzer, you would not have me
pander to a swindler such as he?

Meyerbeer.

Last time I encountered Meyerbeer was
in Paris in the music shop of Schlesinger.

Was, at one time, Schlesinger's,

now owned by a much more pronounced
type of Hebrew, one Brandus.

While I made conversation
with dear old Monsieur Henri,

the only person left
at all friendly and welcoming,

do you know, Meyerbeer hid from me?

But I winkled him out,
brought him to face me there.

Meyerbeer, master of melodious moonshine
forced to come out of his lair,

stuttering, stammering,
professing false goodwill,

and here it came, here it came.

His assumption that I was in Paris
to seek, as it were, my fortune!

Meyerbeer was always willing
to help and did so often,

but like everyone else who helps Richard,

they are eventually repaid
with scorn and derision.

Oh!

Meyerbeer gave out
a belch of manuscript dust,

his assumption dispelled by assuring him

that the thought of having anything done,
or underdone, or overdone in Paris

was odious to me.

"But," whines Meyerbeer, "Liszt has
published a brilliant article about you.

"We all read it. "

"Ah," replied I,
"it had not really occurred to me

"that the enthusiastic devotion of a friend
should be regarded as speculation. "

"But," quoth he, and here the man lies bare,
the 30 pieces of silver chink,

"but the article created a sensation in Paris,

"you must make profit out of it
by following it up with something. "

Profit?

I told him that there were
greater occupations for my mind

when the whole world seemed
to be in turmoil and reaction.

"But", a great but-erer is Meyerbeer,
"but what do you expect to get out of it?

"Are you set to write scores
for the barricades?"

Whereupon I told him it was not in my mind
to write any scores at all,

which took the ground straight
from under him and laid him on it.

Meyerbeer! The Meyerbeer clique!

Twittering Nibelungs,
maggots deep in the flesh,

feeding on the sweet,
pretty, fleshy confection that is Paris,

a blood cake iced
and spattered with silver and gold.

Pretty tunes, music for brothels.

Deep inside the cake, they twitter
and wriggle and copulate and kiss and suck,

growing bellies that are fat,

shoulders broad enough to carry
the ponderous crucifixion of fame.

Victors of the fame game.

I, Meyerbeer, salute you with five acts
and a ballet decollete called an opera!

Bravo, an opera by Meyerbeer!

The world hangs hushed
on every nauseous note,

stands transfixed in awe at titles
promising seriousness.

Hollow titles, rattling with arias
and melodramatic arpeggios.

Empty rodomontade titles like The Prophet,
a prophet who tells one nothing.

Meyerbeer entitles his grand opera
The Prophet and it prophesies nothing.

I can no more write operas

than I can fly to Paris
without the aid of wires from a gridiron.

I know you have come to encourage me.
I know.

I know you mean well. I know.

I swing. I am suspended, Minna.
I am neither here nor there.

I wait for times to change

and try to change times
by the essays I write which you dismiss...

...thus.

There is a Mrs Ritter who has a son

she wishes to be a musician.

A composer, I fear, of operas.

She and another lady
have offered to finance me while...

Oh, Minna...

- How we've missed you.
- Yes.

'Mademoiselle Minna Planer.

'The beautiful, unattainable actress I paid
court to for two years and two months

'before she would have me. '

You must not have another child.

No.

I must never...

I must remind you, Richard,

that if I am barren,
as I am barren,

it is because your child died
before it could be born

while we fled from your creditors,
pursued by Cossacks.

Maybe.

To have another child
would mean my death.

Yes...

Never to have had sufficient money.

Never.

It is so... graceless.

What would you have me do?

Work as others work.

Well, I give concerts.
I concertise for pitiful sums of money.

Is there something to eat?

Tomorrow there will be, thank God.

- And Liszt?
- I thank Liszt.

Oh, I am your child, Minna.

I sometimes think so.

Richard? Why must you take money
from this woman?

Mrs Ritter? Because she offers it
and she has it. She's English, I think.

- Or it's the other one. One of them is.
- Is it beneath your dignity

to earn money rather than borrow it?

