sincerest devotion in this city, in this room where we first came
near to each other, when your genius shone before me? "Rienzi"
resounds to me from every wall, and when I enter the theatre I
cannot help bowing to you before every one, as you stand at your
desk. With Tichatschek, Fischer, Heine, and others of your
friends in the orchestra here I talk of you every day. These
gentlemen appear well inclined towards me, and take a warm
interest in the rehearsals of the "Prometheus" and "Dante"
symphonies, which are to be given next Saturday at a concert for
the benefit of the Pension Fund of the chorus of the Court
theatre. The Princess and her daughter will arrive this evening.
The Child is mad about your "Tristan," but, by all the gods, how
can you turn it into an opera for ITALIAN SINGERS, as, according
to B., you intend to do? Well, the incredible and impossible are
your elements, and perhaps you will manage to do even this. The
subject is splendid, and your conception wonderful. I have some
slight hesitation as to the part of Brangane, which appears to me
spun out a little, because I cannot bear confidantes at all in a
drama. Pardon this absurd remark, and take no further notice of
it. When the work is finished my objection will, no doubt, cease.
For February 16th, the birthday of the Grand Duchess, I have
proposed "Rienzi," and I hope Tichatschek will sing in our first
two performances. The third act will necessarily have to be
shortened very much. Fischer and some others even thought that we
might omit it altogether. The Weymar theatre, like the Weymar
state, is little adapted to military revolutions; let me know on
occasion what I am to do. The rehearsals will begin in January.
My daughter Blandine has married at Florence, on October 22nd,
Emile Ollivier, avocat au barreau de Paris, and democratic deputy
for the city of Paris. I am longing to get back to my work soon,
but unfortunately, the inevitable interruptions caused by my
innumerable social relations and obligations, give me little hope
for this winter. I wish I could live with you on the Lake of
Zurich, and go on writing quietly.
God be with you.
Your
F. LISZT. MY DEAR, DEAR FRANZ,
I want you to receive these lines just as you are going to the
first performance of your "Dante." Can I help feeling grieved to
the very depth of my existence, when I am compelled to be far
from you on such an evening, and cannot follow the impulse of my
heart, which, were I but free, would take me to you in all
circumstances, and from a distance of hundreds of miles in order
to unite myself with you and your soul on such a wedding-day? I
shall be with you, at least in the spirit, and if your work
succeeds as it must succeed, do honour to my presence by taking
notice of nothing that surrounds you, neither of the crowd, which
must always remain strange to us, even if it takes us in for a
moment, nor of the connoisseur, nor of the brother artist, for we
have none. Only look in my eye just as if you would do if you
were playing to me, and be assured that it will return your
glance blissfully, brightly, and gladly, with that intimate
understanding which is our only reward.
Take my hand and take my kiss. It is such a kiss as you gave me
when you accompanied me home one evening last year--you remember,
after I told you my sad tale. Many things may lose their
impression upon me. The wonderful sympathy which was in your
words during that homeward walk, the celestial essence of your
nature, will follow me everywhere as my most beautiful
remembrance. Only one thing I can place by the side of it, I mean
that which you tell me in your works, and especially in your
"Dante." If you tell the same thing to others today, remember
that you can do so in the sense alone in which we display our
body, our face, our existence to the world. We wear ourselves out
thereby, and do not expect to receive love and comprehension in
return. Be mine today, wholly mine, and feel assured that by that
means you will be all that you are and can be.
Good luck on your way through hell and purgatory! In the supernal
glow with which you have surrounded me, and in which the world
has disappeared from my eyes, we will clasp hands.
Good luck!
Your
RICHARD.
250.
January 1st, 1858.
