I am not in the proper mood for it, but as I must not think of
working, I make at least this attempt at some sort of activity,
without knowing exactly what the result will be. If you suddenly
were to enter my solitude,--that would be a chance of the
possibility of a possibility. But you seem to have disposed of
your summer,--Lowenberg and Leipzig, while the third L. (Lucerne)
has been totally forgotten. Well, I stick to Lucerne, and,
carefully considered, it is the only place in the world which is
at present possible to me. You know, or might imagine, that I do
not live a life in the proper sense of the word; the only thing
that could help me--art, art to the verge of drowning and world-
forgetfulness, of that I have still less than of life, and this
state of things has lasted for a period which I soon shall count
by decades. Excepting the servants, I see and speak to no one;
just imagine how I must feel. My good people, I fear you leave me
too much alone, and the meaning of "too late" will one day be
brought home to you in connection with me. It is very well to
say: "Get "Tristan" ready, and then we shall see." But how if I
did not get "Tristan" ready because I could not get it ready? I
feel as if I should break down pantingly in sight of the goal.
Once at least every day I look at my book with a right good will,
but my head is waste, my heart empty, and I stare at the mists
and the rain-clouds, which, ever since I have been here, have
debarred me even from the chance of shaking up my stagnant blood
by pleasant excursions. People say: "Go to work, then all will be
right." Very well in its way, but I, poor devil, lack routine,
and if ideas do not come to me of themselves, I cannot make them
A pleasant state of things this! and what is worse, there is no
chance of helping myself in any other way. All is shut and locked
against me. Work alone is to help me, but who is to help me to
the possibility of work? I have evidently too little of what you
have too much.
I am full of enthusiasm for the German Confederacy of the
Teutonic nations. For heaven's sake do not let the villain L.
Napoleon touch my dear German Confederacy! I should be too deeply
grieved if any change were made. I am curious, however, what will
become of my intended migration to Paris. It is surely most
unpatriotic to look for a comfortable existence at the head-
quarters of the enemy of the Teutonic nation. The good Teutons
should really do something to save the most Teutonic of all
Teutonic opera-composers this terrible trial. Moreover, in Paris
I shall be pretty well cut off from all my German resources, and
yet I shall be obliged to apply in a very high quarter in order
to get permission for permanent settlement in Paris, for my Swiss
settlement is coming to a close. Germany is evidently intent upon
driving me forcibly to the enemy. Very well! There is a
possibility of my going in the autumn for six months to America,
where offers have been made to me which, considering the friendly
sympathy of the German Confederacy, I cannot very well neglect.
This will be decided before long. What makes me hesitate is that
the "Tristan" scheme at Carlsruhe would be crossed thereby in
such a manner that I should have to give it up for the present,
and should probably not resume it at any future time. The last
act of this child of sorrow is now on the verge of the "to be or
not to be;" a slight pressure of some spring of the vulgar fate,
at whose mercy I am, might kill this child at the very moment of
its birth. Everything with me depends now upon the turning of a
hand; there may be a way and there may be a complete stoppage,
for I, my Franz, am in a bad way.
I have heard nothing for a long time of any of my friends; they
probably think that I am very happy in my dear Switzerland, in
this splendid solitude, in the joy of composing, forgetful of all
the world. I am not angry with them because they make themselves
such illusions. If they only knew that I had to threaten violence
in order to get out of you the "Dante" symphony dedicated to me,
they might draw further conclusions from this fact. What do you
say to that? I have, after all, arrived at "Dante", of which I
did not wish to speak today, because I love it too much to
involve it in my present mood. Let me tell you, however, that we
had better keep the dedication, written in my copy, to ourselves.
I at least shall not mention it to a soul. Your words have
positively made me blush, you may believe me. I cannot tell you
too often how miserably weak I feel as a musician. I know, in the
depth of my heart, that I am an absolute blunderer. You ought to
watch me when I am at it; now thinking "it must do after all,"
then going to the piano to puzzle out some wretched rubbish, and
giving it up again in a state of idiocy. Oh, how I feel then! how
thoroughly persuaded of my musical wretchedness! And then come
you, whose pores are running over as with streams, fountains,
cataracts, and tell me such words as those which you have said to
me. I find it difficult to think that this is not the purest
irony, and I must recall your friendship in order to believe that
you have not been cutting a joke at my expense after all. This is
a peculiar story, dearest friend; believe me, I am not up to
much. I really begin to think that Reissiger must have helped me
with "Tannhauser" and "Lohengrin." With my new works you have
most certainly helped me, and now that you leave me in the lurch,
I can do nothing more.
