Wagner, William III and wisdom teeth

When we were in Lucerne last week, we visited the Richard Wagner Museum. The composer lived in Lucerne for six years from 1866 to 1872 in this lovely house on a peninsula near the city centre:

I haven't written about it until now because I felt very ambivalent after our visit, which included watching a documentary narrated by Kenneth Branagh about Wagner's life and work. Wagner was rabidly anti-Semitic. I knew that already, but I didn't know he took a four year break from writing music to pen an antisemitic diatribe. His admirers divorce the man from the music, but I find that difficult to do. When I was standing in his sitting room, I kept imagining Wagner, surrounded by a circle of devotees, haranguing them about the Jewish problem. He was a vile person generally and I am not so in love with his music that I can ignore that fact. Although, now I am typing this I am thinking of the aching beauty of Siegfried's Funeral March and Wagner's portrayal of strong women and I am softening. It might be a good idea to watch Stephen Fry's documentary on his struggle with loving Wagner again or read this book I found by Marc Weiner. I also found this debate in the Wagner Journal, which I started reading until one of the authors mentioned Hegel, then my eyes crossed and I stopped.

The house is on a peninsula and looks toward the Grand National Hotel, where we were staying:

Here is the view of the peninsula from our hotel:

Wagner's house is on the peninsula with the yachts and poplars.

Here is one more link, to a recording of Leonard Bernstein conducting the overture to Tannhäuser.

Yesterday we spent more time looking around the Baroque part of Hampton Court Palace.

We learned a bit about William III and Mary II, about whom we formerly knew virtually nothing. They were first cousins and Mary cried on her wedding day, so aghast was she at having to marry William. He was Dutch, she was English and she went to live with him in Holland(? not sure, actually, somewhere that was not England). They grew to love each other and he was devastated when she died of smallpox. Mary's sister, Anne, hated William and referred to him as "that Dutch abortion". Anne became queen after William died.

William was often off fighting unsuccessful wars in France. When he was at home, he largely eschewed the pomp and ritual that the English imported from France, such as eating in front of a crowd of onlookers and dressing in the Royal Bedchamber which contained an incredibly expensive bed that the king rarely, if ever, slept in. Comparing the Tudor and Baroque State Rooms was very interesting. In Henry VIII's day, if you wanted to meet the king, you passed through the Great Hall and one other room until you reached a smaller room to see the king. In William III's day, you went through a succession of rooms, each more grandly appointed than the next, each containing a throne (really a red chair) under a canopy, until you got to a room with another red chair with no canopy, where you would find the king. You would bow to the thrones in all the rooms even though there was no one sitting in them. One of these rooms was called the Royal Bedchamber and contained a big bed, instead of a chair and the King and Queen would sometimes sit in the bed while onlookers stood behind an elaborate gilt barrier. Surreal.

William did not like these rituals, much preferring his much smaller private rooms on the floor below. When I say small, I am serious. I have seen quite a few great houses and even the "family rooms" used today are dauntingly large. William's private rooms are warmly panelled, the walls adorned with his favourite works of art, such as these fine paintings by Corregio:

Here is a picture of King George II's Royal Bedchamber bed. It costs more than 10 small houses to construct:

Here is a painting of George's mistress, Henrietta Howard. I love the simplicity of her dress and hair:

Back to William III. Ranged around his private dining room were a series of large portraits of beautiful women in his Court, by Godfrey Kneller. I commented to the young warden looking after the room on how much each subject looked alike. She dismissed me, saying, "they are actually quite different." I think not. Here is a sample of Kneller's work:

Duchess of Mazarin

Dorothy Mason

Same, are they not? Separated at birth? The warder told me the I've-just-had-my-wisdom-teeth-out look was in then and women put "plumpers" in their cheeks to achieve the look. The expression, "speaking with a plum in your mouth" came from this period.