Correspondence of Wagner and Liszt — Volume 1

by Richard Wagner; Franz Liszt

If you should prefer to have it printed separately as a little pamphlet by Weber, of Leipzig, I should not object; and if you would say a word to Weber, I feel convinced that he would willingly undertake it. But before all you must be acquainted with my article, and tell me very frankly whether or not you would like to have it published in Germany. In France I will manage it a little sooner or a little later, but in case of a German publication I should make it an absolute condition that you undertook the trouble of translating it and of having it copied under your eyes, so that I should not be charged with the blunders of the translator, etc., etc. You will see that the style is carefully French, and it would therefore be very important not to destroy the nuances of sentiment and thought in their passage to another language.

Always and wholly yours,

F. LISZT.

WEYMAR, September 25th, 1850.

46.

DEAREST FRIEND,

I have little to tell you unless I write to you about all the things which we two need scarcely discuss any more. After your last letter, which has given me great and genuine joy, such as few things could, we are almost so absolutely near each other on the most important questions that we may truly say, we are one. I only long for the pleasure of your company, for the delight of being united with you for a season, so that we may mutually no longer say, but do to each other what we cannot express in writing. In fact, to do something is always better and leads to the goal much quicker than the cleverest discussion. Cannot you get free for a little time and have a look round Switzerland? or cannot you at least send me your scores, for which I recently asked you? You ignore my request in your letter; why is that?

I have again many things to think about—alas! to think about only. I have once more arrived at a point where retreat is impossible; I must think out my thoughts before becoming once more a naive and confident artist, although I shall be that again, and look forward with pleasure to reaping the richest benefit. You lay stress in your letter upon the fact that the enemy whom we have to fight is not only in the throats of our singers, but in the lazy Philistinism of our public and in the donkeydom of our critics. Dearest friend, I agree with you so fully that I did not even mention it to you. What I object to are the perverse demands which are made on the public. I will not allow that the public is charged with want of artistic intelligence, and that the salvation of art is expected from the process of grafting artistic intelligence on the public from above; ever since the existence of connoisseurs art has gone to the devil. By drilling artistic intelligence into it we only make the public perfectly stupid. What I said was this: that I wanted nothing of the public beyond a healthy sense and a human heart. This does not sound much, but it is so much that the whole world would have to be turned upside down to bring it about. The noble- minded, the refined, those who have the courage of their feelings, believe themselves at the top of the tree; they are mistaken! In our actual order of things the Philistine, the vulgar, common, flabby, and at the same time cruel man of routine, reigns supreme. He, and no one else, is the prop of existing things, and against him we all fight in vain, however noble our courage may be; for unfortunately all things are in this slavery of leathern custom, and only fright and trouble of all kinds can turn the Philistine into a man by thoroughly upsetting him. Pending an entirely new order of things, we must, dearest friend, be satisfied with ourselves and with those who, like ourselves, know but one enemy—the Philistine. Let us show each other what we can do, and let us feel highly rewarded if we can give joy to each other. "A healthy sense and a human heart!"- -we ask nothing more, and yet all, if we realize the bottomless corruption of that sense, the wicked cowardliness of the heart of the so-called public. Confess, a deluge would be necessary to correct this little fault. To remedy these ills I fear our most ardent endeavour will do nothing that is efficacious. All we can do—while we exist, and with the best will in the world cannot exist at any other time but the present—is to think of preserving our dignity and freedom as artists and as men. Let us show to one another in ourselves that there is worth in man.

In the same sense I was intent, in connection with my "Lohengrin," upon considering only the thing in itself; that is, its adequate embodiment on the part of the actors. Of the public I thought only in so far as I contemplated the one possibility of leading the half-unconscious, healthy sense of that public towards the real kernel of the thing—the drama—by means of the dramatic perfection of the performance. That otherwise this kernel is overlooked by the most aesthetic and most intelligent hearers I have unfortunately again been shown by the clearest evidence, and I confess that in this respect Dingelstedt's account of my opera is present to my mind, causing me deep grief. You, best of friends, have taken such infinite care of me in every respect that I can only sincerely regret that your efforts are sometimes responded to in so perverse a manner. In Dingelstedt's account I recognize two things: his friendly disposition towards me, with which he has been inspired by you, and his most absolute incapability, with all his aestheticism, of conceiving the slightest notion of what had to be conceived. The total confusion engendered in him by listening to my opera he transfers with bold self-reliance to my intentions and to the work itself. He, who apparently can see in opera nothing but kettledrums, trombones, and double-basses, naturally in my opera did not see the wood for the trees; but, being a clever and glib- penned litterateur, he produces a witty and many-coloured set of variorum notes which he could not have done better if it had been his intention to make fun of me, and this stuff he sends to the newspaper with the largest circulation in the German language. If I cared in the least to be in a certain sense recognized, I should have to perceive that Dingelstedt has thoroughly injured me. I read in some papers notices of my opera, evidently founded upon that of Dingelstedt, somewhat to this effect: "Wagner has written another opera, in which he seems to have surpassed the coarse noise of his 'Rienzi'," etc. I am grieved that this happened in the same Allgemeine Zeitung where five years ago Dr. Hermann Franck discoursed on my "Tannhauser" in an intelligent, calm, and lucid manner. If it should interest you, please read this article. It is printed in the A.A.Z., No. 311, November 7th, 1845. You can imagine how I must feel when I compare the two articles.

If you have not given up the hope of being useful to me in wider circles, I should make bold to ask you whether you could manage to have another and more appropriate notice of my "Lohengrin" inserted in the A.A.Z. It has, as I said before, the largest circulation.