About "Dante" only so much today that I was specially pleased to
see how perfectly well I remembered it from your playing it to
me. As I come to study it more closely I perceive that no feature
of any importance had escaped me, even the smallest and finest
details were perfectly familiar to me from that time. This at
least is good evidence of my receptive faculties; but I believe
that the credit is really due to the peculiar grandeur and
quality of your work.
Generally speaking, if you wish to know, I am again in exactly
the same condition as when I wrote the letter about you to M.
Concerning that letter I recently had a brand-new experience. K.
R. had not read it, when I found it accidentally amongst my
papers at Venice, and gave it to him. After that he came to me,
and told me that people who were near to you had told him in
connection with this letter that I expressed myself in it in an
evasive manner, and was evidently intent upon saying nothing
definite about you. He himself had been made anxious by this, and
now, having read it, was truly delighted at perceiving the
ENORMOUS significance I had attributed to you. Astonished at the
possibility of an ill-natured misunderstanding, I read the letter
once more, and was compelled to chime in with K. R.'s impetuous
declamations at the incredible dulness, superficiality, and
triviality of people who could have misunderstood the meaning of
this letter. I have taken a solemn oath not to publish ANOTHER
WORD. What we are to each other we know and tell one another at
intervals for the sake of encouragement and comfort. But what we
are to the world I will be d--d if I--!
It is TOO incredible.
Good Lord! I cannot get out of my trivial mood in this letter,
and therefore must not discuss anything noble, least of all the
"Ideals." If you want to be sure of hearing something rational
from me, come to me and play all your things to me, especially
the Crusaders' chorus (splendid!!); then at least YOU will know
once more accurately what is in me.
For the present I spend all the good humour I can dispose of on
my wife. I flatter her and take care of her as if she were a
bride in her honeymoon. My reward is that I see her thrive; her
bad illness is visibly getting better. She is recovering, and
will, I hope, become a little rational in her old age. Just after
I had received your "Dante", I wrote to her that we had now got
out of Hell; I hope Purgatory will agree with her, in which case
we may perhaps, after all, enjoy a little Paradise. The whole
thing is splendid. Remember me to the Prince of Lowenberg, or
whatever his name may be, and tell him that if the German
Confederacy does not recall me soon I shall go to Paris and
betray the length and breadth of Germany.
God be with you. I hope you will pardon this absurd letter. Ever
thine,
R. W.
291.
What a terrible storm is your letter, dearest Richard! How
desperately it lashes and knocks down everything. What can be
heard in the midst of this roaring thunder? Where shall I find,
and what is the good of, words, words, words?
And yet my confidence in you is unshaken. Hamlet's dilemma does
not apply to you, for YOU ARE and cannot help being. Even your
mad injustice towards yourself in calling yourself a "miserable
musician and blunderer" (!!) is a sign of your greatness. In the
same sense Pascal says, "La vraie eloquence se moque de l'
eloquence." It is true that your greatness brings you little
comfort and happiness, but where is happiness, in the narrow
monotonous sense which is absurdly given to the word? Resignation
and patience alone sustain us in this world. Let us bear our
cross together in Christ--"the God whom one approaches without
pride, before whom one bends the knee without despair." But I
must not be betrayed into needless Franciscan sermons.
Candidly speaking, I do not think much of your American project,
and fear that New York would appear even more uncanny to you than
London. Nevertheless, write to me some particulars about the
offer which has been made to you, without the slightest fear of
alarming the German Confederacy. As I frequently said, Carlsruhe
is, for the present, your best chance, and I am persuaded that
the Grand Duke of Baden, who is very well inclined towards you,
will not fail to give you practical proof of his kindness.
Devrient does not expect to give "Tristan" before December, on
the birthday of the Grand Duchess. You need, therefore, be in no
particular hurry to finish the work. In any case, I shall visit
you before that at Lucerne, or wherever you like, and will play
to you a lot of my stuff if, as you tell me, it amuses you. The
noblest reward of my work would be if it were to bring home to
you the truth that you are and remain an IMMENSE MUSICIAN, and if
by that means you were incited to renewed industry.
