My good Boy!
God and Minna are my witnesses that today I finally sat down for the second time to write to you and my Paris friends, and this time at length. Your letter and Anders's arrived, so now I am answering simultaneously two letters which gave me great joy—and pain. I am not yet settled and have had to lead a frightful, unsteady life so far: from Paris to Dresden, from Dresden to Leipzig, from Leipzig to Berlin, from Berlin to Leipzig, from Leipzig to Dresden, then to Leipzig again, and now once more back to Dresden; in ten days I have to go again to Berlin, so you'll see how rest is impossible, especially since I've had to stay several days in each place. I have not yet had the necessary conference, not even got around yet to the conferences with Fischer and Heine for detailed discussion of the mounting of my opera, and we'll begin that tomorrow. On top of that I am very sluggish, nothing arouses me to the proper zeal; I have paid only the most necessary calls. With things as they are, you, my dear friends, have to be a bit lenient and forgive me for being so late in keeping the promise I made in Berlin. I couldn't bring myself to dash off this letter so quickly—the time and the mood have escaped me until now.
First of all, I suppose you'll want the news about myself and how I am. Therefore, I will begin with myself and reserve the discussion of all that concerns you, especially you personally, dear Kietz, for the second part of my letter. You like your news full and detailed: this I gather from your letter—to my great delight, so I'll not hold back, but get to work point by point.
You know that the first time I stayed only one day in Dresden. I rented lodgings to give my completely exhausted Minna some rest, hastily greeted Heine and Fischer (the latter receiving me with hearty kisses), and at once continued to Leipzig, where I found my relatives well and in full health, I would almost say, changed to their advantage. After a few days' stay I went on to Berlin, where I haven't yet met Intendant Küstner, but could promote my plans by conferences with Meyerbeer, Mendelssohn, Redern, Rellstab, etc. Count Redern was very affable, and I found out that my opera not only has been accepted out of consideration for Meyerbeer but has finally passed the judgment of the Royal Prussian Court Opera critics. This is very important to me in my relation to Küstner: the affair also cost me four expensive days at the hotel. I stayed in Leipzig a few days more for financial reasons. My needs have been arranged for and this in a way that was the most agreeable to me after all. My sisters Luise and Ottilie and my brother-in-law, Hermann Brockhaus, had conferred and arranged among themselves to give to me from their income 30 thaler a month for half a year. This was by far the best, since third persons were left out of the question and the money will quite suffice to meet the most urgent needs of life. Besides, I'd have been compelled to accept the offer anyhow, since no other way was open to me to get a sizable loan. You would not believe how much changed I found everything: a hundred friends I once knew now no longer exist, or have become so strange to me that I can't count on them at all in such a matter. I haven't met Laube yet; he is on tour; so you may see for yourself how my money matters stand and whether I can manage with a single thaler less. But enough for the moment about money!
Now let's go on. At Dresden all my time was taken by State visits. Everywhere I was received as a man of importance. Lüttichau saw to it at once that whenever I appear at the box office with my wife there will be excellent seats for us. Reissiger received me with great cordiality and hearty kisses and immediately played his new Mass for me; I was assured on all sides that he had never yet spoken so well about a new opera as mine. As for Winkler, that goes without saying. Tichatschek (by the way, just the singer I need—excellent) was most enthusiastic and especially wished me luck, and that I would be here myself for the coaching, for Reissiger, in spite of his excellent attitude toward me, is too lazy. . . . I found in Heine just what I hoped to find—a good sympathetic fellow, and well educated at that. He was the only one I could visit with my wife. We both liked Mad. Heine very much and look forward to a pleasant friendship. My opera will be taken up at the beginning of July and performed at the end of August; Heine himself assures me that the month of August is favorable to the extent that guests from all the health resorts flock through Dresden at that time and will spread the reputation of my opera through half the world. Nevertheless, I rather think it will be postponed until the end of September. With all this running around, another week passed by. At last I sat down to write letters and began with my good Cäcilie and Avenarius, when I got the news from Leipzig that Küstner was to pass through there. So I had to postpone again my letters to you and go to Leipzig for four days more. I was pleased to tell Küstner before his arrival in Berlin how things stand with my opera; and of course I got no definite promise from him, so that I shall have to go to Berlin again before the end of this month. I had no sooner returned from Leipzig and sat down to write to you, than the letters from you and Anders arrived.
