F. L.
January 1st, 1859.
280.
VENICE, January 2nd, 1859.
MY DEAR FRANZ,
The time has come when I must once more speak with calmness and in a decisive manner of the subject which has been so rich a source of my life's troubles, and which last New Year's Eve caused the storm I let loose upon you, no doubt to your sorrow. Such storms must not occur again, that I feel deeply. Even this last attack was caused only by a moment of the most violent excitement. I must, in fact, undergo an absolute change in order to gain a position more worthy of myself. It is for this reason that I apply to you, for the last time, and perhaps it would be better if I did not trouble you in the matter, even for this last time. But if I omitted to do so at the moment when I am about to take a decisive step, I might perhaps have to reproach myself with having neglected my nearest, most helpful, and most influential friend in an unaccountable manner.
Let me come to the point.
After living in exile for ten years, my amnesty has become of less importance to me than the guarantee of an existence free from care and secure from discomfort for the rest of my life. Do not be surprised. The return to Germany is of relative value to me. The only positive gain would be my seeing you often and living together with you. The possible performances of my operas under my direction, would certainly bring me less enjoyment than exertion, care, trouble, and annoyance. I never had much pleasure in the performance of one of my operas, and shall have much less in future. My ideal demands have increased, compared with former times, and my sensitiveness has become much more acute during the last ten years while I lived in absolute separation from artistic public life. I fear that even you do not quite understand me in this respect, and you should believe my word all the more implicitly. Your nature and position in life and in the world are so entirely different from mine that you can scarcely realise my sensitiveness in this respect from your own consciousness.
Believe me implicitly when I tell you that the only reason for my continuing to live is the irresistible impulse of creating a number of works of art which have their vital force in me. I recognise beyond all doubt that this act of creating and completing alone satisfies me and fills me with a desire of life, which otherwise I should not understand. I can, on the other hand, do quite well without any chance of a performance. I see clearly that before the completion of "Tristan" my amnesty would absolutely place me in an awkward position; no expectation, not even that of producing "Lohengrin", could induce me to leave my present place of abode before I had finished my work. From this you may guess at other things. Any offer of a secured and comfortable existence would be of no value to me if it were coupled with the condition of my accepting the amnesty, and of doing certain services made possible thereby. I cannot and shall not accept an appointment or anything resembling it. What I demand, on the other hand, is the settlement upon me of an honourable and large pension, solely for the purpose of creating my works of art undisturbed and without regard for external success.
Being without property or subvention of any kind, I have to rely for my income upon my operas. He who has real knowledge of the nature of my works, and who feels and esteems their peculiar and differentiating qualities, must see that I, in my position towards such an institution as our theatre, ought to be entirely relieved from the necessity of making commercial articles of my works. Any just-minded man must perceive that it would be quite unworthy of me to relinquish my freedom by giving my operas to managers without stipulating for their artistic interest, without choice, without preference for any particular theatre, or even by being compelled to offer them to such managers. This necessity has already filled me with much painful bitterness, and the worst of it is that even if I suppress my sense of honour to that extent, the receipts accruing to me are of such a nature that they place me, pecuniarily speaking, in a painful and alarming position. At times those receipts come in plentifully and unexpectedly, and in consequence bring with them all of a sudden perfect security and a certain tempting plenty. At other times they fall off for a long period and again quite unexpectedly; and this falling off, just because it could not be foreseen, is followed by want, care, and tribulation. If this is to be mended I must be relieved from the necessity of counting upon these receipts, and be placed in a position which will enable me to look upon them as an accidental increase of resources, which I can employ in adding certain comforts to my existence, and which I am able to dispense with without interfering with my sufficient and settled income, as soon as I find it desirable to withhold my operas from those theatres, the strength or the direction of which does not enable me to credit them with honest zeal for my work. In this manner, and by the position towards our abominable theatrical institutions thus attained, I should be protected by my contemporaries, and enabled to continue my creations in accordance with my earnest desire and with the peculiarity of my artistic nature. An ample and fully secured pension can alone do this for me, and only a combination of several German princes whom I have inspired with sympathy can accomplish the desired object.