/lit/ - Literature

On February 14, 1883, I proceeded in the morning to a rehearsal of a Gewandhaus concert. Had the prevailing fog also penetrated into the hall, or was there less illumination than usual ? Little groups had formed, and were conversing in low tones; I was regarded questioningly as I went past. Had something happened ? I took no notice of it, found my way to my seat as usual, and listened to the music, without however being able to absorb it properly. There was something oppressive and ominous in the atmosphere. Suddenly a colleague accosted me with a 'Haven't you heard?' 'Heard what?' 'Richard Wagner is dead.' I gazed up at him uncomprehendingly. 'That surely can't be true?' 'Yes, he died yesterday afternoon, in Venice.' I rushed aimlessly down the stairs and met Oskar Paul, who was pushing his way hastily towards the exit. 'Herr Professor, is it true?' I cried. 'I am just going to the newspaper office,' replied Paul,' as I am told that a telegram has arrived.' At any rate, then, it wasn't certain: the telegram might contain something quite different. No, certainly it wasn't true! With a ray of hope in my breast, I ascended once more to the balcony and sat down mechanically. In the hall below the rehearsal was proceeding, but suddenly a message was given to Reinecke which caused him to break it off. The music on the stands was changed; Reinecke raised his baton; the opening notes sounded-heavy, oppressive, and gloomy. To my horror I recognised the funeral march from 'Gotterdammerung'—it was the harbinger of death! That titanic, restless creator spirit had shed his earthly shell! Then I could stand it no longer, and fled into the street. In the courtyard of the old Conservatory groups of students interspersed with isolated members of the staff were standing together, discussing the event. A shrill, frivolous voice reached my ear: 'Now there'll soon be an end to the swindle.' Spitefully and gloatingly it pierced the cool February air. A few hours later and I should have sprung at the scoffer's throat. As it was, I could only hurry past in order to hide the tears that welled from my eyes.

>Weingartner was also an author of numerous books, ranging from musico-philosophical topics of a Nietzschean kind ("the theory of rebirth and the music drama") to hands-on reflections about the art of conducting. An essay on post-Beethovenian symphonic works (including Liszt’s symphonic poems) falls into the rubric of musicology; several volumes on the performance of symphonies by Mozart, Beethoven, Schubert and Schumann venture into performance practice

>the theory of rebirth and the music drama

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