Please read the last page first and then, depending upon your inclination and mood, read the whole letter through from the beginning, or else not at all!
My friend,
I hear it said that you are continuing to feel increasingly disheartened, and that this sense of discouragement is driving you to expect yet further sacrifices of me. No one would ever forgive me if I flattered this weakness a moment longer! -
During the six months that we have been rehearsing our “Tannhäuser”, I have had the satisfaction of exercising so beneficial an effect upon singers who had previously no idea of how to sing my music that people are amazed at this success, a success which has finally left its mark on their performances. While everything else here is growing in stature and filling me with joy and hope, you yourself appear increasingly small and, by gradually receding into the distance, rob me of the satisfaction of knowing that I had gained some influence over you, too. Whereas someone like Tedesco surprises me at every turn and achieves things which she previously claimed she was incapable of achieving, - and whereas Sax, for ex., has at my insistence acquired a degree of breath control of which she previously seemed to have no notion, so that she now sings passages such as the end of the adagio section of the 2nd-act finale with such perfect beauty as you yourself heard at yesterday’s rehearsal, I have not succeeded in persuading you even so much as to breathe at a different place in order to link together the two parts of the first verse of Tannhäuser’s song and thus achieve a beautiful, heartfelt and grateful effect at this point!
Although I honoured you not only in the eyes of all Germany, where you were previously but little known, but also in the sight of France and Europe, too, by having you - and you alone - summoned to Paris as the only singer in whom I had complete - and blind - trust, I have failed - from the very moment of your arrival in Paris - to elicit even the least trust from you in return. You have maintained what I am bound to call an almost insulting reserve towards me, and have shown an equally meticulous care in refusing to accept any of the advice that I might have given you. You commit the indelicacy of telling me, very prematurely, that at the end of May you intend leaving the Paris “Tannhäuser” in the lurch once and for all; you declare that in future you do not intend to have much to do with any of my operas, and in that way you effectively nip in the bud my hopes of finally having found the longed-for interpreter of my heroic roles, knowing full well the importance that I attach to you for my own future and that of my works. -
I shall have to learn to get over this blow, and make my future plans accordingly. -
Our immediate concern, however, continues to be this Paris “Tannhäuser”. I cannot conceal from you what it is that weighs heavy on my heart in this regard. -
Although you made it clear from the very outset that you were not disposed to accept any attempts on my part to rationalize your interpretation for you, I nevertheless hoped that your sound artistic susceptibility would enable us to come to some understanding on various points of detail. Although you proved most inflexible in this respect, I was nevertheless able to hope that you had heeded the odd hint in matters of detail. I now realize that after six months of working with me your own object ultimately has been to reduce the achievement that I expected of you to the level of your previous achievements in this role, since it seems that you believe that only in this way can you find any peace of mind. My warm appreciation even of such an achievement as this, as far as I can draw conclusions from what I have seen so far, is something that I have repeatedly and sincerely made known to you, and you would be doing me the most grievous injustice if you were to doubt for a moment in the sincerity of even the most flattering protestations on my part. Notwithstanding this fact, I have realized that your previous achievement was not altogether perfect; it was the product of an immense talent on the basis of your first youthful conception of the part: to hallow this with the name of full artistic maturity was the task reserved for you during your long course of study here under the guidance of the author himself. It remains for you to place a universally correct interpretation upon the first and second acts in particular, to put the finishing touches to your vocal training, especially where the question is one of tenderness of expression, and to forge a complementary link with the individual moments of vocal brilliance. I hope you will not respond to this by quoting the usual theatrical jargon about effects and bravura passages, a jargon that becomes you least of all: you would then leave me with no choice but to ignore you completely. Building to some extent upon this idea, however, I now consider it necessary to say the following.
