1855-1856.
Richard Wagner left London for Paris, from whence he wrote immediately
the following letter. The humorously descriptive reference to the
Channel passage is characteristic.
DEAREST FRIENDS: Heartiest thanks for your love, which after all is
the one thing which has made the dull London lastingly dear to me.
I wish you joy and happiness, and, if possible, to be spared the
dreariness of the London pavement. Were it not that I regret to
have left you, I would speak of the delightful feeling which has
taken possession of me since I have returned to the continent. Here
the weather is beautiful, the air balmy and invigorating. The past
night’s rest has somewhat recruited my strength after the recent
fatigue. At present I am enjoying peace and quiet, which I hope
will soon enable me to resume work, the only enjoyment in life
still left to me.
I have not much to tell of adventures, except that when I went on
board I felt rather queer. I lay down in the cabin and had just
succeeded in getting into a comfortable position for sleep, hoping
thereby to keep off the sea-sickness, when the steward shook me,
wanting to look at my ticket. To comply, I had to turn over so as
to get to my pocket. This movement caused me to feel unwell; and
then the unhappy man claiming his steward’s fee, I was obliged to
sit up in order to find my money. This new movement brought on the
sea-sickness, so that just as he thankfully received his gratuity,
he also received the whole of my supper. Yet he still seemed quite
content, notwithstanding, whilst I had such a fit of laughter that
drove away both sickness and drowsiness so that I entered Calais in
tolerably good spirits.
The custom-house visiting only took place in Paris. It was well
for me that the lace I had secreted for Minna was not discovered.
Here I soon found my friend Kietz, to whom I poured out my heart
about you, dear friends. To-morrow I leave with a Zurich friend,
who has waited for me. From Zurich you shall have news. As I write
to you all, I beg you to divide my greetings, and do this from the
depth of your hearts. To my sister Léonie, give her as well a
hearty kiss for me.
Adieu, good lovable humankind, think with love of thy
RICHARD WAGNER.
PARIS, 28th June, 1855.
From Paris he went direct to Zurich, where Minna was waiting for him. He
had scarcely arrived when he sent me the following. It is noteworthy, as
it illustrates how a great man could interest himself in the small
concerns of home life. His affection for domestic pets is once more
touched upon, and that humour, which but rarely forsook him even in his
pessimistic Schopenhauerian utterances, again playfully laughs
throughout the letter.
[Sidenote: _GRIEF OVER HIS DOG._]
Best greetings from Switzerland.
I hope you have already received tidings of me from Lüders. From
you, however, I have not yet heard anything. You might at least
have written to say you were glad to have got rid of me, how sister
Léonie fares, and how Henry is, whether “Gypsy” (the dog) has made
his appearance in society, whether the cat has still its bad cough.
Heaven! how many things there are of which I ought to be informed
in order to be perfectly at ease. As for me, I am still idle. My
wife has made me a new dressing-gown, and what is more, wonderfully
fine silk trousers for home wear, so that all the work I do is to
loll about in this costume, first on one sofa and then on another.
On Monday next I go with my wife, the dog, and bird, to Seelisberg;
there I think I shall at last get straight! If you could but visit
me there. My address for the present is Kurhaus, Sonnenberg,
Seelisberg, Canton Uri. I do not know how I can sufficiently
express the pleasure which my wife wishes me to convey to you.
Whilst I unpacked I chatted, and kept on chatting and unpacking.
Several times she was deeply moved, particularly when we came to
the carefully marked and neatly folded socks. Again and again she
called out, “What a good woman that Léonie must be!” and then when
the needle-case came out and that beautiful thimble, both she and I
were mightily pleased. We wish your wife the happiest confinement
that woman ever had, and at least six healthy children all at once
with heavenly organized brains, every one to be born with a pocket
containing ten thousand pounds each, and further, that your wife
shall be able on the same evening of the confinement to dance a
polka in the Praeger drawing-room. May it please heaven that this
reverential wish shall be tenfold fulfilled, then your love for
children will be fully satisfied.
In a few days you will receive a box with three medallions in
plaster of Paris. These were modelled by the daughter of “the
Princess Lichtenstein,” and are to be divided thus: one for the
Praeger family, one for the family Sainton and Lüders (who I
sincerely trust will never separate, and who are regarded by me as
one family), and the other for the poor fellow of Manchester
Street, Klindworth, the invalid, from whom I am expecting news
about his performance of last Wednesday. I trust he is already at
Richmond enjoying the benefit of hydropathy. I purpose writing to
him as soon as I know his address. For the present greet the poor
fellow heartily for me, and in my name try to console him for me. I
will soon write to Sainton, and for that occasion I will pull
together all the French I learned in London, so that I might be
able to express to him my opinion that he is a splendid fellow. And
what is dear Lüders about? I hear that he has headed the riot in
Hyde Park. Is that true?[14] I hope he has not used my letter to
Prince Albert in making lobster salad. I have often been unlucky
with letters of mine. Even yesterday I found reproduced in
Brendel’s “Neue Zeitschrift” a letter I had written to my old
friend, Fischer, at Dresden. It has most disagreeably affected me,
for if I had wished to express myself about the London annoyances I
should have done it in a different manner, but I had not the
slightest wish to do anything of the kind. However, I am heartily
glad my time of penance is past, and forgive with my whole heart
Englishmen for being what they are; still I am resolved, even in
thought, never to have anything more whatsoever to do with them.
