Now, I congratulate you, my sister, in being doubly mother.[20] The event, Ferdinand had announced to me some time ago, I had foreseen, by means of prophetic vision generated during my stay in London; for whilst I was wishing myself to the devil—that is to say, out of the world—I perceived that Providence was preparing to fill the gap, by sending into the world a substitute. But the same Providence made a mistake, as He occasionally does (this, remember, is quite confidential!); the devil has not yet wanted me; I have remained in the world, as you shall see, through sheer obstinacy, and my other self has arrived whilst I am still living, so that now there are two Richard Wagners!!
I am not surprised, then, at the event, which, by my resolve to quit the world, I had in some measure prepared (this without the slightest offence to Ferdinand); but fate having ordained otherwise, I have the rare pleasure of living at the same time with my future substitute, of making his personal acquaintance, of coming to some understanding with him about conducting the concerts of the Philharmonic Society; in short, upon a thousand things of the greatest importance, which could not conveniently be arranged at such an enormous distance as that of the other world to this. So the event has been quite a success. But I must ever regret to have caused you so much pain and suffering on that account. I say it, you know, always without any offence to Ferdinand. Think, then, of the great personal relief I have just experienced at the news of your convalescence, and believe in the warm-hearted sincerity of my congratulations.
I have no other care now but to come to an understanding as quickly as possible with my other self, respecting our united efforts to conquer the world before I myself (i.e. Richard Wagner the elder) leave it. I therefore entreat you to keep me well informed of the exact state of the development of my substitute. Even at this very moment I very much need his help.
I have received an invitation from America to conduct at New York and Boston. In addition to a thousand other things I have been promised very large receipts. It is, however, quite impossible for me to accept; that must be the province of Richard Wagner the younger. When will he be able to accept the invitation? I beg of you to be very explicit on this point. Further, I have a multitude of projects and subjects for operas in my head. Ferdinand imagines them under the roof of my house; he is mistaken, my house is myself, the roof my skull. But, alas, I have neither the time nor the requisite tranquillity to release them from the prison-house in which they are confined: that also, then, must be the work of my other self; and when he has liberated them he may give what he likes of them to his father to set to music. When will he be developed enough for this pressing work? Be prompt in your reply on this point. Ask Ferdinand if it is not important! Ah! good heavens! there are such a number of other things which we must arrange together that an early conference is imperative.
Do you know Dr. Wylde? Well, I am expecting an invitation from him to give him lessons in the “music of the future.” But will not Richard Wagner the younger be better fitted than I to teach that kind of music, since he is still more closely connected with the future? What think you? There is no time to lose. Make haste with the little education absolutely necessary for ripening the faculties of my alter ego, and telegraph to me the moment the time has arrived—that time of complete development so anxiously waited for by me. Is it not so, dear sister Léonie? Eh! my mother (you understand!) Now you must not fail to remember this.
But above all, you must not omit to teach my alter ego to make money, the one talent of all others which, by some incomprehensible fault in my education, has never been cultivated. And this causes me sometimes (i.e. always) horrible anxieties, since by nature I am luxurious, prodigal, and extravagant, much more than Sardanapalus and all the old Roman emperors put together. In this I am sadly in want of another self (pardon me for saying so), who will gain money enormously. Now be sure and do not forget this and send me as soon as possible a few millions, stolen by my double from the innumerable admirers I have left behind in England! On pondering over the situation, I perceive that herein lies the crucial point, so that my last entreaty is that you instruct my other self in that which I have never learnt, viz. making money—make money—but much! Much! Enormously much!
This is my prayer; may heaven hearken to me!
AFTER A LONG ILLNESS.
Of Richard Wagner the elder I can only give you poor news. He drags himself through life as a burden. His only delight is his work. His greatest sorrow, the loss of desire to work. The cause of his death will one day be the terrible fate to which he cannot help exposing his works, i.e. to their mutilation and complete destruction by stupid or wicked executants, from whom he is powerless of protecting them, since he is an exile from that land where they are being performed. (Think, therefore, of my alter ego!) No other misfortune affects me so keenly. This touches me to the heart, to the very core. It is when under such feelings that I occasionally lose completely—yes, even for a long time—the desire to work. These periods are terrible, for then nothing remains, nothing to comfort me. During the last few months I had happily regained a little of my old enthusiasm, and I had been working pretty well at the second of my musical dramas, which I had hoped to finish in London (fool that I was!). But alas, I have been confined, during the last few weeks, to my bed, a prey to a long latent illness, which, having at last broken out, I hope has been the saving of my life. I only left my sick-bed yesterday, and here I am to-day at my table, writing to you. Be indulgent, and excuse the mass of nonsense I am sending you in this letter. My correspondence will probably be no better than my conversation, which was very dull and stupid. But nevertheless, you vowed to me your friendship, for you know how to read between the lines of my conversation. I thank you very heartily for that kindness!
Now be happy, although one lives in the midst of annoyances and sufferings of all kinds—for it is only by a heart full of compassion which brightens up even at the perception of a smile from another, though it be but the forced smile of melancholy.