These pamphlets and essays
you write. They waste your time.

You're a conductor of concerts.
Conduct them.

You're a writer of music. Write it.

- So that we can live.
- Mmm...

Liszt wants me to go to Paris.
He thinks I should.

I'm grateful to Liszt,
but he needs me more than I need him.

He is, after all, a performer, hmm?

The darling of the salons.

They watch his hands on the piano
and imagine them up their skirts.

Richard!

But he sees the music of the future.

He sees it.

He sees the fusion of music and drama,
dimly, as I see it. Very dimly.

Which is why I can't write anything
that will please you.

The form eludes me.

I know it.

Greek, vast amphitheatres.

Life and worship in their art.

Sensual performances
understood by everyone.

Slaves, masters, all equal in intellect.

Equal in sensitivity.
Same tongue, same myths.

Instantly accessible through shared desires.

Experience. Food, even.

The same simple attic food.

Milk, wine, olives.

The same women, enjoyed by master
and slave alike in the same open manner.

Music is feminine.

It lies waiting to be fertilised,
the dramatic seed thrust into it.

Words, taken up
and carried further by the music.

But poetry...

Poetry is the reason for music.

And drama is the reason for both.

Paris?

Paris is for Meyerbeer
and his vapid nonsense

for which he earned in royalties for
one opera some 750,000 marks last year.

Whereas I got 900 marks
for the entire rights of Rienzi.

I told everyone you were commissioned
to write something for Paris.

- It was announced in the Dresden papers.
- Why?

So I should not be ashamed of you.

Ah, yes. Yes...

Meyerbeer is in Paris
and is afraid of being buried alive,

given instructions that bells
should be tied to his toes when he goes.

He fears suffocation after death.

I am in terror of it happening now.

While I live.

Heavens.

I have seen a theatre of flames.

- Liszt does Lohengrin?
- Yes, something.

Lohengrin,
the King of the Fairies.

You remember.
Lohengrin, the swan knight. A fairy.

Mmm?

Silk? How on earth
have you managed to afford silk?

- What?
- You've sent me no money for weeks.

- I always try, Minna.
- Yes, you do.

- But silk.
- It isn't paid for.

Minna, you know
I can't wear anything but silk.

Oh, Richard...

Mitzel... Liszt suggested the court
at Weimar might pay me a yearly sum.

A nice house might be found for you.
Lohengrin might be given in English.

London might do it.

You were right, Mitzel, my old love,
my dear old love.

Minna, the beautiful actress
laid low by the madman Wagner.

I must get something for Paris.

What do you say to Wieland the Smith?

Shall your old Richel do that?

I know you think I should settle to
a decent living, not live off other people.

I've been offered a few francs a year
to write something

by a lady from Edinburgh
who lives in Bordeaux.

She and Frau Ritter met her daughter
in Dresden.

Jessie Taylor, called Laussot now

married a young wine merchant.
He was on his beam ends.

If her mother can put money into wine,
why not into Wieland the Smith, what?

Where is there a blacksmith? Where?

I need to hear the sound of metal
being struck.

I must learn to forge metal.

And I must learn to walk.

Richard, your words, your ideas

fill me with...

confusion, love.

- Yes, love.
- I give it you...

freely.

Jesse, I know.

Wieland the Smith.
You are his bride - chained,

iron-chained
and waiting for him to strike off the chains.

I do feel that.

Enter.

Did you enjoy your walk, Mr Wagner?

The sea near Bordeaux is very bracing.

I find it not within me to enjoy
anything at the moment. I fear for my health.

Oh, how distressing.

Did Jesse tire you?

No, no, she...

She...

- She was an inspiration.
- I'm so pleased.

Is the sea air of Bordeaux

helping you to recover
from that which has brought you so low?

Thanks also to you...

sire, and to your beautiful young wife

and to Mrs Taylor and, of course,
we must never forget Frau Ritter

who brought us all together.

She is a good friend, a discerning woman.

I see that your Dresden friends
have been sentenced to death

for their part in the uprising.

- Yes.
- Unthinkable.