In spite of all the war troubles the meeting of musicians will
take place at the beginning of June, as announced, and I have to
take up my quarters at Leipzig for that purpose as early as next
week. Do not laugh at me too much because I continue to take an
interest in similar things; they are not without influence on
your tentiemes, and from that point of view I may ask for your
toleration. I hope the weather will soon be finer on the lake,
and a milder spirit will illumine your soul.
Cordially your
F. LISZT.
WEYMAR, May 14th, 1859.
I told you at the time how deeply your letter to M. about the
Symphonic Poems had rejoiced me. The twaddle which dulness,
triviality, and spite have talked about it is not worth notice.
292.
LUCERNE, May 15th, 1859.
DEAREST FRANZ,
Thiele, of Berne, the, trombone player, has just called on me,
and told me that he recently visited you at Weimar, not knowing
at that time that the place of trombone player would be vacant
there. He asked me to recommend him to you, because, as a native
of Weimar, he would like much to be employed there. I am
cordially pleased to recommend him to you most warmly, not only
for the sake of Thiele, but for that of your orchestra. He took
part in 1853 in my famous May concerts at Zurich, and on that
occasion gained, I may say, my whole heart by his enthusiasm. He
had two very weak players with him, but managed to carry them
along with him by his energy to such an extent, that in the
passage
[Musical score excerpt]
one might have thought that one was listening to a whole host of
trombones. Thiele, in short, is excellent, and known all through
Switzerland as a trombone genius. I congratulate you on his
acquisition. Do not let him escape you.
Farewell for today, dearest friend. What state I am in you may
unfortunately see from the fact that a few days ago I felt bound
in conscience and duty to ask Devrient not to rely on "Tristan"
or me any longer. This was bound to happen, and there is an end
for the present.
Much luck to the Leipzig festival.
Farewell, and accept the best wishes of
Your
RICHARD W.
293.
May 21st, 1859.
DEAREST FRIEND,
Send Tausig to me; I hear he is disengaged. My wife has even
written to me that he wished to come to me. Otherwise I have
nothing rational to tell you today. I feel miserable; you will
soon hear more. A thousand cordial thanks for your letter.
Your
R. W.
LUCERNE.
294.
DEAREST RICHARD,
My excellent friend, Felix Draseke, is on his way to you. Receive
him kindly as one of "ours," and reveal to him your "Nibelungen"
treasure, on which he is worthy of gazing with heart and soul.
I hope to be with you at the end of August; let me know where I
shall find you then.
Your
F. L.
WEYMAR, July 19th, 1859.
295.
Telegram.
WEYMAR, August 9th.
TO RICHARD WAGNER,
LUCERNE,
HOTEL SCHWEIZERHOF.
On the completion of "Tristan" the most cordial congratulations
of your invariably faithful
FRANCISCUS.
296.
LUCERNE, August 19th, 1859.
DEAREST FRANZ,
I should like to thank Princess M. for the news contained in her
last letter, and to congratulate her cordially on her impending
marriage, but I am ill, and a feverish cold has suppressed all
rational thoughts in me. But as I wanted to give you some news of
me without delay, I ask you, for the present, to be the very
eloquent interpreter of my sincere feelings to our amiable Child.
The effort thus made, in spite of my indisposition, enables me to
add that, although the disappointed hope of your visit, which
would have been most welcome just now, fills me with grief, I
fully understand that the sacrifice in my favour would have been
too great. On the other hand, I lay the sacrifice made by me at
the feet of the happy Child with joyful pride.
As to my fate I can tell you nothing, not knowing myself whither
I shall direct my steps. I should like to live in Paris in
absolute retirement, but the French Minister refuses to give me
his vise for my passport. In answer to my remonstrances, he wrote
to Paris a fortnight ago, but has had no answer. I am probably
taken for an obstinate conspirator, an opinion which the
treatment I receive at the hands of Germany seems to countenance.
I wait for my fate in my little room here, neither longing for
Paris nor attracted by any other place that is open to me.
Draseke is still with me, and I enjoy his visit. Soon he will go
too.
Excuse me from writing any more. Even the effort of these few
lines has put me in a perspiration.
Continue to love me, and greet Altenburg a thousand times from
Your
R. W.
"Tristan" has received your welcome with pride and joy.
297.
