Dearest,
Yesterday, on my wife's birthday, I got your last letter of the 18th of August. That was a bad day for us, and in fact the worst birthday I have ever experienced with Minna. Our whole fortune consisted of one thaler (3 fr. 50 ct.). When I think of the 5th of September last year!! Your letter was the first and only event that cheered us up, and even brought a smile from us. I had carried it around unopened more than three hours, for I was terribly afraid of learning its contents: with all those misgivings we were truly surprised to find what you had written. But though you seem to have regained all your composure, all your lightheartedness, don't believe that the stone has been lifted from my heart. Actually, I didn't want to write you yet because another possible way was still open of doing something for you: perhaps I should find a clear answer a week from now, and it would be more advisable to hold my news until then: but I am moved to give some news about myself to all of you, and at the risk of having to write a second letter very shortly I won't hesitate any longer. You will see from what I have to tell you what an awful disappointment I spared you by not writing to you too hastily. So, first of all about you!
As early as the 18th of July I left Teplitz, where my wife remained for two weeks longer. Your last letter addressed there was forwarded to me in Dresden by Minna. What I would have had to answer no longer applies as things stand now. I went right away to Mad. Devrient, whom I found in the theater at the rehearsal: as briefly as possible I explained to her that your case is serious, and she immediately gave me an appointment for noon at Heine's. There I put before her what she would have to do for you; and Heine, although he is a little timid about money matters with Mad. Devrient, backed me up. She didn't seem disinclined to help you and asked me for a respite of a few days only, to order her financial affairs. On leaving, I asked her if I could write to you that she is "graciously minded" toward you, whereupon she jokingly replied, "Notify him of my Grace!" I believed the matter as well as settled and certainly felt very much like relieving you right away with a report of my good success. But why not wait those "few days" so that I could write that the matter was concluded? So I waited. But just at that time I had to write to my sister and so I couldn't refrain from telling her about Mad. Devrient's "generous" attitude toward you. Now I happened by chance not to get into any considerable conversation with Mad. Devrient for a full two weeks, but finally I was greatly astonished to find her completely changed toward you: in vain I squandered more than a full hour's eloquence on her, she steadily stuck to such phrases as "she can't," "it would be useless to help you," "you wouldn't come anyhow," she had "lost too much money before in a similar way," "why wouldn't Brockhaus help you," "why," etc., etc. Finally she persisted that she had no ready money at the moment, and I retorted that this was a small matter, I could procure credit for her; she earnestly asked me not to press her any longer. I found out from Heine what probably caused her change of front: for about two weeks she has had a "serious" liaison with a Lieutenant Müller whom she absolutely wants to marry. She has entrusted her business affairs to this man, since she has been cheated very often, and she had waited to consult him about your matter. He definitely advised against it—or rather forbade her to send you money since he didn't know you at all. Now I was convinced that nothing was to be done. Was this so interesting that I should write to you immediately? I found it very tedious. However, I made new plans for getting you money. Reissiger moaned about his need for a good opera book. I read aloud to him my sketch for Die hohe Braut: he grew enthusiastic about it, and offered to me half of all the profits resulting from the opera, etc., if I would write the book for him. Of course I declined. But then it occurred to me that on delivering the completed book to Reissiger I could perhaps make the most of the occasion by telling him: "You consider my book good and you would gladly pay a nice fee for a good book; you need not do this, instead you may lend Kietz 200 thaler for two years at 5 per cent and thereby the matter would be settled." With this prospect in view I sat down and started my verses. The book is finished and Reissiger has it already; he will want to get more thoroughly acquainted with it, hear this or that opinion about it; but when he is ready for a final settlement, you know the conditions I am to present to him. Meanwhile I have become skeptical and don't expect a great deal from it; of course I spoke about you to Reissiger, and each time he shrugged his shoulders: "Well, if one could do all that one wants to do! O dear God!" etc. I believe that if it comes to a showdown, he will rather renounce a hopeful opera than reach into his pocket for money. We certainly know how incredibly stupid people are! All the same—this is the only hope I see ahead of me and I have no reason yet to give it up. The decision must come within a week. Now I shall go to a rehearsal of Rienzi—I will continue in the afternoon.
The 7th of Sept.—Another day has passed, and how does the land lie? The kind of thing I have to report to you is always timely enough. I told Reissiger you had written again to me and given him your best regards. Answer: "The poor chap! Yes, how can he be helped!" He says that he is still pondering over my book. Keep pondering, you philistine! Oh, what a damned philistine country this is! We are pining to death with boredom. The 5th of September last year taught us that it is not so much money as friends that are needed to celebrate overflowing, happy days. God forbid that I should remind Minna or myself of all that again. All the same, yesterday the old magic spell was reinvoked by an amiable letter from Cäcilie congratulating Minna on her birthday. But today we didn't refer to it even once.
Heine's family is the only one with whom we associate. Heine is really an excellent, amiable man, who gives me his unfailing sympathy. We have spent our only pleasant evenings in his garden.
