Dearest Brother,
I break in upon a morning, at this time most precious to me in my literary work, in order to write to you.
In the first place, Kolatschek begs you, since you could not get the article in question ready for the second October number, at least to finish it in time for the first November number. For this purpose you must, in any case, send it to Stuttgart by the 8th of November. If by any chance this is impossible, you are requested to let Kolatschek know, so that he may have time to write to Stuttgart and make other arrangements.
Liszt will send me shortly a copy of his big article on Lohengrin for the Journal des Débats, so that a good translation of it may be made under my supervision, and this he will have printed in several numbers of the Augsburg Allgemeine Zeitung, as compensation for the Dingelstedt nonsense. This restless striving of Liszt to kindle with devilish power the fire of my fame touches me deeply. The Weimar people think by their cunning care to be able to open up a path for me to the great public: three performances of Lohengrin have taken place, and in consequence of the success the intendant there joyfully expresses to me his conviction that quite the same popularity is assured to this opera in Weimar as Tannhäuser has won. They therefore all believe that only small concessions on my part and zealous propagation on theirs are necessary soon to place the whole German opera-public at my disposal. I presume that I appear to them stark mad, if in return for such announcements I obstinately assure them that they are in error about something which appears to me quite impossible.
I must take this opportunity of telling you that Lüttichau has demanded back from Weimar the score of Lohengrin, which he pretends he has only lent to them, but certainly did not sell. I am racking my brain to know what that means; perhaps you will be able to explain the matter to me.
Last week I could not get hold of the Neue Zeitschrift für Musik, so do not know the replies about which you write. In any case I have no inclination to go in for much scribbling about the matter; on the contrary, I have a damned short answer all ready — in fact, out of the New Testament, which I know well by heart.
Also I have not yet seen the continuation of your Lohengrin article.
I cannot remember at all what I may have once told you about Otto's continuing to compose. With regard to Hiller's Konradin I recall the following circumstance. After I had offered thoroughly well-grounded criticisms to Hiller with regard to the choice of poem in his Traum in der Christnacht, and after he had confessed that these criticisms were just, he begged me to help him with my advice in the choice of a new subject. When I learnt later on that he was pondering over Konradin with Reinecke, I expressed in a general way to him my doubts as to this subject, but remarked that in any case very much would depend upon the manner in which it was conceived and developed as a poem; wherefore I offered to give further opinion as soon as he confided the sketch to me. I remained a long time without learning anything, until at last I heard that the verses were written, and that Hiller was at work setting them to music. I presumed that I was mistrusted, and mixed no more in the matter, until finally Hiller, of his own accord, candidly confessed that he feared the poem would not please me, and that I might probably raise such solid objections as to take away from him all inclination to compose if he came to know them; he therefore held it better to remain in conscious error about his project, so that, at any rate, he might succeed in writing an opera, which might be deferred Heaven knows how long were he to wait for a poem which appeared to him perfectly worth setting to music. That is the Hiller story.
I send you herewith an explanation of mine out of the papers here, which will make clear to you my position with regard to the theatre; perhaps you can make some use of it. Strange to say, the interest I have taken in the opera here has in any case resulted in something quite different from that which I first intended. You know X. wished to become musical director; he paid no heed to my remonstrances, and I wrote to the manager of the theatre. He at once offered me two hundred francs a month if I would undertake the direction of the music myself, with liberty to call in the assistance of X. at my pleasure. I declined the offer. I regarded the whole theatre business merely as a scratch affair, enabling X. to learn how to conduct. At the first rehearsal I was struck with the singers; a tenor, in my opinion, next to Tichatschek, the best in all Germany, and of whom I know with certainty that he would be receiving very high terms from the great theatres, if their stupid managers had sought him out, instead of waiting, as they are known to do, until the pigeons fall ready roasted into their jaws. He lacks the mellowness of Tichatschek's voice, but makes up for this by a noble manly presence, and a pleasant, safe manner on the stage. In his style of singing, which is at the same time energetic, brilliant, and agreeable, I have only to regret the drawbacks which of necessity have become common amongst us through the singing of the translated foreign operas.
In addition to this tenor I found a very good, highly gifted lady vocalist, with a full sounding voice of extended compass, and with sound style; and, besides these two, a baritone with a fine voice, energetic acting, and most characteristic, noble facial expression. Everything else quite tolerable at a pinch; the orchestra recently engaged very good and in tune, only unduly weak in the matter of strings. In short, I could not leave it to X.'s nervousness to introduce these artists to the public: I conducted myself, and again did so at a second performance. By this the affairs of the theatre took quite a different turn. The theatre having formerly been so bad, persons of rank had quite given up the habit of attending, so that, for the present, they cannot be reckoned on. On the other hand, my recommendation has drawn to the theatre a section of the public which everywhere scarcely gives any heed now to the theatre, and they are the only ones who are of moment to persons like ourselves nowadays, namely, the really cultivated, not the plutocracy. It has delighted me, with slender outward means, to bring about all results solely by the delicate and the drastic effect of genuine representation, and that was naturally something quite new. To be brief, let me tell you that quite imperceptibly the show has become an institution in which my public seeks nothing but real art-enjoyment, and I find myself in the droll dilemma how to get quite clear of the matter and yet respond to the good feeling aroused. I am uncommonly loath to withdraw from the direction, as unfortunately the attention of the public is too much occupied with my action in the matter; and, under existing circumstances, I cannot leave the performance to the director appointed by myself, until I can assure myself, the artists, and the public that he has grown fully equal to his task.
