Correspondence of Wagner and Liszt — Volume 2

by Richard Wagner; Franz Liszt

DEAREST RICHARD,

Hartel has sent me a divine Christmas present. All the children in the world cannot be so delighted with their trees and the golden apples and splendid gifts suspended thereon as I, in my own person, am with your unique "Tristan." Away with all the cares and tribulations of every-day existence! Here one can weep and glow again. What blissful charm, what undivined wealth of beauty in this fiery love-potion! What must you have felt while you created and formed this wondrous work? What can I tell you about it beyond saying that I feel with you in my heart of hearts!

However, in my capacity of practical friend, I must speak to you of commonplace things. Your negative answer to D., much as it grieved me in many respects, came at the RIGHT MOMENT. I proposed, as you know, "Rienzi" for performance eighteen months ago, and your small opinion of my small influence on our affairs is, unfortunately, too correct. Without troubling you with the details of local matters, I only tell you that I quite approve of your conduct, reserving to myself, however, the right of asking for your "Rienzi" if a favourable moment for the performance of this opera, long desired by me, should arrive. In the first instance, the "Prophet" and Auber's "Bal Masque" are to be given, and I, for my part, have declared that I shall not enter the orchestra for some time to come. By next spring I hope your personal affairs will have taken a more favourable turn, to which I may, perhaps, be able to contribute something. When "Tristan" is completed, and you have sent the dedication copy to the Grand Duchess of Baden, you must write to me at length as to what remains to be done.

With K. R., who delighted me with a visit of several days, I discussed a good many things which he will shortly communicate to you. I flatter myself that he has taken a good impression away with him, and that some old friendly associations will be even more firmly established in years to come. His musical gift appears very considerable to me, and I have advised him to concentrate himself on an operatic subject, which he had better arrange for himself. You should encourage him in this; by your advice and influence he will no doubt achieve something excellent, and a musico-dramatic work will help him to proper recognition in the quickest and best way.

I wanted to send you the "Dante" symphony for the new year, but the corrections have taken me longer than I expected, and the publication will not take place before January. I shall send you a respectable parcel, for the Gran Mass will also be included in it. I wish I could bring you these things personally, stay with you, accompany you in "Tristan." Let us hope that the new year will put an end to our separation, and chain us to each other in the body, as we are already in spirit and heart.

Your

F. L.

December 26th, 1858.

You may expect a dedication from the composer of the opera D. v. S.; accept it in a friendly spirit, although you will find yourself in the strange company of Meyerbeer. The composer is well inclined towards you, of which I recently had a very convincing proof. Do not mention this until the dedication actually reaches you. Later on you will probably have to write a few lines in reply.

279.

Cordial thanks for your New Year's greeting, dearest Richard. I expect to see the explanation of the last words of your telegram in your next letter, for I have no knowledge of the event which you describe as "wonderfully miserable." In certain quarters, however, the MISERABLE appears no longer WONDERFUL to me. I hope the new year will bring some things to a better issue, and have many good things in store for you. Enclosed I send you this week's repertoire of the Weymar theatre, in which you will see the announcement of "Lohengrin" for next Sunday. For the first time I shall not conduct this work to which I am attached with my whole soul. "Tannhauser" also I have left to my colleague, and when I come to explain to you the circumstances which determine me to this negative attitude, I feel sure that you will see in it no neglect of my artistic conviction, much less of my duty as a friend to you.

If your operas have elsewhere been given for the purpose of getting money, the responsibility lies with those concerned; but here, where these works have been guarded and watched with so much love, I cannot make myself an accomplice of the brutal mercantile spirit in which they are now regarded, especially not after we two have been treated with such total want of consideration in this "Rienzi" affair, which has been allowed to drag on for more than eighteen months.

As I said in my last letter, I fully approve of your resolution not to sell "Rienzi" to the management here. If you should be applied to by letter I ADVISE YOU TO MAKE NO CONCESSION. If the time for relenting should come I shall send you word; you know how deeply your interests concern me.

In the first instance, the "Prophet," "Bal Masque," "Don Pasquale," and "Antigone", have to be studied and performed, which will leave no time or goodwill for "Rienzi." As regards goodwill, C. R. can relate to you the circumstances of the first performance of Cornelius's opera, when my passive attitude during this season will be explained to you. Really I often require the patience beseeming a confrater of the Franciscan order to bear so many intolerable things.

Your

F. L.

January 1st, 1859.

280.

VENICE, January 2nd, 1859.

MY DEAR FRANZ,

The time has come when I must once more speak with calmness and in a decisive manner of the subject which has been so rich a source of my life's troubles, and which last New Year's Eve caused the storm I let loose upon you, no doubt to your sorrow. Such storms must not occur again, that I feel deeply. Even this last attack was caused only by a moment of the most violent excitement. I must, in fact, undergo an absolute change in order to gain a position more worthy of myself. It is for this reason that I apply to you, for the last time, and perhaps it would be better if I did not trouble you in the matter, even for this last time. But if I omitted to do so at the moment when I am about to take a decisive step, I might perhaps have to reproach myself with having neglected my nearest, most helpful, and most influential friend in an unaccountable manner.

Let me come to the point.