That it was possible for you to sing only the third act in Germany is in itself sufficient to disclose the weak point in your previous achievement. Even the most mediocre singers have known how to be relatively effective in this third act: they were able to do so as a matter of course, in much the same way that Masaniello’s mad scene was effective, making every tenor seem better than he was. I tell you, by contrast, that you can keep the whole of this third act if you can give me a proper rendering of the finale to the second act. It is here that the dramatic crisis lies, and here, too, that Tannhäuser must enlist and maintain the greatest interest: if he fails in this, the 3rd act, however successful, will remain a mere play for actors by which I set no store whatsoever, - and then - it would at least be entirely consistent to omit the whole of the first two acts. But let us not do that here! This is why I insist that the finale of the 2nd act must be given complete, and given, moreover, with all the weight of utterance that you can muster! Do not refer me here to the fact that I cut the adagio passage for Tichatscheck; if I had had you then, you may rest assured that I would not have shortened it. Nor should you believe that I took this passage away from Tichatscheck because it might have tired his voice: on the contrary, as far as his voice is concerned, Tichatscheck could have sung six such passages, for the longer he had been singing, the richer his voice became and the greater his powers of endurance, so that I was totally unused to hearing Tichatscheck complaining in the way that I constantly hear you complain, you who are a veritable Hercules in terms of strength and talent; which is why I cannot pay any real heed to these complaints of yours. The deficiency which ruined this important passage at the time of the Dresden performances was as follows: - a glance at the score will show you that the entire ensemble of minstrels continues to sing at the same time as Tannhäuser himself; their voices cover his to the extent that Tannhäuser’s solo gives the impression of being simply an inner part which might, however, have stood out if Tichatscheck had been capable of expressing any real sense of tragic pain: but we know that this was precisely where his weak point lay. The inspired idea of omitting the ensemble and having Tannhäuser sing on his own did not occur to me at the time, and only recently have I hit upon the right solution. On that occasion I had no alternative but to strike out the passage, since, as a result of its being mixed up with the ensemble singing, it remained unclear, and thus appeared to be a meaningless longueur. Now Tichatscheck too will once again sing this passage (as a solo) with all his old power. - Well, you have doubtless realized how important this passage is, and know not only how effective it can be in itself but also how important it is for our interest in Tannhäuser. You are concerned only for your voice, and your anxiety is increased by the belief that Tichatscheck himself had not been able to sing this passage. It was to refute this belief and to restore your confidence that I have just recounted this entire incident all over again, and repeated the reason why I cut it on that occasion and why I am now restoring it for Tichatscheck, too.
You should therefore abandon this fear of yours and take a more courageous view of the matter. Do not think about the third act: this is not a problem for you. Think only of this finale to the second act and throw yourself into it body and soul, as though you did not have another note to sing after this finale. The gain will then be certain: at the most crucial point in the opera - where everything has reached the highest pitch of intensity, and the slightest sound will be picked up with breathless suspense - here it is that the course of the entire evening will be decided! Believe me and trust in me just this once! You shall never hear from me again as long as you live!! - If you produce this “pitié pour moi” as I have already heard you sing it on repeated occasions and as I know you can, and if you produce it, moreover, in such a way that everyone’s hair stands on end and their hearts tremble, everything, but everything will have been achieved, the immediate effect will be immeasurable, and everything that follows will be - child’s play; for an immense faith will then exist, a faith that you will not be able to undermine, even if your intonation begins to falter in the 3rd act. If, however, you fail to maintain interest in your person at the end of the second act (in other words at the point of crisis), the third act will simply be rated as a brilliant episode, but the performance as a whole will be regarded - instinctively - as a failure. (Do not counter this by telling me of your previous successes in Germany’s 2nd- and 3rd-rate theatres; the fact that you were able to give only the 3rd act there confirms my own opinion!)
