Most dearly beloved, gracious lord and friend,
This morning I put the finishing strokes to the second act of Siegfried: this, too, is now ready to pass into the hands of my royal friend, and I can scarcely gainsay my solemn promise to give him an immediate insight into those parts of my work which are now completely finished. But it would make no sense for me to do so; for you are right to demand the whole work from me: and - with God’s help - I shall be able to acquit myself honourably on your feast-day this year.
But it is a long and, more especially, a laborious task. That so little that is altogether perfect has been achieved in the world is no doubt due in part to the fact that the true genius proves himself not only in the comprehensive speed with which he conceives some great plan, but, more especially, in the impassioned, and even painful, perseverance which is required if his plan is to be fully realized. Nothing can be done here with only superficial indications: for what, from an artistic point of view, convulses us like a flash of lightning is a miraculously linked and delicately structured piece of jewelry in which each precious stone, each pearl, and each tiny link in the chain is made to fit with painstaking diligence, like a work of art in its very own right. In much the same way, only by making this fair copy for you (which, at the same time, shall serve, in the first place, as the basis for a copy for practical use) have I completely finished with what had been previously sketched.
However, because of my persistent preoccupation with it, this task of developing the sketch has also served to reimmerse me in the spirit of my work and make me feel so completely at home once again that I can now go on with it as though I had never been interrupted. Of course, my great worry was naturally how to pick up where I had left off. An interruption of twelve years in any work is of course unheard of in the history of art: and if it now proves that this interruption has made no difference to the freshness of my conception, I may no doubt adduce this as a demonstration of the way in which these conceptions have an everlasting life, that they are not yesterday’s, and not for tomorrow alone. The final, highly detailed working-out of the second act often enthralled and attracted me in a way that, so great was my rapturous delight, I often had to take a proper hold of myself. But I once dashed off these lines to our friend: “Siegfried is divine. It is my greatest work!” - Let me describe to you the passage which I was bold enough to find so pleasing and so exhilarating. Siegfried has slain Fafner: the forest murmurs that had earlier captivated him so charmingly now exert their magic spell; he understands the woodbird, and - as though guided by some sweet narcosis and obeying, as it were, some instruction without knowing what he is doing - goes into the dragon’s cave to remove the hoard; the Nibelung pair, having lain in wait, now rush at each other, each of them anxious to win the hoard for himself by wresting it from the lad; they wrangle and squabble in unheard-of fury. Siegfried, sunk in thoughtful contemplation of the ring, then re-emerges from the cave on to the high ground in front of it: the Nibelungs notice with horror that he has picked out the ring from the hoard, and they withdraw, each to strive after his own fashion to gain the ring for himself. Siegfried, contemplating the ring and the tarnhelm: “What use you are to me, I do not know.” As he emerges, one hears the motif of the ring winding its way eerily through the accompaniment (during the speeches of the two Nibelungs): it now passes, with supreme and ghostlike pliancy, into the theme of the Rhinedaughters from the end of the Rhinegold: “Rhinegold! Purest gold! ah, would that you still lit the watery depths!” (Do you remember this from that last evening in the Residenz Theatre?) To the accompaniment of a gentle tremolo on the strings, this theme is now heard on six horns, as though from some distant natural dream-world. The sense of expectancy which seizes hold of us here is quite overwhelming! When the woodbird warns Siegfried afresh against Mime’s approach, and as the latter now creeps up from afar, wondering who could have told the lad of the ring, we hear gently, oh so gently his mother Sieglinde’s loving concern for her son sound forth with tuneful tenderness - the son to whom, dying, she had given birth. The bird continues to hold our attention with its gentle warning phrases, as Mime now turns fawningly to Siegfried. Finally, when Mime too has been slain, a feeling of utter loneliness breaks out in the youth who until now has felt only high spirits: bear, wolf and dragon have been his only associates: the woodbird whose language he now understands is, as it were, the only creature to which he feels akin. And now the terror of ecstasy, as it tells him of Brünnhilde!! Yes, and what does all this mean? It is certainly no scene from family life: the fate of the world hangs upon the boy’s godlike simplicity and the uniqueness of a fearless individual! -
Yes! - My Siegfried is beautiful, oh true and noble one! My King! -
The next morning, 24th Feb.
That is as far as I reached yesterday evening! - If I wanted to tell you more about Siegfried today, I should have to speak of a dark, sublime and awesome dread with which I enter the realm of my third act. We come here, like the Hellenes at the reeking crevice at Delphi, to the nub of the great world tragedy: the world is on the brink of destruction; the god seeks to ensure that the world is reborn, for he himself is the world’s will to become. Everything here is instinct with sublime terror, and can be spoken of only in riddles. Since the time I returned to Munich after that wonderful week in Hohenschwangau and had to raise such anxious questions about our fate, I have been haunted by a theme which I first conceived then and which greets us now at the very beginning of this act, proclaiming the world-god’s decision, his final question and final resolve. Until this moment a sense of dread had prevented me from writing down what had flared up within me with the brightness of lightning on solitary walks through storm and tempest. But the proud exultation of the lovers united for death also found musical expression at this same time: it is like the triumphant shout hurled from a hero’s breast, flinging its cry of victory, love and joy across the Alpine heights, to abandon it to eternity’s endless echo.
