the saint, which finds its last completion in the absolute
cessation of personal consciousness; and all consciousness must
be personal and individual. But the saints of Christianity,
simple-minded and enveloped in the Jewish dogma as they were,
could not see this, and their limited imagination looked upon
that much-desired stage as the eternal continuation of a life,
freed from nature. Our judgment of the moral import of their
resignation must not be influenced by this circumstance, for in
reality they also longed for the cessation of their individual
personality, i.e., of their existence. But this deep longing is
expressed more purely and more significantly in the most sacred
and oldest religion of the human race, the doctrine of the
Brahmins, and especially in its final transfiguration and highest
perfection, Buddhism. This also expounds the myth of a creation
of the world by God, but it does not celebrate this act as a
boon, but calls it a sin of Brahma which he, AFTER HAVING
EMBODIED HIMSELF IN THIS WORLD, must atone for by the infinite
sufferings of this very world. He finds his salvation in the
saints who, by perfect negation of the "will of life," by the
sympathy with all suffering which alone fills their heart, enter
the state of Nirwana, i.e., "the land of being no longer." Such a
saint was Buddha. According to his doctrine of the migration of
souls every man is born again in the form of that creature on
which he had inflicted pain, however pure his life might
otherwise have been. He himself must now know this pain, and his
sorrowful migration does not cease, until during an entire course
of his new-born life he has inflicted pain on no creature, but
has denied his own will of life in the sympathy with other
beings. How sublime, how satisfying is this doctrine compared
with the Judaeo-Christian doctrine, according to which a man
(for, of course, the suffering ANIMAL exists for the benefit of
man alone) has only to be obedient to the Church during this
short life to be made comfortable for all eternity, while he who
has been disobedient in this short life will be tortured for
ever. Let us admit that Christianity is to us this contradictory
phenomenon, because we know it only in its mixture with, and
distortion by, narrow-hearted Judaism, while modern research has
succeeded in showing that pure and un-alloyed Christianity was
nothing but a branch of that venerable Buddhism which, after
Alexander's Indian expedition, spread to the shores of the
Mediterranean. In early Christianity we still see distinct traces
of the perfect negation of the "will of life," of the longing for
the destruction of the world, i.e., the cessation of all
existence. The pity is that this deeper insight into the essence
of things can be gained alone by the abnormally organised men
previously referred to, and that they only can fully grasp it. In
order to communicate this insight to others, the sublime founders
of religion have therefore to speak in images, such as are
accessible to the common normal perception. In this process much
must be disfigured, although Buddha's doctrine of the migration
of souls expresses the truth with almost perfect precision. The
normal vulgarity of man and the license of general egoism further
distort the image until it becomes a caricature. And I pity the
poet who undertakes to restore the original image from this
caricature. It seems to me that Dante, especially in the
"Paradise," has not succeeded in this; and in his explanation of
the Divine natures he appears, to me at least, frequently like a
childish Jesuit. But perhaps you, dear friend, will succeed
better, and as you are going to paint a TONE picture I might
almost predict your success, for music is essentially the
artistic, original image of the world. For the initiated no error
is here possible. Only about the "Paradise," and especially about
the choruses, I feel some friendly anxiety. You will not expect
me to add less important things to this important matter.
I shall soon write again; on the 26th I leave here, and shall
therefore have endured to the end. Farewell dear, dear Franz.
Your
R. W.
LONDON, June 7th, 1855.
191.
ZURICH, July 5th, 1855.
DEAREST FRANZ,
Your late servant Hermann called on me today and told me that I
should have a letter from you one of these days, that you and the
Princess would come to Switzerland SOON (?), and a thousand other
things.
I am longing for direct news from you. I have been back in Zurich
since June 3Oth, after having conducted my last London concert on
the 25th. You have probably heard how charmingly Queen Victoria
behaved to me. She attended the seventh concert with Prince
Albert, and as they wanted to hear something of mine I had the
"Tannhauser" overture repeated, which helped me to a little
external amende. I really seem to have pleased the Queen. In a
conversation I had with her, by her desire, after the first part
of the concert, she was so kind that I was really quite touched.
