Here was true heroism, genuine manliness!  Had he been willing to write more operas like “Rienzi,” he might have revelled in wealth (he loved wealth!) and basked in the sunshine of popularity, like Meyerbeer.  But not one inch of concession did he make for the sake of the much-coveted riches and popular favor.

Yet was not his next work, “Lohengrin,” of a popular character?  Popular to-day, yes; but in the days of his Dresden conductorship he could not even get it accepted for performance at his own opera-house!  It was completed in August, 1847 (the last act having been written first and the second last), but although he remained in Dresden two years longer, all his efforts to get it staged failed, for various reasons.  And when, at last, Liszt gave it for the first time, on August 28, 1850, at Weimar, whence it gradually made its way to other opera-houses, its reception everywhere showed that it was very far from being considered a “popular” work.  The critics, especially, vied with one another in abusing this same “Lohengrin,” which at present is sung more frequently than any other opera; and they continued to abuse it until about twenty years ago.  “An abyss of ennui,” “void of all melody,” “an insult to the very essence of music,” “a caricature of music,” “algebraic harmonies,” “no tangible ideas,” “not a dozen bars of melody,” “an opera without music,” “an incoherent mass of rubbish,”—­are a few of the “critical” opinions passed on this opera, which is now regarded in all countries as a very wonderland of beautiful melodies and expressive harmonies.

The non-acceptance in Dresden of this glorious opera, concerning which Wagner wrote, “It is the best thing I have done so far,” was only one of many trials and disappointments which daily harassed him.  He was over head and ears in debt, because, in his confidence in the immediate success of his operas, he had had them printed at once, at his own expense.  The opera-houses were very slow in accepting them, and this left him in a sad predicament.  There were, moreover, enemies everywhere,—­ignorant, old-fashioned professionals, who objected to his way of interpreting the masters (though it was afterwards admitted that he was epoch-making as an interpreter of their deepest thoughts).  All this galled him; and, furthermore, no attention whatever was paid to his pet plans for reforming the Dresden Opera, and theatrical matters in general.

In the state of mind brought about by this condition of affairs, it needed but a firebrand to start an explosion.  This firebrand was supplied by the revolutionary uprising of 1849.  Now, although Wagner had never really cared much for politics (to his friend Fischer he once wrote:  “I do not consider true art possible until politics cease to exist"), he was foolish enough to believe that a general overturning of affairs would benefit art-matters, too, and facilitate his operatic reforms; so he became, as he himself admits, “a revolutionist in behalf of the theatre.”  He actively assisted the insurgents, and the consequence was that, when the rebellion failed, he had to leave Dresden and seek safety in flight.