Correspondence of Wagner and Liszt — Volume 2

by Richard Wagner; Franz Liszt

Richard Pohl has asked me to inquire of you whether you will be at Zurich in July, and whether he may pay you a visit there?

244.

ZURICH, May 8th, 1857.

At last, dearest Franz, I am able to give you an answer by letter.

First of all, receive my heartiest congratulations on the good state of your health. Your letter has joyfully surprised me, and, to my greatest delight, has made me feel ashamed of my intrusive anxiety about you. Your organisation is a perfect riddle to me, and I hope that you will always solve that riddle in as satisfactory a manner as this time, when I looked on with real anxiety. Heaven grant that your profession of good health may not be that of a Spartan!

All the more sorry do I feel that you have not been able to dispel my anxiety as to the Princess also. At our last meeting at Zurich my impression of your (to me) strange and very exciting mode of life frightened me so much that I am really less astonished at the Princess being on a sick bed than at your being up again. My very eager anxiety about both of you is perhaps in bad taste; for you are accustomed to taking care of yourselves, and acknowledge probably no special right on my part to trouble about you. Heaven grant that patience and good advice may restore our magnanimous friend as soon as possible; when she is once well again I shall be quite willing to plead guilty to the charge of impertinence. You say nothing of the health of her daughter, who was also severely indisposed. May your good star guide you; in one important point I shall always remain a stranger to you all.

I shall have no further trouble with the Hartels, as I have determined finally to give up my headstrong design of completing the "Nibelungen." I have led my young Siegfried to a beautiful forest solitude, and there have left him under a linden tree, and taken leave of him with heartfelt tears. He will be better off there than elsewhere. If I were ever to resume the work some one would have to make it very easy for me, or else I should have to be in a position to present it to the world as a GIFT, in the full sense of the word. These long explanations with the Hartels- -my first contact with that world which would have to make the realisation of my enterprise possible—were quite enough to bring me to my senses, and to make me recognize the chimeric nature of this undertaking. You were the only person of importance, besides myself, who believed in its possibility, but probably for the reason that you also had not sufficiently realised its difficulties. But the Hartels, who are to advance solid coin, have looked into the matter more closely, and are, no doubt, quite right in believing the performance of the work impossible, as the author did not even see his way to its completion without their help.

As regards myself, there was a time when I conceived, commenced, and half finished the work without the expectation of its being performed during my lifetime. Even last winter your confident tone, as you took leave of me, and your hope of releasing me soon from my mute and soundless exile, gave me the courage (which by that time had become a difficult matter) to continue. Such encouragement was indeed required, for, after having been without any stimulus, such as a good performance of one of my works might have given me, my position was, at last, becoming unbearable. Our trials at the piano further contributed towards my becoming thoroughly conscious of the misery of such musical makeshifts; indeed, I felt that a good many things would be explained to myself only by a good performance. Since then my last hope has vanished again, and a terrible bitterness has come over me, so that I can no longer have any faith in mere chance. You, my rarest friend, do everything in your power to rouse me again in one way or other, and to sustain my freshness and love of work, but I know that all you say is only for this particular purpose. So I have at last decided to help myself. I have determined to finish at once "Tristan and Isolde" on a moderate scale, which will make its performance easier, and to produce it next year at Strassburg with Niemann and Madame Meyer. There is a beautiful theatre there, and the orchestra and the other not very important characters I hope to get from a neighbouring German Court- theatre. In that manner I must try (D.V.) to produce something myself and in my own way which will once more restore freshness and artistic conscientiousness to me. Apart from this, such an undertaking offers me the only possible chance of sustaining my position. It was only by a somewhat frivolous proceeding—the sale of "Tannhauser" to the Josephstadt Theatre at Vienna—that I succeeded in preserving my equilibrium, and this will soon again be threatened, or, at least, is so absolutely insecure, that I had to think of something which would free me from care. For so much I may assume that a thoroughly practicable work, such as "Tristan" is to be, will quickly bring me a good income, and keep me afloat for a time. In addition to this, I have a curious idea. I am thinking of having a good Italian translation made of this work in order to produce it as an Italian opera at the theatre of Rio Janeiro, which will probably give my "Tannhauser" first. I mean to dedicate it to the Emperor of Brazil, who will soon receive copies of my last three operas, and all this will, I trust, realise enough to keep me out of harm's way for a time. Whether, after that, my "Nibelungen" will appeal to me again I cannot foresee; it depends upon moods over which I have no control. For once I have used violence against myself. Just as I was in the most favourable mood I have torn Siegfried from my heart, and placed him under lock and key as one buried alive. There I shall keep him, and no one shall see anything of him, as I had to shut him out from myself. Well, perhaps this sleep will do him good; as to his awaking I decide nothing. I had to fight a hard and painful battle before I got to this point. Well, it is settled so far.

Your three last Symphonic Poems have once more filled me with painful joy. While reading them I was forced again to think of my miserable condition, which makes such things mute to me, to me who knows so little how to help himself. God knows the greatest delight, such as your "Mountain Symphony," is thus turned to sorrow for me. But I have made these complaints a thousand times, and there is no help for it.

Some unfortunate person has again sent me a whole heap of ridiculous nonsense about my "Nibelungen," and probably expects an approving answer in return. With such puppets have I to deal when I look for human beings. These are the kind of people who continually trouble themselves about me with astounding faithfulness and constancy. Good Lord! it is very well for you to talk.