Do you know that the revival of Tannhäuser at Dresden has had quite an uncomfortable effect on me? From all my information, I am convinced that even now Tannhäuser has won no right and genuine success in Dresden. Do you remember that of old Tannhäuser only drew a full house when it had not been given for some time, whereas the theatre was always but thinly filled when it was repeated at short intervals? I then saw from this that the opera was like an extraordinary riddle to the public, to the solution of which they felt impelled by curiosity; but that it always caused a certain unpleasant effect which scared them away when, after renewed attempts, it remained unsolved. The chief blame for this, I maintain, lies in the defects of the performance, already censured by me: the real Tannhäuser is not made manifest at all, no sympathy is aroused for it. But if they have a presentiment of the significance of "Tannhäuser," our good Dresden folk find it, of necessity, hazardous to have anything to do with it. All this rose up again before me when I learnt from you that the second performance was by no means over-crowded. But now I read (by chance) in a notice (certainly unintelligent and unfavourable) in the Hamburg theatrical paper, that the unprecedented interest of the public in the first performance proceeded from the expectation that some scandal might take place: at least this may explain why the succeeding performances were by no means so well attended. I stick to my opinion: I am right! This Dresden, had I remained in it, would have become the grave of my art! What, on the other hand, shall I say about Weimar, Schwerin, Breslau, and Wiesbaden? Everywhere the first performance at once hit home, which has certainly not happened in Dresden. Seydelmann wrote to me lately that, in spite of many interruptions through illness, they had, up to the previous Sunday, given Tannhäuser eleven times, and always to full houses and with like applause. This much is certain: I have a presentiment that Dresden will now do harm to my Lohengrin, if it comes out there: I shall therefore try all means to prevent it, as soon as I hear anything for certain.
In general, I begin to be afraid of performances in chief towns. I shall never find such goodwill there as in the smaller towns, especially not among self-opera-composing Capellmeisters. Do you really know what happened with the Tannhäuser Overture in Munich? The applause was "very divided." But I must tell you a joke from there. I had sent the Programme to Lachner, and had received no answer: after I had read about the performance, I reminded him of it. Then I got for answer that they had not ventured to make known the Programme, but that they had added the following notice to the concert-programme: "Holy, serene frame of mind! — Night draws on — The passions are aroused — The spirit fights against them — Daybreak — Final victory over matter — Prayer — Song of triumph"; consequently they now say I can rest assured that my composition was completely "understood." (Is that not delicious?)
Liszt's remark about the "Faust Overture" was as follows: he missed a second theme, which should more plastically represent "Gretchen," and therefore wished to see either such an one added, or the second theme of the overture modified. This was a thoroughly refined and correct expression of feeling from him, to whom I had submitted the composition as an "Overture to the first part of Goethe's Faust." So I was obliged to answer him that he had beautifully caught me in a lie, when (without thought) I tried to make myself or him believe that I had written such an overture. But he would quickly understand me if I were to entitle the composition "Faust in Solitude." In fact, with this tone-poem I only had in my mind the first movement of a Faust Symphony: here Faust is the subject, and woman hovers before him only as an indefinite, shapeless object of his yearning; as such, intangible and unattainable. Hence his despair, his curse on all the torturing semblance of the beautiful, his headlong plunge into the mad smart of sorcery. The manifestation of the woman was only to take place in the second part; this would have Gretchen for its subject, just as the first part, Faust. Already I had theme and mood for it: then I gave the whole up, and, true to my nature, set to work at the Flying Dutchman, with which I escaped from all the mist of instrumental music into the clearness of the drama. However, that composition is still not uninteresting to me; only, if one day I should publish it, it would have to be under the title: "Faust in Solitude," a tone-poem. (Curiously enough, I had already resolved upon this "tone-poem" when you made so merry over that name — with which, however, I was forced to make shift for this occasion.)
November 27th, '52.
December 6th.
You see by the accompanying how I waited every day for a letter from you: at last I was in dreadful torment, for naturally I felt obliged to account for everything by an aggravation of your illness. My joy was indescribable on receiving to-day a letter in your handwriting; but how sad the contents have made me! Poor friend, you are suffering so much, and I cannot help you at all, nor relieve you in any way! It was certainly a great strain for you even to write to me: have you no one near you who would give me more frequent news of your state? I have already begged Frau R. to do so. I cannot bear that you should in any way be disturbed now about my affairs, and I therefore request you to hand over the whole theatre-score-business to old Fischer. Yet I will not write to him until I know from you that you are willing to give up the matter for the present: but if you feel that it is necessary for you to be rid of these cares, only send by hand the Tannhäuser and the Dutchman to Fischer, and tell him why I (and you) ask him.
For the moment I know nothing else that I could consider fitting to write, however great my inclination to chatter to you. My inmost sympathy with your suffering state makes everything beside appear by far too unessential. Ah, were I only near you, to see, to help, or at least to be able to cheer you! You are certainly in a terribly critical state, which you can only make bearable by the best of spirits and complete tranquillity of mind.
I must keep from all inquiries as to the principal seat of your malady, and yet I would so like to have a clear idea about it. Could you not prevail upon your physician to give me a friendly word of information? Ah God! the more I write to you the more I feel how necessary it is above all to learn something further from you first! Now, I can only say to you: Keep firm, have a good courage, and as soon as you are well again take care not to exert yourself so much, even by running, as you did last summer: I also must give up everything forced! Hold on till next summer: if I once get you again here we will put you all right again. Hearty greetings to wife and children, and especially to our Siegfried! Courage! Courage! this is the deep, sympathetic cry of
Your friend,
Richard.
The Flying Dutchman is to be sent to Breslau — that is, if they now ask for it again — for it has my sanction.
Source: Richard Wagner's Letters to His Dresden Friends, Theodor Uhlig, Wilhelm Fischer, and Ferdinand Heine, trans. J. S. Shedlock (Scribner & Welford, 1890), No. 90