Once more: - sing the 2nd-act finale as if you were to end the evening with it - and rest assured - only then will you sing the third act entirely to my liking. In a word: I find you far too fresh in the third act, too physically powerful, and I have waited in vain so far for the nuances that I demand. I do not want an exhibition of sensual vocal strength in this scene: everything about your interpretation is still far too solid. If I wanted to keep pace with you, I should have to re-score the entire orchestra at your entrance. Everything here is calculated to produce a ghostly tonelessness which gradually rises to the level of a touching tenderness, but no further. There is too much physical strength in your rendering of the narration up to your arrival in Rome: that is not how a man would speak who had just been roused from madness to a few minutes’ lucidity, a being from whom others shy away when they meet him, who for months has gone almost entirely without food, and whose life is sustained only by the glimmer of an insane desire. On your lips the papal ban has an energy which, admittedly, is shatteringly effective: but if this energy were to be somewhat less substantial, the scene would certainly not fail to make its proper effect, quite the opposite, only now will it produce the appropriate effect, when backed by a suitable rhetorical delivery. Well, far be it from me to desire anything different here; all I wanted to say was that you should not sacrifice the passage in the 2nd-act finale for the sake of this one here. And I wanted to indicate that, even if Tannhäuser were to be somewhat hoarse in the 3rd act, this would be no great misfortune, whereas I should consider it unfortunate, in the true sense of the word, if, in the 3rd act, Tannhäuser were forced to resort to a physical expedient in order to restore an interest which he had lost in the crucial 2nd act. -
There is something else that I have to say to you concerning this third act. Whereas, in the course of the rehearsals, you have given marked emphasis, at least in certain passages, to the nuances with which you had previously invested your acting, nuances, indeed, which you have generally endowed with a certain degree of violence, it saddens me to find that there are certain instructions which I have given you which have yet to be adequately rendered by you. I do not know whether you will perform the scene resting on your staff in the way that I have asked you, or not? And so I repeat once more:
act out the horn accompaniment [music example] clearly and vividly: doubling up in anguish on the last note. And you must not move a single step. This is repeated four times: it will produce the most horrifying effect when, on the final occasion, he says - : “but I am seeking him who can show me the way to the Venusberg”. Do you understand what I am saying? This alone will give you the right tone for the whole scene. “Speak not of Rome!” has a harsh enough effect. - Your voice is too powerful during the first part of the narration: only moving tenderness, - without any bitterness. You are spoiling the twofold ending in F major by not dropping smoothly in the diminuendo - p - etc.
“To sweeten the tear that my angel once wept for me
(p.) (piu p.)
“My angel’s tears to sweeten!”
Since you are so bent on being effective, believe me, you will achieve this aim here only through the p, through moving and mellifluous tenderness.
Similarly, the passage in the 1st act where you take up the phrase of the Pilgrims’ Chorus is too harsh, too immediately expressive: more tender; as though choked by tears at the end. -
You see my friend, I have not yet given up my attempts to persuade you to heed my advice: my tremendously high opinion of what you have achieved and are capable of achieving pursues you, perhaps to the point of importuning you. - Your present agitation is something I can readily understand: without this profound excitability and even a momentary sense of discouragement - no real eagerness to see victory, no genuine awareness of a great task. But let us beware of allowing this situation to continue, and indeed of allowing it to seduce our strength of purpose. Who - in the devil’s name! shall finally be bold and daring enough to accomplish this task if it is not you yourself, whom nature has equipped for the part in a way that I had previously only dreamt of but certainly never thought possible? My destiny has led you to me - and am I now, at the moment of recognition, to lose you through some imaginary weakness? You saw the sacrifice I was prepared to make for you. I can say in all confidence that you were wrong not to attempt the new verse in the Song Contest: it means losing a great deal of brilliance and a most necessary part of the whole. It is, however, quite impossible for me to sacrifice the passage in the 2nd-act finale to your momentary faint-heartedness! Even you, the young and stalwart hero, would find it strange to return to Germany and there discover from old Tichatscheck just how effective this passage is: for - the latter still sings it.
Courage, courage, my friend! Do not allow yourself to be overwhelmed by a faint-heartedness that so ill becomes you! Perform this passage at the final dress rehearsal with all your might, and let us then see its effect on your third act.
This is the last request which I, as author, shall make of you. You have made it sufficiently clear that, however much it pains me to admit it, I shall be obliged to manage without you in the more distant future.
11.30 o’clock.
I had reached this point when your letter arrived.
I now see how far you are prepared to go with me. You address me in a language which I can really understand only by casting my mind back to the earliest days of my arduous career.
I believe I may say, however, that you are mistaken when you say that I have exposed you to public ridicule, and I am amazed that anyone should have brought such boulevard gossip to your attention.
I ask myself with some hesitation whether this letter can still serve any purpose, or whether it can only make matters worse. I do not intend, however, to cut myself off quite so abruptly from my last remaining hope as an artist.
You will see from this letter what an immensely high opinion I have of you, and this certain knowledge must surely preserve you from a superficial misunderstanding of the spirit in which I address myself to you here.
On one point, however, I take back the foregoing protestations.
I declare my readiness to cut the passage in question.
Calm down! Take care of yourself, and - if possible - revise your opinion of me so that in future it encompasses somewhat greater respect on your part than you have shown me by the tone of your lines to me today. -
Keep calm!
With the most sincere appreciation,
Yours,
Richard Wagner
Source: Selected Letters of Richard Wagner, trans. and ed. Stewart Spencer and Barry Millington (W. W. Norton & Company, 1988), No. 264