I want to consecrate my pen for the new year, and cannot do so
better than by a greeting to you, my dear Franz. Above all other
wishes is my wish of seeing you and enjoying you to my heart's
content. The worst loss of the past year has been that of the
visit you had promised me. If I were to try to imagine the
greatest delight that could be vouchsafed to me, it would be to
see you suddenly in my room. Are you inclined at all for such a
stroke of genius? If I were only free you would experience such a
surprise from me, but I must no longer hope for miracles;
everything comes to me in a laborious and gradual way, and, after
all, I have to share it with a host of Zurich professors. You
perceive I am not very many-sided. My ideas move in a somewhat
narrow circle, which, fortunately, through the objects it
comprises, becomes as large as the world to me (I do not count
the Zurich professors amongst those objects). If I have a grudge
against your eternal and manifold obligations and engagements,
you will understand my very special reason, viz., that they take
you away from ME so much. Candidly speaking, my being together
with you is everything to me; it is my fountain, all the rest is
but overflow. When I sit down to write to you I do not know what
to say. Nothing occurs to me but what I cannot write. To speak to
you of "business" is altogether an abomination to me, for when I
deal with you my heart grows large, while business narrows it in
the most deplorable manner. It is bad enough when, as formerly
was too often the case, I am compelled to trouble you with my
private sorrows. Especially today these must be far from me, for
the first stroke of my pen in the new year is to convey nothing
but a pure, sonorous greeting to you. I want to tell you,
however, that yesterday, at last, I finished the first act of
"Tristan." I shall work at "Tristan" assiduously; at the
beginning of the next winter season I want to produce it
somewhere.
My reading is, at present, confined to Calderon, who will at last
induce me to learn a little Spanish. Heaven forbid that in that
case I should remind you of H. Nageli. The necessary cache-nez I
possess. My wife has given me one, together with a splendid
carpet with swans on it, a la Lohengrin. I heard recently of your
Dresden life with Gutzkow, Auerbach, etc., etc. Oh, you
tremendous fellow! You can do anything. Perhaps you, too, will
appear to me in a Spanish light, when I shall have a good laugh
at you. I have struck up a friendship with the X.'s for the sole
purpose of not being again left out of their invitation when the
time comes. But I begin already to regret having done so, and any
amount of enthusiasm cannot make me appreciate this abominable
race of professors. But you will see by my having made the
attempt that I wish to get rid of my roughness, in order to be
quite amiable at your next visit. Did I recently write something
stupid to the dear Child? I cannot remember exactly, but God must
forgive me all my sins, just as I forgive Him many things in His
world, and where God forgives, the Child should not be sulky. You
ought to be angry least of all, for you must know that I love no
one as I love you, and that it was you who taught me to love. If
the Princess is angry with me I want her to give a good scolding
one of these days to Professor M., or Professor V., etc., for it
is in reality the fault of this type of men if I make any one
angry.
I am delighted above everything at your being well again,
although I find it difficult to believe that there are men who
can go through what you go through. I am in fairly good health,
and still have to thank Vaillant for it. I wish I could reward
him.
Let me hear from you soon, and do not mind my nonsense. Greet the
Altenburg with a will, and tell the dear ladies that they are to
hold me in kind remembrance.
The blessings of a world on you, my Franz. Farewell.
Your R. W.
251.
DEAREST FRANZ,
I intend to go to Paris in order to look after my interests
there. If it is too far for you, or if you do not like to come to
Paris, we might as well meet at Strassburg, I should like to
consult you about my whole position, in order to have the consent
of my only friend to my new undertakings. For the present you
will see, at least, that I am not acting hastily. I wait for some
money coming in. Everything leaves me in the lurch. I have had to
send a power of attorney to Haslinger in Vienna, in order to
compel the manager there to pay me some considerable sums which
he owes me, but I cannot with any certainty reckon upon success
within a month. At Berlin they have given "Tannhauser" exactly
once during last quarter, and for the first time I received very
little money, while formerly I used to draw considerable sums
from there during the winter. The Hartels, to whom I made some
days ago the offer of "Tristan" on certain conditions, I cannot
ask for an advance of money, even in the favourable case of their
accepting my offer, because I should not be able to send them the
manuscript before the end of February. The housekeeping money of
my wife is in the last stage of consumption, and she longingly
expects funds from me to meet the new year's bills. In such
circumstances, and being absolutely without resources, I am in
the painful position of having to delay my necessary journey,
which I could not undertake, even if I had only the actual
travelling money, because I must not leave my wife without means
for ever so short a time. I shall therefore require at least one
thousand francs in order to get away. By Easter at the latest,
and perhaps sooner, I shall ask Hartel for a considerable sum on
account of the first act, and promise faithfully to return the
money then. Please consider from whom, and how, you can get the
money for me. Send me the money, and let me know at the same time
where you can meet me, at Strassburg or in Paris.
