I write to you again to-day, so as not to forget something important.
Already in Dresden I tried my hardest to buy a book, which, however, was long out of print. I found it at last at the royal library. It is a thin little volume, small octavo, or even duodecimo, and is called Die Wölsungasaga, translated from the old Norse by H. von der Hagen. It forms part, I believe, of the old northern Ritterromane, which Hagen — if I mistake not — published in Breslau between 1812 and 1816. I now want to look through this book again. There is no means of getting it here. There is therefore no help for it, best friend; you will have to be good enough to borrow this book from the royal library for yourself, and then send it to me here for a short time. You might, perhaps, pack it up with something (Figaro?), and I will then send it you back at latest in a fortnight with your Rausse books. Of course, everything through the post. My music, when you have done looking through it, could very well be sent by carrier. I think you have nothing to risk with the book; for in the worst case, should it be lost, or should there be a question of breach of trust, you would only have to make good this loss to the library, i.e., pay the price of the book. But it won't come to that.
For the moment I can only tell you a little about the intended completion of the great dramatic poem which I have now in hand. Just reflect that before I wrote the poem Siegfried's Death, I sketched out the whole myth in all its gigantic sequence; and that poem was the attempt — which, with regard to our theatre, appeared possible to me — to give one chief catastrophe of the myth, together with an indication of that sequence. Now, when I set to work to write out the music in full, still keeping our modern theatre firmly in mind, I felt how incomplete the proposed undertaking would be; the vast train of events, which first gives to the characters their immense and striking significance, would be presented to the mind merely by means of epic narrative. So, to make Siegfried's Death possible, I wrote Young Siegfried; but the more the whole took shape, the more did I perceive, while developing the scenes and music of Young Siegfried, that I had only increased the necessity for a clearer presentation of the whole story to the senses. I now see that, in order to become intelligible on the stage, I must work out the whole myth in plastic style. It was not this consideration alone which impelled me to my new plan, but especially the overpowering impressiveness of the subject-matter which I thus acquire for presentation, and which supplies me with a wealth of material for artistic fashioning which it would be a sin to leave unused. Think of the contents of the narrative of Brünnhilde in the last scene of Young Siegfried — the fate of Siegmund and Sieglind; the struggle of Wodan with his desire and with custom (Fricka); the noble defiance of the Walküre; the tragic anger of Wodan in punishing this defiance. Think of this from my point of view, with the extraordinary wealth of situations brought together in one coherent drama, and you have a tragedy of most moving effect; one which clearly presents to the senses all that my public needs to have taken in, in order easily to understand in their widest meaning Young Siegfried and the Death. These three dramas will be preceded by a grand introductory play, which will be produced by itself on a special opening festival day. It begins with Alberich, who pursues the three water-witches of the Rhine with his lust for love, is rejected with merry fooling by one after the other, and, mad with rage, at last steals the Rhine gold from them. This gold in itself is only a shining ornament in the depth of the waves (Siegfried's Death, Act III, Sc. 1), but it possesses another power, which only he who renounces love can succeed in drawing from it. (Here you have the plastic motive up to Siegfried's death. Think of all its pregnant consequences.) The capture of Alberich; the dividing of the gold between the two giant brothers; the speedy fulfilment of Alberich's curse on these two, the one of whom immediately slays the other — all this is the theme of this introductory play. But I have already chattered too much, and even that is too little to give you a clear idea of the vast wealth of the subject-matter. I should much like to have that Wölsungasaga once more; not to take it as a model — you will soon find out what relation my poem holds to this saga — but to recall exactly to my memory everything which I had once conceived of the individual details.
But one other thing determined me to develop this plan, viz., the impossibility which I felt of producing Young Siegfried in anything like a suitable manner either at Weimar or anywhere else. I cannot and will not endure any more the martyrdom of things done by halves. With this my new conception I withdraw entirely from all connection with our theatre and public of to-day; I break decisively and for ever with the formal present. Do you now ask me what I propose to do with my scheme? First of all, to carry it out, so far as my poetical and musical powers will allow. This will occupy me at least three full years. And so I place my future quite in the R.'s hands; God grant that they may remain unfalteringly true to me!
I can only think of a performance under quite other conditions. I shall erect a theatre on the banks of the Rhine, and issue invitations to a great dramatic festival. After a year's preparation, I shall produce my complete work in a series of four days.
However extravagant this plan may be, it is nevertheless the only one to which I can devote my life and labours. If I live to see it accomplished, I have lived gloriously; if not, I die for something grand. Only this can still give me any pleasure. Farewell!
Your
R. W.
Still no news to-day from A. Would you be kind enough to write to A., and also to Härtels? They might let me know how matters stand! I almost believe they do not get my letters!
Source: Richard Wagner's Letters to His Dresden Friends, Theodor Uhlig, Wilhelm Fischer, and Ferdinand Heine, trans. J. S. Shedlock (Scribner & Welford, 1890), No. 43