I must...

Er, you must go to her.

Yes.

I was overcome.

You are not now, overcome?

I am recovered.

Yes, well.

Well...

we are all upset

at the thought
of what might be lost to the world

should Mr Wagner have been took up by
the Dresden authorities and so dealt with.

Yes, it is well known that my part
in the events was that of a mere spectator.

An innocent

laid bare.

A bystander.

They were, are...

for a few days more, my friends.

Where will they go?

What will they find?

Is there a heavenly place for them, a shrine?

A mossy bank?

I've tried to...

explain my feelings, have written to them

in simple hope that they will allow me
into their last...

I have told them that I am protected
by the most blessed friendship and love.

Am I not in the bosom,

the bosom, that place where love lurks

waits to do its healing?

I tell them nothing of the financial plight
I am in.

I tell them that, however

with renewed hope

and fresh strength to my...

my...

in my wings

I am carrying on,
going where they would wish

in my own way
and according to my own powers

refleshed

the work for which they, supple-limbed

heroes, are laying down their lives.

- They are?
- Is there no hope... of reconciliation

between yourself and the authorities,
Mr Wagner?

Shall you never be reinstated
in your position in Dresden?

That, madam, I do not desire

and with your money, which you've
so generously offered to remit me

it is not necessary for me
to be a servant ever again.

I shall go to the east.

What an excellent idea.

East of where?

Mrs Taylor...

with the 3,000 francs a year,

I will use it for...

I will use half of it to provide for my wife.

Oh.

How far east did you have in mind?

I... am going with him.

- With whom?
- I'm vital to his development as an artist.

So, too, you will find, am I.

I would remind you that I have saved
your husband from bankruptcy.

I am delighted to help Mr Wagner as well

but to not to cut my hands like a groom
so that he may more easily mount the mare.

- I have never loved Eugene.
- No, Daughter, but I have.

Vital to his development indeed!

I shall shoot the fellow should he dare to
show his face in Bordeaux ever again.

I shall indeed!

C'est quelque chose dont j'avais toujours...

Stop!

Yes?

Yes?!

You are Richard Wagner of Dresden?

I am.

If you are here to dun me, a bailiff,
I'm getting money.

I have a letter of credit
from a friend in Weimar.

The composer and pianist, Franz Liszt.
I expect...

Please, please...

- It is not money?
- It is by nature of being political

touching on state and power,

which I am encouraged, as a guardian,
to pursue with zest and power

and to ask you these... several questions.

Might I put them to you now, hmm?

Why have you come back to Paris?

What have your reasons been,
apart from romantic,

for being in Bordeaux?

And have you tried
to communicate with any here

- on the list?
- List?

The list here given of known
revolutionary-inclined persons

in alphabetical order.

I was only a... spectator.

Read it carefully, Herr Wagner,

and when you have finished,
I will escort you from Paris.

Ah.

Tannh�user.

Now, this is splendid.

Revolutionary, one might say.

I am by way of being
an amateur musician myself.

I am told that my friends
are to be executed in Dresden.

R�ckel, the others.
Do you know? Are they dead?

They are not now to be executed,
merely imprisoned

though I would execute them,
for I am implacable

- as you were.
- One should be.

Herr Wagner... might I warn you

you are marked and will be watched
while you are on the list

and every country has its own list
and its own influential people

who need only to denounce you
as behaving suspiciously...

as in Bordeaux, for instance.

Hm? Hm?

Mrs Taylor - or was it Mrs Ritter? - Her son
Karl has the makings of a fine musician.

Well, no, he hasn't the makings
of a very fine anything -

but, for the sake of 3,000 francs a year...

Hmm.

- Might I take this?
- Please do.

- With a signature?
- Where am I to go?

Herr Wagner, you may go where you wish

but you may not go to Bordeaux,
where you were going.

A signature.

I was going east.

- I am told your wife will arrive soon in Paris.
- Wife?

Wife? My wife writes to me, asking that
I should not use any familiarity or affection

in my correspondence with her.

In my letters, I should address her formally,
as to a stranger met in the street. Wife?