After living in exile for ten years, my amnesty has become of less importance to me than the guarantee of an existence free from care and secure from discomfort for the rest of my life. Do not be surprised. The return to Germany is of relative value to me. The only positive gain would be my seeing you often and living together with you. The possible performances of my operas under my direction, would certainly bring me less enjoyment than exertion, care, trouble, and annoyance. I never had much pleasure in the performance of one of my operas, and shall have much less in future. My ideal demands have increased, compared with former times, and my sensitiveness has become much more acute during the last ten years while I lived in absolute separation from artistic public life. I fear that even you do not quite understand me in this respect, and you should believe my word all the more implicitly. Your nature and position in life and in the world are so entirely different from mine that you can scarcely realise my sensitiveness in this respect from your own consciousness.

Believe me implicitly when I tell you that the only reason for my continuing to live is the irresistible impulse of creating a number of works of art which have their vital force in me. I recognise beyond all doubt that this act of creating and completing alone satisfies me and fills me with a desire of life, which otherwise I should not understand. I can, on the other hand, do quite well without any chance of a performance. I see clearly that before the completion of "Tristan" my amnesty would absolutely place me in an awkward position; no expectation, not even that of producing "Lohengrin", could induce me to leave my present place of abode before I had finished my work. From this you may guess at other things. Any offer of a secured and comfortable existence would be of no value to me if it were coupled with the condition of my accepting the amnesty, and of doing certain services made possible thereby. I cannot and shall not accept an appointment or anything resembling it. What I demand, on the other hand, is the settlement upon me of an honourable and large pension, solely for the purpose of creating my works of art undisturbed and without regard for external success.

Being without property or subvention of any kind, I have to rely for my income upon my operas. He who has real knowledge of the nature of my works, and who feels and esteems their peculiar and differentiating qualities, must see that I, in my position towards such an institution as our theatre, ought to be entirely relieved from the necessity of making commercial articles of my works. Any just-minded man must perceive that it would be quite unworthy of me to relinquish my freedom by giving my operas to managers without stipulating for their artistic interest, without choice, without preference for any particular theatre, or even by being compelled to offer them to such managers. This necessity has already filled me with much painful bitterness, and the worst of it is that even if I suppress my sense of honour to that extent, the receipts accruing to me are of such a nature that they place me, pecuniarily speaking, in a painful and alarming position. At times those receipts come in plentifully and unexpectedly, and in consequence bring with them all of a sudden perfect security and a certain tempting plenty. At other times they fall off for a long period and again quite unexpectedly; and this falling off, just because it could not be foreseen, is followed by want, care, and tribulation. If this is to be mended I must be relieved from the necessity of counting upon these receipts, and be placed in a position which will enable me to look upon them as an accidental increase of resources, which I can employ in adding certain comforts to my existence, and which I am able to dispense with without interfering with my sufficient and settled income, as soon as I find it desirable to withhold my operas from those theatres, the strength or the direction of which does not enable me to credit them with honest zeal for my work. In this manner, and by the position towards our abominable theatrical institutions thus attained, I should be protected by my contemporaries, and enabled to continue my creations in accordance with my earnest desire and with the peculiarity of my artistic nature. An ample and fully secured pension can alone do this for me, and only a combination of several German princes whom I have inspired with sympathy can accomplish the desired object.

On such a combination I should have to insist, for the reason, more especially, that this pension, if it is to fulfil its object and to satisfy my somewhat refined and not altogether ordinary wants, must amount to at least 2,000 or 3,000 thalers. I do not blush in naming such a sum. My experience of what I want in accordance with my nature, and, perhaps I should add, the nature of my works, teaches me that I cannot well do with less; and on the other hand, it is well known that artists like Mendelssohn (although he was rich), have received equally large honorary salaries from one single quarter.

I ask you therefore, definitely and finally, whether you will take the initiative in this matter? At the same time I would draw your attention to the fact that, after mature consideration, I must abide by the character of my demand. An appointment at Weimar, although it might leave me at perfect liberty and even be equal to yours, I could not accept, because the salary would not be sufficient for my purpose. It would not help me radically, and would therefore imply all the dangers of a palliative measure. Once more, I require an absolute settlement of my external circumstances, which will provide for and exercise a decided influence on my future artistic creativeness. I shall be forty- six next birthday, and therefore speak of about ten years at the utmost.

If you have reasons for not entering into my request, or for declining to concern yourself with it personally, let me know plainly and definitely. I could explain those reasons from your peculiar position, and they would not in the least interfere with our friendship. Let me know in that case whether you advise me to apply MYSELF to the Grand Duke of Weimar, in order to induce him to place himself at the head of the aforesaid combination of princes. If you do not think this advisable, I am determined to ask D. whether he will intercede for me with another prince. If he also refuses, my last resource will be to apply to that prince myself. On the success of this step will depend my further relations to Germany, as to which in such circumstances I have quite made up my mind.

My request, whether it be addressed to you, or D., or one of the princes, will be accompanied by a clear and convincing exposition of my circumstances, my position towards the artistic world, and my individual qualities, and wants. At the same time I shall state precisely what I promise to do in return for such a pension. In the first instance, and whether my return to Germany will be granted or not, I shall undertake to continue the creation of new works. All my works, present and future, will be given to the various court theatres gratis. Finally, as soon as I am allowed to return to Germany I will, by special desire, undertake to superintend in person the study and production of my operas, and, if it should be wished, of other works, the representation of which would be for the benefit and honour of art.

This letter, dear Franz, is the first I have written in this fateful new year 1859. It is addressed to you, and deals with a subject which will be of decisive influence on my future life. May Heaven and our friendship reward it with success!

Answer me soon definitely and decisively, for I repeat that I do not want my request to be in any way connected with the amnesty. A thousand cordial greetings to the ladies, to whom I shall soon write a pleasant letter.