But I must withdraw, because with the best will in the world I do not see how a repertoire can be kept up which should prevent that being pulled down on the one side which I am building up on the other. Up to now I have chosen only operas which I know could be properly performed, not by luxurious means — which are wanting here — but only by that which is to hand; such as Freischütz and La Dame blanche. Then there remain three Mozart operas, perhaps Euryanthe, and the few operas of the French school up to Boieldieu, i.e., by Méhul, Cherubini, etc. The principal misfortune of our theatre is just this, that year after year performances are continually being given; so that not the cause itself, but custom is thought of, and the institution which can only be maintained in this manner. If the public — which I certainly hope — encourage the theatre, I shall always take a leading interest in it.
I say nothing here about all the aesthetic scruples excited in you and in others by my declarations and works on art, as in my Wesen der Oper — which I hope to be able to send you in a month's time — I intend to discuss everything thoroughly and exhaustively. I shall even be compelled to pass judgment on my former operas. The book is becoming somewhat bulky. I cannot tell you more about it to-day.
But let me say something about your water-cure! First of all, I acknowledge that you are wise in your diet, and that I am indescribably glad that it suits your constitution so well: it is most certain that only radical water-cure can help us out of the most unnatural state of bodily health. Want of sound nourishment on the one hand, excess of luxurious enjoyment on the other hand, but especially a mode of living quite contrary to nature, have brought us into a degenerate condition which can only be got rid of by entire renovation of our deformed organism. Superfluity and privation: these are the two destroying enemies of our present humanity. Give yourself the trouble first of all thoroughly to seek out what we have to understand by superfluity, and you will certainly find that everything is superfluous which the walls of a town surround — and truly, not only that which swallows up the superfluity, but also that which produces it. All we who live in a town are condemned to the most cheerless suicide. How is it then with the inhabitants of our villages? Among them is not all striving from deprivation to superfluity? Excessive work corrupts men here just as well as in towns, and to such a degree that they cherish the same longing for superfluity, which makes idle rest — the only contrast to excessive work which they are capable of comprehending — seem to them worthy to be desired. Only a universal activity is a pleasure thoroughly satisfying in and for itself; but by the laws relating to property we are all bound to a special activity, to an activity which only discharges itself in the direction of one craft, absorbing one of our powers only, and this one to so high a degree that our total capacity is consumed in it; and so in this one daily occupation we perceive our physical ruin, our moral annihilation, and treat as our enemy the distasteful, loathsome, bitter work, which we end by confusing with activity in general, and therefore only venture to wish for unconditional idle rest in exchange.
In the country this work is all the more repulsive, since, being concerned purely and exclusively with cattle and filth, it turns men into filthy cattle!
Whithersoever we look in the civilized world we recognize the degeneration of man from the causes here assigned. With good reason, however, we can only despair of this world, if we regard these causes as necessarily eternal.
Now, as we need a water-cure in order to make our bodies sound, so do we need another cure to heal, i.e., to annihilate the conditions surrounding our disease. Do we then wish to return to a state of nature? do we wish to be able, like human animals, to attain to the age of two hundred years? God forbid! Man is a social, all-powerful being only through culture. Let us not forget that culture alone can enable us so to enjoy as man in his highest fulness can enjoy. But true enjoyment consists in compressing what is generally worthy of enjoyment into something concise and particular, so that, in a moment, we can receive what time and the elements offer to us in widely ramified connection. Who, in the moment of enjoyment, thinks of the duration of this enjoyment? As soon as we think about duration it is all over with happiness. If we fill our lives with true contents, if we rejoice in our activity, whether it be the activity of giving or of receiving enjoyment, we shall never have to fear an end of this activity, but it will itself again become an action. Whether we live one hundred or only thirty years, what does it matter, if we only live enjoying? Life in itself is only abstract; but active enjoyment is something. Believe me, through water we become healthy; but we are first really healthy when we are also able to drink wine in moderation!
My companions are coming: I must now close! Probably you have enough for this time! Farewell, and do not play antics with your light, lest you set fire to your bed!
Farewell; heartiest greetings from your
R. W.
Source: Richard Wagner's Letters to His Dresden Friends, Theodor Uhlig, Wilhelm Fischer, and Ferdinand Heine, trans. J. S. Shedlock (Scribner & Welford, 1890), No. 18