And so I too, like Wotan, must shut off the world of the will, firmly, unopenably and with final resolution: this have I done! Nothing shall open it up again! In it and for it I suffered all I was capable of suffering: I have now acquired the right no longer to be a part of it! - You, my most gracious friend, will discover some day what I am telling you here and what I am hinting at! - And so I am now ready to cast myself into this final horror: for I can already hear the echo from the mountains resounding with the exultant clamour of redemption. - The coming three spring months that are already crowding so forcefully into the world shall help this long-delayed act of my work to grow to final maturity! - Thus it is written in the stars that shine on my lonely house: there to the left, in the north, is the “Plough”, the faithful old Pleiades; and to the right here, in the south, is Orion’s flaming sword: between them in the north-east: Jupiter, lonely and radiant. - But first there are many questions for me to answer. You were kind enough to want to know about my life and health, and how I divide up my day. Well, my life is dominated by a strange stability, or rather a sense of balance in which good and evil are finely poised, leaving only the poet and artist to live their lives within me. Since my brief visit to my relations in Leipzig, I have not set foot outside Triebschen, and not seen a single stranger. No one can understand how I can live like this and many people no doubt cudgel their brains, more especially in Munich, where they no doubt persist in believing that I was not serious when I said goodbye to the place, and that I am no doubt playing fast and loose in order to achieve God knows what ends - perhaps even the government of Bavaria, where I would then abolish both state and religion in order to conduct affairs from a large opera-house. I shall shortly be stirring things up for a hired servant of one of these anxious wise men, since, now that I am departing this life, I have certainly no intention of simply abandoning to scoundrels and knaves the precious inheritance that I am bequeathing to the nation. Mothers take care of their children: mine, too, shall have no cause to complain about their father. The wretched kinsfolk with whom I have had to deal for a quarter of a century; who these people are who have impeded my work and influence at every step, and who, at the end of an unprecedented career, have time and again obliged me to begin afresh - this is something I still have to explain to those who cannot understand any of this. -
However, all this ultimately forms only a brief parenthesis in the current phase of my present activities. What this means, according to the rule of the order, is: “nulla dies sine linea!” The rule itself means starting early with a modest breakfast, after washing in cold water, then a brief look at the newspaper, of which I normally read only the table of contents and only look at the inside pages in greater detail if I find something about the King of Bavaria (for so long now the only way to discover news of my exalted friend!): and then there are the letters, too, often a great many of them, but nearly always nonsensical, or making foolish demands: very rarely anything cheering! (for — unfortunately! - not even the reports about the various splendid successes of the Mastersingers give me any special pleasure; everything is being eaten away by an evil noxious canker: I no longer have any faith!) Paris is now causing me the most painful disquiet, since I could not reasonably prevent them from taking Rienzi in hand: well, I am now firmly resolved to take no further notice of their project. The editor of the great political journal “La Liberté” invited me through a third party to send him some biographical notes for an article intended to welcome me to Paris, where they are confidently awaiting my arrival. In reply I have sent this journal a letter, through the agency of this same woman, who has spoken up for me in Paris with such remarkable enthusiasm, and in it I declare that I am not coming to Paris, and that I regard all attempts to introduce my works to the city simply as private enterprises on the part of the theatre directors in question etc., but that I myself have nothing in common with them. That will certainly amaze many people who believe that I am planning to play a leading role in Paris, the more so since - as rumour once more has it - I am wholly out of favour with the King of Bavaria, and my earlier relations with him have become the total opposite of what they once were. Yes, indeed, my exalted friend, this is the latest news; and it dates from the beginning of last January! - On this point, too, people will again be much amazed. But there is nothing I can do about that. - From time to time, however, I also read reports which interest me because they show some wit and understanding, e.g., the recent report on the Dresden production of the Mastersingers in the Neue Zeitschr. für Musik. But on the whole I am glad not to know what is going on in the world. - And then at 10 o’clock I settle down to my score: this always gives me three beautiful, uniquely enjoyable and substantial hours each morning. At 1 o’clock Jacob then calls me to table. I then leave my desk in the green study. This is a remarkable little room which I created as a result of the rebuilding work which I have had done on the whole house: it consists in part of the room which you had the infinite kindness and condescension to make your night-quarters. A window has now been added by removing the kitchen, where I now have a small bedroom; and it gives an extremely welcoming, intimate impression. I have all kinds of keepsakes hanging on the wall here, including the large photographic portrait of my royal friend, and the water-colour of Hohenschwangau. The principal