Your

R. W.

281.

DEAREST FRANZ,

Have you NOTHING AT ALL to say to me? What is to become of me, if
EVERY ONE ignores me?

Your

R.

VENICE.

282.

MY DEAR FRANZ,

On reading my letter again, you will probably have discovered what was the meaning of my jocular complaint—"You answer me much too pathetically and seriously." You must have seen by the exact terms of my letter, somewhat loosely worded though it was, that by your answer I meant the manner in which you speak of my conduct towards D. with regard to "Rienzi." As this part of my letter has remained obscure to you, I add the following words of explanation. My letter about the withdrawal of "Rienzi" was written with a view to being shown, because I had referred D. to you. I thought, however, you would see that I was annoyed by the difficulties he made about the honorarium, and by the remote date for which payment was promised. I was in hopes that my letter discussing the withdrawal of the opera would help me quickly to the honorarium, and perhaps increase the amount a little. I had unfortunately reckoned upon this income before the new year, and relied upon it all the more because I had on a former occasion explained my difficult position to your sympathetic heart. When I forwarded D.'s last letter to you my intention was to complain of his pedantic statement: "The honorarium will be paid to you after the first performance,"—a statement to which I am no longer accustomed at any other theatre. I further hoped to induce you— as indeed I clearly indicated—to effect at least the immediate payment of the honorarium. As my letter about the withdrawal of "Rienzi" was written with a view to being shown, it may very likely have puzzled you; but I know that it was intended only to frighten D., and to supply you with a weapon for forcing him into a decent and business-like attitude. In consequence, I hoped that the success of this little manoeuvre would secure me the receipt of the wretched twenty-five louis d'or before the new year. Upon this sum I looked as my only certainty, because you were there to get it for me, while the moneys which I expected from other quarters represented only so many hopes which might be delusive. At last New Year's Eve came. My money was all gone; my watch, the snuff-box of the Grand Duke, and the bonbonniere of the Princess, the only valuables I possess, had been pawned; and of the money I had got for them only one and a half napoleons remained. When, on New Year's Eve, on entering my lonely room, I found your letter, I confess I was weak enough to hope that it would announce to me the imminent arrival of the twenty-five louis d'or, in consequence of the successful demonstration against D. which I thought I had made. Instead of this, I found, in reference to this matter, a serious explanation of your relations with D., which, as I see from this letter, have already become matter of bitter and troublesome experience to you. I had foreseen this, and made you silent reproaches when D. was called to Weimar through your means. I quite understood that, owing to prolonged irritation, you were, on receipt of my last letter, in a mood which misled you as to the character of my threat to withdraw "Rienzi." You recognized in me also the sympathetic annoyance at all the unworthy things we meet with, and you overlooked the fact that a poor devil like me cannot afford to be serious. Therefore you entered seriously and bitterly into my withdrawal of "Rienzi," which, after the insults you had received, was welcome to you, and I, for my part, had to witness on that wretched New Year's Eve the destruction of my last secret, but none the less certain, hope of receiving money. The great disappointment of that moment would, at any other time, have probably made me reticent and silent, but the long-expected and ardently-longed- for boon of your sympathy for "Tristan" evoked in me a kind of convulsive excitement. Once more, your joy at my first act had brought you so near to my innermost heart that I thought I might, at such a moment, make the most outrageous demand on you. That feeling I expressed, if I remember rightly, in the words, "For my paroxysm of joyous excitement your delight at 'Tristan' is responsible." Dearest friend, at that moment I could not even think of the possibility of a misunderstanding. Everything being so certain and infallible between us, I went to the opposite extreme of reproaching you because you had left me in the lurch with regard to money matters, and because you had taken my diplomatic demonstration against D. in a much too earnest and pathetic sense, my only interest in him being comprised in a little money. I further indicated that the various considerations, which to you, being on the spot, and holding an official position, might appear serious and of great moment, did not exist for me at all, the only connection between myself and the theatres, and their public art, being solely that of money.

THAT OF MONEY! Yes, so it is; and with that you reproach me. You should rather pity me. Do you not think that I should prefer your position in regard to the performance of your own works because money is no object to you? My first letter of this year will have shown you that I also am capable of considering the matter in a serious and literally pathetic, i.e., suffering mood.

Enough of this. Your letter, received today, has affected me deeply, as you will easily understand. Yet I am calm and full of hope. Your curious misunderstanding in applying my reproach, that you answer me in "too earnest and pathetic a style," to your delight at "Tristan", must by this time have become clear to yourself. I feel quite confident that any unprejudiced friend, to whom you may show our last letters, will persuade you, in spite of your prejudice, that my humorous and playfully extravagant reproach referred only to your idea of my intended withdrawal of "Rienzi," and, generally speaking, to the expectation I had of D. and the whole slough of our German operatic theatres. You now know the position which excited me to this kind of desperate humour, and I hope it will be a long time before I again have to change my last napoleon at the telegraph office.

It is you, dear friend, who are suffering and needing comfort; for the extraordinary letter which you found it possible to send me can only have sprung from a terrible mental irritation. I hope in the meantime that this lengthy explanation and disclosure of the misunderstanding into which you had succeeded in falling will be some comfort to you. I have none other to offer. If your irritation concerned me alone, this letter should dispel it altogether. Let me further assure you that you have hurt me in no way, for your arrows did not hit me; their barbs stuck in your own heart. This letter, I hope, will free you of them.