These two were the first people in England who dared to speak in
my favour openly and undisguisedly, and if you consider that they
had to deal with a political outlaw, charged with high treason
and "wanted" by the police, you will think it natural that I am
sincerely grateful to both.
At the last concert the public and the orchestra roused
themselves to a demonstration against the London critics. I had
always been told that my audiences were very much in my favour,
and of the orchestra I could see that it was always most willing
to follow my intentions, as far as bad habits and want of time
would allow. But I soon saw that the public received impressions
slowly and with difficulty, and was unable to distinguish the
genuine from the spurious, trivial pedantry from sterling worth,
while the orchestra--out of regard for its real master and despot
Costa, who can dismiss and appoint the musicians according to his
will--always limited its applause to the smallest and least
compromising measure. This time, at the leavetaking, it broke
through all restraint. The musicians rose solemnly, and together
with the whole thickly packed hall, began a storm of applause so
continuous that I really felt awkward. After that the band
crowded round me to shake hands, and even some ladies and
gentlemen of the public held out their hands to me, which I had
to press warmly. In this manner my absurd London expedition
finally took the character of a triumph for me, and I was pleased
at least to observe the independence of the public which this
time it showed towards the critics. A triumph in MY SENSE was, of
course, out of the question. In the best possible case I cannot
really be known in the concert room, and that best possible case-
-I mean performances fully realising my intentions--could not be
achieved, owing principally to want of time. In consequence, I
always retained a bitter feeling of degradation, increased by the
fact that I was compelled to conduct whole programmes of
monstrous length, and put together in the most tasteless and
senseless manner. That I did conduct these concerts to the end
was done entirely out of regard for my wife and a few friends,
who would have been grieved very much by the consequences of my
sudden departure from London. I am glad that the matter has been
carried through, at least with favourable appearances; with the
Queen I was really pleased, and to individual friends I have
given great pleasure; that must suffice. The New Philharmonic
would like to have me next year; what more can I desire?
One real gain I bring back from England--the cordial and genuine
friendship which I feel for Berlioz, and which we have mutually
concluded. I heard a concert of the New Philharmonic under his
direction, and was, it is true, little edified by his performance
of Mozart's "G. Minor Symphony," while the very imperfect
execution of his "Romeo and Juliet" symphony made me pity him. A
few days afterwards we two were the only guests at Sainton's
table; he was lively, and the progress in French which I have
made in London, permitted me to discuss with him for five hours
all the problems of art, philosophy, and life in a most
fascinating conversation. In that manner I gained a deep sympathy
for my new friend; he appeared to me quite different from what he
had done before. We discovered suddenly that we were in reality
fellow-sufferers, and I thought, upon the whole, I was happier
than Berlioz. After my last concert he and the other few friends
I have in London called on me; his wife also came. We remained
together till three o'clock in the morning, and took leave with
the warmest embraces. I told him that you were going to visit me
in September, and asked him to meet you at my house. The money
question seemed to be his chief difficulty, and I am sure he
would like to come. Let him know exactly when you will be here.
Klindworth was to play a concerto by Henselt yesterday at the
last New Philharmonic concert, conducted by Berlioz. I made the
acquaintance of Dr. Wylde, a good man, and was able to be of some
use to Klindworth in that small matter. I sincerely pity him. He
is much too much of an artist and a high-minded man, not to be
and always remain very unhappy in London. He should try something
else.
On once more touching the Continent I felt a little better. The
air here suits me, and I hope soon to be again at my work, which
at last I gave up in London altogether. Of the "Valkyrie" you
will find little ready.
But when are you coming? If I may not expect you before
September, I shall go to Seelisberg till then, starting next
Monday, but if, as Hermann led me to hope, I receive a letter
before then, announcing your immediate arrival, I shall of course
be very happy to remain at Zurich.
