Dearest friend,
In addition to my last hurried lines, I write to you today a little more comprehensively. First of all, I must thank you for the news of the continued activity which you employ in the propaganda of my works. Expressions of praise on that account I omit once for all, for you are far above praise. Of the performance of the Faust overture I had heard nothing beyond your own brief notice. I cannot be angry with this composition, although many detached things in it would not now flow from my pen; especially the somewhat too plentiful brass is no longer to my mind. If I knew that the Härtels would pay me a nice sum for it, I should be almost inclined to publish the full score, together with a pianoforte arrangement, which H. would have to make; but I should like to be warmly persuaded to this, for on my own account I do not care to propose such things. Am I really going to figure at the next Musical Festival? People say that I am a famous "made" man; if that is true, who is the maker? Do not forget to add to the programme the explanation of the Tannhäuser overture which I wrote last winter for the Zurich performance, and which I consider indispensable, because it gives briefly a condensed picture of the poetic subject, which is conceived in the overture quite differently from what it is in the opera itself. (In that sense you are quite right in saying that this overture is altogether a work by itself.) A copy of my explanation you probably possess; if not, Uhlig has plenty.
I really cannot understand why our numberless male choir festivals, etc., have never yet produced the Liebesmahl der Apostel. But so many things are now to me inconceivable and yet quite conceivable. In a large room, and with a strong chorus, you may leave the instrumentation as it is; but I call your attention to the fact that at Dresden I was compelled, after certain important divisions of the composition, to have the key indicated by two harps: the larger the chorus, the more inevitable is the dropping of the pitch from time to time; but of this you would probably have thought yourself.
Concerning the (future) complete performance of Tannhäuser I have still many things on my heart, of which I do not find it easy to unburden myself. First, certain minor matters. I do not know exactly whether Walther von der Vogelweide in the contest of the minstrels sang his song with you in the original B flat major or in C major. There is here some inconsistency. I am aware that B flat does not agree with the rest of the somewhat high-lying part, and a singer who has the voice for the whole part cannot make much effect in B flat, for which reason I was compelled at Dresden to transpose the piece to C. But this C major is altogether out of relation to the other songs of the singers' contest, and more especially it destroys the transition to the bright tone of the ensuing song of Tannhäuser, who, with his C major, is supposed to go beyond Walther. Apart from this, the song of Walther loses by means of this higher C major much of the calm dignity which is its character. The dilemma can be solved only by the part of Walther being sung by a low tenor and that of Heinrich der Schreiber by a high tenor. The two parts therefore must be rewritten, and in all the ensembles Walther should sing the notes which in the score are assigned to Heinrich der Schreiber, and vice versa. Only in the first finale Walther retains all the solo passages. This is what I should like. I further hope that you will give the scene between Venus and Tannhäuser in its entirety. The necessity of three verses of the Tannhäuser song I have, I believe, already pointed out to you.
But now comes the principal thing; i.e., the great adagio of the second finale. When at Dresden, after the first performance of Tannhäuser, I made the cut in this adagio, I was in complete despair, and in my heart cut every hope of Tannhäuser as well, because I saw that T. could not understand, and therefore much less represent, the part. That I had to make this cut was to me tantamount to abandoning altogether the purpose of making my Tannhäuser really understood. Kindly look at the omitted passage, dearest friend, and realize what it contains. While previously everything was grouped round Elizabeth, the peacemaker, she being the centre, and all the others listening to her and repeating what she said and sang, Tannhäuser here recognizes his terrible crime, and breaks down in the most terrible repentance. When he once more finds words for his emotion, which he can scarcely utter, because he lies on the ground in a state of semi-consciousness, he suddenly becomes the principal person, and the whole scene is grouped round him, just as before it was round Elizabeth. All else is thrown into the background, and in a manner only accompanies him as he sings:—
"Zum Heil den Sündigen zu führen, die Gottgesandte nahte mir: doch ach! sie frevelnd zu berühren hob ich den Lasterblick zu ihr! O! du, hoch über diesen Erdengründen, die mir den Engel meines Heil's gesandt: erbarm' dich mein, der ach! so tief in Sünden schmachvoll des Himmels Mittlerin verkannt!"