Might I suggest, Herr Wagner,
that for your safety

you should move on perhaps, say, to...

Switzerland?

Yes.

'Switzerland was congenial to Wagner.

'He suffered from ill health all his life

'and, like others before him

'thrashed his body with healthy pursuits -

'in Switzerland with Minna, with two pupils
taken in to earn a modest living.

'One of them was Hans von B�low,

'a law student from Leipzig.

'The other, Karl Ritter,
the son of Frau Ritter here in Dresden.

'At whose house Wagner had first met
Jessie Laussot.

'He had rowed a boat one day across
from Lucerne to the William Tell chapel.

'Ln the boat, Franz Liszt,
Wagner's foremost champion, always. '

My dear friend. My dear friend.

What it is to have you with us.

Why does he smile so?

He's happy.

Is he?

No.

Wagner, the gentleman is very wealthy.

- Which gentleman?
- The gentleman I tell you of.

Oh, that?

It would be difficult for me.

I have taken considerable trouble
with the hereditary Grand Duchess Sophie

and she is becoming a most accomplished
prima donna assoluta, as it were.

- As it were?
- Well, she can sing...

un peu.

Fort peu.

I think the Duke of Sachsen-Coburg-Gotha
will pay you well

for scoring his new opera.

My dearest,
I'm sure he will and so he should.

What was his last opera called? Tony?

Yes. Tony, yes.

He's particularly intent on copying
your magnificent use of trombone.

Is he? Who?

Le Duc de Coburg.

- Who is your dear friend and patron.
- Yes.

He's a close relative of Grand Duke Carl.

- And a dolt.
- Pardon?

Only a dolt would copy
the use of trombones.

He asked me to find out your rules
in this respect

that he might apply them in his own work.

Work? He has no work.
What a doltish question.

How can you ask me
such a doltish question, Liszt?

Loyaut� m'oblige.

I assured my royal patron that I would.

Did you?

Well, you tell him this, then.

Tell the royal buffoon
that I never use a trombone

unless I have an idea for a trombone.

One just doesn't use trombones.

Tell him also that I am searching
for a prince who will support me

not through my work on whatever "work"
he may be amusing himself with.

I want a prince who will support me...
undemandingly,

unconditionally, unquestioningly.

By which I mean money, Liszt -
money, money, money, Liszt.

All I want is money.

Love, I abandon. And art.

And politics?

Ah, politics has abandoned me.

Why do you smile when I talk of Goethe?

He smiled all through lunch
when we discussed Goethe. Why?

Because I have...

a deep admiration of Goethe.

Do you? And for France?

If you are not prepared to accept
that France is the cultural leader of Europe

then you are a baboon.

You certainly grin like one.

Never, never argue with Liszt
about Goethe or the French.

I never do, Karl.

- Karl, you must not.
- My dear Frau Wagner...

I must demand, and get,
an apology from him.

Liszt is one of the kindest, gentlest of men.

He would not dream of insulting you.

I have communicated the outrage
to my mother. He...

He called me a baboon.

Baboon face.

- Surely it isn't all that important. Surely not.
- Yes, it is. It is.

I am to be married.

I cannot be treated in this way.

Marry? Ought you to, Ritter?

Ladies and gentlemen...

this telegraph
has been received from Weimar.

It is a poem
to mark the occasion of Liszt's birthday.

It will be read by one of our own poets -

Georg Herwegh.

The Lovers Blessed
by Hofmann von Fallesleben.

In every nest where lovers dwell

- Togetherness...
- Karl is very upset, Richard.

Is he?

- As a boy, he was called "baboon-face".
- Was he?

Spring begets each mother's dwelling...

With fresh, green blooms.

The young fool isn't going to make a scene,
is he?

So may we each stretch out our hand

As we are led to the better land.

Wagner! Wagner!

Is it often
that you have to play for your supper?

Wagner, well done. Far too well done.

I would much rather
these things be done badly.

- Francois!
- In what respect?

In every respect,
that I better form my opinions.

Ah.

How can one correctly appreciate
and criticise

when seduced by the excellence
of Frau Heim and yourself?

