I consider it as a lucky coincidence that you happen to live in Dresden (where I am destined to be), also that Herr Fischer is the stage manager of the Dresden Opera (for of course you can't call it coincidence that he is a decent, honest man!). Besides, I held it a happy coincidence that Hofrath Winkler is editing an evening paper and still employs correspondents from Paris; and so I came to look upon it as a lucky turn of Fate that Mad. Devrient was sympathetic with my aims. Never, even in my orgies of conceit, could I reach the point of imagining that Mad. Devrient favored my work out of true, firmly based conviction and liking. I always preferred to attribute it to a favorable mood of hers. But I well know how important whims are in an artist, and even in such a great one. It seemed quite natural to me that her fancy for me would cool off, turn to someone close to her, and due to this constant anxiety Winkler's news was the sort to strip me of my artificially construed illusions. He wrote me in such plain, unmistakable terms that at first I had to believe him completely—anxious as I was. On top of that I imagined in my rage that it was about Rossini's Armida, and so I regarded the whim and temper of Mad. Devrient as an unholy Italian fit, and couldn't contain myself. Unfortunately, nothing wiser came to my mind than to write instantly, in my first wrath, and now you will understand how it happened that I brought forth such silly stuff. I am quite filled with regret and remorse! Oh, what an apology I owe to my great protectress! May I write to her myself? With all her kindness, I am afraid she will be bored by my letters, while through the word of a dear friend everything would more quickly touch her heart. Therefore, I entreat and implore you, be my intercessor with Mad. Devrient, apologize for me, if I can be apologized for, win her pardon for me and assure her of my repentance. May God help!
Well, Rienzi is being worked at—God be praised and thanked, and an eternal obligation to my dear, excellent friends. Good Heavens, what do bad experiences of the unreliability of this or that man amount to when one receives such evidence of unselfish and undeserved sacrifice by noble friends like you and Fischer? I am reconciled with a million of this globe's inhabitants, if two such fine men are my friends. It was not easy for you, I can imagine! I don't know yet what to think of Freiherr von Lüttichau's miraculous change of mind. All the same I may assume that it wasn't simply a bad influence that produced this change: it seems so natural to me that this Freiherr is simply having qualms of his own about my opera. Such a man can't bring himself to believe in what he can't grasp or feel. Winkler wrote me that Meyerbeer is supposed to come to Dresden—he would like to ask Meyerbeer to pester Lüttichau on my behalf. What came out of this? You don't mention a word about Reissiger—how is he? Do you suspect him? To put it frankly, Reissiger's position, both as an opera composer and as a conductor, must be seriously considered; he may be the best man in the world and yet succumb to the temptation to do harm to a competitor—even an imagined one. Therefore I have to use diplomacy in dealing with him. If his attitude is really a friendly one, I would be delighted to offer him in return a friendship just as genuine, and I really would be sorry if my maneuvers in the future were not in keeping with my true sentiment toward him. Herr Lewy, who is in Paris for a week, and who will probably leave today, spoke favorably and with great respect about Reissiger, about his opera, etc.; but yesterday, speaking, so I flatter myself, with a friendly impulse, he recommended great caution in regard to Reissiger: without doubting his good intentions he believed him to be a weak man with no great firmness of character. He warned me and strongly advised me to travel to Dresden soon, in order to be present and have a look at things myself. There is no doubt that I will be there for the performance of my opera, even a week earlier. I'll see then what's happening and your friendly advice alone may guide me.
I am happy with what I learn on all sides about the beauty of the Dresden theater, the splendor of its scenery, the efficiency of the orchestra, and the excellence of the ensembles. If Herr Fischer will stand by me throughout (as I confidently expect), I have every reason to look forward with joy to the performance.
The clever and careful way you have considered and are still considering the mise en scène of my opera is an amiable proof of your great kindness: on these matters I have no anxiety whatsoever—everything is in the best hands. But what about the scenery? Much will have to be renewed, and though I am not foolish enough to demand that the suitable material now on hand should not be used, considering the present good condition of the Dresden scenery—it will not be possible to do some parts of it appropriately without new sets.
