Written by a woman from one woman’s perspective, Seasons with the Meistersinger is an intimate view of 19^th century German composer Richard Wagner, the times in which he lived and the women with whom he shared his life. Unlike most biographies, music criticisms, and psychological studies of Wagner’s works, Seasons challenges the widely-held conclusion that his development as an artist was hindered by a simple, slow-minded wife incapable of understanding the art he was attempting to achieve.

            Through detailed, factually based anecdotes, the reader comes to know his wife Minna Planer, a woman of talent, both beautiful and practical without whom Wagner might never have achieved anything, much less his extraordinary uniting of poetry, music and drama.

An award-winning news and sports reporter, Karen Hoffman holds the distinction of being the first woman to win a Sportswriter of the Year Award from the National Sportscasters and Sportswriters Association. She later worked for higher education interest groups and two United States senators. Since her move to Pittsburgh in 1987, Hoffman has contributed freelance features to the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette and the Pittsburgh Tribune-Review; lectured on the Role of Women in the Life and Art of Richard Wagner; and most recently was a senior communications representative for a major German corporation. A graduate of the University of Wisconsin-Madison, Karen resides in Upper St. Clair with her husband, Tom, and their two Labrador retrievers.

One morning mid-April, having awakened later than usual, Minna went to Richard''s study to give him an affectionate greeting. She knew he was nearing completion of the Venusberg orchestration, but instead of finding him busy at work, she was shocked to see him seated at the piano crying. Her moving across the room awakened Peps, who was stretched out on his stool. The dog barked, startling Richard.

            "God, Minnel...," he said, wiping his eyes. 

            "What''s wrong?" she asked, irritated by his laziness and sullen mood. "Didn''t Amalia make coffee for you? Or did you finally figure out that you can''t afford to elegantly bind one hundred copies of this new opera!"

            "My whole being has been so consumed with this task," he said, gently touching a page of the composition draft from which he was working, "that the closer I get to finishing it the more afraid I am that I''ll die before it''s done."

            Richard had suffered many sleepless nights due to stomach cramps and headaches, but after years of attending him through bouts of erysipelas, catarrh, nausea, and a host of other ailments, all of which he recovered from through the exertion of his seemingly indomitable spirit, Minna had not been concerned. But the pallor of his usually vibrant face and talk of sudden death frightened her into a more compassionate temper.

            "Remember how worried your sister Cacilie was before the birth of her little Richard?" she said, gently brushing his disheveled hair from his prominent forehead.

            "That was because Rosalie died in childbirth!"

            "And just like a mother you are about to send another of your children into the world to an unknown fate."

            "See, Minnel, this work must be good! If not, I can never accomplish anything. It has worked such magic on me! I no sooner touch the music than I glow and quiver with warmth," he said with what seemed to Minna almost sexual delight. "Even with all the great interruptions in my work, I''m always freshly inspired by that peculiar fragrance which intoxicated me at the very first conception. My Tannhäuser is a German fellow from top to toe. May he win German hearts more completely than my former works."

            "Why must you always whine? Rienzi plays to big audiences!” 

            "And do you ever find mention of that in the newspaper? Did Schladebach report on the magnificent performance of my Love-Feast at the Frauenkirche, or even Weber''s funeral? Everything to do with that dignified ceremony, especially the music, was my work!"

            "You never give tickets to Schladebach. Why do you now place stock on a single music critic?" she asked tauntingly.

            "Because, Minnel, it is his job to review and write about music for newspapers throughout Germany. Mein Gott, I know quite well that newspaper reports can''t make a good work into a bad one, or a bad one into a good one. But the papers can prejudice a good thing by hindering its spread. They can be discouraging!"

            "Your Venusberg will not be stillborn. Play for me. Let me hear what the orchestration will sound like."

            The request seemed to light a fire in her husband''s eyes. She took a chair near the window from where she could watch the ever-changing features of his face as he played. No sooner did the first notes sound than she recognized Wolfram''s Song to the Evening Star with its concluding orchestral refrain. It is a lovely song people will be eager to play and sing at salons and parties, she thought.

            "How much is left to finish?"

            "I am struggling with the finale. Gaillard''s criticism of my rhyming ''Gott'' with ''Spott''. See, I don''t think ''Spott'' is a forced rhyme at all. It''s a poetic word suggesting the distortion of God''s mercy at the hands of a callous priesthood. God help me!" he said with what she recognized was feigned seriousness as he began playing and singing the younger pilgrims'' chorus.

            "And now for the offensive rhyme," he said, winking.  "Hoch uber aller Welt ist Gott, und sein Erbamen ist kein Spott!" He paused and asked, "What do you think?"

            "High above all the world is God, and His Mercy is no mockery," Minna repeated. "I must admit that the music sounds better than the actual words."

            Richard''s brows plummeted into the sharp crevice above his nose, and he shook his head as if in uncertainty. "Well, this is the final passage, sung by the combined chorus of old and young pilgrims."

            "The salvation of grace is the penitent''s reward, now he attains the peace of the blessed. Alleluia!"

            He sang to music Minna recognized as the opening measures of the now familiar Pilgrims'' Chorus. He banged on the piano with such enthusiasm that Peps began to howl. No sooner had the echo of their voices faded than the silence of the piano sounded the opera''s almost abrupt end. Minna started to applaud, but she saw Richard''s eyes locked in concentration. Then his intense expression dissolved into a smile.

            "The wonderful thing about being both the poet and the composer is that I can finesse both words and music to make my meaning clear," he said. "With such glorious music as this nobody really needs to hear ''Spott.''"

            He played the final measures again, humming loudly as he thrashed the keyboard. Minna smiled in appreciative amazement when she heard the Pilgrim''s Chorus music that accompanied "The salvation of grace" drowning him out as he sang the questionable "Spott" ending the younger pilgrims'' song. The two passages thus intertwined had become fluid, building to a thrilling climax.

            No, Minna thought, there is no way Richard''s music can arrive in the world stillborn.