Dear Heinemann:
I have just been in Paris—only for a rendezvous with Liszt; when he left, I sent for my old woman and am enjoying myself this week at the scene of our former sufferings. She brought along your letter for me: I thank you very much for it. You, poor fellow, must have really slaved and toiled over that work—I can well imagine it! For that you shall be in heaven with me some day!
I believe, without having seen it, that you've done something excellent, and I really look forward to seeing your work, since it already has attracted Härtels to such a degree that they want to publish it sumptuously against your will.
Your remarks about the Weimar performance showed me that even at that time you had already completely understood me; therefore I have no doubts about that. But several times in your recent reports the influence of the old stage-costume usage asserts itself so strongly that I have really had to shake my head.
You also think that my stage arrangement is inadequate to represent Elsa's bridal procession in the second act in conformity with the length of the music (as well as with the artistic effect I intended), and you suggest a courtly ceremony—as prelude to the actual bridal procession—with which I cannot agree at all. That is much too much ceremonial for the noble, naive simplicity of that time: Henry the Fowler did not yet know anything about marshals as they occur later on: for him "Marschalk" is actually the stableboy, etc. His son, Otto I, when he accepted the imperial crown first introduced the Frankish-Byzantine courtliness; he appointed princes to be his Marschalk, his cupbearer, etc. The particular atmosphere which my Lohengrin should produce is that here we see before us an ancient German kingdom in its finest, most ideal aspect. Here no one does anything out of mere routine and court custom, but in every encounter the participants take a direct and genuinely personal part; here there is no despotic pomp which has its "bodyguards" (oh! oh!) and orders the "people pushed back" to form a "lane" for the high nobility. They are simple boys who make up the escort for the young woman, and to them every one yields gladly and quite voluntarily. I beg of you, for God's sake, dearest Heinemännel, take out that awful stuff with the masters of ceremonies, marshals, bodyguards, etc.: they must have no further place here. Let my Lohengrin be beautiful, but not ostentatious and—silly. Look at my "herald"; how the fellow sings as if everything concerned him personally: no machines!
However, only a very large stage can readily present the architectural nuances for the bridal procession with sufficient breadth: in Paris it would take care of itself. With smaller ones we cannot—since the music must remain uncut—very well do anything else than wait a little longer for the actual appearance of the principals of the procession. On page 130 of the piano score Elsa must—on the high ground before the palace—actually come to a stop: she is moved and affected, and can lean on a lady—as if overcome by bliss; only after 8 measures does she once more proceed very slowly toward the cathedral, sometimes pausing, cordially and naively acknowledging greetings. Not only does it take shape this way, but it actually becomes what I intended it to be; namely, no marchlike procession, but the infinitely significant advance of Elsa to the altar: during the music she has an extremely important silent part to play which must completely hold our attention.
I know you'll understand me now, and would have understood me right away if I had played over the music to you. Now do it as well as you can: but the bodyguard gentlemen, etc., must go.
Tomorrow I begin the composition of my Nibelungen dramas: I'm all ready for it now. Otherwise I'm well enough: I spent some pleasant days with Liszt and his family!
I bought Wilhelm's book: I'm now reading in it and feel great joy about the development of this man. Give him my best regards when you write to him. Remember us to Mama and Marie and convey my most brotherly gratitude to the royal stage manager of the Dresden Opera for his loyalty. Farewell, dear old fellow: write soon again!
Your
R. W.
Source: Letters of Richard Wagner: The Burrell Collection, ed. John N. Burk (Macmillan, 1950), No. 130