arrived at the reasonable idea of letting the WHOLE pass by me in
full swing. In fact, I imbibed it in a manner with the most
fortunate results. I saw you suddenly at your desk, saw you,
heard you, and understood you. In this way I received another
proof of the experience that it is our own fault if we cannot
receive what is magnanimously offered. This your address to the
artists is a grand, beautiful, splendid trait of your own
artistic life. I was deeply moved by the force of your intention.
You give utterance to it, body and soul, at a time, in
circumstances, and before people who would be well advised in
trying to understand you. You have done well in drawing
Schiller's lines out of their literary existence and in
proclaiming them loudly and clearly to the world with trumpet
sound. You have, as I say, done well. How to do it was your own
affair. YOU knew HOW these lines should be proclaimed to the
world, for to none but you had occurred the necessity of that
proclamation. I at least know nobody who could do something of
this kind with such force. WHAT an artist intends to do shows to
him HOW he should do it, and by this HOW we recognize the WHAT.
What you intended to do here you could not have expressed
otherwise than by this tremendous display of eloquence, of
emotion, of overpowering strength. This is my criticism. I have
no other. But who will be able to sing this to your liking? Mercy
on me when I think of our tail-coated concert singers! During the
performance at Carlsruhe you had, probably from your own
inspiration, worked yourself into such a state of excitement,
that you thought you heard them sing as they should have sung. I
suspect, however, that the public heard correctly what was sung,
and therefore could of course not understand the matter at all.
Dear friend, you require singers such as I want for my Wotan,