Paris, April 10, 60. But dearest, precious Child, why so absolutely not a line ? Must I always ask first ; can't one so much as write to poor me without waiting to have to answer? — I'm really quite uneasy ; I wrote Otto not so long ago :* no reply from him either ! So nothing is left me save dreaming. I eke things out with that, dream much and often ; but even pleasant dreams have something to alarm me, because one has to bear in mind, according to the rules of dream-divining, that when the object of solicitude appears to us well and serene, the very slightest excess denotes the opposite. But what a sorry aid are dreams ! If one remembers much of what one dreams, itself that points to nothing but the vacancy of our waking existence, and I always think of [Keller's] green Henry, who finished by nothing but dreaming. — you bad child ! Even your last letter — and that was ages back — told me so little, all but nothing, of yourself: is my silly fate to be ever the sole thing worth talking of ? I almost doubt if these lines will catch you still in Rome : it would be just like the pair of you, to start away without a word of warning when or whither ! You see^ I scold : a few days since I might have drawn it milder ; but I'm getting crosser every day. — Please write me reams on how you are, what you're seeing, how you pass your time, what acquaintances you've made, how it goes with your welfare, and everything of that sort. Indeed you did promise to give me a peep into your camera-obscura now and then ; and all at once totally excommunicated ? Oh, it's easy to see where you live ! 1 almost ought not to breathe a word about myself for this once : but what do I know of your own news ? Nothing, except that I don't know : true philosophic consciousness ! And of myself?? Neither head nor tail is to be made of that in my lifetime, dearest child, above all by a 2l6 WAGNER TO MATHILDE WESENDONCK level-headed person. For instance, I am felicitated now by all common-sense people, and all the world thinks me swimming in bliss and delight since I've attained the quite incredible, and one of my operas is to be produced at last in Paris. " Can he possibly want more ? " they say. And just think : I have never been more weary of the whole affair, and to each of my congratulators I snarling shew my teeth. — That's the man I am ! Nobody can satisfy, and nothing suits me. So people let me be ; and with that I must put up, in the end. — Toward yourself, tho', I'll not behave so churlishly. — You know, child, that our sort of folk look neither right nor left, neither before nor behind ; that Time and World are matters of indifference to us, and only one thing sways us — the need to unburden our bosom : accordingly you also know what alone in reality can lie at my heart. But were it otherwise, — had I already finished with the inner store, and henceforth durst merely look around and keep in view my works' results, the conditions I call forth, the service of which I may be, — then I might find enough of serious and edifying entertainment if I looked around me. I cannot contradict my new French friends when, looking forward to! the possibility, nay rather, certainty of a great effect even of my Tannhäuser on the Paris public, they see in it a factor of unprecedented weight, to which they assign an importance to be compared with nothing else conceivable. A man who can look calmly at the life of so gifted but incredibly wasted a nation as the French, and interest himself in all that makes for its ennobling and development, — I can't find fault with such a man, if he beholds in the reception of a French Tannhäuser an absolutely vital question for these men's adaptability. Reflect how starved is all French art ; that poesy, more strictly speaking, is altogether foreign to this folk, which knows nothing in its place save rhetoric and eloquence. Owing to the exclusiveness of the French language, and its inability to adopt the poetic element foreign to itself by means of transference from another, there remains but one way open to bring Poesy to bear upon the French — the way of Music. But then, you see, neither is the Frenchman constitutionally musical, and all his music he has gotten from abroad. From of old the French musical style has been formed by mere contact with Italian and German music, and strictly is nothing but a cross twixt these two styles. But Gluck, if you look at him closer, taught the French nothing more, than how to bring music into accord with the rhetorical style of French Tragddie — at bottom there was no question here of genuine poesy — wherefore the Italians have been able to keep almost the whole of the field for themselves even since his time. For it has ever been a matter of mere manner in the rhetoric, but apart from that, as little of music as of poesy. Well, the havoc hence arisen, and increasing to this day, is simply past belief. To find out the capacities of the singers at the Op6ra, I was compelled a few nights since to hear the new opus of a Prince Poniatowski ; oh, my feelings ! ! What a longing seized me for the very simplest mountain-vale in Switzerland ! ! As I came home it was exactly as if I had been murdered, and every possibility had vanished into air. Yet I have learnt how the very ghastliness of an impression may simply add force to the countereffects, and make them of greater scope. " You see how it stands," friends said to me, " and what we await and demand of you ! " Those who tell me this, are men who have not set foot within the opera-house for 20 