Farewell! Au revoir very soon.
Your
RICHARD.
252.
DEAREST RICHARD,
At Weymar I cannot raise ten thalers just at present, but I have
written at once to Vienna, and in a week's time the sum of a
thousand francs, named by you, will be handed to you by my son-
in-law, M. Emile Ollivier (avocat au barreau et depute de la
ville de Paris). Call on him at the end of next week. He lives
rue St. Guillaume, No. 29, Faubourg St. Germain.
If it is of use to you to have some conversation with me, I will
come to Strassburg for one day, although I find it difficult to
leave Weymar at the present moment.
The Princess has had an excellent idea, of which you will hear
more before long. She will write to you as soon as she has had an
answer with regard to it.
God be with you!
F. L.
FRIDAY, January 15th, 1858.
Your telegram, arrived a day before your letter which I received
last night. Let me have your address; poste restante is not safe.
253.
DEAREST FRANZ,
Tired to death and worn out, I write only to tell you that I have
arrived at Paris, and that my address is Grand Hotel du Louvre
(No. 364).
In a modest room on the third floor, overlooking the inner
courts, I found at last the quiet position which is necessary to
me.
I expect help from you. My difficulty is great. In a few days I
shall write more calmly.
Your
R. W.
254.
GRAND HOTEL DU LOUVRE, No. 364, PARIS.
You dear, splendid man! How can I be unhappy, when I have
attained the supreme happiness of possessing such a friend, of
participating in such love? Oh, my Franz! could we but live
always together! Or is the song to be right after all: "Es ist
bestimmt in Gottes Rath, dass von dem liebsten was man hat, muss
scheiden?"
Farewell; tomorrow I shall write about other things. A thousand
greetings!
Your
R. W.
255.
Yet another friend, dearest Franz, has a kind fate vouchsafed to
me. I was permitted to feel the delight of becoming acquainted
with such a poet as Calderon in my mature stage of life. He has
accompanied me here and I have just finished reading "Apollo and
Klymene," with its continuation "Phaeton." Has Calderon ever been
near to you? I can unfortunately approach him through a
translation only on account of my great want of gift for
languages (as for music). However, Schlegel, Gries, who has
translated the more important pieces, Malsburg, and Martin (in
the Brockhaus edition) have done much towards disclosing the
spirit and even the indescribable subtlety of the poet to us. I
am almost inclined to place Calderon on a solitary height.
Through him I have discovered the significance of the Spanish
character--an unheard of incomparable blossom, developed with
such rapidity, that it soon had to arrive at the destruction of
matter, and the negation of the world. The fine and deeply
passionate spirit of the nation finds expression in the term
"honour," which contains all the noblest and at the same time
most terrible elements of a second religion; the most frightful
selfishness and the noblest sacrifice simultaneously find their
embodiment in it. The essence of the "world" proper could never
have been expressed more pointedly, more brilliantly, more
powerfully and at the same time more destructively, more
terribly. The most striking imaginings of the poet have the
conflict between this "honour" and a profoundly human pity for
their subject. This "honour" determines the actions which are
acknowledged and praised by the world, while wounded pity takes
refuge in a scarcely expressed, but all the more deeply moving,
sublime melancholy, in which we recognise the essence of the
world to be terror and nothingness. It is the Catholic religion
which tries to bridge over this deep chasm, and nowhere else did
it gain such profound significance as here, where the contrast
between the world and pity was developed in a more pregnant, more
precise, more plastic form than in any other nation. It is very
significant for that reason that almost all the great Spanish
poets took refuge in priesthood in the second half of their
lives. It is a unique phenomenon that from this refuge, and after
conquering life by ideal means, these poets were able to describe
the same life with greater certainty, purity, warmth, and
precision than they had been capable of while they still were in
the midst of life. Yea, the most graceful, most humorous
creations were given to the light from that ghostly refuge. By
the side of this marvellously significant phenomenon, all other
national literatures appear to me without importance. If nature
produced such an individual as Shakespeare amongst the English,
we can easily see that he was unique of his kind; and the fact
that the splendid English nation is still in full blossom,
carrying on the commerce of the world, while the Spanish nation
has perished, moves me so deeply, because it enlightens me as to
what is really important in this world.