object of my attention in this room is now my library which, so often and so grievously, had been reduced in size by resettlements and the ravages suffered at so many stages of my past life but which I am now gradually supplementing and building up in such a way that, if ever heaven should grant me a serene old age, I might find ultimate refreshment and enjoyment in its collected riches of the mind. The salon is now decorated exclusively with oil paintings: in addition to the portrait of my King there is also - and I owe these treasures to the wonderful thoughtfulness of our noble friend, who has managed to acquire them for me by the most remarkable and round-about means! - a fine copy of my father’s portrait, painted by my father, then a portrait of Göthe which the immensely talented Munich artist Franz Lenbach was asked to sketch and paint for me on the model of what seems to me a wholly admirable engraving, and, more recently, a highly successful copy of Tischbein’s portrait of Schiller (1803), the original of which is owned by the Schiller Society in Leipzig; their frames have all been made with the greatest possible imaginative skill according to our friend’s selection and design; in particular, the frame of the large mirror above the (rebuilt) hearth, based upon the design of an old German frame in the Bavarian Museum, is a real work of art. And there is now - in addition to our busts - a splendid masterpiece in a corner of the salon - an original water-colour by the recently deceased Genelli, showing the Muses educating Dionysos - I maintain it to be the best thing this brilliant artist ever did. It was found among the possessions of my late brother-in-law Friedrich Brockhaus, in whose house I had often contemplated it as a young man with genuine fascination, gaining as I did my first vital insight into the Greek spirit of beauty: when I told our friend this, she managed to persuade my sister to part with the painting, which she then gave me as a present. - From the salon two doors lead into my “gallery”, which is what I have christened this long and narrow room, created out of what was once a small closet and the earlier narrow dining-room by tearing down the partition-wall. The centre of the longer wall is taken up by Ille’s water-colour of Tannhäuser, which my gracious friend was once generous enough to make over to me: on both sides of it are the six hand-coloured photographs based upon Echter’s Rhinegold: beneath them are my bronze keepsakes, and portfolios containing engravings and photographs. The two shorter walls are decorated with other mementoes, including a recently acquired Indian Buddha which I once received as a present in Venice from Countess d’Agoult and which had found its way into my wife’s estate but which I have now succeeded in recovering. It is through this “gallery” that I must pass when called by Jacob at 1 o’clock: it leads into the dining-room, which has been newly created out of the old remains and a part of the former entrance hall, and it is here that I take my by no means sumptuously or elaborately prepared meal, at the end of which I am normally joined by my canine masters; I then withdraw to the salon for coffee and newspapers or any letters that may have arrived, followed by a short sleep or a brief session at the piano, according to my mood and needs. Then, at 3 o’clock, I don my fearsomely large Wotan hat, and, accompanied by Russ and Koss - Falstaff with his page! - set off on my regular walk which, if the weather is bad or the paths muddy, is normally limited to an errand into the town of Lucerne, where I really only look in at the Post Office or often rummage at a second-hand bookseller’s in search of interesting books — recently, for ex., I came across some that were extremely rare, namely the 4 volumes of the “Horen”, edited by Schiller, in the original edition which is now completely impossible to find. As a rule I return to Triebschen at 5 o’clock, lie down for a brief quarter of an hour, and then return to my score (unless there are letters to be written!!); I work until around 8 o’clock, before retiring to the smaller salon on the upper floor, which once and for all I have set aside for our friend’s summer visits; here I have a very light supper and tea, before ending the evening by taking down a book to read, in the doing of which I repeatedly fall back upon our great minds Schiller, Göthe and Shakespeare: but Homer, too, has had his turn, as well as Calderon, less frequently learned writings such as Winckelmann. This gives me my nighttime benediction: I am in good company, and know the friends to whom I can cling. At 11 I normally wend my way to my bed in the tiny bedroom next to my study; and now the question is: will the night bring restful sleep? Unfortunately this is not always the case: my abdomen is - and will always be - rebellious, until such time as a good course of treatment enables me to take radical action against this complaint. If sleeplessness sets in as a result, then the night becomes my foe. For care then sets in, too, and anxiety painful beyond imagining, and dawn will find me tired, gloomy and despondent. It then pains me to receive bad news, or to feel this silence, - this silence! with which my daemon mocks the solicitous impulses of our hearts. How utterly wretched do I then feel, my King! And if, in addition, it is borne in upon me how baseness and worthlessness repeatedly raise their ugly heads, playing with all that is most sacred to me and dragging it through the mire, while all that is good remains silent - silent! - then there are times when it becomes impossible for me to work on my score, and - then I ask myself why this day cannot be my last. -
But God knows what strength has been given me that it keeps on springing up again! A good night’s sleep, a comforting word, a friendly nod are enough, - and - I’m back at my score again, and - I’d be happy to go on sitting there till the angel of death himself came to take me away! —