But you, my dear friends, I will ever cherish in remembrance, and
if all that is agreeable be but a negative of pain, then by the
memory of your love and friendship is the period of my London
tribulation blotted out.
A thousand hearty thanks for your love! Now you will, I hope, give
me the joy of good news, and say that you love me still. To dear
Edward[15] give my best greetings. It was a great pity I did not
see him again.
Farewell, my dear Ferdinand; all happiness to yours, and to the
dear wife good wishes.
RICHARD WAGNER.
ZURICH, 7th July, 1855.
The next letter, dated eight days later than the preceding, will be
admitted a jewel in Wagner’s crown. Picture this great intellect, the
creator of the colossal Nibelung tetralogy (with its Gräne, the steed of
the Valkyrie), crying “incessantly” over the grave of a dead dog,
postponing the removal of his household to nurse the dying creature
until its last moments, and then himself burying it in the garden. The
whole of this touching recital bespeaks a tenderness, a wealth of human
love and large-heartedness, which show Wagner, the man!
[Sidenote: _ILL-HEALTH OF MINNA._]
DEAREST FRIEND FERDINANDUS: A thousand hearty congratulations to
the newly born. Right gladly I agree to become god-father and, if
you think it will bring fortune, add my surname as well.
I arrived here in this paradise a few days ago. I read your letter
on the left corner of the balcony of the hotel, the picture of
which heads this letter. Occasionally, while reading, I raised my
eyes and looked beyond upon the magnificent Alps, which you cannot
fail to notice at the side of the hotel. I say that I looked from
the letter occasionally, since its contents afforded me matter for
reflection, and I found solace and comfort in the contemplation of
the sacred and noble surroundings. You have no conception how
beautiful it is here, how pure the air that one breathes, and how
beneficially this wonderful spectacle acts on me. I fancy you would
become delirious with joy at the prospect, so that the return to
London would be a sad event; yet you must undertake this trip next
year with your dear wife.
But how strange that the same incident should have happened to us
both at about the same moment! You remember that I expected to see
my old and faithful dog, “Peps.”[16] Well, shortly before my
arrival he had been taken ill, but nevertheless he received me with
the greatest delight, and soon began to improve somewhat in health.
The day of our departure for Seelisberg was already fixed, where,
as I wrote to you, I was going with my wife, my dog, and bird.[17]
Suddenly dangerous symptoms showed themselves in “Peps,” in
consequence of which we put off our journey for two days so as to
nurse the poor dying dog. Up to the last moment “Peps” showed me a
love as touching as to be almost heartrending; kept his eyes fixed
on me, and, though I chanced to move but a few steps from him,
continued to follow me with his eyes. He died in my arms on the
night of the 9th-10th of the month, passing away without a sound,
quietly and peacefully. On the morrow, midday, we buried him in the
garden beside the house. I cried incessantly, and since then have
felt bitter pain and sorrow for the dear friend of the past
thirteen years, who ever worked and walked with me. It has clearly
taught me that the world exists only in our hearts and conception.
That the same fate should befall your young dog at almost the same
moment has deeply affected me. I have often thought of “Gypsy,”[18]
and wished I had taken him with me, and now that fiery creature too
is also suddenly dead!! There is something terrible in all this!!!
And yet there are those who would scoff at our feeling in such a
matter!
Alas! I am often tired of life, yet life is ever returning in a new
guise, alluring us anew to pain and sorrow. With me now it is
sublime nature which ever impels me to cling to life as a new love,
and thus it is I have begun once more to work. You have again been
presented with a new-born life. I wish you happiness with all my
heart. I feel as though I had some claim to the boy, for it was
during the last four months prior to his entering the world that I
came a new member into your household. The affection I sought was
vouchsafed to me in the highest degree; the mother’s mind was no
doubt much occupied with that strange, whimsical individual, whom,
to his great joy, she so heartily welcomed. May it not be, perhaps,
that before he saw the light, this may have influenced the little
stranger! if so, my heartiest wish is that it may bring him
blessings. Now give my best greetings to sister Léonie, and thank
her heartily for all the kindness she showed me. I can but wish her
the happiest motherly joys; remember me to Henry; he is to care for
his little brother as if it were a sister.
