for to support him was only to help art and the fatherland.  It is all very charming, and it makes one rather glad not to be a German.  Without Wagner’s colossal egotism he never could have got through the difficulties he had to face, and his selfishness is the defect of his quality; but it is pitiable to find writers—­Glasenapp, Ashton Ellis, Chamberlain and Wolzogen—­sunk so low in abject flunkeyism as to glorify the defect as the quality.

In 1829 a court theatre, as has been said, was opened.  Rosalie came as a leading lady, and one Heinrich Dorn came as musical director.  Dorn was nine years older than Richard at a time of life when nine years make an immense difference; but the elder, certainly through the influence of Rosalie, from the beginning took a keen interest in the younger.  He played Richard’s music at the theatre—­to his own confusion on at least one occasion.  Richard had composed an overture in six-eight time with a fearful stroke of the drum, a Paukenschlag, every fourth or fifth bar; Dorn played it; the audience grew mirthful.  That is all.  What the motive was for the drum-strokes I cannot guess.  Still, Dorn did not give him up, and performed other and, let us hope, less ludicrous efforts.  Presently I shall devote a page or two to the compositions prior to his first professional engagement; but first let me set down a few of the needful facts of his outer life.

The Paris revolution of 1830 set all youthful Europe in a ferment.  The students of Leipzig university were not behind, and though Wagner did not yet belong to the sacred circles he mixed much with them, hearing them talk and doubtless doing not a little talking himself.  At one stroke, he says, he became a revolutionist; and, within his own meaning of the word, a revolutionist he remained all his life.  When we deal with the period during which his revolutionary ideas got him into serious trouble it will be time to discuss his views:  for the present we need only note that the conduct of the Leipzig students in various riotous scenes that took place filled him more than ever with admiration for them, and with a determination to enrol himself amongst them as early as possible.  He had quitted the Nicolai and gone to the more congenial Thomas school; but he would not wait to finish his course there.  On February 28, 1831 he had his wish and matriculated.  He was, I say, spoilt in everything.  Most German musicians who received any education worth speaking of at that time got it because of the ambition of infatuated parents to see their children turn out successful lawyers or win high official positions, for Germans have a touching trust in their government and its power of providing for their children.  Richard, however, had no taste either for law or officialism—­he knew indeed that lawyers and officials are the parasites and curse of our civilization.  He had evidently taken to heart his Uncle Adolph’s admonitions—­“Remember how wide was the culture of C.M. von Weber,”