So you have a short outline of my recent life's history; and now let us discuss you and your letter. Your letter to Heine was quickly disposed of; he was very angry with you about this because, so he told me, he couldn't possibly answer it—he didn't know the answer. You may well imagine that we spoke much and at length about you. No particularly good things could be said, of course, for there is little gain from being an excellent man with much talent if you do nothing whatsoever about it. He reported a thousand foolish things about you; we had a good laugh over it. The main thing is, that you come back soon again. "That's soon said," you may think, but I answer: "It must also be soon done." So listen and be sensible. In your letter I detect again your own (perhaps involuntary) confession—that generally speaking you are no longer of any use in Paris. Any illusions you still hold are bound in the course of time to be injurious to a man of your character: all that will come of it in the end will be wearing out one pair of shoes after another dancing after an occasional franc for subsistence. Rest assured that nothing more than that will come of it—your material progress in art will come to nothing at all; you yourself admit this to be a proven fact. But if you can return to Germany and get substantial orders, as I confidently believe, your Paris experiences will help your development and progress, for they would inspire you here to produce, while there you would succumb to them. This is my firm conviction: you are sufficiently inspired and have arrived at a point where distraction is harmful to you. Your three years' life in Paris has been nothing but a continually inspiring distraction: now you'll have to pull yourself together, and you'll do that in no other place better than here, where your active studies can also become a source of earning. You are not able to do this in Paris. I tell you this in all seriousness to bring you to the decision to leave Paris even before I propose a means to carry out the decision. You ought to give up all your damned drifting as soon as possible, ought to sit down on your behind, get those half-finished oil portraits done, start a couple of new ones, and get them done too. If you are short of models, I shall get you two excellent ones—Anders and Lehrs: they surely will like to sit for you for the time being. Paint these portraits for yourself; as soon as I have money I'll buy them from you. It certainly won't take more than two months to accomplish this task, when once you've dropped your deuced tedious works; and when you are through, you will notice that you have gained a good bit of routine. Then pack up your oil paintings, come here, and you'll not fail to get along nicely. You can do all this if you are a bit reasonable and if you can get out of your head your Eulenspiegel holiday plans and other so-called "necessities"—all you need is 1,000 francs, and these you will have within four weeks. You understand that I have no money myself; but anyhow I will procure some for you, be assured.
I haven't yet seen Mad. Devrient: she happened not to be in Berlin when I was there, nor in the other places. As I told you, I am to go to Berlin again before the end of this month, and I will surely meet her there this time. I mean not to leave her alone until she gives me those 1,000 fr.; and I don't think this will be too hard, because I'll find her just at the moment when money is coming in. If she refuses me on account of some whim or stinginess, I'll certainly get the money from Schletter. You must know that this man is your warmest admirer; he got to know me at Luise's, etc., when he had only seen you once, and he made a solemn oath—but I won't tell you this so as not to turn your head! To be brief, I am sure to get the money from him when I first mention it. The one of us two—you or I—who first comes into cash will pay back the 1,000 fr.—so that's agreed; of course I'll have to borrow it in your name for there's no chance of borrowing any in my own right now. So you will find out by the end of this month from whom you are going to get the money— Good. . . . You are a poodle-foolish chap. I may feel heavyhearted about you but I have to laugh at you after all: we were doubled up with laughter when we read your remarkable letter. Cäcilie even wrote me you have been running around early in the morning, crying like a baby for the mother's breast.