One more thing let me ask you today. Do not answer my letter of January 2nd. Look upon it as if it had not been written, or, at least, not received. I am fully aware that you are not able to put yourself in my place with such goodwill and understanding as would enable you to do justice to my letter. Please forget it altogether; in that case, I will on my part pardon your reproaches, you curious, dear, dear friend.

Farewell for today.

I am sure I have not lost you.

Your

RICHARD WAGNER.

VENICE, January 7th, 1859.

In order to set your mind at rest, I inform you that, by a curious and lucky accident, some money, which I had long expected and already despaired of, arrived here from Vienna in the first week of the new year. My three valuables (let a kind world forgive me this luxury!) are out of pawn. For the present I am provided for, and do not apprehend any new stoppage of my resources just yet.

May the friendly remembrance of me be revived in you.

Your

RICHARD W.

283.

Your greeting, dearest Richard, has brought me the enchanting forgetfulness of all that should ever be far from us. Receive my thanks, and let us continue to suffer patiently together.

Before you had written to ask me not to mention your proposal, I had communicated it at some length in the proper quarter. As I might have expected, after numerous similar conversations (which I never mention to you) there were several reasons for not accepting it. Perhaps I shall be able to broach the subject again later on, and obtain a more favourable result; to the extent, I mean, that a small sum will be sent to you. Anything more cannot be hoped for.

I must ask you to believe that I am extremely grieved always to have to tell you things of this kind.

In your letter to Princess M. you speak of a change of abode, and of your desire to settle in a large town. In case, against my sincere hope, the permission to return to Germany should be permanently refused to you, and you prefer to live in a large town, I still think that Paris would be the most comfortable, the most convenient, and even the cheapest place for you. I know your dislike of this city pleine de boue et de fumee; but I think that if you were to live there for any length of time you would feel more at home, apart from which we should be tolerably near each other, so that I might visit you frequently.

Have you had any further news from Carlsruhe? The newspapers continue to announce a performance of "Tristan" in September, and I do not relinquish the hope that at that time a favourable turn in your affairs will take place. Anyhow, this summer must not pass without our seeing each other.

Once more, thanks for your greeting; the song is indescribably beautiful.

Most cordially your

F. L.

WEYMAR, February 17th, 1859.

From Vienna you will soon receive through my cousin a small collection of NOTES.

All that is kind to C. R.

284.

VENICE, February 22nd, 1859.

I have just received your letter; as I am expecting R. and W., who may come in at any moment, I must defer answering you at length until tomorrow. But I will not go to bed today without thanking you most sincerely for the great benefit you have conferred upon me by your letter. I am often in a state of convulsive excitement, and must then look very ugly. But that state has now disappeared entirely; you took it away today.

I shall say more about this tomorrow, and you will find me in a willing frame of mind for confessing my sins.

One word more. If I have understood your short hint rightly, let me ask you, for Heaven's sake, not to send me any money now. I could not bear it. Send me your "Ideals," and, when it is ready, your "Dante;" those I am looking for longingly.

The boys have just come in; the well-brought-up K. thanks you a thousand times for your remembrance of him.

More tomorrow, God willing.

My blessings on you!

Your

R. W.

285.

VENICE, February 23rd, 1859.

DEAR FRANZ,

To my hurried lines of yesterday I add a more comprehensive letter today. I have many things to tell you.

Lately I felt the urgent desire of sending you a word of comfort and sympathy. I thought that you were in need of such. For I had heard, to my horror, how great your annoyance must be, and B.'s account confirmed my impression that you were deeply annoyed and grieved by ingratitude, faithlessness, and even treachery. Suddenly, however, I felt quite stupid, and all I intended to say to you appeared to me trivial and superfluous. I could think of nothing better than to copy out for you a few fragments of my last work. They are not the really important things, for those can be understood only in their larger context, and I am all the more obliged to you for your kind reception of my good intentions, which count for little in art, but for a great deal in friendship.

I must almost thank you for the alarming New Year's greeting which you sent to me. I believe it has been beneficial to me; I am aware that I have too little control over myself, and rely upon the patience of others to an undue extent. An occasional lesson, therefore, does me good. Although I remain firmly convinced that you have misunderstood me in one essential point (as, indeed, well you might), I feel, nevertheless, that I must have cut a very ugly figure. That was proved to me by the effect I had upon you, for we know little of our appearance until we see ourselves in a looking-glass, and in your irritation I recognized my ugliness. These attacks of my violence ought surely to have calmed down by this time; indeed, I long for that unruffled calm which I esteem so highly and recognize to be the finest quality in man. It appears to me that I have arrived at the turning point of my life, and I deeply long for a state of quiescence. I am aware that that quiescence must, at last, come from the inner man, and our position towards the outer world must become one of apathy, if nothing from there contributes to the contentment of our mind. Let us see then.