DEAREST FRIEND,
Your letter, received today, has increased my grief at not being
able to be with you. Although I am not much worth as a sick
nurse, I should nurse you well, and assist you in passing the
time with more ease. Alas! we are miserable creatures, and the
few who have penetrated the deepest secrets of life are the most
miserable of all. That snarling old cur, Schopenhauer, is quite
right in saying that we are ridiculous in addressing each other
as MONSIEUR or citizen. Compagnon de misere et de souffrance, or
fellow-sufferers, and worse we are, TUTTI QUANTI, and nothing we
can do can make any essential change in this. The worst is that
we know it quite well, and yet never like to believe it.
What is this about the vise of your passport? Probably the
impediment has been removed by this time; otherwise make
inquiries as to the quarter from which it arises, whether from
the Saxon embassy in Paris, or from the French police. Steps must
be taken accordingly. It is understood that I am quite at your
service in this matter, but I should not like to make a faux pas,
and it is necessary, therefore, that I should be more accurately
informed by you, in order to apply at once to the right people.
In my opinion Paris is the most comfortable, most appropriate and
cheapest place for you while things in Germany remain in their
wretched state. Although you may not agree with the artistic
doings there, you will find many diverting and stimulating
things, which will do you more good than your walks in
Switzerland, beautiful though the Alpine landscape may be. I am
surprised, it is true, at your speaking of a permanent settlement
in Paris at this moment. I thought that your relations to
Carlsruhe had reached such a point as to secure to you an asylum
in the Grand Duchy of Baden (perhaps at Heidelberg, unless the
PROFESSORS should frighten you there). How about the first
performance of "Tristan" at Carlsruhe? Devrient informed me, with
tolerable certainty, that the intention was to give the work on
the birthday of the Grand Duchess in December, and that you would
be invited to conduct it. I hope no change has taken place in
this. Let me have particulars. Perhaps I shall be able to assist
you in simplifying the matter.
Do you know what I did a few days ago? Looking at your portrait,
which you had signed "Santo Spirito Cavaliere", it occurred to me
to write a "Rienzi fantasia" for pianoforte. If it should amuse
you for a moment my time will have been well employed. I should
tell you that your little bust adorns my writing desk. You are of
course without the company of any other celebrities--no Mozart,
no Beethoven, no Goethe, or whatever their names may be. To this
room, which is the heart of the house, none of them is admitted.
What a beautiful day it will be when I see you here.
M. will leave us soon, probably in October; until then I cannot
get away from here. If you should happen to remain in Switzerland
till after that, I shall visit you in the late autumn. Otherwise
I shall see you at Carlsruhe or Paris.
Remember me cordially to Draseke. I am very glad you have taken a
liking to him. He is a splendid fellow. In our small circle of
most intimate friends he is called the "hero." Has he shown you
his ballad, "Konig Helge?" It is a glorious thing.
Be good enough to tell him that _I_ INVITE HIM SPECIALLY to stay
with me on his return journey, and that I should think it very
shabby of him if he played me the trick of flying past me under
my very nose.
Try to get well again as soon as possible, dearest friend, and
continue to love
Your
FRANZ.
WEYMAR, August 22nd, 1859.
298.
PARIS, October 20th, 1859.
I hope, dear Franz, these lines will reach you exactly on the
22nd.
Accept my cordial wishes for your birthday. It is of great
significance to me that just at present, while I am seriously and
deeply considering our mutual relations, I should come upon this
day which Nature herself, no doubt, counts amongst her most
fortunate days. For what she succeeded in creating on this day
has borne such rich fruit that, without this gift of your
existence, there would be a chasm in the essence of things, of
the depth of which he only can judge who loves you as I love you,
and who might suddenly imagine that you existed no longer. Gazing
down this terrible chasm, such as my imagination pictured it, I
turned my eyes to you as one awaking from a terrible dream, and
was so sincerely delighted, so deeply moved by your real
existence, that you appeared to me as one newborn. In this spirit
I greet you on this, to me, highly important birthday. Your
friendship is an absolute necessity to me; I cling to it with my
last vital strength.
When shall I see you at last?
Have you an idea of the position in which I am, of the miracles
of faith and love which I require in order to gain new courage
and patience? Think this out for yourself, without my telling
you. You MUST know me sufficiently to understand this, although
we have not lived much together.
