Most Honoured Sir!
It is now nearly two years since I introduced myself to your notice from Königsberg. Since then I have never discharged my debt of thanks to you for having taken up a man quite unknown to you in an extraordinarily friendly manner, for having acceded to my request that you would place my composition [Carnival song from Liebesverbot] in your Europa and for having vouchsafed very particular attention to my interests. May I now, by way of thanks, intrude upon you with yet greater confidence? [...] Well, then, I wrote to you about an opera which I had offered Scribe with suggested surrender of author's rights in the libretto. The case was like this. I made up my mind once for all to languish fifteen years in total obscurity rather than try my fortunes as an operatic composer on the pettifogging German stage (to which I am nevertheless bound at present for a livelihood) and having determined to work tirelessly during that period to force a way for myself into the greater world, I wrought out one subject (among others) in some detail for a big five-act opera, especially designed for Paris. I took my subject from König's magnificent romance Die hohe Braut. My sketch, which was pretty thoroughly worked out apart from the necessary versification, I sent to Scribe in a passable French translation with the suggestion that if the subject pleased him he should put himself to the slight trouble of versifying it or of dealing with it in any way he liked, whereupon I would compose the opera and he might get it produced in Paris under his direction and in his name as author, in which case I should hold at his disposal as much as he liked to claim of any profits accruing from the whole undertaking—the least, after all, that an unknown German composer could offer. I handed over my sketch and the covering letter to my brother-in-law Friedrich Brockhaus to be forwarded to Paris. After waiting six months in vain for an answer, I wrote again to Scribe, taking upon myself part of the blame for his having ignored my letter, and saying I could well believe he would be in doubt how to reply since he knew nothing of me nor of my capacity as a composer, and meeting this difficulty by sending him the score of my big operatic comedy already completed, Das Liebesverbot oder die Novize von Palermo, after Shakespeare's Measure for Measure. I asked him to get an opinion on the score from Auber or Meyerbeer so that he might judge whether I were capable of composing an opera for Paris. In case the opera was approved I offered him this one at once, suggesting that he should get someone or other to do a free French translation of the libretto which he could then work up to his liking into an operatic plot of the Scribe type suitable for offering to the Opéra Comique. Thereupon, in June 1837, I received an answer from Scribe which cleared him of earlier negligence, for he had not received my first letter and sketch forwarded through Brockhaus; did not now know how he stood in regard to me; thanked me for the score I had sent; asked for a more precise explanation of my wants and finally promised gladly to do what lay in his power in the matter. That was good hearing and I hastened to write to him from Dresden where I was living at the time, and to send him an earlier copy of the rough sketch for a grand opera in five acts after König's Hohe Braut, which had got lost. I posted the letter—unfranked for safety—and then—silence!
Since then, despite my intense longing for the South, my stupid fate has perpetually driven me northwards. I followed Holtei as kapellmeister to his theatre at Riga. All kinds of troubles put my French expedition out of mind for a long time, and I received no further answer from Scribe. Still, my hopes and plans were not to be killed altogether and now here in Siberia my longing to make an appearance in France has reawakened. I must make another bid for it and—don't be afraid!—I am going to open my attack upon you. Scribe and Paris are too far away from me now, and I need a middleman accustomed to that world and able to deal with the business direct. But what makes me plague you of all people, for whom the world is all too full of Richard Wagners? Listen then! More than by the brilliant standing which you hold in present-day German journalism, I am attracted by the kindliness which you frequently show in assisting the deserving yet unfortunate efforts of others. You seem to have made it a duty to spend your rich resources in encouraging and bringing to light unrecognised talents. Moreover, without being yourself in our position, you sympathised so completely with us unfortunate German operatic composers that one's heart warms to you and one is inclined to believe you must sometime or other have secretly composed an opera and seen it moulder unnoticed. That is one of my reasons; but I have another, which is that I am given to understand that Schlesier is still with you and is probably a friend of yours. Now Schlesier is my school friend, and oh, do tell him from me that if he were in Timbuctoo I should certainly