Chère Épouse,
Comment vous portez-vous? Avez-vous bien dormi? Que fait votre cœur? Que fait Mr Fipps? et Jacquot? Ja so! I must speak German now! I should have written you the day before yesterday, dear Mutz, had I really found time for it. In the first place I've a lot of business correspondence still, and in the second my engagements here are ever on the increase. Even to-day I don't propose to write you much, though, to save up for us both, in reality this time, the pleasure of having quite a deal to tell by mouth; which one always spoils through too great circumstantiality by letter, leaving one strictly nothing more to say when one gets home. Merely the following general outline, then, to give you some notion of the character of my present stay.
Neither could it have been the object of my journey to bring anything to a definite conclusion, nor would it have been possible during so brief a stay. Before next winter, too, there can be no idea of a production of any of my operas here, as the season is too far advanced already. For my part I can make overtures in no direction, but must wait for folk to come to me. Well, the director of the Théâtre Lyrique has come so far to me already, that — with 1000 bows and scrapings — he has expressed his wish and hope to acquire an opera from me shortly, and to visit me at Zurich with that aim. — Regarding the Grand Opera, it is everyone's opinion that the management must and will make offers to me soon. I could hardly have believed how much they're occupied with me in Paris; certain proof of which I have received, as you shall hear. But my greatest good fortune is the acquaintance and friendship of Ollivier, about whom I shall have much to narrate to you. He entirely sides with Liszt, and has broken with the d'Agoult; he is a most delightful man, and eminent in many respects. For the present only this much: he has taken to me in a way that makes me quite secure. Here is an instance, which will shew you at the same time how the eyes of people here are turned on me. The evening before last, on my going to dine at Ollivier's, he informs me he has seen a poster of the Concerts de Paris the same day, on which the first Paris performance (erroneous!) of the overture to Tannhäuser was announced for Friday in enormous letters. As, if I mean to guarantee my copyright for performances also, I must make even a concert execution of the overture depend on my own consent (since it might otherwise be regarded as a waiving of my right, and lead to serious consequences later), here I have to take an immediate step. So Ollivier at once dictated me a letter to the director of those concerts, declaring that I would not frustrate the proposed performance of my overture this time, yet should only permit it on the express condition of the maintenance of my rights, of which such permission must involve no abandonment; at the same time, moreover, that a rehearsal of my overture must be instituted in my presence, to convince me that its execution will correspond to my wishes. — Then we drove off to an avoué, a friend of Ollivier's, whom the latter commissioned to deliver this letter to the director in due legal form next morning. And to-day I have received the politest invitation to give myself the trouble of attending a special rehearsal of my overture at 1 o'clock. — Look you, that's how one must act here; Ollivier knows it, and is very keen on it. How good it is, once more, that I was in Paris myself at the moment! All this, for example, would have never been heeded, and my rights have thus been viewed as half abandoned in advance and difficult to re-establish. Moreover, as people are so impatient for my compositions now, an inferior performance of precisely this overture would have been most injurious to me; whereas I now shall have it in my power to bring about the best result. These are beginnings, but of decisive weight. After the performance you shall learn the result. General conclusion: — fair prospect of seeing two operas of mine — Tannh. (at the Grand Opera) and Rienzi — produced next winter at full tantièmes. And as regards the latter point — the receipts — it's something quite stupendous! —
For the rest, I have made very agreeable acquaintances, who shew me Paris from a side I never knew before. Last Sunday — through Ollivier — I was at a real Conservatoire concert for the first time in my life; seated next me Mad. Hérold, widow of the composer of Zampa, such a pleasant, charming, genial and distinguished woman, that I have fallen quite in love with her, notwithstanding her grey hair and fifty years. We spent the evening at her house, among her children and acquaintances. Last autumn Mad. Hérold was in Vienna with her daughter and son-in-law, on their honeymoon, heard my Tannhäuser there (with a guest named Altkas in the title-role), and was just as enraptured with the freshness and fire of the performance, as she was revolted by the flabbiness and chill of the Berlin performance she heard thereafter. This really was news to me; I had my doubts, but her descriptions and her serious enthusiasm convinced me it must be as she had said. So I wrote next day to Hoffmann's Kapellmeister, told him what I had heard, and thanked him. — I made other notable acquaintances there, on whom by mouth.