I ask you, once more, when shall we meet again? Carlsruhe is more
than uncertain. "Tristan", altogether, has become a shadowy and
half impossible thing. Do not wait for an external occasion which
may bring me to you. In the most favourable case the "Tristan"
period, with its desperate and terrible exertions, would not be
fit for our meeting again for the first time. Be guided to me by
your innermost heart, and may it impel you to come to me soon. By
the middle of November I expect my wife. Could I not have you
BEFORE? It is bad enough for me that I have to call you, and that
you do not come of your own accord. I heard of the marriage of
Princess M. through B. yesterday; he does not inform me where she
is going to live. Kindly tell me where I am to write in order to
convey my wishes to her.
Farewell; I am just on the point of moving into my new lodgings.
So I am "settled" once more, without faith, love, or hope.
Farewell, and accept my wishes kindly; in congratulating you I
congratulate myself.
Your
R.W.
16, RUE NEWTON, CHAMPS ELYSEES. 299.
PARIS, November 23rd, 1859,
16, RUE NEWTON.
Believe me, dear Franz, I find it very difficult to give you news
of myself. We live too little together, and must necessarily
become strangers in one important aspect of friendship. You wrote
to me to Venice and Lucerne that you liked my migration to Paris
for the reason that you would be able to visit me more
frequently. I have often assured you that I desired an amnesty
particularly because I should be able to pay you more frequent
and longer visits, and I informed you again that your promise
induced me to look upon my Paris settlement in a more favourable
light. In spite of this, my first request for your visit
addressed to you from here has met with a refusal. You say you
cannot come to Paris, and propose a two days' meeting at
Strassburg instead. What will be the use of these Strassburg days
to us; what to me? I have nothing to tell you in a hurry, no
plans that we need discuss. I want to enjoy you, to live with you
for some time, as we have hitherto seen so little of each other.
Why do you all of a sudden object to Paris, where, if you do not
wish it, no one need know of your presence? I can get you rooms
near me in a very remote quarter. We shall spend the days at my
lodging, where you can see whom you like. Why need you always be
a public man apart from the private friend? I cannot understand
this. My poor deserted life has made me incapable of
comprehending an existence which casts a side glance at the whole
world at every step. You must pardon me for declining the
Strassburg meeting, greatly as I appreciate the sacrifice which
you offer me. It is just this sacrifice which appears to me too
great at the price of a few hurried days in a Strassburg hotel.
I am extremely sorry that the Princess was unable to find me; her
very valuable letter I fail to understand. By the spontaneous joy
and cordiality with which I should have received her, she would
have recognized what she is to me. She has often experienced
this, and surely does not suspect me of affectation. I do not
know what to say to all this, and remain silent.
My silence extends to everything else that otherwise I might have
told you about myself. If one has to tell such things at all, it
is better to be silent about them. As to the Carlsruhe plan you
are probably sufficiently enlightened. Devrient has thought it
desirable to make an excuse for the bungling and neglectful way
in which he has taken up the idea of a first performance of
"Tristan" at his theatre, by saying that it is impossible to
execute the work. To that ALSO I do not reply. Why should I
speak? _I_ know my fate and my position, and remain silent. It is
more serious to think of the consequences which the wiping out of
my new work from the list of living things will have for my means
of subsistence. However, why should I point out those
consequences? He who is endowed with five senses must know what
my position is. I can complain no longer, for that would mean to
accuse, and I do not even want to accuse friend Devrient. I have
not said a word to him. You know enough now, and more than will
please you.
My wife has arrived here. She is a little better, and I hope
things will go on tolerably well. She told me, without
complaining, that you had been at Dresden without paying her a
visit. I tried to comfort her as well as I could.
Farewell, my dear Franz. Do not misunderstand me; I wanted to
write to you, and for a long time did not know how to set about
it. Heaven only knows whether I have done it in the proper way.
Be always assured that you are dear to me above all else, even if
I fail to comprehend many things which determine your action.
Farewell. Greet the Princess, and tell her that her letter
pleased me, although I failed to understand it. Greet also
Princess H--. May you all think ot me in a friendly spirit.
Farewell.
Your
R. W.
300.
BRUSSELS, March 29th, 1860.
DEAREST FRANZ,
Once more I give you a sign of life. That one lives at all is
perhaps the most wonderful case in point, and when one arrives at
the end of things, one need not care any longer. Death, which at
this moment mows down men so recklessly, leaves us standing in a
bare field by a mere whim. One is astonished and a little
thoughtful for awhile.