Farewell, and let me soon know how you all are, Keep up, and above
all, see well that you come to visit me next year; kindly remember
me also to my few London friends. Lüders and Sainton I thank for
their friendly letter; you will soon hear from me. Farewell, dear
brother,
Your
RICHARD WAGNER.
P.S. Liszt will not come until October. Ask Klindworth to write to
me. Thousand kind things from my wife.
SEELISBERG, CANTON URI, 15th July, 1855.
In the next letter he speaks sorrowfully of the demon of ill-health
which had settled in his house. Poor Minna suffered with heart-disease,
an illness to which she eventually succumbed, whilst he, too, was
somewhat broken down, and shortly to be laid upon a sick-bed. His only
relief from worry and trouble was work. Indeed, the major portion of his
work was done at times when the horizon was dark for him.
[Sidenote: _“TANNHÄUSER” AT MUNICH._]
Best thanks, dear friend, for your letter, which was, alas, sad
enough to make me sad too. The worst of misfortune in a life like
yours is that in surveying all circumstances, it is positively
unrectifiable: to revolt against it, even at the best, has still
something ridiculous in it. To him, who like you suffers keenly
(and amongst your surroundings must perforce suffer the most), all
I can say is, think, dear friend, no man is happy except he who is
foolish enough to think that he is. You and I are not fit for this
life except to be tired of it; he who becomes so the soonest
finishes his task the quickest. All so-called “fortunate events”
are but deceptive palliations, making the evil worse. I know this
is capable of being understood in a double sense, so that it might
be interpreted either as a trivial commonplace or the deepest
possible reflection. I must leave it to chance how you will
understand it. The only ray of light in the dark night of our life
is that which sympathy affords us. We only lose consciousness of
our own misery when we feel that of others. Entire freedom from
one’s own sorrow is only possible if one could live solely for the
sorrows of others, but the evil of it is, that one cannot do this
continually, as one’s own troubles always return the stronger to
attack the feelings. I, for my part, must say that since in London
I have never had my mind free from troubles. The demon of sickness
has come to lodge in my house. My wife, particularly, causes me
great anxieties. Her ever-increasing ill-health helps to render me
very sad. Worried and troubled, I resumed work. I struggle at it,
as work is the only power that brings to me oblivion and makes me
free. Only look to it that next year you come to Switzerland;
meanwhile amuse yourself as much as you can in your polemical war
against London music-artists and critics, not on my account,
however, but only as I believe it is a good channel to absorb your
otherwise sad thoughts.
From New York I have just received an invitation to go over and
conduct there for six months; it would be well paid. It is
fortunate, however, that the emolument is not after all so very
large, or else, perhaps, I might myself be obliged to seriously
consider the matter. But of course I shall not accept the
invitation. I had enough in London. I am somewhat fidgety that you
have not yet acknowledged my three medallions, one for you, one for
Sainton and Lüders, and one for Klindworth. I paid freight for them
some time ago, and thought they would have been in your hands long
before this. If you have not yet received them, I beg of you to
make inquiries at the post-office, since I sent the little box from
Basle by the mail, and your address was correctly written. Do not
forget to speedily inform me of its arrival.
Please send at once to Berlin the box which I left at your house,
containing my manuscripts, and address it to the Royal Music
Director, Julius Stern, Dessauer Strasse No. 2. Do not prepay it.
You may have some expense on my account which I will settle with
you when we meet. Do not forget to mention it.
Perhaps you have heard already that “Tannhäuser” has created a
perfect furore at Munich. I felt constrained to laugh at the sudden
veering round in my favour when I remembered that only two years
ago Lachner contrived that the performance of the overture to
“Tannhäuser” should be a complete fiasco. On the whole, I live
almost entirely isolated. Working, walking, and a little reading
constitute my present existence. At present, I am expecting Liszt
at Christmas. How fares my sister Leonie? Well, I hope. You write
so ambiguously about it that I cannot make out the exact thing. How
is the boy? Is he really called Richard Wagner? Are you not right
glad to have him? Greet your dear wife for me with all my heart,
and tell her I often think of her with pleasure, and of the
friendly interest she took in me. My love to the poor
hypochondriacal Lüders. How well I ought to have felt myself in
London. When he became excited, he was irresistible. I will write
to Sainton soon. He is happy, and finds himself best where he is.
Farewell, dear Ferdinand. A thousand thanks for your friendship.
When things go badly with you, laugh at them.
Adieu,
Your
RICHARD WAGNER.
ZURICH, 14th September, 1855.