Yesterday I also drove to Madame Erard, who is living at Passy in a princely château. She and Madame Spontini (her sister-in-law) were delighted with my visit, and — to cut the story short — my first Paris receipt this time consists in the present Mad. Erard is making me of a grand piano, which will shortly reach the Asyl on the Gabler. In return I have begged her to accept the dedication of my first opera that appears in Paris; what do you say to it? Perhaps — with your permission — I shall have to bring a sacrifice to Mad. Erard; she very much wished me to spend an evening there, and (as we shall be at the Hérolds' again on Sunday evening, with Blandine — Ollivier's wife — who only returns from Berlin this evening: an engagement I couldn't well refuse Ollivier) she has appointed Tuesday next week. I haven't accepted yet, but after her costly present (it is catalogued at 5000 fr.) I think I ought to shew her that attention; in which case I should have to abandon the visit to Epernay. For the rest, my departure hinges on the expected arrival of the Dresden pianoforte-scores of my operas, with which those odious people still are lagging. In any case, however, I irrevocably fix next Wednesday (i.e. a week from to-day) as the day of my departure; therefore, as I mustn't arrive on a Friday, expect me midday Saturday, and by all means invite our oyster-party for that evening. Then I shall either spend a day at Epernay after all, or remain another day at Strassburg, where I have half promised to call on the conductor, who probably would like to make use of my presence for his benefit concert. In any case I shouldn't care to knock myself entirely up by travelling day and night, but to reach home nice and fresh; whither I indeed am strongly drawn — particularly for reason of my extremely pressing work.
My health really had somewhat run down, the long course of un-nutritious diet I needed has been a great drain on me in the end; I am fearfully thin, and feel rather weak. Therefore I'm going in for more nourishing food now, which on the other hand always stirs up my blood troubles again; so that poor I am constantly between two evils. I am bearing up, however, and strength is returning already; so have no anxiety. The surprising weakness of my constitution is revealed to me now; never before have my wants been so small. Well, we'll see how that turns out at Wagners'. —
For the reason given above I omit any further account of my experiences here, merely telling you that I shall call on Rossini (if only for his physiognomy's sake), that Berlioz read his operatic subject, Les Troyens, to me yesterday, etc., and I'll just pass on to our immediate affairs. How the devil did such a confounded address get into your head, as that under which you imagine I sent my notes to England? Anderson — Sydenhampalast! Stuff and nonsense! the address was:
"To Her most gracious Majesty The Queen, To the care of Buckingham Pallace, the Hr Cl Phipps, London."
Let there be no mistake about it — and cause no fresh confusion.
How can Spyri be so idiotic as to say that Tannhäuser has been accepted at the Grand Opera? That's going the round of all the German papers now, looks like brag, and will draw down on me all kinds of fooleries.
Your wonder at my sending you some money really pains me. My God, for whom do you persist in taking me? I don't deny that at times, and under circumstances, I am inclined to extravagance; but you never have found me indifferent to the dilemmas thence arising for yourself; on the contrary, my one sole care then is to beat up money to remove your difficulty, which I now am attempting again in every quarter. I have no answer from Frankfort and Breslau as yet (good sign!); from Hanover, where they would like to see Rienzi at Dresden first (people are a little distrustful of my earlier operas), they also beg me to let them defer it awhile, as Armide was to be given next: at any rate, then, it will be coming off shortly. As soon as Rienzi has made its due sensation at Dresden and Weimar, I hope to be able to put this opera's vending in commission, against the deposit of an advance of 1000 thaler; toward that, too, I've already taken steps. From Härtels I expect to be able to draw 2000 fr. the end of February. So — just a little patience! Meanwhile Vienna will help, which must have put its tribute on the road by now. Next month, too, probably something more from Weimar. For the present, then, please lay out the 500 fr., and pay off our most pressing debts with it; I shall find some other means for Müller, I promise you. — There now — you have a proper letter. Possibly I shall not arrive at writing you much again; I've a number of business and other letters still ahead, whilst the nearer I approach to my return, the less need I have of written communications. But you, please write me regularly; I'm pretty sure to remain here till Wednesday, so you can send me yet another letter on Monday. I have changed my room, as it was far too cold and had no sun at all — I haven't got rid of my cold yet — so no. 365 (exactly the days of the year).
Farewell, good, charmante old girl! Salute the animals, and remain fond of
Thy feeble old Richard.
Afternoon. They fetched me to the rehearsal before I could close this letter. Lord, what a good father I am! This overture is 14 years of age now, and yet I couldn't let it run alone. The band might have been better, and the conductor, who had no full score, was obliged to leave many important points obscure: what luck that I was there! I couldn't stand it at last, and placed myself at the desk for two hours' drudgery. The orchestra gave me a thundering ovation — but couldn't satisfy me much. I was so knocked up by this unexpected fatigue, that — all in a heat — I had a closed carriage sent for quick, to take me home. Consequently I have left the conductor to finish his affair alone; let us hope the orchestra and he have made a note of everything. For that matter, don't attach too much weight to this performance; these concerts aren't of much account. As I was unable as yet to prevent the performance, at least it was worth while making it as good as possible; and that I've done. — Now farewell. I have ordered a veal-cutlet and bowl of Julienne; then I must be off to Ollivier's again; but I shall go to bed early this evening. Wishing you a really good night!
Source: Richard to Minna Wagner: Letters to His First Wife, trans. William Ashton Ellis, Vol. 1 (H. Grevel & Co., 1909), No. 118