write to him from Novaya Zemlya. He can tell you how, when we were at the Kreuzschule, we two swore death to Creuzer's theory of symbolism, emulating the noble Hofrat Böttiger; how I began to write philological epics and tragedies; how later in Leipzig we took up Schelling's transcendental idealism, on occasion of which I still owe him 82 groats, how we ate ice-cream one Sunday with Laube when I brought him news of his sentence of banishment. O Lord, tell him to think of Ortlepp and Lauchstädt and then tell you whether I'm not worth anybody's interest on that account alone, setting aside all question of an operatic project which will undoubtedly confer a lot of immortality upon all who have anything to do with it! Seriously, though, I hope Schlesier will warm your heart towards me, or rather to my interests, and may God bless him for it in wife and child! Now, how would it be, my dear Sir, if you were to constitute yourself my complete protector and in that capacity were to have a cut at the famous Scribe? By the way, I want an early explanation from that man. Did he, or did he not, receive a letter from me from Dresden, dated 1837? If he did not get it, this proposition must of course be put before him again and in this particular, as indeed in general, I take the liberty of explaining the affair to you and of enclosing to that end a copy of the sketch-plan I have spoken of for a grand opera after König's romance, so that you can go into it at your pleasure. If Scribe did get the manuscript, why did he not say something or other about it? In this case I leave entirely to you the means of bringing him to a favourable decision.
If neither you nor he like the subject—my God, I'm ready enough with another! I am at present working upon a big five-act opera, Rienzi, which I have completed and of which I have now composed the first act. Rienzi is, no doubt, a far more impressive thing than the other. I have it in German and intend to try whether it is possible to get it produced at the Berlin Grand Opera within the next fifty years or so, if I am spared so long. Scribe may like it perhaps and Rienzi can sing in French at any moment. It might be a means of spurring on the Berliners to acceptance if one could say the Parisian stage was ready to take it up, but that they were to have the first refusal. To present an opera of this kind fitly to the world, some really important stage, such as that of Berlin or Paris, is absolutely necessary. I shall lack neither matter nor perseverance, for I feel quite clear within myself that I should by now have produced God alone knows how much work if I could only have found an open door. Heaven is my witness that this will turn out to be no vain boast, but so much is certain, if I am not emancipated within fifteen years, I shall be arrogant enough to write operas for Frankfort-on-Oder or Tilsit!
Now, my dear Sir, just attempt with me this emancipation of an operatic composer; make use of your connections with Meyerbeer and anyone else whom you think might be useful for our project and show what a German may do for a German whom he doesn't even know. [...] In the Pantheon which the Germans will doubtless shortly build for the men who have done best service, you will then naturally obtain an extra special super-monument and God, amazed to see a German man of letters helping a poor German composer to Parisian honours, will be put to it to decide what blessing to bestow on him. But apart from these celestial rewards, it is an understood thing that you have only to claim what share you please of any profits arising from a fortunate reception of the piece. However that may be, it is clear that I must here and now ask pardon for my lengthy importunities, and I think I cannot express my repentance better than by taking leave of you as quickly as possible. Please give my kindest regards to Schlesier and jog his memories of me. I last received news of him from the prison at Bingen and only learned of his happy release by seeing his literary criticisms in your Europa.
Oh, Gustav, Gustav,—but I won't give way to sentiment, I rather trust myself with good courage to you, your kindness and undeserved support. Be successful and you will indeed have done a great service to all us poor composers!
P.S. I found the accompanying poem [Der Tannenbaum, a ballad by Scheuerlin] in the Musenalmanach. Little as I like the fir-tree's melancholy at the moment, one can sometimes scarcely avoid it in Livonia. I have composed the song in the Livonian mode and send it you with the request that you might put it in Europa. Only do not judge from this piece of my method of composing opera, which is, I thank God, less Livonian. If you like, I will from time to time send you an article for Europa from Riga, as long as the wrath of God and Scribe's indifference keep me here in banishment. I can also give you the pleasure of knowing that a free copy of Europa would delight me greatly. [...]
Source: Letters of Richard Wagner, Vol. 1, selected and ed. Wilhelm Altmann, trans. M. M. Bozman (J. M. Dent & Sons, 1927), No. 43