And now, dear friend, I must tell you that I am very satisfied
with myself. This curious and unexpected fact is particularly
useful to me for my stay in Paris. Formerly Paris used to fill me
with fears of boding evil; in one sense it excited my desire,
while on the other it repelled me terribly, so that I continually
felt the sufferings of Tantalus. At present only the repulsive
quality remains, while every charm has lost its power. The nature
of that repulsiveness I now fully understand, and it appears to
me as if my eyes had always possessed an unconscious faculty
which has at last become conscious to me. On a journey, in
carriages, etc., my gaze always tried involuntarily to read in
the eyes of fellow-travellers whether they were capable of, or
destined for salvation, that is, negation of the world. A closer
acquaintance with them often deceived me as to this point; my
involuntary wish frequently transferred my divine ideal to the
soul of another person, and the further course of our acquaintance
generally led to an increase of painful disappointment, until,
at last, I abandoned and violently cut short that acquaintance.
FIRST sight is less fallible, and as long as my intercourse with
the world is of a passing kind, my feeling with regard to it is
free from any doubt, resembling, as it does, that perfect
consciousness which comes to us on better acquaintance with
people, after we have thrown off prolonged and laboriously
sustained illusions. Even the passing sight of individuals, in
whose features I see nothing but the most terrible error of
life,--a restless, either active or passive, desire,--affects me
painfully; how much more then must I be terrified and repelled by
a mass of people whose reason for existence appears to be the
most shallow volition. These finely and very clearly cut
physiognomies of the French, with their strong feeling for
charming and sensuously attractive things, show me the qualities
which I see in other nations in a washed-out, undeveloped state,
with such precision as to make illusion even for a moment
impossible. I feel more distinctly than elsewhere in the world
that these things are quite strange to me, just because they are
so precise, so charming, so refined, so infallible in form and
expression. Let me confess to you that I have scarcely been
able to look at the marvellous new buildings erected here; all
this is so strange to me that, although I may gaze at it, it
leaves no impression on the mind. As no delusive hope, that might
be excited here, has the slightest attraction for me, I gain by
my absolutely unimpassioned position towards these surroundings a
calmness which--let me say it with a certain ironic humour--will
probably be of advantage to me in gaining that for which I strove
here in my early days, and which now, as it has become
indifferent to me, I shall probably attain.
What this possible "attainment" may be I can only briefly
indicate to you. The object of my journey has been the securing
of the rights of property in my operas, and beyond this I can
look for nothing except what is freely offered to me, and the
only person who seems inclined to make a definite offer is the
manager of the "Theatre Lyrique." I saw his theatre; it pleased
me fairly well, and a new acquisition he had made, a tenor,
pleased me very much. In case he is prepared for more than
ordinary efforts, as to which of course I must have every
security, I might give him "Rienzi," provided that I succeeded
(perhaps through intercession of the Grand Duke of Baden with the
Emperor of the French) in obtaining the exceptional privilege of
having my opera performed at this theatre WITHOUT SPOKEN
DIALOGUE.
"Ollivier," whom I did not meet till yesterday, and with whom I
am going to dine en garcon today, received me with such amiable
kindness that I imagined I had arrived at "Altenburg." He made me
an unlimited offer of his services with the manager of the
Theatre Lyrique, a personal friend of his, amongst other people.
Well, we must see what will come of it; in any case, I should
surrender, without much scruple of conscience, "Rienzi," to gain
me an entry, but of course only on the supposition that
considerable pecuniary advantages would accrue to me.
I had got so far when Berlioz called on me. After that I had to
go out, and found soon that I was not well, the cause probably
being a cold, which pulls me down more than usually, because as I
remember only now, my food has lately been very bad, I being
feeble and very thin in consequence. I had to make my excuses to
Ollivier and stop at home in bed. In consequence of this prudent
measure I feel a little better, and am expecting Ollivier, who
will call for me at two to take me to the concert of the
Coservatroire; so I will go on talking to you a little about
practical things.