For instance: (1st Act) the Lateran Church in the background; (4th Act) the same in the foreground on the side; (2nd Act) the perspective of Rome through the gate; (5th Act) the Capitol itself in the background. Are these things being considered and worked out?
My detailed communications to Herr Fischer concerning the performance have been conveyed to you, I believe—unfortunately I am afraid that my proposals won't be sufficient. According to your previous news, I had expected that Herr Fischer himself would draft an outline for an abridgement of my opera. This decidedly would have been the best, most serviceable, and expeditious way. The author himself being naturally biased, a second person can often handle this sort of thing even more satisfactorily. The cuts proposed by me will not much reduce the over-all length, and I indeed fear that they are often clumsy and harmful. So once more I ask Herr Fischer to make the cuts as he sees fit. I'll be pleased with everything. The best place for cutting is always the ballet. In case the numbers and order of the ballet should be maintained according to my recent suggestions, they should be reduced considerably in themselves, which would also facilitate their execution. Have the ballet numbers performed with less actual dancing, that is, leg-flourishing—this is deeply contrary to everything in me—even in the perfect way it is done here in Paris. The warlike festival dance (Act II) is performed mainly by soldiers, and the grand concluding dance is more like a festive round with groupings, interspersed with small solo steps by the leading couple. This is the best way to avoid the exposure of Dresden's weak spot, the Court ballet. But I still have a great fondness for pantomime, and if the opera, as I hope, is performed in Berlin, the pantomime will have to be presented in any case; and it would then look strange if it had been omitted in Dresden, particularly as it is much easier to have the pantomime performed than the still nonexistent ballet—for three or four actors can be found anywhere, and no more are needed. The question is: Will there be three or four actors in Dresden who would care to undertake it? I saw Lewy about this matter: he considered the pantomime in this sense as something novel for Dresden and advised me, among other things, to go quickly to Dresden in order to acquire those needed three or four actors by my personal intervention. But I have strong reasons for considering my personal influence as very poor, and I am sure there are other and better ways. What is Herr Fischer's opinion about this, and what is yours?
How are the parts cast? Have my suggestions been considered as apt and good ones? As author I am anything but happy over the casting of Mad. Marr as Irene; a laughing coloratura singer, as I visualize this lady, will play a sadly isolated part in my opera: I can't see where she could use coloratura singing, and wherever it might occur to her to introduce it, I should most strongly oppose her. Indeed, I conceived this sister of Rienzi as a quite pathetic, noble woman, and counted a great deal on her for the last act; Wüst (apart from her height) would have met my requirements completely; if Mad. Devrient would prefer her too, we might try to have the part go to Mad. Wüst. But if Mad. Devrient doesn't care and the role is already given to Mad. Marr, and if a change couldn't be managed without inviting ill feelings and perhaps bad consequences—then unfortunately things must remain as they are! Look into this and act in my name as you find best.
I am not ready to forfeit a single detail of the musical pomp on the stage; it is absolutely necessary and can easily be managed with the help of the military and other musical bands—certainly my requirements are not usual ones—I demand an extraordinary band, not put together like an ordinary band, but even so it can be found, especially if Reissiger is willing to do it. See to it that the trumpeters and trombonists accompanying the warlike cortège of Colonna and Orsini in the first act are chosen from the cavalry and appear on horses: this (as I imagine it) will look splendid and in keeping, and it certainly can be managed on the Dresden stage: the director must not balk at the expense and difficulties, for, in operas like mine, it must be all or nothing—you understand me!
You see how I talk! An Emperor is nothing compared to it: "Do this! Do that!"—as if I had only to command! Well, I hope you will do just as much as you really wish, and since I am now abashed to find that you feel like doing a great deal for me, I may also count on your forgiveness.
Source: Letters of Richard Wagner: The Burrell Collection, ed. John N. Burk (Macmillan, 1950), No. 40