My dearest friend,
Herewith you receive a whole heap of new stuff. You perceive that my poem is ready, and although not yet set to music, at least set in type, and printed at my own expense, and in a few copies only, which I shall present to my friends, so that they may have my legacy in advance in case I should die during the work. He who knows my position will again think me very extravagant in the face of this luxurious edition; let it be so. The world, properly so called, is so stingy toward me that I do not care to imitate it. Therefore, with a kind of anxious pleasure, I have secretly, in order not to be prevented by prudent counsel, prepared this edition, the particular tendency of which you will find stated in an introductory notice.
Only a few copies have been struck off, and I send you herewith a parcel of them, asking you to dispose of them in the following manner. Of the three copies in a de luxe binding you must accept the first as a present from me. The second I have destined for the Grand Duchess on her birthday. Tell her I have heard that she is indisposed and will probably be unable to appear in public on her birthday. As, therefore, she will not hear the Flying Dutchman at the theatre, I ask her to cast a glance at my latest work. Tell her that, if it did not please her throughout, I still thought I might assure her that woman had never yet received such a tribute as everyone who understood it must find in my poem. Forward the third de luxe copy to the Princess of Prussia. Fortunately I have been able to get the type, printing, and binding done in good time, and I assume, therefore, that you will be in a position to present the gift on the 16th.
Of the other copies sent herewith, I ask you to keep two in your own possession to lend them out according to your discretion, and you will oblige me particularly by thinking soon of A. Stahr, to whom I wish to be kindly remembered. He was the first litterateur who ever paid attention to me as a poet. A third copy please forward in my name, with cordial greeting, to Herr von Zigesar. Apart from this I send the following parcels: 1. For B., containing two copies: one for himself, the other for my poor friend Roeckel. 2. For Herr F. M., whose title I have unfortunately forgotten, and my answer to whom, in return for his kind present, I have held over till today. 3. For A. F., who has just written to me that she is going to Weimar for the festival; kindly give the parcel to her as to the others.
If you further find that you can dispose of some other copies where they will be well and thankfully received, kindly let me know soon; for that and similar emergencies I have kept back a small number of copies. About the poem itself I cannot, and do not care to, say anything more to you. When you find leisure to read it sympathetically, you will say to yourself all that I could tell you. I shall never again write poetry. But I am looking forward with much delight to setting all this to music. As to form, it is quite ready in my mind, and I was never before so determined as to musical execution as I am now and with regard to this poem. All I want is sufficient charm of life to get into the indispensable cheerful mood from which motives spring forth gladly and spontaneously.
As to this I once before made bitter moan to you. I desired salvation from the killing circumstances in which I am placed at Zurich. I inquired as to the possibility of being permitted to make a trip to Germany now and then, so as to witness a performance of my works, because otherwise I should perish here for want of encouragement. To your great grief, your answer had to be in the negative, and you admonished me to have patience. Dear, noble friend, consider that patience is only just sufficient to preserve bare life, but that the vigour and fullness which enable one to enrich life and employ it creatively no man has ever yet drawn from patience, that is, from absolute want. Neither can I succeed in this. Listen to me. You are very reticent as to the point in question. Let me know whether anything has been done from Weimar in order to obtain for me at Dresden permission to return to Germany, also what impediments have been found in the way. If everything has not already been tried, I should make the following suggestion: The Weimar court invites me to visit Weimar for a few weeks, and sends me a passport for four weeks; it then inquires, through its minister at Dresden, whether they object, and would be likely to demand my extradition to Saxony. If the answer were satisfactory, somewhat to this effect, that the prosecution instituted against me four years ago would be suspended for that short time, I might be with you very quickly, hear my Lohengrin, and then return straight to Switzerland and wait for your visit. I might also read my poem at court. See what can be done in this.
I must hear Lohengrin; I will not and cannot write music before. The German theatres do not cause me much delight; there is a hitch everywhere, and I confess candidly that I often feel great repentance at having consented to any performance outside Weimar. Even two years ago I was conscious of myself, clear, and firm, while I allowed myself no thought of the further expansion of my work. Now I am torn to pieces, wavering, uncertain, and exposed to every breath of wind, because I have to read now one thing, now another, but never an intelligent judgment about my works in the newspapers. I am much lowered in my own eyes. How disgustingly dirty was again this Leipzig affair! The manager makes sacrifices, enlarges the orchestra, reconstructs the same, etc.; he hopes soon to recover his outlay, and raises the prices as for an extraordinary thing; the enthusiastic public stops away and leaves the second performance empty. Oh, how different I am from such canaille! But what a bad, disgusting scandal this is! I am never to enjoy my life again. You thought the score would not be returned to me from Berlin at my demand; this time you were mistaken. The score was returned at once, and neither from Hülsen nor from anyone else have I had a line about it. Disgusting as such conduct is, showing as it does how they felt in Berlin toward Tannhäuser, I must yet be glad at this issue, first because it proves that in such circumstances the opera, if it had been performed, would have been lost, and second because now tabula rasa has been made, and everything has been committed to your faithful care.
The Berlin affair has herewith taken an entirely new form; no obligation exists, and your hand is henceforth perfectly free, provided that I may place the matter once for all in your hands, while I have no longer anything to concede or refuse, and am toward Berlin as one of the dead. Cassel has asked for the score of Tannhäuser, and there, I presume, the matter ends; I do not count upon any other theatre. I can now therefore sum up my gain from this glorious undertaking; very slender it is, and I must thank God that the R. family continue to assist me. Otherwise I should, after buying a few commodities for house and body, of which we were very short, have reached once more the bare rock of my existence, and this through the noble sympathy of that splendid Germany. I have no hopes at all for the further spreading of my operas. To theatres like those of Munich and others I should have to refuse them, because the conductors there would have nothing better to do than to ruin me thoroughly. Once more I have to regret that I yielded to a sanguine hope. How long I shall endure this terrible joylessness I cannot tell. About the middle of last month I was on the point of succumbing, and thought that I should soon have to follow my poor Uhlig. I was persuaded to call in a doctor, and he, a careful, considerate, and conscientious man, takes much trouble with me. He visits me nearly every other day, and I cannot but approve of his treatment. Certain it is that if I do not recover, it will not be his fault. The isolation of my position is too great; all my social intercourse has died away; I was fated to survive and cast from me everything. I stand in a desert, and feed on my own vitals; I must perish. Some people will be sorry for this one day, perhaps even the King of Saxony. What nonsense am I talking! Let us leave it alone; we cannot alter it; it has always been so.
Much luck to the Flying Dutchman! This melancholy hero is never out of my head. I always hear, “Ach, möchtest du, bleicher Seemann, sie finden!” With the line “Doch kann dem bleichen Manne Erlösung einstens noch werden!” all is over. For me there is no salvation but death. Would that it found me in a storm at sea, not on a sickbed! Yes, in the fire of Valhalla I should like to perish.
I am sitting alone on the sofa, staring at the lamp and brooding over my good fortune in having gained you from this miserable world. Yes, yes, it is that which supports me.
Richard Wagner
Source: Project Gutenberg eBook #3835, Correspondence of Wagner and Liszt — Volume 1, No. 96