I am intent at present upon gaining a clear and definite view of my fate. My mental disposition you know from my letter to M. As regards external matters, after mature consideration, I am taking every step to place my future relations with Germany on the necessary definite basis. I heard from Dresden that the king would on no account swerve from his decision to reserve the amnesty for those who had submitted to the investigation and judgment of the law-courts. I was advised to submit to that condition, but after mature consideration, and after weighing all the chances, I am firmly resolved never to fulfil that condition. In order to do all that was possible, I lately wrote to the Minister of Justice, asking him to discuss the matter with the King once more. This measure was suggested to me by my latest experience in this place. I ought to tell you and the Grand Duke for your satisfaction that, by desire of the Saxon Government, I was to be banished from here. I was advised to submit unconditionally, but to send a medical certificate to the Governor-General, praying that I might be allowed to stay for a few months longer for urgent reasons of health. For the moment this has answered, and I am allowed to stay. If I refuse to be examined or perhaps to be locked up a few months in Saxony, I base that refusal towards the Government entirely upon my state of health, which I need only exaggerate a little in order to show good and sufficient cause for my refusal. In other respects I submit most humbly to the decree pronounced against me, recognize my guilt and the justice of the proceedings without reserve—and only ask H.M. to remit the conditions of my amnesty by an exceptional act of grace on account of my health, which has become so weak that the doctor has strongly advised me not to undergo that strain. In that manner I think I have taken the only step which may lead me straight to the goal of certain knowledge as to my fate. If the King refuses to grant me this request it is clear that I shall have to give up all hope from that quarter for ever. But even in that case I am resolved to make one more last trial. I shall apply direct to the Grand Duke of Baden, placing the case before him, and asking him for his permission to approach the Emperor of Austria, the Prince of Prussia, the Grand Duke of Weimar, the Duke of Coburg, and perhaps one other friendly Prince with the prayer to grant me an exceptional privilege of residence in their respective states, either by agreement amongst themselves, or by a decree of the National Diet. Avoiding anything of the nature of a complaint against the King of Saxony, I shall base this request solely upon the same circumstance, viz., the very serious state of my health and my nervous irritation, which do not permit me to undergo the risk of a criminal investigation at Dresden, although I fully recognize the justice of that investigation, and do not expect the King to alter his decree in my favour. I shall further ask the Princes in question to suspend the treaty of extradition in my favour after due consultation with the Saxon Government, the object being to secure my personal efforts for the advancement of German art. It will depend upon the consent of the Grand Duke of Baden whether I take further steps in that direction. I do not venture to say that I expect a successful issue, but one thing I shall gain in any case, and that the most necessary of all, viz., certainty as to my position. I must no longer delay gaining that certainty, because my whole future life depends upon it. Before telling you what further steps I have in view in order to gain certainty in another direction also, I must answer your question as to Carlsruhe,

Devrient wrote to me that in case "Tristan" were finished by that time, September 6th, being the birthday of the Grand Duke, would be the best day for the performance; and he added that the Grand Duke counted with certainty upon my personal attendance. As to this last point, which of course I had made the chief condition from the first, I have recently received further information. The Grand Duke intends to invite me for the time in question to Carlsruhe on his own responsibility. Nothing is to be known beforehand, and my presence is to be simply an accomplished fact, for which the Grand Duke takes the personal responsibility. This seems a princely way of doing things, and the young sovereign inspires me with confidence. But I must assist him by denying any intention of a journey to Carlsruhe altogether. You will therefore oblige me, dearest Franz, by ostensibly assisting me in this matter. You might cause some paragraphs to be inserted in the newspapers, contradicting that rumour which, unfortunately, has been spread about a good deal, and stating that nothing was settled, and that my personal attendance at Carlsruhe was quite out of the question, as, as yet, there was not the slightest chance of my amnesty.

Concerning your own recent steps in my favour, I must charge you in all friendliness with having acted too delicately towards me by not letting me know the motives of the refusal you have met with. Even now you do not state those motives plainly, for the reason apparently that you fear to wound me unnecessarily by their communication. On the other hand, I ask you to consider that it would be better if I saw quite clearly in this matter. This would finally and for ever free me from all the illusions into which my strong desire tempts me while things are in this uncertain state, and an unpleasant feature of our mutual relations would disappear altogether.

All my transactions with the Hartels as to the edition of the scores, etc., of the "Nibelungen" to be prepared at once, have again been abandoned recently. The only thing they were willing to grant was the immediate commencement of the engraving (provided always that a performance was guaranteed), without payment of an honorarium, and with the undertaking only on their part to share the profits of the edition with me. How loath I am to agree to this latter proposal I need not explain. The profits to be derived from such a work increase as the years go on, and will probably become lucrative only after my death. In any case, those profits would accrue to me at a time of life to provide for which at present would be folly, considering how urgently I require immediate assistance and freedom from care. Heirs I have none.

Your advice to settle in Paris in case Germany remains closed to me quite coincides with my own plans. The dear Child has communicated to you what my immediate views of life are. I cannot bear this state of inactivity any longer; my health is ruined for want of life and action. Paris is the place, appointed to me by fate. I quite agree with you in thinking that I shall get accustomed to living there as time goes on. Apart from any plans, I shall there have at least the occasional use of a fine orchestra which I have missed for so long. Without considering for the present any possible performances at French theatres, I should there also have the best chance of witnessing a performance of my own works. A well-managed scheme of German opera would be all that would be required. But it is impossible for me and my wife to lead, once more, a half-starving life in Paris. Some comfort and freedom of action must be secured to me, otherwise I cannot think of it. I shall probably leave my furniture, etc., at Zurich. The pretty little house will be kept for me, and I hope to inhabit it again later on in the summer, which would be an agreeable change.

The hope you give me of receiving frequent visits from you in
Paris is the real bright point in the picture of the future.

