182. DEAR, GREAT MAN,
For a long time I have been wishing to write to you, but had not the courage to do so. Alas! how can I speak to you from my heart? Today a sheet of paper with a red border comes under my hand; so many symbols are comprised in that colour! It is devoted to love, it is the purple of kings, and the image of human blood. It is therefore suited to both of us: to you as the emblem of your sovereign genius, to me as that of an ardent attachment, the flames of which are my happiness and my glory; to both of us as the sign of the wounds which destiny has inflicted on us without touching our souls. Need I tell you how much I should like to see you again, and how sincerely I desire that your sojourn in London will be agreeable to you in one way or another? I can do nothing, nothing, except the best thing of all: to love, to bless, to admire.
Your affection is very dear to us; continue in it; it is the sun of our starless sky.
May God be with you. Our hearts are always yours.
CAROLYNE.
March 27th, 1855.
183.
DEAR FRANZ,
You have punished me in your amiable manner. I reproached myself very much about this Berlin affair; in any case I was too rash, and settled the matter too quickly after my fashion. I ought to have asked you, as you were my plenipotentiary, to cede the opera finally to Hulsen; that would have been better, and you would, no doubt, have undertaken this last transaction to please me. But the whole matter had long ago become so disgusting to me that I lost all energy in connection with it, and felt inclined to finish it as abruptly as possible, so as to hear no more of it. Do not believe that I was brought to this resolution through my "Berlin friends," but exclusively through my pecuniary position, which is accurately known to you, and which has tied my hands as to this point. I was COMPELLED to think of raising money. I have therefore asked for an advance of a hundred louis d'or on account of royalties, and as to the rest have ceded the opera without any conditions. To tell you the truth, everything else in connection with my operas has become a matter of perfect indifference to me. Looking at it carefully, it seems to me that my wish that you should be called to Berlin for the performance of "Tannhauser" has by no means been frustrated thereby. The decision of this matter was never really within the power of the intendant of the theatre. The King alone can suspend the usual order, and HIS decision is quite independent of what the intendant can do on his own authority. It appears to me therefore that our condition was made to an authority which could not have granted it. My giving or not giving the opera to the management was a thing apart; and as regards the invitation to you, this remains a matter which we ought to work with the King direct. Unfortunately it seems that you have little hope of this. What could be done to get some thing out of the King after all? Should I have the impudence to write to him and to try in my own way what seems impossible in any other? The thought of accomplishing my wish after all is the only thing which suddenly places this Berlin affair once more in an interesting light. What do you think of it?
For your news and for the beautiful lines of the dear Princess I am cordially grateful.
Unfortunately I have nothing reasonable to tell you in return. My whole existence here is a perfect anomaly. I am in a strange element and in a thoroughly false position. If at Zurich I conduct symphonies now and then, it is done for the sake of amusement and to please a few friends; to make a vocation of it, in the sense that I am to be judged as an artist by a wholly unsympathetic public and press on these grounds, is simply an absurdity. I sincerely regret that I am here, and shall never in my life come again. Pecuniary success is out of the question; and even if they were to offer me a larger fee for next year, I should probably feel bound to decline it: the misery I have to undergo is too great. This is not MY BUSINESS, and if at my present age, and in the unsettled condition of my health, I cannot at least abide by my business, I would rather not abide at all; I have quite enough to bear without that.
Perfect performances, which in the long run could alone console me, I cannot achieve. The rehearsals are too few, and everything is done in too businesslike a manner. Although the pieces from "Lohengrin" were favourably received, I am sorry that I have given them. My annoyance at being compelled to produce such trifling specimens of my work and to have my whole being judged thereby is too great. I also hate like poison to have to take a single step in order to gain the favour of that wretched pack of journalists. They continue abusing me to their heart's delight, and the only thing that surprises me is that the public have not so far allowed themselves to be misled. In short, I would have nothing to do with these contemptible matters even if I happened to please the people.
Let me finish my "Nibelungen;" that is all I desire. If my noble contemporaries will not help me to that, they may go to the devil, with all their honour and glory. Through London I have got into awful arrears with my work; only yesterday was I able to finish the instrumentation of the first act of the "Valkyie." Body and soul are weighed down as by a load of lead. My chief wish for this year—to begin "Young Siegfried" at once after my return at Seelisberg—I shall have to give up, for it is very unlikely that I shall get beyond the second act of the "Valkyrie" here. Such as I am, I want a soft, clinging element around me, in order to feel gladly inclined for work. This eternal need of self-condensation for the purpose of self-defence supplies me with obstinacy and contempt, but not with the love of expansion and production.
Klindworth has probably written to you; at least he was startled when I recently conveyed your reminder to him. He was ill, and is not doing well here, but how am I to help him? Blackguardism, obstinacy, and religiously nursed stupidity are here protected with iron walls; only a blackguard and a Jew can succeed here.
Upon the whole, you were right in retiring to Weimar; as much solitude as possible, that alone can save us.
The Hartels sent me the bill of exchange yesterday; many thanks.
Cannot B. do the pianoforte arrangement?
He had only just begun the "Rhinegold," when I took the score away from him to send it to you. As soon as the copy at Dresden has been finished, he is to have it for the completion of the pianoforte arrangement; and after that, if you wish it, it is to be sent to you. Shall we see each other this year, perhaps on your return from Hungary? That would be something like it! Perhaps at that time I should have recovered my voice, which here has disappeared entirely.
Farewell, dearest friend. Patience—that is all that remains to us. Remember me to all at Altenburg. Much luck to your mass!
Farewell, dear, dear Franz.
184.
Klindworth has just played your great sonata to me.
We passed the day alone together; he dined with me, and after dinner I made him play. Dearest Franz, you were with me; the sonata is beautiful beyond anything, grand and sweet, deep and noble, sublime as you are yourself. It moved me most deeply, and the London misery was forgotten all at once. More I cannot say, not just after having heard it, but of what I say I am as full as man can be. Once more, you were with me! Ah, could you soon be with me wholly and bodily, then we might support life beautifully.
Klindworth astonished me by his playing; no lesser man could have ventured to play your work to me for the first time. He is worthy of you. Surely, surely, it was beautiful.
Good-night. Many thanks for this pleasure vouchsafed to me at last.
Your
R. W.
LONDON, April 5th, 8:30 evening.
185.