The next letter shows Wagner in a new light. It is addressed to my wife
in her native language, French. Wagner has freely admitted in his
published writings that he had no gift for languages, still he spoke
French well, truly, not as a born Frenchman, yet, as a thoughtful man,
and moreover as an earnest student he was able to express himself with
clearness and freedom, and to a degree was master of the idiom.
Intellect, combined with earnestness, will forge a path through
difficulties where education alone would halt. Berlioz was an educated
Frenchman, and expressed himself in elegant and polished diction--it was
like music to hear him speak--yet he soon succumbed to Wagner’s torrent
of enthusiasm. Of course this in part finds its natural explanation in
Wagner ever having something new to say, and “Wagner eloquent” was
irresistible. But as he ever depreciated his ability in French, I have
inserted the following in the original (with translation) so as to
enable the reader to form his own judgment.
[Sidenote: _HE WRITES IN FRENCH._]
This letter is a well-drawn portrait of Wagner by himself. It shows the
boy in the man. Picture this man, after a serious illness of some weeks,
which must have been terribly irksome to a man of his active
temperament, setting himself the task the first day of his convalescence
to write in French and at such length. Instead of grumbling at the
mental miseries such an illness must have caused him, through the
interruption of that work so dear to him, he roused himself, in order to
amuse by his boyish, humorous chat, “his sister Léonie,” whom he knew
was all sympathy for him. The boy’s affectionate heart is plainly
discernible in the man, tried and battered as he was by the world. It
makes one think of the boy’s gentle love for his “little mother,” as he
endearingly spoke of his mother. In him there were always glimpses of
sunshine which would burst forth, aye, in the midst of the storms which,
caused by disappointment and ill-usage, raged within himself or round
about him. It was impossible for those who knew Wagner not to love him,
notwithstanding those defects of character which he possessed; they
disappeared entirely in the love one bore him, and the worship his
mighty genius compelled. The sun itself has spots, which,
notwithstanding, do not prevent it from glittering with radiance. Why
should not Wagner be allowed the privilege of the sun?
[Sidenote: _LIFE IS BURDENSOME._]
ANSICHT VOM KURHAUSE SONNENBERG AUF
SEELISBERG, CT. URI.
MA TRÈS CHÈRE SŒUR! Allons donc! Je vais vous écrire en
français. Dieu donne que vous en entendiez quelques mots--ce qui ne
sera pas chose facile. Mais je ne serai pas si absurde de me donner
de la peine, pour faire de bonnes phrases; cela sera l’affaire du
Dr. Wylde, qui s’y entend probablement aussi bien qu’à la musique!
Plutôt je porterai sur ce papier quelques bêtises de mon genre, qui
ne toucheront au caractère d’aucune langue, ni vivante, ni morte.
Enfin, je vous félicité, ma soeur, d’être doublement mère!
L’événement que Ferdinand m’a annoncé il y a quelque temps, était
prévu par moi moyennant d’un pressentiment prophétique, qui me
naissait pendant mon séjour à Londres; car, pendant que je me
souhaitais au diable--c’est à dire: hors du monde--je m’avisais,
que le bon Dieu se preparait à remplir la lacune attendue, en
mettant au monde un remplaçant pour moi. Mais ce bon Dieu s’est
trompé, comme il lui arrivé quelques fois (en toute confiance soit
dit!); le diable ne m’a pas encore accepté; je suis resté au monde,
par obstination seulement, comme vous allez voir--et mon remplaçant
est arrivé pendant que je vis encore, de la sorte qu’il y a
maintenant deux Richard Wagner. Ainsi, je ne suis pas surpris de
cet événement, que j’ai plutôt préparé en quelque sorte (et sans la
moindre offense pour Ferdinand!) seulement par ma résolution de
quitter la terre, résolution, dont le changement me procure
maintenant le plaisir passablement rare, de vivre ensemble avec mon
remplaçant future, de faire sa connaissance personelle, de
m’entende avec lui sur la direction des concerts de la Société
Philharmonique, enfin sur mille choses d’une importance extrême,
qui ne s’arrangent pas si bien par une distance si énorme que celle
de la mort à la vie.--Cette affaire a donc bien réussie. Seulement
je plains de vous avoir causé tout de désagrements et de
souffrances, comme vous les avez dû subir pour cela (je le dis vous
savez toujours sans la moindre offense pour Ferdinand!). Jugez donc
de la grande et intime satisfaction, que je viens d’eprouver à la
nouvelle de votre rétablissement complêt, et croyez à la sincérité
bien cordiale des félicitations, que je vous addresse.
Maintenant je n’ai pas d’autre soin, que de m’entendre aussitôt que
possible avec ma doublette sur nos démarches réunies pour conquérir
le monde avant de le quitter de ma part c’est-à-dire: de la part de
Richard Wagner l’aîné. Ainsi je vous prie de me donner toujours des
nouvelles bien promptes et exactes sur l’état du développement de
mon remplaçant. J’ai déjâ très besoin de ses fonctions auxiliares.
