My most dearly beloved, exalted and solitary friend,
I must needs seek my only companion on lofty mountain peaks where no one can find him save he who was ever destined to do so! When so heavenly a letter arrives from you, my ineffably precious and glorious friend, and when, in the company of the only woman to share in our beautiful solitude, I weigh up the tender and unfathomable meaning of each of the words you bestowed on me, we are reminded at times of the sublime symbol of the Holy Trinity that tells how what was once unheard-of has now become real. We then muse on the theme of the “Father”, “Son” and “Holy Ghost”, and although it brings a smile to our lips, it is also a source of deep renewal and spiritual light. Strengthened and fired by this selfsame renewal, I preface what follows with a greeting of deepest gratitude to my exalted and solitary friend: all hail and God speed to the all-wise redeemer! -
But let me say something straightaway about my son! - A Brahman once withdrew into the loneliness of the forest in order that, free from all earthly fancy, he might live henceforth for inner knowledge alone. A young antelope seeks shelter with him in her wounded state; he tends her; in her gratitude she vows never to desert him. A sigh passes his lips: for once again he feels the cares of love, and is heir to the confusion of man’s natural destiny! - How I once cast to one side all that could have served to remind the world of me! A childless marriage had lasted thirty years: to whom could I have left anything during that time? But then I cried out in the house one morning: “a son is there!” How different the world now looked of a sudden! Happy the mother who saw all at once that my past and my future had now acquired a quite different meaning: “you will now live on even after death, continuing to strive and to influence others.” All my relics are now being kept: letters, manuscripts, books which I once used, every line that I ever wrote, all have been sought out and collected; my life has been recorded with ever increasing care, and illustrations obtained of all the places I lived and all the houses I inhabited. Though still so young, my son shall know exactly who his father was, once he reaches maturity and manhood. Nothing else: it will then be for him to decide. - This, in outline, is our entire system of educating him. The boy is not forced into anything at all; we support him freely and merely direct his natural bent. In no way do we intend him to become an “artist”: there is only one direction in life that I have assigned to him by giving him the name that I have included with his first name: two names identify him as my son, - Siegfried Richard - Wagner; these, however, I have prefaced with “Helferich”, i.e. the “helpful” one. I was persuaded to do so by the following consideration. I told myself: I cannot make an artist; but I can instruct a human being. Never in my life did I feel a greater sense of despair than on seeing open wounds in men and beasts and not knowing how to help them, while my often distracted cries and rage in seeking help were often met by scorn on the part of the common people. And so I resolved that Siegfried be compelled to learn one thing only, namely how to heal a wound, or at least how to administer first aid; in this way he will at least learn the most basic elements of surgery. This will give him self-confidence, spare me the cruel impressions I have so often suffered, and — if ever it comes to that imaginable extremity in this state-run society of ours — turn him into a useful and popular individual. - How it moved me, on re-reading “Wilhelm Meister”, to find Goethe inspired by the same idea in his “Wanderjahre”, where he offers his highly irresolute hero a lancet with which to save his son’s life! -
And so my Siegfried shall not be lacking in great compassion and deep and heartfelt goodness: and perhaps it will be a good thing to temper his tender-heartedness, which is best done, no doubt, by awakening his self-confidence in lending assistance. But I leave him his head to do with as he wishes. Although I myself am celebrated for my exceptional cranium, my boy’s will be found to be quite astonishing: forehead and occiput in perfect harmony. Moreover, his body is supple and well-formed; a temperament that is never less than cheerful, and far removed from all waywardness; great willingness and facility in all things, a friendly pride in tolerating lesser hardships, and total love. His natural wit is often a source of astonishment; all of us, and more especially his sisters, are often amused for hours on end by his sudden sallies of wit which strike him with the speed of lightning and which he expresses with the greatest facility, as though effortlessly. As for his studies, he is enjoined to learn only the basic essentials; but whatever he really wants to know, he will learn for himself soon enough. He has an excellent ear for music, but as yet betrays no desire to learn it mechanically. I am pleased to observe that this is so; for there are already enough trained musicians, but of musical souls very few; the eagerness to become an instrumental virtuoso can no doubt be fully satisfied only at the expense of superior natural abilities. And so I want my son to be not only helpful but, more especially free, i.e. someone who never feels constrained to lie but who never ceases to be truthful. For this to be so, it is imperative that he should not have to work for money, for such a constraint marks the onset of modern slavery. That is why it seems to me important to temper his inclination to think things over, and steel his aversion to all that is not genuine; he shall not be confused if ever he encounters fine furnishings & the like elsewhere, inasmuch as my own fate has granted me a pleasant way of life that I may continue to pursue during the final years of my life, so that he shall not see anything especially desirable in such a life in times to come. But, of course, I must also provide for him to the extent that he does not succumb to the common need of having to earn his living after my death: this possibility has now been granted me by the author’s rights on my works, which my heir will enjoy until thirty years after my death as a result of the system of so-called royalties: I intend him to spend half this sum on himself but to convert the other half into capital, so that when my rights expire he will be able to live off the interest on the capital that has been put by. - All this, you see, is aimed at smoothing the paths that a truly free spirit and carefree heart must follow in the active exercise of obligations which, thanks to a more detailed knowledge and more intimate understanding of his father’s influence, may one day seem to have been assigned to him.
For this scion of mine, as yet so delicate, is the only help-mate I can still see assigned to me. If I close my eyes today, there is not a single soul in the whole of the world to whom I can confidently entrust responsibility for my works; - not a single soul whom I could entrust with the task of representing me, either today or even tomorrow, at a performance of one of my works for example: I am utterly and completely alone.