Yes, and Liszt.

Oh, I think Liszt played badly.
One could see the genius, but...

Frau Wills, I am concerned as to your...

Heine?

Has the poet Heine,
the great German poet, Heine...

- Madame, I am aware...
- Heine?

Has Heine been of any influence
in Herr Wagner's...

Wagner? It is the birthday of Liszt.

- I have the highest regard for the poet.
- We think very little of the poet, Heine.

But Heine has captured the German people.

Karl, you must not make a scene.
I will make Liszt aware of your feelings.

I am sure he will apologise in his own way,
possibly by letter.

I shall demand an apology now.

If I do not get one, my mother
will not give you another penny.

- No, no, wait!
- Why talk about Heine?

Surely his name will be inscribed
in the temple of immortality.

I suppose so.

In shit.

Are we not making too much of it?
After all, the boy does look like a baboon.

For years, I had in mind the story
of a young man, a boy of great charm -

of great charm and beauty.
Without beauty, there is nothing.

My Siegfried is above all those things.

Beautiful.

No knowledge of fear.
A boy too stupid to learn fear.

Whenever I have the opportunity
to hear the Master play

- I am aware of the gift God has given him...
- Too kind.

- We should all pray our thanks to God...
- I abase myself before you, ma chere.

What is Siegfried's guardian like? What?

Small and bent of course,
deformed, and he hobbles.

His... His head is huge -

a great bald head with his small and
shark-like glancing eyes going to the soul.

Festooned with a grey beard.
The embodiment of evil.

He does... He does, of course,
resemble us to a hair.

In Weimar, I am told

they plan to institute
a festival of music, opera and art

for to enjoy the whole people of Germany
and also to cultivate.

Yes, one would hope so.

A transformation is needed.

Music must go through
a real transformation.

What is needed more than anything,
however

is a transformation...

in theatre.

Listen to me, damn you!

Damn you!

Listen to me!

I'm Wagner!

- Herr Wagner...
- 'In 1851...

- Herr Wagner?!
- '... Wagner's health gave out... entirely.

'Entirely. He was forced
to spend two months in a sanatorium

'to take the water cure

'to stride the mountains when fit enough

'but he suffered from shingles, you see.

'He suffered from constipation.

'He suffered also from gastric ulcers

'but most of all

'he suffered from black, hounding despair.

'He had written no music
for almost five years.

'Lf he could but return to Germany...

'But he could not.

'He was still listed here in Dresden
as a revolutionary criminal

'but Semper, the architect of the barricades,
joined him

'and another revolutionary friend,
Hermann M�ller

'and there was always the pupil, Karl Ritter,

'upon whose money

'or rather that of his mother, Frau Ritter,

'Wagner depended.

'They tried to cheer him on his trudges
through the snow above the clouds...

'and sometimes did.

'He wrote somewhere...

"'Determined

"'I shall return to Zurich to die...

"'or to compose. "'

I am on the point of...

vomit!

Altitude. You were not given
a head for heights, Ritter.

He is some help. Liszt has recommended
someone else - a young man, B�low.

He may be more...

But this one's mother pays well, Semper.

Pays well. Semper!

Look at it.

Every theatre should tumble before this

and come the day when every German
theatre does tumble, you and I -

you with your prams, I with my ideas -

we come up here and hurl rocks
we cannot yet heft

with such strength
that they will reach the Rhine

and, there, slot into place.

We'll blow horns to call our friends together

and perform three dramas
in the course of a week

which shall proclaim
the artwork of the future.

Got away. By the very nick.

The nick.
I am now without money and a refugee.

I haven't a penny to spare.

- Not one. Not one.
- Neither have I. I'm destitute.

Not entirely.

I am given to rages.

I am covered with the most beastly rash.

I'm writing a... play.

I suffer from...

- pressure of the blood.
- I also.

Yes, yes, and more than that.

An alarming, feverish activity.

For my shingles,
I have been taking sulphur.

So much so that I sweat sulphur.

Doctors...

they give me poisons.