On m’a invité de venir en Amérique, pour faire de la musique à New
York et à Boston on m’a promis des recettes très fortes, et mille
autres choses. Mais il m’est impossible d’y aller: cela serait
alors l’affaire de Richard Wagner le jeune; quand pourra-t-il
accepter l’invitation? Expliquez-vous, je vous en prie, très
clairement sur ce point là. Aussi j’ai une multitude de projets de
sujets d’opéras dans ma tête: Ferdinand les croît sous le toît de
ma maison; il se trompe, ma maison c’est moi, et le toît c’est mon
crâne. Je n’ai ni le temps, ni la tranquillité nécessaire pour les
ôter de leur cage, là, où ils sont encore enfermés: ainsi, ce sera
l’affaire de mon remplaçant de delivrer ces plans d’opéras et d’en
donner ce qui lui plaît à son petit père pour qu’il en fasse la
musique. Quand sera-t-il assez développé pour ce travail bien
pressant? Répondez-moi avec promptitude sur cette demande; demandez
à Ferdinand si elle est importante! Ah! mon dieu! il y a encore
tant d’autres choses à arranger ensemble qu’une conférence
prochaine me parait indispensable. Connaissez-vous le Dr. Wylde? Eh
bien! j’attends son invitation pour lui donner des leçons de
“musique du future.” Richard Wagner le jeune ne serait-il pas
encore mieux avancé que moi pour instruire ce genre de musique,
puis qu’il est encore plus du future que moi? Que voulez-vous? Il
n’y a pas de temps à perdu. Dépechez-vous du peu d’education qu’il
faudra pour mûrir les facultés de mon remplaçant, et écrivez moi
aussitôt télégraphe quand le moment sera venu, ce moment de
développement accompli que j’attends avec impatience. N’est-ce pas,
chère soeur Léonie? N’est-ce pas, ma mère (entendez-bien!!)
n’est-ce pas, vous n’oublierez pas cela par hasard? Et surtout vous
ne manquerez pas d’instruire mon “alter-ego” de gagner de l’argent?
le seul talent (entre autres) que, par une faute incomprehensible
dans mon education, je n’ai pas cultivé dutout ce qui me cause
quelquefois, _i.e._ toujours--des peines horribles, puisque je suis
luxurieux, prodigue et dépensier par nature, beaucoup plus que
Sardanapale et tous les empereurs Romains pris ensemble. J’ai donc
besoin d’un autre moi! (“passez-moi le mot”) qui gagne énormément
d’argent pour moi. Vous n’oubliez pas cela, et m’enverrez sous peu
de temps quelques millions, volés par mon remplaçant aux
admirateurs innombrables que j’ai l’aissé en Angleterre. J’y pense
bien, je trouve que c’est là le point décisif, de la sorte que je
vous donne le conseil final, de faire apprendre à mon remplaçant
seulement ce que je n’ai jamais appris-moi; cela veut dire faire de
l’argent--“make money”--mais beaucoup! Beaucoup! Enormément
beaucoup!
Voilà ma bénédiction:--que Dieu m’exance!!
Quant à Richard Wagner l’aîné, je ne puis vous donner que des
nouvelles peu agréables: il se traîne à travers la vie comme un
fardeau. Sa seule réjouissance est son travail; son plus grand
déplaisir est quand il perd l’envie de travailler; mais la cause de
sa mort sera un jour le sort terrible auquel il lui faut livrer ses
travaux, à la mutilation et à la destruction parfaite par des
exécutants bêtes ou mérchants; contre lesquels il lui est défendu
de protéger son œuvre, puisqui’il est exilé de là, où il est
exécuté. (Pensez donc à mon remplaçant!) Tout autre malheur ne me
touche plus fortement: mais celui-là me touche au cœur et aux
entrailles. Sous de telles influences je perds quelques fois,
l’envie de travailler parfaitement et pour longtemps: ces époques
sont terribles, car alors il ne me resto rien, rien pour me
soulager. Aux derniers mois j’ai regagné heureusement un peu mon
ancien zêle, et je travaillais assez bien au second de nos drames
musicals; que je voulais finir à Londres (so’t que j’étais!)