But I want also to tell you a word about my opera affairs. I can't do anything about the Dutchman just now; for one reason because the Berlin Stadttheater for the present is in such a disorganized state that Küstner, try as he may, can't have anything new studied yet; the second reason is that Meyerbeer, before leaving for Paris, gave me his word that he wants to rehearse my opera himself, and this is the first one under his direction, and it is to happen right after his return from Paris in November. So I can't do anything about it but wait, since it would be impolite to Meyerbeer to insist that the Dutchman had to be given before his return. By the way, I believe that the Parisian performance will do me no harm; actually it would be the first opera of this kind to reach Germany; in any case, it's not progressing so rapidly; it will be a year anyhow before it is given in Germany, and until then, with good luck, my opera may have been performed at several theaters.
My whole efforts are devoted to my Rienzi at the moment, and how they are needed! If I were not here to watch my interests with the greatest attention, God knows when my opera would be performed. And it is still to my great advantage that the whole opera staff, singers, conductor, and stage manager, are tackling the work with such splendid zeal that everyone says there has never been such harmonious agreement! But those numberless confusions daily emanating from the excessive narrow-mindedness and stupidity of the director are continuously putting obstacles in my path which I must keep removing like manure from a stable. It would take too long to enumerate them here; we've had so far fourteen rehearsals with piano, and in about four weeks, in the first half of October, the performance is to take place: unless I'm mistaken it will be remarkable: about Mad. Devrient I have only to tell you that people assure me she never tackled a role with such zeal, considering that she always finds it very difficult at first to get familiar with something novel: at the very end of the opera she wants to enter galloping on horseback as a man. Tichatschek has given up his vacation in Salzburg: his voice is almost created for my Rienzi, and so he looks upon this part as the most splendid he ever sang. He is to have a suit of armor made from German silver, richly ornamented with massive genuine silver, which may cost him about 400 thaler. The rest of the cast is very well selected and I have great expectations from Mad. Wüst, since her part excellently suits her voice. Besides this, nothing is being stinted and my opera—as people here express it—is to become the strongest one they have ever had. Here and there favorable notices already appear in the papers. There you have everything I can tell you about my opera; communicate it properly to my friends! Pray for Rienzi!
The only thing I accomplished this summer is the complete scenic sketch for the Venusberg—I regard it as a complete success, and I am convinced that this opera will become my most original creation. When I find time to work out the verse (and I'll try to do it as well as possible), I'll send you a copy. I started the sketch on a small walking tour, which I undertook from Teplitz to the mountains and Aussig, etc.; I stayed overnight on the Schreckenstein (if you know it) and began the job. My children, it is marvelous there! Anders, Lehrs, and all of you, pray for Rienzi, and so we shall celebrate a festival next year on the Schreckenstein!
In the village church of Aussig I asked to see the Madonna of Carlo Dolci: the picture gave me an unusual thrill, and if Tannhäuser had seen it, I might quite well account for his turning away from Venus to Mary, without being carried away too much by piety. Anyhow, the holy Elisabeth has now been decided upon.
Now for my personal situation. It is not of the best. We imagined life here to be cheaper than it really is. Returning from Teplitz, I had to take a better apartment than the former one because I could no longer avoid receiving visitors to whom my real condition must remain unknown; finally I had to rent a piano, which I had been doing without for four months. Lodgings and piano cost 16 thaler a month—I am making 30 thaler—so I have left 14 thaler for living expenses, shoes, etc., so you may figure how we have to eke it out considering the high prices, and what embarrassments I have to face at times when borrowing is quite out of the question. My three shirts are literally falling to pieces. The worst thing about the procrastination over my opera is the impossibility of getting rid of my obligations to Loizeau within the legal term. I had to ask the poor man either to extend the notes until the end of October or to advance me the amount for a month—it is absolutely impossible to manage it otherwise. My pawn tickets have not yet expired: one of them is due on the 8th of November, the other on the 9th of January. My thanks to you for your pains, if you are able to redeem them!