Believe me, dear Franz, when I consider the advantages which my desired amnesty would offer to me, there is only one which appears to me worth a real sacrifice, I mean that of being together with you more frequently and for longer periods. What else is there that could very strongly and decisively attract me? Performances of my operas I should, in most instances, carefully avoid, although I might in rare and particular cases take part in first performances of my works, which would of course be very desirable. The question, whether in that case encouragement and new strength, or grief, annoyance, and overexcitement would be the lasting effect upon me, I fear I must decide in favour of the latter alternative, and no external success, no applause, could make up for this. If I was sensitive before, I am so now to the verge of excessive irritation, and I dread every contact with theatrical matters, singers, conductors, etc., to such a degree that I feel almost inclined to bless the fate which keeps me apart from them. But we, we two, want to cultivate our friendship by personal intercourse; we are to each other the only enjoyment which the world can offer us. Only think how painfully we have always been kept separated, during how few weeks of the long and beautiful years of our friendship we have looked into each other's eyes. This fountain of generation of inner strength and fire is fully appreciated by me, and I feel it to be the direst deprivation that I can approach it so rarely. If you promise me this boon for Paris, you may look upon my determination to go there as certain and immutable.

Let me have a full account of yourself, dear friend; of all your troubles I hear from others, sometimes even through the newspapers. That is not right; neither should you be too brief in your statements; it looks like want of confidence. I want to gain a closer view so as to know how to stretch out my hand, which would comfort you with a friendly touch. It is natural that you are too great, too noble, too beautiful, for our dear, gossipy Germany, and that you appear to the people like a god, whose splendour they are not accustomed and not inclined to bear. It was left to you to illustrate this phenomenon, for so bright, so warm a being as yourself had never before appeared in Germany. But I should like to know to what degree this miserable conduct touches your heart, annoys you, embitters you. I have grown so indifferent to similar impressions, that I often find it very difficult to discover the exact point where the impression is made.

If, on the other hand, I consider what happiness is in your possession, what crowns of life and of eternity are on your forehead, if I think of your sympathetic and nobly refined home, free as it is from the serious cares of common life, if I finally observe how your personality and your ever-ready art enchant and delight all around you, I find it difficult to understand what your sufferings really are. And yet you suffer, and suffer deeply; that I feel. Sink your pride for once, and write to me as plainly and as comprehensively as I too frequently do to you, much to your annoyance. I must conclude, in order not to begin the fourth sheet, and will only tell you in the margin that I thank you cordially for your love, and shall always remain faithfully and lovingly

Your friend,

RICHARD W.

286.

MILAN, March 25th, 1859.

MY FRANZ,

I am once more on my travels without having told you anything about them; tired out as I am by the Brera, the "Cena", the Cathedral, etc., I do not want to go to bed before sending you two words of news.

In order not to interrupt the composition of my third act, I came to the conclusion that I ought to begin it in a place where I might finish it. I have selected Lucerne for the purpose; you know how dearly I love the Lake of Lucerne; the Righi, Pilatus, etc., are indispensable remedies to me and my blood. I shall live there in solitude, and at this time of the year shall easily find a most desirable lodging. There I mean to work splendidly. My Erard has already preceded me.

My health gives me still much trouble, otherwise I am fairly well off, but with your friendly cousin in Vienna, who thinks so little of your advantage, I have still a bone to pick. About that next time. I should, no doubt, have had news from you if, in my last letter, I had not again given you such a dose of gravy. I should have been only too happy to receive a sign of life from you, even if that matter had not been mentioned with a word. I hoped for it from day to day, and in that idle hope neglected advising you of my intended change of abode.

As soon as I am settled again I shall write better and more, without waiting for you to ask me. For today these preliminary lines must suffice. A thousand cordial greetings.

Your

R. W.

LUCERNE, poste restante.

287.

Be heartily welcomed on the Lake of Lucerne, my dear, great friend. "Tristan" will once again enjoy and derive strength from Alpine air before he leaves you for ever to shine on others. At Carlsruhe they are afraid that he will not arrive punctually at the appointed time. Devrient, whom I saw here and at Jena, told me so lately. The first performance is wavering between September and December—the birthday of the Grand Duke or that of the Grand Duchess, and I have already announced myself as the INEVITABLE guest.

Your dose of gravy, as you put it, was not particularly palatable. At our next meeting I shall have to say much about it, unfortunately of the negative kind. Nevertheless, I hope to be able at the same time to propose to you a different arrangement (if that is the name) with which, no doubt, you will agree. First of all, however, "Tristan" must be finished, engraved, and performed, and after that we will, without delay, take the "Nibelungen" affair seriously in hand, and set it right to your satisfaction.

The Princess and her daughter are going to Munich next week (Kaulbach is painting the portrait of Princess M.). I stay here till Easter, and then go on a visit to Prince Hohenzollern at Lowenberg, Silesia. From the middle of May to the beginning of June I shall pitch my tent at Leipzig, where all manner of things will happen. Later on, for Whitsuntide, grand Schiller festivities are announced here. Whether they will take place is very questionable, but in any case I shall have to get the music for the festival-play by Holm (VOR HUNDERT JAHRERI) ready, which will be something of an effort.

My health, fortunately, gives me no trouble, and I have no lack of patience. The rest may come and will come.

Farewell and persevere. Such is the wish of

Your

F. L.

WEYMAR, April 6th, 1859.

288.

LUCERNE, April 19th, 1859.

Tell me, dearest Franz, how would you feel if you were in my position? I have repeatedly asked you to send me your new works as they appear. The "Ideals" has appeared, but you are silent on the subject. Now I read the publisher's announcement of the appearance of "Dante." How would you feel if this happened to you? Do you still harbour your strange illusions about me? That surely is impossible.