As for our friend, the news that I have to tell my most dearly beloved lord is far from encouraging. She appears to be suffering much discomfort: according to her own report, the great and painful weakness of her back has now made it impossible for her to write for any length of time, and the doctor has forbidden her to do so in the strictest terms. As a result I am now obliged to look around for a suitable copyist to work on my biography which you are kind enough to ask after; various attempts to find one locally have proved pitifully unsuccessful. I have now made enquiries with Richter in Munich to see whether I might be able to attract a good copyist whom I know there to come to Lucerne for a while; for it is quite out of the question that I should abandon this dictation: the copyist must carry out his work under my direct supervision. Whatever happens, it will be a most remarkable book! And so, my most precious and exalted of friends, I must entreat your kind forbearance with regard to new instalments! -
But you then go on to ask about books with which to study the sources of the Siegfried legend? - What I myself used as such, in addition to the Nibelungenlied and the Edda itself, were Wilhelm Grimm’s “German Heroic Legend”, and Mone’s “Investigations into Heroic Legend”. In addition, very important, a translation of the “Volsunga Saga”, which I tracked down to the Dresden Library, but which can certainly also be found in the Munich Library. I also believe that Franz Müller collected all this information together and drew attention to it in his monograph on my “Ring of the Nibelung”. - Oh! if only you had an able private librarian or “secretary” endowed with enthusiasm for this particular subject. What a joy it must be for the right person to be able to meet your every enquiry here! But - that is not to be! - Otherwise Nohl could no doubt be recommended, since he has deserved very well of me and - precisely because of that! - has incurred hostilities of every description; - certainly, he could never have dreamed that they would come from the direction they did! I myself got to know him only within recent years, and, to my very real delight, was able to overcome every prejudice against him. - But I should not have said this: I know that I must stop recommending people! -
Finally, however, most precious and gracious of men! I still have to reply to your wishes concerning performances of “Tristan” and the “Rhinegold”. My King! Kindly lend an ear! -
In the course of the last two years you have done as much to enable such performances to take place as it was possible to do in the prevailing circumstances: for this I must thank you from the bottom of my heart! Certainly, both this and all the other kindnesses that you have shown me have given you the incontestable right to dispose of my works and their performance as you think fit. And I myself shall lend a faithful hand in every way possible: but I know that you will not demand my personal participation if you believe me when I assure you that this is henceforth impossible. On the other hand, I can easily arrive at an understanding on all the points relating to the musical side of things with those who are appointed to direct the work: for every other arrangement I would simply beg as a favour that you assign Hallwachs as producer; for there is no one else I should care to deal with in this respect. I shall answer for him as soon as he receives full and exclusive authority to superintend the stage presentation of the “Rhinegold” according to my own instructions.
Another point here concerns the circumstances in which the performances of parts of my Nibelungs may be presented to the general public. On this point I shall make so bold as to inform you of my exact wishes when the right time comes! -
And so, my most beloved lord! I am yours to command! I shall only help, and never get in the way! -
And now a final word in confidence concerning my personal affairs. Quite some time ago I asked Herr Düfflipp as a friend whether he thought that, given his intimate familiarity with the present state of affairs, it would be difficult or easy for him to arrange a relatively large advance on the stipend which has so kindly been decreed for me: in the latter instance I entreated him to lay before my exalted benefactor my particular wish in this regard. In doing this I remained true to my belief or, rather, my feeling that, after you had shown me so many kindnesses as a demonstration of your grace and lovingly solicitous favour, I myself could never really address an entreaty to you direct, but that since, on the other hand, you have often asked me lovingly about my needs and wishes, I need only intimate these to you through the intermediacy of a friend. On each occasion your granting of my wish was a glorious act of grace and love. - If I am in error as to your feelings here, I must beg most humbly for your forgiveness. In respect of the wish that was recently communicated to you, I now confirm that, as cheering and consoling as such a subvention would be, the very granting of it has become indispensable to me now that it has developed into a question of your grace and friendship.
I pray that you may be kind enough to understand this, and to show your usual loving tenderness! -
For my fate and final resolution place me in your hands! I will not, nor shall ever, serve another lord! So must you dispose of one who is uniquely yours! -
All hail! Hail! Good luck! - thus do I call out to him whom I love and adore before all else! Always remember with grace and goodness
Your eternally loyal
Richard Wagner
Source: Selected Letters of Richard Wagner, trans. and ed. Stewart Spencer and Barry Millington (W. W. Norton & Company, 1988), No. 375