The 9th of Sept.: How miserably long it takes to get through with this letter! I didn't see Reissiger again and may have to dispatch this letter before settling the matter with him; how could I have believed three months ago that I should face such difficulties, nay, nearly impossibilities, to procure money for you! My experience on this subject has taught me the following: Friendships based entirely on sociable intercourse are not worth two pennies, least of all 200 thaler. If your dealings with Mad. Devrient were more serious than that, how could that woman have made the answer she did? When I reminded her that she had already offered you money at one time: "Yes, but that was three years ago—what I once offer to such a 'Hans Taps,' I don't always offer to him." But if I go on this way I'll be writing a whole chapter of reproaches, and to heap reproach on you would be my last desire in the world, now that I can't help you; for I have seen how you can defend yourself, how you even use illegitimate weapons and try to inflict injury, even if you don't succeed in defending yourself. If only you would apply more evenly in your whole character the bitter earnestness which you display on such occasions. Then you wouldn't be so much of a clown on the one hand, and on the other not so much like the nephew of your Parisian uncle Fechner. To Mad. Devrient, as I noticed to my annoyance, you are unfortunately only the former—you tried hard to appear as the latter in your letter of July. Don't be a fool, and learn somewhat better how to despise men, while putting implicit confidence in your friends. If it were possible to become altogether a frivolous clown, what a happy state that would be! One would start like you, but carry it on differently! You must permit me such remarks, for along with it I am judging myself too. I don't lay claim to any headstart on you in knowledge of the world, but your faults hit me in the eye when I see all the 100,000 friends you have, what lavish care you devote to each of those 100,000, and on the other hand what a time I had trying to get a bit of money from them for you. That is why I count myself fortunate knowing that I have only a few friends. If you don't get any money from Reissiger, pray for Rienzi—I can't tell you more—but meanwhile you will have to pay the postage on this letter, for my emetics of yesterday were not included in my household budget— Apropos! Do you still care for people like the Chandons? If you don't start a new life by thoroughly scorning such rabble and by showing your contempt for them, you will never get along in life, for you will never gain real respect for yourself. I still had several things to tell you and especially to ask of you, but I forget everything with the anger I feel about your 100,000 friends. So it is. . . .
Your letter, dear boy, that is, the last letter, gave me much joy. It's just as well that you look upon your situation as hopeless; just as you were ready to help me when I wanted to leave Bellevue, someone else may be found who will help you to leave Paris: the more unexpected, the more delightful! Meanwhile, increase in strength and in three months add five years or so to your life—without giving yourself gray hairs. As matters stand now, ambition, that is, true diligence in art, is the best thing, for you shall leave Paris and you must. Don't draw any more Chandons for 40 fr. Paint for yourself and live on Glöckner, Avenarius, etc. Money to see you through shall and will come. Be an artist, really an artist, and not just an ass with 100,000 friends. When you are truly absorbed by your art, you will be happy even in the greatest distress, if you are aware of having a friend who is obliged to you until death. O God, what would have become of me if I hadn't thrown myself with ever growing faith into the arms of Art! To escape sinking into the mire of suffering I might as well have turned charlatan as artist. But in those hours, when art became my only comfort, it began to bloom for me in full purity and chastity. I know now who I am, even if everybody should mock and slander me! Be with me, friend!
Although you don't tell me anything directly about Lehrs's state of health in your last letter, I am somewhat reassured about him by what you write. Did he return to Paris again? That his baron disappeared is to be expected: for people like us seem destined for poverty. Pray for Rienzi. About four weeks from today you may cluster together—I think about that time the devil will be loose. My best regards to our cobbler on the boulevard and tell him much about Rienzi. Anders may at last send his letters; my address follows. It's nice for me to know that you are sitting together: keep looking around and you will see me joining you in some corner. Has Anders begun to compose verses? The good soul! Greetings to Glöckner (whose knife I will buy and send you), the Demagogues and Patriots, and anyone else who remembers me. Minna sends sisterly greeting to the members of the old league! It pains me to recall the old miseries. I'm no better. Farewell. Hope for better news soon and don't be afraid of the great heat. Paint and God will help you.
Your Richard W.
Address: Waisenhaus-Strasse, No. 5, Dresden
The 20th of September. I really wanted to add another letter to Cäcilie and Avenarius, and for this reason I struggled to crowd everything on one sheet, which I had to write to you, so that the whole letter would not become too bulky. But the trouble is, I am afraid it would take another day at least to achieve that purpose, since Minna wants to write along with me, and this is going to take time. For she had gotten entirely out of the way of writing letters. Therefore I will dispatch this letter by mail at all events today, because in my hands it is getting out of date: if I had some positive hope of soon being able to send you a favorable report, I would still hold back these lines; but I frankly confess to you I don't see any favorable prospect. Reissiger seems to divine something of my scheme, for I often mention your helpless position, and when I ask afterward: "How is my text? Have you made up your mind about it?" he answers: "Oh, my awful cold! I have no thoughts at all," etc. Be prepared to learn before long how he has at last freed himself of the whole business in the most shabby manner, renouncing opera texts and everything else. He is evidently afraid of his wife, whom I regard as more or less of a shrew. I paid a visit to her with Minna, which she returned politely: for the rest we are keeping away from each other. Well, this only by the way! . . .
Since I am not writing this time, that is, today, to Eduard and Cäcilie, I give them all my best regards and thanks; tomorrow or the day after I shall send letters to them through the office so that they will receive the letters destined for them a few days only after you get this one. But it is too painful to keep this letter here any longer, so—away with it! And you—continue to paint and goodbye!
Your Richard W.
I'm not writing separately to Loizeau, writing in French gives me too much difficulty now: tell him simply how my opera affair stands and that I can't help it! They must wait until the end of October: I really am very sorry—but what can I do? He is a reasonable man after all, who will have understanding and confidence. Mail the enclosed letter to Jules Heine and put it in the city post right away!
Source: Letters of Richard Wagner: The Burrell Collection, ed. John N. Burk (Macmillan, 1950), No. 43