“I start for England on Friday. Wagner, who is directing the old London Philharmonic (a post I was obliged to refuse, being engaged by the other society) is buried beneath the vituperations of the whole British press. He remains calm, for he says that in fifty years he will be master of the musical world.”
“July.—“My trip to London, where, each time, I become more comfortably established, was a brilliant success.
“I mean to go back next winter after a prospective short tour through Austria and Bohemia—at least if we are not at war with Austria.”
“I do nothing but correct proofs from morning to night, and see, hear, know nothing.”
“Meyerbeer ought to be pleased with the reception of the Etoile du Nord at Covent Garden. They threw him bouquets, as though he were a prima-donna.”
To Richard Wagner.
“September 1855.—Your letter has given me real pleasure. You do well to deplore my ignorance of German, and I have often told myself that, as you say, this ignorance makes it impossible for me to appreciate your writings. Expression melts away in translation, no matter how daintily it is handled.”
“In true music there are accents that belong to special words, separated they are spoilt.”
“But what can I do? I find it so devilishly hard to learn languages; a few words of English and Italian are all I can manage.”
“So you are busy melting glaciers with your Nibelungen! It must be glorious to write in the presence of great Mother Nature—a joy withheld from me, for, instead of stimulating, the sea, the mountain peaks, the glories of this beautiful earth absorb me so completely that I have no room, no outlet for expression. I only feel. I can but describe the moon from her reflection at the bottom of a well.”