Therefore let me soon hear from you. You have kept me waiting
long, which indeed I might have expected after my last letter
from London, for to communications of this kind your reply has
always been silence. But now you must relieve me of my
uncertainty as to your visit, which may at last be expected
shortly once more. I need scarcely tell you that I am looking
forward to it with great pleasure, and that our meeting will be
to me the only joy after long trouble.
I am expecting a letter from you with great impatience. Cordial
greetings in advance from your
RICHARD. 192.
Welcome in Zurich, dearest Richard, where I hope to see you at
the end of September or October.
My Hungarian journey is still somewhat uncertain, as, according
to the latest news, the cathedral will probably not be quite
finished this year. But in any case I shall come to you this
autumn, and shall let you know my arrival in Zurich a few weeks
in advance. The satisfactory close of your stay in London has
pleased me very much, and, as I know London, I think it would be
well if you were to go there again next season. About this and
some other business I shall tell you more when I see you.
In the meantime I am delighted at your friendly relations with
Berlioz. Of all contemporary composers he is the one with whom
you can converse in the simplest, openest, and most interesting
manner. Take him for all in all, he is an honest, splendid,
tremendous fellow; and, together with your letter, I received one
from Berlioz, in which he says amongst other things: "Wagner
will, no doubt, tell you all about his stay in London, and what
he has had to suffer from predetermined hostility. He is splendid
in his ardour and warmth of heart, and I confess that even his
violence delights me. It seems there is a fate against my hearing
his last compositions. The day when, at the demand of Prince
Albert, he conducted his 'Tannhauser' overture at the Hanover
Square Rooms, I was compelled at the same hour to attend a
horrible choral rehearsal for the New Philharmonic concert which
I had to conduct two days afterwards," etc.
And lower down: "Wagner has something singularly attractive to
me, and if we both have asperities, those asperities dovetail
into each other:"
[drawing]
(Berlioz's drawing is more brilliant than mine.)
Many thanks for your Dante letter. By way of answer, I hope to
show you the first half of my work at Zurich, together with some
other things which will illustrate my aims to you more distinctly
than anything I could tell you.
During the next few weeks I shall have to work at my "Prometheus"
choruses, which I want to publish soon, and for that purpose I
must write an entirely new score. For in the year 1850, when I
composed this work, I had too little time (scarcely a month), and
was too much occupied by the "Lohengrin" rehearsals to give it
the necessary finish. I have now kept in view the means of
performance more than before, and although the design and the
conception remain essentially unchanged, the whole thing will
have a better appearance. It is a similar process as in
sculpture, when the artist works in marble. Before the
performance a symphonic, and still more, a dramatic work exists,
so to speak, only in CLAY. I could easily illustrate this
comparison by the new score of your "Faust" overture, and by some
of the changes you have made in the "Flying Dutchman." Wait a
little, dearest Richard, and you will see what a lot of stuff,
and how much material for conversation I shall bring with me. The
end of last week I spent in Dresden, where I called upon our
friends, the Ritters. Sascha Ritter, our Weymar Court musician,
has been blessed with a little daughter, whose god-father I
shall have the honour to be. His mother-in-law has been staying
here for some weeks, and Johanna Wagner is expected in September.
Our theatrical affairs are in a critical condition. The
Intendant, Herr von Beaulieu, is going to leave, and the artistic
director, Marr, is also said to have sent in his resignation. I
do not trouble myself about these matters, and look forward with
perfect peace of mind to the solution of these somewhat
unimportant questions.
Gutzkow's call to Weymar, which the papers announced several
times, is not in itself unlikely, but will probably be delayed a
little, as nothing definite has, as yet, been done.
Farewell, and set to work at your "Valkyrie." Go up your
mountains, and bring the very skies down to your music. In
September, or at the latest, in October, we shall meet.
Your
F. L.
Your kindness and friendship for Klindworth have obliged me
particularly, and I ask you to continue them.
WEYMAR, July 11th, 1855.