I'm not convinced that
this... water is the answer.

Er, this opera, composing and such,

are you still at it?

I am.

Do you still hope for change?

No, I do not hope for change.
There is no hope for change.

"The world is only of physical, no moral,
significance. " Then why seek to change it?

Down, gentlemen, please.

I confess, I do not understand one word
of Herr Schopenhauer.

Oh, do you not?

Herr Wagner thinks it's very important. He's
read this book five times in nine months.

Have you read it?

Down, gentlemen, please.

I think it impresses him
because it fortifies his own view of himself -

a genius, some would say a madman -

but given the superfluity

of knowledge and artistic insight

beyond the normal trivialities of paying bills
and...

earning a living...

and, it would seem, breathing.

"Suicide - the supreme assertion of the will.

"Sacrifice and denial of the will to live. "
Stay down, all of you!

I must live on...

and suffer.

Naughty Richard. Poor Minna.

In the mornings, I work.
In the afternoons, I walk. You?

I work through the night into the morning,
until I am exhausted.

- I would ask you to work in the afternoons.
- Why?

- I am Richard Wagner.
- Success to you.

- I am a gunsmith.
- I've never had need of... guns.

The pen being mightier than the sword?

Beating swords into ploughshares.

So long as man strives

he makes mistakes.

Every man is worth studying carefully,
but not every man is worth

talking to.

Good day, sir.

I... I often think a rich merchant
such as yourself is allowed his prosperity,

Wesendonck...

that he might come to the aid of fine artists
such as Herr Wagner.

I can find money for Wagner

but I would suggest that his wife be asked
to control that which we find for him.

Where is she?

I am told she is sickly, in Dresden.

Frau Wagner.

Herr Wagner is, in fact, a financial genius.

- You mean, in that he obtains money?
- In that he persuades money.

- Now, his wife...
- Otto, were I Wagner

I would hate to have my affairs
handled by my wife.

Indeed, any gentleman
would find it intolerable

though, of course,
in the case of Herr Wagner, hmm...

Do you know he borrowed
1,000 thalers from that booby, Ritter?

His mother already remits Wagner a stipend
for the musical education of the boy

as well as
in appreciation of Wagner's genius.

He is that.

My own wife tells me he is.

And my sensibility confirms it.

One person who does not appear
to know this is Wagner's own wife.

She sends him into despair, I'm told.

Will not live with him one minute,
cannot do without him the next.

I thank heaven for quiet order
in my own household.

Frau Wagner, she simply doesn't
understand the way he writes and writes

and cudgels his brains to shreds.

You know, it's not merely opera.

It's not merely music.

That man just... Well, he wants to
change everything.

But of course Wa-Wagner... is music.

Wagner, we discuss your finances.

Oh, yes?

Yes.

On trust that I shall be paid back
from future fees from your operas

I shall let you have 7,000 francs

which I trust will expunge your debts.

My, er... My dear Wesendonck,
I am grateful to you.

There is also the small matter
of some 500 francs -

I'd hoped to cover it
with a fee for Lohengrin -

to be paid tomorrow,
or they will throw me out of my humble...

Erm, can't sell the furniture.
Frau Wagner would never forgive me.

She has taken the cure.
I expect her any day.

Yes, yes, 500 francs.

Liszt does Lohengrin in Weimar.

Do you know I have never...

seen it?

Nothing to do with her!

Nothing! The threads
came together, that's all. Nothing!

Nothing to do with Mathilde Wesendonck!

'No, no, no. Never.

'There was nothing she gave me
except a summer house in her garden.

'That's all I had from her.
Nothing to do with her.

'I'm sorry, Minna.

'Sorry. Sorry for what I did to you.

'Sorry, Minna...

'Minna.

'Sorry, Minna. '

A house and garden on my own.

A haven of calm at last.

This shall be my last move of all.

Wagner, my dear friend!

I have something to show you.

Ah, of course I shall pay you rent.

- Of course.
- And I shall never put on livery again.

How I detested those breeches and
those stockings and those buckled boots.

Most insulting to a man.

Now it is silk.

