SubmittedFriday, 03 May 2019
Wolf’s genius flowed again
Suddenly, at Döbling, on 29 November, 1891, the stream of Wolf’s genius flowed again, and he wrote fifteen Italian Lieder, sometimes several in one day. In December it stopped again; and this time for five years. These Italian melodies show, however, no trace of any effort, nor a greater tension of mind than is shown in his preceding works. On the contrary, they have the air of being the simplest and most natural work that Wolf ever did. But the matter is of no real consequence, for when Wolf’s genius was not stirring within him he was useless. He wished to write thirty-three Italian Lieder, but he had to stop after the twenty-second, and in 1891 he published one volume only of the Italienisches-Liederbuch. The second volume was completed in a month, five years later, in 1896.
One may imagine the tortures that this solitary man suffered. His only happiness was in creation, and he saw his life cease, without any apparent cause, for years together, and his genius come and go, and return for an instant, and then go again. Each time he must have anxiously wondered if it had gone for ever, or how long it would be before it came back again. In letters to Kaufmann on 6 August, 1891, and 26 April, 1893, he says:
«You ask me for news of my opera.[188] Good Heavens! I should be content if I could write the tiniest little Liedchen. And an opera, now?… I firmly believe that it is all over with me…. I could as well speak Chinese as compose anything. It is horrible…. What I suffer from this inaction I cannot tell you. I should like to hang myself.»
To Hugo Faisst he wrote on 21 June, 1894:
«You ask me the cause of my great depression of spirit, and would pour balm on my wounds. Ah yes, if you only could! But no herb grows that could cure my sickness; only a god could help me. If you can give me back my inspirations, and wake up the familiar spirit that is asleep in me, and let him possess me anew, I will call you a god and raise altars to your name. My cry is to gods and not to men; the gods alone are fit to pronounce my fate. But however it may end, even if the worst comes, I will bear it–yes, even if no ray of sunshine lightens my life again…. And with that we will, once for all, turn the page and have done with this dark chapter of my life.»
[Footnote 188: The writing of an opera was Wolf’s great dream and intention for many years.]
This letter–and it is not the only one–recalls the melancholy stoicism of Beethoven’s letters, and shows us sorrows that even the unhappy Beethoven did not know. And yet how can we tell? Perhaps Beethoven, too, suffered similar anguish in the sad days that followed 1815, before the last sonatas, the Missa Solemnis, and the Ninth Symphony had awaked to life in him.
this was: Wolf’s Genius Flowed Again
go to next chapter: the piano score of Corregidor
