Paris, Oct. 23, 59. My precious Child ! The master has seen Death once again since that AllSouls night last year : this time as friend and benefactor. A while ago I went to pay a call on Berlioz. I found him just returning home in a lamentable condition ; he had just been getting himself electrified, as a last expedient for his ailing nerves. He depicted his torments to me, which, beginning the moment he wakes, increase in mastery every hour. I recognised my sufferings, to the life, and the sources whence they feed to excess ; among which I reckon in particular those incredible nervous exertions, entirely foreign to all other men, while conducting or otherwise eagerly rendering. I knew I should be a still greater sufferer than Berlioz himself, were it not that I expose myself so seldom to those exertions now ; for I feel that, even as it is, they act more and more destructively upon me. In Berlioz' case, unfortunately, the stomach already is seriously affected ; and — trivial as it may sound — Schopenhauer is perfectly right in naming among the chief physiological requirements for Genius a good digestion. Through my extraordinary moderation I have mostly kept that requisite in serviceable order ; still, I foresaw in Berlioz' sufferings those probably predestined for myself, and said goodbye to the poor fellow in a frame of general awe. I had to give my Frenchmen the other half of Tannhäuser ; the strain was great, a moral bitterness preponderating \vid. inf.] ; next day a small error of diet ( 1 glass of red wine with my bouillon at lunch), and soon afterwards a regular catastrophe, which laid me by the heels in a trice. As I lay full length in utter prostration, seized at the body's very citadel [see p. 190], of a sudden I felt heavenly well. Gone was all chagrin, each trouble, every care, all will and must : profoundest accord of my innermost self with my physical condition ; silence of all life's passions ; repose, entire dropping of the tight-clutched reins of lifeTwo hours did 1 taste this happiness. Then life returned : the nerves twitched again ; pain, distress, desire, will, came back ; dearth, discomfort — future, confronted me once more. And so I gradually awoke completely, even to troubling about my new — housing. — Yes ! I am housing once more — without faith, without love, without hope, on the bottomless basis of dreamlike indifference ! — So be it then ! One belongs not to oneself ; and whoso thinks it, merely weens it. — I am not quite well again yet (what people call well !) — yet I'll add one latest piece of information. The dramatic idyll at Carlsruhe has come to full stop and an ending ; Devrient himself has relieved me of the pain of having to refuse his songstress ; herself she has declared herself unequal to Isolde. I suppose it's all for the best: in any case, the whole Tristan adventure is postponed for a fairly long time, and the door stands again wide open for other good chances to throng through. Dream the time sweetly away in your Sicily : you'll miss nothing by it. How I wish you open weather, warmth, invigoration, recovery, from the deepest bottom of my heart ! Your plan is excellent, and cousin Wesendonck to be praised and extolled for it ! — • The Green Hill has arrived : — why to me now this peaceful emblem of repose and innocence ? ! — Adieu for to-day. You shall soon hear more. A thousand greetings to the Lady-friend ! R. W.
Richard Wagner
Source: Richard Wagner to Mathilde Wesendonck, translated by Ellis, No. 94