Chapter 20

I should prefer not to write to you today, dearest Franz, because 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.