Dear old friend:
. . . I am not in the best of health: I now have to suffer for the passion and violence with which I have always spurred on and made use of my nervous system. My nervous ailments have lately centered in the brain, and I must seriously consider rest and relaxation if I am to avoid very alarming conditions: recently I have again overexerted myself very much with writing the text of the Walküre (the first of the three Nibelung dramas) by finishing the whole thing in four weeks without the slightest pause. Difficult as it will be for me to restrain my passionate love of work, this last experience will have made me see the light after all, and I plan in the future to accustom myself systematically to restful interruptions from work. This will not, of course, remove the cause of my ailment, which is that, through the peculiarity of my nature and the artistic and living conditions of today, I am drawn into the realm of fantasy, where real, actual life can never have a refreshing and diverting effect on me, and this especially in my art.
This observation brings me to a point which is certain to cause me new pain: the intended production of my Tannhäuser in Berlin. This production is quite against my wishes just now because I know that it cannot turn out well, at least that it will not correspond to my wishes and the requirements of a proper understanding. In Berlin everything affects me as so cold and heartless that there is not a single person to whom I can turn with confidence. Through your messages to Uhlig, for which I am very grateful to you, you yourself have done much to increase my misgivings about the undertaking. The male personnel of the Berlin Opera is certainly unqualified for my work: you have made me suspicious, and very justly so, of falseness in Mantius, whom Formes has recommended to me here in Zürich; on the other hand, I know Pfister too well as an industrious but completely ungifted and uninteresting singer to entrust my Tannhäuser to him. It is also an important fact that I have already come to know Dorn in Riga as perfidious and treacherous toward me. On whom then can I depend? On first considering the situation in Berlin, I was inclined to withhold altogether my permission for the planned production, but then I found a way out which should at least favorably dispose the manager toward my work: I have asked for a royalty of 1,000 thaler, to be paid immediately, and I have carefully motivated my demand so that it should not appear as merely presumptuous. (The royalties for the fifteen passable performances on which I must at least count would certainly bring me the sum I asked for.) If Hülsen does not accept this demand, it will be perfectly all right with me; in that case I'll wait, as I have waited so far, until the time when a better male cast gives me better reassurance for the production. If Berlin now comes along with a feeble performance and a lukewarm success, the harm to me will be irreparable; I should prefer to let Tannhäuser be performed at all other good theaters, and when a general success is established let Berlin have its chance too; then they can hurt only themselves, but no longer do me any harm.
It is quite another matter if Hülsen accepts my demand (from which, incidentally, I don't retract one iota); in this case, if I could be sure of Hülsen's energetic cooperation, something could be risked, and then, dear friend, I would count on your most active assistance. Uhlig has already reported to me that you at once remembered on your own initiative the needs for scenery and costumes; I thank you warmly and only ask you to permit me, in case Hülsen accedes, simply to transfer to you all my authority to deal with him in the above-mentioned matter, as I have already appointed Liszt to be my alter ego in all musical affairs.
In the main you will probably use the Dresden scenery as a basis but with more appropriate modifications, especially for the first scene (Venusberg) where the greater depth of the Berlin theater is to be used. But concentrate especially on the last act: I absolutely insist on the modified, that is more completely realized, close of this act; don't ask my reasons here, they are well considered and remain unshakable. In Dresden the difficulty with this new close was, apart from the unsatisfying and almost always unpleasant performer of the part of Venus, the lack of special scenery, since we had to content ourselves with whatever was available. In Berlin, however, special scenery would have to be prepared, scenery which would present the reappearance of the Venusberg completely differently than in the first act; namely, much farther in the background, in confused uncertain contours, so that Venus especially appears far back, not so unfortunately far forward and not so concrete as in Dresden. For me this is the most important point. Since—as you correctly thought—I want also to include the final pilgrims' chorus, a nice sunrise effect (morning glow) might be taken into consideration, which can be satisfactorily achieved only if the valley in this act—with a slight change perhaps (then spring, now fall)—is freshly and specially designed. This, my dear, I leave in your hands, and—if the matter materializes at all—I'll give you, as I said before, the fullest authority to act on my behalf.
Goodbye for today. I hope I may count on early news from you; then more from me! Greetings to your family from both of us, and give old Fischer an affectionate kiss from me.
Your
R. W.
I have just spent four weeks on a vacation trip on which I visited the high Alps and finally Italy (Lago Maggiore), then also Chamonix and Mont Blanc. Minna is still limping from a Chamonix expedition, where she had a fall.
Source: Letters of Richard Wagner: The Burrell Collection, ed. John N. Burk (Macmillan, 1950), No. 122