. . . Permit me a word about the special project of my own which to my great delight has, so I am told, your continuing sympathy. A few days ago I received a letter from Winkler wherein he conveys to me the resolution of the Dresden General Management in regard to my opera with the following words: "The resolution of the General Management was that at the moment they look forward to receiving the libretto." Since they had awaited this in vain, he would advise me to send the libretto from Paris as soon as possible.
After recovering from the first shock, I made a copy of my book, adding to it the modifications which would be necessary for the performance in Dresden. This book has been dispatched and will shortly arrive, but I am left with some additional doubts and worries. Having had no detailed news about my opera, I am still uncertain whether Mad. Schroeder-Devrient has seen to the matter as I wished. Has my letter been delivered to the King? Has the score officially been submitted to Hr. von Lüttichau? Did it come into Reissiger's hands? All this of necessity is important for me to learn; I am especially worried by uncertainty about the last point. I mean the judgment of Reissiger. Without being immodest, I believe I have reason to consider myself no longer a beginner. Unfortunately, I have failed so far, or rather I haven't yet succeeded in acquiring fame. For this reason I and my work have first to undergo an examination, and I am deprived of the advantage of those who may have their poorest work accepted only because it carries the name of a composer who is already known and applauded. What a variety of reasons can cloud such a judgment, even if it is merely a matter of opinion, and though we know that every German has a different opinion about the same thing. For the only reason that my works have not yet won a reputation (they have been nowhere yet produced) is that my own practical experience is not allowed to have any weight. Certainly I can justly claim that I did not submit an immature work. It's my third opera and I am insisting on its performance quite as conscientiously as I have until now kept back my first two operas. I have given an extravagant form and expansiveness to this last composition; it was not in my power to reduce it. The concept of this opera caught hold of me and fascinated me to such an extent that it is impossible for me to think of anything else but to complete it as I had conceived it and as it had to be planned. By the same urgency I have also felt obliged to declare to Herr Léon Pillet, the director of the Académie Royale, that I cannot possibly extend the subject I have submitted to him to a three-act opera as he demands, but can give it only one, or at the most two acts. These are innermost compulsions which have always guided me. If I had conceived my opera project three years ago, I probably would have sent a one- or two-act opera to Dresden instead of a five-act opera as now.
A serious cause for objection will be the difficulties of the performance and doubts about the effect on the public. In this matter I shall have to rely entirely upon the unconditional good will of those who must decide these matters in advance, for they concern questions about which each one may express doubts or confidence according to his individual view. Fortunately, I was compelled to earn my living by the baton for six years, and this at first in theaters whose insufficient means compelled me—often to my greatest discontent at the time—to get experience and practice which perhaps others of my profession do not get. I may flatter myself that I have acquired in this way a knowledge of the effect on the public, and especially on a particular occasion: there came into my hands for the first time a score of La Juive. Being accustomed to read the most complicated scores with a good deal of facility, I couldn't help foreseeing a lack of success for that opera, when I ran through the aphoristic mazes of this score which seemed to lack all the elements for popular understanding. But I must confess that when it came to the rehearsals and to the performance, I entirely changed my opinion, the more so as it was generally confirmed by the public. The difficulties of a performance are always only relative and are of consequence only in so far as they involve willingness, time, and toil. May I therefore be so fortunate as to count on good will in my case. Everything depends on this, and on the basis of my own experience I may appeal to the benevolence of those who have to vote on my work, and whose opinions may differ as to its success, asking them to pass a definite judgment after the performance only. You see, my dear Herr Heine, what worried stuff is running through my head, while I am tempted to bother you with such boring discussions. You must excuse me for pondering here day by day what may be happening in Dresden. But perhaps you in your friendly sympathy will be able to use to my advantage this or that point which I have mentioned. For, unfortunately, people don't know me in your city and they will naturally judge me in one way or another differently from what I really am. . . .
