Farewell for today, you dear, good friend.
Your
RICHARD WAGNER.
ZURICH, March 3d, 1853.
102.
MY DEAREST FRIEND,
As to one thing I must ask you seriously not to misunderstand me.
If your gigantic perseverance of friendship should succeed in opening my return to Germany, be assured that the only use I should make of this favour would be to visit Weimar now and then, take part for a short time in your activity, and witness an important performance of my operas from time to time. This I want; it is a necessary of life to me, and it is this which I miss so cruelly. I should derive no other benefit from it; I should never permanently settle in Germany, but should retain as the scene of my life, or rather work, calm, beautiful Switzerland, endeared to me by nature. How little I am able to endure the permanent excitement which would be involved in my frequent public appearances I know full well; after each explosion, such as I want them now and then, I should require the most perfect quietude for my productive labour; and this I can have here without stint. A permanent position I therefore could never resume in Germany, and it would not fall in with my views and experiences. On the other hand, temporary outings for the purposes already indicated are, as I said before, indispensable to me; they are to me the rain which I require unless my plant is to wither and to die; I can only live in extremes—great activity and excitement and—most perfect calm.
I have already contemplated what my position would be, for example, towards Berlin in case my return were granted, and have, after mature consideration, come to the conclusion that even then I should ask you earnestly to undertake the performances of my operas there.
Twice I have produced an opera of my own at Berlin, and have been unfortunate each time; this time I should therefore prefer to leave the undertaking wholly to you; at the utmost I should enjoy your doings incognito. In any case you alone would be able to influence in my favour the circumstances and personal relations which are indispensable; I should again spoil everything. This therefore is prudence. Moreover, I cannot express to you how my heart rejoices at the thought that I might look on from a hidden corner while you instilled my work into the Berliners; this satisfaction to my feelings I must live to see!