years, had frequented none but the Conservatoire and Quartet concerts, and finally —before knowing me — had studied my scores; not mere musicians either, but painters, men of letters — even of the State. They tell me, "What you bring, has never been remotely offered us before ; for with music you bring us full poesy ; you bring a whole, and wholly self-supported, independent of every influence that hitherto has been exerted by our institutes on the artist who wished to present himself to us. Moreover, you bring it in perfection of form, and with the greatest power of expression : the most ignorant Frenchman himself could wish to alter nothing of it ; he must receive it entire, or reject it in the lump. And there resides the great significance we attach to the coming event : if your work is repulsed, we shall know what's the matter with us, and give up hope ; if it's welcomed, and that at one blow (for a Frenchman can be influenced no other way), we all shall breathe once more ; for it is not literature and science, but only the directest art of the Theatre, the most universal in its operations, that can stamp itself deep on the views of our national spirit. However, — we feel sure of the greatest and most abiding impression." — In fact the Director himself, now that he knows the subject better, is boasting to everybody that with Tannhäuser he can reckon at last on a real " succes d'argent." In Brussels, too, I had many a talk with a remarkable old man, a very witty, shrewd and seasoned diplomat [" Papa " Klindworth], yet who recommends me from his heart not to lose sight of the French : let one think and say what one likes, it remains undeniable (according to him) that at present the French are the actual prototype of European civilisation, and to produce a decided effect upon them is to operate upon the whole of Europe. — It really all sounds most encouraging, and I suppose I cannot get away from the importance I'm to be of to the world. But strange to say, I don't care much for Europe or the world, and at bottom of my heart I tell myself: What business of thine is it all ? As said, however, I perceive that I shan't get away from it : oh, my daemon takes good care of that ; the surest guarantee for my indefeasible effect upon Europe is — my want ! I tell it you quite candidly, so that you may form no false notions about me, — may not believe, for example, that the said vain assumption is driving me to anything which strictly lies beyond me. Those Paris concerts have brought me to an incalculable plight : even Brussels I undertook for nothing but to help myself out of the hole, and that also turned out the opposite ; so that on my departure (much as Rossini once said after the fiasco of a " carefully " wrought opera, " Si jamais on me prend a soigner ma partition ") I told myself, " Si jamais on me prend a faire de 1' argent ! " Germany stays mum to me, and if ever I'm to meet with Tristan and the Nibelungen in my lifetime, I must contrive veritable miracles now, to keep my head above the waters of this blessed life. So I accept the hopes of my Paris friends, in particular of my Opera-director ; and as every grand chance has an unfortunate knack of being a trifle behindhand, for the present I'm not half disinclined to sell myself to a Russian general, who is shortly to arrive here to acquire me for a S. Petersburg Tannhäuser expedition.* I pray you to join in my laughter : indeed there is no other way to help me out of the ridiculous contradictions in which this redemption-craving world leaves its anticipated saviour! Meanwhile I must gather my wits, to write a— grand ballet What do you say to that? Have you doubts of me? You shall beg my pardon for them by-and-by, when you hear and see it. Thus much to go on with : not a note, not a word of my Tannhäuser will be altered ; but a ballet there imperatively had to be, and that ballet was to occur in the second act because of the Optra's abonn6s always reaching the theatre somewhat late, after a heavy dinner, never at the commencement. Well, I have declared I could accept no dictates from the Jockey Club, and should'withdraw my work ; I mean to help them [the authorities] out of their straits, however: the opera needn't begin before 8 o'clock, and then I'll add a decent culmination to the unhallowed Venusberg. This Court of Frau Venus was the palpable weak spot in my work : without a good ballet in its day, I had to manage with a few coarse brush-strokes, and thereby ruined much ; for I left this Venusberg with an altogether tame and ill-defined impression, consequently depriving myself of the momentous background against which the ensuing tragedy is to upbuild its harrowing tale. All later reminiscences and warnings, whose grave significance should send a shudder through us (the only explanation of the plot), lost wellnigh all effect and meaning : dread and instant trepidation kept aloof from our minds. But I also recognise that, when I wrote my Tannhäuser, I could not have made anything like what is needed here ; it required a greater mastery, by far, which only now have I attained : now that I have written Isolde's last transfiguration, at last I could find alike the right close for the Fliegender-Holländer overture, and also — the horrors of this Venusberg. One becomes omnipotent, you see, when the World but exists as one's plaything. Naturally I shall have to invent the whole thing for myself, to be able to prescribe the smallest nuance to the balletmaster ; it is certain, however, that nothing save Dance can lend