DEAREST RICHARD,
At Weymar I cannot raise ten thalers just at present, but I have written at once to Vienna, and in a week's time the sum of a thousand francs, named by you, will be handed to you by my son- in-law, M. Emile Ollivier (avocat au barreau et depute de la ville de Paris). Call on him at the end of next week. He lives rue St. Guillaume, No. 29, Faubourg St. Germain.
If it is of use to you to have some conversation with me, I will come to Strassburg for one day, although I find it difficult to leave Weymar at the present moment.
The Princess has had an excellent idea, of which you will hear more before long. She will write to you as soon as she has had an answer with regard to it.
God be with you!
F. L.
FRIDAY, January 15th, 1858.
Your telegram, arrived a day before your letter which I received last night. Let me have your address; poste restante is not safe.
253.
DEAREST FRANZ,
Tired to death and worn out, I write only to tell you that I have arrived at Paris, and that my address is Grand Hotel du Louvre (No. 364).
In a modest room on the third floor, overlooking the inner courts, I found at last the quiet position which is necessary to me.
I expect help from you. My difficulty is great. In a few days I shall write more calmly.
Your
R. W.
254.
GRAND HOTEL DU LOUVRE, No. 364, PARIS.
You dear, splendid man! How can I be unhappy, when I have attained the supreme happiness of possessing such a friend, of participating in such love? Oh, my Franz! could we but live always together! Or is the song to be right after all: "Es ist bestimmt in Gottes Rath, dass von dem liebsten was man hat, muss scheiden?"
Farewell; tomorrow I shall write about other things. A thousand greetings!
Your
R. W.
255.
Yet another friend, dearest Franz, has a kind fate vouchsafed to me. I was permitted to feel the delight of becoming acquainted with such a poet as Calderon in my mature stage of life. He has accompanied me here and I have just finished reading "Apollo and Klymene," with its continuation "Phaeton." Has Calderon ever been near to you? I can unfortunately approach him through a translation only on account of my great want of gift for languages (as for music). However, Schlegel, Gries, who has translated the more important pieces, Malsburg, and Martin (in the Brockhaus edition) have done much towards disclosing the spirit and even the indescribable subtlety of the poet to us. I am almost inclined to place Calderon on a solitary height. Through him I have discovered the significance of the Spanish character—an unheard of incomparable blossom, developed with such rapidity, that it soon had to arrive at the destruction of matter, and the negation of the world. The fine and deeply passionate spirit of the nation finds expression in the term "honour," which contains all the noblest and at the same time most terrible elements of a second religion; the most frightful selfishness and the noblest sacrifice simultaneously find their embodiment in it. The essence of the "world" proper could never have been expressed more pointedly, more brilliantly, more powerfully and at the same time more destructively, more terribly. The most striking imaginings of the poet have the conflict between this "honour" and a profoundly human pity for their subject. This "honour" determines the actions which are acknowledged and praised by the world, while wounded pity takes refuge in a scarcely expressed, but all the more deeply moving, sublime melancholy, in which we recognise the essence of the world to be terror and nothingness. It is the Catholic religion which tries to bridge over this deep chasm, and nowhere else did it gain such profound significance as here, where the contrast between the world and pity was developed in a more pregnant, more precise, more plastic form than in any other nation. It is very significant for that reason that almost all the great Spanish poets took refuge in priesthood in the second half of their lives. It is a unique phenomenon that from this refuge, and after conquering life by ideal means, these poets were able to describe the same life with greater certainty, purity, warmth, and precision than they had been capable of while they still were in the midst of life. Yea, the most graceful, most humorous creations were given to the light from that ghostly refuge. By the side of this marvellously significant phenomenon, all other national literatures appear to me without importance. If nature produced such an individual as Shakespeare amongst the English, we can easily see that he was unique of his kind; and the fact that the splendid English nation is still in full blossom, carrying on the commerce of the world, while the Spanish nation has perished, moves me so deeply, because it enlightens me as to what is really important in this world.
And now, dear friend, I must tell you that I am very satisfied with myself. This curious and unexpected fact is particularly useful to me for my stay in Paris. Formerly Paris used to fill me with fears of boding evil; in one sense it excited my desire, while on the other it repelled me terribly, so that I continually felt the sufferings of Tantalus. At present only the repulsive quality remains, while every charm has lost its power. The nature of that repulsiveness I now fully understand, and it appears to me as if my eyes had always possessed an unconscious faculty which has at last become conscious to me. On a journey, in carriages, etc., my gaze always tried involuntarily to read in the eyes of fellow-travellers whether they were capable of, or destined for salvation, that is, negation of the world. A closer acquaintance with them often deceived me as to this point; my involuntary wish frequently transferred my divine ideal to the soul of another person, and the further course of our acquaintance generally led to an increase of painful disappointment, until, at last, I abandoned and violently cut short that acquaintance.