Malheureusement j’étais forcé de passer les dernières sermaines au
lit, en proie d’une maladie, long temps cachée en moi, et enfin
éclatée--j’espère à mon salut. Je viens de quitter le lit hier, et
me voilà aujourdhui à la table pour vous écrire. Soyez indulgent,
et pardonnez-moi le tas de bêtises que je vous envoie avec cette
lettre; mon écrit ne sera pas probablement mieux que ma
conversation, qui était bien triste et bêto. Mais néanmoins vous
m’avez voué votre amitié, car vous savez lire entre les lignes de
ma conversation. Soyez bien cordialement remercié pour ce
bien-fait! Maintenant soyez heureuse, ce qu’on est qu’au milieu de
désagrements et de souffrances de toute sorte--par un cœur plein
de compassion, de cette compassion qui s’égaie aussi à
l’apperception d’un sourire de l’autrui, même si ce n’était que le
sourire exalté de la mélancolie. Par example:--
Vive le punch et la salade de hommard! Vive Lüders qui la
préparait! Vive Ferdinand qui devorait les os! Vive Sainton qui
venait tard, mais qui venait! Vive Klindworth, quine mangeait et ne
buvait pas, mais qui assistait! Vive, vive Léonie, qui riait de
compassion de notre hilarité! Cela n’était pas si mal! Soyons
reconnaissants, et restons amis! Et vous ma chère mère? restez ma
soeur!
Adieu.
Votre
RICHARD WAGNER l’aîné.
P.S. La prochaine lettre sera à Sainton. Je ne puis pas dépenser
autant de Français dans un jour!--
3^{D} Novembre, 1855.
[Sidenote: _INVITED TO AMERICA._]
ANSICHT VON KIRHAUSE SONNENBERG AUF
SEELISBERG, CT. URI.
MY DEAR SISTER: Now, then, I am going to write to you in French.
May heaven help you to understand something of it, for I fear it
will not be an easy matter. I shall not, however, be foolish enough
to give myself the trouble of making fine phrases. That I leave to
Dr. Wylde,[19] who, no doubt, understands that much better than he
does composing. Rather do I prefer to put down on paper some
stupidities of my own, which will have no relation either to a dead
or living language.
Now, I congratulate you, my sister, in being doubly mother.[20]
The event, Ferdinand had announced to me some time ago, I had
foreseen, by means of prophetic vision generated during my stay in
London; for whilst I was wishing myself to the devil--that is to
say, out of the world--I perceived that Providence was preparing to
fill the gap, by sending into the world a substitute. But the same
Providence made a mistake, as He occasionally does (this, remember,
is quite confidential!); the devil has not yet wanted me; I have
remained in the world, as you shall see, through sheer obstinacy,
and my other self has arrived whilst I am still living, so that now
there are two Richard Wagners!!
I am not surprised, then, at the event, which, by my resolve to
quit the world, I had in some measure prepared (this without the
slightest offence to Ferdinand); but fate having ordained
otherwise, I have the rare pleasure of living at the same time with
my future substitute, of making his personal acquaintance, of
coming to some understanding with him about conducting the concerts
of the Philharmonic Society; in short, upon a thousand things of
the greatest importance, which could not conveniently be arranged
at such an enormous distance as that of the other world to this. So
the event has been quite a success. But I must ever regret to have
caused you so much pain and suffering on that account. I say it,
you know, always without any offence to Ferdinand. Think, then, of
the great personal relief I have just experienced at the news of
your convalescence, and believe in the warm-hearted sincerity of my
congratulations.
I have no other care now but to come to an understanding as quickly
as possible with my other self, respecting our united efforts to
conquer the world before I myself (_i.e._ Richard Wagner the elder)
leave it. I therefore entreat you to keep me well informed of the
exact state of the development of my substitute. Even at this very
moment I very much need his help.
I have received an invitation from America to conduct at New York
and Boston. In addition to a thousand other things I have been
promised very large receipts. It is, however, quite impossible for
me to accept; that must be the province of Richard Wagner the
younger. When will he be able to accept the invitation? I beg of
you to be very explicit on this point. Further, I have a multitude
of projects and subjects for operas in my head. Ferdinand imagines
them under the roof of my house; he is mistaken, my house is
myself, the roof my skull. But, alas, I have neither the time nor
the requisite tranquillity to release them from the prison-house in
which they are confined: that also, then, must be the work of my
other self; and when he has liberated them he may give what he
likes of them to his father to set to music. When will he be
developed enough for this pressing work? Be prompt in your reply on
this point. Ask Ferdinand if it is not important! Ah! good heavens!
there are such a number of other things which we must arrange
together that an early conference is imperative.
Do you know Dr. Wylde? Well, I am expecting an invitation from him
to give him lessons in the “music of the future.” But will not
Richard Wagner the younger be better fitted than I to teach that
kind of music, since he is still more closely connected with the
future? What think you? There is no time to lose. Make haste with
the little education absolutely necessary for ripening the
faculties of my _alter ego_, and telegraph to me the moment the
time has arrived--that time of complete development so anxiously
waited for by me. Is it not so, dear sister Léonie? Eh! my mother
(you understand!) Now you must not fail to remember this.