By the way, especially after your letter, my regret at having left Paris is dwindling a bit: my friends—this is something different; otherwise, I am only sorry that my friends didn't leave Paris along with me; for, with all its advantages, Paris for us as we are is nothing but a brilliant grave in which our best powers fade away unused. To the devil with it! This, however, I would hardly have admitted a week ago. One's first impression on coming back from Paris, even to our largest cities, is horrible. It's hard to find the reason, but I suppose a fish who happened to get from the ocean into a small river must feel like this. He still breathes water, but the waves, the vast motion, the majesty of the element, all have been changed to something puny and pitiful—it's the same water all the time, and only our imagination shows us the depths and expanse which have really nothing to do with our course. Here—I feel—is my home; I belong here, and the only yearning that lingers in me here is for my friends, you; everything close to my heart belongs to my home. What do you have there? Hunger, yes, and—inspiration, but it is in Germany that you must develop the fruits of your inspiration. Whenever I find myself getting attached to Paris, I only have to pick up the latest number of the Gazette Musicale—and my attachment is gone— To the devil with it!
I'm not writing to Lehrs and I'll write to Anders on our special matter only: you may read to them from this letter what should be read, as if it were addressed to them too. If Lehrs will write a few lines too, my next letter will be addressed to him as today's letter is to you. The story of renting the summer lodgings is very nice. Oh, Kietz!—I am very glad that good Lehrs likes his country house so much. That his material circumstances seem to improve more and more is priceless luck: may all this help his badly shattered health!
O my God, when I think back to those terrible times at the beginning of last winter! Lehrs without firewood—it will be unforgettable to me forever—and I not able to help! This could never happen in our homeland. Damned Paris, I hate thee!!
Lehrs must come to Germany too: his reputation is good. In Leipzig I saw a book dealer, Rutthardt from Breslau, who very much praised Lehrs's last book: he surely would do a good business here. Meanwhile may his country life do him good! I hope so! Does he feel vigorous and is he able to work efficiently? Doesn't he have some orders for Leipzig?
I'm enclosing a little letter for your uncle Fechner; you may mail it by city post. I'll have to risk the contempt of this man by admitting that I can't pay him before fall: I can't—I can't play the part of the borrower who snatches a rag every now and then, as in Paris. If your uncle doesn't sue me for not paying, I'll have to run the risk of his contempt, which I don't mind at all. The suffering I have gone through is greater than the conventional expectations of people like your uncle. But all the same it annoys me to say this. Let him go to the devil!
I visited Mlle. Leplay; she came later to Dresden and honored my wife with a friendly visit. I see that my letter has grown longer than I intended; since I want to add a few notes, I'll have to mail it tomorrow. Besides, your brother didn't come. This afternoon I am going to have a long opera conference with Fischer and Heine; if there is time left I'll look up your brother. I'll soon be going to the Freemasons Institute; if you send me another nice long letter, with drawings, etc., you'll hear much from me too—dumb fellow!
Meanwhile do as I have advised you: wash the brushes, I implore you; don't dabble in anything else any longer, no drawings, nothing! Brush and oil. You lazy boy.
Money surely won't fail to come. Work hard so that you may come by the end of August at the latest. Here you certainly will fare well. Schletter will arrange that 1,000 right away. Follow this up.
Now Minna's calling me to the table. Poor dear, she's still always worrying.
There will probably still be a few postscripts. Goodbye for the moment, good dear friend! Regards to everybody and tell Max that I like him and that his beautiful handkerchief has made a sensation here. May God protect you! To the devil with everything.
Forever your
Richard W.
My things have not yet arrived, nor have our portraits. I am sorry about it! Luise spoke enthusiastically about your letter, but at the same time she pitied you. Anders must always keep me posted about how matters stand with the Parisian Flying Dutchman, if it is to be performed shortly, etc. It's of great importance to me to know this. Your brother hasn't come yet, nor was I able to look him up. Soon! (I beg you to seal the enclosed with wafers before mailing them.)
Source: Letters of Richard Wagner: The Burrell Collection, ed. John N. Burk (Macmillan, 1950), No. 41