It was a real shame that I was once more compelled to take money
from you, but this time it is quite certain to be a loan, which I
shall repay to you in any circumstances. From the letter of the
Princess, I see that you have to use all manner of stealth to get
"Rienzi" accepted at the Weimar theatre. This grieves me very
much, and I am afraid that a serious conflict between myself and
the management will be the result. If this should be the case,
the repayment of the thousand francs would become more difficult,
but by no means impossible, and in any case I count upon
returning the money to you by "Easter." As to the employment of
what you sent to me, and for which also I thank you cordially,
you must please set the mind of the good Princess at rest. I am
sorry that this also should trouble her.
Apart from you and Calderon, a glance at the first act of
"Tristan," which I have brought with me, has roused me
wonderfully. It is a remarkable piece of music. I feel a strong
desire to communicate some of it to some one, and I fear I shall
be tempted to play some of it to Berlioz one of these days,
although my beautiful performance will probably terrify and
disgust him. Could I only be with you! That, you know, is the
burden of my song.
Something more about business. The Hartels have replied to my
offer of "Tristan." It was quite amusing. Whatever I may do, the
Philistine will think more or less impossible; to that I am
accustomed, and must comfort myself with the success achieved so
far by my impossible creations. To sum up, the Hartels accept, in
spite of their great doubts, the publication of the work, with a
reduction, however, of my demands. Even so they think they are
offering a great sacrifice to me, but they say that they are
prepared to have the full score engraved at once, and I think
that I cannot do better than accept their offer.
I am always loth to write to you about business, and have done so
only when I expected you to help me, which unfortunately was the
case often enough. This time, however, I want to give you a short
synopsis of the state of my Paris expedition. At the beginning of
the winter a M. Leopold Amat, Chef or Directeur des Fetes
Musicales de Wiesbaden, wrote to me from Paris, and set forth the
results of his voluntary exertions for "Tannhauser" (at Wiesbaden
with Tichatschek and in the French press). He asked me to
authorise him to take the necessary steps for the performance of
"Tannhauser" at the Grand Opera. I informed him that my only and
indispensable CONDITION would be that an exact translation of the
opera, without omission or alteration, should be given. Soon
afterwards a M. de Charnal, a young litterateur without
reputation, applied to me, asking me for permission to publish a
good translation in verse of the poem of "Tannhauser," in one of
the first Revues de Paris. That permission I granted him, on
condition that the publication in the review should not imply any
further copyright. I am now expecting the pianoforte arrangements
of my operas, in order to secure my rights, which will be of
importance, whether I want my operas to be performed or whether I
want to prevent their performance. The management of the Grand
Opera has made no move, but M. Carvalho, of the Theatre Lyrique,
seems to be lying in wait for me. In case I should do anything
with him, I am determined, as I said before, to leave "Rienzi" to
his tender mercies, first because that work causes no anxiety to
my heart, and may be transmogrified a little for all I care;
second, because the subject and the music are certainly less
strange to the Paris public than are my other works. What do you
think of it? To me the whole thing would be purely an affair
d'argent, and as such it would no doubt turn out well.
Here you have plenty of business, but I must add one thing more.
I have lately laid your poor Vienna cousin under contribution. As
my manager at Vienna sent me no money, I asked Haslinger, on the
strength of your friendship, to enforce my demands, and as he
(being prevented by illness, as I afterwards heard) did not
reply, I hunted up the address of your cousin (from 1856), and
again invoking your sacred name, asked him to prod on Haslinger.
That had the desired effect, and to both I owe it that my manager
will probably discharge his debt before long. You see, it is
always "Franz Liszt," even if he knows nothing about it.
Here you have a very long letter from me. Next time the good
Child shall have one equally long; I am deeply in her debt. The
practical Princess also shall have a regular professor's letter
from me. For today I send a thousand thanks and greetings to you
all from the bottom of my heart. Be assured of my most faithful
veneration.
Long live Altenburg!
Farewell, you dear unique one.
Your
R. W.
HOTEL DU LOUVRE, No. 364.
256.
January 30th, 1858.