effect and execution here : but what a dance ! The good people shall stare in amazement at all I'll have hatched there. I haven't arrived at jotting anything down as yet : I will here make my first attempt with a few indications ; don't be surprised at its occurring in a letter to Elisabeth ! VENUS and TANNHÄUSER remain as in the original directions : but — the three GRACES lie couched at their feet, locked picturesquely in each other's arms. A whole tangle of children's limbs surrounds the couch ; these are the slumbering Amoretti, who have fallen atop of one another in their childlike romps, and then asleep. All around pairs of lovers are resting on projections of the grotto. In the middle only Nymphs are dancing, teased by Fauns whom they seek to elude. The movement of this group increases : the Fauns become more boisterous, the Nymphs' coy flight incites the males of the reclining pairs to their protection. Jealousy of the forsaken females : waxing effrontery of the Fauns. Tumult. The Graces rise and intervene, enjoining seemliness and order : they in turn are accosted, but the young men chase the Fauns away : the Graces reconcile the couples. — Voices of Sirens are heard. — Then a tumult from the distance. The Fauns, bent on vengeance, have summoned the Bacchantes to their aid. The Wild Hunt storms on, after the Graces have reclined once more in front of Venus. The yelling retinue brings with it every kind of animal monster : from these a black ram is selected, and diligently examined to see that it has no white spot : amid cheers it is dragged to a waterfall ; a priest fells it and offers it up, with dreadful gestures. Suddenly, amid wild huzzaings of the throng, the northern Stromkarl (known to you *) emerges from the foaming water with his marvellous big fiddle. He plays up for a dance, and you may imagine all I must invent to give this dance its fitting character. More and more mythological freaks are brought on, all the beasties sacred to the gods; even centaurs at last, who stamp among the rioters. The Graces are afraid to quell the hubbub ; then in utter despair they fling themselves upon the mob : in vain ! Turning to Venus, they look around for help: with a wave of her hand she now awakes the Amoretti, who rain a perfect hail of darts upon the rioters ; more and yet more, their quivers are ever replenished. Then all form more definite pairs ; the wounded reel into each other's arms ; a general frenzy of desire. The arrows, whirring wild of aim, have hit the very Graces ; no longer are they mistress of themselves. Fauns paired with Bacchantes rush forth ; the Graces are borne off on the Centaurs' backs ; all stagger toward the background : the [young] couples lie down : the Amoretti, shooting still, have gone in pursuit of their quarry. Approaching lassitude. A mist descends. From greater and still greater distance sounds the Sirens' cry. All becomes hid. Deep quiet. — Finally Tannhäuser awakes from his dream.* — Something of that sort. What do you say to it? — It tickles me, to have been able to bring in the eleventh variation of my Stromkarl, for that explains why Venus and her court have moved off north : only there could one find the fiddler meet for these old gods to dance to. The black ram also pleases me, tho' it I could replace : shouting Msenads would merely have to carry in the murdered ORPHEUS ; his head they would cast in the waterfall, — whereon my Stromkarl would spring up. Only, without words that's less intelligible ; what is your opinion ? — I wish I had Genelli aquarelles to go by : he used to make these mythologic orgies very plausible. I suppose, however, I shall have' to help myself again, tho' I still have several details to devise. — So I've been and written you another Kapellmeister letter, don't you think ? And a ballet-master's letter into the bargain this time. Won't it put you in a good humour ? And yet you do not write to me ? Nor Otto either ? O you bad, bad people ! Wherever am I to get letters from, to give me joy, then ? And you know perfectly well that nothing else can give me proper joy ! Yes, one thing — when I give myself something to do with you. Only yesterday the Brussels people sent my photographic portrait after me, which to me appears highly successful ; so of course I thought at once of you. If you will write me very nicely soon, and tell me about when you're returning to Zurich, I'll send to Herr Stiinzig, or whomever you name, this picture that will tell you how I look now ; and let it be hung above the piano in the picture-gallery. As you've taken all your house to Rome with you, there won't be a single friend to welcome you on your return if I don't put in an appearance, at least in the picture-room. Only imagine my having clean forgotten Otto's birthday this time ! I knew quite well what March brings round, but the day, the day I couldn't think of [16th]. Moreover, I had absolutely nothing fit to give him, so you must ask him to wait till next March : evidently I shall be a rich man by then, throwing millions all round me. — Apart from that, remember, my dear child, that I still have nothing upon earth but you ; that for you, through you, with you, do I live, and all my pastime has for me this only charm — that I can make it voice to you my lack, and you give ear to it so fondly. Adieu, my child ! A thousand heartfelt wishes : if they're too many for yourself, then give of them to your good man and children. R, W,
Richard Wagner
Source: Richard Wagner to Mathilde Wesendonck, translated by Ellis, No. 102