My deeply revered Lord and Master,
When you left Paris, you gave me leave to send you news whenever anything of the least importance occurred touching upon my affairs in Paris. That these reports would always reach you accompanied by renewed appeals for your protection and patronage was something you doubtlessly foresaw, and this belief now encourages me to assume, in my own defence, that that general entitlement to send you news of my activities might also include your tacit agreement to receive such an appeal from me now. - You, my beloved master, you who are kindness and goodwill itself, will, I trust, be less angry with me than others would have been, if I now pursue you into your peaceful seclusion with my perhaps somewhat alarming cries for help. Your departure from Paris - ah, thereby hangs a tale of woe in the story of my life and struggles which one day, when I have become incredibly famous - as I do not doubt for a moment that I shall - , will be celebrated and lamented in some 24 to 48 cantos by some great poet. You can well imagine how so sensitive a creature as I reacted, how I gasped for air and grew downcast. In the end I was no longer in Paris, but continued merely to vegetate in the beautiful Rue de la Tonnellerie. In addition I suffered a great deal of toothache, and in the end it was scarcely to be wondered at if I wrote an Overture to Faust, Part One. Finally, Herr Dumersan’s pretty French verses to my opera brought me back to life once again; the man had made me wait a good two months à la Parisienne, and would probably never have produced the verses if he had not finally found the words to tell me that he first wanted to hear some of my music; - I then played several excerpts from my opera to him at his house, and fortunately met with such success that the very next day Herr Dumersan was able to hand over to me the prettiest verses in the whole wide world. Dumersan has even taken it upon himself to use every means in his power to expedite the acceptance of my opera at the Renaissance. To begin with, it was his intention to act without me, on his own; - to that end he conferred with the opera-producer Herr Salome, and, through him, demanded a meeting with Antenor Joly, in order to discuss with him at length an opera by a certain young man who had already been recommended to Herr Joly by Herr Meyerbeer. Once again things dragged on for a fair space of time, with the delightful result that Dumersan finally wrote me a depressing letter, informing me that Herr Salome had been requested by the director to convey the message that Herr Joly could not agree to the matter, because — 1., I was a German, and young French composers would be highly indignant to see the Renaissance opening its doors to yet another German composer; that - 2., he would not give operas that had not been expressly written for his theatre and its singers, that - 3., he never gave operas in translation, nor was he allowed to do so, - , that 4., German music in general was too heavy and learned for his theatre.
I found all this most amiable, the more so since I could not but be deeply convinced by the profundity of the reasons given. I thought I might do better to resume personal contact with the theatre, but met with no more success than I had done previously. I then produced the kind letter which you had most generously left with me for that purpose, as a result of which Antenor’s brother - for I have so far managed to set eyes only on Constantin - could of course no longer refuse me outright; but his familiar manner (: - “come back in 14 days, the singers are now very tired; etc.” - ) made it abundantly clear that his enthusiasm for my cause was not exactly boundless or overwhelming. - That, then, is how things stand: - I am totally convinced that I shall not be granted an audition as long as I live, at least not unless something exceptional happens, - and it is to employ those exceptional means that I now address this importunate entreaty to you.
Antenor thinks: - “God is mighty, the Tsar is far away and Monpou is not at all bad”. - What is to be done here? Terrorism is the only means, and you, my revered ruler of all notes, alone can wield it. I hope for no salvation in this world except from you. - Well then, if you still remember who I am, have pity on me, and write the wicked Antenor a letter, a kind of ukase or papal bull, and in order to give it somewhat more weight, you might perhaps be so kind as to send it directly to Joly from your present whereabouts, so that it might reach the director without first having been profaned or defiled by my own hands. Tell him that it is true I am a German, but from Leipzig not from Mainz; - , that he needs only to listen, and that — ; oh, you must forgive me my foolishness in daring to suggest how you might write to him; - it would of course be best if I were to leave it entirely to you and simply beseech you to be kind enough to take this step on behalf of my poor self.
But I know one means which will persuade Antenor to change his mind in an instant and agree to giving operas of mine; - it is a suggestion which would never have occurred to you, and only because of its singularity do I mention it jestingly now: - I can tell you: - Antenor will be pleased to give operas of mine if you offer him even the faintest hope that you may one day devote your leisure hours to composing an opera especially for him. Indeed, I am convinced that the merest hint of such a hope on your part could turn everything to my advantage. But you may be assured, my most revered master, that I am myself too modest to rate this good fortune of mine so highly that I might seriously weigh it against a demand which you may well deem unreasonable on my part. Forgive me, therefore, if I have been overbold in making mention of this exceptional means, and attribute the blame less to my importunacy than to my somewhat desperate endeavours to enter the world of make-believe. Without transgressing the bounds of what I may expect of your kindness, I am convinced that what I may hope to receive from you is something you will readily grant a person as destitute of help as I am. You will consider how much further you can still go and save at least half my life with whatever you may feel disposed to accord me. At all events, I promise that, by way of thanks, I shall place a light in every window of my lodgings on the day of your return to Paris. Oh - this return - how I long for it and how it will be celebrated! Even Herr Schlesinger, who is shortly to give a major orchestral concert at which nothing of mine will be performed - yes, even Herr Schlesinger shall that day be clasped with joy to my bosom.
If I might add to all my other indiscretions the final impertinence of cherishing the hope that I might receive a few lines from you yourself, informing me that my honoured master is in good health and that he forgives the foolishness of his protégé, then it would almost be a matter of indifference to me what the Dear Lord were to say to all my importunities, as long as you yourself were not to take them amiss.
With all my sins and weaknesses, distress and grief I commend myself respectfully to you, praying to God and yourself that I may be delivered from all evil. As long as you remain favourably disposed towards me, then God too will not be far from me; that is why I ask you to remember, be it ever so briefly,
Your
ardently respectful and obedient servant,
Richard Wagner.
Source: Selected Letters of Richard Wagner, trans. and ed. Stewart Spencer and Barry Millington (W. W. Norton & Company, 1988), No. 28