But above all, you must not omit to teach my _alter ego_ to make
money, the one talent of all others which, by some incomprehensible
fault in my education, has never been cultivated. And this causes
me sometimes (_i.e._ always) horrible anxieties, since by nature I
am luxurious, prodigal, and extravagant, much more than
Sardanapalus and all the old Roman emperors put together. In this I
am sadly in want of another self (pardon me for saying so), who
will gain money enormously. Now be sure and do not forget this and
send me as soon as possible a few millions, stolen by my double
from the innumerable admirers I have left behind in England! On
pondering over the situation, I perceive that herein lies the
crucial point, so that my last entreaty is that you instruct my
other self in that which I have never learnt, viz. making
money--make money--but much! Much! Enormously much!
This is my prayer; may heaven hearken to me!
[Sidenote: _AFTER A LONG ILLNESS._]
Of Richard Wagner the elder I can only give you poor news. He drags
himself through life as a burden. His only delight is his work. His
greatest sorrow, the loss of desire to work. The cause of his
death will one day be the terrible fate to which he cannot help
exposing his works, _i.e._ to their mutilation and complete
destruction by stupid or wicked executants, from whom he is
powerless of protecting them, since he is an exile from that land
where they are being performed. (Think, therefore, of my _alter
ego_!) No other misfortune affects me so keenly. This touches me to
the heart, to the very core. It is when under such feelings that I
occasionally lose completely--yes, even for a long time--the desire
to work. These periods are terrible, for then nothing remains,
nothing to comfort me. During the last few months I had happily
regained a little of my old enthusiasm, and I had been working
pretty well at the second of my musical dramas, which I had hoped
to finish in London (fool that I was!). But alas, I have been
confined, during the last few weeks, to my bed, a prey to a long
latent illness, which, having at last broken out, I hope has been
the saving of my life. I only left my sick-bed yesterday, and here
I am to-day at my table, writing to you. Be indulgent, and excuse
the mass of nonsense I am sending you in this letter. My
correspondence will probably be no better than my conversation,
which was very dull and stupid. But nevertheless, you vowed to me
your friendship, for you know how to read between the lines of my
conversation. I thank you very heartily for that kindness!
Now be happy, although one lives in the midst of annoyances and
sufferings of all kinds--for it is only by a heart full of
compassion which brightens up even at the perception of a smile
from another, though it be but the forced smile of melancholy.
Three cheers for the punch and lobster salad! Long live Lüders, who
prepared it! Long live Ferdinand, who devoured the bones! Long live
Sainton, who came late, but who came! Long live Klindworth, who
neither ate nor drank, but who was present! Long live, long live
Léonie, who laughed sympathetically at our boisterousness! That was
not so bad. Let us be grateful, and let us remain friends. And you,
my dear mother, remain my sister.
Adieu.
Yours,
RICHARD WAGNER THE ELDER.
NOVEMBER 3d, 1855.
P.S. The next letter will be to Sainton. I cannot dole out so much
French in one day.
The next letter, written three months after the preceding, is of
interest in showing that Wagner kept up the practice of his daily
promenade.
DEAREST FRIEND: Thanks for your beautiful London notice, which I
have just read in Brendel’s “Zeitschrift.” As I am thoroughly
acquainted with all the circumstances, I pronounce it excellent; in
short, so important, and so always hitting the mark, that were I
not the leading subject I should have much less restraint in
praising it.
Be assured that the remembrance I seem to have left with you will
always remain one of my most cherished thoughts. That I was so
fortunate to create a good opinion in you, is to me exhilarating
and touching. After all, what a lot of trouble we both had to
endure. Be content with these few words, written immediately after
reading your notice, and just before taking my accustomed stroll,
and be assured that they contain much joy.
Farewell, dearest Ferdinand, and continue to love me.
Yours,
RICHARD WAGNER.
Many, many hearty greetings for sister Léonie and the god-child!
Adieu.
ZURICH, 15th January, 1856.
Again was Wagner laid upon a sick-bed. One anxiety seems to have
possessed his mind--the longing to complete the “Walküre.” The following
letter is of importance, since it shows the composer’s frame of mind
during the composition of the above work, a state of “pure despair”
which, says Wagner, could alone have created it:--
[Sidenote: _THE “WALKÜRE” POETRY._]
Best thanks, dearest friend for your letters. You are right; I have
again been laid on a sick-bed, and when at last I became
convalescent I was in a perfect rage to get to the score of my
“Walküre” (in the composition of which I have been hindered for
the last year). So much do I long to finish it that I have entirely
ceased letter-writing. Altogether, the older one grows, that is to
say, in sense and reason, the more the worldly events of every-day
life dwindle away into nothingness. That which one experiences in
the inward heart becomes more and more difficult to explain. I do
not mean to say that the events one has passed through, and which
have touched you most intimately, cease to exist to live on; no,
no; therefore I assure you that you and your family are ever
vividly before me, yet as soon as one commences to write one finds
after all there is nothing of real worth to put down. On the whole,
we can only agree with each other, then there remains nothing but
actual occurrences, views, and intentions to discuss. In these my
life at present is as poor as my art creations are prolific, and
which, indeed, are surging to the surface and becoming richer and
richer. When you come to me, and I play my works to you, you will
agree with me. In so far as the world has a claim upon me I can
point solely to my work. I have nothing else to offer to it.