FIRST sight is less fallible, and as long as my intercourse with the world is of a passing kind, my feeling with regard to it is free from any doubt, resembling, as it does, that perfect consciousness which comes to us on better acquaintance with people, after we have thrown off prolonged and laboriously sustained illusions. Even the passing sight of individuals, in whose features I see nothing but the most terrible error of life,—a restless, either active or passive, desire,—affects me painfully; how much more then must I be terrified and repelled by a mass of people whose reason for existence appears to be the most shallow volition. These finely and very clearly cut physiognomies of the French, with their strong feeling for charming and sensuously attractive things, show me the qualities which I see in other nations in a washed-out, undeveloped state, with such precision as to make illusion even for a moment impossible. I feel more distinctly than elsewhere in the world that these things are quite strange to me, just because they are so precise, so charming, so refined, so infallible in form and expression. Let me confess to you that I have scarcely been able to look at the marvellous new buildings erected here; all this is so strange to me that, although I may gaze at it, it leaves no impression on the mind. As no delusive hope, that might be excited here, has the slightest attraction for me, I gain by my absolutely unimpassioned position towards these surroundings a calmness which—let me say it with a certain ironic humour—will probably be of advantage to me in gaining that for which I strove here in my early days, and which now, as it has become indifferent to me, I shall probably attain.
What this possible "attainment" may be I can only briefly indicate to you. The object of my journey has been the securing of the rights of property in my operas, and beyond this I can look for nothing except what is freely offered to me, and the only person who seems inclined to make a definite offer is the manager of the "Theatre Lyrique." I saw his theatre; it pleased me fairly well, and a new acquisition he had made, a tenor, pleased me very much. In case he is prepared for more than ordinary efforts, as to which of course I must have every security, I might give him "Rienzi," provided that I succeeded (perhaps through intercession of the Grand Duke of Baden with the Emperor of the French) in obtaining the exceptional privilege of having my opera performed at this theatre WITHOUT SPOKEN DIALOGUE.
"Ollivier," whom I did not meet till yesterday, and with whom I am going to dine en garcon today, received me with such amiable kindness that I imagined I had arrived at "Altenburg." He made me an unlimited offer of his services with the manager of the Theatre Lyrique, a personal friend of his, amongst other people. Well, we must see what will come of it; in any case, I should surrender, without much scruple of conscience, "Rienzi," to gain me an entry, but of course only on the supposition that considerable pecuniary advantages would accrue to me.
I had got so far when Berlioz called on me. After that I had to go out, and found soon that I was not well, the cause probably being a cold, which pulls me down more than usually, because as I remember only now, my food has lately been very bad, I being feeble and very thin in consequence. I had to make my excuses to Ollivier and stop at home in bed. In consequence of this prudent measure I feel a little better, and am expecting Ollivier, who will call for me at two to take me to the concert of the Coservatroire; so I will go on talking to you a little about practical things.
It was a real shame that I was once more compelled to take money from you, but this time it is quite certain to be a loan, which I shall repay to you in any circumstances. From the letter of the Princess, I see that you have to use all manner of stealth to get "Rienzi" accepted at the Weimar theatre. This grieves me very much, and I am afraid that a serious conflict between myself and the management will be the result. If this should be the case, the repayment of the thousand francs would become more difficult, but by no means impossible, and in any case I count upon returning the money to you by "Easter." As to the employment of what you sent to me, and for which also I thank you cordially, you must please set the mind of the good Princess at rest. I am sorry that this also should trouble her.
Apart from you and Calderon, a glance at the first act of "Tristan," which I have brought with me, has roused me wonderfully. It is a remarkable piece of music. I feel a strong desire to communicate some of it to some one, and I fear I shall be tempted to play some of it to Berlioz one of these days, although my beautiful performance will probably terrify and disgust him. Could I only be with you! That, you know, is the burden of my song.
Something more about business. The Hartels have replied to my offer of "Tristan." It was quite amusing. Whatever I may do, the Philistine will think more or less impossible; to that I am accustomed, and must comfort myself with the success achieved so far by my impossible creations. To sum up, the Hartels accept, in spite of their great doubts, the publication of the work, with a reduction, however, of my demands. Even so they think they are offering a great sacrifice to me, but they say that they are prepared to have the full score engraved at once, and I think that I cannot do better than accept their offer.