Only very recently have I found in Hans von Wolzogen a man who fully appreciates the conceptual significance of my activities and who is firmly committed to advancing their understanding, a commitment which he sees as his one and only task in life. The aesthetic and humanitarian aspect of my artistic activities is very clearly represented by him; I can confidently leave him to function as my “alter ego” in years to come when it is ever a question of preserving my aims. By contrast, I am completely lacking a musician and a dramatist. I know of no conductor whom I could trust to perform my music correctly, nor any singing actor whom I could count upon to give a correct performance of any of my dramatic characters, unless I first went through the part with him, bar by bar and phrase by phrase. The bungling incompetence that is to be found in every aspect of German art is without equal, and every compromise which I have occasionally sought to enter into with it has led me to the point at which my exalted lord and dearly beloved friend found me on the evening of the final performance of the Twilight of the Gods in Bayreuth, when I sat behind him, starting up violently on several occasions, so that my most precious friend was moved by his concern for me to ask me what was the matter? But it was too humiliating for me at that very moment to admit what it was that had reduced me to such despair, and to explain that it was my horror at realizing that my conductor - in spite of the fact that I consider him the best I know - was not able to maintain the correct tempo, however often he got it right, because - he was incapable of knowing why the music had to be interpreted in one way and not another. - For this is the very heart of the matter: anyone may succeed by chance at least once, - but he is not aware of what he is doing, - for I alone could have justified it by means of what I call my school. - Well, I have been spared the problems of having to maintain a school. This might be a cause for regret, but certainly not for recrimination. The splendid idea I had for Munich really died for me at the moment of Schnorr’s death: for I could have relied only upon him, and upon his living example; otherwise I cannot expect any help from pianists and composers of fugues. None the less, it is to be regretted that the Munich School had to end up in the hands of a man like Rheinberger, who considers it his duty to oblige his listeners at every hour of the day and night with some insulting joke or other at my expense. - But that is how things are! How happy I should be to sing the praises of all these schools of music, whoever their directors, if they could only produce a single pupil who was good at something other than merely becoming yet another useless teacher. It is almost impossible to form an idea of how utterly wretched our singers are, both male and female, as they either emerge from these schools of music or else grow up naturally under the guidance of our deeply ignorant bandmasters. In the course of this winter “talented singers” of the kind I have just described - generally highly praised in the newspapers - have announced themselves here, presumably on the assumption that I would immediately engage them for “Parsifal”, for example: I generally asked them to sing “Agathe’s” aria from the “Freischütz”, and had to show them, bar by bar, that they simply had no idea of what they were singing, let alone how they should sing it. The men are no better: occasionally a singer turns up, and I think: here's my man! But as soon as I take a closer look, he botches what he is doing, and if I show him how it should go, he takes fright and declares that he has never heard it like that before, and that it is all new to him. -
In a word, my most precious and dearly beloved, I venture to think that prospects of performing “Parsifal” are bleak indeed. At a pinch I could cast “Gurnemanz” and “Klingsor”, perhaps also “Anfortas” - : but I still do not have the first idea for “Parsifal” and “Kundry”! - Ah! We do not need to be so hasty! I and what I write can no longer tolerate haste. What I have created for this age of ours has been much too hasty, much too much, and much too soon: every performance of my works - with the single exception of the one I attended at the side of my exalted lord - has remained a botched affair. But the worst part about it is that I cannot stop blaming myself for it all! I cannot blame ill-fortune or neglect, for I can see well enough that nothing can be done to improve things as they are at present: the present state of affairs is utterly worthless, and only worthlessness can thrive in such a soil. Anyone who has been struck by this thought with the same inconsolable clearness and forcefulness as I have been struck can no longer give himself up to delusion. My Bayreuth “stage festival” was my final question to the “German spirit”: I have received my reply: the Grand Duke of Baden even paid for half a Patron’s certificate for his son and heir. What more can I ask for?
But where the voice of hope falls silent, that of my daemon - or guardian angel? - can once again be heard. I feel happier than ever: for me, my work is the source of a life which enfolds me with friendly assurance in a series of ever new mental images. I have a friend such as no other man has, a wife such as has never made her husband so happy, and — now — now I have a son, laughing in high-spirited delight, and bright-eyed as a Walsung; and over and above all my thoughts and forebodings and wishes there is raised a world not of hope but of trust. And how could this trust not grow within me, since my daily round is the birth of a world from within me? Of course! “Parsifal” will succeed! My joy in its success is increasing, just as the work itself continues to grow. Can my dearly beloved lord and friend tell what my mood is? Well then: “Kundry” has been baptized, and “Parsifal” gazes upon the smiling meadow in gentle rapture: this meadow has already begun to blossom before me; any day now I shall delight in its delicate perfume; and that is why I am so happy today to recall my good fortune and blessings, and to feel the intimate bond that joins me to you, my glorious friend!
Away with all of life’s “whims”! - There is a happiness that knows no remorse! - Ah! Please, please glance at the first volume of my Collected Writings: “A Happy Evening!” - That was a youthful premonition indeed! It dawns upon me again with the clearest of consciousness whenever I recall the happiness that has been granted me! - You know what I mean: it rests within your great deep soul! It calls down blessings and salvation on the bond that unites us! - Blessings and salvation on him who was sent by God to make me supremely happy - on my exalted and solitary friend!
In love and loyalty unto death
Uniquely and eternally yours,
Richard Wagner
Source: Selected Letters of Richard Wagner, trans. and ed. Stewart Spencer and Barry Millington (W. W. Norton & Company, 1988), No. 469