Paris, January 28, i860. I must make up my mind at last, Child, to give you breathless news about myself. It has been my refreshment in the thick of it all, to think how I would collect my thoughts and give you a nice calm retrospect of all I have gone through : but I am not at the end yet ; nor shall I ever be, it seems. Wherefore no more fruitless dallying, and a few lines of certainty instead. All that I have experienced is as nothing against one observation, one discovery, which I made at the first orchestral rehearsal for my concert ; since it has determined the whole remainder of my life, and its consequences will henceforth tyrannise me. For the first time was I getting my prelude to Tristan played ; and — scales as if fell from my eyes in regard of the immeasurable distance I have travelled from the world during these last 8 years.. This little prelude was so inscrutably new to the bandsmen, that I positively had to lead my men from note to note as if exploring for gems in a mine. Biilow, who was present, confessed that the performances attempted of this piece in Germany had been taken on trust by the audience, but in themselves had stayed entirely unintelligible* I succeeded indeed in making this prelude understanded both of orchestra and audience — ay, people assure me, it called forth the deepest impression of all ; but don't ask me how I managed that ! Enough that it now stands sharp before me, that I dare think of no further creation until I've filled the fearful gap behind me. I must present my works first, and what does that not mean ? — Child, it means my plunging into a slough of suffering and of sacrifices, in which quite likely I shall go to ground. All, all may become possible ; but only on condition that I have ample time and leisure for all, that I may take my singers and bandsmen forward step by step, have no reason for hurry, need break off nowhere out of want of time, and always have things well in hand. And what does that mean ? The experiences of this concert, with its skimpy time-allowance, have told me : I need to be rich ; I need thousands on thousands [of francs] to sacrifice regardlessly, to buy myself space, time, and willingness. As I am not rich — well, I must endeavour to make myself so ; I must let my older operas be given here in French, so as to devote the considerable proceeds to disclosing my new works to the world. — That's what stands before me ; I have no other choice, so — here's to death and extinction ! 'Tis my one remaining task, and for it my dzemon holds me still to life. Folly, would I think of aught beyond : I can look to nothing but these awful travails of the world-birth of my latest works. — O stay in Rome ; how happy I am, to know you so out of the world ! Behold, regard, consider, all beauteous things and fair ; you are doing it for me, and my comfort shall it be to gain those pregnant pictures through your eyes ! 'Twill be both cooling-draught and cordial for a man a-quake with fever ; thus, and now — you're my last consolation ! — Just two words more, anent rny outward happenings. After the most unheard-of torment, stress and toil, I arrived at my first concert-performance last Wednesday* The evening was nothing more nor less than a festival ; I can but say it. The orchestra was already fired to white enthusiasm, and hung upon my eye, my finger-tip. I was received both by it and the audience with endless cheers, and each of my pieces bore me dclat, amaze, entrancement. The sensation is quite immense ; strange experiences, conversions, feuilletonists (Patrie) rushing to kiss my hand. — I myself was dead-beat. On that night I took my last initiation into suffering : I must, I must trudge on, — it was indeed my last remaining task. The flower [Tr. u. Is.] has to open to the world, and pass away : keep you its stainless buds ! — Many sincere good wishes to Otto ; tell him I love him ! Farewell, my precious, noble child ! Live softly and inwardly on, and strengthen me thereby! With loyal love Your R. W.
Richard Wagner
Source: Richard Wagner to Mathilde Wesendonck, translated by Ellis, No. 100