I must confess to you, my one and only Rosalie, that your letter made a very deep impression on me, for it came at a time when the only reason for my silence was that a certain sense of shame made me doubtful how to approach you. I think I may almost conjecture that it must have been a great disappointment to you to see that the sacrifice you made on my behalf had failed of its purpose, and you may perhaps have been angry with me even for the way I gave you news of your unfulfilled expectations. I can never describe to you how I have been tortured by terrifying mental images of this sort, contrasting as they do with the feelings which my daily work upon my opera Die Feen arouses in me. May God, or, still more, may you, be thanked: I have been relieved of many of these anxieties by your wonder-working letter, though from another point of view it troubled me, for having read it I was unable to work for several days. I wanted to answer it at once, but my opera still lacked its last finale.
The day before yesterday I finished it, and with it the entire opera. It was just midday, near twelve o'clock, and the bells pealed out from every steeple as I wrote Finis beneath it. That pleased me exceedingly! Now, dearest, the composition of my opera is finished and I have only to orchestrate the last act. My somewhat pedantic habit of writing the score in as unblemished and clear a manner as possible has held me up in my work of orchestration more than anything else. All the same, I think if I am really industrious I ought to have finished this last piece of work upon my opera in some three weeks and shall be able to leave here in about four weeks.
But how am I to tell you in what sort of mood I have been working lately? With almost every note I have thought of you all, ah! of you, and this was a feeling that often spurred me on, but often, too, so overmastered me that I could work no longer and had to seek the open air. It often happened so and I always took it to be a happy presentiment, but ah how enchanted I was to find evidence of a like sympathy in your letter! Oh, God grant that I do not disappoint your happy expectations of me, but that can never be: it all flowed out of my innermost soul and it is said that such feelings pass over into the souls of others.
There is a concert to-morrow at which I have been invited to give a few numbers from my opera. An amateuse with a beautiful voice will sing Ada's great aria, and a trio will follow sung by the same lady, Albert, and another young bass singer.
Why do I chatter about all these matters? It is just the longing to share everything with you! God in heaven! the time is really not so far off. I shall soon be with you all, with you! But I must not give myself up to that thought so completely, else I cannot write another word and I have still so much to say to you if I could but arrange my thoughts. I am living in a perpetual state of excitement; last night again I got no sleep. What can I say? I have long had to forgo rest at night. I always think of you and interminably of my opera!
I have been dreaming about you constantly and of how I come home to you and how I am received by you! Amazing! My dreams of this kind have always worked up steadily to a climax; in my first, my reception by you was just commonplace, often cold, but later it became more intimate, more loving, and now my dreams paint it as I can only hope it may be in reality. I hope this forebodes nothing. You will surely be good to me even though I have deserved it little.
What you write me about the acceptance and performance of my opera in Leipzig satisfies me very well and I thank you for your care and trouble. I think everything should go well. No, I do not merely think it, I hope it, and would be horrified if my hopes were deceived! But tell me, you say among other things that Hans Heiling pleases the public so well and constantly draws full houses. I assure you this news pleased me very much from a certain point of view. We produced the opera here, too, and I think the music very pretty indeed, especially the solo pieces, but in no other opera by Marschner up to now have I been struck by such a complete lack of general effect. I don't know, but he seems to have missed the best chances of effect entirely! What poor finales to the acts, and what a lack of melody in the choruses! In the second finale he treats the culminating point of the whole, "Er stammt vom Reich der Gnomen und der Zwerge, und ist der Geisterfurst der Berge," so negligently and emphasises the climax so little that one is left to suppose nothing important is toward! In short, not one single number really grips. I must confess it might almost encourage in me exaggerated hopes for my opera!
It is a pity that matters are so with your female singers. I want a really good voice and impressive acting: a kind of Devrient would not come amiss. From what I know of Gerhard, her voice might prove too weak, but since she appears to have done well as Alice, I have had hopes. Above all Eichberger must remain, for the tenor unquestionably has the biggest and most attractive part; if he should leave, it would be a great calamity to me! Albert very much wants this part and would certainly be magnificent in it if he should some time come as a "star" to Leipzig!
As for the other matter you write to me about, dearest Rosalie, let me be silent about it now. It has stirred my feelings too painfully, wounded me too sharply for me to be able to discuss it much with you now, but I shall soon be with you all, bringing with me, I trust, an offering that will at least lighten many of your sorrowful reflections and ease our good mother of many a care!
I thank you for what you said, for the fount from which it sprung, your sweet confidence, honours me very much. What is mother doing? What are you all doing? Ah well! I shall soon see you all again. I am a regular spoilt child and grieve every moment that I am away from you. I hope, my Rosalie, that in the course of this life we shall yet be a great deal together. Would you like that? I am endlessly glad that for the rest all goes well with you; give them all my greeting and don't let them fear my arrival. I have been away from you about a year. God grant that it has been to real profit. Albert writes too: how glad I am that he has thereby relieved me of a task of which I think with horror. I can do no more than beseech you for your kindness and forbearance! Heavens! I am really only twenty years of age! Give them all my love once more, especially to my dear mother, and tell them all about their Richard who has given them so much care and trouble. But you, my one and only Rosalie, you are my good angel. Be ever so!
Richard Wagner
Source: Letters of Richard Wagner, Volume 1, ed. Altmann/Hull (London: Dent, 1927), No. 6