"For you and I so differ
In where we are
And when we are
That how we are would seem too much
To let events unite us."
Deeper, deeper, deepness now. Deeper, deeper, deeper, deeper
Richard Wagner, not yet famous composer, was aware of them, he felt their presence rising; they aware of him. He and they, an evolving oneness, an urging, passion that leaves its physical mark, a throbbing ache, that he has reached to grasp, to hold, to burn his immortal soul.
They were one but also two, a union yearning, delighting in awareness of the others presence. A slowly twisting, flowing pattern, illicit heightened tones, fear tinged shadowed edge binding deeper the aching yearn, the ache of requited oneness longing. The almost touch of tender hands, drifting to the eyes. The eyes that tell the truth of that which they must hide.
Richard was aware of them. The music. It was almost there. Notes that yearn; that hint of ivy and vine. Notes that in their rising build soft calls upon the ear. A theme unresolved, that in its very lack of resolution, leads on, maintaining hope its sound will never end.
Richard was aware of them. How could he not be? They were his creation They were there, had come, matching passions his Mathilde aroused.
Richard was aware of them. One half feminine, in tune with him. A death-shadowed sprite, aroused to taste forbidden fruit; unsated to the point of lust; always wanting more. The other masculine, almost in discord. Here was Richards counterpart, the voice of reason, logic, science against which he countervailed. The two who when apart have separate contradictory spirits but when as one, have new meaning, a single contrapuntal harmony.
Aware!. At night he could feel her call, his and hers, a passion seeking resolution. Calling deeper, deeper, deeper. A repeated haunting call that in its lack of resolution demanded music yet unheard.
Richard Wagner, mused on his creation, knowing its reality and its illusion. His thoughts stirred by this clearing of the desk, the old letters it contained. In particular the one before him, the one to Liszt dated December 16, 1854: "As I have never felt the real bliss of love, I must erect a monument to the most beautiful of all my dreams, in which, from beginning to end, that love shall be thoroughly satiated. I have in my head Tristan and Isolde, the simplest but most full-blooded musical conception."
Richard knew that at times he was being irrational, but delighted in the artiste it implied. He at times treated the images as though they were real, giving personality to each. The masculine presence, with its lack of true musical appreciation, a good rallying point for his personal angst, the lack of musicians to play as he wanted, conduct as he wanted, sing as he wanted. And also allowing him to rail at the dearth of patrons who could understand the depth and meaning of his work. A single patron needed, one who would pay his bills, release him from creditors and lastly and not trivially would accept dalliance with said patrons wife.
Angst, fervour, belief depending on your view and of course such a desire for world perfection was not his alone. Common views held not just by musicians, but cobblers, astronomers and kings. Like Hans Sachs. Like Johannes Kepler.
Kepler, the seventeenth century German, famous for his works in astronomy, had sought to unite the stars, the planets into a fabric where music undercored its rules. Kepler was not unique in this for the concept of the music of the spheres stretched back through Ptolemy, to Plato and beyond.
In his Harmonies of the World Kepler implored "But now, Urania, there is need for louder sound while I climb along the harmonic scale of the celestial movements to higher things where the true archetype of the heavens is kept hidden. Follow after, ye modern musicians, and judge the thing according to your arts, which were unknown to antiquity."
And at the end of this passage he entreats:"But alas for you! No more than six are in concord with the heavens. For the moon sings her monody separately, like a dog sitting on the Earth. Compose the melody; I, in order that the book may progress, promise that I will watch carefully over the six parts. To him who more properly expresses the celestial music described in this work Clio will give a garland, and Urania will betroth Venus his bride."
Wagner, not yet famous; Kepler, German, world renowned. The one inviting a singular musician to take up the challenge of a holy grail. Music not only worthy of the heavens but incorporating laws. The other, a singular musician, also German, waiting ,wanting, welding his new music laws.
Wagner and Kepler, German impoverished geniuses. Dependent men. Dependent on patrons whose only merits were their inherited wealth.
Wagner, not yet famous, a driven man obsessed with music, outside the mainstream, unwilling to conform. Rebel, revolutionary, insensitive to many people, kind carer of dogs and animals. "Some of course hold harsher views" he mused "even Minna, damned Minna. She had no cause, no right to pry. That letter to Mathilde. I should not have let Minna have her chance. Now Minna throws everything back, even that accursed Jewish paper I wrote. Now because of Minna we must go. What a damnable wife, sending such a private letter to both Mathilde and Otto. Asyl, my ideal home, Mathilde, angel of desire, I must leave you thanks to her."
Wagner, not yet famous. No king found to rush to his financial aid. Poor, reduced to seeking reluctant patrons; in debt for a living style not in keeping with poverty. Richard Wagner, composer, pondering upon his life as it was and would remain for another seven years.
Thus, Richard mused. His last chance for contemplation for now he must fly. Fly out of reach of creditors and angry patron, fly to where his dreaming may be forged, welded into operatic form.