In this stanza and in this song lies the whole significance of the catastrophe of Tannhäuser, and indeed of the whole essence of Tannhäuser; all that to me makes him a touching phenomenon is expressed here alone. His grief, his sad pilgrimage of grace—all this springs forth from the meaning of these lines; without hearing them, and hearing them in this place, the spectator sees in Tannhäuser an inconceivable, arbitrary, wavering, miserable creature. (The commencement of his tale in the last act comes too late to make up for that which here must penetrate our mind like a thunderstorm.) Not only the close of the second act, but the entire third act, and in a sense the whole drama, receive their true significance only when the centre of the whole drama, round which it develops itself, as round its kernel, becomes perfectly clear and lucid in that particular passage. And that passage, the keynote of my whole work, I was compelled to cut at Dresden.
This I declare: no representation of Tannhäuser answers my purpose if that passage has to be omitted. For its sake I will, if need be, consent to the cut in the allegro of the finale, which contains what is really the continuation of that passage—I mean the place where Elizabeth takes up the B major theme as canto fermo, while Tannhäuser at the same time gives passionate vent to his wild despair. If at some future time a performance of this opera were wholly to satisfy me, Tannhäuser would have to sing this passage also in such a manner that it would not appear long.
You will ask me, "What are we to do? How can we expect a minor singer to do what T. failed to accomplish?" I reply that T., in spite of his voice, failed to accomplish many things that were not beyond much less gifted singers. At the Tannhäuser rehearsal which I attended at Weimar the invalided Götze brought out passages and interpreted intentions in respect of which T. remained my debtor. This latter has nothing but either brilliancy or tenderness in his voice; not a single true accent of sorrow. The singer of the Flying Dutchman here did a great deal more than those at Dresden and Berlin, although they had better voices. Try what you can do with Herr Beck, and explain to him what is the important part. Only in case this passage comes out well the Weimar public will see what the whole is about. (I add a technical remark: If the singer in this passage is quite sure, let him take the tempo freely; all the others must go with him: he rules alone.)
If a performance of Tannhäuser were to be quite perfect, the last finale of the opera would have to be given as it stands in the new edition of the pianoforte score, including the song of the younger pilgrims. Your score of the Flying Dutchman you can send to Uhlig, who possesses a newly revised score, and will arrange yours in strict accordance with it.
When the time for the rehearsals comes, I will let you have some further details. For the present I shall be satisfied if the parts are copied in accordance with Uhlig's score and if the scenery is painted after the sketches which I hope C. will send you.
The Flying Dutchman has made an indescribable impression here. Philistines who never go to a theatre or concert attended each of the four performances in one week, and are supposed to have gone mad. With the women I have made a great hit. The pianoforte scores sell by the half-dozen. I am now in the country, and feel tolerably cheerful. My work also pleases me again; my Nibelung tetralogy is completely designed, and in a few months the verse also will be finished. After that I shall be wholly and entirely a "music-maker," for this work will be my last poem, and a littérateur I hope I shall never be again. Then I shall have nothing but plans for performances in my head; no more writing, only performing. I hope you will help me.
Are you going to make a trip this year? How about the rendezvous which you made me look for as long ago as last summer? Are we never to meet again?
H. also ought to write to me again. Is he so busy with his compositions? Of the Imperial Russian Tannhäuser-Lohengrin-Cellini theatre bill he told me nothing.
Are you going to have Tannhäuser the day after tomorrow? Good luck to you! Make my compliments to the sovereign lady of all the Russias. I hope she will send me an order, or at least traveling money for Italy, where I should like to roam beyond anything. Tell her so. I hear those people throw plenty of ducats out of window just now. I am sorry to think that you will not be able to manage Lohengrin for such a long time; the pause is too long. As a punishment I shall dedicate the score to you when it appears in print. I do not ask you whether you accept the dedication or not, for punishment there must be. I must ask you to send me the score of my Faust overture; I do not possess a copy.
Farewell, and be greeted with all my heart.
Source: Project Gutenberg eBook #3835, Correspondence of Wagner and Liszt — Volume 1, No. 78