The weather is bad; I am absolutely alone, and seldom in the right mood for work. So I drag on amidst mists and thoughts.

Let me hear, let me see.

Your

R. W.

289.

DEDICATION OF THE "DANTE" SYMPHONY.

As Virgil guided Dante, so have you guided me through the mysterious regions of life-tone imbued worlds. From the bottom of his heart calls to you:—

"Tu se lo mio maestro, el mio autore!"

and dedicates this work to you with invariably faithful love

Your

F. LISZT.

WEYMAR, Easter 1859.

290.

LUCERNE, May 8th, 1859.

I should prefer not to write to you today, dearest Franz, because I am not in the proper mood for it, but as I must not think of working, I make at least this attempt at some sort of activity, without knowing exactly what the result will be. If you suddenly were to enter my solitude,—that would be a chance of the possibility of a possibility. But you seem to have disposed of your summer,—Lowenberg and Leipzig, while the third L. (Lucerne) has been totally forgotten. Well, I stick to Lucerne, and, carefully considered, it is the only place in the world which is at present possible to me. You know, or might imagine, that I do not live a life in the proper sense of the word; the only thing that could help me—art, art to the verge of drowning and world- forgetfulness, of that I have still less than of life, and this state of things has lasted for a period which I soon shall count by decades. Excepting the servants, I see and speak to no one; just imagine how I must feel. My good people, I fear you leave me too much alone, and the meaning of "too late" will one day be brought home to you in connection with me. It is very well to say: "Get "Tristan" ready, and then we shall see." But how if I did not get "Tristan" ready because I could not get it ready? I feel as if I should break down pantingly in sight of the goal. Once at least every day I look at my book with a right good will, but my head is waste, my heart empty, and I stare at the mists and the rain-clouds, which, ever since I have been here, have debarred me even from the chance of shaking up my stagnant blood by pleasant excursions. People say: "Go to work, then all will be right." Very well in its way, but I, poor devil, lack routine, and if ideas do not come to me of themselves, I cannot make them A pleasant state of things this! and what is worse, there is no chance of helping myself in any other way. All is shut and locked against me. Work alone is to help me, but who is to help me to the possibility of work? I have evidently too little of what you have too much.

I am full of enthusiasm for the German Confederacy of the Teutonic nations. For heaven's sake do not let the villain L. Napoleon touch my dear German Confederacy! I should be too deeply grieved if any change were made. I am curious, however, what will become of my intended migration to Paris. It is surely most unpatriotic to look for a comfortable existence at the head- quarters of the enemy of the Teutonic nation. The good Teutons should really do something to save the most Teutonic of all Teutonic opera-composers this terrible trial. Moreover, in Paris I shall be pretty well cut off from all my German resources, and yet I shall be obliged to apply in a very high quarter in order to get permission for permanent settlement in Paris, for my Swiss settlement is coming to a close. Germany is evidently intent upon driving me forcibly to the enemy. Very well! There is a possibility of my going in the autumn for six months to America, where offers have been made to me which, considering the friendly sympathy of the German Confederacy, I cannot very well neglect. This will be decided before long. What makes me hesitate is that the "Tristan" scheme at Carlsruhe would be crossed thereby in such a manner that I should have to give it up for the present, and should probably not resume it at any future time. The last act of this child of sorrow is now on the verge of the "to be or not to be;" a slight pressure of some spring of the vulgar fate, at whose mercy I am, might kill this child at the very moment of its birth. Everything with me depends now upon the turning of a hand; there may be a way and there may be a complete stoppage, for I, my Franz, am in a bad way.

I have heard nothing for a long time of any of my friends; they probably think that I am very happy in my dear Switzerland, in this splendid solitude, in the joy of composing, forgetful of all the world. I am not angry with them because they make themselves such illusions. If they only knew that I had to threaten violence in order to get out of you the "Dante" symphony dedicated to me, they might draw further conclusions from this fact. What do you say to that? I have, after all, arrived at "Dante", of which I did not wish to speak today, because I love it too much to involve it in my present mood. Let me tell you, however, that we had better keep the dedication, written in my copy, to ourselves. I at least shall not mention it to a soul. Your words have positively made me blush, you may believe me. I cannot tell you too often how miserably weak I feel as a musician. I know, in the depth of my heart, that I am an absolute blunderer. You ought to watch me when I am at it; now thinking "it must do after all," then going to the piano to puzzle out some wretched rubbish, and giving it up again in a state of idiocy. Oh, how I feel then! how thoroughly persuaded of my musical wretchedness! And then come you, whose pores are running over as with streams, fountains, cataracts, and tell me such words as those which you have said to me. I find it difficult to think that this is not the purest irony, and I must recall your friendship in order to believe that you have not been cutting a joke at my expense after all. This is a peculiar story, dearest friend; believe me, I am not up to much. I really begin to think that Reissiger must have helped me with "Tannhauser" and "Lohengrin." With my new works you have most certainly helped me, and now that you leave me in the lurch, I can do nothing more.

About "Dante" only so much today that I was specially pleased to see how perfectly well I remembered it from your playing it to me. As I come to study it more closely I perceive that no feature of any importance had escaped me, even the smallest and finest details were perfectly familiar to me from that time. This at least is good evidence of my receptive faculties; but I believe that the credit is really due to the peculiar grandeur and quality of your work.