P.S.--I shall remain here all the summer.
193.
SEELISBERG, CANTON URI, July 22nd, 1855.
DEAREST FRIEND,
I think of nothing now but our meeting and being together. I am
glad you did not come sooner, because at present I should be able
to show you very little of the "Valkyrie," and I am pleased
therefore to have a good deal of time for the completion of the
score. By November I shall have finished, at least, the first two
acts, even the clean copy of them.
Consider this, and bear in mind that it will be a CLIMAX OF OUR
LIVES, for the sake of which all common things must be got over
and brought into order. I count upon your magnanimity.
Farewell for today. I send you many greetings from a longing
heart.
Your R. W.
194.
DEAR FRANZ,
You are my court business agent, once for all. Be kind enough to
forward, through the Weimar minister at Hanover, the enclosed
letter to the king as soon as possible. My theatrical agent,
Michaelson, has exceeded his legal rights by selling "Lohengrin"
to the Hanover theatre without asking me, and for a much smaller
sum than they had previously paid me for "Tannhauser" on my
direct application. The Intendant will not hear of my cancelling
the sale, and all that remains to me is to apply to the king
himself. You will take care of this, will you not?
Why did you not answer my last question?
One million greetings from
Your
R. W.
195.
In spite of many attempts and inquiries backwards and forwards, I
have not found a sure way of obtaining a hearing from his
Majesty, the King of Hanover. It appears to me that the best
thing you can do in this matter is to write a few lines to
Joachim or, in case he should be absent on his travels, to
Capellmeister Wehner at Hanover, and to enclose your letter to
the king. I, for my part, cannot undertake this commission, as I
have no relations with Hanover just now, and should not like to
be responsible for a failure. Wehner (I am not quite certain as
to the spelling of his name) is on very good terms with the king,
and will be glad to be of service to you. It will be necessary,
however, that you should write to him a few lines direct, in
which please mention me. I herewith return your letter to the
king. Kindly excuse this delay; I was absent for several days,
and some other measures, which I thought had been taken for the
purpose, have come to nothing.
In November you will see me, and I agree to everything that is
agreeable to you. By then several of my scores will be in print,
which will make it easier for us to read them. During these last
months I have been occupied so much by visits, correspondence,
and business matters that I could scarcely devote a few hours to
my work. I am sometimes angry and wild at the ridiculous troubles
I have to go through, and long for our days at the Zeltweg.
Write to me later on when my visit will be most convenient to
you, in November or at Christmas?
The Princess and her daughter stayed several weeks at Berlin, and
for the last week they have been in Paris. I do not expect them
back here till the middle of September. In the meantime my son
Daniel--who at this year's concours at the "Lycee Bonaparte," as
well as in the "Concours General," again distinguished himself
and carried off several prizes--has arrived at the Altenburg.
One of these days you will receive from Bussenius, with whom you
were in correspondence before, your biography. It has been
written with the best intentions, and will probably be read far
and wide. Under the pseudonym of W. Neumann, Bussenius has edited
a biographical collection, "Die Componisten der neueren Zeit,"
for E. Balde of Cassel, and the success has been such that a
second edition of some of the volumes will soon be published. I
have asked Bussenius to send you the little book.
My friendly greetings to your wife. Do not forget your
F. LISZT.
196.
MY DEAR FRANZ,
Your silence makes me very anxious. Whenever I look around me and
into my future, I see nothing that can rouse me, elate me,
comfort me, and give me strength and arms for the new troubles of
life except our meeting, and the few weeks you are going to
devote to me. If as to the exact time of that period of salvation
I expressed a wish to you, it was done with the care with which
one likes to realise beforehand a supreme blessing, well knowing
that it must be bought with long sadness, both before and after.
But perhaps you misunderstood me after all, and thought that,
apart from the happiness of seeing you again, I was looking for
something else, quite independent thereof, and this perhaps may
have made you angry. Let me know, in a few words, how things are,
and when you are coming. I should certainly like to show you as
much as possible of my "Valkyrie," and principally for that
reason I did not object to this delay of your much-desired visit.