. . . As Kietz told me repeatedly, you would like to hear my opinion about Berlioz and the newer tendencies in French music as related to him. I intend to write about this shortly for the Abendzeitung. Therefore permit me to say a few words about the personal impression which my acquaintance with Berlioz has made on me. The first of his works I heard was his Romeo and Juliet Symphony, in which the tastelessness of its extreme economy has repelled me violently from his genius as a musician. I see the matter as follows: Berlioz stands among the Frenchmen so entirely alone that, lacking any congenial foundation, he is forced to feel his way about in a fantastic maze, thus very much hampering the beautiful development of his enormous powers, perhaps making it even impossible. He has been and remains an isolated phenomenon, but he is French in the full sense of the word. We Germans are fortunate, for we have our Mozart and Beethoven in our blood and we know how to let our pulse beat. But Berlioz has no predecessor and is doomed to a perpetual fever. Nevertheless, we Germans are doing him an injustice which cries to heaven when, without the slightest reason, we dismiss him as a charlatan. On the contrary his outward expression is in rare harmony with his inner genius. What he gives, he gives from his innermost soul; he consumes himself and is the only French composer who after his success has not become overbearing. He has a highly poetical nature, and this is all the more remarkable as he is otherwise an absolute Frenchman who can express himself only in the utmost extremes. It was only recently that I formed my opinion about Berlioz, actually only some three months ago, when I heard his Symphonie Fantastique. At the same time I found out that the tempting possibilities of the orchestra for which he composes present a considerable justification for his eccentric means of outward expression. Involuntarily he felt tempted to lead instrumental music into virtuosity. In another way Vieuxtemps does this too, although he started from the other extreme. He reduces virtuosity, and if I am to judge Vieuxtemps's later work as I foresee it, it will be of the same type, and his triumph will consist in leading music back to its true state of chaste beauty. However, Vieuxtemps will never do a work of pioneering and enlarging. His achievements will always have a negative value only. He lacks the necessary passion to be creative; although only twenty years of age, he is an adult already: he was never young. The realm of vision is unknown to him; he sees flat daylight about him and therefore he cannot feel the ecstasy of warmth. However, thus he must be in order to accomplish the task which he has clearly perceived and which he performs with a full, calm consciousness. Such natures must be considered as wise gifts of Providence, and must be all the stronger, as they have to counteract fervor. Vieuxtemps's name is extremely characteristic. His last concerto is beautiful and would give me still more satisfaction if I had felt more intensity in his motives. You have nothing to fear from the influence of Berlioz's music on him, for Vieuxtemps is matured and conscious of himself. Anyway, you perhaps imagine the Parisian excesses to be more bewildering and tempting than they are. As I said, Berlioz stands completely aloof, and the worst thing here is the terrible superficiality to which everybody bows who wants to please the public. Each one sacrifices his deeper worth and grows shallow in conviction. And yet I am ready to confess that the dramatic music of the French is far superior to that of the Germans. To my dismay I recently came across a few German operas by Reissiger, Lobe, etc. Is it possible that German composers have gone so far astray in their views about singing and melody as to believe they are furthering the need for melody by using the most common, conversational phrases such as "How are you?" "Where do you come from?" for the purpose of certain thematic enlargements, supposed to maintain an ostensible flow of music, where short, vigorous strokes are called for by nature? Of course the melodious outpourings are according to what one would expect: what we so adequately call "dawdling" results from this, and real singing becomes bawling. Yet dramatic truth remains far remote from this; and though the French are often trifling with their thousand coquettish nuances, still they always know how to finish at the right spot by a short stroke where a drawn-out passage is not called for. But I see that I am going on endlessly. Pardon my chattering! I am one of those who always imagine that their opinion has been asked for and so I ramble on with unrequested answers.
Finally, one more thing! Kietz told me last night you had reported to him, among other things, that Herr Fischer is warmly and genuinely interested in my opera. You will easily understand how pleased I was with this news. If there is anyone I have cause to esteem for his practical ability and common sense, it is Herr Fischer, whose accomplishments as a director of the Leipzig Chorus I could never forget. It is, of course, of the greatest importance to me to have found the cooperation of such a man in my Dresden plan, and it would have been my duty to write at once to Herr Fischer to ask for his friendship and so atone for what I should have done at once on receiving the news. Unfortunately, the Paris post office is terribly particular about the weight of letters, and since I am enclosing friend Kietz's letter too, I'm afraid of a heavy conflict with that institution which has already drawn a proper toll from me. May I therefore urgently ask you to recommend me warmly to your friend and to convey to him my heartfelt thanks for his sympathy? In his hands rests a large part of my fate; may he make it as favorable as possible, and above all may he help to bring about the performance. For this is always the main thing, and from this alone, in my opinion, can grow the esteem which more than anything else I hope to win from people like you and Herr Fischer. If you too, dear Herr Heine, would deign to give me some direct news, you would make me very happy. Kindly commend me to our great Devrient and to Herr Reissiger, who may perhaps have found my last letter a bit strange, according to what Herr Winkler has told me. But more especially may you continue to give me your sympathy and your confidence. I will try never to show myself unworthy of it. With heartfelt esteem
Your most faithful
Rich. Wagner
25 rue du Helder
P.S. In the book recently sent to Herr von Lüttichau the directions for the pantomime are missing. Do you perhaps know a way of supplying this?
Source: Letters of Richard Wagner: The Burrell Collection, ed. John N. Burk (Macmillan, 1950), No. 29