Many, many hearty greetings for sister Léonie and the god-child!
Adieu.
Zurich, 15th January, 1856.
Again was Wagner laid upon a sick-bed. One anxiety seems to have possessed his mind—the longing to complete the “Walküre.” The following letter is of importance, since it shows the composer’s frame of mind during the composition of the above work, a state of “pure despair” which, says Wagner, could alone have created it:—
THE “WALKÜRE” POETRY.
Best thanks, dearest friend for your letters. You are right; I have again been laid on a sick-bed, and when at last I became convalescent I was in a perfect rage to get to the score of my “Walküre” (in the composition of which I have been hindered for the last year). So much do I long to finish it that I have entirely ceased letter-writing. Altogether, the older one grows, that is to say, in sense and reason, the more the worldly events of every-day life dwindle away into nothingness. That which one experiences in the inward heart becomes more and more difficult to explain. I do not mean to say that the events one has passed through, and which have touched you most intimately, cease to exist to live on; no, no; therefore I assure you that you and your family are ever vividly before me, yet as soon as one commences to write one finds after all there is nothing of real worth to put down. On the whole, we can only agree with each other, then there remains nothing but actual occurrences, views, and intentions to discuss. In these my life at present is as poor as my art creations are prolific, and which, indeed, are surging to the surface and becoming richer and richer. When you come to me, and I play my works to you, you will agree with me. In so far as the world has a claim upon me I can point solely to my work. I have nothing else to offer to it.
If you read the poetry of the “Walküre” again, you will find such a superlative of sorrow, pain, and despair expressed therein, that you will understand me when I say the music terribly excites me. I could not again accomplish a similar work. When it is once finished, much will then appear quite different (looking at the work as an art whole), and will afford enjoyment, whereas nothing but pure despair could have created it. But we shall see!
Altogether I live so secluded and retired that I feel at a loss when I am anxious to talk to you about it. I look forward to the time of Liszt’s coming to me as a bracing up of my heart. Alas! on account of illness, I was compelled last winter to put off the visit. About the illness in your little family I take a hearty interest. In your new garden I picture you gambolling with your children. How I wish that I had a little house with a little garden attached; alas! an enjoyment hitherto unattainable.
At first I was tolerably indifferent about the sad conflagration,[21] but when I thought of Sainton it became painful to me. Now I hear that Gye has managed to continue his opera notwithstanding, and therefore Sainton’s income, no doubt, will not be endangered, and the misfortune overcome! That he now plays under Wylde amuses me much. It was ridiculous that he had to resign the Old Philharmonic. After all, Costa has succeeded in this! When I recall my London visit, I find I do not remember much except the friends I left there; they are all that remind me of it—happily!
But now try and come to visit me. For my operas wait until you hear them produced by me. Now you can get a very inadequate impression of them. If, therefore, you desire more of me, come to me yourself; in so doing you will give me great pleasure. I remain here during the summer. If I can arrange it, I intend going in the autumn with Semper to Rome; at least, such is my present hope. But continue to give me frequent news of you, and be assured that in so doing you give the greatest gratification to