In my present condition, however, I have little hope of gaining
much work by this gain of time. My mental disharmony is
indescribable; sometimes I stare at my paper for days together,
without remembrance or thought or liking for my work. Where is
that liking to spring from? All the motive power which, for a
time, I derived from my dreary solitude is gradually losing its
force. When I commenced and quickly finished the "Rhinegold," I
was still full of the intercourse with you and yours. For the
last two years all around me has grown silent, and my occasional
contact with the outer world is inharmonious and dispiriting.
Believe me, this cannot go on much longer. If my external fate
does not soon take a different turn, if I find no possibility of
seeing you more frequently, and of hearing or producing some of
my works now and then, my fountain will dry up, and the end be
near. It is impossible for me to go on like this.
You may imagine, then, how I look forward to your coming, and
what I must feel when suddenly I see myself forsaken by you.
Comfort me soon. After much trouble the first half of the
"Valkyrie," including a clean copy, has got finished. I should
like to show you the two acts complete, but am still waiting for
the real love of work. For the last week indisposition has
prevented me from doing anything, and if this goes on I almost
doubt whether I shall be able to finish this work from the
sketches.
Your article about the "Harold" symphony was very beautiful, and
has warmed my heart. I shall write to Berlioz tomorrow; he must
send me his scores. HE will never know ME thoroughly; his
ignorance of German prevents this; he will always see me in vague
and deceptive outline. But I will honestly use my advantage over
him, and bring him nearer to me.
How are matters with you? I hear about you now and then, but you
are silent.
Adieu! Imagine a very long sigh here.
197.
DEAREST RICHARD,
I enclose a letter from T. Hagen, of New York, where he has been
settled for about a year, and does good work as a musician and
musical author. The letters in the "Leipzig Signale," signed
"Butterbrod," are his, and some time ago he published a volume
about music in its relation to social interests, the exact title
of which I cannot remember. He is a friend of Klindworth's, and
associates with your admirers and partisans. With Mason Brothers
I have some connection through William Mason, one of my pupils,
who lived eighteen months in Weymar. As far as I know, the firm
is SOLID and respectable.
Although I do not suppose that you will accept the offer of
conducting concerts in America during next winter, I ask you to
let me have an answer (addressed to me) soon, because I shall
wait for your letter concerning this matter, in order to forward
it to Hagen. A Beethoven musical festival in connection with the
inauguration of the Beethoven statue at Boston would not be
amiss, and the pecuniary result might be very favourable.
Johanna Wagner arrived here the day before yesterday, and she and
her parents will stay a week in Weymar with her sister, Frau
Ritter. I spent several hours with her last night.
"Tannhauser" is to be produced at Berlin in December.
How far have you got with the "Valkyrie?" I am looking forward to
our meeting in November.
The Princess and the Child are still in Paris. They study
carefully the exhibition of pictures, and see a good deal of
Scheffer, Delacroix, and other artistic notabilities, which suits
them exactly. About the 25th of this month I expect them here,
where, in the meantime, I am terribly bored by the load of
tedious things which are imposed upon me, and with the relation
of which I will not trouble you. On the 16th the theatre will be
opened with Nicolai's "Merry Wives." After that we shall have
"The Huguenots," "Cellini," and Verdi's "I Due Foscari."
"Lohengrin" will not be given just yet because Ortrud (Frau
Knopp) has left us, and the new prima donna, Fraulein
Woltendorff, will at least require three or four months to learn
the part. But as "Tannhauser" and the "Flying Dutchman" have
proved "draws," they will be sure to be thrashed out thoroughly.
I, for my part, am sick of the whole theatrical business, but I
am compelled, to stick to it in a half-and-half sort of way,
because, without me, things would probably be still worse.
Your
F. L.
Return Hagen's letter to me.
198.
ZURICH, September 13th, 1855.