Do you know, Herr Wesendonck?
You must know. You sell silk.

You must know how important silk is to me.
It is the only thing I can wear.

I'm mortified beyond endurance
if forced to wear anything else.

Covered in scrofula. Only the finest stuff.
And you would know the finest stuff.

How well you have done from silk.

And here you see me,
who cannot live without it.

It's Good Friday.

It isn't. Church bells are not rung
on Good Friday.

Yes, it is. Yes, it is.

Yes, it is.

- Well...
- Well?

Isn't it better here?

Yes.

Aren't you happy here?

I had a letter from Doctor Pusinelli
in Dresden.

Yes? How is the dear man?

He thinks I take too much laudanum.

I think that.

You still owe him a great deal of money.

He works for your reinstatement.

What?

That you might be taken back.

Back?

As Kapellmeister. It's my dearest wish.

Not too much laudanum.

What have you there?

It's a gold pen,
given to me by Frau Wesendonck.

How kind.

How kind.

'I see thee in thy gorgeousness,

'hear all those who will never understand
what we are to each other.

'Those who strangers are, yet near to us,

'how dare they speak to us,
speak between us?

'They voyage the questing, the voyaging
we do, you and I, my sweet child.

'Though dreams of you crowd in,
set sail with me.

'Does my dear muse stay afar still?

'Ln silence I await your visit,
send you my barque to transport you.

'Together in our boat we voyaged,

'no longer was I alone, a lonely heart,
no longer the Dutchman, wherever you are. '

'Everyone loves you,

'You love many.

'Your being as the sun is shown,

'Whose smile brings every joy and blessing.

'My heart loves you and you alone.

'So tenderly, so heart to heart,

'You kissed me in my dream.

'I feel it still, that love-true kiss,
awakened though I seem.

'And yet in life my waiting mouth
Your lips have scarce brushed o'er.

'No look, no cry revealed to you
How sad my heart and sore.

'O, do not scorn the dream that gives
High courage to my mood.

'Life looks on me with hateful eyes
The dream alone is good.

'Then what is falsehood, what is truth?
What life, and what dream stuff?

'Let me go dreaming on and on
For I have lived enough.

'Mathilde Wesendonck. '

What does that creature
spoilt by happiness mean to you?

Minna, please. You must understand
she means everything.

That poor man.

I don't understand.

You treat him like a servant.

She treats me like a person
unfit to meet socially.

You imagine everything.

I see.

Very well. I shall go away.

You must stay
and make an honest woman of her.

Here is another letter come.

You're not well.

No.

Not at all.

This cannot continue.

No, it cannot.

What is that?

A drawing, a sketch.

Where does it go?

To Frau Wesendonck.

No, it... doesn't!

Minna.

Minna!

Please try to behave properly
in front of the servants.

Such behaviour is not understood
by people like the Wesendoncks.

They don't live that kind of life.

Such behaviour is unknown to them.

- You are surely ill.
- You cannot talk me round any more.

Our intercourse has never violated morals,
Minna.

Minna, do you hear?

Minna!

I shall not deny our love, but it is chaste.
Has never become carnal.

My wife, were she well,

would thank you as I do, for your kindness
in giving me luncheon.

Dear God, how I wish
they'd leave my work alone.

If they can't,
why do they think to please me by this?

- My God, I regret ever...
- Surely it is better to have it given...

What do you know about it, Wesendonck?
What?

Do I presume to tell you about silk?
How much in length?

If the conversation touched
upon the merchandising of silk,

would you ever hear utterance from me?

I cannot go on with it.
I cannot see a way forward.

I'm stuck with it. The Ring.

I'm in a parlous state for money.

Parlous. Once again, I have none.

How it goes. Those who said they would
publish me now say they will not.

So I am advanced nothing,
nothing, nothing at all,

not a coin,

though it is read, published and read,
and even performed in parts, in the bushes.

I need money now. A performance now.

I shall write a popular work
for ready money.

This woman, this beautiful creature,
who has come into my life to be my muse.

We must come to some agreement
about her.

Some arrangement must be made.