I am always loth to write to you about business, and have done so only when I expected you to help me, which unfortunately was the case often enough. This time, however, I want to give you a short synopsis of the state of my Paris expedition. At the beginning of the winter a M. Leopold Amat, Chef or Directeur des Fetes Musicales de Wiesbaden, wrote to me from Paris, and set forth the results of his voluntary exertions for "Tannhauser" (at Wiesbaden with Tichatschek and in the French press). He asked me to authorise him to take the necessary steps for the performance of "Tannhauser" at the Grand Opera. I informed him that my only and indispensable CONDITION would be that an exact translation of the opera, without omission or alteration, should be given. Soon afterwards a M. de Charnal, a young litterateur without reputation, applied to me, asking me for permission to publish a good translation in verse of the poem of "Tannhauser," in one of the first Revues de Paris. That permission I granted him, on condition that the publication in the review should not imply any further copyright. I am now expecting the pianoforte arrangements of my operas, in order to secure my rights, which will be of importance, whether I want my operas to be performed or whether I want to prevent their performance. The management of the Grand Opera has made no move, but M. Carvalho, of the Theatre Lyrique, seems to be lying in wait for me. In case I should do anything with him, I am determined, as I said before, to leave "Rienzi" to his tender mercies, first because that work causes no anxiety to my heart, and may be transmogrified a little for all I care; second, because the subject and the music are certainly less strange to the Paris public than are my other works. What do you think of it? To me the whole thing would be purely an affair d'argent, and as such it would no doubt turn out well.
Here you have plenty of business, but I must add one thing more. I have lately laid your poor Vienna cousin under contribution. As my manager at Vienna sent me no money, I asked Haslinger, on the strength of your friendship, to enforce my demands, and as he (being prevented by illness, as I afterwards heard) did not reply, I hunted up the address of your cousin (from 1856), and again invoking your sacred name, asked him to prod on Haslinger. That had the desired effect, and to both I owe it that my manager will probably discharge his debt before long. You see, it is always "Franz Liszt," even if he knows nothing about it.
Here you have a very long letter from me. Next time the good Child shall have one equally long; I am deeply in her debt. The practical Princess also shall have a regular professor's letter from me. For today I send a thousand thanks and greetings to you all from the bottom of my heart. Be assured of my most faithful veneration.
Long live Altenburg!
Farewell, you dear unique one.
Your
R. W.
HOTEL DU LOUVRE, No. 364.
256.
January 30th, 1858.
You have struck up a regular friendship with Calderon in Paris, dearest Richard; a la bonne heure, he is one of the right sort in whose society one may forget many blackguards and blackguardisms. Unfortunately I know him only very superficially, and have not yet succeeded in making him part of myself. Grillparzer used to tell me wonderful things about him, and if you remain much longer in this element I shall have to read some of his things after you. Let me know on occasion which are the pieces I ought to begin with. His two chief elements, CATHOLICISM and HONOUR, are both dear to my heart. Do you think something musical might be made of this? I once read the translation by Cardinal Diepenbrock of a wonderful sacred drama, in which heaven, and air, and earth, with all their powers, are set in motion. I forget the title at this moment, but shall find out.
Perhaps you may tell me, some day, how to mould and handle this subject-matter for musical purposes.
I shall have to postpone "Rienzi" till May. We shall invite Tichatschek for it. All that IS POSSIBLE will be done, but I am annoyed that the result will again be very small. Fischer of Dresden writes me a very sad letter about the frustration of his hope of producing "Reinzi" there in the course of the winter. He and Tichatschek and many others are cordially devoted to you, and we shall certainly not fail to do our duty as far as in us lies.
"Lohengrin" will be given here very shortly; I have already had a few rehearsals, because Ortrud, the Herald, and the King will be in new hands. I cannot tell you how deeply the work moves me every time. The last time we performed it I felt proud of my century, because it possessed such a man as you show yourself to be in this work. With "Lohengrin," the old opera world comes to a close; the spirit moves upon the face of the waters, and there is light.
As to your chances in Paris I have not much to say. It is true that "Rienzi" is amongst your works the most congenial to the Parisians. But whether they will take you up in earnest, and whether in that case you will be able to count upon the sympathy of the manager, the artists, and the press, appears very questionable to me. Nevertheless you have done well to go to Paris yourself. Go on reading Calderon industriously; it will help you to bear the state of things there, which are in glaring contradiction with your genius and your nature.
Keep me au courant of your Paris adventures, and if I can be of any service to you, I need hardly say that you may freely dispose of
Your faithful