Generally speaking, if you wish to know, I am again in exactly the same condition as when I wrote the letter about you to M. Concerning that letter I recently had a brand-new experience. K. R. had not read it, when I found it accidentally amongst my papers at Venice, and gave it to him. After that he came to me, and told me that people who were near to you had told him in connection with this letter that I expressed myself in it in an evasive manner, and was evidently intent upon saying nothing definite about you. He himself had been made anxious by this, and now, having read it, was truly delighted at perceiving the ENORMOUS significance I had attributed to you. Astonished at the possibility of an ill-natured misunderstanding, I read the letter once more, and was compelled to chime in with K. R.'s impetuous declamations at the incredible dulness, superficiality, and triviality of people who could have misunderstood the meaning of this letter. I have taken a solemn oath not to publish ANOTHER WORD. What we are to each other we know and tell one another at intervals for the sake of encouragement and comfort. But what we are to the world I will be d—d if I—!

It is TOO incredible.

Good Lord! I cannot get out of my trivial mood in this letter, and therefore must not discuss anything noble, least of all the "Ideals." If you want to be sure of hearing something rational from me, come to me and play all your things to me, especially the Crusaders' chorus (splendid!!); then at least YOU will know once more accurately what is in me.

For the present I spend all the good humour I can dispose of on my wife. I flatter her and take care of her as if she were a bride in her honeymoon. My reward is that I see her thrive; her bad illness is visibly getting better. She is recovering, and will, I hope, become a little rational in her old age. Just after I had received your "Dante", I wrote to her that we had now got out of Hell; I hope Purgatory will agree with her, in which case we may perhaps, after all, enjoy a little Paradise. The whole thing is splendid. Remember me to the Prince of Lowenberg, or whatever his name may be, and tell him that if the German Confederacy does not recall me soon I shall go to Paris and betray the length and breadth of Germany.

God be with you. I hope you will pardon this absurd letter. Ever thine,

R. W.

291.

What a terrible storm is your letter, dearest Richard! How desperately it lashes and knocks down everything. What can be heard in the midst of this roaring thunder? Where shall I find, and what is the good of, words, words, words?

And yet my confidence in you is unshaken. Hamlet's dilemma does not apply to you, for YOU ARE and cannot help being. Even your mad injustice towards yourself in calling yourself a "miserable musician and blunderer" (!!) is a sign of your greatness. In the same sense Pascal says, "La vraie eloquence se moque de l' eloquence." It is true that your greatness brings you little comfort and happiness, but where is happiness, in the narrow monotonous sense which is absurdly given to the word? Resignation and patience alone sustain us in this world. Let us bear our cross together in Christ—"the God whom one approaches without pride, before whom one bends the knee without despair." But I must not be betrayed into needless Franciscan sermons.

Candidly speaking, I do not think much of your American project, and fear that New York would appear even more uncanny to you than London. Nevertheless, write to me some particulars about the offer which has been made to you, without the slightest fear of alarming the German Confederacy. As I frequently said, Carlsruhe is, for the present, your best chance, and I am persuaded that the Grand Duke of Baden, who is very well inclined towards you, will not fail to give you practical proof of his kindness. Devrient does not expect to give "Tristan" before December, on the birthday of the Grand Duchess. You need, therefore, be in no particular hurry to finish the work. In any case, I shall visit you before that at Lucerne, or wherever you like, and will play to you a lot of my stuff if, as you tell me, it amuses you. The noblest reward of my work would be if it were to bring home to you the truth that you are and remain an IMMENSE MUSICIAN, and if by that means you were incited to renewed industry.

In spite of all the war troubles the meeting of musicians will take place at the beginning of June, as announced, and I have to take up my quarters at Leipzig for that purpose as early as next week. Do not laugh at me too much because I continue to take an interest in similar things; they are not without influence on your tentiemes, and from that point of view I may ask for your toleration. I hope the weather will soon be finer on the lake, and a milder spirit will illumine your soul.

Cordially your

F. LISZT.

WEYMAR, May 14th, 1859.

I told you at the time how deeply your letter to M. about the Symphonic Poems had rejoiced me. The twaddle which dulness, triviality, and spite have talked about it is not worth notice.

292.

LUCERNE, May 15th, 1859.

DEAREST FRANZ,

Thiele, of Berne, the, trombone player, has just called on me, and told me that he recently visited you at Weimar, not knowing at that time that the place of trombone player would be vacant there. He asked me to recommend him to you, because, as a native of Weimar, he would like much to be employed there. I am cordially pleased to recommend him to you most warmly, not only for the sake of Thiele, but for that of your orchestra. He took part in 1853 in my famous May concerts at Zurich, and on that occasion gained, I may say, my whole heart by his enthusiasm. He had two very weak players with him, but managed to carry them along with him by his energy to such an extent, that in the passage

[Musical score excerpt]

one might have thought that one was listening to a whole host of trombones. Thiele, in short, is excellent, and known all through Switzerland as a trombone genius. I congratulate you on his acquisition. Do not let him escape you.

Farewell for today, dearest friend. What state I am in you may unfortunately see from the fact that a few days ago I felt bound in conscience and duty to ask Devrient not to rely on "Tristan" or me any longer. This was bound to happen, and there is an end for the present.

Much luck to the Leipzig festival.

Farewell, and accept the best wishes of

Your

RICHARD W.

293.

May 21st, 1859.

DEAREST FRIEND,

Send Tausig to me; I hear he is disengaged. My wife has even written to me that he wished to come to me. Otherwise I have nothing rational to tell you today. I feel miserable; you will soon hear more. A thousand cordial thanks for your letter.

Your

R. W.

LUCERNE.

294.