I think we should... share her.

You use my house as your own.

I am put out.

I would wish to have said this to you
in private, but there you have it.

Now said in company
where I would not wish to have said it.

Otto knows about our affection.

I have no secrets from him,
the father of my children.

Quite so, quite so.

Do you know what is being done
in your house, Otto?

What it is we do together?

The Legend of Tristan and Isolde.
A simple work.

Our constant companion,
these months, Mathilde and I.

Our love interwoven
with the love of Tristan and Isolde.

For the Emperor of Brazil, he asked for it.
He will build a theatre in Brazil.

Semper designs it.
I shall put Tristan and Isolde into it.

I am going blind.

Blind. Blind. Blind.

Blind. Blind. Agony.

Nothing to do with her.

The threads came together, that's all,
nothing at all to do with her,

nothing at all to do
with Mathilde Wesendonck.

- Yes?
- Another dog?

Yes, given us by Otto.

My dear fellow! My dear fellow,
how wonderful to see you.

How do you do?

More important than that. Can I introduce?

Dear Hans, you have been in Berlin.

How I envy you, you must tell us all.
Your work, how well does it go?

More important than that. Can I?

My dear Hans. Now we shall work.

- Did you abandon the law altogether?
- Can I introduce my bride?

- My bride.
- A honeymoon.

- They want to spend it with us.
- Where else?

- That piano!
- From Paris.

The only worthwhile object
to come out of that sink, that pit,

given to me by the widow Erard.

Frau B�low, your husband plays
my rough drafts as if they were

already set down for the piano.
We shall make a lot of music.

- A lot.
- You'll be hungry.

Minna will see that you keep quiet
in the mornings.

Then in the afternoon
and the rest of the day,

we shall be with the Wesendoncks
and we'll make music together, all of us.

- All of us. I am so pleased to see you.
- Yes.

- What can I do? Copying? Anything?
- No, no.

How does The Ring come? Valkyrie?

That you should marry the daughter of Liszt,
it is splendidly round and come together.

There are times when things
do come together, have completeness.

I am so pleased, but then
you know that. Minna, feed them.

The light, the light.

Oh, this light.
How long before it was extinguished?

The sun had set, the day had died,
but its spite was unquenched.

It kindles the signal that holds me at bay
and sets it up by my beloved's door,

so that I may not make my way to her.

What are your feelings?

Mine are that I'm overwhelmed by the beauty
of the verse and the emotion.

I...

- Frau Wagner.
- Frau Wesendonck.

I have... I am here to tell you of my husband.

You are?

I've come to warn you
of the inevitable consequences

of your relationship with my husband.

Please. I would rather you did not.

I face separation from my husband,
a man I have lived with for 22 years.

I've been mistress of his household.

I am the person to whom
you should hold the utmost respect.

I am wife to once
the most respected composer in Germany,

who has in the past done wonderful things,

been Kapellmeister to the King of Saxony,
a position of some worth.

I have been beautiful.

Was ravishing.

Was worn down by his constant attention.

Only this made me marry him.

But I have had to support him for years.

I have been in the way
of becoming a very successful actress.

I gave it up.

Gave everything up to become
the wife of Richard Wagner.

You have not anything
you have given to him.

Nothing!

Frau Wagner, your husband treats
everything as his own, including my house.

Richard is in these things quite shameful.

No, no, I do believe
he does not even consider it.

Everything is put in the world for him to use.

He regards the denial of anything
he might consider necessary to him,

a house, money,

creature comforts, people.

He regards such denial as wicked,
quite simply wicked.

He calls to me and says this.

"Minna...

"We must separate.

"Frau Wesendonck who admires me,
with whom I am passionately in love...

"cannot stand our remaining together.

"She cannot stomach you,

"your sickliness,

"your lack of children,

"your barren womb. "

This is not touching on my state.

It is your vulgar letters,

the undermining of my position.

I am sick and ill
and cannot sleep unless I am...

If I were a common woman,

I would show your letters to that poor man,
your husband, that he might judge.

Then my husband can return to his work.

From which he has been kept
so shamefully!