If you read the poetry of the “Walküre” again, you will find such a
superlative of sorrow, pain, and despair expressed therein, that
you will understand me when I say the music terribly excites me. I
could not again accomplish a similar work. When it is once
finished, much will then appear quite different (looking at the
work as an art whole), and will afford enjoyment, whereas nothing
but pure despair could have created it. But we shall see!
Altogether I live so secluded and retired that I feel at a loss
when I am anxious to talk to you about it. I look forward to the
time of Liszt’s coming to me as a bracing up of my heart. Alas! on
account of illness, I was compelled last winter to put off the
visit. About the illness in your little family I take a hearty
interest. In your new garden I picture you gambolling with your
children. How I wish that I had a little house with a little garden
attached; alas! an enjoyment hitherto unattainable.
At first I was tolerably indifferent about the sad
conflagration,[21] but when I thought of Sainton it became painful
to me. Now I hear that Gye has managed to continue his opera
notwithstanding, and therefore Sainton’s income, no doubt, will not
be endangered, and the misfortune overcome! That he now plays
under Wylde amuses me much. It was ridiculous that he had to resign
the Old Philharmonic. After all, Costa has succeeded in this! When
I recall my London visit, I find I do not remember much except the
friends I left there; they are all that remind me of it--happily!
But now try and come to visit me. For my operas wait until you hear
them produced by me. Now you can get a very inadequate impression
of them. If, therefore, you desire more of me, come to me yourself;
in so doing you will give me great pleasure. I remain here during
the summer. If I can arrange it, I intend going in the autumn with
Semper to Rome; at least, such is my present hope. But continue to
give me frequent news of you, and be assured that in so doing you
give the greatest gratification to
Your
RICHARD WAGNER.
Greet your dear wife heartily for me; she is to continue to hold me
in good remembrance. Happiness and prosperity to my godchild!
Kiss poor Lüders a thousand times; I shall soon inquire more
precisely after Bumpus.
Adieu,
R. W.
ZURICH, 28th March, 1856.
[Sidenote: _TROUBLED BY SCHOPENHAUER._]
The next letter is again dated from Zurich:--
That’s right, dearest Ferdinandus, to determine to leave Richard
Wagner of the future to come to the R. W. of the present. My _alter
ego_ will not regret it. When you are here I will hammer out the
“Walküre” to you, and I hope it will force its way from ear to
heart. Then there is a bit of the “Siegfried,” and that, too, must
I sing to you. How my head is full of projects for work!
Minna is very delighted at the prospect of seeing you, and says she
will treat you as a brother. I have told her how heartily you enter
into the mysteries of household matters, and are of just that
temperament to agree with her, and appreciate that domestic skill
for which I am totally unfitted. To me also your presence will be a
delight, for I can talk to you with open heart, and have much to
say to you. Now see that you do not let anything intervene that
shall prevent your coming. I am just now full of work, and when you
are here I shall work all the same. Some hours during the morning
shall be devoted to work while you shall be sent upstairs to deeply
study Schopenhauer, and then shall we not argue and discuss like
orators in the old Athenian lyceum! Two months, and you will be
with me! ah! that is good! Then bring all your brain-power, all
your keen penetration, for you shall explain to me some obscure
passages in that best of writers, Schopenhauer, which now torment
me exceedingly. He will, perhaps, cause you many researches of the
heart, so you must come fully equipped with all your intellectual
faculties in the full vigorous glow of health, and then I promise
myself some happy hours. And what shall be your reward? Well, the
“Walküre” shall entreat you, and man, the original man, “Siegfried”
shall show you what he is! Now, good, dear friend, come!
Mind, now, no English restraint and propriety; bother that
invisible old lady, Mrs. Grundy, that hovers over the English
horizon, ruling with a rod of iron what is supposed to be proper
and virtuous!
Heartiest greetings to dear sister Léonie, and tell her that her
son, Richard Wagner the elder, sends his best affection to the
younger, and inquires whether he has yet been taught how to make
money.
Yours,
RICHARD WAGNER.
P.S. Ferdinand, bring me a packet of snuff from that shop in Oxford
Street, you know, where you got it before for me.
R. W.
ZURICH, May, 1856.